Free Eveillez: Deny Your Blood Lust by CD Hussey Page B

Veronica Lake.
    Johnson stood at his shoulder, his eyes glued on the approaching woman. He was eating an apple and took a large, crunchy, juicy sounding bite before mumbling, mouth full, "I never get tired of seeing her." He clasped Kevin's shoulder. "I'm guessing she's here to see you. Thanks, man." As he spoke, apple chunked spittle dribbled from his mouth, and he wiped unceremoniously at it.
    Kevin rose when she reached the desk.
    "Hey, Angel," Johnson said sheepishly.
    She inclined her head. "Always a pleasure to see you, Detective Johnson." The words slid like smooth silk from her mouth, and there was something about the way she said them that oozed sex. In fact, her entire being radiated sexual energy so thick he could practically taste it. He noticed Brian wore a foolish grin and shifted uncomfortably into an awkward stance as he stood staring unabashedly at her. He didn't care to imagine why the position suddenly looked so stiff.
    She swung her gorgeous brown gaze to him, and he was immediately hit by a wall of lust. He was now the one who shifted uncomfortably. He stooped to gather up the photos. "Thanks for coming by, Ms. Hopkins," he said, shoving the pictures into a manila folder.
    "Angel."
    He cleared his throat. "Right. Angel." Pulling the folder in front of his body to disguise the erection suddenly straining against his slacks, he said tightly, "If you'll follow me, please. I think we'll be more comfortable in the conference room."
    Falling in beside him as he led her away, she said over her shoulder, "It was wonderful seeing you again, Detective Johnson." Johnson's reply sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
    "Have a seat," Kevin said when they stepped into the small room. Meant to seat four to five people, only one window opened to the hallway. He closed the door and after a moment's thought, pulled the blinds shut as well.
     
    * * * *
     
    Keeping her gloved hands folded neatly on the conference table, Angel calmly studied the detective as he opened a folder and removed some photos. She'd been too preoccupied when she first met him to notice how attractive he was. Over six feet tall with broad shoulders and narrow hips, his clothes hung on his trim body in a way that indicated he was all muscle. His face was movie star handsome, complete with cleft-chin and bright blue eyes. Producing the sexual energy needed to seduce him would be easy.
    He slid a photo toward her. "Do you recognize this woman?"
    She glanced over the picture. "It's a little difficult to say since this is a painting in Lohr's art collection. It is very familiar to me."
    "Look closely."
    She did and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Detective. I may have met her once, but honestly, only in passing. I couldn't begin to tell you when I met her or even where."
    "Where?"
    "I originally met Lohr in New York when he ran a bar called Club Blood. So it may have been in New York, or it may have been here in New Orleans. As I told you, so many faces have come and gone over the years, they begin to blend together."
    He sifted through the photos and pulled out two more.
    She didn't look at them long before lifting her gaze to his. "Are you testing me?"
    "No."
    "I was involved in both these cases. The first girl," she nodded toward the picture on the left, "died at a party I was at. Drug overdose. I was the one who dialed 911. It was horrifying."
    "And the other one?"
    She dropped her gaze to the picture. Lying on a hotel bed, red stained sheets twisted around her half-naked body, the girl was frozen with a wide-eyed, vacant stare, a river of red seeping from the wound on her neck.
    She could feel him watching her carefully. Judging her reaction for sure.
    "This was even more tragic," she said. "I never met this girl, and I was performing the night she died, but I heard she was a tourist from Dayton who'd come down here looking for Vampires. Whoever she found didn't know what they were doing and pierced her artery. Instead of calling for help, which