For Love or Vengeance by Caridad Piñeiro Read Free Book Online Page A

Blood Bank .
    “He’s got a hot date,” she told her partner with a knowing smile, certain she hadn’t misread the signals from their ADIC. But what did going out have to do with a blood bank?
    “Lucky him,” Sanchez murmured.
    She glanced over at him and noticed a sad expression on his face. For reasons she couldn’t even begin to understand, she once again couldn’t resist teasing her partner. “What’s the matter, Sanchez? Feeling a little lonely in the Big Apple?”
    He stiffened beside her. His sadness was nearly overwhelming, impossible to miss as his aura changed to a troubled blue-red.
    “I’m sorry, Sanchez. I—”
    “Miguel. The name is Miguel, and I don’t need someone like you feeling sorry for me.” He quickened his pace, leaving her in his dust.
    Someone like me? She tore after him, caught up, and grabbed his arm. She whirled him around forcefully. “Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
    His face was stony. “It means that no matter how intelligent and beautiful you are, it can’t make up for your apparent lack of a heart. Do you ever feel sympathy for anyone else? For yourself?” Miguel reached over and plucked her hand off his suit jacket as if removing a piece of nasty garbage.
    She didn’t know why it mattered what he thought, or how that simple action was more painful than a knife thrust to her middle. But it hurt—something she hadn’t thought possible after so many years of guarding her heart against both gods and mortals.
    Her shoulders sank and she battled the tightness in her chest that almost choked her reply. “What do you know about real pain? About the humiliation of being lied to? Of being abused?”
    The world shifted then, as if Atlas himself had heard her agony and moved to her side. But it wasn’t Atlas who stepped forward and tenderly brushed aside the curls that a soft autumn breeze had blown onto her face. It was no god who dared to trace his thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone and wipe away a mortified tear.
    It was a human. A mortal whom she feared could be more dangerous to her existence than anyone had been in over two millennia.
    “I’m sorry, Helene. I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly,” he said, and again caressed her face with his thumb before another tender pass of his hand across her hair.
    That simple touch eased past her armor, weakening her defenses. She had to shore them up or risk even more problems with her new partner. Straightening her spine, she defiantly tilted her head up. Combined with her heels, that brought her nearly eye to eye to his six-foot something height. She needed to establish some distance.
    “This is the reason partners shouldn’t get personally involved, Sanchez. All you need to know about me is that when it comes time to pull the trigger, I will. Can you say the same?”
    He surprised her by brushing aside some more curls and offering a smile tinged with regret. “Let’s hope neither of us has to do any shooting on this case. I’d rather that justice makes sure this bastard fries.”
    He turned and they resumed their walk back to the office, both silent.
    Helene was certain of one thing—justice would prevail. She had no intention of failing.
    What she wasn’t so sure about was Miguel. And what his intentions would mean for her life.

    It was midnight before they decided to call it a night.
    None of the information they had sifted through had yielded any nuggets of value, just wasted time.
    Helene stood at the door to the building, watching Sanchez walk away. He had offered to escort her home, a chivalrous gesture. She wanted no part of it. Or him.
    She could take care of herself. And although she didn’t care to admit it, having him anywhere near her home and a bed might prove seriously dangerous.
    Besides, she had taken a moment to look up “blood bank” in their databases and come up with a hit that had surprised her—it was the name of a nearby Goth bar that had seen its share of trouble