Chapter Seven
Chloe felt the bile rising in her throat as they approached the bloody mess that had once been alive. She choked it down, willing herself not to faint and then felt a subtle pressure as though someone had put a hand on her shoulder. She even turned to look. Gavin stood close, his dark eyes fixed on her, but his hands remained at his sides. But…it was almost as though she could feel his strength surrounding her, taking the light-headedness away.
“Perhaps you should go back inside,” he said. “I can already hear the sirens. In a minute this place will be crawling with police and media. The less said by anyone right now the better.”
Chloe didn’t hear any sirens, but of course, the police would be on their way. Already neighbors were beginning to line the streets although none of them approached. They probably didn’t want to witness another gruesome sight.
“I’m a reporter. I need to cover this.” She inched forward, forcing herself to look at the woman. What was left of her scanty clothes had been shredded and her neck had been broken, but not severed. Vicious gashes that looked suspiciously like claw marks exposed muscle, tissue and bone on her arms and legs and there were large areas of dried brown smudges on her inner thighs. Dried blood. Chloe’s hand shook as she stifled a cry. “She’s been raped too.”
Gavin took her arm, pulling her back. “Apparently.” He looked up as the first squad car squealed to a stop, followed by a parade of flashing red and blue lights. “Don’t make any vocal assumptions.”
Chloe watched in a semi-frozen frame of mind as the crime scene squad efficiently roped off the area. Mr. Smith’s security guards were on in front too, reminding the media this was personal property and to stay on the street. That didn’t deter many since their satellite trucks had scoping equipment and reporters were already scrambling onto the roofs of the vans.
It was turning into a circus and there were times when Chloe hated her job and wished reporters would have some respect for crime victims, although this one wasn’t going to know the difference. Still. The television people were in a near frenzy trying to get live video feed to break the story first.
Mr. Smith had returned quickly to the house, but Chloe saw Caldwell talking to a skinny young reporter. Vaguely she recalled his last name was Clark and he worked for a rival paper. She wondered if Alan hadn’t heard Gavin’s warning not to give out information or if he wanted his fifteen minutes of fame.
Gavin was talking to Captain Johnson who had just arrived. Chloe started over to them, but a young officer with closely cropped blond hair and vivid blue eyes stopped her. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
He looked more like a college kid than a cop, but her mind was muddled. “I don’t know that I can be any help.”
“You were at the other crime scene a week ago.”
Chloe started. “How do you know that?”
He eyed her hair and smiled slightly. “You’re kind of hard to miss. And, if I remember correctly, you were a reporter. How did you get here so fast this time?”
“I… I was having dinner here.”
He glanced up at the mansion. “Isn’t this the place where that wealthy eccentric who calls himself John Smith lives?”
She nodded, anticipating his next question. “I don’t think he’s available for questioning right now. He was quite overcome.”
His focus settled on her. “I’m sure the captain will take that into consideration. Are you a friend of Smith’s?
“I’m helping his biographer market a memoir.”
“I imagine a man like that would have some interesting stories. I did some checking the last few days. Doesn’t he have a bunch of medieval weapons?”
“Yes. Mr. Caldwell—the writer—originally did an article on them.”
“Seems I read something about him searching for some Celtic relics to add to his collection. Do you know anything about that?”
Chloe felt her face heat. What to say? She hated lying, but Gavin was right. The less said right now the better. “I only met Mr. Smith last week.” The officer watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly and for the briefest possible second, she thought she saw red sparks, but that was impossible. It must have been the reflection of the flashing squad car lights.
Do you have any idea of why two mutilated victims would turn up in front of his house within a week’s time?”
“None.”
“Ummm. Seems strange that two women who worked for him are missing and now these victims are found. Has Smith mentioned receiving any unusual messages?”
Chloe had the strange feeling that he was fishing for something. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Miss Whitney!” Gavin called. “Would you join us over here?”
She knew he was just trying to get her away from the conversation, but her heart fluttered strangely anyway. It would be nice if he maybe Gavin was a little bit concerned. “Excuse me,” she said.
