Beginnings of a, well, I guess you could call it a novel, that I am working on for National Novel Writing Month...here's a link... http://www.nanowrimo.org/
(Oh and it's not about Spike...I just liked the picture!)
Prologue
The thick, nauseating scent of blood and torturous death hung heavily in the stale morning air; burning the nostrils with its sharp, dizzying perfume.
Dismal light barely permeated the suffocating blackness, and left the sharp corners of the room, if you could deem to call it that, untouched. Charcoal shadows draped the walls, hiding all secrets. The low ceiling caved in, threatening to fall at the slightest encouragement.
Light faded in and out through the small window-like opening in the steel door. Like the soft whisperings of a ghost, oxygen hissed through a vent. It bounced off the walls sending bits of dust and grime pinging along the harsh metal floor. The sounds of the un-oiled hinges and metal scraping against metal broke the almost silence and a yellowish white light was thrown over that same floor, revealing the deep undeterminable scratches and brownish black smudges that decorated it. Three shadows appeared in the doorway, one standing tall above the other two melded together, holding each other as they were shoved into the room without ceremony and the door clanked closed behind them.
They fell to their knees huddled together in the never-ending night, clutching to each other and to hope. The woman shivered violently, body convulsing in pain. She curled herself into the man’s lap, moaning as slight movement shot lightning bolts through her worn to the bone body, trying to find some warmth in the bitter, unforgiving cold around them. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, gently tucking her head into the strong curve of his shoulder, ignoring the discomfort that exploded up his back as he leaned against the cold bare wall. Their eyes closed as he struggled to keep control of his breathing and she slipped into a fitful sleep, too worn out to fight; to think of some way out of this miserable resemblance to hell. Both tried to escape the inevitable weight that bore down on them, a mocking reminder of what horrid possibilities awaited them once day slipped into night….
Chapter One
Three months earlier…
It never failed.
As soon as Detective Malcolm Cole decided to take a much needed and deserved break from the chaotic job that was his life, his cell would ring. If he turned it off, his pager would beep, smirking at him. It was as if everyone else decided to disappear and he was the only one who could possibly solve this case or that one. True, he was good at his job, damn good. No point working at something if you weren’t going to put some effort into it. But sometimes a man needed peace. Needed quiet. Even a man who thrived on action like he did.
This time, though, he was sure he had himself covered. He was in a place where there was no phone, no pager and no way to connect to the internet. All he had, and wanted, was the sun on his skin, the warm sand as his bed, the soothing music of the waves against the shore, and ice cold beer within reach.
Perfection.
Or so he thought.
“Detective Cole?”
The strong curve of his jaw tightened visibly. “Go away.”
“I’m sorry sir, but there’s a message for you?”
Mal cracked one eye open and, even with just one eye; the evil glare the dark sapphire color shot at the intruder packed one hell of a punch. “Tell them I am on vacation.”
The nervous wisp of a man winced noticeably and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “They insisted. They said it was urgent.” Hesitating, he held the folded paper out.
Muttering curses under his breath, Mal snatched the paper from the man’s trembling fingers. As the little man scurried his way back down the beach, he scanned the contents and sighed; crumpling the paper between calloused, well-worked hands.
It never failed.
* * * *
The woman stood stiffly at attention, dark amber eyes staring straight ahead of her, full bare lips, pressed firmly together. Russet locks of hair escaped from the pins keeping her chin length bob off the triangle angles of her face. Her fists were softly clenched at her sides, as though holding a roll of quarters, in perfect alignment with the thin red stripes running down the sides of the black jumpsuit.
On the outside, she was the meek follower; the willing disciple; the loyal angle to Lord Damien’s great, worthy cause.
On the inside, undercover detective Bailey Sloane was paralyzed with fear. It caught in her throat and threatened to escape each time she opened her mouth to call out with the rest:
“Yes, Lord Damien!”
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
* * * *
Mal stormed into Captain Julia Caine’s office a little over twenty-four hours later, after an over crowded red-eye flight and a five-hour layover in storm-ridden, windy Newark where he then took a plane, more like a bus with wings really, that flung him and fellow passengers from sided to side the whole flight. Then there was the lovely tradition of locating a cab and fighting to the front for it.
To put it nicely, he wasn’t in the best of moods.
Ignoring her indication to sit, he placed his hands on her desk and leaned forward, anger steaming from his pores and glowered at her.
She barely glanced up from her paperwork.
“You’re going.”
Mal straightened, crossing his arms, eyes blazing. “Give me one good reason.”
Her head rose, gray eyes flashing back, but her voice was cool. “For one, you’re the best and this case demands it. For two,” she leaned back in her chair, and clasped her hands together. “And I’m quoting my mother on this, ‘because I said so.’”
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “‘Because I said so?’”
She smiled. “Best I got.”
His lip twitched in an attempt to hide a grin as he settled into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “You need better writers.”
