I had to smile at that one. I took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I looked at the glass of pop in front of me, watching the condensation pool on the coaster.
“I guess I’ve got nothing to be mad about.”
“You’ve got some decisions to make.”
“Like what?”
“Like whether or not you’re going to go back to him.” She stood, ending the conversation. “I think you need to ponder that one yourself. I’ll be here if you need me.”
I got up and headed for the door. She gave me a hug, then I stepped outside, into the sunlight and squinted. I climbed in my car, and pulled out of the driveway. A couple of minutes later the car indicated a call coming in, but I hit the button to ignore it. I was still focusing on her statement. It surprised me. It was as if there was never any doubt in my mind I was going back. Of course I was going back. I loved him, sort of, but I loved the work, and I knew Mom would want me to, and I loved her. My entire life had been geared toward preparing me for this. It was all I knew, and it was all I wanted to know.
I was Sydney Winter.
Vampire Slayer.
FIFTEEN
The phone rang, jolting me awake. Daylight hours were when I tried to get my beauty sleep, the sunlight simply too irritating to my eyes and skin. I burned easily. Like a redhead. Maybe a little worse. But no, I didn’t burst into flames when exposed skin was hit by a ray, nor did I sparkle like a glitter covered Mardi Gras performer. It just burnt after a while. Who the hell knew why. Probably part of the curse. Relegating us to the dark side of life.
I answered the phone.
“It’s me.”
“Hey, Emily. Twice in one day. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.”
“No time for chitchat. Did you and Sydney get into some trouble recently?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“Any reason why her license plate would have been torn off the back of her car, along with part of her bumper?”
I jolted up.
“What?”
“She just pulled out of my driveway. Her rear license plate is missing, and her bumper is damaged. I tried calling her, but she didn’t answer.”
“Where’s she heading?” I said as I donned my duster and barmah.
“Home I think, I’m not sure.”
“Okay, keep calling, I’m heading there now.”
I hung up, tossing the phone on the couch and stepping into the outer office. I grabbed the bag with the Equalizer in it, along with a few clusters of stakes, and ran out the door. I hailed a cab, showed him a c-note, and gave him the address. “Get me there as fast as you can, and I’ll double it.”
Fifteen minutes later we were there, and I saw Sydney’s car in the driveway, parked beside a Jaguar I didn’t recognize. I jumped out, tossed the two bills through the passenger side window, and ran toward the house. The Mazda was empty.
Dammit!
I rounded the garage and approached the front door.
It was open. I pulled out the Equalizer and loaded it. No point going in with a sword when you had no idea how many you might be facing. I stepped inside. It was quiet. But a wreck. It was clear somebody had been through the place, searching for something, or simply out to destroy without purpose.
I heard a noise behind me.
I spun around, raising the Equalizer, squeezing the trigger. Sydney was raising her hands and I caught myself just in time, easing off on the trigger. Another sound came from behind me, and Sydney’s eyes bulged. I tossed her the Equalizer as I turned, drawing my sword from my back, and dropping to one knee. Two of Lazarus’ crew from last night were charging at me, the bloodlust filling their eyes.
I heard the trigger click behind me, the sound of the compressed air firing a stake, and the whoosh as it flew over my head, impacting the closest in the chest. A second shot was fired, but the first victim’s companion was prepared, already diving to the side. I rose, sword in hand, swinging the blade clockwise in an arc, spinning my entire body. I felt the blade make contact, and slice through much of his torso before finally coming to a rest against what was probably his spinal column.
He’d live.
For now.
I put my boot on his chest and pulled the blade free.
“How many more of you are there?”
He glared at me, the bloodlust fueled by the smell of his own seeping from the eight inch deep gash in his side. I heard the click and whoosh behind me. My head darted toward the door the other two had come from, and I saw the surprised expression of a third intruder, this one female, as she gripped the stake, before turning to dust.
“Any more?”
He shook his head.
I looked at Sydney. “I don’t believe him. Be careful.”
She nodded, closing the entrance door and locking it, so no one could sneak up from behind. She searched the entranceway closet, as I returned my attention to the writhing form under my boot.
“Where’s Lazarus?”
“Bite me.”
“Aren’t we grandiloquent.”
I could tell he had no clue what I meant. He was most likely recently turned. This generation had almost no vocabulary that couldn’t be rhymed with in a hip hop song.
I pulled a stake from my belt and pressed it against his chest.
“Still not talking?”
The bloodlust left his eyes. “Kill me. Please.”
His tone caught me off guard. It was earnest. Pleading.
“Free me from this hell.”
I nodded. “First, are there any others?”
He shook his head. “No, there was just the three of us.”
“Where’s Lazarus?”
“I don’t know.” I pushed with the stake. “I’m telling the truth.” But he wasn’t begging. He clearly wanted to die. “I got a call from that guy”—he motioned toward the pile of dust that was the last one Sydney killed—“and he picked me up. I had never met Lazarus until last night, and even then, I never said two words to him.”
