Carte Blanche [Special Enforcers Series ] Read online

  He had awoken to the sound of rain and immediately had been taken by a foul mood. Not only was it early in the afternoon, much too soon for him to be up when he had gone to bed at sunrise, but he had also been pulled out of a very interesting dream at the worst possible moment. He had never seen Grace wearing anything else than proper attire, but his subconscious had rather clear ideas about what she looked like naked.

  As soon as he had rolled out of the too big bed, he had turned on the stereo system as loud as he could bear it, but even heavy guitar riffs and screamed lyrics weren't helping much. The sound of the rain was still there, inescapable.

  A taxi stopped in the street down below, and Ray tensed, poised on his toes in anticipation. After a few seconds, a figure stepped out of the back and started running across the street. Ray let himself believe for a moment that the man was Keller and that his Sire would soon be coming in through the front door. He even tried to decide how he would react; would he welcome Keller as though he had not left without a word of explanation, or would he give him the cold shoulder? Three nights earlier, with Mistress Red's touch fresh on his mind and body, it would have been easy to answer. She had not come back to Carte Blanche since then, however, and while Ray had played with a couple of submissives, he was feeling the familiar itch creeping up his spine.

  It wasn't Keller.

  Abandoning his contemplation, he strode through the living room and turned off the stereo on his way to the bedroom. He crushed what was left of his cigarette in the ashtray and picked up his cell phone from the desk. After pressing the speed dial for Keller's number, he brought the phone to his ear. He expected it to ring for a while before Keller picked up. Instead, the phone went straight to voice mail, and an automated message greeted Ray. It wasn't even Keller's voice. The beep rang in his ear, and he opened his mouth to leave a message. Nothing came out, however. What could he say to convince Keller to come back that he hadn't said already? He hung up without a word.

  He considered the phone for a little while. There was only one Special Enforcers agency in the town, he knew where it was, and it wouldn't take him long to find its number. What would he say to Grace, though, once she was on the other end of the line? That he missed playing with her? He wasn't quite that pathetic yet.

  Annoyed with himself, with the rain, with Keller and Grace both, he dropped the phone back on the desk. His eyes fell on the notepad there. On a whim, he sat down and flipped it open, pencil already in hand before he reached the page he wanted to work on. He hadn't added anything to the outline of Grace's body since starting it. A few strokes broadly defined her face; a few more clothed her in what started as leather gear but turned, halfway through, into a summer dress. Out of the blue, he added an umbrella in her outstretched hand. An idea struck, and he grinned.

  "Time for your rain check, Grace."

  He flipped to a new page. Feverishly, he marked the paper in long lines, defining the features of a face he knew almost too well. Sharp angles, a strong, bold nose, cold dark eyes, slim lips set on a sneer, very short dark hair. In moments, the portrait was done. Ray ripped the page off and stood. He threw on a shirt, shoes, his jacket, and was out the door with the rolled portrait in his hand. Twenty minutes later, he was parking Keller's car in front of the town's Special Enforcers agency and thanking the bad weather for allowing him to get there so early in the day.

  He kept the drawing inside his jacket as he dashed through the rain to the door. Bells chimed, loud and ominous, when he stepped inside. Before they had stopped ringing, he found himself the target of two armed crossbows. By pure reflex, he stopped and raised his hands, showing he was unarmed. Grace was standing behind a desk on his left, her weapon as steady as her partner's on the other side of the room. She lowered her crossbow first.

  "Mr. Evelt,” she said coolly. “This is an unexpected visit. We don't get vampires very often in here."

  "I guess you don't.” He cautiously lowered his hands, deeply aware that her partner—he couldn't remember his name—was still aiming a sharp bit of wood at him. As a human, he had found it ridiculous that such a low-tech weapon was able to put an end to an otherwise endless existence. He still found it ridiculous now, but his primal fear of the ancient weapon was stronger than his contempt for it. “With that kind of reception, it's not too surprising vamps aren't falling over themselves coming here."

  The man didn't react to his feeble joke, but a glance in Grace's direction revealed that she was smiling faintly.

  "Anything we can do for you, Mr. Evelt?” she asked, walking toward him but staying well out of reach. She still held the crossbow, though she was now pointing it at the floor.

  It was strange to hear her be so formal with him and treat him as a stranger after what they had shared. She didn't let on anything when she looked at him. He couldn't help but wonder whether she would have been any friendlier if they had been alone.

  "Actually, I came here to help you.” He looked back at her partner and unrolled the drawing to show it to him. “Do you still need a picture of Keller?"

  The man's eyes went back and forth between the drawing and Ray's face a few times before he lowered his crossbow at last.

  "We do. Is that portrait accurate?"

  Ray shrugged. He couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable, even if it wasn't Mistress Red he was about to lie to. “As accurate as I could make it."

  Cautious steps brought the Special Enforcer closer. He took the portrait from Ray before retreating with a few backward steps. Only when he was past Grace did he take his eyes off Ray.

  "I'll go scan it,” he told her, his voice betraying his excitement. “We can send it to our informants and see if one of them saw him. We can show it to MacAlair's neighbors as well."

