Blood Pact

police psychologist suggested that he was suppressing strong emotions.

    Still painfully hung over, Celluci barely resisted the urge to suppress the police psychologist.

    "I hope she's worth you flushing your career down the toilet, because that's what you're doing." Inspector Cantree's chair screeched a protest as he leaned back and glared at Celluci. "You know what I've got here?" One huge hand slapped down on the file folder centered on his blotter. "Never mind. I'll tell you. I've got a report from the department shrink that suggests you're dangerously unstable and that you shouldn't be allowed out on the street carrying a gun.”

    Lips compressed into a thin, white line, Celluci started to shrug out of his shoulder holster.

    "Put that the fuck back on!" Cantree snapped. "If I was going to listen to the pompous quack, I'd have had your badge days ago.”

    Celluci shoved the curl of hair back off his face and tried to ignore how much the motion reminded him of her. "I'm fine," he growled.

    "Bullshit! You want to tell me what's wrong?”

    "Nothing's wrong." His tone dared Cantree to argue the point and Cantree's expression did just that. Celluci had heard the rumors making the rounds about ex-Detective Vicki Nelson's hasty relocation to the West Coast, although he'd heard them second or third hand because no one had the guts to speculate to his face. Obviously, Cantree had heard them, too. "It's personal.”

    "Not when it affects your job, it isn't." The Inspector leaned forward and held Celluci's gaze with his. "So here's what you're going to do. You're going to take a leave of absence for at least a month and you're going to get out of the city and you're going to find wherever it is you've left your brains and then you're going to come back and have another little talk with Dr. Freud-enstein.”

    "What if I don't want to go?" Celluci muttered.

    Cantree smiled. "If you don't take a leave of absence, I'll suspend you for a month without pay. Either way, you're out of here.”

    Betting in headquarters had three to one odds that Mike Celluci's leave of absence would begin on the first available flight to Vancouver. Several people lost some serious money.

    A week after the interview in Cantree's office, Celluci found himself escorting his ancient grandmother onto a plane bound for Italy and a family reunion.

    * * *
    "Jesus, Mike it's good to have you back." Dave Graham's grin threatened to dislodge the entire lower half of his face. "I mean, one more temporary partner like the last one and I'd have taken six weeks off.”

    "Who the fuck left coffee rings all over my desk!”

    "On the other hand," Dave continued thoughtfully was Celluci began accusing coworkers of messing with his stuff, "it was a lot quieter while you were gone.”

    "You buying one of those, Mike?”

    "What?" Celluci looked up from the paperback book display and scowled at his partner.

    "Well, you've been staring at it for the last five minutes. I thought that maybe you were in the mood for a little light reading."
    Dave reached past his head at the blond giant cradling a half-naked brunette on the cover. " Sail into Destiny by Elizabeth Fitzroy.
    Looks like a winner. You think you know a guy . . ." He flipped the book over ". . . think you know his tastes, and then you find out about something like this. You figure Captain Roxborough and this Veronica babe are going to get together in the end or is that a given?”

    "Jesus H. Christ, we're in a mall! Someone might see you.” Celluci grabbed the book and shoved it back on the shelf.

    "Hey, you were the one who stopped to browse," Dave protested as the two detectives started walking again. "You were the one . . .”

    "I know the author, all right? Now drop it.”

    "You know an author? I didn't even think you knew how to read." They watched a crowd of teenage boys saunter past and into a sports store. "So what's she like? Does she live in Toronto?”

    He's a vampire. He lives in Vancouver. "I said, drop it.”

    There were bits of Vicki scattered all over the city and whenever he ran into one, her old neighborhood, her favorite coffee shop, a hooker she'd busted, it gouged the scabs off his ability to cope. Now, he was finding bits of Fitzroy as well and every copy of the book he saw ground salt into the wounds. Fortunately, he'd gotten better at hiding the pain.

    He'd even convinced the police psychologist that he was fine.

    ". . . and the Stanley Park murders continue in