Almost magical.
Skip said he’d leave a key to the front door under the mat. Practical, but not original.
History has kept me away for years. Plenty of time to overcome the dread I feel, you’d think. My hand shakes as I fit the key in the lock. David hauls Donald out of the trunk. I’m relieved he’s not beside me. I don’t know how I’ll react, taking that first step into a house I almost burnt to the ground.
I swing one half of the massive double doors open. My breath catches. I’m thrust back to the first night I came here, to a party, when the place was ablaze with lights. Now all is dark. Tonight, the floor-to-ceiling windows only reflect the night beyond like soulless eyes. There are drop cloths over the furniture and cheesecloth draped over the chandeliers.
I step inside.
Memories flood back. Why did I suggest we come here? The electricity has been off for years, and I don’t know where to look for candles. The air is damp, smelling of mildew. I never asked Skip to air out the place, and now I wonder if, under those covers, there is furniture to salvage. Sea air makes quick work of fabric.
This was a mistake. I turn to tell David we have to find another place.
He’s behind me, pushing a bound and gagged Donald ahead of him.
Donald is wide-eyed as he looks around. David has the same expression.
David lets out a long, low whistle. “Wow. The doctor who owned this place before must have been very successful. Is the electricity on?”
I shake my head. “No. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. We need candles and I don’t know where to begin looking—”
David moves past me further into the living room. “What’s through those doors?” he asks, pointing to the right.
It’s the library. He didn’t wait for me to answer. He’s back in a minute.
“There’s a huge fireplace and it’s still set for a fire. That’ll give us some light.”
He grabs Donald’s arm, shoving him toward the door. I follow. He jostles him down onto a chair. A dust cloud rises around him. David frisks him, smiling triumphantly when he produces a cigarette lighter. He has a blaze going within a minute.
Shadows leap and dance against the walls. David crosses to a set of French doors and swings them open. A brisk gust of air washes the room and sends the flames darting higher. I remember the wide balcony outside those doors. It hovers over the Pacific many feet below. You can’t see the ocean in the dark, but you can hear the waves.
David returns from outside and stands in front of Donald. “Game time.” He reaches down and yanks the tape from Donald’s mouth.
Donald retches and gulps air. “Where are we?” he manages to gasp.
“Doesn’t matter,” David says. “You’re going to tell us if you killed Sarah Sullivan.”
“Wasn’t me. She was dead when I got there.” He looks up at me and David. “I figured it was you two—came back to search the place again. I didn’t buy that insurance scam. You don’t look like any insurance investigators I’ve ever seen.” He sniffs. “The way this bitch moves, no way she—”
Bitch? I don’t let him finish. I pinch his cheeks between my fingers until he squeals. “Don’t be rude.”
David chuckles. “Better watch your mouth, Donald. Olive has a short fuse.” He takes my shoulders and moves me gently aside. “Okay, let’s start over. How long did you know Sarah? None of that ‘old family friend’ bullshit.”
Donald shrugs. “Since her old man kicked it.”
“Who pointed you in her direction?”
“Nobody. I was his client—figured there might be money by romancing the widow. Word was Howard hit it big. When he disappeared, I thought he’d taken the loot and skipped. Then he turned up dead. It was a gamble, but maybe he told Sarah something that would lead me to the money. I was about to give up—she didn’t know anything about his business, let alone a big score. Then you two showed up talking insurance. Something was better than nothing.”
David slaps the tape back on Donald’s mouth and gestures for me to follow him. We go into the living room.
“Do you believe him?” I ask after we close the library doors behind us.
“He isn’t bright enough to lie,” David answers.
“What now?”
“I’ll call Duke again,” David says. “If he’s only interested in the money, our work may be through here.” He digs his cell from his jacket pocket and speed dials. He places the phone on speaker and we wait through six rings before the call goes to voicemail. It’s the same generic message Duke always uses. David leaves a terse message to “call us.”
“Why didn’t you mention finding the money?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with Duke. Maybe the guy who ambushed him is holding him at his house. I think we need to get over there.”
“And Donald?”
“We’ll drop him off downtown. If he had anything to do with Sarah’s death, the cops will look for him.”
Chapter Twenty
We untie Donald and shove him into the back seat. Instead of looking relieved, he is pinched with fear. “What are you doing with me?”
“Nothing,” David says. “We’ll drop you off back at the post office.”
“You believe me?” he asks, relief brightening his face.
“Believe that you didn’t kill Sarah?” I reply. “Not really, but I imagine there’s enough of your DNA in her apartment that you’ll have your hands full convincing the police.”
That brief relief dissolves into a frown. “You have to help me.”
I climb into the passenger seat. “Can’t help you with the police.”
David grunts. “Nothing will help you with the police.” He turns the Tesla down the driveway.
“Wait, wait.” Donald’s arms flail. “I swear I didn’t kill her, but I think I know who did.”
David takes his foot off the accelerator and lets the car slow to a stop. We both turn to look back at Donald. “What do you mean?” David says.
“I heard something once in the bookie’s office.”
