bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Rosebud Murders

Title: The Rosebud Murders 36/45

Author: BmblBee
Rating: M for Mature language and m/m sex
Also warning for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
or products named in this story
Paring: S/X
Summary: HAU
Spike is a Homicide detective trying
to stop a serial killer before he strikes
again. Xander is a psychic who offers
to help him.

Thanks to the talented Petxnd for the banner and preread.

"It's all about attitude, Pet."

Spike stood by the side of the Corvette and waited for his lover to exit
the passenger's side and join him.

"Slinkin' and slitterin' looks guilty as hell and raises all types of questions.
If you march in, head up, people assume you belong there and don't pay
ya no mind. So, just stick with me and we go straight up to my office
and lock this thing back in the safe. Might be one or two late shift
detectives but other than that, should be fairly deserted. If anyone asks,
we say you are a witness and I'm taking you in to file a statement.
Got it? Ready?"

Xander nodded and took a deep relaxing breath. He then turned and
followed as Spike led the way through the garage to the front of the
station. They marched in the front door and waved briefly to Daniel
Ozborn, the late shift dispatch. Spike was greatly relieved to see that
Taylor was gone. He always did say the prick gossiped more than a
room full of chits at a baby shower.

Xander took the time to look all around. The officialness that swam
heavily in the air impressed and excited him. He could just feel the
electricity of human emotion.
The victims who had been here were steeped in misery and anger. Their
feeling of loss, violation and outrage loomed like storm clouds.

The criminals, with their desperation and deceit bounced off the clouds,
sparking and causing and reaction almost akin to heat lightning on a
blistering summer night.
It was all so foreign, overwhelming and enticing that Xander could nearly
taste the energy in his tongue and feel it's spark on his fingertips.

"Huh? What?"
"I said come on. What the fuck are you doing? Standin' there with your
nose in the air like a beagle sniffing for a bitch in heat. People gonna start
to wonder, Pet. Low key. Remember?"

Xander ducked his head and grinned sheepishly, allowing Spike to grab
his arm and lead him in the direction of the elevators. Once inside and as
soon as the door slid closed, Xander froze. His eyes grew big and an
involuntary dry heave choked in his throat.

"Fuck, Spike. There was someone in here. A female. Very recently.
She is being watched. The killer is watching her. She is his next target."

Spike grabbed the young man's shoulders and shook.
"Who? Who, Xan? A name. I need a name."

Spike knew from the look on Xander's face that he had no name. It
couldn't possible be that easy. With his hands still on the psychic's
shoulders and an expression of anger on Spike's face the elevator
doors slid open.

"Whoa. Easy partner. You know the department doesn't go for
police brutality."

Spike spun around, releasing his grip on Xander's arms and came
face to face with Angel.

"It's not what you think, Wanker, so if you're considering writing a
statement of Improper Behavior against me, forget it. Besides,
what the fuck you doing hanging around outside my office this late
at night?"

Angel pointedly chose to ignore the question and the accusation.
Stepping past Spike, Angel approached Xander, his eyes burning
with curiosity and a slight tinge of jealousy.

"Who is this Spike?"

"Fuck off Angel. This is, Mr. Harris. He's a possible
witness to a case I worked on a while back. I brought him in to file
a report. Now if you're done interrogating me I have work to do."

Spike was becoming suspicious and anxious. If he didn't know better
he would swear that Angel was up to something. He acted for all the
world like he was stalling, trying to keep Spike talking and occupied.

Angel extended his hand and his most winning faux-sincere smile.
It was smile #5 in his repertoire of smiles. The one designed to
win over reluctant prospective lovers and exude an air of innocent

"How do you do Xander. I'm Detective Liam O'Connor. If you
ever need anything and Detective Pratt is unable to help you, please,
feel free to call me."

Xander kept his expression in check and his answer in reserve till
he had a chance to make physical contact. Clasping his hand in
Angel's gave Xander a jolt and brought a laugh to his lips.

His eyes momentarily darted over to his guilty looking lover and
quickly returned to the Lothario with the unibrow and the hair that
Xander could clearly see him spending up to 30 minutes ruffling
into the casual I-don't-do-anything-to-it look.

"Thanks. I'll remember that and although I appreciate the sentiment,
I don't think there is anything you can do for me. Besides, Spike
here is the best. I trust him to take care of me."

Angel frowned, wondering what the joke was, but somehow thinking it was
on him. Hesitating, he knew he had stalled long enough. There really
wasn't any more to say. Punching the down button on the elevator,
he turned one last time.

"O.k. then. Well I guess I better go. Don't forget, Spike, I'm still willing
to help you out on that case you have. Just call."

Before Spike could toss out another thinly veiled insult, Xander nodded.
"No problem. Spike has everything covered. Nice meeting you Angel."

Angel had just stepped inside the little box when what Xander had
said registered. Spinning around, Angel looked back with a confused

"Hey! How did you know my name was.........."
The elevator doors slid closed in Angel's face, silencing and cutting off any
questions he had.

Spike immediately grabbed Xander's hand and stuck a finger in the face
of the still chuckling psychic.
"No. Now is not the time to discuss this. I don't know what you saw
but I can only imagine and that is a conversation for another time. Right
now we have other problems to deal with. Come on, we should be alone.
Let's get this done before anything else interrupts us."

With a smiling and agreeable Xander in tow, Spike led the way down
the row of darkened offices till he reached his own. He had already
fished his free hand in his pants pocket and retrieved his keys.

The overhead lights on the second floor are scaled back on the off
duty hours. They are alternated between one on and five off. This allows
enough illumination to see where you are going but saves the taxpayers
of the fine county of Stark a dollar or two each month.
It was one of the Sheriffs points that won him reelection last year.

It didn't matter to Spike. This place had been like a second home to him
and he could have found his way around blindfolded.

Arriving at the fourth door, the office of the Lead Investigator, Spike
aimed his key at the lock and stopped. Squinting in the dim shadow
of light he could see that not only was the door unlocked, it also stood
ajar. Just an inch of so, but enough that Spike knew someone had
been inside.

Reading his partner's hesitation and reservation, Xander took a step
back, waited and watched.
They both heard the noise at the same time.

A scuff of shoes, a rattle of metal, an undefined, muffled sound whose
determination was far less important than the discovery of the owner
of the sounds origin.

Immediately Spike kicked open the door and flipped on the neon ceiling
lights flooding the room in the eyeball frying blast of blue white glow.
Startled, the intruder tumbled back away from the floor safe he was
attempting to open and landed squarely on his ass.

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