Her pulse stopped, screwing into itself at the eerie resemblance. But when she looked a little closer, she realized that he was merely a wan imitation of the rising star who had shown such potential.
Forcing herself to recover, Dawn took a wild guess and determined that he was asking her if she wanted a refill.
“No, thanks.”
Some Nine-Inch-Nails Betty who was way too eager for a vodka on the rocks smashed against Dawn’s back in a bad rendition of party etiquette, sticking out ten dollars to attract the bartender’s attention. Dawn subtly forced her shoulder against the woman, making her back off.
On a whim, she glanced at the Adam Antette again, but she was gone.
The bartender handed over the vodka to the pushy customer. As he moved forward, his vest gaped open, and that’s when Dawn saw it: two wounds above his pecs.
Her blood tugged at her veins, her head going woozy. Good God…bite marks? A servant?
Or maybe it was just that paranoia. And, really, who could blame her after last night?
Keeping cool, Dawn kept him in her sights, easing from her stool the second he scooped up two handfuls of empty bottles and headed toward the back of the room.
As she threaded her way through the dance floor toward him, she saw Kiko. He was near the restroom pay phone, where it was quieter, though not by much. The magenta waitress he was talking to had her head tilted back in laughter, her dominatrix-garbed body aimed straight at the psychic in open invitation. Go, Kiko.
He reached toward the woman’s arm.
But before he made contact, Dawn rested her hand on his healthy shoulder. As he followed her with his gaze, she jerked her chin toward the back, and he nodded, acknowledging where she was going.
Then, as his interview subject sighed in post-laugh recovery, he touched her. She didn’t make another sound.
Dawn entered the far more utilitarian back hall, with its blasé walls and red tile. The faint clatter of glass led her to a storage room, where she found the bartender picking up full liquor bottles to replenish the spent ones. At the sound of her entrance he did a double take, his Crowface, threatening and pale, caught in a frown.
“You’re not allowed here.”
The music was more background than hindrance now.
“I got lost.” Dawn shot him a smile, came a bit closer. “But while I’m around, do you mind talking to me for a few?”
He relaxed, ran a gaze over her. When he got to her face, she marked the typical reaction: “Unimpressive, but she does have a thumpin’ bod.”
She battled back the twinge of inferiority, of being second-tier attractive.
“I’ve got to get back soon,” he said, gaze still roving, contradicting his words.
Then he propped the bottles on a stainless steel table. Good sign. He also gave her one of those looks: the smirk of a bartender who kind of resembled a legend and was kind of used to getting laid because of it.
The air snapped between them. Dawn’s body reacted, restless, ever-hungry. Used to being fed.
She walked nearer, taking advantage of his weakness. Of hers, too. “How long you been working here?”
“A couple weeks, give or take. It’s a gig—not permanent.”
Of course. He’d get his break soon, leave bartending behind, become a star. “Pay much attention to the customers?”
Adjusting his lean body to face hers head-on, he laughed at the strange question. “What’s this about?”
She was two feet away from him now, close enough to smell the cocktail of his skin. She heated up under her jacket as he continued checking her out.
Do men look at you this way now, Eva? she thought.
She caught herself, feeling her nails crush into her palms.
Concentrate on questions, she thought. Find Frank.
She relaxed, bolstered her strength. “Can you remember the faces of the people who come in here?”
Laughing, he clearly thought she was leading up to something entirely different. She’d done too good of a job stringing her pickup lines together and tugging him closer.
“Can you remember any of them?” Dawn asked, focusing on the interview now…pushing, pushing back at everything else.
“Sometimes I pay attention to the clientele.” He lowered his voice, grinned. “Certain ones in particular.”
Her gaze instinctively wandered over his chest, the pale expanse of flesh over gym-honed planes. She beat back the attraction: a cadence of warning that drummed beneath her skin.
As she listened to the pulsing in her temples, she identified what the sound was.
Anger, not lust. Anger at Eva, at Frank. At herself.
