[Anita Blake 17] - Skin Trade by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

the police. We’re the good guys. Only the criminals get to do revenge. We uphold the law. Vengeance takes the law away.”
    I looked at him and saw that he meant it, down to the bottom of his eyes. “That is a brave and wonderful sentiment, Lieutenant, but I’ve held people I cared about while they died at the hands of these things. I’ve seen families destroyed.” I shook my head. “Vittorio is evil, not because he’s a vampire but because he’s a serial killer. He takes pleasure in the death and pain of others. He will keep killing until we stop him. The law gives me the legal right to do the stopping. If you don’t want it to be about revenge for your men, then that’s your concern. He’ll be dead no matter whose death I’m avenging.”
    â€œAnd whose death will you be avenging?” Hooper asked.
    No one told him to stop this time.
    I thought about it, and I had my answer. “Melbourne and Baldwin.”
    â€œThe two SWAT you lost in St. Louis,” Grimes said.
    I nodded.
    â€œWere you close to them?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “Met them once.”
    â€œWhy vengeance for two men you met once?” Rocco asked it, and there was the first trickle of energy from him. He’d lowered his psychic shields just a little. Was he an empath, wanting to read how I really felt?
    The truck was pulling in, and Hooper was parking. I looked into Rocco’s dark eyes, darker than the lieutenant’s. Rocco’s were so dark, they almost crossed that line from brown to black. It made his pupils hard to find, like the eyes of a vampire when its power begins to fill its eyes, all color of the iris and no pupil.
    â€œWhat flavor are you?”
    â€œFlavor of what?” he asked.
    â€œYou’re too tall to play coy, Sergeant.”
    He smiled. “I’m an empath.”
    I gave him narrow eyes, studying his face. His pulse had sped, just that tiny bit, some parting of the lips. I licked my bottom lip and said, “You taste like a lie.”
    â€œI am an empath.” He stated it, very firm.
    â€œAnd?” I said.
    â€œAnd what?” he asked.
    â€œAn empath and . . .” I said.
    We stared at each other in the backseat, the air growing thicker, heavier, as we peeled our shields down.
    â€œCan we move this inside?” Grimes asked.
    â€œYes, sir,” Rocco said.
    â€œSure,” I said.
    â€œAre you willing to have him read you?”
    â€œGrimes said it, questions won’t tell you if I’m for real, but something tells me that the part of Rocco here that’s not empath will tell you a hell of a lot more.”
    â€œWe want to know about the last time you hunted this vampire, Marshal. Are you ready to relive that?”
    I didn’t even look at Grimes; I just held that dark, steady gaze from my fellow psychic, because I knew something that the lieutenant probably didn’t know about his sergeant. Rocco was eager to try me. It was part that male instinct to see who’s the bigger dog, but it was more than that. His power was eager, as if it had an edge of hunger to it. I couldn’t think of a polite way to ask if his psychic ability fed on the memories he collected. If it did, if he could, then I wasn’t the only living vampire in Vegas.

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    ROCCO AND I slipped our shields back up the way others would have shrugged their jackets on. We were both professionals; nice.
    Grimes told Hooper, “Take us in through the garage. The briefing room should be ready for the meeting.”
    Hooper pulled out of the parking spot and maneuvered around to a really big garage door. We drove the whole SUV inside, and suddenly I could see why the door was big.
    I would say the garage was full of trucks, but the word didn’t do them justice. I’d seen the equipment that St. Louis SWAT had, and I was suddenly filled with serious equipment envy.
    We all got out. I noticed sort of