Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order)
Page 9
Parker looked at Rave and said, “I think you already figured out that I’m the pretty one and he’s the brains.”
She laughed.
Then Parker asked, “Do you have something specific in mind?”
Forrest patted him on the back.
“In fact I do,” he said. Then to Rave, “It’s going to be a little risky, on your part.”
She exhaled.
“How risky?”
HALF AN HOUR LATER, they dropped her off at the 16th Street Mall in downtown Denver. She walked on the sunny side of the street under a blue Colorado sky and occasionally stopped and pointed her nose into a store window to see if anyone behind her came to a similar halt. No one did, at least that she noticed, not that that meant much.
The city buzzed.
Full of energy.
Loaded with people poised on the edge of the weekend.
Business people.
Young people.
Street vendors.
Cops on horseback.
Of course, the mall was closed to street traffic, except for the free shuttle buses that ran up and down the ten block stretch. The sidewalk tables at the Paramount Café were completely filled, mostly with business-types munching on snacks and kicking off the FAC. Rave scouted the faces, didn’t see the ones she was looking for, and headed inside. Suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Tim Pepper.
Manager extraordinaire.
“Good thing I’m not a rattlesnake,” he said. “You’d be dead right now.”
He led her outside.
Where she had just looked and not seen them.
The woman from Storm—Amanda Pierce—waved as they walked over. A half-filled cocktail sat in front of her, clearly not her first. She stood and hugged Rave.
“There’s our star.”
“Shooting star,” Pepper said.
As soon as Rave sat down, a waitress appeared and set a screwdriver on the table. She took a sip and suddenly felt incredibly good.
Warm sun.
Alcohol.
On the verge of Vegas.
“Amanda and I have been working out the details,” Pepper said in that incredibly gay voice of his. “The contract’s going to go to you alone, not the band. The band guys are good enough to come with you, if they want, but they’ll have to do it in the capacity of hired musicians, not as a band. They’ll get paid well—a lot more than they’re making now—but they won’t have contract rights like you will.”
“They don’t really bring anything special to the party,” Amanda said. “They’re interchangeable with fifty others just like them. You’re the star, so you get the contract.”
Pepper nodded.
“If they don’t want to come,” he said, “we’ve got replacements waiting in the wings.”
“But they can come if they want, right?” Rave asked.
Pepper nodded.
“It’ll be their choice.”
Okay.
Fair enough.
“NEXT TOPIC,” PEPPER SAID. “Amanda wants us to get your CD out ASAP. She has ties to a label called Bang Bang. Have you ever heard of them?”
No.
She hadn’t.
Amanda patted Rave’s hand and said, “They’re out of Chicago. They’re smaller, but totally up-and-coming, with deep money and even deeper connections. I already sent them your demo tape and they wet their pants.”
Really?
Yes, really.
“They want you to come to Chicago and lay down a few tracks to get a better feel for you,” Amanda said. “But that’s just a formality. You’re already in.”
“You’re kidding?”
No.
She wasn’t.
Pepper jumped in and said, “Which brings us to our next issue, namely material. We have six good tracks right now, including the three you wrote. That brings us halfway there. Bang Bang has been sitting on a number of hits, just waiting for the right voice.”
“Meaning you,” Amanda said.
“If that’s true, we have everything we need for our first CD, right now. We can start recording next week.”
“Next week?”
Pepper chuckled and said, “You should see your face.”
She could imagine.
“This is happening so fast.”
Pepper put a serious expression on his face and said, “It’s going to be incredibly rewarding but it’s going to be a hell of a lot of work, too. So get yourself ready for it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Day Four—April 15
Friday Afternoon
______________
MID-AFTERNOON, TEFFINGER went to Jena Vellone’s house to scout around and see if he had overlooked something. If he had, it wasn’t lighting up in neon. She had been gone almost a day and a half now.
Not good.
Someone obviously had a motive.
Who?
And what?
Suddenly his cell phone rang and Geneva’s voice came through. “What’s all this talk about you being off the case?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“The 104 news, twenty seconds ago.”
Not good.
“Where are you?”
“Jena’s.”
“I’m heading over.”
Fifteen minutes later a red Viper pulled into the cobblestone driveway and Geneva stepped out, wearing jean shorts, a black T-shirt and a baseball cap with a ponytail pulled through the back. She hugged Teffinger and said, “This is nuts. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Before Teffinger could answer, his cell phone rang.
It turned out to be Tanker, the chief.
“We have a development,” he said. “Now don’t get pissed or take this personally, but the Cherry Hills P.D. wants your Tundra to see if Jena’s blood is in it.”
“Give me a break,” Teffinger said.
“You’d do the same thing in their shoes,” Tanker said. “It’s standard procedure.”
True.
But it still sucked.
