Page 14 of Redeemed
My condo, now apparently gutted by fire.
The one in the grey suit is Franklin and the one in the brown-and-beige number is Gonzales. Franklin says the fire started in the early morning hours.
“When’s the last time you were in the condo?” Gonzales has the bored tone of someone who has seen it all and can barely be bothered.
It would be easy enough to send them out the door with thesuggestionthat they haven’t learned anything useful, but I want to know if they’ve found Levy. “Last evening. I went to tell the person who was living there that I wanted him out.”
Franklin whips a small notebook out of his pocket. “And who was that?”
“A vampire named Jonathan Levy.”
Most ordinary people know that supernatural beings exist, and surely police detectives have crossed paths with the unknown before, but they both look like I’ve punched them in the gut. I give them a minute and then keep talking. “I take it you didn’t find any bodies.”
They share a glance before Gonzales speaks. “No. No bodies.”
Which means either Levy got out or one of the piles of ash belonged to him.
Damn it.
“Is there a reason you had a vampire living in your condo?” Gonzales asks. Franklin’s face is the same color grey as his suit.
I just smile, showing fang. Connor must sense that I’m out of fucks because he slides between me and the two detectives. He introduces himself, handing them both his cards.
“I’m a little confused why a couple of police detectives would be talking to us about a fire.”
Gonzales grins. “Maybe because the fire investigator had questions about how the fire was started.”
Franklin has none of his partner’s bravado. He’s staring at Connor’s card, recognition dawning so brightly I can see it. “You and Adam Smith…” His voice trails to nothing, but it’s enough to make Gonzales give Connor’s card a closer look.
Maybe I am out of fucks. “Thank you for the visit, gentlemen. If you managed to track us here, you’ll also be able to see that I bought that condominium the year it was built. If I was going to torch the place, what possible reason could I have for doing it now?”
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell us?” Gonzales is still talking big, but his bravado is showing cracks.
Connor puts a quelling hand on my arm. “So answer me this. How did you track Trajan to this house?”
A soft whimper escapes from Franklin.
“Dispatch,” Gonzales says, his affect so flat I can’t tell if he’s lying. “We got a call from dispatch telling us to come by here and talk to a man about a fire.”
“Well.” Connor lets the word ring. He crosses his arms, chin lifted. “If you want to talk any more, you’re going to have to come up with something better than that.”
Connor slides a glance my way and I step forward. “Thank you both. You’ve been very helpful.” Underneath the words, I tell them to get the hell out of here. Now.
They do.
The door closes behind them and Connor and I stand side by side.
“You think Jacques set the fire?” he asks.
“Yup.”
“And gave this address to dispatch.”
I’m damn near groaning with frustration. “Yes.”
David pops out of the bedroom. “Are the Men’s Wearhouse refugees gone?”
Connor’s the only one with the energy to laugh. My jaw’s clenched so tight I might crack a tooth. He slides his hand down my arm, interlacing our fingers. “I’m sorry about your place.”
