Blood Drive asc-2

by Jeanne C. Stein

  He grins. “Works for me.”

  I glance over at him. “You know I never suspected Darryl to be a part of this. He’s different on his home turf. Either that or he’s a damn good actor. Is he the reason you came to San Diego? You suspected he was taking over his dad’s business?”

  Frey shakes his head. “I never met Darryl in Boston. If I had, I damn sure would have recognized him the other day. His last name is different from his father’s, too. Probably changed it when he moved here.”

  I wait a moment. “Things become uncomfortable for you in Boston? Darryl mentioned something about your coming under suspicion there because you seemed to know too much.”

  He sniffs. “That was Bradley’s doing, I’m sure. But yes, a rumor went around that I had made a deal to extricate myself by turning on Darryl’s father. The truth was, I learned about him the same way I learned about Trish. One of his victims was a student at my school. She attempted suicide. Her best friend came to me and told me why. I did some investigating, contacted the Feds and they got him.”

  The same story I heard from Darryl. I glance at Frey. His expression is harsh. “But you left Boston.”

  “Our school board was very conservative. I didn’t have much of a future there once the rumors started flying. It didn’t matter that they were unsubstantiated. But the one concession they made was to let me resign with the promise of a good recommendation. It’s how I got my job here.”

  He lapses into silence, but after a moment, he adds softly. “You know this is not going to be the end of it for Trish. Her videos are already out there.”

  I know it. I just don’t want to hear myself say that I know it. I shrug. “I just hope Darryl kept good records. I’ll track every scumbag customer if it takes the rest of my life.”

  The absurdity of that remark makes Frey laugh. And I know why.

  Sometimes I forget what I am.

  We’re approaching Darryl’s street. Frey starts to undress, pulling his shirt over his head, skimming out of his slacks. He sees me watching and grins.

  “It’s easier on my wardrobe to do this now. And I’ll need something to change into later, right?”

  Last night I didn’t really pay attention to Frey’s body, I was too busy wondering if I was about to become dinner. Today, it’s different. I take a quick, involuntary appraisal. Frey’s chest and shoulders are broad, powerful looking, his arms and thighs well muscled and firm.

  “Damn, Frey. I’m impressed.”

  He slips Gucci loafers off his feet and flips them into the back seat. The only thing he has on now is a pair of very brief briefs. When he looks at me, an intense physical awareness prickles my skin.

  I arch an eyebrow and wait.

  “This is as far as I go on a first date,” he says.

  I blow out a puff of air and wait for my heartbeat to return to normal and the heat to dissipate from my skin.

  What the hell am I thinking?

  I pull over at the corner of Darryl’s block, dragging my thoughts back from the abyss, and tell Frey which house is his. “I’ll go in through the front, get him to come outside so you can sneak in the back.”

  If he caught my momentary lapse into sexual fantasyland, he doesn’t show it. He simply nods and looks around. “I won’t make the change until I get into his yard. It’s pretty quiet around here. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “You can get over these fences?”

  “Like a cat.”

  He steps out of the car and disappears faster than I would have anticipated. In a moment, I hear the frantic barking of a dog a few door down. Then a yelp of pain and silence. I don’t want to know what made it stop.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I park a few houses down from Darryl’s and climb out of the car, pocketing the keys. It’s oddly quiet in the neighborhood for a weekday morning. No commuters on their way to work, no children waiting for school busses on the corner. I see the edge of a drape in a living room window rise and fall as I pass by on the sidewalk, but as long as I keep moving, I don’t seem to be attracting any undue attention.

  It’s quiet in front of Darryl’s place, too. I expect to see the Chevy Suburban from the cottage parked in front, but it’s not here. Darryl’s garage door remains open, though, and the VW inside. I’m pleased that we’ll find him at home.

  I glance at the gate. It’s secured by a heavy chain and an industrial sized padlock. It doesn’t take much effort to kick it free. And the noise produced when the gate crashes onto the driveway has the desired effect.