“They’re in the spotlight,” the chief added. “They have no choice. They won’t find anything and then we’ll be one step closer to having them off your back.”
They won’t find anything.
The words resonated in Teffinger’s head.
Then he realized why.
“Oh, man—,” he said.
“What?”
“They will find something,” he said. “Well, let me rephrase it, they may find something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jena was seriously drunk that night,” Teffinger said. “She had the radio cranked up and was swinging her head and singing. All of a sudden she said, Ouch, and got still. When I looked over, she was holding her hand to her nose, and it was bleeding.”
“So her blood is in your truck?”
“I don’t know,” Teffinger said. “It wasn’t bad and I handed her a bunch of Kleenexes right away. But she may have touched something while her fingers were wet. I just don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“Jena’s house.”
Silence.
“I just thought of something else and it’s not good,” Teffinger added. “She put the Kleenexes on the floor. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts there’s blood on the mat.”
“Where are the Kleenexes?”
“Gone—I threw them out at a gas station.”
Silence.
“Okay, here’s the plan. Bring your truck down to headquarters,” Tanker said. “And above all, don’t clean it or throw the mats away. I’d rather have them find blood in there than find it wiped down or tampered with.”
Teffinger hung up and looked at Geneva.
“Good news,” he said. “They’re zeroing in on a suspect.”
Her face lit up.
“Who?”
“Me.”
TEFFINGER EXPLAINED WHY he had been taken off the case. At first, Geneva was horrified, but then calmed
down when Teffinger assured her that he wouldn’t back off.
Not in a million years.
“You feel like helping me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Abso-freaking-lutely.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re going to walk around the neighborhood and see if any of the houses around here have security cameras pointed at the street. If they do, you’ll knock on the door, explain that you’re Jena’s sister, and ask if they have any tapes from Tuesday evening through Wednesday daybreak. If they do, see if they’ll make you a copy. Don’t take the originals, though, no matter what. They’re evidence and we can’t afford to break the chain of custody.”
“I thought you already talked to the neighbors,” she said.
He nodded.
“We did, but only the closer ones,” he said. “Now it’s time to widen the circle.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Day Four—April 15
Friday Afternoon
______________
THE MYSTERIOIUS EXOTIC BLACK WOMAN had Tripp’s full attention. So much, in fact, that he seriously thought about having his fun with her instead of Lauren Long. Sure, the manhunt wouldn’t be anywhere near as exciting, but that would be offset by the quality of the private time with the woman.
At the abandoned warehouse, he parked in the alley, looked around and saw no one.
Yeah, baby.
Luckily, the back of the building faced the back of a similar one directly across the alley.
Both were windowless.
Both were abandoned.
Both were tucked away from prying eyes.
Tripp bounded up the fire escape with a flashlight wedged in his back pocket, stood on the top railing, muscled up to the roof, entered the building, found it still wonderfully and perfectly abandoned, and took the stairs two at a time down to the ground floor. He pushed the bar on the fire door and it opened, almost directly at the Dodge. He propped it open, brought in the food and goodies, and then closed it.
There.
Good.
He carried everything up to the top floor. Then he used rope to secure the fire bar of that door in a “push” position, so that the door could be pulled open from the outside. He fastened a chain and lock so that the door could only be pulled open from the outside far enough to reach the lock with a key but not far enough for anyone to squeeze in. That way, later he’d be able to enter easily, without climbing onto the roof.
The building was primarily a gutted, empty shell.
A few eclectic things remained here and there.
Nothing worth anything.
Tripp did manage to spot an old broom and swept up an area near the back wall that had plenty of places to attach rope and chain for his precious little victim-to-be.
Whoever she might be.
Maybe Lauren Long.
Maybe the vampire.
Maybe the exotic woman.
Maybe a combination.
Or all of them, even.
UNDER A PERFECT CERELEAN SKY, Tripp headed back to Green Mountain. He needed to get the license plate number of the exotic woman’s vehicle.
And figure out who she was.
When he got there, though, the driveway was empty.
He slowed enough to get the house number.
Then did a little research.
It turned out to belong to someone named Nick Teffinger.
The name seemed vaguely familiar.
But Tripp couldn’t place it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Day Four—April 15
Friday Afternoon
______________
FOR A FEW BRIEF MOMENTS on the 16th Street Mall, with the sun on her face and a screwdriver in her gut and Tim Pepper’s gay exuberance bubbling out, Rave actually forgot all about vampires and slayers and everything else except her impending stardom.
She could make it happen.
Storm.
The CD.
The household name.
Everything.
Of that she was certain.
All she had to do now, to get her life perfect, was get this slayer stuff behind her. And, it turned out, Forrest Jones had a pretty good plan how to do exactly that.