He drops his voice. I reach back and grab his shoulder. “What?”
“Ouch.” He pulls away. “You’ve got some grip lady.”
“Imagine if I grabbed you by the throat. What did you hear?”
Donald pushes back in his seat out of my reach. “Sullivan talked with a guy he called Howard and some other dude. Howard argued his boss was getting suspicious and they’d better cash in now and get out while they could. The other guy said he wasn’t ready to pull the plug. He had another fish lined up—a big one—and too much money at stake to pull out. Sullivan wasn’t happy but it was like he was afraid of the guy. Howard, too. Not much later I hear Sullivan and Howard are dead.”
David and I exchange glances. I ask, “What were you doing while this happened? No one objected to you listening while they talked over their plans to steal money?”
Donald blanches. “They didn’t know I was there.”
I think back to the office layout. I can’t remember anyplace a man could hide except that tunnel and the door to the alley.
Donald continues. “I was there delivering betting slips. When Sullivan saw who was at the door, he told me to get lost. I opened the tunnel behind the board. I knew where it led. It was a way to get in and out of the office without being seen. I didn’t leave right away. I was curious so I stood behind the door and listened.”
“If you were behind a door, how did you know who Sullivan was talking to?”
“The security camera over the door. Before Sullivan buzzed them in, I recognized Howard. He was a regular. I never saw the other two guys before. I could tell by Sullivan’s expression he didn’t like them showing up like that.”
“What did the other guys look like?” I ask.
“You know how those security cameras’ pictures are kind of grainy. One was an average looking guy. Howard was taller so I’d say 5’10”. Dark hair. He kept his back turned to the door, lik
e he knew where the camera was, so I never saw his face. The other was taller than Howard, wore a suit. Sullivan called him—” he pauses, eyes narrow. “Taylor. He called him Taylor.”
“Did you hear anything?” David asks, frustration clear in his voice.
“No, but I think one of the guys did Howard and Sullivan.”
I shake my head. “What makes you think that?”
“I saw him again.”
“Where?”
“Outside Sarah’s apartment two nights ago.”
“If you never saw his face, how do you know it was the same guy?”
Donald shrugs. “He had the same coat on. One of those long, leather things. I think they’re called dusters. Don’t see many of them in LA nowadays.”
I raise my eyebrows at David. That is the most informative information we’ve received to this point. “We need to get in touch with—” I glance back. Donald studies me, waiting. We should not give him more information. “You-know-who,” I say.
He nods and continues down the driveway. Donald is quiet on the long ride back to Sarah’s. As we approach the apartment, David slows the car and parks half a block away. There are a half dozen cop cars in front. “You better get out of here,” he tells Donald.
Donald doesn’t wait. He scurries out of the car and down the sidewalk, disappearing into shrubbery without a backwards glance.
“No thank you for the ride.” I cluck my tongue.
David stares down the street. “What now?”
“Find Duke?” I suggest.
David speaks Duke’s name and the car dials Duke’s number. After half a dozen rings, the call goes to voicemail. I leave another message and David disconnects.
We sit for a minute, watching the sky brighten. The charcoal of night dissolves at the sun’s touch into fiery striations of red, pink, and gold. It would be beautiful if I didn’t know the reason for the vivid colors—pollution. Even the sunrises in LA are fake.
David touches the ignition. “Let’s go home. I need sleep.”
I don’t argue. As soon as he’s back on the freeway to San Diego, my eyes grow heavy. I settle in the seat and fall fast asleep.
“Anna! Wake up!”
David’s shrill voice brings me out of deep sleep into consciousness. “What?”
It takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing as the alarm bells go off. We are blocked from the driveway of my house by five cop cars. Three cops are standing at the opened gate. Another cop comes from inside the yard. He’s not alone. Frey is with him.
I barely wait for David to slow the car before I jump out.
Frey spies me and pushes past the cop accompanying him to rush to me. He hugs me so tight I push away a little before I can speak.
“What happened?”
Frey doesn’t answer, as if he’s not ready to release me from his gorilla grip. Finally, he does.
“Jesus Christ, Anna,” he breathes. “Where have you been? When I got here and saw—” He breaks off, gesturing behind him toward the house. “The blood? I thought…”
“Blood?” David joins us.
Frey nods. “A lot of it. And the house,” he squeezes my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Anna. The place was ransacked. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The cop who escorted Frey approaches now. He glances at a notebook in his hand. “You’re Anna Strong? This is your place?”
I take Frey’s hand. “It’s our home, yes.”
He’s a trim looking thirty-something with a face lined beyond his years. I wonder what marked him like that.
His next words wipe those thoughts away.
“I’m afraid your husband is right. Whoever broke into your house was looking for something. The damage done took a great deal of time and was deliberate and methodical. I’m more concerned about the blood we found. Did you have someone staying with you?”
