Anna Strong Chronicles 02 Blood Drive

by Jeanne C. Stein

  It’s the first time I’ve met Williams on his home turf. He’s seated at a big mahogany desk, a manila folder open in front of him. He doesn’t look up, and only acknowledges my presence by a wave of a hand toward one of three chairs across from him. He doesn’t use vampire wavelengths to project a single thought or emotion. His mind is a closed, black void. I make sure mine is, too.

  I take a seat and glance around. His office is impressive-big, lots of windows, with a view over the CoronadoBayBridge. There are bookcases full of memorabilia from past and present. Lots of cop stuff, like old badges and antique guns. Only another vampire would speculate if he has personally used this stuff in past generations as a lawman. For the first time I wonder if Williams has always been a cop.

  I swing my gaze back to him. His bearing is different here, his attitude toward me colder and more professional. In his uniform, he cuts a striking figure. He’s tall, over six foot, lean. I expect he must have been the same age as me when he became a vampire, thirty or so, because his skin is smooth, his face unlined except for tiny laugh lines that radiate from the corners of his eyes. He once told me that to pass as a fifty-year-old human he has his dark hair professionally streaked with gray.

  I run fingers through my own short-cropped hair. I suppose I’ll be doing the same thing before too long.

  The way you piss people off, I doubt you’ll live long enough to have to worry about that.

  His tone is dry. He has raised heavy lidded eyes to peer at me across the desk.You didn’t quite tell me everything about your adventures this morning, did you?

  Ah. You’re talking to me. Good. I thought you’d called me here to impress me with your digs. Or the speed at which you shuffle papers. And, I must say, both are impressive.

  Williams folds his hands and leans toward me.In about two minutes, we’re going to be joined by two special agents of the FBI. Any idea why they are interested in you?

  I can honestly say, I do not.It’s true. If they are indeed Feds, I don’t have a clue. He looks at me so suspiciously that I can’t help myself. I mimic his action, folding my hands and bending towards him.Whatdo you think they want with me?

  Irritation radiates out from him like the burst of a solar flare.Damn it Anna. They told the patrol cop that you attacked them outside of Daniel Frey’s condo. Is that true?

  I shrug.Maybe. But they were breaking into Daniel Frey’s house. What kind of special agent does that?

  A better question is why were you there?

  To ask about Trish.

  Not exactly a lie. Williams is looking at me with such intensity it takes every bit of willpower to keep from squirming. And to keep him out of my head. It’s a relief when the opening of the office door interrupts us. I turn away from Williams to watch the two men approach the desk.

  I was too preoccupied with keeping them away from Trish at the condo to get a good look at their faces. I have the chance now. Both have their eyes locked on me and neither is smiling. One is about five foot ten, one hundred seventy pounds, square bodied, square jawed. He sports a military buzz, his light brown hair almost invisible against his scalp. His suit fits well, though the tailoring isn’t quite good enough to hide the bulge of the gun snugged up under his armpit.

  His partner is one or two inches taller, fifty pounds heavier. He’s the one who went to work on Frey’s door with the lock pick before I interrupted. He has dark hair and eyes, a boxer’s nose and thick lips. His suit jacket is open and his Glock sits on his hip.

  Their suits are almost identical-black, lightweight. Both wear white shirts under their jackets, one with a thin, dark tie, the other, with a red patterned tie that is just this side of fashionable and maybe real silk.

  Williams rises when they enter, crosses from behind his desk and holds out his hand. “I’m Warren Williams.”

  The one with the nice tie returns the handshake. “Special Agent Tom Bradley.” He half turns toward his partner. “This is Eric Donovan.”

  The men shake hands all around. No one acknowledges my presence. I’m about to stand up when the one with the good tie, Bradley, skewers me with a look that can only be described as scathing.

  Is he trying to scare me?I ask Williams dryly.

  Williams’s jaw tightens as he tries to ignore my intrusion into his head and concentrate on what Bradley is saying.

