Moon Child (Vampire for Hire #4) by J.R. Rain Page B

them for, you know, research.”
    Detective Sherbet loved his boy. Of that
there was no doubt. That he had been worried sick that his young
son was showing early signs of homosexuality was almost comical.
With that said, I had been touched by Sherbet’s ability to come to
terms with the concept. If anything, he loved his boy even more.
Still, the thought of the gruff detective sitting through the
various naked torso scenes in Twilight and its sequels for
“research” would normally have had me laughing so hard that I might
have peed. But not tonight.
    “Anyway,” he said, clearly embarrassed. “You
could say I’m something of a vampire expert now.”
    “I see,” I said, and now I did laugh. “I
hadn’t realized I was sitting next to an expert.”
    He laughed, too, but then quickly turned
somber. “But those are just movies. This is real, isn’t it,
Sam?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “You really are a vampire.”
    I shrugged, my old defense kicking in. “I
don’t know what I am, Detective.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means I’m the same person I’ve always
been, except sometimes when I’m not. It means that I feel the same
that I’ve always felt, except sometimes when I don’t. It means I
act the same, think the same, and do the same things I’ve always
done.
    “Except when you don’t,” said Sherbet.
    “Yes, exactly. It means I’m still me. I’m
still a mom. I’m still a woman. I’m still a sister. And I’m still a
friend.”
    “But you’re also something else. Something
more.”
    I nodded. “And sometimes I’m that, too.”
    We were silent for a minute or two. The
detective’s heart rate, I noted, had increased significantly. “It
happened six years ago, didn’t it?”
    I nodded.
    “It left you...the way you are now.”
    “Yes.”
    “You never asked for this, did you?”
    I shook my head.
    “And it’s ripped your life apart, hasn’t
it?”
    I nodded and fought the tears. Enough crying.
I was sick of crying, but it felt so damn nice to be understood,
especially by a man I respected and admired so much.
    “And now you’re doing all you can to keep it
together.”
    Shit. The tears started. Damn Detective
Sherbet.
    He reached over and patted my hand. A
grandfatherly gesture. A warm gesture.
    “So you believe me?” I asked.
    “I believe something. What that is, I don’t
know. Most of me thinks you’re insane, or that I’m insane. Most
people would think, in the least, that you’re a hazard to your
kids.”
    “Do you think I’m a hazard to my kids?”
    “No. I think you’re a wonderful mother. I
really believe that.”
    “Thank you,” I said, moved all over
again.
    Sherbet touched the back of my hand again. My
instinct was, of course, to retract my hand, but I didn’t. Not this
time. His fingertips explored my skin, almost like a blind man
would the face of his lover. “Your cold skin always confused me.
And your skin disease never felt right.”
    “Because it wasn’t.”
    He nodded. “And Ira Lang...sweet Jesus. The
visiting room.”
    Sherbet was referring to the time a month or
so ago when I had punched through a bullet-proof piece of glass to
grab a piece of shit named Ira Lang, and proceeded to let him know
what I thought of him threatening me and my kids.
    “You killed him, Sam.”
    I said nothing. I wasn’t admitting anything,
especially to a homicide investigator.
    “You nearly ripped his head off.”
    I kept saying nothing.
    “Of course, I should arrest you. For his
murder, and for anyone else who’s gone missing or been killed on
any of your other cases.” He turned his shoulder and propped a
meaty elbow up on the seat’s head rest. “Just tell me one thing,
Sam: do you kill people for blood?”
    “No.”
    “Do you drink blood?”
    His tone was challenging. I felt like a
daughter confronted by her father about smoking weed or drinking
booze.
    “I have to,” I said, looking away.
    He stared at me so long and hard that I
wanted to crawl