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  "Jon." I tried to keep my voice neutral. Soothing, even. I wasn't sure if I actually had a soothing voice but I tried. "Hey. Jon." I took a tentative step toward him, and then another. I knew how much he hated being crowded when he was going through an anxiety attack. "Hey."

  I reached out slowly. I didn't want to make him flinch. I didn't want to crowd him. But I also knew he needed something to bring him back. Something had upset him. I didn't know what that was; I couldn't go over what I said or didn't say. My only goal right now was calming him down.

  I touched his cheek with my palm. Instantly, he melted into me and his entire body seemed to collapse. His breathing evened. His eyes were in mine, like I was some kind of lighthouse against a black night. He needed to keep his eyes on me in order to continue to steady himself.

  "Hey," I murmured again.

  "I can't lose you, Lara," he said. His voice was rough with gravel, a brutal rawness that I wasn't expecting. "If I put you at risk—"

  "I'm right here," I said. "I'm right here. We don't know if anyone is actually watching the house. We don't know anything."

  "That's the problem," he said. He closed his eyes and he inhaled deeply. He tilted his head as he leaned further into my hand. "Lara, you have to promise me. Please. Promise me you won't do anything that could put your life at risk. After what happened earlier this week, after what happened tonight, I just, I can't risk you. I-I need to stay away from you." He took a step back but I followed him.

  "Don't," I said, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Not when we're so close. I promise, okay? I promise. Just don't… Don't disappear on me again. Because I can't lose you, either."

  He rested his forehead on mine. There were no sounds except our breathing. I let my eyes close. It was strange, feel so safe, so content, with him so close in front of me. I didn't want him to pull away. I didn't want him to go.

  I should have told him about my interview tomorrow.

  I should have.

  But I didn't.

  Chapter 9

  I couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned. I wasn't scared, per se, but I could admit that I was nervous. I couldn't just shake the fact that she almost killed me last week. My fingers still trembled at least once a day, if not more, for now reason at all. It was like my body wanted to remind myself of the attack even when I was blissfully—if temporarily—distracted.

  By the time five thirty rolled around, I decided to pull myself out of bed and shower. I took a longer one than normal, letting the hot beads of water slice through my skin and forcing the tension out of my body. It was easy to relax surrounded by steam.

  I pressed my hands on the tile walls and arched my back, letting the water fall on my back. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. It felt good, like a stone massage in a way, feeling as the water fell on my skin. I had no idea what to expect today. I would go in wearing a mask of courage, perhaps on with lines of defiance. But inside, I was scared. Because I knew what Guzman and her family were capable of. I saw what happened with my uncle. My grandfather was still missing, probably dead. And me? I hoped I wouldn't be next.

  And yet, even the threat of possibly dying wasn't enough to deter me from going.

  - - -

  I showed up a half hour early. I actually busted out my old Nissan Maxima from a parking garage my uncle's friend ran. I could store it there without having to pay for it, which was nice. I needed to stop and get gas, but I was still going to be early.

  I wanted to throw them off. Not that they were stupid enough to do something illegal just before I got there, but if I was able to rattle her even slightly, I would be happy.

  "You aren't scheduled for another thirty minutes," the security guard said after I pulled into the gated community and gave him my name.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," I said, curling my hair behind my ear. I hoped I didn't sound as sarcastic as I thought I was. "They told me to get here early because they didn't want to waste the mayor's time. I can park in a slot and wait if you want."

  "No, no." The security guard shook his head and looked down at his clear clipboard. "Let me call back there and see what they want. Sit tight."

  A moment later, the black gates started to slide open and the security guard leaned out. "You know where you're going?" he asked. Before I could respond, he continued. "Head right, follow the curve, and it'll take you to Sandalwood. Hang a left, and it's right there. She's the only house on Emerald Ridge. You can park in any slot without a number on it. Those are reserved. Here, you'll need this." He handed me a visitor tag I was supposed to hang on my mirror.