  “This is Ms. Strong?” Bradley asks, glowering at me.

  Williams nods and makes the introductions. “Anna Strong, Special Agents Donovan and Bradley.”

  They don’t offer to shake hands and neither do I. Instead, they take seats, one on either side of me. Williams returns to his place behind the desk.

  Donovan speaks next. “I think we met earlier today, Ms. Strong. At the home of Daniel Frey.”

  I nod.

  “What were you doing there?” he asks.

  “I was there to see Mr. Frey. What were you two doing there? Besides trying to break in?”

  “And later,” Bradley says, ignoring my questions. “We saw you at Carolyn Delaney’s apartment.”

  “I knew Carolyn.”

  “How did you know Carolyn?” It’s Donovan again.

  My neck is getting tired from the constant swiveling. I look over at Williams.This tag team stuff is starting to wear thin.

  Just answer the damn questions.His tone is a warning.

  I direct my gaze to Donovan. “I told Detective Harris the story this morning. I’m sure Chief Williams will let you see the police report.”

  “We have seen it,” Bradley interjects. “We want to hear the story again. From you.”

  That does it. I don’t handle bullying very well and my patience is at an end. I push my chair back and stand up. Williams is shooting daggers at me and trying to interject himself into my head. I shut him out. Donovan and Bradley rise, too, and press closer as if to restrain me if I try to walk out.

  “Am I under arrest?” I ask.

  The two Feds shake their heads. That they are sorry to have to admit that is stamped on their faces.

  “Then I’m going to leave. Unless, of course, you are willing to tell me what you were doing trying to break into Daniel Frey’s condo and why you’re following me.”

  Donovan and Bradley exchange a look. I know they’re humans but I could swear they’re communicating with each other. Most likely they discussed how to handle various scenarios before getting to the station. It’s what David and I would have done.

  In any case, they finally break their eye deadlock and Donovan says, “Please sit down, Ms. Strong. We’ll answer your questions.”

  This time I push around him and take the seat to the far right. I’m not doing the ping-pong thing again.

  They arrange themselves facing me and Bradley begins. “We are agents with a special unit that investigates sex crimes-in particular, sex crimes involving children. We are here because we believe there is a ring operating out of this area that uses children to make pornographic videos that they offer for sale over the Internet.”

  “Kiddie porn,” Donovan interjects, as if maybe I’ve been living in a cave for the last fifty years.

  I nod that I get it.

  Donovan continues, “But we’ve seen a disturbing trend in the last few months. Children are not only abused in these videos, but they’re killed.”

  My stomach lurches. “Why did you go to Daniel Frey’s? Do you think he is somehow involved?”

  “We don’t know,” Bradley replies. “But his name came up in an earlier investigation, in Boston. Nothing was proven. No charges were filed. Now he lives here, in San Diego, and we’re hearing rumors again about these snuff films.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. If this is true, I turned Trish over to him. I delivered her to a monster. My concern is so overwhelming I forget to shelter my thoughts. Williams is in my head before I can prevent it.

  He has Trish?

  I don’t have to answer. The look on my face must say it all.

  Go,he tells me.I’lltake care
of the Feds.

  I don’t wait to see how he does it. I don’t care. I bolt out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My hands are shaking so badly that I barely get the keys into the ignition. Recriminations ring in my head. Why did I discount the rumors about Frey? The ones he so glibly denied? How could I have trusted a man I didn’t know with any girl’s life, let alone one who may be my niece? What the hell was I thinking?

  By the time I pull into the parking lot at Valley Vista High, I’m in such a state, I know if I face Frey now, if he understands what I’m feeling, he’ll be bound to either attack or flee. Either way, I will have lost Trish. There was nothing in his projected vision to give me a hint where she is being held. I have to make him take me to her. Maybe there are other girls in danger. The only way to know for sure is to see for myself.

