"Macey. " He pulled her away, looked into her wide, shocked eyes. "Go down and call the police. Have them send Detective Linwood. And Officer Bailey. "

To his relief, she went, still dazed but moving purposefully. "Linwood. And Bailey. "

Grady turned back to the carnage on the bed. He'd seen a lot of senseless violence in his life. But the brutality visited on a weak, elderly woman was one of the worst sights he'd ever beheld. Her throat and arms, even one of her thighs, had been mutilated, torn and fed upon in the same way Jennie Fallon and the victims from The Gyro had been. Blood still dripped off the edge of the bed in ominous plops, telling him the attackers hadn't been gone for more than a few hours.

And why the blazing hell did they need to tie her down like that? The poor woman hadn't had the strength of a gnat. He hoped like hell she'd died quickly. But the way the ropes dug into her wrists and ankles, along with the raw chafing of her paper-thin flesh, told him that was a futile hope. Jaw tight, he used his knife to cut her free. When he heard footsteps on the stairs, he grabbed a robe off the chair and flung it over the body.

"I called from. . . her telephone. " Macey stood on the threshold of her flat, looking forlorn and exhausted. But the dazed expression had eased from her eyes, replaced by g to bring a stake. laprief-and something else, cold and flat. "They're coming. "

Grady wanted to wrap her in his arms, drag her close to him and hold her tightly, bury his face in her soft hair, make her forget, remind himself how easily it could have been her. . . but there was the matter of that coat she was wearing. He'd seen enough bare thigh through its bottom flap to know she was missing more than one article of clothing. And there were the marks on her neck, faint but unmistakable. He didn't care for any of the explanations that came to mind. Nevertheless. . .

"You can't stay here. I'll help you get some things together, all right?"

"I'll do it. "

She dug through her bureau and closet, then went into the small bathroom while Grady took the opportunity to look around the flat for clues. Not that it mattered-by now he had no doubt the perpetrators were vampires.

At this thought, a chilly string of alarm trailed down his spine. If what he'd read in The Venators was even half accurate, these undead beings were evil beyond anything he'd encountered, even during the War.

The undead could leave bloodstained fingerprints or even a trail to their lair and it wouldn't matter. The police-even those few who were actually still interested in carrying out justice-would be ineffectual in tracking down a vampire. Attempting to arrest or incarcerate one would be absurd.

The sound of sirens announced the arrival of the fuzz, and Grady went to the window to look down. That was when he noticed the rosary, still on the sill. He stuffed it in his pocket.

The door to the bathroom opened and Macey came out, fully attired at last. She wore a soft pink blouse with a high collar over a taupe skirt that went just past her knees, and a wide swatch of floral fabric tied around her hair. Blue-black curls winged out around the nape of her neck and jaw. Despite her subdued attire, she still looked pale and the tip of her nose was tinged red. She didn't look toward the bed.

Grady met his uncle and colleagues at the bottom of the stairs and gave them a brief overview as they climbed up. As a homicide detective, and one of the few honest ones on the force-along with Gern Bailey, who'd accompanied him as requested-Linwood was already sadly familiar with this particular type of crime. Although Grady hadn't told him everything he'd learned from reading The Venators, or even about Macey and the stake and vampire ash in her flat, he and his uncle had discussed the unsettling possibility that something unnatural was causing these murders.

When Linwood was introduced to Macey, he flickered a glance at Grady and lifted a brow. Obviously, he remembered meeting her on the street a few weeks ago. Grady gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment and remained silent while his uncle took her statement.

"I came home early yesterday morning after spending the night at my girlfriend's house, and then I had to go into work around noon. I didn't speak to Mrs. G, but I heard her on the phone when I left. I was back briefly last night, around six-thirty. I didn't see or hear Mrs. G at that time. I haven't been back since. " She didn't look at Grady.

He had just missed seeing her last night, then. He'd arrived a little after seven and spoken to Mrs. Gutchinson at that time-who told him she hadn't seen Macey for days. That was when the cold fingers of fear began to tighten around his middle. If the nosy landlady hadn't seen her on a Saturday, that was unusual. And his suspicions were correct: she hadn't slept in her own bed last night either.

"I don't need any further information from you at this time, Miss Denton. " Linwood, a stocky, straight-speaking man, was businesslike but empathetic. He nodded a dismissal to his nephew, then turned to join Officer Bailey and the coroner in examining the scene.

"Let's go. " Grady looked at Macey. She didn't hesitate, but as she picked up a valise with her things in it, she glanced toward the bed. Then, her jaw shifting visibly, she led the way from her flat.

He wondered if she'd ever return.

Grady debated all the way to the ground floor what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do. . . but there were a lot of unknown factors involved. Including the man's coat she'd slung over her bag and was obviously intending to return.

But when he settled behind the steering wheel and pushed the ignition, he finally had to ask. "Where to, Macey? Something to eat? A place to rest?"

"I'm not the least bit hungry. I. . . don't know. " She looked down at her hands. "I'm not thinking very straight right now. "

And obviously she wasn't intending to return that damned coat any time soon. Grady felt a little more optimistic with that realization. "All right then. "

He took her to his place. It was, he told himself, reasonable. She wanted to rest, she likely didn't want to be around anyone who wanted to talk, but if she did, he'd be there. And she hadn't offered any other option-no other friends or family. No sense in checking into a hotel.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd finally tell him what was happening.

Macey didn't let on, but she was relieved when Grady took her home. She didn't feel comfortable making the suggestion herself, but it was exactly where she wanted to go.

Why, she wasn't completely certain. She kept having to remind herself she'd only known him for less than a month, and had only been in his company a few times. She had no claim on him or his time and attention. Nor could she expend an unmistakable slyy energy mulling over why she had such a connection to him. She had enough problems and questions tearing at her mind like angry claws.

Unlike Macey and Chas, Grady didn't live in an upper flat, but a small, two-story brick twin that took up half a narrow building on a neighborhood street corner. By the names on some of the establishments-O'Brien's, McFeaster's, Garrick's-she figured they were in the heart of some Irish enclave.

Desperate to give herself something to focus on besides the horror of the last twenty hours, Macey looked around his home with interest. At first glance she guessed it was about three times as large as her flat.

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