She chuckled and rose, moving around the desk and leaned back against it. “I am sorry I had to call you back, but I need you for this case.”
Mal leaned forward slightly, eyes grim. “Is it that serious?” She nodded, picked up the case file that was on her desk and handed it to him. “Do you know a detective by the name of Bailey Sloane?”
“The new girl? We’ve talked a few times…” he trailed off as his gaze caught on a name. “Harold Cruller. Son of a bitch.” He looked back up at his boss, blue eyes going black. “You sent Sloane?”
“She’s one of the few one who wouldn’t have set off red flags. Just about all of us have had run-ins with him and would have been recognized right off the bat.”
“But such a tiny little thing? She’s going to get eaten alive.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. From what I have read up on her, she is well trained in several types of martial arts and her previous captain’s got nothing but praise for her. He says she is quick-minded, thorough and,” she smirked, “stubborn as hell. Sound like anyone we know?”
“Not at all.” He closed the file. “If she’s as good as you say, then why do you need me?”
“I received some disturbing and, let’s say, unusual news from the Houston Police Department. They had heard that we were investigating Cruller and thought we might like to know.”
“Know what?”
“Cruller’s parents were found stabbed to death in their home over a week ago.”
“From what I know, that sounds like Cruller’s M.O. What was so unusual about that?”
“According to the coroner’s report, the knife wounds were made postmortem.”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Postmortem? Then what killed them?”
She paused, unsure quite how to say it. “It seems their bodies were drained of blood.”
Mal arched an eyebrow. “Drained of blood? Wait,” he looked at her credulously. “Are you saying a vampire did this?”
She threw up her hands. “I’m not saying anything. You know my thoughts about that kind of thing…but they did find Cruller’s DNA at the site so he is the one who stabbed them, and that means this case just got a hell of a lot more serious.”
“And Cruller’s got a partner who is possibly more dangerous than he is.” He leaned forward. “I repeat: Sloane’s going to be eaten alive.”
“Not if I can help it.” The captain stood, crossing to the window that looked out over her department. Hers; every last one of them. And she was going to be damned if she was going to lose any one of them. “That’s why I am sending you in as backup.” She turned her head to look at him. “I know with that damn stubbornness of yours that you will do everything within your power to bring her home alive.”
“And it’s also a plus that he’s never seen me either.” Her brow furrowed.
“Why is that exactly? How is it that my top detective has never come in contact with him?”
He shrugged. “He got lucky.”
She turned back to the squad room.
“I’d say his luck just ran out.”
The thick, nauseating scent of blood and torturous death hung heavily in the stale morning air; burning the nostrils with its sharp, dizzying perfume.
Dismal light barely permeated the suffocating blackness, and left the sharp corners of the room, if you could deem to call it that, untouched. Charcoal shadows draped the walls, hiding all secrets. The low ceiling caved in, threatening to fall at the slightest encouragement.
Light faded in and out through the small window-like opening in the steel door. Like the soft whisperings of a ghost, oxygen hissed through a vent. It bounced off the walls sending bits of dust and grime pinging along the harsh metal floor. The sounds of the un-oiled hinges and metal scraping against metal broke the almost silence and a yellowish white light was thrown over that same floor, revealing the deep undeterminable scratches and brownish black smudges that decorated it. Three shadows appeared in the doorway, one standing tall above the other two melded together, holding each other as they were shoved into the room without ceremony and the door clanked closed behind them.
They fell to their knees huddled together in the never-ending night, clutching to each other and to hope. The woman shivered violently, body convulsing in pain. She curled herself into the man’s lap, moaning as slight movement shot lightning bolts through her worn to the bone body, trying to find some warmth in the bitter, unforgiving cold around them. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, gently tucking her head into the strong curve of his shoulder, ignoring the discomfort that exploded up his back as he leaned against the cold bare wall. Their eyes closed as he struggled to keep control of his breathing and she slipped into a fitful sleep, too worn out to fight; to think of some way out of this miserable resemblance to hell. Both tried to escape the inevitable weight that bore down on them, a mocking reminder of what horrid possibilities awaited them once day slipped into night….
Chapter One
Three months earlier…
It never failed.
As soon as Detective Malcolm Cole decided to take a much needed and deserved break from the chaotic job that was his life, his cell would ring. If he turned it off, his pager would beep, smirking at him. It was as if everyone else decided to disappear and he was the only one who could possibly solve this case or that one. True, he was good at his job, damn good. No point working at something if you weren’t going to put some effort into it. But sometimes a man needed peace. Needed quiet. Even a man who thrived on action like he did.
This time, though, he was sure he had himself covered. He was in a place where there was no phone, no pager and no way to connect to the internet. All he had, and wanted, was the sun on his skin, the warm sand as his bed, the soothing music of the waves against the shore, and ice cold beer within reach.