  I force myself to sit in the car, hands on the wheel, not moving a muscle until I clear my mind. The dashboard clock reads 2:45. I concentrate on it, focus on the numerals, and listen for the click detectable only to a nonhuman ear as each minute ticks away. At 2:55, I draw a deep breath and hold my hands in front of my face. The trembling has stopped. My heart is no longer battering my ribs. The struggle now will be to neutralize my thoughts. I’ve done it before. But this time is different. I only had myself to protect when the showdown came with Avery. Now there’s another life, an innocent, and if Frey sees through my deception, she will be the one to pay the price.

  A bell clangs in the schoolyard, and like horses from a starting gate, the students rush from their classrooms and head for the parking lot.

  I wait another five minutes. Then I climb out of the car and make my way to Frey’s classroom.

  He’s waiting for me at the door, his coat over his arm and his briefcase clutched at his side. His eyes narrow a little when he peers into my face. “Are you all right?”

  I nod. “Had a rough day.”

  “What happened?”

  I gesture toward the car. “Can we talk on the way?”

  He doesn’t seem to be reading anything other than my desire to get on the road. He nods and follows me as I retrace my steps to the car.

  He hesitates at the gate to the parking lot. “Do you want to see your mother before we go?” he asks.

  I already have my keys in my hand. I use the remote to unlock the doors. “No. I’ll talk to her later.”

  He lets it go without comment and settles himself into the passenger seat. Just as I put the Jag in reverse and turn to check that there’s no one behind me, he lays his hand over mine on the gearshift.

  His touch triggers an involuntary reaction. I jerk my hand away. Immediately, I regret the lack of control. He’s really looking at me now, an enigmatic specter of doubt hardening the lines around his mouth and eyes.

  “You can’t keep it from me, Anna. You may as well not try.”

  But it seems I can. I’m doing it. For the first time, I don’t feel powerless against him. But I also don’t know how long I can hold him off. I forge the thought carefully.It’s Carolyn.

  Trish’s mother?

  Yes. She was killed this morning.

  That seems to distract him long enough for me to get us on the road. When he’s back in my head, his tone is thoughtful, concerned.

  How will you tell Trish?

  He doesn’t ask how it happened. He assumes it was an accident, I read that from his own projections. I don’t correct him, inquiring instead,Whereare we going? You haven’t told me.

  His reply is offhand,ToBalboaPark.

  BalboaPark? The idea spins around my head throwing off questions like sparks from a flare. The municipal park is a big place, but it’s a public place. Where would he be hiding Trish in the park? The only answer I come up with makes me grind my teeth in frustration and concern. It would be difficult to hide a child in the park, but not a body. There would be lots of places to hide a body.

  Frey grabs my arm, and the unexpected contact makes me jump. I snap my head around to look at him.What?

  He’s looking in the passenger side mirror.Ithink we’re being followed.

  My eyes dart for the rearview mirror. If Williams let those Feds go to follow me-But it’s not the Ford Fairlane behind us. It’s a Volkswagen.

  Frey starts to swivel around in his seat, but I grab his arm.Don’t. If someone is following us, it’s best we pretend not to know.

  He rights himself in the seat.What are we going to do?

  My eyes are on the car in the mirror. It looks familiar, though I can’t place it. What makes you think we’re being followed?

  From the corner of my eye, I see Frey shrug. He answers out loud, his tone hesitant. “I noticed the car when we left school. There’s a guy driving. He followed us onto the freeway. If he were a student, he’d live in the area and would have gotten off already. We’re almost to

  College Avenue

  and he’s right behind us.”

  “Doesn’t necessarily mean he’s following us.”

  “Do you want to take that chance?”

  No. “We’ll go to my office,” I say. “Can you get the license plate number? I can’t see it in my mirror.”

  Frey squints as he tries to make it out. “No. Damn it. The plate’s too dirty. Maybe we should forget about going to see Trish today. Take me home. If he follows when we take the Friar’s Road exit, we’ll know for sure he’s after us.”

