Free Falling Crimson

By Laura Harner and T.A. Webb

New Orleans, Louisiana. 2015.

A bank is robbed and two guards killed under the unblinking eye of a security camera that shows...not exactly nothing. There’s plenty of blood, but no evidence on the videos to show who—or what—is doing the killing. Human victims. Human Only establishments. Preternatural killer. It's not the first, and it won't be the last.

It’s been almost three years since a vampire burst into flames on television and humans were forced to face a new world where supernatural beings exist. Some are more accepting than others—ask Sam Garrett and Travis Boudreaux, former NOPD detectives. Once human, they find themselves part of the preternatural world. Different lives, different rules.

An invisible killer. Humans Only separatist groups. A vampire with political ambitions who might be forming his own army. No one's safe in a world where humans—and supers—are forced to adapt, or die.

Working together as part of a team sanctioned by Homeland Security to carry out Justice Department decrees, Sam and Travis ensure the deadliest of supers pay for their crimes. Permanently.

Warning: This is a steamy urban fantasy. In this series the vampires don’t sparkle, werewolves kill, and the men sometimes have sex. With each other.

The Altered States Series should be read in the following order:
Altered States (The Prequel)
Deep Blues Goodbye
Deadly Shades of Gold
Free Falling Crimson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Harner
• Release date: Jan 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781941841006

Laura Harner

Laura lives on waterfront property in Arizona because she's always wanted to be an oxymoron. She once enjoyed hobbies such as gardening and travel—now the characters in her head compel her to tell their stories, so she writes. (It doesn't actually help quiet the voices—but it keeps the folks in the white jackets at bay.)She shares her home with an ever-revolving cast of characters—some of whom are actually real—and is living her dream of building her own version of the Willow Springs Ranch.With over fifty published novels and novellas, Laura is an international bestselling author of erotic romances, romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and Highland romances. Her books can be found at all major online retailers.Connect with her online at:http://lauraharner.com

Book preview

Free Falling Crimson

Altered States: IV

Laura Harner and T.A. Webb

Free Falling Crimson is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Laura Harner and T.A. Webb

Edited by Jae Ashley

Cover Art by Laura Harner

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

ISBN: 978-1-941841-00-6

Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Contact the publisher for further information: [e-mail]

Acknowledgements

To our readers: Thank you for staying with us through this past year—we’ve both faced some tough challenges, but are happy to be back in full production. Your unwavering support means everything.

Christy Duke, Mardee Barnett, Will Parkinson, and Jae Ashley, we couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you, for all of the ways you help.

For those of you who can’t get enough of the Altered States universe, join us for Pulp Friction 2015, where Lee Brazil, Parker Williams, Havan Fellows, and Laura Harner will continue to add to the post-Revelation world we’ve created in New Orleans. Tom Webb will be joining us as well, with Bonus Books to add to the collection.

The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Brad Pitt: Pitt, William B.

CNN: Cable News Network, Inc.

Disney: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Dos Equis: CCM IP, S.A.

Energizer Bunny: Eveready Battery Company, Inc.

Escalade: General Motors LLC

ESPN: ESPN, Inc.

Fight Club: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Gatorade: Stokely-Van Camp, Inc.

Google: Google, Inc.

Inspector Clouseau: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc.

Jedi: Lucasfilm Entertainment Company Ltd.

La-Z-Boy: La-Z-Boy, Inc.

Little League: Little League Baseball, Inc.

Mack Truck: Mack Trucks, Inc.

Popsicle: Conopco, Inc.

PowerPoint: Microsoft Corporation

Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation

Super Bowl: National Football League Unincorporated Association

Tabasco: McIlhenny Company

Tecate: Cervezas Cuauhtemoc Moctezuma SA

V8: CSC Brands LP

Wizard of Oz: Turner Entertainment Co.

Zombie Apocalypse: Konami Digital Entertainment, Inc.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Free Falling Crimson

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

About the Author

Also Available

Free Falling Crimson

New Orleans, Louisiana. 2015.

A bank is robbed and two guards killed under the unblinking eye of a security camera that shows…not exactly nothing. There’s plenty of blood, but no evidence on the videos to show who—or what—is doing the killing. Human victims. Human Only establishments. Preternatural killer. It's not the first, and it won't be the last.

It’s been almost three years since a vampire burst into flames on television and humans were forced to face a new world where supernatural beings exist. Some are more accepting than others—ask Sam Garrett and Travis Boudreaux, former NOPD detectives. Once human, they find themselves part of the preternatural world. Different lives, different rules.

An invisible killer. Humans Only separatist groups. A vampire with political ambitions who might be forming his own army. No one's safe in a world where humans—and supers—are forced to adapt, or die.

Working together as part of a team sanctioned by Homeland Security to carry out Justice Department decrees, Sam and Travis ensure the deadliest of supers pay for their crimes. Permanently.