  Darryl steps out of the front door.

  He stares at me. His face reflects neither surprise nor anger, but rather mild curiosity. His shirt and jeans are spotted with blood that smells damp even from this distance. Ordinarily, that would be enough to trigger the hunger. But the cloying stink of garlic overpowers the scent of blood.

  Until I see Frey, I know I will have to keep as far away from Darryl as I can.

  He moves, finally, a small half-turn, as though preparing to go back inside. But instead, when he faces me again, he has a gun in his hand. He looks at it, then at me.

  “I know this can’t kill you,” he says thoughtfully, as if speaking more to himself than to me. “But I imagine it hurts to get shot.” He chambers a round and aims for my chest.

  I dive for the ground as the bullet rips into the concrete. I roll away as the second shot slams into the ground inches from my head. I’m up and at him before he gets the third shot off.

  It’s a weak hit, the garlic stops me like an invisible force field. But it’s enough to knock him off balance and into the living room. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to dislodge the gun from his hand. I jump away from him, back into a corner, crouch to await his next move.

  He gets up slowly, smiling. “I heard from Bradley a few minutes ago. He was surprised to see you. Said it was bad luck for me that I let you get away. Well, maybe I’ve got a second chance to make it right. I bet I can shoot you in a lot of painful places. You might just become cooperative enough to tell us where you took Trish and that friend of hers.”

  He raises the gun and takes aim. I tense, ready to leap out of range. Where the hell is Frey?

  The shot reverberates like a cannon in the small room. But the bullet goes wide and high, raining a dust storm of ceiling plaster down on my head. Darryl starts to scream. The dust is thick enough to prevent me from seeing what’s happening, but the sound of bones snapping makes it clear.

  “Don’t kill him,” I tell Frey. “At least not yet.”

  The dust is settling a little, so I step around to the windows and throw back the drapes. I open the windows, too. There are two besides the one I dove through earlier. Sunlight and fresh air stream in. There’s a ceiling fan dangling precariously overhead, Darryl’s shot loosened the plaster around it. Can’t flip that one on. But there’s also a fan sitting on the floor in the next room. I bring it into the living room, plug it in, and let a flow of cool air clear away the last of the dust.

  Frey, in his panther form, is snarling into Darryl’s frightened face. He’s knocked him on his back, and the sound I heard must have been the snapping of an arm that Darryl now cradles against his chest. The gun has skittered somewhere out of sight.

  Darryl is whimpering and trying to scoot backwards away from Frey. But like a cat stalking a mouse, the panther moves with him, not making a sound, watching with quiet intensity, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

  “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you,” I tell Darryl. “He’ll bite your head right off.”

  As if to prove the point, Frey snaps his jaws.

  Darryl yelps and cringes back.

  I put a hand on Frey’s head. “I’m going to take a look around. If he moves, kill him.”

  Frey nuzzles my palm and resumes his vigil.

  I find what I’m looking for in one of the back bedrooms-three computers with all the necessary hard and software to turn out the stack of DVDs and VHS tapes that line the flo
or. Some are already packaged for mailing, others sit in their jackets. There are a dozen piles. Just about the number of videos they forced Trish to make.

  I kick at the stuff on the floor, scattering and stomping until I’ve reduced as much as possible to shards of plastic and ribbons of tape.

  But my rage is far from satisfied.

  I return to the living room.

  “Bite him,” I tell Frey. “His leg.”

  Darryl starts to scream before Frey sinks fangs into the calf muscle of his right leg. I watch as Frey closes his jaw and shakes his head, worrying at the leg as a cat would a bird. I let it go on for a full minute, before I call him off.

  Frey backs away, eyes bright, sniffing at the blood pooling under Darryl.

  I squat down beside Frey, lay a gentle hand on his head, and turn my attention to Darryl. “You remember how this works, don’t you, Darryl? I ask you a question, and you give me an answer. Only this time, it won’t be me biting you if I don’t like what I hear. It will be my little friend here.”