Perfection.
Or so he thought.
“Detective Cole?”
The strong curve of his jaw tightened visibly. “Go away.”
“I’m sorry sir, but there’s a message for you?”
Mal cracked one eye open and, even with just one eye; the evil glare the dark sapphire color shot at the intruder packed one hell of a punch. “Tell them I am on vacation.”
The nervous wisp of a man winced noticeably and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “They insisted. They said it was urgent.” Hesitating, he held the folded paper out.
Muttering curses under his breath, Mal snatched the paper from the man’s trembling fingers. As the little man scurried his way back down the beach, he scanned the contents and sighed; crumpling the paper between calloused, well-worked hands.
It never failed.
* * * *
The woman stood stiffly at attention, dark amber eyes staring straight ahead of her, full bare lips, pressed firmly together. Russet locks of hair escaped from the pins keeping her chin length bob off the triangle angles of her face. Her fists were softly clenched at her sides, as though holding a roll of quarters, in perfect alignment with the thin red stripes running down the sides of the black jumpsuit.
On the outside, she was the meek follower; the willing disciple; the loyal angle to Lord Damien’s great, worthy cause.
On the inside, undercover detective Bailey Sloane was paralyzed with fear. It caught in her throat and threatened to escape each time she opened her mouth to call out with the rest:
“Yes, Lord Damien!”
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
* * * *
Mal stormed into Captain Julia Caine’s office a little over twenty-four hours later, after an over crowded red-eye flight and a five-hour layover in storm-ridden, windy Newark where he then took a plane, more like a bus with wings really, that flung him and fellow passengers from sided to side the whole flight. Then there was the lovely tradition of locating a cab and fighting to the front for it.
To put it nicely, he wasn’t in the best of moods.
Ignoring her indication to sit, he placed his hands on her desk and leaned forward, anger steaming from his pores and glowered at her.
She barely glanced up from her paperwork.
“You’re going.”
Mal straightened, crossing his arms, eyes blazing. “Give me one good reason.”
Her head rose, gray eyes flashing back, but her voice was cool. “For one, you’re the best and this case demands it. For two,” she leaned back in her chair, and clasped her hands together. “And I’m quoting my mother on this, ‘because I said so.’”
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “‘Because I said so?’”
She smiled. “Best I got.”
His lip twitched in an attempt to hide a grin as he settled into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “You need better writers.”
She chuckled and rose, moving around the desk and leaned back against it. “I am sorry I had to call you back, but I need you for this case.”
Mal leaned forward slightly, eyes grim. “Is it that serious?” She nodded, picked up the case file that was on her desk and handed it to him. “Do you know a detective by the name of Bailey Sloane?”
“The new girl? We’ve talked a few times…” he trailed off as his gaze caught on a name. “Harold Cruller. Son of a bitch.” He looked back up at his boss, blue eyes going black. “You sent Sloane?”
“She’s one of the few one who wouldn’t have set off red flags. Just about all of us have had run-ins with him and would have been recognized right off the bat.”
“But such a tiny little thing? She’s going to get eaten alive.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. From what I have read up on her, she is well trained in several types of martial arts and her previous captain’s got nothing but praise for her. He says she is quick-minded, thorough and,” she smirked, “stubborn as hell. Sound like anyone we know?”
“Not at all.” He closed the file. “If she’s as good as you say, then why do you need me?”
“I received some disturbing and, let’s say, unusual news from the Houston Police Department. They had heard that we were investigating Cruller and thought we might like to know.”
“Know what?”
“Cruller’s parents were found stabbed to death in their home over a week ago.”
“From what I know, that sounds like Cruller’s M.O. What was so unusual about that?”
“According to the coroner’s report, the knife wounds were made postmortem.”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Postmortem? Then what killed them?”
She paused, unsure quite how to say it. “It seems their bodies were drained of blood.”
Mal arched an eyebrow. “Drained of blood? Wait,” he looked at her credulously. “Are you saying a vampire did this?”
She threw up her hands. “I’m not saying anything. You know my thoughts about that kind of thing…but they did find Cruller’s DNA at the site so he is the one who stabbed them, and that means this case just got a hell of a lot more serious.”
“And Cruller’s got a partner who is possibly more dangerous than he is.” He leaned forward. “I repeat: Sloane’s going to be eaten alive.”
“Not if I can help it.” The captain stood, crossing to the window that looked out over her department. Hers; every last one of them. And she was going to be damned if she was going to lose any one of them. “That’s why I am sending you in as backup.” She turned her head to look at him. “I know with that damn stubbornness of yours that you will do everything within your power to bring her home alive.”
“And it’s also a plus that he’s never seen me either.” Her brow furrowed.
“Why is that exactly? How is it that my top detective has never come in contact with him?”
He shrugged. “He got lucky.”
She turned back to the squad room.
“I’d say his luck just ran out.”
