Blood Price - By Tanya Huff Page 0,99

around the pistol grip. Coreen clutched at her shoulder. She didn't see the steel reinforced butt arc around outside her limited periphery. It missed the thinner bone of her temple by a hair - smashing into her skull, slamming her up against the wall, plummeting her down into darkness.

Brows drawn down into a deep vee, Celluci fanned the phone messages stacked on his desk, checking who they were from. Two reporters, an uncle, Vicki, the dry cleaners, one of the reporters again... and again. Growling wordlessly, he crumpled them up and shoved them into his pocket. He didn't have time for this kind of crap.

He'd spent the day combing the area where the latest victim and her dog had been found. He'd talked to the two kids who'd found the body and most of the people who lived in a four block radius. The site had held a number of half obliterated footprints that suggested the man they were looking for went barefoot, had three toes, and very long toenails. No one had seen anything although a drunk camped out farther down in the ravine had heard a sound like a sail luffing and had smelled rotten eggs. The police lab had just informed him that between the mastiff's teeth were particles identical to the bit of whatever-it-was that DeVerne Jones had been holding in his hand. And he was no closer to finding an answer.

Or at least no closer to finding an answer he could deal with.

More things in heaven and earth...

He slammed out of the squad room and stomped down the hall. The new headquarters building seemed to deaden sound, but he made as much as he could anyway.

This place needs some doors you can slam. And Shakespeare should have minded his own goddamned business!

As he passed the desk, the cadet on duty leaned forward. "Uh, Detective, a Vicki Nelson called for you earlier. She seemed quite insistent that you check out... "

Celluci's raised hand cut him off. "Did you write it down?"

"Yes, sir. I left a message on your desk."

"Then you've done your job."

"Yes, sir, but... "

"Don't tell me how to do mine."

The cadet swallowed nervously, Adam's apple bobbing above his tight uniform collar. "No, sir."

Scowling, Celluci continued stomping out of the building. He needed to be alone to do some thinking. The last thing he needed right now was Vicki.
Chapter Fourteen
Henry stepped out of the shower and frowned at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The lesser cuts and abrasions he'd taken the night before had healed, the greater were healing and would give him no trouble. He unwrapped the plastic bag from around the dressing on his arm and poked gently at the gauze. It hurt and would, he suspected, continue to hurt for some time, but he could use the arm if he was careful. It had been so many years since he'd taken a serious wound that his biggest problem would be remembering it before he caused himself more pain.

He turned a little sideways and shook his head. Great green splotches of fading bruises still covered most of his body.

"Looks familiar, actually... "

The lance tip caught him under the right arm, lifting him up and out of the saddle. For a heartbeat, he hung in the air, then as the roar of the watching crowd rose to a crescendo, he crashed down to the ground. The sound of his armor slamming against the packed earth of the lists rattled around inside his head much as his head rattled around inside his helmet. He almost wouldn't mind the falls if only they weren't so thrice-damned loud.

He closed his eyes. Just until all the noise stops...

When he opened them again, he was looking up into the face of Sir Gilbert Talboys, his mother's husband. Where the devil did he come from? he wondered. Where did my helmet go? He liked Sir Gilbert, so he tried to smile. His face didn't seem to be functioning.

"Can you rise, Henry? His Grace, the King, is approaching."

There was an urgency in Sir Gilbert's voice that penetrated the ringing in Henry's ears. Could he rise? He wasn't exactly sure. Everything hurt but nothing seemed broken. The king, who would not be pleased that he had been unseated, would be even less pleased if he continued to lie in the dirt. Teeth clenched, he allowed Sir Gilbert to lift him into a sitting position then, with help, heave him to his feet.

Henry swayed but somehow managed to stay standing, even after