I eased off. “When were you turned?”
“About three months ago.”
“When did you last feed?”
“Two nights ago. Some bum.”
I lifted my boot off of him. He looked confused. “You’re not going to kill me?”
“I’m going to let you go.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not going to feed anymore.”
“How?”
I looked at Sydney. “Paper, pen.”
She nodded, grabbing a pad and pen off the floor, near a knocked over end table.
I jotted down a name and number. “Call this guy. Once a week, he’ll supply you with two bags of blood, five hundred bucks, no questions asked. That will be enough to avoid the blood lust. If you have an opportunity to feed off of a vampire, a bad one, that can sustain you for a few months.”
“They never told me.”
“Of course not. If you know your options, you’re no longer their slave.” I looked at his wound. “You going to be okay?”
He nodded. “I’m already starting to feel better.”
“What were you looking for?”
“We were trying to find out who she was, and why she was helping you.”
I frowned. This wasn’t good. They had her name and address. They knew she worked for me. “So Lazarus knows where she lives?”
He shook his head. “No. Mike”—he motioned at the door—“said he found the plate afterward, had it run by a cop he knows, and wanted to surprise Lazarus with either her, or you.”
“So Lazarus doesn’t know.”
He shook his head. “No. Only I know.”
“Now that could be a problem.”
He looked at Sydney. “How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
Tears filled his eyes. “So’s mine.” And before I could stop him, he grabbed the stake I had laid on the floor while I wrote on the pad, and plunged it into his chest. “Now she’ll be safe,” h
e gasped, as he turned to dust before me.
I shook my head. It was rare you were able to steer someone down the right path when they were already well down the wrong, but it happened. And today would have been one of those if this man, deep down, hadn’t been so honorable. He knew he couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret. Not from a man like Lazarus.
“He just saved all our lives.”
Sydney didn’t say anything, but she had heard the conversation. I could tell it had affected her. If she was anything like her mother at her age, she would be blaming herself. Normally I’d comfort her, but I wasn’t sure how she was feeling toward me right now.
I heard a police siren in the distance.
“Cops are coming.”
She nodded. “You better get out of here then.” She tossed the Equalizer to me. “Take this, it’d be hard to explain.”
I gestured at the room, the three piles of dust with a pool of blood near one, and the house torn apart. “And this isn’t?”
The siren was getting closer. “Get out of here!”
“Is that Jag in the driveway working?”
She shook her head. “I’m only nineteen and even I know not to ask that. It belongs to a friend of my dad’s. It broke down in the driveway last night when they were leaving; the tow truck hasn’t been by to pick it up yet.” She tossed me her keys. “Take my car.” I caught them and headed for the door. “Oh, and Zee.”
I stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“Put the seat back before you get in, otherwise your knees will go through the roof.”
She gave me a wink and I knew we were okay.
SIXTEEN
I threw myself on the couch, exhausted from all the sunlight. I was going to have to suggest Sydney invest in some window tinting. I had my own car, decked out with all the latest sun suppression gadgets (tinting and a spare set of sunglasses), but I figured a race across town was better done in a taxi than my own car. If I was pulled over, it would be harder to explain. I don’t like being in the system for anything I don’t need to be in it for. And a traffic violation just drew attention.
The phone rang. It was Sydney’s house.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine. Dad’s here now, cops just left.”
“Okay, stay at a hotel for the next few days—”
“Way ahead of you. Already booked.”
“Okay, as soon as it’s dark out, I’ll swing your car by and leave it in your driveway.”
“That’s fine. I said I lent it to a girlfriend.”
“Is that what I am now?”
She chuckled, a hint of awkwardness still there. “Zee?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. Let’s forget it ever happened. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Okay, when I swing by I’ll plant some surveillance cameras, just to make sure nobody comes by.”
“Sound good. Insurance company says they’ll be by tomorrow, then cleaning crews are coming in the day after, so watch yourself.”
“I always do.”
“Don’t make me save your ass for the fourth time in as many days.”
“Fourth? I remember two others.”
“How was that abandoned factory in Detroit?”
“You and I need to talk.”
“Gotta go!”
And she hung up.
I dropped the phone on the floor and got comfortable. And as is wont to happen in this world that insists on running during the day, the phone rang again. I recognized the number as the residence of Clayton and Janice McKinly.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Varga?”
“Yes, Mrs. McKinly, how can I help you?”
“The police just found my husband’s car.”
“Where?”
“Penn Station, Jersey. I’m heading over there now.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there.”
I hung up, swung my legs out from the couch and sighed, looking at my watch. Sunset wasn’t for a few hours. At least in the city you quite often had enough tall buildings to shorten the direct sunlight by a few hours, but Jersey? Maybe I’d get lucky and the car would be parked indoors.