The officer glanced toward Gavin and Captain Johnson and snapped his notepad shut. “Of course.”
When she joined them, Captain Johnson was looking past her. “Who was that?”
She blinked at him. “One of your officers.”
“Did you get his name?”
“Um…no.”
“Badge number?”
“Um…no. Why?” She cringed inwardly at how inept she sounded. She usually paid attention to small details.
The captain shook his head. “I just didn’t recognize him.”
“Dallas is a big PD,” she said and then glanced at Gavin who was also staring past her. Chloe turned, but the young, blond officer was nowhere to be seen. Caldwell had disappeared too, although the skinny reporter was still on the street.
“Did you need me for something?” she asked.
She thought she saw Gavin’s dark eyes flicker with something that looked like lust, but then decided her over-active imagination had taken over her poor, befuddled brain. First red sparks and now—desire? She was losing it.
“Are you going to swoon again, Miss Whitney?” Gavin asked sharply.
There was nothing lustful in that tone. “I do not swoon.”
“Of course you don’t,” he replied in a tone that meant he didn’t believe a word of what he said.
“I do not swoon,” she said again and then felt the world spin completely out of her control.
* * * *
“Oh, dear!” Mr. Smith said as he wrung his hands and looked down at Chloe lying on the sofa. “This is too much! That horrible murder out there and now Chloe has fainted a second time at my house!”
“You think she’s pregnant?” Caldwell asked from across the room.
Gavin had not sensed a second heartbeat. Vampires had preternatural perception to fetuses in any mammal, much like the sonar that dolphins used. He shook his head. “Doubtful. Those maladies usually happen in the morning.”
“Shall I call a doctor?” Mr. Smith asked.
If what Gavin suspected was wrong with her, no medical doctor would be able to help. “I don’t think it will be necessary. Miss Whitney was probably overcome with the crime scene.” In a sense, that was true, but not because of her own lack of fortitude. In the short time he’d known her, she had displayed a good deal of spunk.
Chloe had been psychically drained.
He’d felt it when he caught her outside. Her skin was as cool to the touch as a vampire’s who had not fed in a good while. Her life essence was there, but it was feeble, almost flickering. His kind could do that, but it required a bite and he had not felt the presence of a vampire anywhere. A very powerful witch or a demon would have that ability as well. Either could have been in the crowd this evening, but the air had been filled with too much frenzied, kinetic energy to hone in on that, not that he had been looking. He’d been trying to piece together why the dragon was dropping bodies at Smith’s mansion. He suspected it was Balor’s way of letting him know that he was being watched.
Gavin looked down at Chloe. She was still pale, but not as deathly white as before. He wished Nimue would make her presence known, the sooner the better. Even if she didn’t have exact information, she might have a clue as to where to find the platter. Then he could be on his way looking for it. He was fairly sure that Sigurd would follow him, but Gavin did not like the fact that two mortal women had disappeared in the process of locating the spear and sword. He didn’t want Chloe—Miss Whitney—to be the next target.
Of course, Nimue was probably scattering faerie dust somewhere, oblivious to time in the real world.
Gavin edged himself onto the sofa and began massaging Chloe’s temples lightly.
If he were alone with her, he could have tasted her blood to determine exactly who—or what—had gotten into her mind, but with Smith and Caldwell watching, he had to use a less obtrusive method.
“You are safe now.” He sent the thought silently. “You can come back to us.”
Her breathing deepened. Whatever had its hold on her was gone. In a few minutes, she’d recover. Gavin eased himself away and as he did, a button popped on her blouse, sliding off one shoulder and revealing the full roundness of her breast. Quickly, he slipped the shirt back up before either Caldwell or Smith had time to see what he just had. Under any other circumstances, the sight of that luscious mound, a lacy bra barely covering a pink nipple, would have had him salivating, but that wasn’t what had caught his eye. Well, actually it had caught his eye—he was still a male, just an immortal one—but it was something else that made a chill run down his spine.
Chloe had a tiny red and gold dragon tattooed on the side of her breast.
He took a deep breath as she stirred and opened her eyes. Mr. Smith dashed over to her with Caldwell close behind. Gavin ignored both of them, deep in thought.
Was it possible that Sigurd had been following Chloe instead of him? The likeness of the Pendragon, the white dragon’s nemesis, would certainly have attracted him. Some demon or witch had entered her mind this evening, so the link was there.
If the dragon had attached itself to Chloe, the worst thing Gavin could do was desert her while he went hunting for the platter. She would have no idea of how to defend herself against it or the forces behind all of this.
Which meant, Gavin would have to take Chloe with him.
With the strange bloodlust urge he had when he was around her, Gavin wasn’t sure which would be the most dangerous.
* * * *
‘She was a prostitute? Oh, my!” Mr. Smith’s hands fluttered as he wrung his linen handkerchief and stared at Captain Johnson sitting in his study. “Whatever would a prostitute be doing in this neighborhood?”
“Doubtful she was working somewhere else,” the captain answered. “There was little blood on your lawn and, as gashed up as the body is, plenty of blood had been spilled. She was dropped off.” He turned to Chloe who was seated near Gavin across the room still looking pale. “You say you thought you saw a flash of lightning?”
“I wasn’t sure. I heard the roar about the same time and thought a funnel had touched down.” Actually, the noise outside from the media trucks setting up and the general bustle of reporters crowding as close to the property and testing their equipment was almost as loud.
“Not the season for tornadoes although I can see where that might be a logical first reaction. Did you see anything else? Either of you?”
Chloe shook her head. “By the time we reached the door, it was gone—whatever it was.” Although as quickly as Gavin had reached the door, she didn’t really know how anything could have gotten away so fast.
“Whatever it was left scorch marks,” Caldwell said from where he stood near the unlit hearth nursing a Scotch. “When are the police going to accept there is a dragon loose?”
Johnson eyed him coolly. “No one has called in a report of a dragon-sighting since Dr. Cameron disappeared.”
“Do you still think it was a coup de theatre?” Mr. Smith inquired. “Sophie would never stoop to such a publicity stunt.”
The captain shrugged. “Her clinic is a no-kill shelter. Those kinds of places are always in need of money. With technology and fiber-optics, the whole thing could have been a hologram-like illusion.”
“You guys really don’t want to admit a dragon exists, do you?” Caldwell asked and gestured to a window. “Those news guys out there sure do.”
Captain Johnson looked irritated. “Dragons are the stuff of faerie tales. If such creatures ever existed, they were probably dinosaurs which have been extinct for hundreds of thousands of years.”
Chloe saw the slight exchange between the captain and Gavin and remembered their previous conversation. Of course, he didn’t want to admit there was a dragon. Contrary to television and the movies, police departments didn’t employ paranormal squads. The Google searches she’d done had turned up rational excuses for the strange sightings in Charleston, the Florida Keys and New Orleans as well. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist—at least not in her fertile imagination.
Actually, it would be pretty cool to have a dragon shape shifter as a hero in the novel she wanted to write someday. How much more alpha could you get than that? Maybe—
“Miss Whitney. Are you going to answer the question?”
She snapped back to reality and looked at Gavin. “Sorry. What did you ask?”
“I didn’t,” he replied. “Mr. Smith did.”
“Actually, I was extending an invitation. I hope you will accept.”
“What is it?”
“Gavin pointed out earlier that two women who have worked closely with me have disappeared. You’ve witnessed both these killings—or what was left of them.” Mr. Smith looked slightly green. “Gavin thinks—and I quite agree—that it would be wise if you stayed here at the house until we find out who—or what—is causing these murders. I do hope you’ll say yes. I have plenty of room.”
Chloe wasn’t sure she heard correctly. Gavin wanted her to stay under the same roof with him? She glanced over, but his face was impassive. What an opportunity. Maybe if she could more time with him, she could get him interested in—and then her hopes were dashed by his next statement.
“Given the media frenzy out there, I think it might be wise if you contacted that Morgan woman and asked her to handle the PR like she did with Dr. Cameron,” he said.
Chloe nearly groaned aloud. Just great. Super-sultry sex-kitten would be slinking around too.
So not good.