Goddamnit, get it together, she thought. Be strong, be tough. Concentrate.
With difficulty, she backed off, started circling the bartender. “I’m looking for someone.”
“No shit.” He laughed again, obviously growing wary as she crossed to the opposite side of the room.
Ignoring his double entendre, she kept moving, stalking, gauging him, growing stronger with his increasing anxiety and her increasing distance.
As she came around the table, he slanted his body toward her again, but it wasn’t exactly in lust this time. Now it was more like a man who didn’t want to keep his back to an open door without his guns drawn.
He sniffed. “Jesus, do you work in a pizza factory?”
The garlic. Interesting that he wasn’t strongly repelled.
More composed now, she showed him two pictures of Robby that Breisi had given her—one of the clean-cut superstar, one of a pierced and shaggy boy.
“Has this kid been around?”
The bartender reared back. “That’s Robby Pennybaker.”
“‘No shit.’ I hope you don’t mind me quoting you. Your words were so profound.”
He started at her change of tone, no doubt wondering where the aggressive flirt had gone. “Hey, what’s your issue?”
The anger inside her went up a notch.
Issue. She could probably redefine the word for him.
“My issue is…” She shoved the pictures at him again. “…this kid might be in trouble. If you could find it within your heart to help, you’d earn a Brownie point or two.”
He stared at the photo for a second longer, and it was enough time to allow Dawn to see a hint of helplessness. When his gaze met hers, she held her breath, knowing he was about to say something….
But then he abruptly turned back to the table and reached for the bottles, a long flow of black hair conveniently hiding his face. “I’ve gotta go.”
In an implosion of undiluted frustration, Dawn forgot about all her sore muscles, cuts, and scrapes and grabbed his arm, whipping him around to face her.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He bolted back, holding up his hands. Peace, man, peace. “You need to get out of here.”
She smiled—a razor-thin line singing with impatience. This guy might lead to Robby. Robby might lead to Frank. Frank might lead to…She didn’t know, but she had to find out.
“You just became much more intriguing.” She tucked Robby’s pictures away and took out Frank’s. “How about this man? Ever seen him? It might be more recently.”
The bartender’s Adam’s apple worked in his throat as he tried to swallow. He’d seen Frank. His eyes told her so.
Relieved, happiness lit through her at the possibility of getting a lead. Then a memory intruded.
Her smiling father, pushing her on a playground merry-go-round when she was a little girl. Faster, faster. He grinned down at her as she squealed in delight, laughed with her as her hands grew sweaty against the bars.
“Hold on, Dawn.”
Her hands were slipping, but she was laughing so hard she couldn’t tell him.
Faster, faster.
“Isn’t this fun? Look how fast you’re going! My little girl can take anything!”
Slipping…
Her fingers loosened around the paint-chipped bars; the rust
smelled like blood.
“Daddy’s so proud of his rough-and-ready girl! Kids twice your age can’t take this kind of speed!”
Her mouth formed around a cry of “Daddy!” but the word wouldn’t come out.
The bars slithered out of her grip, colors melding, flying in front of her face…an expanse of green…grass…zooming up to meet her—
Everything stopped, her face an inch from the green.
The next thing she knew she was in her father’s arms, trembling, nausea rising up in her throat. He smelled like gin and he felt like home.
“Baby…oh, little baby…I’d never let my little girl get hurt.” He was close to sobs. “Daddy will always be here for you. He’ll protect you from falling again, he’ll make sure of that. He won’t let anything…not the playground, not the awful people that got your mommy…anything hurt you, Dawnie…”
In his embrace, she had tried so hard not to cry, because her daddy wouldn’t want that. He was proud that she wasn’t a wimp, and Dawn lived for his pride.
As his tears dampened her cheek, little Dawn looked at him, wiped the moisture away.
“I’ll protect you from all the bad things, too, Daddy….”