Chapter One

Looking past the blood and entrails to the empty safety deposit boxes and pieces of the dead security guard littering the floor of the bank vault, former NOPD detective Sam Garrett leaned in the doorway and watched the crime scene investigators collect evidence that would never see the inside of a courtroom. Not now that the Odd Squad’s Special Perps Unit had official jurisdiction. Their job was to stop paranormal murderers in the most efficient—and permanent—way possible.

Speaking of the Odd Squad…where the hell was Danny Burkette? As the last surviving member of the now all-but-defunct NOPD paranormal investigative unit, he should have been called in. Sam glanced around and wondered, in disgust, when the pissing contest between Danny and Clint Wayne would end. Clint, the fed assigned by Homeland Security to head the state of Louisiana’s newly reorganized New Orleans Paranormal Criminal Investigations Unit, should have assigned the detectives—but right now, his official investigative staff was a team of none. The Special Perps Unit, the wet work arm, consisted of Sam, Travis, and Jet, and operated in the shadows, out of the public eye. Giving up on wondering at the whys and hows of Clint’s reasoning for shutting Danny out, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

Another fuckin’ Locked Vault murder… Sam said.

Jesus, muttered his fellow team member, Travis Boudreaux, as he shouldered past Sam to get his first look at the crime scene. Did they get anything on the camera this time?

Sam’s gaze shifted up to look at the camera mounted on the exterior wall, directly above the door. Won’t know for sure until the techs run it through all their electronic gizmos, but my guess is no. They didn’t capture anything at the other scene either, so no reason to expect this one would be any different. I think we both know that’s why we’re here. Sam spoke quietly, his words for Travis only.

No doubt, Travis said, holding his gaze. We’ll have to talk about that when we get to the station.

Sam nodded. Deciding he’d seen enough, he retraced his steps past the administrative cubicles to the lobby of the Royal on Chartres boutique bank. Almost three years ago now, the world learned of the existence of vampires in a spectacularly showy fashion when a newly turned young man burst into flames on national television. Since that moment, entrepreneurs had been looking for ways to cash in. There were now roughly one hundred small businesses in and around New Orleans that catered to the special needs of a continually increasing population of vamps, wereanimals, and other supernatural beings. And twice as many businesses that catered to the ‘human only’ contingent.

This small bank, for example. It embarrassed Sam to think he might have done business here only a few months ago, had it not been for the attack on him by a vampire assassin. There had been no attempt to turn him, just to leave him for dead. Fortunately, his friends had been nearby and made a decision on his behalf. Now, his former paraphobic-self was a gen-u-ine werewolf.

Removing his notepad, Sam made a show of looking at the windows and teller cages while he listened to the human cops gather statements from the employees. He cursed whichever nitwit thought it a good idea to drag the bank staff out of their beds in the middle of the night and let them see the crime scene. It not only contaminated the evidence, it also fed their prejudices and had them invoking their Traumatized Victim’s Rights to be interviewed by someone of the same species. As if they were somehow going to be tainted by talking to an investigator who was a vampire or wereanimal.

I never really thought it would be like this, an overwrought woman cried into her tissue. "Why would they hate us just because we want to stay with our own kind?" Her tone of voice on the last two words recalled those who tried to justify the Jim Crow laws and white-only businesses of the past.

In the far corner, a uniform spoke to another distraught employee. I understand, sir, soothed the police officer. Can you tell me again exactly how you found the scene when you arrived?

Idiot. As if the man was going to have any kind of accurate memory standing fifteen feet away from the bloody gore.

Sitting on the edge of the desk in the cubicle labeled Manager, a portly white man wearing a rumpled dress shirt and a stained tie—it looked as if he’d fallen asleep in his recliner before being roused by the alarm at the bank—held court. It’s one-a-tha fucking ab-normals, the man said, his voice shaking with self-righteous indignation. You’ve seen them outside…every day they’re here, marching in front of the building with their signs. Protesting against our God-given right to do business with actual human beings. I shoulda invoked my self-protection rights a long time ago, but no—even you cops say they deserve rights. Nothing but animals and dead bodies…oughta be put down. Spawn of the devil, I tell you—

Continuing to feign an interest in the less-than-adequate security, Sam pulled his cell phone from his belt holster and snapped several photos of the room, managing to catch the speaker in a few of the shots. If Merriam-Webster had an entry for ignorant aging bubba…

Shaking his head, Sam had just decided he’d seen enough when a large black man—large as in roughly the size of an NFL offensive lineman—growled at the uniform guarding the door.

