Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order)

by Jagger, R. J.

  Then they headed back towards the freeway.

  And didn’t encounter a single vehicle.

  They headed north on I-25.

  Miles later they made another diversion off the freeway.

  And came to another stop.

  Rave stayed at the car and kept watch.

  London walked into the terrain holding the gun in a plastic bag. They had already wiped their prints off the weapon multiple times while wearing Latex gloves, to be absolutely sure that there were no remnants.

  Five minutes later London walked back, waving the empty plastic bag, and said, “Done.”

  “You didn’t touch it, did you?”

  London rolled her eyes.

  “Are you nuts? I just opened the bag and let it fall into the hole.”

  “How deep is it?”

  “About a foot,” London said.

  “That should do it,” Rave said.

  “That’ll more than do it.”

  They turned around and headed back to the highway.

  Not encountering a single vehicle.

  Then pointed the front end of the Camry towards Denver.

  Feeling good.

  Singing to Madonna’s “Open Your Heart.”

  If nothing unexpected happened, Rave would make it to her gig at the Old Orleans tonight just in time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Day Two—April 13

  Wednesday Night

  ______________

  MOST PEOPLE ALONG THE FRONT RANGE knew Jena Vellone as the roving TV 8 reporter with the charismatic personality, the thick blond hair and the scintillating green eyes. Teffinger knew her from the high school days back in Fort Collins, when she was the ticklish tomboy down the street.

  Teffinger was at his desk, alone in homicide, when she called.

  “Got a proposition for you,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  The large industrial clock on the wall, the one with the twitchy second hand, said 8:02, and made Teffinger realize that he had been going nonstop on the Cameron Leigh case since six this morning.

  And that his brain was fried.

  “What kind of proposition?” he asked.

  “There’s a blues singer down at the Old Orleans tonight who’s supposed to be incredible,” Jena said.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t remember her name, some woman,” Jena said. “Geneva saw her and says she’s really hot. She was even chatting her up on her show this morning. Anyway, I’m going to let you take me to see her. And if you get me drunk enough, I’m going to let you come back to my place afterwards and wrestle me.”

  Déjà vu.

  Teffinger had gotten this proposition before.

  Lots of times.

  Three or four times a year, in fact.

  Always tempting.

  But never good timing.

  He almost said no but surprised himself and said, “I’ll make you a deal. I sort of got stuck with a cat and need a place to put him short-term, until I can find him a home. If you’ll take him for a week or so, then I’ll get you as drunk as you want tonight.”

  “Really?”

  Yeah.

  Really.

  JENA VELLONE GOT PAID WELL and her 5,000 square foot Cherry Hills ranch reflected it. When Teffinger knocked on the maple entry door, Jena gave him a quick kiss and then focused on the cat. “My God, look at those eyes! It’s like a little, furry you!” she said, taking the animal out of Teffinger’s hands. “I’m keeping him.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I mean, look at him. This is so cool.”

  “His name’s Alley,” Teffinger said.

  “Alley Cat,” she said.

  She gave her new pet a can of tuna and a bowl of milk. It turned out that Alley’s front claws were clipped, so Jena let him roam the house as she made a makeshift litter box.

  Then she took Teffinger’s arm and said, “Get me drunk, cowboy.”

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER they walked into the Old Orleans and got charged $15 each at the door. Teffinger paid and said, “I expect you to defend me when people call me the cheapest guy on the face of the earth.”

  “Defend you? I’m the one who’s been warning them.”

  Teffinger had never been here before.

  It turned out to be a large dark place with a cozy New Orleans feeling. An extremely tight band played on a stage at the far end, not overbearingly loud, letting the singer do the work—a singer who was giving an incredibly perfect interpretation of “Black Velvet.”

  Considerably better than the original.

  Teffinger couldn’t believe the woman’s voice.

  Soulful.

  Lamenting.

  Modernly hypnotic.

  The room was packed but Teffinger spotted some daylight between a couple of people seated at the bar and squeezed in to order.

  A screwdriver for Jena.

  A Bud Light for him.

  Suddenly he noticed that the person sitting to his right, watching the singer, was a woman.

  A black woman.

  An exceptionally beautiful black woman.

  With light brown skin and an exotic, island look.

  She wore white shorts and an aqua tank, with her bellybutton showing. Perfectly-straight, raven-black hair cascaded down her back, almost to her waist. Teffinger swallowed and debated whether he dared make a move. Then he decided he had to.

  “The singer’s good,” he said.

  The woman turned.

  She had blue eyes.

  As soon as Teffinger looked into those eyes, a primal instinct kicked in. This was the woman he’d been searching for. The one he’d been waiting for. He always knew he’d recognize her when he finally met her. And this was her.

  No doubt about it.

  He never suspected she wouldn’t be white.

  But she wasn’t.

  And that was fine.

  The woman held his eyes.

  And studied him.