  Darryl’s eyes are dull with fear. They’re locked on the jungle cat, never shifting away, when he asks, “What do you want to know?”

  “Were there other girls besides Trish?”

  He shakes his head, and at the movement, Frey tenses and growls. Darryl freezes, his voice barely a whisper when he answers, “No. Just Trish.”

  “Who are the men with Trish in the video?”

  Darryl closes his eyes. When he doesn’t respond, I wave a hand. “The other leg.”

  His eyes pop open, “No. Please. I’ll tell you.”

  I stop Frey with a nod.

  Darryl wipes at his face with his good hand. “I met them at a bar. They’re college students. They go with me sometimes to Beso de la Muerte. They were there the last time. You know, when I was with you.”

  I do remember. The two at the bar. “Names.”

  He spouts them off, and I sort them away, conjuring up their faces in my head. I know I’ll recognize them when I see them again.

  “Where do they live?”

  “An apartment near SDSU.

  6300 Montezuma Road

  .”

  “Good.” I pat his leg, the good one. “So far, so good. Now, what happened with Barbara Franco? Who killed her?”

  Darryl’s voice becomes a whine. “It was a mistake. We only wanted to scare her into keeping quiet.”

  “We?”

  “Me and the guys on the video. We picked her up on the way to school and took her out to the desert. But she wouldn’t listen. She kept fighting. One of the guys took off his belt and started hitting her. Then he put it around her neck. It was over so fast. She just died.”

  “And then the sick fucks had their fun with her, didn’t they?” It’s my own voice but from a place I don’t recognize. The fury is back.

  Frey hears it, too, and muscles ripple under the dark fur as a low growl emanates from his chest. He bares his teeth and growls.

  I want to let him finish it. But there is one more thing.

  “The people who buy your videos. I want to know who they are.”

  “It’s all on the computer. I can get it for you.”

  The answer comes too quickly.

  “I’m not stupid, Darryl. What did you do, fix the computer so you could delete everything if you needed to?”

  He lapses into silence.

  I think about my conversation with Max. “I think I have the solution. I’ll take the computers with me and turn them over to Chief Williams. His experts will get what we need.”

  Darryl’s eyes narrow. “But if you do that, they’ll get the videos, too. It’s all there. Everything that we did with Trish. Do you want to take the chance that somebody might make a copy?”

  No. I don’t. The idea that the scum who bought those tapes would get away with it and move on to other victims turns my blood to ice. On the other hand, exposing Trish to more humiliation if she’s made to go to court to testify against any of them is just as bad.

  Darryl smiles at my distress, knowing the reason for it. The smug expression on his face is too much. It makes me angry enough to forget about the garlic infusing his blood. I don’t know what kind of effect drinking from him will have, but in a flash of anger, I don’t care. I bend over him, growling, and actually have the skin of his neck in my teeth when Frey lashes out with a paw. The blow sends me tumbling off Darryl. In a flash, I’m back.

  Like animals fighting over a bone, Frey and I face off. I want to finish Darryl. Drain him. Make him die screaming. I want it so badly I’m willing to fight Frey for him. Every muscle in my body, every cell prepares to do battle. I’m on all fours, like the panther, and the sounds coming from my throat are as ferocious as the ones coming from his.

  A spark of something human flashes in Frey’s eyes. He is snarling, lips curled back to expose fangs as long and sharp as daggers, but he doesn’t advance. He watches me, motionless. His breathing becomes soft susurration, the only sound in the room. Next to us, Darryl lays frozen in terror, his heartbeat so frenetic it echoes in my ear as if it were my own.

  A voice I barely recognize erupts from my own mouth. “I want to end it.”

  Frey moves so fast, I have no time to react. He breaks Darryl’s neck with one snap of powerful jaws.

  And for Darryl, it’s over.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I’m not sorry he’s dead.

  Frey crouches over the body. He watches until I back off, and then he turns away, too. He slinks toward the window and leaps through. When I look outside, I see him lying under the canopy of a shade tree, head resting on front paws like a pet tired after a long day of play.

