Death Calls. Caridad Pineiro

      “She was one of my best friends. She asked me to be the godmother for their baby. Did you know that? Did you know she was pregnant?”

      Peter had the grace to look chagrined. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

      “Sorry? Sorry!” Unable to control herself any longer, she faced the wall and pounded the rough cinder block with her fist.

      Peter pulled her into a tight embrace as if to keep her from hurting herself. “I can’t imagine how tough this is.”

      She held on to him, needing his stability because of all she was tempted to do. Sylvia’s life—her normal, happy, human life—was gone. Destroyed by violence. Violence like that within Diana, so strong she didn’t know if she could hold it back. And if the killer turned out to be Raul…

      Dios. She would give in to the darkness and kill the bastard herself.

      “Di? You need to get a grip if you’re going to talk to him.”

      With a deep shuddering breath, she pulled herself together. Stepping away from Peter, she wiped at her eyes. “Do we have any other leads?”

      Frowning, Peter shook his head. “Everything we have points to the husband. Maybe he found out the baby wasn’t—”

      Diana silenced him with a pointed slash of her hand. “Don’t go there. Sylvia didn’t mess around,” she said, then stalked down the hall to the interrogation room, Peter trailing behind her.

      Raul sat at a Formica-topped table, jailbird-orange clothing hanging loosely on his hunched shoulders. His bloodstained pajamas had been taken as evidence. He was hollow-eyed and obviously still in shock. “Tell me what happened, Raul,” Diana said.

      “No se. We had dinner out. Un poquito de vino, but not much wine since Sylvia…” He stopped as tears spilled down his cheeks. He wiped at them with shaky hands and haltingly continued. “We went home. We were both really sleepy. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out.” His hands tumbled in the air. “No se que paso. There was a sound. A loud sound. I started coming to, but everything was fuzzy…” He stopped once more, buried his head in his hands. The tears fell more furiously.

      Diana laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is difficult, but you have to try to remember.”

      “I don’t know what happened,” he replied brokenly, and held out his hands as if pleading with her. “De verdad que no se. When I woke up, Sylvia was bleeding. I tried to wake her. When she didn’t respond…I called 9-1-1. I held her. She was so still. Then I saw the gun.”

      “Did you touch the gun, Raul?”

      He shook his head and wiped at his runny nose. “I don’t remember touching it.”

      “Forensics will be able to confirm whether you did or not, Mr. Rodriguez. You may as well tell us now.” Peter moved to the table.

      Raul snarled at the detective, “I did not kill my wife. I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. She was my life. Mi vida.” He jabbed at a spot above his heart to emphasize the point.

      The sincerity in his words convinced Diana. She touched Raul’s clenched fist. “I believe you.”

      He slumped into his chair. “Gracias, Diana.”

      She glared at Peter. “I want to see all the reports. Anything you have.”

      “You’re not assigned to this case. If the suspect hadn’t asked for you—”

      “I would have found out and—”

      “You don’t have jurisdiction here.”

      He was right. Taking a deep breath to control her anger and frustration, Diana nodded and followed Peter out of the room. Peter wouldn’t refuse if she asked. So she did. “Ask me to help. I need to know what happened to my friend.”

      Peter gave her a long look. “Unofficially and…whatever I say goes on this one. I’m the lead.”

      “You’re the boss, Detective Daly.”

      Peter let out a soft chuckle. “Right, Reyes. As if that will ever happen with any man in your life.”

      “May I see the evidence, Detective? Pretty please?”

      Peter chuckled again and shook his head. “Cut the shit, Di. You don’t do submissive very well.”

      No, she didn’t, come to think of it. Maybe that was part of the reason her situation with Ryder troubled her so much. What she felt for him made her weak, made her surrender a piece of herself. She wasn’t good about not being in charge.

      “Okay, so I’m asking straight-up. Show me what you’ve got.”

      He motioned down the hallway. “CSU is processing most of it. But we can head to the M.E.’s to see the body—”

      “Don’t call Sylvia that.”

      Peter sighed and dragged a hand through his ragged sun-bleached hair. “I’m sorry. But you need to get perspective.”

      “I will deal with it. But if it were Samantha—”

      “Low blow, Reyes,” he said, his tone filled with anger at the idea of harm coming to his lover—who had sired Ryder more than a century earlier.

      Ryder.

      Like the intertwined strands on a web, everything in her life inevitably led back to him. Could she ever be truly free of him? Or would she be forever ensnared in that web, trapped by what she felt for him?

      Had once felt for him, she reminded herself. As for those emotions and anything connected to them…she had to put them aside and focus on what was most important now—avenging her friend’s death.

      Diana let out an exasperated breath and laid a hand on Peter’s sleeve. “I’m sorry. I will try to handle it better. Let’s go see Sylvia. Por favor.”

      She would do what needed to be done to find Sylvia’s killer. And when she located him…

      Living with vampires for two years had shown her just what she was capable of—fierce, swift action with no hesitation. Justice without the complicated rules of the human world.

      She pitied Sylvia’s killer when he, too, found that out.

      Chapter 4

      Just a few weeks ago, the swell of Sylvia’s pregnancy had been a sign of hope for good things to come. Today, as Sylvia lay on the shiny metal of the medical examiner’s table, it was a grotesque reminder of promises that would never be fulfilled.

      Diana stood by patiently as the M.E. went over the details of the evidence. Bullet entry and exit wounds. Proximity of the muzzle—a close-contact kill with a large-caliber weapon, straight to the heart. Sylvia could never have survived the trauma. The delay in getting help had sealed the fate of the baby.

      Gunpowder burns and stippling marked Sylvia’s pajamas and skin. The bullet had gone straight through her and into the mattress below. CSU had recovered the bullet, but no casing. Ballistics was already attempting to link the bullet to the gun found and to any other crimes recently committed.

      “Do you know if your friends owned a gun?” Peter asked as he picked up the .45 caliber revolver in an evidence bag.

      “In law school Sylvia lobbied on behalf of the Assault Gun Ban. What do you think?”

      With a quick nod, he held the bag out for the M.E. “Any prints?”

      “Palm print as well as four fingers. We’re running them now against the suspect.” The M.E. reached into a tray holding more evidence and extracted a bag containing clothing. “Mr. Rodriguez’s pajamas tested positive for blood in various locations, as well as high-velocity blood splatter along the right sleeve.”

      A possible inconsistency suddenly occurred