Blood Secrets - By Jeannie Holmes Page 0,30

twisted in her seat to punch Varik’s arm, startling Buddy and causing him to nearly collide with the remains of a compact car. “Knock it off!”

Laughing, Varik flooded the bond with his thoughts. You put the idea in my head.

I did not!

Were you or were you not the one who suggested I push you up against a car and—

That was not a suggestion, and you know it.

The bond shivered with the heat of his thoughts. Perhaps not but it’s not a bad idea.

We’re on our way to a body dump, as you pointed out. How can you possibly be thinking of sex?

I think the bond is affecting my judgment.

Alex snorted. I thought it was because you’re male and breathing.

Varik chuckled behind her but didn’t respond.

As they neared an isolated corner of the salvage yard, Buddy slowed the cart and stopped behind a white van with the JPD’s logo and the words CRIME SCENE RESPONSE UNIT emblazoned on the side. “This is as far as I go,” he said. “The lieutenant is over there, other side of the van. Look for a dark blue Ford.”

Alex stepped from the cart and she heard Varik scrambling to exit the flatbed.

“I’ll go fetch the other two,” Buddy said. “Y’all be careful. There’s a lot of broken glass around here.”

The cart motored away and wind swept across the pasture. Alex breathed deep, instantly regretting it as the overwhelming smell of decay assaulted her. Gagging, she clamped her hand over her nose and mouth, trying in vain to block the odor.

She’d heard humans describe the smell of decomposition as akin to a Dumpster filled with rotting fruit—sickly sweet mixed with a slightly musty odor. To the heightened senses of vampires, the smell was that of both a fruit-filled Dumpster and an open sewage line.

Varik assumed a similar stance to hers. “No need to look for a fucking Ford. Just follow the damn smell.”

Tasha appeared from opposite the van. Her clothing was covered by a white Tyvek jumpsuit, plastic booties enveloped her shoes, and a paper cap protected her hair. The overall effect gave the lieutenant the appearance of a displeased Pillsbury Doughboy. “You’re going to want to suit up for this one.”

Alex and Varik moved to the rear of the van, where Tasha was pulling out matching jumpsuits for them.

“Tony’s with the body,” Tasha said while they stepped into the Tyvek suits. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

“Have you found any ID?” Varik asked, slipping plastic coverings over his boots.

“Not yet. Yard owner says the car isn’t part of his inventory. One of my guys is running the VIN number on the car now. Hopefully we can at least figure out the owner.”

Alex adjusted the paper cap to cover her hair. Cross-contamination of evidence was a huge risk at outdoor scenes. The protective gear they donned couldn’t prevent it with one hundred percent certainty but it did greatly reduce the odds. “How sure are you that it’s Mindy Johnson?”

“I’m not even sure it’s a person.”

Neither Alex nor Varik responded, allowing the severity of what they were about to see penetrate their minds. When they’d finished dressing in their protective gear, complete with latex gloves, Tasha led them toward a Ford Focus.

“Were you able to get anything from Mindy’s car?” she asked. “Anything that would lead us to suspect she’s still alive?”

“No, but I do have a working theory.” Varik offered a quick review of the morning’s events as the three slowly walked through the waist-high weeds.

“So you think this Dollmaker guy is here, in Jefferson?” Tasha asked. Suspicion and doubt weighted her words.

“It’s possible,” Varik said. “The similarities between what I saw in 1924 and today are too great for me to ignore and pass off as a coincidence or a copycat.”

“But you’re not ruling it out,” Tasha added.

“No, not yet.”

“If you’re correct, why would the Dollmaker come here? Everything you told me makes it sound like he prefers larger cities.”

“I don’t know why he’s here or if he even is here, Lieutenant. As I said, it’s a theory.”

Alex blocked out most of their argument in favor of stretching her senses to learn as much as possible about the scene around her. She focused on the battered Ford Focus. Large dents covered its exterior and the windshield was smashed. Mud caked the passenger’s side as though it’d been sprayed from the front wheel.

The trunk was open to its widest point, and Tony Maslan, JPD’s chief crime scene investigator, dressed in an identical Tyvek jumpsuit, snapped pictures of