She glanced down at the actual photo. His dark hair was windblown as he posed, jaunty and carefree, on a dock at Marina del Rey. In the background, fishermen waited for their latest catch. The colors dredged up a shadow below the surface of so many things she didn’t like to think about….
Throat tight, she pushed it at the bartender. “This is Frank Madison. He’s…a PI. He went missing about five days ago.”
“I haven’t seen him. Now get out before I call the cops.”
His resistance was a needle-sharp poke to her swollen grief. Patience exploding, Dawn flew at him, caught him in a headlock, and slammed his body face-first against the table. Bottles went flying, shattering to the tile. She levered her weight onto him, forgetting her usual practice of holding back. In her biz, she’d been taught to pull punches, to “sell” a fight and make it all look real without injuring anyone.
But she didn’t have to do that right now. Not with this callous motherfucker.
Nope. Instead she jammed the side of her forearm against the back of his neck, making him cry out like a prissy little girl who’d torn her pinafore.
“If you know something about Frank, you’d better tell me before I get angry.”
He squirmed under her, but she rapidly cleared the table of cut glass with her jacketed arm, saving a fragment. As alcohol dripped to the tile, she held the shard to his face, knowing how to really threaten an actor.
With his disfigurement—real or imagined.
The picture of Frank, happy and healthy on the pier, swam in front of her eyes.
Rage muddled her judgment, drove her heartbeat until it pounded in her ears. “What do you know about Frank Madison?”
The bartender didn’t move.
Smart guy. He realized he couldn’t overpower her without the risk of getting cut first.
“Take the glass away!”
“Tell me!”
“All right.” He was panting, his face smashed against the table. “He was hanging around here near the time you said he disappeared. A big guy, asking a lot of questions about Robby, too. He…never came back.”
“Bullshit!”
“I swear, I swear! That’s all I know. Please, let go!”
With her other arm, she increased the pressure on his neck, then let up when his face reddened. “And what about Robby?”
“The kid hung out here. They say his dad used to party here, too, but Robby ran around like it was his playhouse while his father lurked in some corner. It was a long time ago, back before this was a Goth hang out, but the staff still talks about it. It’s history though…Please, my face.”
Something wasn’t ringing right here.
Dawn inched the glass over him, the edge dancing on his smooth cheek. Rage squeezed at her, choking her conscience.
A voice yelled from behind her. “Dawn, what’re you doing?”
It was Kiko.
“Interviewing.” She didn’t take her eyes from her subject. “And just wait ’til you see me with Nathan Pennybaker.”
“Get off of him,” Breisi said.
“He’s a servant,” Dawn announced.
She felt the bartender go stiff beneath her.
“Aren’t you?” she added, tone jagged. “You’ve got bite marks on your chest, and you’re not careful about hiding them.”
“I like to be sucked every once in a while,” he said, words muffled by the table. “Go back into the bar and you’ll find a hundred other people just like me.”
A fine tremble wavered in the pit of her stomach, where her memories of Frank had settled. The glass grew unsteady in her hand, so she pulled it away, but not by much. She told her associates what the bartender had relayed so far.
“Dawn,” Breisi said again, “we’re going to have to teach you how to finesse an interview from now on.”
“I don’t know.” Kiko walked to the other side of the table where Dawn could see him. “Her way seems to be working just fine.” He climbed onto the surface, put his hand on the servant’s back. “Are you a servant to vampires?”
The man closed his eyes, as if darkness would make them all go away. He sniffed again, probably digusted—but not broken—by their garlic.
Kiko sat up. “Yes.”
“Good,” Dawn said. “Time for some turkey carving.”
“Stop! I’ll tell you anything! Just don’t…oh, God.” The bartender looked like he might weep.
Breisi came to Kiko’s side of the table, arms crossed over her chest in displeasure.
Concentrating on the servant instead of Breisi, Dawn moved the shard ever so slightly. It did the trick.
“Okay—Robby’s been around,” the bartender moaned. “That’s really all I know!”
