Caught: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance Page 2

  Five days into the worst epidemic our city had seen in over a hundred years, I arrived at the Notell Motel where I’d hidden the kids to find all fifteen feverish, lethargic, and barely able to move. Acting on instinct, coupled with a heavy dose of fear, I went to work that evening and did my job as I always did—with one exception; at the end of my shift, I took enough antibiotics from the medicine lockup to treat each child for three days.

  Telling myself it would be the only time, that I could figure something out in seventy-two hours, I prayed for an answer…but one never came. The kids continued to need my help. I continued to take what I needed and…

  “Kat, are you gonna get that, or are you just gonna sit there ignoring me and the door?”

  Shaking myself from my memories, I stuck my tongue out at Vanessa, climbed out of my chair, and went to answer the pounding at my door. No sooner was it open than I had two gold shields in my face and a tall, blond man in an ill-fitting suit was asking, “Katharine Worthy?”

  “Yes…”

  “This is Detective Carnegie and I’m Detective Taylor. May we come in?”

  Stepping back as the bottom dropped out of my stomach and sweat trickled down my spine, I cleared my throat and nodded. “Sure.”

  I could feel Vanessa’s eyes on me while I stared at the policemen as Detective Taylor said, “Could you please get your coat, Miss Worthy?”

  This was it. The moment I had known was coming but had prayed wouldn’t. Unable to move, I stammered, “A-am I-I under a-arrest?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Now, please get your coat.”

  Chapter Two

  Being arrested and taken to the police station for questioning is nothing like you see on television. There is no friendly banter. They don’t put you in a comfortable room and offer you coffee and water. And they most definitely do not play good cop, bad cop…there’s no playing at all. At least in my case.

  Detectives Taylor and Carnegie were direct, straightforward, and above all else, relentless in telling me that I was going to do time in prison, so I might as well just admit to everything that I had taken from the hospital. It seemed no matter how many times I told them that it was only antibiotics, supplies for dressing wounds, IV tubing and needles, and bags of saline, they insisted that Class II narcotics, specifically Fentanyl and Oxycodone, had gone missing at the same time as the antibiotics and I was their prime suspect.

  I explained that they were looking at the wrong the person, explained that everyone had a PIN to enter the narcotics locker and that they needed to be talking to someone else, but the detectives were adamant that I confess. To make matters worse, every time one of them opened the door to the two-foot-by-two-foot cold concrete room I was shoved into, Vanessa would yell and scream, demanding I be given my one phone call and that I was entitled to a lawyer.

  She was right, I think. At least that’s what all the crooks on TV demanded, but to be honest, she was the only person in the world I would call and I had no money for a lawyer, so a phone call was basically a waste of time. Hours upon hours passed. I answered the same questions hundreds of time and Taylor and Carnegie grew more insistent, more gruff, and infinitely more insulting.

  “You don’t look like a junkie, but then again, you would know how to hide the symptoms with all your training as a nurse. Isn’t that right, Miss Worthy?”

  The question had just crossed Detective Carnegie’s lips—the darker, beefier of my two interrogators—when the door burst open and in stumbled a stammering, pimpled-face cop looking as if he’d just seen a ghost. He was closely followed by a tall, debonair gentleman in a suit I had no doubt cost more than a year of my rent, carrying a briefcase and sporting a smug grin. “D-d-detect-tives, this is Mr. M-m-monroe, Miss W-w-worthy’s att-t-torney,” the cop I will always think of as Barney Fife, stuttered.

  All eyes shot to me. Detective Taylor leaned across the table and with narrowed eyes and an accusatory tone spat, “Thought you didn’t have an attorney.”

  “I didn’t,” I quickly answered, then added even faster, “I don’t.”

  “Then who the hell is he?” I knew Taylor thought I was nothing more than a thieving junkie, but now he’d added liar to my list of stellar qualities.

  Mr. Monroe stepped around the still quacking cop, handed his card to Detective Carnegie, who was now standing with his hands on his hips and frowning at the attorney, and demanded, “My client will not be answering anymore questions tonight or any other time without my presence.”