  I nodded and thanked him before rolling up my window and proceeding into the community. Everything was unreasonably bright. The sun was hanging behind thick, white clouds, and yet I had to squint as I looked around. Bright green exteriors of each house. Bright tan and white houses, all with the same design, just flipped around to add variety. Shiny bike paths. A park for children with bright blue equipment and yellow plastic. Even the park benches gleamed.

  I shook my head.

  "What the hell," I muttered to myself.

  It amazed me that the mayor of Perry didn't actually live in the city. I mean, sure, I knew she had an apartment in case she needed to stay, but for the most part, she resided here, in a suburb.

  I pulled into the nearest spot in white—surprisingly close to the long driveway—and got out of my car. After locking it and tucking my keys into my purse, I headed to the house. My heart hammered against my chest almost like it was begging me to let it out, like it couldn't contain it any longer. I had my purse close to my side, hanging on my shoulder. My hands were moist and I rubbed them on the front of my slacks and then flexed my fingers. I glanced down at my flats. Just in case I needed to run. Just in case she—

  But no.

  I couldn't think of that now.

  I knew the risks. My legacy was more important.

  When I got to the white doors, I took a deep breath and glanced around for a doorbell. I hated knocking only because I never knocked loud enough unless I was banging on the door. Luckily, the mayor had a pearl-white doorbell adjacent to the doors, and I pressed it once. I could hear the ring even through the thick doors.

  I was surprised by how quickly they opened, however. I wasn't waiting outside very long when a man in a suit opened the door. He was tall and bulky. Before he even looked at me at all, he looked past me—over my head, to the right, to the left, before finally settling on me.

  "Hi," I said, forcing the brightest smile I could muster on my face. "I'm here to—"

  "The reporter," he said. "I know. The mayor is expecting you." He stepped back and nodded his head. "Open up your purse, please."

  Before I could step inside, his partner grabbed my purse and opened it.

  "Hey," I snapped.

  "I'm searching for any possible weapons," he muttered. "Two of our detail died last week. We don't want to lose any more of us."

  I clenched my teeth together. I felt my hands get even clammier than they had been. I could hear Jon's attack in my mind, even though I hadn't seen it. The loud pops. The heavy silence. I flinched just thinking about it, my body seizing up and gripping me in a vice choke, one that didn't feel possible to escape.

  It was only when he was finished with my things that I felt myself relax slightly. I muttered a thanks I didn't mean.

  "I'm going to have to pat you down before I can let you come in," the first guy said. "You'd be surprised what women hide in particular areas of the body."

  "You touch me where you shouldn't, and I will cut your hand off," I said.

  He started laughing. "I appreciate a woman's sense of self-preservation." He reached between my legs with his foot and batted at my flats, forcing me to spread my legs. His hands were on my body, and even though I felt a wad of disgust go through me, he didn't linger and didn't feel me up. As much as I hated to admit it, he simply did his job.

  "This way," he said.

  I followed him inside, my eye
s traveling up the grand staircase, over to the paintings hanging in the second-story hallway I could see from where I stood. There was a vase of orchids on a smooth black table directly in front of me. Everything was white and sparkly. I felt like I was stepping into a cleaning commercial. I was waiting for a dust pan to suddenly pop on my shoulder and give some sass about something.

  The bulky guy with the military crew cut led me into the dining room where I was surprised to find Mayor Guzman, sitting at her table, eating peach pancakes. Peaches weren't in season and, somehow, she had what looked like the juiciest pieces on her pancakes. My mouth started to water and I realized I hadn't actually eaten any breakfast.

  "Ah, Ms. Tucker, I'm sure you found the place easily?" Stephanie Guzman asked. She didn't stand or offer me her hand to shake. She stayed seated at the head of the table. Her dark brown eyes—almost black—looked at me through thick, chopped black bangs that danced on the rims of her eyes. "You are an investigative journalist. I wouldn't be surprised if you had been here before…snooping."

