Kerrelyn Sparks - Secret Life of a Vampire

Phineas McKinney was there to help him. Dougal Kincaid, who had been stationed at Romatech for five years, was reassigned to Eastern Europe to help Angus search for Casimir. Connor Buchanan was on hand to advise Jack. As personal bodyguard to Roman and the Draganesti family, Connor was often at Romatech.

Whenever Phineas made the rounds, Jack found himself alone in the security office, and his thoughts always wandered back to Lara Boucher. She hadn't called, so hopefully, that meant she was safe. He was tempted to call her, but always managed to resist. Instead, he appeased his curiosity by researching her on the computer.

He knew where she lived. He knew she worked from the Midtown North Precinct. But the more he found out about her past, the more confused he became. She didn't make sense.

She was from a town in northern Louisiana, where her father had served as mayor and her mother resided on the board at the local country club. Lara could be living a charmed life there, so why did she move to New York City? At the age of seventeen, she'd won the title of Miss Teen Louisiana. Why would she give up a pampered life to become a police officer?

On the third night of his investigation, he located a newspaper article that was six years old. Former Miss Teen Louisiana Nearly Dies in Car Accident. His heart tightened in his chest. Santo cielo . The photo showed a crumpled car turned upside down. Lara had been inside that? He scanned the article. Intensive care. Not expected to live .

Merda . What pain and horror had this poor girl endured? He reached for the phone to call her.

No. He'd begged her to leave him alone, and she had. He closed the browser window and paced across the office. He should avoid her like Angus said. No good could come from contacting her. Instead, he should be grateful that she'd recovered from the accident. She was alive and well.

And risking her life every night on the street. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. She could have called during the day while he was in his death-sleep. No messages. He entered her home and work numbers into his phone's directory. Just in case.

Nine circles of hell . What a fool he was. Seven nights had passed, and he still wanted to see her. He almost wished she would get into trouble.

It was just after eleven Sunday night when Lara and her partner arrived at a fifth-floor condo overlooking Hudson River Park. Mrs. Kelsey Trent had called 911, asking for help before abruptly hanging up. Lara could hear the screaming voices from the hallway. A man and a woman.

Harvey knocked on the green-painted door. "NYPD!"

Lara waited about four feet away from Harvey, her weapon drawn and ready if her partner was attacked.

The door swung open. "What the hell do you want?" A middle-aged man stood there in plaid pajama bottoms and a navy T-shirt. His eyes narrowed at the sight of their uniforms. "You must be at the wrong place. There's nothing going on here."

"Are you Mr. Trent?" Harvey asked.

"Maybe. What do you want?"

The man reeked of alcohol, and Lara noted the bloody knuckles on his right hand.

"We received a call," Harvey said. "May we come in?"

"A call?" Mr. Trent gave them a confused look, then his expression cleared. He looked over his shoulder. "You stupid bitch, did you call the police?"

Lara heard a feminine groan from inside the condo.

She raised her voice. "Mrs. Trent, do you need medical attention?"

"There's nothing wrong with her," Mr. Trent insisted.

Lara lifted her chin. "We're not leaving, Mr. Trent, until we have properly assessed your wife's physical condition."

"Well, aren't you the feisty one," Mr. Trent sneered at her. "Then come in, sweetcakes, and properly assess. Assess your little ass off."

Harvey stepped into the foyer and neatly maneuvered the drunken man to the side so Lara could enter. "Can you tell me what happened, sir?"

Mr. Trent ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Kelsey slipped in the shower. That's all."

Lara quickly surveyed the foyer. An oriental rug ran the length of the polished wooden floor. Against one wall rested a wooden console table, topped with a brass lamp that illuminated the narrow hall. Arched openings led into a living room on one side and a dining room on the other. There were closed doors at the back of the foyer and a cushioned bench.

A woman sat there. Kelsey Trent, Lara assumed. Her peach-colored silk bathrobe matched her slippers. She'd folded her arms on her knees and was leaning over to rest her forehead on her arms.

"We heard your voice raised in anger," Harvey told the drunken husband.

"I was yelling at Kelsey for being so clumsy," Mr. Trent grumbled. "Because I care so much, you know."

Lara holstered her sidearm and sat on the bench next to the wife. "Mrs. Trent, are you all right?"

She lifted her head. Her left eye was puffy and bruised, and her lip was cut. She cast a wary glance at her husband. "I… fell in the shower."

"See?" Mr. Trent said. "That's what I told you."

"Let's go to the kitchen and fix you an ice pack." Lara helped the woman stand and gave Harvey a pointed look.

Harvey would understand. He would commiserate with the husband, trying to lure him into a confession of assault and battery. They could go ahead and arrest Mr. Trent on suspicion, but a confession would make it easier to convict him in court.

"Kitchen's in here." Kelsey Trent opened a door and led Lara into a brightly lit room.

Lara grabbed a dish towel off the gray granite countertop and opened the freezer door. "Do you have any other injuries?"

"No, I'm fine." Kelsey sat at the kitchen table. "I just slipped and fell."

Lara deposited a handful of ice cubes in the center of the towel. "Let's be honest about this, okay? If you had fallen in the shower, it wouldn't be just your face that was hurt."

Kelsey's shoulders drooped.

Lara folded the towel, encasing the ice inside. On the way to the table, she noticed the empty vodka bottle in the sink. "You called us for help, Kelsey. We can't help you if you won't tell us the truth."

"I–I shouldn't have fussed at him for drinking so much."

Lara handed her the ice pack. "This is not your fault. How many times has he hit you?"

Kelsey dabbed the ice pack against her lip. "This is only the second—no, third time."

"One time is too many." Lara sat beside her. "You need to put a stop to it. Press charges."

"No! That would make Charlie so mad. It would get even worse then."

"No, it would be better. He'd be in jail."

Kelsey's bruised face contorted with horror. "But what would I do without him?"

I don't know, live ? Lara tamped down on her growing frustration. "Listen, he's going to keep using you as a punching bag. In fact, you can count on him getting more and more violent."

Kelsey glanced at the open door. "What's that officer doing to him? He won't arrest Charlie, will he?"

"They're just talking for now—"

"He'd better not make Charlie mad," Kelsey continued, growing more agitated. "Charlie has a gun in the living—"

"What ?" Lara rose to her feet. "Stay here."

She unsnapped her holster as she peered into the foyer. No sign of Harvey or Charlie Trent. They must have moved into the living room. She raised her voice. "Harvey? Can I speak to you for a minute?"

"What are you doing?" Kelsey shouted. "Don't shoot my Charlie!"

"Quiet," Lara hissed. She heard male voices shouting. "Harvey!"

BAM ! A gun fired.

Kelsey screamed.

Lara's heart lurched in her chest, and she drew her weapon. "Harvey, answer me!"

"Goddammit!" Charlie roared from the living room. "You stupid bitch! This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't called the police!"