  He laid his mahogany leather briefcase on the table, flipped open the shining gold locks, reached in, and produced a folder, which he slid to Detective Taylor. “And those are Miss Worthy’s release papers. You will see that she is being remanded into my custody until her final hearing. Not only is it signed by Judge Pennington but also your boss’s boss, Commissioner Evans.”

  Slamming the folder shut, Taylor glared at me as he threw my own words back at me. “For a simple ER nurse with no ties to anyone but your friend out there, you have some mighty powerful friends, Miss Worthy.” He stood without another word, pushed the still staring uniformed cop out the door, and with his partner in tow, left the room.

  Looking at Mr. Monroe, I asked, “Who are you and why are you helping me?”

  A sly grin crooked one side of his lips, raising one half of his thin grey mustache as he answered, “The walls have ears. You need to go home, get some rest, and I will be in touch tomorrow.” Leaning down until I could feel his breath on my cheek, he whispered, “The children are being looked after; you needn’t worry. My employer has seen to everything. It is important you wait, in your home, for my call.”

  “But…”

  When he leaned back, the sly grin was replaced with the fierce look of a man not used to being questioned. My inquiry died in my suddenly dry throat. I could only nod. His almost- smile returned but did not reach his cold, dark eyes.

  Holding out his hand for me to shake, I flinched at the sudden chill that shot through my body as his large, thin fingers wrapped around the back of my hand. It was like grabbing an ice cube; so cold it almost burned. But I held on tight, sure I was being tested in some way that had yet to be revealed. Whoever had sent Mr. Monroe to my rescue would undoubtedly be waiting for a progress report, one I somehow knew I needed to get a gold star on if I was to have his continued support.

  Standing while my attorney locked his briefcase and grabbed the handle, I slid my arms into the sleeves of the worn pea coat that had been my brother’s and made for the door. But Mr. Monroe was faster. In the blink of an eye, he had the door open and was motioning for me to exit in front of him. Scooting past him and straight into Vanessa’s outstretched arms, I convinced myself that between being scared absolutely shitless and so tired I didn’t know which end was up, I had imagined Mr. Monroe’s speed. I had enough to worry about. I didn’t need my untamed imagination adding to my troubles.

  Untangling from her hug, I leveled my gaze at Vanessa and asked, “Was the attorney your doing? Because if it was…”

  “What attorney?” She looked genuinely surprised and totally confused. “I didn’t see anyone but those asshole detectives, the cop that looked like he just graduated grammar school, and you.” Her brow furrowed as she touched the back of her hand to my cheek, one of our old instructor’s ways of checking for a fever, in a caring gesture.

  Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes. “Really? You think I have a fever? There was a guy…in a very expensive suit…dark hair greying at the temples…” I motioned toward the door I had just come through. “Carrying a briefcase…enough attitude for five people…” By this time, I was getting frustrated. “Oh, come on, Van, you had to have seen him. He walked out of the room behind me.”

  “I only saw you, but I was a really freaked out.” She put her arm around my shoulders and started to steer me toward the door. “If you say there was an attorney, then there was an attorney, but I had nothing to do with it. Detective Taylor said you were being released on your own recogn
izance and told me to go collect your belongings from the duty sergeant. I had just gotten back when the door opened and I saw you.”

  Nothing made sense. I knew there had been an attorney. Sliding my hand into my pocket, I felt his thick linen business card and thought about showing it to Vanessa, but it seemed like a lot of effort for something that I could deal with later. Walking out of the police station, I squinted against the glare, kept pace with Van, and basically dove into her car as soon as the doors were unlocked.

  Watching the digital clock on the dashboard of Vanessa’s Corolla tick down the seconds as the already risen sun shone through the downtown skyline, I listened to my best friend rattle on and on and on about everything she’d seen in the almost thirty-six hours I had been in police custody. Pulling into the underground parking garage for my building, she whipped into the spot next to my car, shut off the engine, and started to get out of the car.

