Violets Are Blue - James Patterson [10]
They found the couple in the kitchen, making a late meal, both of them sharing the preparations like the goody-goodies that they were.
“Yuppies at play,” William said, and smiled.
“Whoa!” the male said, and threw up both of his hands. He was close to six-four and well built. He was working like kitchen help at the vegetable sink.
“What the hell do you guys think you’re doing? Let’s take it outside.”
“You’re the troublemaking lawyer,” William said, and pointed at the female. She was early thirties, short blond hair, high cheekbones, slender, with small breasts. “We came for supper.”
“I’m a lawyer too,” the domineering male said. “I don’t think you two were invited. I’m sure of it. Get out! You hear me? Hey, you assholes, hit the road.”
“You threatened the Sire.” William continued to talk to the female. “So he sent us here.”
“Arthur, I’m going to call the police,” the woman finally said. She was upset now, the nubs of her breasts rising and falling against her shirt. She had a small cell phone in her hand, and William wondered if she had pulled it out of her ass. The thought made him smile.
He was on her in an instant, and Michael took down the husband almost as easily. The brothers were incredibly fast and strong, and they knew it.
They growled loudly, but that was only a scare tactic.
“We have money in the house. My God, don’t hurt us,” the male shrieked loudly, almost like a woman.
“We’re not after your obscene money — we have no use for it. And we’re not serial killers or anything common like that,” William told them.
He bit down into the struggling woman’s luscious pink neck — and she stopped fighting. Just like that, she was his. She gazed into his eyes and she swooned. A tear ran down her cheek.
William didn’t look up again until he had fed. “We’re vampires,” he finally whispered to the murdered couple.
Chapter 12
ON MY second day in San Francisco, I worked out of a small cubicle near Jamilla Hughes’s desk at the Hall of Justice. I attended a couple of her briefings on the Golden Gate Park murders, which were thorough and highly professional. She was impressive.
Everything about the murder case was weird and wrong-headed, though. No one had a fix on it yet; no one had a good idea, at least none that I’d heard so far. The only thing we knew for sure was that people were being murdered in particularly horrible ways. It happens more and more frequently these days.
Around noon, I got a call on my cell phone. “Just checking in,” the Mastermind said. “How is San Francisco, Alex? Lovely city. Will you leave your heart there? Do you think it’s a good place to die?
“Or how about Inspector Hughes? Do you like her? She’s very pretty, isn’t she? Just your type. Are you going to fuck Jamilla? Better hurry, then. Tempus fugit.” He hung up.
I went back to work. Lost myself for a couple of hours. Began to make some minor progress.
Around four o’clock, I was staring out at the start of rush hour, San Francisco style — pretty mild, actually — while I talked to Kyle Craig. He was still at Quantico, but he was definitely heavily involved in the case.
Kyle was in a position to choose the cases he became personally connected with, and he told me this was going to be one of them. We’d be working together again. I looked forward to it.
I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Jamilla approaching my desk. She had her leather jacket half on and was struggling into the second sleeve. Going somewhere? “Hold on, Kyle,” I said into the receiver.
“We have to go,” she said, “to San Luis Obispo. They’re going to exhume a body. I think it’s related.”
I told Kyle that I had to leave right away. He wished me happy hunting. Jamilla and I took the elevator down to the parking garage beneath the Hall of Justice. The more I saw of her work, the more I was impressed, not just by her savvy but by her enthusiasm for the job. A lot of detectives lose that after a couple of years. She obviously hadn’t. Are you going to fuck Jamilla? Better hurry, then.
“Are you always