Disclaimer: All characters of StarGate and StarGate Atlantis belong to their respective writers and MGM. This is a work of fan fiction. I just want to play with them for awhile.

Vegas Vamps

An Alternative Universe Detective John Sheppard Story

If there was one thing in the world that Detective John Sheppard hated more in the world than being flat ass broke...it was smart mouth women.

And God damn, but this woman was the worse. Not only did she have one hell of a big smart ass mouth...she was the eff-ing FBI.

If it hadn't been for her long, dark curling hair with it's streaks of red, whiskey colored eyes and ass so round and firm that he could have bounced a quarter off of it, he would have taken out his gun and shot her the second she opened her mouth.

Plus, it would have been too much god damn paperwork

“Are you even listening to me, Detective?”

She narrowed her eyes and a frown twisted her full lips into a grimace. He squirmed in his chair, wishing that his dick wasn't so fricking hot for her berry red mouth. He leaned back, moving his leg and trying to keep his hand from straying down the front of his jeans.

“Vampires in Vegas?” He snorted and tried to keep his expression neutral. “You're kidding me, right?”

“Vampires?” She looked at him like he was nuts. “Did you hear me say the word 'vampires'?”

“You might as well.” He picked up the file in front of him and flipped it open. He picked up one of the pictures paper clipped to the inside and slid it across the desk. “No blood in the bodies and none on the ground.”

“That doesn't mean it's 'vampires'.”

She crooked her fingers into quotation marks every time she said the word. He felt like she was making him out to be an idiot and it was really starting to piss him off. Damn the paperwork, shooting her was starting to sound better and better all the time. Or maybe tying her down, stuffing a gag in her mouth and screwing her silly would be even better. The ache between his legs begged him to make the second choice but he ignored it...for the moment

“What the hell is it then? Have you got a better idea?”

She got up from her chair and walked around his desk. She tugged his lap top computer toward her and hit the icon for the Internet. When the search engine came up, she typed in something and when the web site came up, she turned the thing to where he could see what was on the screen.

Damn, she was pushy and he hated himself for letting it excite him. She was so close, he could smell the soft, Ivory soap scent of her skin and his dick got even harder.

“The Black Dahlia?” He quirked an eyebrow at her and tried to ignore the heat building in his belly. He was supposed to be concentrating on the case, not wondering what FBI Special Agent Cara Whitlow would look like wearing nothing but a sheen of sweat and the smell of his skin. He even wondered if the hair on her head was as dark between her legs or if she even had any at all.

Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?

“Don't you see the similarities?”

She leaned over his desk again and he had to grip the arm of his chair to keep his hand from sliding over the soft curve of her ass. He wanted to slip his hand between those voluptuous thighs and feel if she was as hot for him as he was for her.

Instead he moved back from her and looked up. “Look, Whitlow. We've been working on this case for two damn weeks now. And if there is one thing I know, it's that we still don't know why someone is targeting these women. They aren't hookers and they aren't strippers.”

“Exactly.” A smug smile crossed her face. “And neither was The Black Dahlia.”

“I thought she was a call girl or something.”

“No.” She sat down on the edge of his desk and he tried to keep his eyes on her face. “She was just a normal girl looking for a chance to catch a break.” She sighed. “Just like the rest of these girls.”

He looked at the pictures again and grimaced. These were bad but he'd seen worse. “And the mutilations?”

“The same.” Her phone went off. She pulled it out of her jacket pocket, looked at it and then hid it away. “Looks like your medical examiner has some info.” She moved away from him and headed for the door, not looking back to see if he was following.

“Hey!” He grabbed his jacket and took off after her, catching up with her half way down the hall. “Why is my ME sending you messages, Whitlow? I'm supposed to be the one in charge of this investigation.”

“It wasn't your ME that sent me the message, Sheppard.” She stopped in front of the elevator and turned to look at him. “My observer did.”

