Laws of the Blood 4: Deceptions: Deceptions by Susan Sizemore Page A

inspected. “Broken bark,” he told Russ when he came trotting up.
    “So I see. Stand back,” Russ directed, waving Falconer away from the tree.
    Falconer stepped back to let his friend work. After a brief inspection of the tree trunk and the ground around it, Russ opened a bag, put on gloves, and took out a selection of equipment. He used tweezers and put things in vials. It was all very arcane to Mike Falconer.
    After a few minutes Falconer couldn’t contain his impatience anymore. “Well? What have you found?”
    “Hair, mostly,” Russ answered. “Some fibers. Possibly a tiny amount of blood.”
    “Evidence,” Falconer said, and sighed. He was surprised at how anxious he’d been that there might be no way to prove the reality of what had happened to him. “Good.”
    “I’ll let you know if it’s good after I get back to the lab. This is everything.” Russ sealed the last bit of evidence and put the container in his bag. “I could bring in some fancy high-tech equipment and go over the area if you like, Mike.”
    “Neither of our budgets could handle that.”
    “Not if all you’re paying in is coffee and donuts.”
    “And favors to be returned,” Falconer added.
    Russ grunted and hefted his bag. He checked his watch. “If you’re going to tell me you need this stuff by tonight, you’re out of luck.”
    “Understood.” Falconer checked his own watch. He had an appointment in an hour and important meetings the rest of the day. There were no Walking sessions scheduled for the rest of the week, thank goodness. “I wouldn’t be home tonight, even if you had anything for me,” he told his friend. “I’ll be at a party.”
    Russ canted a bushy eyebrow at Falconer. “Hot date?”
    “Only if you consider kissing up to appropriations committee members hot.”
    The FBI scientist laughed. They strolled toward thestreet together. “I thank God regularly that I’m a faceless cog in the bureaucratic wheel. At least I don’t have to personally worry about where my funding comes from.”
    “Lucky bastard. Thanks for the help.”
    “No problem,” Russ answered.
    They tossed empty coffee containers into a garbage can. Russ hefted his bag on his shoulder. Falconer did not let himself look nervously over his shoulder at the shadows and ghosts in the park, and they went their separate ways.
     
    The taste of the Irish coffee was good against his tongue, the heat of it spread a comforting warmth. The raincoat he’d folded over the chair next to his was still soaking wet, and his hair was a little damp. Rain poured down outside, the storm clouds covering the city so dark it was hard to tell that it was near the middle of the day. Frequent flashes of lightning lit up the street outside the wide windows at the front of the bar. Bentencourt checked his watch, something that was a habit still more than a necessity. The blood he shared with Rose was changing him. Among those changes was the growing awareness of the exact position of the sun as the earth turned in its rotation.
    He loved the taste of her blood, and hated the necessity of having to taste it so rarely. The anticipation was sweet, of course, and the test of his control was good for him. He needed to be disciplined, to remain focused. The threads he held in his hands were only beginning to come together. He had to keep careful watch on each and every intersecting plan. The drives of the body changing and opening up to new and powerful kinds of magic left one distracted to the point of madness. Look at how Cassandra had behaved at lunch the day before, making a fool of herself in front himself and Gavivi, showing her vulnerability.
    Poor dear, he thought. There must be some use I can make of her obvious misery.
    Someday he would go through that change, but not until he was in control of the world around him. He looked forward to the night he made his first kill and the brief decadence of rebirth that would follow. Once he was a strigoi he would always