I grabbed my car keys off my desk. Better to take mine than hers. Even just a few minutes reprieve would help me recharge. I stepped to the door and stopped when I saw myself in the mirror.
I looked like crap.
I opened the small bar fridge and pulled out an O-negative energy drink that Sydney made for me just for top ups between blood deliveries. If only the manufacturers knew what was in these cans.
Red Bull indeed.
SEVENTEEN
Well, it was outdoors, of course. I sucked down the rest of my drink, and climbed out of my car, pulling my hat low, and turning up my collar. I shut the door and strode over to where a few police cars, marked and unmarked, sat, their engines running, keeping their occupants, at this point in time, nobody, crispy cool.
I reached for the police tape.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I turned to the voice. It was a young officer whom I’d never seen before. I fished out my Private Eye license and flashed it.
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Are you easily impressed?”
He rested his hand on his gun. If only he knew how ineffective that would be. I motioned at the gun with my chin. “Are you gonna use that?”
“That’s it,” he said, pulling his nightstick. “On the ground, legs spread.”
I surveyed the area, and my eyes rested on Mrs. McKinly and the detective she was dealing with on the case, Jansen. I’d dealt with him before. Asshole, but fair. He seemed to respect private detectives that followed the rules, even confessed once that he planned to become one himself when he retired, which apparently was only a few years from now if I remembered correctly, which of course I did.
“Jansen, can I get through before your boy here hurts himself?”
Jansen looked over, as did Mrs. McKinly, who said something. He waved me over.
The young officer glared at me.
“Are you going to lift the tape for me?”
“Don’t push it.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry about it, kid, I was just having some fun with you.” I lifted the tape and walked under.
“Kid? I’m older than you!”
I shrugged my shoulders and walked toward my client.
“Good evening, Mrs. McKinly.” She extended her hand and I gave it the same kiss as last time. She flushed.
Jansen shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Mrs. McKinly is my client. I’m looking into the disappearance of her husband.”
Jansen turned to her. “Didn’t trust us to take care of it?”
I saved her. “Hey, it’s not like that and you know it. She has money, and she wants every option available to her to be used.”
Jansen grunted.
“So what have we got?”
“His car,” he said, pointing at the Mercedes SL 550. They were going to tow it since it’s been in short term parking for days. Standard procedure to run the plates. It raised a flag in our system, so here we are.”
“Anything suspicious?”
“Crime Scene guys will go over it with a fine tooth comb back at the lab, but it looks clean. No signs of a struggle. But, get this.” He held up a plastic evidence bag. “Keys, wallet, everything, all sitting on the driver’s seat.”
“Really? And no one stole them?”
Jansen pointed at the windows. “Tinted windows, can’t see in.”
I leaned in and checked the tinting. “After-market. When did he have these done?”
“About six months ago.”
“This is a 2011 model year. Had he always planned on getting them tinted?”
Mrs. McKinly shook her head. “No, he just came home one day and it was done. He said he was sick and tir
ed of being judged by people when he was on the phone, so he got it done.”
“What’s so important about the damned tinting?” asked Jansen, gesturing at my outfit. “Wondering if he’s got the same damned phobia of the sun you do?”
I couldn’t let that one go. “Just hiding my gorgeousness from the rest of the world so guys like you still stand a chance.”
There were a few snickers from the surrounding officers. Even Jansen chuckled. “You’re lucky you remind me of my kid, or else I’d bounce you downtown so fast you wouldn’t need to worry about sunlight catching you.”
“Tell him about the note.”
Jansen shot daggers with his eyes at Mrs. McKinly. “I had planned to keep that from the public.”
“He’s not public, he’s working for me.”
Jansen sighed, and fished another evidence bag from his sport coat. “This was found under the wallet and keys.”
I took the bag and read the note.
I’m sorry, but I am starting my new life, and you can’t come with me.
“Any idea what it means?”
Jansen shook his head. “No, but it seems pretty clear he left voluntarily. Once we’ve confirmed it’s his handwriting, we’re out of this.”
“What?” exclaimed Mrs. McKinly. “What do you mean you’re out of this?”
Jansen looked at her, taking the bag back from me. “I mean, this is either a domestic thing, so call your lawyer and file for divorce, or it’s related to the SEC investigation, which means it’s Federal. Either way, no crime has been committed here that is under my jurisdiction.”
And with that he flipped his pad closed and stuffed it in his pocket, turning to me. “You are free to try and track him down, but as far as the NYPD is concerned, we’re out of it.” He turned to walk away then stopped. “Assuming it’s his handwriting.”
“It is,” said Mrs. McKinly.
Jansen nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I really am. But at least you know he’s alive and well. He’s probably just hiding from the investigation. Quite often these guys send for their wives once they’ve settled into whatever safe haven they’ve gone to.”
Turned (Zander Vargar Vampire Detective, Book #1) Page 10