  Waking from my stupor, I turned in my seat, laid my hand on her arm, and all but begged, “Can I just go up alone?”

  A mixture of indignation and hurt crossed her expressive green eyes as she pushed her long blonde hair off her shoulder, a sure sign she was miffed, and tired not to huff but failed miserably. “Are you sure? I mean, you have been up for almost two days.” I was nodding as she added, “And you know how forgetful you get when you’re sleepy, I don’t want you trying to make tea and burning down your apartment.”

  Vanessa had the best intentions. She was a mother hen through and through. I had no doubt she would put the ‘S’ in smother when she had her own kids and they would be all the better for it. Her need to take care of and protect those she called family was a great gift and I, in turn, loved her for it. But in this instance, I needed to be alone. I needed to think about everything that had happened and figure out what steps to take next.

  Why was I arrested? The hospital administration and the nursing supervisor had said I was being fired and a complaint sent to the state licensing board, which would undoubtedly result in the revocation of my nurse’s license. They made sure to tell me that neither the hospital nor its managing partners, the Rourke Group, would be filing any charges because no narcotics were involved. So, what had changed in the three days since I’d been let go? The detectives were damned sure I’d taken opiates and smelled a hefty conviction to add to their careers. Where had they gotten their information if not from the hospital?

  Tuning back to Vanessa’s list of reasons why I should let her come up, I finally shook my head, grabbed the door handle, and said, “No, Van. I need to be alone. I’m going to have a shower, a glass of orange juice and a peanut butter sandwich, and fall into bed. In that order.”

  I opened the door and put my foot on the concrete floor of the parking garage as I added, “You need sleep. I need sleep. I’ll call you when I wake up.” I turned away, got out of the car, and spun around and bent down until I could lean in. “You know I love you, but I really have to be by myself for a bit to think and figure some things out, okay?”

  Reluctantly, and after opening her mouth twice before finally saying, “Okay, whatever you need,” Vanessa relented.

  “Thank you. Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe,” I instructed, not waiting for her reply before shutting the door and heading toward the elevators.

  Usually, I would’ve taken the stairs. I tried to stay in shape, even though my curves never got any smaller, but on this night, I was just too exhausted. I pushed the up arrow for the elevator and waited. It didn’t take long before I was exiting on the tenth floor, taking a right, then a left, and slowly walking toward my apartment.

  I saw the wreath of pink and white flowers I knew had been hanging on my door when I was taken by the police laying in the middle of the hall. Taking a few steps closer, large black letters that spelled out DEAD BITCH spray painted on the wall came into view, and with one additional step, I saw my door hanging on its hinges.

  I knew who had done it as I crept under the wood that had once been my door and over the threshold into my apartment. To be honest, it wasn’t a surprise. There had never been a doubt that the drug dealing vampires I rescued the children from were going to come after me and now that I had been taken to the police station, I was sure they thought I had spilled the beans about them and their operation.

  Walking around the wreckage of my apartment, I thought about the kids. Mr. Monroe had said they were being taken care of. I hoped he was right. I hadn’t been able to see them in more than a day and before that, after I was caught, I had only seen Anthony and Amanda as we met so they could pick up the last money I had to feed everyone until I came up with a better plan.

  The vandals had torn up my furniture, broken every piece of glass, ripped up every picture and piece of clothing, urinated on my bed, and spray painted vile things all over my walls. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, was ready to dial 911, but I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Would the police help a person suspected of stealing narcotics? I would definitely have to tell them about the vampires, which meant I would have to tell them about the kids and until I knew the vampires were out of the picture, I couldn’t put the children at risk. But as it stood, I couldn’t stay in my own home either.

  Walking out of my bedroom, my heart skipped a beat as I caught sight of a shadow moving across my living room. Grabbing the baseball bat I always kept just inside my bedroom door, which weirdly enough the vandals didn’t even touch, I cocked it over my shoulder—ready to beat the shit out of the asshole who dared to enter my home—and crept down the hall.

