He's a friend. It's fine.

Like hell.

But Grady made the fatal mistake of going to his automobile, assuming they'd get into a car and he'd follow. Besides, his gun was under the seat.

Instead of getting in their own vehicle, Macey and her escort turned down a pedestrian alley a block away and across the street. By the time Grady got there, they were out of sight.

Sonofabitch.

He looked around for a while, talked to a few witnesses who'd seen them, but he'd lost their trail. Now Grady sat behind the steering wheel and curs

ed. Hope to hell you know what you're doing, lass.

But he didn't have a good feeling at all. Especially since he was pretty over the back of her neck sly damned sure that had been a vampire bite on her delicate neck.

He swore again and pushed the ignition, engaging the engine, considering his next move. Then, his mind made up, he pulled into the street.

Fifteen minutes later, Grady was out of his car, knocking on the front door of Mrs. Gutchinson's house. There were many ways to go about finding answers, and thanks to his work during the War, he knew a hell of a lot of them. Some techniques were legal, and others. . . not.

He decided to start with a legal one.

"What? You again? Where's Macey?" The spirited landlady, who was hardly more than skin and bones, was already demanding answers before the door was fully open. Though she'd probably watched him approach alone, she peered around as if to spy Macey lurking in the bushes.

"She's at the library. But she left a book here and begged me to fetch it for her since I have an auto. I told her I would, if you'd allow me. " He gave her his warmest smile, knowing just how to make his eyes sparkle.

"What book? Where is it?"

"It's a volume of Gray's Anatomy," he said without hesitation. "So will you be letting me in, or do I have to go back and tell her my Irish charm wasn't working on you today?" He made his eyes glint with levity, knowing they'd be crinkling at the corners and that his dimple would be showing.

Mrs. Gutchinson stepped back and gestured him into the foyer with a large-knuckled hand. "I suppose I could let you. But I'm gonna be watchin' you every bit of the time. Don't want you pawing through that girl's drawers. "

Good thing she was already climbing the steps ahead of him and didn't see the expression on his face. And just what sort of lacy things does Miss Macey Denton have in her drawers? That thought was enough to keep him smiling to himself, despite the landlady's skinny, sagging behind creaking slowly ahead of him-precisely at eye level.

However, the slow progress up the creaking steps gave him the opportunity to arrange for the second part of his plan. Mrs. Gutchinson was so enamored with her own voice, she didn't notice when he paused to balance a small can of pebbles between two spines of the staircase railing. Precariously situated, the container would tip with the slightest bit of encouragement.

So just as Mrs. Gutchinson finished unlocking Macey's door, Grady bumped hard against the railing at the top of the steps. The apartment door opened as the railing jolted and the can went tumbling.

"What on earth?" Mrs. Gutchinson whirled, looking behind her. One thing he had to say-the woman had excellent hearing. Of course, the rattling sound all the way down the steps and ending metallic clunk was hard to miss.

"I don't know what that was. Sounded like it came from down there," Grady said helpfully. He stepped neatly aside as she turned, allowing her past him to make her way down the stairs as quickly the slightest bit of encouragement. He slipped into Macey's apartment. Her scent-something floral without being cloying-lingered, along with the layer of another musty, nauseating smell that put him in mind of a graveyard. Or a morgue-a place he'd had the misfortune of visiting far too often. Knowing he didn't have much time, he quickly looked around and snatched up the first book he saw: on the bedside table. It was too old to easily read the title on front or spine, so Mrs. Gutchinson would just have to take his word it was Gray's Anatomy.

Holding it protectively against his chest, he examined the rest of the small flat while listening for the landlady's return.

It wasn't particularly neat, but nor was Macey's living space cluttered. Her bed was made, and his attention lingered there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary, noting how inviting it looked with the white crewel-stitched coverlet and a variety of colorful pillows. Dresses of slinky, silky fabric were folded over the back of a chair. A few canned and boxed goods were on the kitchenette's counters along with a loaf of bread. Then he saw the broken broomstick. The broom part was on the floor near the fridge. The other half, with its wicked-looking point, was on her dresser next to perfume bottles, hair combs, a hand mirror, and several pairs of earrings.

Interesting.

He picked up the broken stick and sniffed it. The foul, musty smell was strong there. When he pulled his hand away, he felt and saw an ashy, gritty residue. It, too, smelled foul.

Damn. His suspicions were looking more and more probable.

A strand of beads glittered on the windowsill, and, replacing the broken broomstick next to a torn picture on her dresser, Grady went to take a closer look.

Good Catholic boy he was-or had been, anyway, in Dublin; he hadn't been in a church for years, thanks to the War-he knew a rosary when he saw one. The prayer loop was a circle of beads with a short extension that ended in a cross. The circular part consisted of five sections of ten beads each-for the Hail Marys-separated by a single, larger bead that represented the Our Father. The tail had three Hail Mary beads with an Our Father bead on each side. Then the cross, which was for the Apostle's Creed.

Usually.

But this rosary, made of silver links with blue-black beads, had an extra decoration on the extension. A bead that didn't match the others, linked in between the cross and the first Our Father nodule. It was a rosy pearl, set in ornate silver filigree, and dangling from the setting was a tiny silver cross. The size of his small fingernail.

Tags: Colleen Gleason The Gardella Vampire Hunters Vampires
Source: readsnovelonline.net