Caitlin Kittredge - Pure Blood

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

PURE BLOOD

Copyright 2008 by Caitlin Kittredge.
Excerpt from Second Skin copyright 2008 by Caitlin Kittredge.

All rights reserved.

For information address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

ISBN: 0-312-94830-1
EAN: 978-0-312-94830-6

Printed in the United States of America

St. Martins Paperbacks edition / September 2008

St. Martins Paperbacks are published by St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

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For Richelle and Jackie,
truly the best friends anyone could ask for.

Thanks as always to Rachel Vater, my fabulous agent, and Rose Hilliard, my lovely editor at St. Martins Press.

To Team SeattleRichelle, Kat, Cherie, and Mark. Thanks for helping me keep my sanity (mostly).

Thanks, Mom and Hal, for giving me a place to stay while I wrote Pure Blood and for being a supportive and understanding family.

Agent Heidi Wallace of the ATF remains a peerless source for firearms knowledge and law enforcement procedure. Any errors are mine, not hers.

Most of all, thanks belong to all of my readers, who love Luna and Nocturne City as much as I do, and interact with me on a daily basis on my blog. Keep reading, and Ill keep writing.

Im not a patient person under the best of circumstances. Standing next to a dead man on a cold city sidewalk is not one of them. Add in the fact that I was the only homicide detective on the scene, and had been standing around stamping my feet and rubbing my hands together for almost half an hour, and you could kiss any patience I started the night with goodbye.

I grabbed Officer Martinez by the elbow as he walked past, headed to his patrol car.

Where in seven hells is CSU?

He shrugged. Sorry, Detective Wilder. There was a drive-by shooting on Archer Avenue. Could be another forty minutes. Were low priority tonight.

I looked back at the dead man. Under the flickering sodium light his cheeks were gray hollows and his eyes receded until there was only black. He was thin, with grayish skin that puddled around his neck and wrists. A tan uniform shirt did nothing to cover the track marks on his forearms, between his fingers, in the fold of his elbow everywhere. If I took off his shoes Id find them in his ankles, his toes, and anywhere else a vein might be hiding.

A simple OD doesnt usually warrant a homicide detective, but I had been driving to work and picked up the call. It was a block away, so I swung by. By the way the dead guy smelled, I was wishing I hadnt. He was stalestale skin, stale sweat. The tang of cooked heroin burned the back of my mouth as I inhaled.

CSU is on the way, Detective! Martinez called from his patrol car. I rolled my shoulders. Thank the gods. I was in a bad neighborhood with limited backup, and someone in the dark row houses that lined the street was probably itching to shoot me right this second.

You want a cup of coffee, Detective? I got a thermos in the prowler.

I shook my head at Martinez, who looked sweetly disappointed. He was baby-faced, stocky and short, but had blazing black eyes and big hands that could probably snap a suspect in half.

I dont drink the stuff.

Something a little stronger? He pulled his blue satin jacket aside to show me an engraved silver flask. My mouth quirked.

Your captain know you have that?

Dont ask about the captains late-night lady visitors, he wont ask about what you do on patrol. Martinez grinned back at me. Hey, dont take this as a come-on or nothin, but you look familiar. You didnt just transfer in, did you?

I sighed. It had to happen sooner or later. Savvy editors had slapped my headshot from the police academy on the front page of every major newspaper in Nocturne City. Above the fold. Ive been on medical leave for three months. Just got back today.

Three months Martinezs gears ground for a second and then he blurted out, Hex! Youre that cop that killed the DA!

Former DA, I growled, and its not like he didnt try to kill meand call a daemonbefore I did something about it.

Holy shit, said Martinez, slapping his leg. We got all your clippings up in the locker room at the precinct house. There was a pool whether theyd let you back on the force or Section-8 you.

I had an unpleasant flash of Dr. Merriman, my department-appointed psychiatrist, and beat it back. Can I assume you bet against me?

Hell, no, said Martinez. Youre a tough bier, lady. I knew youd be back.

Your confidence is touching, I told him, and turned back to the body. Suddenly, the company of a dead junkie didnt seem so bad. At least he couldnt point and whisper.

I was going through the black messenger bag emblazoned with a fancy winged-foot logo and the legend MESSENGER OF THE GODS when the CSU van pulled up.

A black Lincoln with the seal of the city medical examiner parked behind the van, and Bart Kronen exited after a fight with his seat belt. He brought a canvas tote bag holding the tools of his trade and waved to me with his free hand.