  I rest my cheek against the glass. The coolness is a balm on my feverish skin. I’m waiting for the vampire to retreat and the human Anna to reappear. It takes longer than it should. Is this an indication that I’m becoming more animal-if that’s in fact what being a vampire is all about-and less human? Not a comfort.

  Finally, my pulse slows and my blood cools. I return to Darryl’s body and stand over it. He has a look of surprise on his face. I try to dredge up pity or compassion. I can’t. He was a child pornographer, he killed Trish’s mother and admitted being an accomplice to Barbara Franco’s murder. He deserved what he got.

  But I have to clear my head and decide what to do next. Bradley is out there as well as the two who killed Barbara and molested Trish. My original thought to torch the place would be the easiest way to destroy the computers and the videos, not to mention a way to explain Darryl’s death. But there may be evidence on those computers to tie Bradley in with Darryl-bank records or e-mails, maybe. As it stands now, my word is all that I have to offer as proof that Bradley is involved.

  I have to take the computers. I trudge back to the bedroom. Besides the laptop Darryl took from me earlier, there are three computer systems and a digital camera. I also find a box of disks and some files in a cabinet in the closet. I bring everything into the living room and pile it on the coffee table. I’ll pull the car around to load up.

  When I look for Frey, to let him know what I’m doing, he’s no longer under the tree in the backyard. No matter. If he’s not waiting for me at the car, I’m sure he’s somewhere nearby. How far can a panther get in broad daylight? Or a near naked man, for that matter?

  I reach into my pocket for the car keys.

  The pocket is empty.

  Shit.

  I glance around the living room.

  They could have fallen out of my pocket in here, or outside when I was dodging bullets.

  I don’t find them near Darryl’s body or in the bedroom. That leaves only one alternative. I yank open the front door-and find myself face to face with Bradley. He’s not alone.

  “Well, well,” I say. “Special Agent Bradley.” I look past him to the two young thugs at his side-thugs I recognize from Beso de la Muerte. “And you’re Darryl’s friends. Come on in. He’s inside.”

  The expression on Bradley’s face is par
t confusion and part distrust. He looks past me, but from this vantage point, Darryl’s body is hidden from view.

  I step back. “Come in.”

  Bradley steps around me, carefully, as if afraid physical contact might have an unpleasant effect.

  He has no idea.

  He hasn’t uttered a word. And neither have his companions. They stand awkwardly outside, not moving to join Bradley. I don’t know whether they’re shocked because they didn’t expect to see me at Darryl’s or afraid because they know what I am.

  I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me and know Bradley has found Darryl.

  “You two better wait out here,” I say, shutting the door before they can react. I snap the deadbolt in place. Let them run. I know where they live.

  I rejoin Bradley in the living room. He’s knelt down beside Darryl, his fingers probing for a pulse. When he hears me behind him, he makes a fumbling move to get up, at the same time reaching for the gun under his jacket.

  But I stop his hand with my own, forcing his arm up and back.

  He resists at first, but all I have to do is lean into him to get the desired result. If he continues to fight, I’ll snap his arm off at the shoulder.

  He knows the drill. He stops fighting and sags against me to relieve the pressure. His breathing becomes sharp, shallow gasps of protest. “You’re breaking my arm.”

  I use my free hand to slip his gun out of its holster and toss it out of reach. Only then do I let him go, shoving him so hard he stumbles backward. He lands in an awkward heap on the couch.

  He straightens up, grabs his shoulder and tries to knead away the pain. His eyes travel to Darryl’s body. “Who killed him? It looks like he’s got a broken neck.”

  “You want me to show you how it was done?”

  His expression alters from unsure to calculating as he looks over the stuff on the coffee table. “You plan to turn this over to the police?”

  “Does that make you nervous?”

  He smiles. “Why should it? There’s nothing to connect me to Darryl. I came here to serve a warrant.”