Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

The crime had never been solved, and in a village like Saranac Lake, there weren’t enough resources to keep the investigation active. He’d moved on himself, started working for SSTIX. Maybe the incident more than eight years ago had inspired his interest in xenocrime, but the federal wages and benefits, as well as the chance to stay in Saranac Lake and still remain in law enforcement, had been the deciding factors in taking the job.

The old case could only vaguely be deemed SSTIX territory, but his personal interest—in Elena, in Toni’s connection to John Hampton, in the mystery of that night—remained.

Have you finally found him, Toni?

Kurt collected some clean clothes in the laundry room and shoved them into a backpack, then scribbled a note to Brenda:

Something came up with that case. May be gone most of the weekend. So sorry. Go ahead and buy that bedroom set you wanted. We’ll break it in when I get back.

With the case files in his briefcase and the backpack over his shoulder, he left the house as quietly as possible and drove to the bus station. He parked a short distance away, close enough to see the station clearly but far enough away that he wasn’t obvious.

A few minutes later, a cab rolled up and Toni Brown got out.

Using his Droid, he found the location of the Cleveland Greyhound station and programmed it into his GPS. He’d arrive in eight hours. Plenty of time to get there, sleep a while, and get into position to continue surveillance.

Twenty-five minutes away from home, I nearly drove into a ditch because I felt Menessos rise. I wasn’t ready for the intensity of the sudden sensations that rocked me, or the awareness of his painful awakening. At least the sentinels Zhan had ordered to follow me in the Audi stayed off my bumper after that.

Twilight had fallen when I put the Avalon in park in my driveway. The guys in the Audi parked alongside me. With everything that had transpired in the last hour and a half—and now that road safety wasn’t a concern—I wanted a few minutes to just shut everything else out and piece together my thoughts.

Yeah, that would’ve been nice, but I wasn’t going to be that lucky.

Before I was even out of the car, the front door opened and Menessos appeared on my front porch. His hair was still shower-damp, and he had not yet donned his suit jacket.

Leaving the duffel in the passenger seat, I got out and shoved my keys into my pocket, thereby rediscovering how much my hands hurt.

I’m tough. If I focus on getting back to the haven and dealing with the shabbubitum, I can break down later. Just not tonight.

As I stepped onto the porch, Menessos said my name softly. He reached out to touch my cheek and asked, “What’s wrong?”

I don’t know why, but when I’m fighting tears, if someone is kind or empathetic I immediately lose the battle. With Menessos being both kind and empathetic, it instantly dissolved the mental plugs crammed into my tear ducts.

I fell into his arms, sobbing. I didn’t care that I seemed weak. I didn’t care that the men in the Audi could see me. I didn’t even care that Menessos would use this to get his way about something someday. I just had to release some of my grief or I’d explode.

The vampire held me so tenderly, smoothing my hair and patiently letting me cry it all out. In his embrace, each breath seemed easier, the flood of tears tapered to a trickle, and the burden on my hurting heart grew lighter.

When I finally stopped, the world was darker. Colder. And his curls were dry.

“Oh, Persephone.”

I met his eyes.

This was his time, the night. This was when the life vampires knew was regained, and his gentle embrace imparted to me a piece of the promise inherent in his preternatural existence: You will carry on.

I accepted that quiet strength. “Thanks.”

He kept one arm around my shoulders, guiding me as he reached for the screen door. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm, shall we?”

In the living room he saw me to the couch, then stood awkwardly nearby as I wiped my cheeks. He said nothing, so I asked, “Where’s Mountain and Ivanka?”

“Still at the ER, I’m afraid. Ivanka is having surgery. Screw, plates, and whatnot.” Seeing my shock and concern, he added, “She will be fine.”

“Zhan?”

“I sent her to lie down.”

He fed from her.

He sat next to me. “I’d offer to make you coffee, but I must confess I do not know how.”

I tried to smile for him. It was a weak and watered-down version. His attempt to express contentedness was much more successful. He stroked my hair and tucked a lock behind my ear. “As an alternative, may I pour you a drink?”

I shook my head. “Not a good time to start drinking.”

“ Au contraire .” He gave a little tug on my hair. “I know what you need.”

“Let’s just get to the haven, okay? You drive.” I offered him the keys.

He waved me off. “I don’t drive much.”

I thought back. He’d always been chauffeured in a limo or a cab. Or he walked. “You don’t know how.”

He sat straighter. “I do so.”

My stare remained steady.

“You are simply more experienced,” he said reasonably. “And we have little time.”

Right. Break down later. “Fine.” I stood. “But while I’m behind the wheel you’re not allowed to ask me what happened.”

He stood too. “I did not intend to ask, dear master. You may tell me when you want me to know. Or not.”

On I-71, I set the cruise control at a modest seventy-two miles per hour.

Menessos busily sent and received messages on his satellite phone. He seemed calm, but I didn’t recall any other time when he’d been so enamored with messaging. I wasn’t surprised he had things to take care of, but I wondered why he didn’t just make calls. Then it hit me: I had already shown him I’d been pushed to the edge of breaking down. Whatever he didn’t want me to overhear must have been info that would have added to my anxiety.

My line of reasoning added to it anyway. My stomach was in knots by the time he was finally finished texting. Directing my thoughts away from the mind-rape he was going to endure, I said, “So. Who was the creepy dude you sent to the house?”

He fidgeted but didn’t answer.

“Menessos.” My firm tone had some effect, but not the kind that won me an answer.

“What did you think of him?”

After being too stubborn to answer, his question was far too casual. “What part of ‘creepy’ didn’t convey what I thought of him?”

Menessos gave a short laugh. “Well, I was hoping you might go into detail.”

“Funny, I was hoping the same thing.”

We sat in silence while two mile markers passed.

I broke. “At least give me a name.”

“Creepy is more fitting than you know.”

“Then what is he? He freaking dematerialized himself.”

“Really? That’s quite interesting.”

My voice was low and my lips hardly moved as I said, “Menessos.”

He shivered. “Zhan told me what he did to the dragon, and how Ivanka’s arm was broken.”

“Yeah, and your note said you would send help. Ivanka could have avoided her injury if the person you chose to send possessed less apparent stalkerishness and more tact.” I waited for him to offer something. He didn’t.

Johnny’s attack had just royally screwed up my ability to trust him, and now Menessos was withholding important information. So my next tactic was a low blow. “Well, at least the shabbubitum will figure out what the big secret about this is. I hope I get to hear it from them.”