Blood Secrets - By Jeannie Holmes Page 0,57

the alarm.

“I don’t know how much use I’ll be until my sight comes back, if it comes back.”

“Don’t talk like that. Of course it’ll come back, and you’re a valuable member of my investigative team.”

“Why? Because I’m psychic or because you’re afraid I’ll get into trouble if you don’t keep your eye on me?”

Varik smirked. “Both.”

She linked her arm with his as they walked in silence through the Nassau County Municipal Center’s parking lot toward the FBPI’s mobile lab.

The sun was already above the trees and approaching midday. They’d spent the morning making love and finding some much-needed solace in each other’s company. Their euphoria had been interrupted by an urgent call from Reyes Cott, who reported they’d found something disturbing regarding the doll from Mindy Johnson’s car.

While examining the doll, Reyes had determined the soft material used to make the doll’s body was some type of leather. He thought he might be able to trace it to a specific manufacturer and then follow the bread crumbs to a possible suspect. His logic was sound enough but sustained a fatal blow when he discovered the leather was in fact human skin.

This latest development had pulled Alex and Varik from their bed and set them on a course for Nassau County Municipal Center. As they walked toward the lab, Varik sensed the hesitancy in Alex’s steps and the distraction in her mind. He’d noticed it earlier but hadn’t pressed. She would tell him what was bothering her when she was ready.

“Here we are,” he said when they reached the front of the converted RV.

Alex nodded and then sighed and stopped, tugging on his arm. “There’s something I didn’t tell you yesterday. Something happened after we were attacked and you were pulled into the Shadowlands.”

“Does it involve the Dollmaker?”

She shook her head. “No, it was before then, before I found you. I ran into the spirit of a little boy.”

“As I understand things, it’s not uncommon to meet spirits when you part the Veil.”

“It’s not, but this boy couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. His clothes were wet like he’d been swimming in them. He said his name was Edward.”

Dread knotted his stomach. Memories long supressed pushed against the barrier between his subconscious and conscious minds. He drove them back, only to have them resurge, demanding his attention. “What did he look like?”

Sunlight reflected in the dark glasses she still wore to cover her sightless eyes. “He looked like you, actually.”

Varik felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. The barrier keeping the memories at bay broke and unleashed them.

It was a frigid night in early January 1928. He was in London on an assignment—tracking a vampire accused of slaughtering three families north of the city. He’d finally managed to get a solid lead on the vampire’s location. All he needed to pursue the rogue was to gather a few supplies from the basement flat he was leasing.

As he rounded a corner, a wave of water rushed past him, nearly knocking him from his feet. Then came the cries and pleas for help. Panicked, he slogged through the rising water, desperate to reach his flat.

His own cries mingled with those of others until the water became too deep. It swept him from his feet and carried him through the narrow winding streets, another piece of flotsam eventually left abandoned in a dank alleyway.

A warm hand on his arm chased away the cold memories. “Varik?” Alex asked. Her other hand cupped his cheek and her voice was soft. “What is it? Talk to me. Who is Edward?”

“Someone I haven’t talked about to anyone in a very long time.”

“I don’t understand.”

Varik sighed, gently removed her hand from his face, and kissed her knuckles. “The spirit you met was Edward Lucien Baudelaire,” he whispered hoarsely. “My son.”

“Your son?” She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip on her hand. “How can you—Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It was a long time ago. He was only four when he died, drowned when the Thames River flooded parts of London. I never thought the two of you would meet.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered and hugged him.

He closed his eyes, returned her embrace, and drew strength from her warmth. A day didn’t pass when he didn’t think of Edward at least once. Edward was one reason he hadn’t killed in over fifty years. Seeing the anguished parents of a teenaged vampire he killed because of faulty information reminded him of the