I shake my head. “No. My husband was out of town, and my partner and I were in Los Angeles all day. Are you sure the blood isn’t from who broke in? Maybe he cut himself on something he broke or—”
The cop looks at me over his notepad. “He? Do you have a suspect in mind?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m assuming it might be someone David and I have turned over for skipping bail and since we’ve not had any women bond jumpers lately…”
The cop shrugs. “This doesn’t feel like retaliation. This feels personal. There are blood spatters traceable from room to room, as if someone was dragged along and beaten systematically as the perpetrator worked his way through the house. My guess is that he or she was looking for something specific.” His eyes grow cold. “Do you have any idea what that might be?”
David and I exchange glances. His barely perceptible nod tells me he’s thinking the same thing I am. Whoever trashed my house was looking for the money we have in David’s car.
Chapter Twenty-One
Day Nine
It’s three hours before we’re allowed back into the house. We’re surrounded by police. David and I say nothing about the money or what we suspect. When we are finally allowed inside and see the destruction, I’m transported back to another time—when I came home to find my house on fire. While the walls are standing this time, there’s as much devastation.
Frey keeps a tight hold on my hand as we go through room after room. Every piece of furniture was overturned, every cushion ripped open, and every bookcase tipped. All of the clothes in the closet are strewn over the floor. Even John-John’s beloved race car bed was turned over. My breath catches in my throat—first with sorrow, then anger.
Frey feels the shudder that passes through me. “We can fix it,” he says quietly.
I’m happy he’s with me, but so is David, and it keeps me from unleashing the rage only vampires could quell. I have to swallow it.
“Be glad John-John is not here,” David says.
“I am, believe me.” I look up at Frey. “You weren’t supposed to come home until next week.”
Frey smiles. “There was something in your voice when we talked that sounded off. I decided to come home sooner. John-John is well looked after. There are a lot of people on the reservation who love him.”
I know and I’m grateful. I’m grateful that Frey is here.
I look around. “I guess we have to get a hotel room.”
David waves a hand. “No need. I have an extra bedroom.”
A thought hits like a thunderbolt. “My God, David. What if they trashed your place, too?”
We waste no time rushing back to David’s car and head downtown. When we pull into the condo’s garage, we’re not met with the police like at my house. It’s perfectly quiet.
We head up in the elevator.
Still nothing.
All the same, we approach the door cautiously. Frey and I stand to the side as David draws his gun and quietly slips his key into the lock. He pushes it open and we pause, waiting for—
“Empty.”
I release my breath in a rush.
David holsters his gun and we follow him inside. He reaches beside the door and flips on the light. He makes a tour of the condo while Frey and I wait. When he returns, he’s shakes his head.
“Maybe they haven’t been here yet,” I say.
“I have another explanation,” David says. He’s crossed to the bar and grabs a bottle of Glenmorangie Single Malt Scotch and three glasses. He motions us to take seats and settles onto the couch. He pours a good stiff two fingers into each glass and passes them to me and Frey. He adds, “I don’t think we are being followed. I think Duke was hiding in your house.”
The scotch smells like butter and tastes like pear and lemon. It’s a momentary distraction from David. When the first sip settles and my head clears, I look up. “Why would you think that? Jesus. You think the blood was Duke’s?”
He nods.
“How would he get into the house?” Frey asks.
“He has a key,” David answers. “He has a key to both our places.”
“He
does,” I’m on my feet, pacing. “In case we needed him to retrieve something for us while on the road.”
“If it’s Duke’s blood, the police will know once they run DNA. It’s on record, as is mine and Anna’s.”
Thankfully, before I became vampire, I think. I’m not sure what my blood would show now.
“There was a lot of blood,” Frey says quietly.
“Too much,” David adds.
“It’s time you tell me what you’re working on,” Frey says.
By the time we’ve filled Frey in, it’s almost noon. None of us have slept and since we can’t think of anything else to do, David makes up the guest room bed for us and we retire. I strip my clothes off and climb naked beside an equally naked Frey. For the first time ever, sex isn’t something either of us are interested in. I fall asleep before he does.
I awake to the smell of bacon. I roll over to find Frey has already woken up. The clock on the bedside table says 6:30. I gather my clothes, head for the guest bathroom, and take a quick shower. I hate having to redress in yesterday’s clothes but don’t have a choice. By the time I join the guys, Frey and David are seated at the breakfast bar, plates of eggs and bacon in front of them.
Frey gets up and pecks me on the cheek. “I told David you probably wouldn’t be hungry.” He crosses to the counter and pours me a cup of coffee.
I take it and sip.
David looks sideways at me. “She’s never hungry. Don’t know how she keeps going. Gloria thinks she has an eating disorder.”
I almost spit coffee. I have the ultimate eating disorder.
Frey doesn’t miss a beat. “I was worried, too,” he says, “but it’s her metabolism. Her doctor says she’s healthy as a horse, and as long as she eats the right things and takes her vitamins, she’ll be fine.”
He squeezes my shoulders and resumes his place at the breakfast bar. I sit next to him.
“Enough about my metabolism,” I grumble. “What the hell are we going to do about my house?” The moment I speak, I wince. “I can’t believe I said that. David, we’ve got to track Duke down.”
Paradox Page 11