  "You mean doing my job," I said. I took the seat adjacent to hers without waiting to be offered it. "Well, I am one of the best, but I wouldn't think of snooping here. Why should I, when you haven't done anything wrong?"

  I smiled like a feral cat. Her dark eyes watched me, watched every move my face made, whether it was my lips forming the grin, my nostrils flaring as I breathed, my eyes blinking naturally. Nothing seemed to get by her. No wonder she tried to have me killed last week. I managed to penetrate her impossible security force.

  "You would not believe the stories people conjure despite there being no evidence," Guzman continued. She began to drum her fingers on the table. I noticed her nails were painted a blood red. They were new, I realized. Before they had been a mauve color. And they were chipping. She probably updated them specifically for this interview. I was honored.

  I said nothing else. Instead, I grabbed my purse and unzipped it before pulling out a recorder and setting it on the table between us.

  "You don't mind if I record our conversation?" I asked. "Your guard over there commented about self-preservation. I liked that."

  "Record away," Guzman said with a flourish of her hand. "I have nothing to hide." Without warning, she placed a hand on my forearm. "I was sorry to hear about your uncle. Such a shame. He was a construction worker, wasn't he? Some kind of accident?"

  My mouth went dry. I cleared my throat. At this point, I had planned to start of slow, trap her in a lie. I wanted to do this the right way, maybe even get Estrada the evidence he needed to actually get an investigation opened on this woman. But she couldn't talk about my uncle like that. Not with that smile on her face.

  I balled my fingers into fists, causing red crescents to be imprinted in my palms. The pain did nothing to deter my mouth from keeping the words from falling out.

  "I think we both know what happened with my uncle and it definitely wasn't a construction accident," I said.

  "Oh?" She feigned surprise. I wanted to claw her eyes out and see if that would shock her as well. "I just heard of a construction accident. If something else occurred, something more nefarious, perhaps you should call the Perry P.D. I'm sure they'd be happy to take an incident report and document your claim. You have such a way with words, Ms. Tucker. Your imagination is quite grand. It really helps sell your papers, hmm?"

  I ground my teeth together. I could not believe I was letting her get under my skin, but I was. The worst part of this whole thing was that I knew she was doing it and I couldn't logically control my reaction to her taunts. I was entirely defeated before the interview even began.

  "I think we're getting off-track," I said. I released my fingers and placed them on my thighs, rubbing them up and down. I needed to calm down. I needed to get hold of my reactions.

  "Are we?" Guzman grabbed a pastry that sat on a silver platter directly in front of her and took a bite. She didn't take her beady, rat-like eyes off of me. "You come here and insinuate I had something to do with your uncle's unfortunate death. You haven't asked me about the debate next week or my campaign promises. I wanted to extend an olive branch. I know there has been animosity from your family towards mine. I wanted to eradicate it. Men are silly. We women need to hold ourselves to a different standard. A higher one. But I see that you are just as petty as your uncle." She took another bite of the pastry. "These are really quite good. Would you like one?"

  I did. Pastries were a guilty pleasure of mine. The crumbly flakes from a croissant. The bitter chocolate. The cheese filling. I started picking at my cross necklace, hoping I wasn't actually drooling.

  God, I was pathetic.

  "What?" She pushed the platter to me, smiling. "You think I've poisoned them? Trust me, I wouldn't waste poison on you."

  I refrained from grabbing a strawberry and cheese Danish even though I wanted one so bad.

  "Maybe just bullets," I muttered.

  "What was that?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  "I want to know why you decided to call this interview in the first place," I said, making sure my voice was loud. "Let's be honest—I haven't been kind to you and your team. I think the way you got elected is a joke. I think you have little experience and barely know what you're doing. Just because you can speak two languages doesn't mean you know how to effectively communicate. I think you tried to kill me last week. And I think, in order to get suspicion off of you, you called this interview so I would look like a crazy, vindictive bitch. But I see through you. And I just wanted you to know that I'm not going to stop until the truth is out about you."