Jet Black. Odd Squad, he said, pointing to the identification lanyard hanging on a leather strap around his neck. Although they technically worked as consultants for Homeland Security with a department name as long as his dick, they’d discovered referring to themselves as the Odd Squad cut through a lot of questions. New Orleans was ground zero for the discovery of the paranormals, and the NOPD Paranormal Criminal Investigations Unit formed shortly thereafter. It didn’t take long before the locals took to calling them the Odd Squad, and the name stuck, despite the change in jurisdiction from local to federal.

Let him through, Sam ordered. Ignoring Sam’s complete lack of jurisdiction or authority, the officer complied.

After a narrow-eyed glare around the room, Jet stalked over and leaned in close. His nostrils flared as he searched for unique scents. What the fuck are all these humans doing here?

No clue, but with the number of people allowed onsite before they brought us in, there isn’t shit here we can use. The techs and cops can manage all the routine bullshit.

A whisper of something feather light—hungry, anxious, and predatory—brushed across Sam’s psyche, and he turned to look toward the vault. "Hey, big man, why don’t you take a quick look at the crime scene and give Trav a nudge this way? I expect he’s been in there with all that blood long enough. Let’s go find out why in the hell Clint sent us here—near as I can tell, this case doesn’t fit our…mission parameters. There’s no perp identified, so why the hell did he call us in now?"

Yeah, about that…find out and give me a call. I’m not going to the meeting. I need to see a man about a dog, and then it’s poker night. Jet pressed his lips into a thin straight line and swept the room with a hard gaze. Man, these assholes hate us.

You think it’s ‘cause we’re black or ‘cause we bite? Sam’s voice was intentionally loud enough to be overheard. All conversations stopped and several heads turned their way, no one bothering to hide their stares.

Ha. Jet’s laugh echoed in the now silent room. "I’m black…you’re like a fine cup of café au lait. Oh wait—you meant because we’re wolves?" He curled his lip and let a little growl spill over. The woman with the tissues began sobbing again and the man on the manager’s desk started to rise until the uniform put a hand on his shoulder.

A few minutes later, Sam stood outside with Travis and Jet. The night was balmy, a heavy layer of fog clinging to the top of the street lamps. Despite being nearly three in the morning, music and laughter carried through the Quarter. In many ways, New Orleans was a city like any other—people worked, went to school, slept—but the Vieux Carré? Laissez les bons temps rouler…let the good times roll.

God, I feel so dirty, Jet snarled. How can those people live with themselves?

Guilt washed through Sam and he met Travis’s gaze. It’s not personal…they’re ignorant. They fear what they don’t understand.

Inside, Sam had caught a mental whiff of his friend’s discomfort from being around so much blood. Coming outside hadn’t eased Trav’s tight expression, and his shoulders were hunched high with tension. Travis’s blue eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a hint of a smile as he locked gazes with Sam for a long moment. Finally breaking the spell, he turned to face Jet.

Doesn’t matter if we like them or not—no one deserves to be torn apart. The PD has themselves a problem, but I don’t know what the hell that has to do with us. Investigating murder-robberies isn’t exactly what we signed on for, is it?

Oh, I think we all know better than that. We were tagged to come here for a reason. I’m guessing the order has already been signed, Jet replied.

The order. A euphemism for a contract to kill a fellow paranormal being. The natural extension of Attribution, the legal term for tagging a perp with a crime that couldn’t absolutely be proved in a human court of law due to supernatural circumstances.

I think we need to talk with Clint—find out what the hell is up. I don’t like the feeling he’s changing the game, Sam said.

Travis nodded his agreement, but Jet shook his head and took half a step back. Sorry—I gotta run. I’ve got some business with Russ that won’t wait.

Everything okay with the Big Bad Alpha? Sam asked, trying to sense beyond the walls Jet was throwing in his direction.

Just a little pack business—nothing I can’t handle. Call me, he said to Sam, before turning and striding off into the night.

Hmm…wonder what that’s about? Travis mused as he watched Jet head off in the direction of Fangs, the local pack-owned nightclub that catered to the paranormal community.

Sam frowned. I don’t know, but Clint’s going to be pissed that Jet didn’t come along for the meeting.

Let him. We don’t work for him…these assignments were supposed to be as needed. I don’t like the idea he’s treating us like a supplemental detective squad to call whenever he wants. That’s not what we signed on for.

Yeah, maybe. Although I admit, I wouldn’t mind digging into this case. Maybe because…it hasn’t been all that long since I was spouting some of the same shit as those ‘phobes in there. This is a chance to show them we’re not all bad.

****

Murder-robbery number two. A human-only establishment targeted. Excessive blood and dismemberment. No sign of the crime on the unaltered security video. Undoubtedly this was a case for what remained of the Paranormal Criminal Investigations Unit. Only…it wasn’t. Lieutenant Danny Burkette studied the precinct dailies and did a slow count to one hundred. Twice. It didn’t help. No matter how he looked at the situation, the evidence clearly demonstrated