“Your observer?” He followed her in as soon as the doors opened. “Since when in hell did you get an observer?”

“As soon as they sent me down to look into this case.”

He hooked his fingers in the pockets of his jeans and tried not to notice the way her full breasts were pressing against the white dress shirt she was wearing. Her nipples were hard and if he looked hard enough, he was sure that he could see the outline of a nipple ring. He rocked back on his heels, bit his lip and tried not to look like a horny school boy.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Look, Whitlow. I know they sent you down here because they think this is some kind of serial killer thing-”

“There's no 'thinking' to it, Sheppard.” She crossed her arms behind her back and her breasts pressed even tighter against her shirt. “It is a serial killer thing.”

God damn, she was wearing a nipple ring. He licked his lips and tore his gaze away from her ample chest. “And I suppose you specialize in this sort of thing.”

“You could say that.” She smirked slightly. When the doors opened behind her, she turned and stepped out.

“Wolf's Bane?” Sheppard asked. “What the hell is Wolf's Bane?”

“Aconite, Monkshood...it's got a lot of names, Sheppard.” Whitlow barely glanced at him. She was leaning over the body, watching the ME pull something out of the latest victim's mouth.

“Still doesn't tell me what it is.” He leaned closer himself and glanced up at the ME. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Looks like some kind of bundle.” The older man picked up a pair of long handled tweezer's and pulled the thing out of the girl's mouth.

“Not to close.” She held up a warning hand as the ME laid the bundle down on the table. It looked like a fur cover pouch and Sheppard nearly gagged from the smell.

Using a pair of tweezer's the man opened the thing up. Tiny seeds and something that looked like a lizard's skull, shone wetly under the glare of the overhead lamp. “Christ, that stinks.”

“You would too if you'd been in there for almost two weeks.” Whitlow remarked. She glanced up at Sheppard. “Remember what I said about the vampires?”

“Vampires?” Riley chuckled.

“Shut up.” Sheppard growled and then looked at Whitlow. “What about it? Think someone is trying to pretend that this is some kind of ritual thing?”

“If it is then they're really being through with it.” She looked at Riley. “Where's her file?”

“Over there.” He pointed with the tweezer's. “But I don't-”

“Here.” The big, tall and silent man that had been standing patiently in the shadows picked it up and handed it to her.

Sheppard had almost forgotten that the man was even there until he spoke. He looked up and somehow the fleeting look that Whitlow and the man shared made some inner alarm go off. What had that been about?

“Hmm...” She frowned slightly and looked at the big man. “This is worse, Hal.”

“How bad?” The man's voice rumbled deep in his chest and he moved to stand behind her.

John felt a streak of jealously and he moved closer to her too, trying to see the file.

“Was she decapitated?” The man glanced at Sheppard and a slight smile that quickly faded, crossed his face.

Whitlow nodded. “Head was found face down, too.”

“Damn.” The big man...Hal...took a step back.

“Is this private or can the lead Detective get in on this conversation?” John was starting to get really pissed. “And what the hell are you two talking about?”

Whitlow closed the file and handed it to Hal who quickly stuffed it in his jacket.

“Hey!” Sheppard and Riley practically said in unison. “You can't do that.”

“Yes, I can.” Whitlow put her hand on his arm and steered him away from the table and the staring Hal. “This is even worse, Sheppard.”

“What?” He asked. “Or do you even plan on letting me in on this little secret you've got with your 'Observer'?”

She sighed and looked down then she raised her head and gave him a steady look. “Wolf's Bane is an herb, Detective. A very poisonous herb. You can't eat it and you can't get any part of it on your skin because it can kill you.”

“So somebody killed her by stuffing a poisonous weed down her throat?” He laughed bitterly. “That's not very original.”

“Not unless...” She stopped and tilted her head slightly. “Another little thing about Wolf's Bane is that its sometimes used as a protection.”

“Protection against what?”

Her eyes were glittering when she looked at him.

“Werewolves.”

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