THAT AFTERNOON, THEY SWUNG BY the gun shop and picked up Rave’s two new 9mm SIGs. From there, they drove west on the 6th Avenue Freeway through Lakewood, turned left on Colfax and then made another left on Rooney Road. The asphalt twisted through rolling open fields at the base of the foothills.
There were no houses.
Or shops.
Or streetlights.
Or anything.
Just undeveloped, barren land.
Suddenly Forrest said, “Stop.”
Parker pulled to the side of the road and killed the engine.
The three of them got out.
THE PLAN WAS SIMPLE—DECEPTIVELY SIMPLE. Tonight, after the gig at the Old Orleans, Rave would come out the front door after most of the crowd had left and would walk briskly to her VW, agitated. Just as she was getting in, Parker would run out of the club after her.
They’d have an argument.
Loud.
Angry.
She’d slap him.
Get in the car.
And squeal off.
Hopefully the slayer would be there, somewhere in the night, sitting in his car and keeping an eye on Rave’s vehicle to see if an opportunity presented itself.
He’d watch the whole little charade.
And then follow her.
Knowing she was alone.
Unguarded.
Not paying attention.
She’d drive west on 6th Avenue, through Lakewood, first to Colfax and then to Rooney Road. Once she was out in the middle of nowhere, she would suddenly pull over to the side of the road, get out and open the hood, as if she had engine trouble.
The slayer would pull up behind her.
Ostensibly to help.
But with intent.
Intent to knock Rave to the ground and pound a stake in her heart. Or intent to get her in his car and take her somewhere. There was no telling.
But what he wouldn’t know is that Forrest Jones would be hiding in the dark.
Waiting for him.
THAT WAS THE PLAN. Now, out here in the middle of Rooney Road, Forrest scouted around and liked what he saw.
“Okay,” he said. “This is the place. You stop right here. See that little gully over there? I’ll be in that. As soon as the slayer pulls up, I’ll sneak up from behind. I should be able to get over here before he even gets his door open. It’ll be pitch black. He won’t have a clue. As soon as he says something to indicate he’s the slayer, instead of just some poor slob passing by, I’ll make my move.”
Rave nodded.
“If you get a vibe before I do, shout, Stop!” Forrest said. “That’ll be my cue to get to you as fast as I can.”
“Okay.”
“The timing is critical,” Forrest said. “I don’t know how fast he’s going to try to make a move once he steps out. We don’t want to waste a second we don’t have. As soon as it starts going down, I want you to run.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it,” Forrest emphasized. “Don’t get involved, don’t watch, and don’t help. I’ll be a lot more effective knowing you’re not around to be taken hostage.”
“What exactly are you going to do—kill him?”
Forrest picked up a stone and threw it.
“Actually, I’m going to have a chat with him, if I can.”
“About what?”
“About who the other slayers are,” he said. “And about why they’re after us.”
Rave frowned.
“What are you going to do if he won’t talk?”
Forrest kicked a stone and said, “We’ll see how it plays out.”
He looked at Parker and said, “Give Rave a five minute head start and then follow her out here.” To both of them, “Drive at exactly the speed limits. That way we’ll keep
a five minute spread between the two of you, more or less. The traffic lights will jack us around some.” To Parker, “The main thing is that you don’t run up this guy’s tail and spook him.”
Parker nodded.
Forrest focused on Rave and said, “You’re going to be on your own from the time you leave the club until the time you get here, and also when the guy pulls up and steps out. Can you handle that?”
“No, but I will.”
He grunted.
“I’ll have my gun in the car,” she added, referring to the SIG.
“Fine,” he said. “Just don’t let him see it. And no drugs or alcohol tonight, for obvious reasons. Have the bartender make you fake drinks just in case the guy ends up in the club.”
She nodded.
He must have seen something on her face because he added, “I mean it, stay sober.”
“Okay.”
“That’s important.”
“Okay, I said.”
THREE SEAGULLS FLEW OVERHEAD. “Is there water around here somewhere?” Parker questioned.
Rave looked at him.
And knew she needed to get some quality time alone with him before tonight.
Just in case she never got the chance again.
She pointed south.
“Bear Creek Lake’s over that hill,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Day Four—April 15
Friday Afternoon
______________
TEFFINGER’S BRILLIANT IDEA about finding houses in Jena Vellone’s neighborhood that had security cameras pointed at the street turned out to be a bust. He and Geneva walked the area for over an hour and didn’t spot a single one.
Now what?
They were hoofing it back to Jena’s when Teffinger’s cell phone rang and London’s incredibly sexy voice came through. “You don’t have a litter box,” she said.
True.
Then he realized why she must have brought it up.
“Don’t tell me that cat crapped in the house.”
She chuckled and said, “No. He was smart enough to sit by the door and cry. As soon as I let him out he ran straight for the dirt. Anyway, I swung by PetSmart and got a litter box, and some cat food, and a scratching post, and this really cute little bed.”