  He didn't wait for Grace to reply and limped away toward the back of the agency to sit in front of a computer. Ray pushed the man out of his thoughts; he was hardly the first person he had met who couldn't look at a vampire without their scent taking on the acridness of fear. When he looked back at Grace, he realized she had been observing him, and he felt a jolt of contentment at that. He smiled.

  "I've been waiting,” he started, quiet enough that her partner wouldn't overhear, but she stopped him with a sharp look and a shake of her head.

  "Did your ... friend return?” she asked, her voice cool and level.

  Ray wondered who was asking, and why; the Special Enforcer trying to find a suspect or the Dominant, curious to know if her submissive had been playing in her absence. Either way, the answer was the same.

  "No, he did not."

  "That's a pity,” she said, though her slight smile belied her words. “If you talk to him, please let him know we're looking for him. The faster we clear up his name, the faster we can move on to other leads."

  "Maybe you'll find him before me."

  She didn't look convinced at all. “Maybe, yes. In the meantime, thank you for your help. It's very much appreciated. And if you hear anything from Mr. Owens...” She dropped the crossbow on her desk and picked up a business card and a pen. She scribbled something before handing the card to him. “Please, call us."

  He looked at the card in his hand. One side bore the name of the agency and a couple of phone numbers. He turned it over between his fingers, and read the few words she had written there.

  Don't go to the club tonight. Stay home tomorrow.

  It was signed ‘Mistress Red'. A pang of desire ran through Ray, making him hard instantly. He looked up at her, certain he was grinning like a lunatic but unable to care in the slightest.

  "I'll definitely do that,” he murmured.

  Her slight smile was answer enough. She held out her hand toward him, and he took it without thinking.

  "Thanks again, Mr. Evelt."

  They didn't shake hands, just held on to each other. Her hand was warm, soft and strong all at once, exactly the way he remembered it.

  "My pleasure."

  Letting go of her was hard. He clutched the card in hi
s left hand as he walked away, and held on to the thought that she would come to him.

  * * * *

  When Grace angled the drawing just right, she could see each pencil line, and could imagine Ray's hand moving over it. The lines that formed the mouth had dug a little deeper into the heavy paper. What did it mean? What had he been feeling or thinking, when drawing these thin lips? The sneering wasn't particularly flattering. Was he angry at his Sire? Did he miss him, as a person, or did he miss having a Master? Somehow, she found herself wishing it were the latter.

  Judging by his expression when he had read Grace's note, it just might be.

  "You know, staring at that portrait won't help us find that vamp any faster."

  Grace looked up at Hugo, embarrassed that she had been caught staring. She shrugged and gave him a small smile.

  "I just want to be able to recognize him if I see him somewhere."

  Hugo drew a chair closer to her desk and sat down. He let out a muffled sigh as he took the weight off his leg. He'd promised her, several times, that he would tell her how he had been hurt. So far, however, he'd only given her conflicting hints. She suspected he was enjoying seeing her try to piece it together.

  "That's a good idea,” he said, picking up the drawing from the desk and giving it a close look. “I've been thinking. You're ready."

  She leaned back into her chair, both amused and surprised by the announcement. She had felt ready to perform all the duties attached to being a Special Enforcer the moment she had entered the agency, weeks ago. She had taken a few weeks, after her decision to become a S.E., to go back on a stringent training regimen, and had only approached Hugo when she had felt ready to fight. Nonetheless, Hugo had felt he needed to take her through baby steps.

  "What made you change your mind?"

  "I've been watching you closely. You know your stuff."

  Grace's smile only widened. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that your leg is bothering you more lately."

  His moustache twitched, a sure sign that he was amused. “Well, maybe that helped too. I've got to say, I had my doubts. I'd never heard of anyone going through the training only to take ten years off before they even started their S.E. career. But these past few days, you've been ... I don't know, stronger. More assertive. You can't hesitate if you're going to be dealing with vamps; one second too late can mean death. And today, you didn't hesitate. You had that crossbow out almost faster than me."

  He almost sounded like a proud father on that last part. Grace refrained from pointing out she had been faster, and tried not to dwell on the fact that he had noticed a difference in her behavior since she had started playing on the scene again.

  "So ... Do you need me to patrol tonight?"

  She was sure of his answer before he even said a word. He might think she was ready; that didn't mean he was.

  "Nah, not tonight. But I do have a couple of house calls for you to do before you go home."

  She couldn't help chuckling. It had been obvious since the first days she had started working for him that performing disinvite spells for people who regretted having invited a vampire into their homes was his least favorite thing to do.

  "No problem. Do you want me to come by over the weekend?"

  He stood with a groan and hobbled to his desk, coming back with two assignment slips. “No, no need. I'll call you if anything happens. You'll have enough weekend shifts to pull once you start running this place. Enjoy your freedom while you can."

  "Didn't you just say I was ready?” she teased him.

  "You are. But that kid of yours needs her mom.” He waved his hand. “We're done here and you've got those spells to do, why don't you take off early?"

