Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires by Adrian Phoenix

cracking through the air, rebounding from the walls and shattering the narrow tunnel obstructing Heather’s vision. Her heart stopped for a split second, then everything zoomed forward in a blinding rush of speed.
    She slammed Jefferson into the wall with a body block. She seized his wrist and jerked his gun hand up. Davis wrenched the pistol from Jefferson’s fingers.
    â€œHoly shit, asshole,” he said, voice harsh. “You wanna fuck us all?”
    â€œNothing to worry about,” LaRousse said. “He missed the bastard.”
    Heather looked at the doorway. Dante wasn’t there. In-stead, he stood in the center of the room. As she watched, he walked back to the doorway, bracing his gloved hands against either side. He looked ready to launch himself at Jefferson. Again.
    Heather felt herself unknot. She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it as relief leeched her strength and left her weak-limbed.
    She caught Dante’s shaded gaze, or thought she did, anyway, and shook her head. Don’t move. No more stupidity. He remained braced in the doorway, body coiled. She could almost smell the adrenaline and fury that radiated from him. And testosterone. Don’t forget that. With all the males in the room, the air crackled with it.
    Heather turned to Jefferson. “What the hell were you doing?”
    Jefferson met her gaze, opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked down.
    â€œProtecting his partner, Agent Wallace,” LaRousse cut in. “Or don’t y’all do that in the Bureau? Here, we do whatever’s necessary.”
    Heather closed her eyes for a second, then turned. LaRousse knelt beside Manning, one hand on the cop’s shoulder.
    â€œPrejean was unarmed,” she said, voice tight. “There was no need for deadly force. And you know it.”
    LaRousse snorted. Shook his head. He helped Manning to his feet.
    â€œTake him to the emergency room,” LaRousse said to Jefferson. “And write a detailed report.”
    â€œI’m fine,” Manning said, face flushed. “Christ!”
    Jefferson slipped an arm around his partner and walked the protesting Manning to the doorway. Dante still stood there, hands braced. A wry smile tilted up one corner of Dante’s mouth. Lowering his hands, he stepped inside the room.
    â€œJe va te voir plus tard,” he said to Jefferson.
    All color drained from Jefferson’s face. “I don’t know none of that Cajun talk,” he stammered. Pushing Manning through the doorway, Jefferson hurried into the hall.
    Heather blew loose strands of her hair from her face and glared at Dante. “You weren’t kidding about that problem with cooperation, were you?”
    â€œHe told Jefferson he’d see him later,” LaRousse said. “Sounds like a threat.”
    â€œNo threat,” Dante said. “Just bound to happen.”
    Swiveling to face LaRousse, Heather said, “Prejean is not a player. I think he needs to be placed in protective custody.”
    â€œNo thanks,” Dante said. “And my name ain’t Prejean.”
    â€œShut up,” Heather said. “You’re not helping.”
    â€œOh, he’ll be placed in protective custody, all right,” LaRousse said, a tight smile thinning his lips. “In jail. For assaulting an officer and resisting arrest.”
    â€œLet’s get things straight right now, LaRousse,” Heather said, stepping closer to the detective, muscles tight, hands clenched. “ I’m in charge of this investigation—”
    LaRousse leaned in and met her head-on. “That’s where you’re wrong, Agent Wallace,” he said. “You’re not in charge. You’re consulting . Hell, you haven’t told us whether or not the damned Cross-Country Killer is even here.”
    LaRousse’s words hit Heather like an open-handed slap. Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t look away or back down. Her