  "Ms. Tucker?"

  I froze.

  A snake-like smile slid across Guzman's face as I heard the soft footsteps of someone enter the room behind me. I could not even turn to look at him. My heart thudded against my chest. My mouth went dry. I dropped my hands back into my lap and proceeded to squeeze my fingers tightly against the palms of my hands.

  "Could you come with me?"

  I cleared my throat. I felt like I was doing that a lot around here, like the words got caught in my throat and didn't want to meet the air because I probably shouldn't be saying what it was I wanted to say.

  "No." My voice was shaky. I hated that my voice was shaky but I couldn't help that. I finally leaned forward so I could look over my shoulder at Juan Romiro. "I'm conducting an interview with the mayor, but thank you."

  "My niece is not exactly a people-person," he said.

  "And yet, she decided to become mayor of a city where she has to interact with people on a daily basis," I quipped. I had no idea where I was getting the courage to be a smartass, but I told my mouth it seriously needed to stop because I couldn't do this and not expect some repercussions.

  "An excellent point." Juan kept his dark eyes on me, his lips cracked up into a broken smile. His lips seemed chapped but weren't. They were smoker's lips, even though he smelled like putrid, expensive aftershave rather than smoke. "Get up, please, and come with me. I am happy to continue this interview. I do not think my niece was thinking very well when she decided to call this interview in the first place. How unfortunate…for you."

  I swallowed and stood up. Juan Ramiro was not a man you argued with or defied. He was not tall—probably five foot seven, maybe eight inches at the most. His thick dark hair had streaks of gray, his olive skin slightly wrinkled from his time out in the sun. He couldn't be older than mid-fifties, still handsome, svelte but not built. Almost scrawny, but he wasn't. There were crow's feet around his eyes, even when he didn't smile. He wore a white suit, his hands hanging casually in his pockets, a toothpick dangling from his lip. It felt like he didn't belong here in a mansion, like he preferred somewhere less spacious and more intimate.

  "What is that supposed to mean?" I got out. My knees shook. This wasn't good. "You didn't know about the interview? I thought she didn't do anything without your say-so first."

  Juan Ramiro chuckled as he took a step toward me, then another. I could practi
cally look him directly in the eye.

  "This is true," he agreed, nodding his head. When he touched my elbow as if to lead me somewhere, I pulled out of his grip.

  "Don't touch me," I said. "Please."

  I managed to look him in the eye, to grit my teeth together when I said it. I hoped he thought I was angry rather than scared.

  Because I knew what happened next. It happened to other people who defied the Guzmans and the Ramiros, who dug further into things that they wanted kept buried. It meant I was doing something right. It meant I was onto something, I shouldn't be here. Ramiro must know my reputation. He must understand what I could dig up given ten minutes and an empty house. He must see me as some sort of threat.

  "They know I'm here," I told him as he placed his hand on the small of my back, gently insisting I move along. I did not have to look at Stephanie Guzman to know she was smiling like an idiot.

  "Who?" Ramiro asked. "Your paper got a message that you were on the way back and we looked forward to conducting more in the future. You have no family." He led me to a grand staircase and gently pushed me up so I would be forced to ascend. "Unfortunate construction accident, no?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Terribly unfortunate. Convenient for me, yes, but unfortunate. I had hoped his niece was intelligent enough to learn from his mistakes. I thought incorrectly."

  He stepped to the nearest door.

  "Blood on my hands is easily wiped away," he said as he opened the door.

  Standing in front of us, a snarling wolf, twice the size of what a normal wolf should be, waited.

  Chapter 10

  I recognized the wolf instantly, and a loud sob ripped out of my throat. The wolf—lycan, I remembered—leapt into the air. I ducked just in time, pulling myself away from Ramiro's grip. I was only able to do so, I knew, because he was terribly surprised by the lycan's presence in the first place.