  His words stayed with Grace as she drove to her first appointment in the suburbs. Laura did need her, but she had also been as supportive as a pre-teen could be in such a situation, promising that she'd be fine if her grandmother had to pick her up from school or stay with her at night while Grace was working. She was lucky, she reflected, that both her daughter and mother supported her like this. It certainly was a nice change from her ex-husband's refusal to let her work as a Special Enforcer.

  She felt even more blessed when she knocked on her first client's door and introduced herself to a scowling woman.

  "Thank you for coming so fast,” she said, her face softening into relief.

  She stepped aside to let Grace in, but she did not verbally invite her in. Grace had a feeling she was not the one who had invited a vampire in her home, and was soon proved right when the woman called out:

  "Gabe! Come down here!"

  A sullen teenager, maybe seventeen, walked down from the second floor, hands thrusts deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched. He stood on the next to last step of the staircase and kept his eyes down after a quick look at Grace.

  "My son is the one who invited that ... that thing inside."

  "Mom! She's not a thing!"

  The woman ignored Gabe's interruption. “I've heard you need him to be present for ... for what you're doing?"

  Grace tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Rumors abounded about vampires and everything that concerned them; her client didn't seem particularly well informed.

  "No, it's a simple matter, and I don't need him. I do need a flat surface for a few moments."

  "Of course. Gabe, go ahead and show this lady to the kitchen."

  The young man sighed, but he did as he had been asked and led Grace with a quiet, “This way."

  He leaned against the wall while she emptied her backpack on the kitchen island, and looked back toward the hallway when his mother failed to follow.

  "So, you're like a vampire hunter?” he asked, still sullen but his interest piercing through his voice.

  "I'm a Special Enforcer,” she corrected him.

  "What's the difference?"

  She took a few seconds to reply, not because she didn't know what to say—she had been asked and had answered the same question before—but rather because she needed her full attention mixing the ingredients for her spell. It wasn't all that complicated, but it needed to be precise.

  "Vampire hunter,” she finally answered, “was what you called someone who tracked vamps regardless of whether they killed or not before there were laws against hurting harmless vamps. A Special Enforcer will only stake a vampire when there is tangible proof that he or she has killed, or bitten a human without permission.” She looked up at him, her eyes settling on the slight redness of his neck where he was tugging at his shirt's collar. “Anything you want to tell me?"

  His eyes widened in alarm, and he glanced back again toward the hallway. “No, nothing, nothing at all."

  "How old are you?"

  By law, no minor could legally give consent to be bitten, but in practice it was difficult to apply that rule.

  "I'll be eighteen in two months,” he said, defiant.

  Shaking her head, Grace focused on the spell, murmuring the words beneath her breath. When she threw a lit match over the ingredients, a flash of light spread out through the house. There were a handful of ways to perform a disinvite, but she had always liked this one best. Her instructors at the academy had mentioned it reassured clients better because they could actually see something happening.

  "That's it?” Gabe asked, sounding nonplussed.

  "That's it,” she confirmed. “Until you invite your friend in again. For what it's worth, if you plan on letting her do it again, you'll take fewer risks if she bites your shoulder."

  He didn't say a word as she packed up her things, but he did mutter a thank you as she was passing by him. His mother, who had been pacing back and forth in the hallway, saw Grace out with a smile and a trembling handshake. Grace hesitated about asking her if she knew about the bite. There wasn't much anyone could do to stop Gabe if he wanted a vampire to bite him. At eighteen, he'd be able to enter blood bars and offer his blood to any vampire he chose. Regardless, she was his mother, and Grace figured she had a right to kn
ow; if Laura ever followed that path—and Grace felt sick to her stomach just imagining it—she wished someone would tell her.

  The look on the woman's face, when she heard, was less shock than resignation.

  "I figured as much,” she sighed. “I was just hoping he'd tell me himself."

  The second spell couldn't have been more different. The client was a middle-aged man who apparently lived alone in an apartment a few blocks from Grace's. There were several bite marks visible on each side on his neck, and he seemed blasé about the whole experience, even asking her to give his regards to Hugo when she left. She wondered, as she drove home, whether Gabe would be like this man, in a few years, regularly inviting vampires into his home and allowing them to bite him, only to have disinvite spells performed when he ceased trusting one of his fanged friends.

  She was glad when she was done, and drove home feeling a little bitter. She had a hunch that, in just a few months, this part of the job might be her least favorite as well, regardless of the magic it required. She did not fear vampires, and she had no problem playing with one, but she wasn't silly enough to risk inviting one into her home.

  The smell of cooking, when she walked into her apartment, had her stomach rumbling in anticipation. The bitterness melted away, replaced by gratefulness. She had told her mother, repeatedly, that it was more than enough for her to baby-sit Laura, she didn't need to cook on top of it. Caroline, however, was very good at ignoring what she called ‘suggestions,’ and Grace enjoyed her cooking too much to really mind.

  The three of them had dinner together, and Grace found herself brought back two decades when Laura said out of the blue, echoing words she had once pronounced herself: