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The Guilty Corpse  chapter one

      The ransom note was two pages long, filled with rambling threats and stained with tears and blood. He held the tattered paper gently, inhaling the faded scent of his target; the pupils dialated in his cobalt eyes.
      "Which one is her?" He said in a seemingly disinterested monotone; Jean-Claude stared at him wordlessly for a moment, his usual elegance and poise faltering. Long, slender fingers opened, revealing a tangle of curly black hair, soaked in dried blood.
     "Is she alive?" he asked after a moment, wondering at the anxiety on his master's usually placid face.
      "I don't know." Heero looked up, startled for the first time during this meeting. Jean-Claude shrugged helplessly. "I can't feel her at all. It is as though ma petite has ceased to exist."
      "Hn." The blood didn't smell like death, but then Jean-Claude would know that better than him. "It says here that she'll be safe until the money arrives."
      "The enemies ma petite makes are not the kind money will buy off. This is a cover . . ."
      "Hn." Heero turned away, uninterested in speculation, searching the worn paper for facts. "When do you need her alive by?" He asked, not looking up to see his master's face change with the reply.
       "Very soon." The ancient vampire hated admitting the slightest weakness; the loss of one-third of his triumverate would be a clarion call to his many enemies.
       "Have you spoken to Richard?"
       "He has no problem releasing you into my care." Heero caught the menacing glint of fangs from the corner of his eye. He chose to ignore the threat.
        "Operating budget?"
        "Whatever you need, my wolf."
        "Hn. Good." He rubbed the sensitive pad of one finger across the paper, hoping to come across some indentation, an imbedded hair, anything. "Do you need him alive?"
        Jean-Claude smiled at the question, reaching out to stroke Heero's soft hair. "It would be nice, but kill them all if you have to. I want ma petite alive and well. If she is neither . . ."
        "Ninmu Ryoukai." Heero said flatly, neither leaning into the touch nor pulling away. Jean-Claude smirked at him elegantly before pulling back to send him on his way.
         "Oh, and wolf, do you need this?" The master of the city held up the bloodied hair as Heero was passing through the office door; he turned back, cobalt eyes very dead.
         "Iie. I already have her scent."

                                                             ***
          Sunlight blasted him as he opened the apartment door; cobalt eyes squinted against the light, and he put one hand to the gun at his hip until his sight cleared. There had been no need: the parking lot was empty of all but cars; his was parked off by itself, secure in the odd island of trees and cement. He crossed the lot slowly, hands always near one of the guns hidden on his person, his black leather jacket creaking with his catlike movements; cobalt eyes flicked warily, like a wild animal's, watching for predator and prey alike. He wasn't usually this careful, but lately he'd had to be.
         He stepped over a bush and climbed into the jeep, one of the old square-frame models with a zip-on top, currently bare and covered with mud. It had been a 'present' from Jean-Claude, outfitted especially for this mission. Heero checked his pocket for the license, also a 'present', with his picture beside a birthdate that made him eighteen. At sixteen, he'd barely be able to pass.
          The jeep roared to life, signifigantly without blowing itself up; Heero grunted, somewhat disappointed in his enemies. Sure, he would've survived the blast anyway, but they couldn't know that; he was officially the best-kept secret of the nonhuman underground in St. Louis.
He drove to the victim's home, a lovely house in the middle of nowhere, painted yellow with a rose garden out front; Heero scowled as he parallel parked, avoiding the driveway. He climbed down and pulled out his kit, a body bag, dyed light blue, filled with the equipment of a police forensics team, as well as everything he needed to kill everything from people to vampires to fairies. He liked to be prepared
          The  bag was bigger than him, but he balanced it easily as he made his way through the yard to the front door; it was padlocked, with crimescene tape sealing it besides. He sighed, annoyed, and made his way to the side door, picking the lock with ease.
           The house inside was typical of a police crime scene: the victim's belongings were scattered everywhere, and white fingerprint dust had settled on most surfaces; Heero snorted the smell from his nose, and began searching.
           Hours later, covered in the pervasive white dust and slightly cramped from hunching over to read papers, Heero had finally found something . . . interesting . . . in the victim's bedroom, taped behind the headboard below the eyelevel of most men. Heero inhaled the light scent coming off the slip of paper, and pulled out his cell phone, immediately pressing the SEND button.
            Several rings later, a harried lupanar picked up the phone.
            "Yes?"
             "Zero one reporting in." Heero intoned, still glaring at the piece of paper.
            "Have you found anything?"
            "Negative, mission. I'm at the victim's house, and I have a question for you."
            "Don't call her that, Anita's not a victim. And what question?" Heero frowned at the worry in his Lupar's voice, but answered as though he sensed nothing amiss.
            "Who is this Edward person?"
            "Hmmm?" Richard sounded distracted; Heero longed to tell him to get his mind on the mission, but years of training held. "Oh, he's a human assassin. The vampires call him Death."
             "Has he known Anita long?" Heero asked, careful to use the victim's name.
            "About six years, why?"
             "Is he any good?"
             "He has more kills than you."
             "That's not saying much, considering my age. He sounds useful, can I contact him?"
             "Absolutely. I normally don't approve of the man, but he's the best there is."
             "Hn." Heero stared at the phone for a moment, found the END button, and pressed it. He immeditely began dialing the number on the back of the card.
             After a few rings the phone was answered by a cheerful woman.
            "Hello?"
             "Is Edward there?" Heero asked, cursing his luck.
            "Edward? No, there's no one by that name here -" She was abruptly cut off, and a male voice came on at the other end.
            "How did you get this number?"
            "Are you a friend of Anita's?"
            "You could say that."
             "She's been kidnapped. I could use some help."

tbc