The vibration of the bass from the club’s music buzzed the room, jittering around the outline of her heart. Slowly, Dawn glanced up at her cohorts. Kiko’s and Breisi’s eyes had gone wide.
“Don’t you meanFrank’sbeen around?” Dawn asked the servant, needing to hear it again.
“No, Robby. Robby Penny—”
The jangle of something like spurs interrupted.
Tossing aside her shard, Dawn flew up from the table, her hand going for her revolver instead. Kiko and Breisi did the same, crouched for action, their weapons aimed.
Adam Antette was standing in the doorway, her hands up. A crowd of Goths stood behind the woman.
“This isn’t the bathroom, I take it,” she said.
Hand to his face—probably to check for damage—the bartender scuttled away from Dawn. He crashed through the back entrance, a blast of outside air washing into the room.
“Facilities are down the hall.” Breisi’s gun was still poised.
“No worries, babe, I’m just a drunken lout who stumbled into this on her way to a leak.” The woman glanced at each of them in turn, as if committing their faces to mind.
Dawn felt ready to explode, loaded with frustration and the remnants of Frank’s memory. Vamp paranoia reaching a peak, she reached her free hand into her jacket pocket. Then, with quicksilver speed, she whipped out the crucifix.
Everything flew into fast-forward motion.
All of the Goths reacted, jerking backward. A change licked over them, like pale flame rushing up a curtain. Sharpened nails, metallic eyes, white fangs, and skin with such a moon-glow that Dawn choked in a breath.
Before her gaze could take in their strange beauty, they all raised their hands at once, because Breisi and Kiko had followed Dawn’s lead, brandishing their crucifixes, too.
But while the others hid their faces, the braided woman reacted by glaring at Dawn, her eyes folding into red slits of fire, just like the vampire from last night.
Mental fury scorched into Dawn, a flash of hopelessness, a reminder of failure. Her body weakened, crumbling to ash…
With a burst of wrath, she used her mind as a wave, flinging the hypnotic energy back at the vampire, making the woman clutch at her chest.
She hadn’t expected Dawn’s lightning-fast parry.
Like an atomic shudder, the vampires broke apart, leaving faint imprints of a black cloud that had dissipated. Dawn took off after them.
“Are you crazy?” Breisi yelled, grabbing Dawn. The older woman was digging her fingers into Dawn’s healing burns.
Snarling in pain, she gathered all her strength and wrenched herself away, revolver and crucifix in front of her as she blazed into the hall.
The empty hall.
“Shit!” Dawn kept aiming around, hoping to find them.
Needing to find them.
I had something, Frank. Damn it, I had something!
Breisi and Kiko marched into the hallway, the tech geek taking hold of Dawn’s jacket and dragging her toward the club and the exit. “We’re no good to the boss if we’re dead.”
The look on Kiko’s face almost echoed Breisi’s sentiments, but Dawn couldn’t be sure.
His expression was as fleeting as the silver in those vamps’ eyes.
Fourteen
The Haunted House
Once they were in the car, Breisi turned around in her driver’s seat and let loose. “You’re out of control, Dawn.”
“We had them.” Dawn held up her hands in impotent fury. “We should’ve given chase before they disappeared.”
“No. We gather information for the boss. We don’t exterminate, not unless we’re attacked and we have to. Besides, that’s how Frank got into trouble—not thinking and pursuing things at a whim, the fool.”
Scolding was bringing out the mother in Breisi, or at least, close to what Dawn thought a mother might sound like. The fine wrinkles had deepened around the older woman’s narrowed eyes, her tone final and nonnegotiable.
But Dawn didn’t need a parent—never had. As soon as she was old enough, she’d assumed that role in a household where Frank needed someone else to take care of the bills, cook the meals, tuck him into bed after he passed out.
Staring out the window, Kiko wasn’t saying a word, so Dawn didn’t know whether or not he was agreeing with Breisi. Hell, it’d be nice to have an ally here, seeing as Dawn had done some good and gotten them major information, right?
Night Rising Page 14
