Daughter of the Blood

New York The moon was a flickering, low-watt streetlamp threatening to go out any second. Sirens roared in the New York City jungle of burned-out tenements and rusted cars. Bottom-dwelling predators--dealers, pimps, "kickers and gangbangers glided through the misery and poverty of the urban landscape surrounded by snowdrifts, garbage and needles. It was the last hour of third watch, the end of Izzy DeMarco's very first shift as an NYPD rookie. She and her field training officer, Patrolman Juan Torres, were escorting Sauvage, a young goth from Brooklyn, to her boyfriend's place. The building was not very nice, but at least the graffiti on the bricks was random and crude, lacking the trademark tags claiming the building for some gang. Gang territory was worse news than basic low-rent squalor. Sauvage had promised to stay here until the department located Izzy's former coworker, Julius Esposito, and took him into custody. Sauvage had witnessed Esposito, who had worked with Izzy in the property room, shaking down a corner boy--a street dealer--for money and contraband. She hadn't seen him commit murder, but Esposito was also wanted in connection with the possible homicide of Detective First Grade Jason Attebury, also of the Two-Seven. Detective Pat Kittrell--what should Izzy call him, her lover? her boyfriend?--had argued that Izzy needed protective custody of her own. Although he had no concrete evidence to back up his case, Pat was sure Esposito was the shooter who had taken aim at Izzy's father in a burning tenement fire--and missed. If he wanted one DeMarco dead, he might want two. Pat was furious when Izzy was assigned to escort Sauvage to a so-called safehouse, and he had half a mind to go to Captain Clancy and tell her so. Torn between feeling flattered and patronized, Izzy had demanded that Pat stand down and back way off. The last thing she needed was a gold shield lecturing her boss about how to use a new hire. I'm a cop. Finally. And I sure as hell knew the job was dangerous when I took it. Besides, Sauvage had declared that Izzy was the only person in New York whom she trusted. With white makeup, black eyes and scarlet lips, costumed in her evil Tinkerbell finery--black-and-red bustier, lacy skirt and leggings topped by a pea coat, with combat boots sticking out underneath-- Sauvage cut an exotic figure beside Izzy, who had on her brand-new NYPD blues. Izzy wore no makeup, and her riot of black corkscrew curls were knotted regulation-style, poking out from the back of her hat. Dark brows, flashing chestnut eyes, and unconcealed freckles danced across her small nose--Izzy had never aspired to fashion-model looks, but some men--okay, Pat--said she was a natural beauty. She didn't know about that. But she did look exactly as she had imagined she would look in her uniform, and she was very proud. "Okay, so where is your boyfriend?" Torres thundered at Sauvage as the three stamped their chilly feet on the stoop of the building. Izzy blew on her hands. She had forgotten her gloves. Torres had not. He was bundled up against the night air, and he had a few extra pounds of his own to keep himself warm. And onion breath. Their vehicle reeked of it. Huffing, Sauvage jabbed the buzzer repeatedly with her blood-red fingernail.About ten minutes ago, back in the squad car, Sauvage had let her boyfriend, Ruthven, know they were on their way, and he'd assured her that he was in the apartment cooking her a big bowl of brown rice and veggies--with a supply of her favorite clove cigarettes at the ready. "I don't know why he's not answering," Sauvage muttered. "He is so dead." Let's hope not, Izzy thought, a chill clenching her gut, but she remained silent. From his jacket pocket, Torres handed Sauvage his cell phone and said, "Call him and tell him to get this door open ASAP." Sauvage obeyed, punching in numberHolder, Nancy is the author of 'Daughter of the Blood ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373514311 and ISBN 037351431X.