  “You’re already with someone,” she said, nodding towards Jena Vellone. The woman had an English accent with a French overlay.

  Totally unexpected.

  Very sexy.

  “She’s an old high school friend,” Teffinger said.

  The woman leaned in close and put her mouth to Teffinger’s ear, almost touching, and whispered, “You and your old high school friend have a good time tonight.”

  Then she stood up and disappeared into the crowd.

  Teffinger almost followed, but the bartender was shouting at him.

  Setting down drinks.

  Wanting money.

  HE PUSHED THROUGH THE CROWD, back to Jena Vellone, handed her the OJ and vodka and said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

  Sure.

  What?

  “I just met a woman but she ditched me because she thought I was with you,” he said.

  “You are with me.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Teffinger said, “but she thinks I’m with you romantically.”

  “Nick—”

  “Look,” he said. “All I need you to do is tell her that you and I aren’t involved.”

  “I got a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t you put the little fellow back in his cage, chill out, and just have a nice evening with me.”

  He held her eyes.

  “This is important,” he said. “I really need to see if I have a chance with this woman.”

  “Why didn’t you ever go after me like this?”

  He shrugged.

  “You know why,” he said. “You were younger.”

  “Yeah, back in high school, but not now.”

  He almost added, “Plus you were Matt’s sister,” but detected something in her eyes, and said, “You know something—you’re right. I came here to get you drunk so let’s get going on it.” He clinked her glass with his can and took a long swallow.

  Good stuff.

  Ice cold.

  “Get me drunk and wrestle me,” she sai
d.

  “Right.”

  Then Jena shook her head and said, “Okay, I’ll do this for you.”

  “You will?”

  She nodded.

  “But after I get you set up with the woman, you need to spend the rest of the evening with me and get me drunk and wrestle me like you’re supposed to.”

  Teffinger clinked her glass.

  “Agreed.”

  They headed into the crowd.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Day Two—April 13

  Wednesday Night

  ______________

  TRIPP SAT BEHIND THE WHEEL of the Dodge rental in a lower downtown parking lot near Coors Field, waiting for Jake VanDeventer to show up.

  Tripp didn’t know a lot about the man.

  But did know a few things.

  He knew that VanDeventer opened his first gem mine thirty years ago in North Dakota at age fifteen, and mined it at a profit for two years without the help of a single human being. Now, thirty years later, he lived in Johannesburg and owned a large number of insanely successful diamond mines scattered throughout Africa. He had a rugged, tanned face and a lean body that hadn’t lost an ounce of strength.

  He wasn’t a man to be messed with.

  With as much money as VanDeventer had, he should be happy.

  He wasn’t.

  Anything but, in fact.

  He had his reasons.

  Reasons that Tripp couldn’t argue with.

  SUDDENLY VANDEVENTER APPEARED at the passenger window, opened the door and climbed in.

  They shook hands.

  And then hugged.

  “Good to see you,” VanDeventer said.

  “Likewise.”

  “Still no word from Abbott,” VanDeventer said. “I had a P.I. friend check around town to see if he was in custody or in a hospital. He isn’t, so I’m guessing he’s dead.”

  Tripp was afraid of that.

  And pulled up an image of the tattooed skinhead.

  Dead.

  “No reports of his body showing up though, I assume,” Tripp said.

  “That’s true,” VanDeventer said. “My guess is that he went after Rave Lafelle and somehow got himself killed. Then the woman decided to not be associated with him and disposed of the body, or had a friend do it. Who knows?”

  Tripp shook his head.

  “Abbott was a good guy,” he said. “But he wasn’t the most careful guy in the world.” A pause. “You going to replace him?”

  VanDeventer nodded.

  “I already have someone in mind.”

  “Good.”

  “In the short-term,” VanDeventer said, “we need to have a heart-to-heart with our little vampire friend, Rave Lafelle.” The man exhaled and said, “So tell me about the Paris woman, Diamanda.”

  TRIPP FILLED HIM IN on the details of last night and added, “I swear to God she was every bit as strong as me. Have you ever seen a pit bull fight a dog?”

  No.

  He hadn’t.

  “Well the pit bull just gets the other dog by the throat and never lets go no matter what,” Tripp said. “The other dog can be clawing at his balls or whatever, it doesn’t matter, the thing just doesn’t let go. Then when the other dog gets tired, the pit bull gets an even deeper bite on the thing’s throat. Eventually the other dog just suffocates to death. That’s how this Paris vampire was. She got her hands on my neck and pushed her thumbs into my throat and I couldn’t get her off to save my life. I actually thought she was going to kill me. The only thing that saved me was that I dropped and did something like a crocodile death roll.”

  VanDeventer nodded.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “She was stronger than her bodyguard and he was almost as big as me,” Tripp said. “It was freaky.”

  “Some of them definitely have powers,” VanDeventer said. “They’re watered down, but they’re there.”

  Tripp exhaled.

  “Maybe that’s how Abbott ended up dead,” VanDeventer added. “Got into more than he could handle.”

  Tripp nodded

  And said, “I tried to get information. But somehow I tripped an alarm and had to get the hell out of there. The only thing I managed to do was grab a laptop from the woman’s bedroom.”

  VanDeventer was shocked.

  “I didn’t know about that,” he said.

  “Sorry, I forgot to tell you,” Tripp said. “I tried to boot it up but you need a password.”

  “Where is it?”

  “The laptop?”

  “Yes.”

  “In my hotel room. Why?”

  “Let’s go have a look.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Day Three—April 14

  Thursday Morning

  ______________

  RAVE WOKE THURSDAY MORNING in a strange bed with someone sleeping next to her—London, the vampire. Then she remembered London’s warning last night that other slayers would be arriving in Denver to finish what the skinhead started. “It’ll be suicide to stay at your place tonight,” London said. “Especially without a gun.”

  So they made sure no one tailed them after they left the Old Orleans at two in the morning and then checked into a cheap hotel in Lakewood.

  Paying cash.

  London’s treat.

  Now, outside, it was daylight, but the curtains were doing a good job of beating it back. Rave looked at her watch.

  Good.

  She’d slept for a solid eight hours.

  She put her arms above her head and stretched. The movement woke London who moaned and said with a scratchy voice, “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  London threw off the sheets, jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, naked.

  “What’s going on?” Rave asked.

  “I’m supposed to meet that man for lunch.” Two seconds later the shower came on. “I’m leaving the door open so you can use the facilities if you need to.”

  Actually, Rave did.

  But she dressed first.

  And waited until London was behind the shower curtain.

  There.

  Better.

  Now she needed coffee.

  London emerged ten minutes later, toweling off, totally at ease with being nude in front of another woman. Rave couldn’t believe the woman’s body. She looked for a flaw and found none. Not an extra pound, not a sag, nothing. The most amazing thing was the woman’s ass, perfectly taut and rounded. Rave had never seen an ass like that and probably never would again. London had won the gene lottery, no question about it.

  “Have you ever heard of Wong’s, on Court Street?” London asked. “That’s where I’m supposed to meet this guy.”

  No.

  Rave hadn’t.

  But she knew where Court Street was.

  “It’s smack downtown,” she said. “You’ll be hard pressed to find a parking spot.”

  “Man—”

  “If you want, I can drive and drop you off.”

  London’s face lit up.

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Nick.”

  “Nick what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “I don’t know,” London said. Then she grinned and said, “Me, I hope.”

  THEY SCREECHED TO A STOP in front of Wong’s at 12:03. London jumped out and said, “Remember, a 9mm SIG—two of ’em.” Then she was gone. Fifteen minutes later Rave stepped into a gun shop on Colfax and filled out the forms to buy two handguns.

  At London’s insistence.

  Because they couldn’t afford to be sitting ducks.

  Then she did something she promised London she wouldn’t do. She swung by her house and threw stuff in a suitcase—clothes, CDs, shampoo, a hair dryer.

  Then got the hell out of there.

  No problem.

  She pointed the front end of
London’s vehicle back downtown to find a place to park and wait for London’s call. On the way, she noticed something unusual.

  A vehicle seemed to be following her.

  Doing the exact same speed as her.

  Hanging back fifty yards.

  Just for grins, Rave took a right on the next side street.

  The other car followed.

  She shouldn’t have gone home.

  Why hadn’t she been smart enough to listen to London?

  Maybe it was just a coincidence.

  She made another turn.

  Left this time.

  The other vehicle followed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Day Three—April 14

  Thursday Morning

  ______________

  TEFFINGER DIDN’T GET HOME from Jena Vellone’s until two in the morning and then got up at six, seriously in need of a truckload of coffee. He should have slept longer but London was already in his head. The big question is whether she would actually show up for lunch today.

  Or blow him off.

  He was at his desk when Sydney walked into the room shortly after seven. She studied him as she poured coffee, then walked over and took a seat in front of his desk.

  “You look like Alley dragged you around all night,” she said.

  Teffinger grunted.

  “Alley got adopted.”

  Sydney raised an eyebrow.

  “By who?”

  “Jena Vellone.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “Probably to get in good with you,” she said. “That woman would do anything for a plate full of Nick Teffinger, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Teffinger shrugged.

  “Which totally baffles me,” Sydney added. “Since she’s the most eligible bachelorette in Denver and you’re—well, you’re you.”

  Teffinger chuckled.

  “It’s an enigma,” he confessed.

  “An enigma wrapped in a mystery,” Sydney said.

  Teffinger didn’t know whether he should venture into the subject he was contemplating, but had to tell someone, if for no other reason than to see how the words sounded out loud. “I met a woman,” he said.

  Sydney studied him.

  And must have recognized the look because she said, “You’re in lust.” Teffinger didn’t deny it. “What’s the poor victim’s name?”