was in Special Forces and Dom was an expert they’d brought in to teach knife-fighting skills. The two men had stayed in touch over the years. When Johnny joined the SPD and Dom was transferred here by the Agency, they occasionally helped each other out. Johnny was one of a few select humans who knew about his world.
“Anything?”
“A man named Paul Cook called in a missing person’s report this morning on a Martin Johanovich. They were supposed to meet last night for dinner but the guy never showed. He was also a no-show at work. He own this art school, too?”
“Yes. He was teaching a class that my…that someone very special to me was supposed to teach. He left a message on her voice mail at 9:43 p.m. saying two men were after her. He sounded scared and out of breath, like he had been running. We believe this is connected to something that happened to her two nights ago. She was chased by a couple of Darkbloods but she got away.”
“Think it could be the same guys?”
“Uh, no. We took care of the first two assholes. These two must be their replacements.”
“Wow, someone wants her in a bad way. Any idea why?”
“Because she’s Sangre Dulce.”
“Shit, man. And she’s your woman?” Johnny let out a low whistle when Dom nodded. “Let’s go in and see if we can find out what happened to Mr. Johanovich.”
Johnny barely had the door open when an undeniable stench filled Dom’s nostrils.
“Fuck. Darkbloods.”
“Look at the blood over there. We got us a crime scene. Gotta step outside and call this one in.”
On the sidewalk, Johnny pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, closed his eyes and sniffed it.
“I thought you quit that,” Dom said as he stepped under an awning, attempting to shield himself further from the light.
“I did. I just like the smell of ’em from time to time. Makes me feel more in control that way. Like I could light it but choose not to. Stupid, I know.” He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped dark hair. “So, tell me about your woman. Must be serious if you’re going out during the daytime for her. Can’t remember if I’ve ever even seen you before sundown. Thought you didn’t have time for anyone if it lasted past breakfast.”
Dom shrugged. “I’m going to check around back in the alley.”
Johnny chuckled at the brush-off. “Well then, let me know if you find anything.”
Dom rounded the corner to the alley and there it was again. Although the smell had faded, he was positive the Darkbloods had come out this way. He detected the same blood scent from inside, but it was much more potent out here. With every step, it got stronger until he followed it to a nearby rusted-out green Dumpster.
“Ah, hell.”
A SHORT TIME later, Dom entered the loft and burst through the doors of the bedroom. Mackenzie looked up from her laptop, eyes wide. She’d pulled his overstuffed chair to the window where she sat with her feet tucked beneath her.
He barely paused to hit the controls closing the automatic blinds and with three giant strides he was at her side, pulling her into his arms. With his nose buried in her hair, he held her tight, almost too tight, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to feel her close, to reassure himself she was all right. She was their intended target. It could’ve been her that he found, not Martin.
“Dom, what is it? Where’s Martin? I’ve been trying to call him but—”
He struggled to speak, his throat tight with the magnitude of what he had to tell her.
“What happened? Where is he?”
“He’s dead, Kenz. Attacked by Darkbloods at the art school.”
She staggered and he held her close. “How do you know? Are you sure?”
“Kenz, I was the one who found him.”
Her legs went limp and he sank to the floor with her, wishing he could wash away her pain.
“So what are you going to do? Meet Corey at the restaurant and say, ‘oh, by the way, your sister couldn’t come but it’s real nice to meet you?’” With her hands on her hips, Mackenzie stood in the foyer of the loft. Despite the fact that her whole body ached from all the crying, she was pissed at the stupid idea.
“Things are way too dangerous for you to be out,” Dom said as he snapped the strap of his knife holster, securing a big-ass weapon to his torso, and shrugged into his wool peacoat.