  I stifle the urge to howl in annoyance. But then, reason takes over. Frey is right. And if I take him home, we can spend some quality time alone together.

  The anxiety lifts and I nod at him. I’m on the 94 Freeway, and instead of heading downtown, when the junction with 15 North approaches, I take it. The Volkswagen does too. At the

  Friars Road

  exit, I don’t signal but cut across three lanes of traffic to a cacophony of horns and rude gestures.

  The Volkswagen is right behind me.

  Is this guy arrogant or just plain stupid?

  And as soon as I ask myself that question, I remember where I’ve seen that car before.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “What’s wrong?” Frey asks.

  “I know who it is,” I say through gritted teeth. Why didn’t I notice the little creep before? First the Feds, now him. I’ve been leading a fucking parade. I’m seriously pissed at myself for being so careless.

  There’s a stop light at Friar’s and

  Mission Village Drive

  . Traffic is backed up, as it usually is in late afternoon at that intersection. I decide to use it to my advantage.

  I turn to Frey. “Do you know how to drive?”

  He looks surprised at the question. “Of course I know how to drive. I just choose not to.”

  We’ve inched our way toward the intersection, but the light is turning yellow again. “Then take over.” I open the door.

  Frey’s surprise turns to anxiety. “What? What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

  But I’ve already jumped out and started for the VW, two cars behind.Pullinto the stadium parking lot. I’ll meet you there.

  To myself, I add, Please don’t let him wreck my car.

  But Frey’s reply follows me,I’ll try not to. And thanks for the vote of confidence.

  I don’t bother to respond or look back. Quicker than it takes to register in No-neck’s head, I’m standing at the passenger side door of his car. The door is locked, but the window is open so I reach inside and pull the door open. He does a double take as I slide into the seat.

  “Well,” I growl with cold menace. “Fancy seeing you again.”

  I’ve startled him into speechlessness. In fact, I’ve startled him into a near heart attack. I can tell because his heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it. Along with the rush of his blood. That, coupled with the anger I’m feeling toward mankind in general, brings the vampire in me to the surface.

  I don’t know what it looks like when the animal takes over. I only know what I see in the eyes of humans wh
en it happens. No-neck’s face has gone pale, his breathing is shallow. A human who allows vampires to feed from them can still distinguish the difference between control and rage. His eyes are locked on mine, and though car horns blare at him to move as the light changes, he is frozen in place.

  “Move, asshole,” I snarl. “Or I’ll rip your miserable throat out right here.”

  His Adam’s apple bounces as he takes a couple of shaky breaths. “Where should I go?”

  I gesture to my car just ahead of us. “Keep doing what you’ve been doing-follow my car.”

  He puts the VW in gear and we lurch forward. After we’ve cleared the intersection, he asks, “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Depends on you,” I snap. “And what kind of answers I get.”

  His hands are shaking as he pulls up behind the Jag. Frey starts to get out, but I wave him off. I want to do this by myself.

  I notice No-neck’s car registration in a plastic holder on the visor. I reach over and rip it off. “Let’s see who we have here.”

  The registration lists the owner’s name as Darryl Goodwin, his address,

  3946 Quail Street

  in San Diego. “Are you Darryl?”

  He nods.

  He’s wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts. I reach out a hand and lay it on his bare arm. “Okay, Darryl, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  His eyebrows shoot up.

  “The easy way is I ask you some questions and you answer.” I rub his arm encouragingly. “The hard way is I bite your worthless neck and suck until you’re dead. But before you die, I’ll get the truth out of you. All of it. So what’s it to be?”

  His Adam’s apple is dancing again.

  “Okay, let’s give this a try. We’ll start with an easy question. Why are you following me?”

  Darryl seems to be having a hard time getting words out. My impatience is searing. I dig my nails into his arm and open a long, ragged cut, drawing blood. I know it’s risky. In my state, the scent of his blood and fear are like an aphrodisiac too powerful to resist. But I don’t have time to waste with him.