  Slowly peeking around the corner, I saw a tall, dark-headed man with shoulders that filled the kitchen doorway, dressed in a black leather jacket, and smelling of expensive cologne, shaking his head. Lifting my left foot, I took a precarious step into the living room, stepped on a piece of broken glass that in the tense silence sounded like the ringing of the bell on Wall Street, and then gasped when the stranger spun around and speared me with the most gorgeous grey eyes I had ever seen. Thankfully, self-preservation took over and before I could think I was sprinting toward the man, screaming like a banshee and swinging my bat.

  Standing unnaturally still, the man maintained eye contact with me, raised his right hand and as I swung my Louisville Slugger at his head, grabbed the bat, ripped it from my hand, and held it out of my reach while wrapping his huge left hand around my right upper arm. Shocked and afraid to move, I simply shook with fear as the man rolled his eyes and sighed, “Hello, Katharine. My name is Roarke and I’ve come to help.”

  Chapter Three

  There was a sincerity in his words that I couldn’t deny. It matched the truth I saw in his eyes but the strength in his grip made me very uncomfortable. Looking at my bat still raised over his shoulder and then to his hand on my arm, I tried to act tough as I said, “Help me, huh? And that includes assaulting me in my own apartment?”

  His grip loosened on my arm, he lowered the bat and as I took a step back, so did he. “Sorry to startle you. Your landlord let me in.”

  “Great! Can’t even trust the old guy. Life just keeps gettin’ better,” I mumbled under my breath. There was something about this incredibly handsome man standing in the rubble of my apartment that felt familiar but at the same time, made all the bells and whistles in my brain go off.

  “Okay. So, why did you have my landlord let you into my apartment?” Then it dawned on me that he might be the vandal coming back to finish me off. I took another step back, tried to look formidable with all five-foot-seven, a-hundred-and-we’re-not-gonna-talk-about-it-pounds of me coupled with my patented one eyebrow up stare, and accused, “Or are you back for more?”

  Holding up his hand in surrender, looking at the bat he still grasped, and then grinning a toe-curling smirk, the man set my Louisville Slugger on the counter and replied, “As I said, my name is Roarke. I work for a very powerful man associated with the hospital who wants to help with your…situation.”

  Forgetting my fear and grabbi
ng hold of my anger with both hands, I closed the distance between us, looked him in the eye, and said, “You mean the situation the hospital made worse by lying and saying I stole narcotics?”

  Shaking his head with his hands still up, Roarke calmly responded, “I happen to know with the utmost certainty that the hospital did nothing of the kind.”

  Once again, the truth in his words rang as clearly as the bells of St. Patrick’s on Easter morning. I also had to admit I really liked the lilt and touch of an accent in his low rumbling voice, which certainly shouldn’t have been a deciding factor on whether I believed him or not, but it was. There was no doubt I could listen to him speak for hours, but something was still off and I didn’t have time to fantasize about the stranger before me. I needed answers. “Then why were the police so sure I had and why was I picked up and handcuffed after being promised no criminal action was being taken.”

  Lowering his hands, Roarke scratched the scruff on his completely kissable jawline and in a mumble that seemed more like he was talking to himself than to me, he mused, “I have no idea why all of this is happening.”

  “Well, what about the ‘powerful man’ you work for? You said he works with the hospital. Doesn’t he have money and influence? Can’t he figure all this bull crap out?” I knew I sounded hysterical, had even made the dreaded air quotes, which I absolutely detested, but my life was spiraling out of control and I needed a life boat.

  Slowly turning his head, Roarke looked me right in the eye and with a confidence that was truly intoxicating, nodded, “Yes…yes, he can.” With a sweeping motion of his hands, he pointed to what used to be my front door and added, “Shall we go?”

  Caught up in the moment, I made it as far as the hallway before I stopped dead in my tracks, smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand, and muttered, “What are you, a freaking idiot?” Then to Roarke, I said, “There is no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you. I guess I was suffering from shock or something but nope, no way.” I shook my head and took a step back. “I don’t know you from Adam.”