Ben took two steps toward the armchair. He had to breathe deeply[C&F136] to control the arousal. He had been planning this seduction for so long that Steve's intrusion was throwing off his concentration. "What's so damn important that you come in here and meddle with my life?"
Steve held up his hands. "Hey, man. I'm just the messenger boy doing you a favor. You don't have to listen."
Ben's body was humming. He made himself step back and then sat on the edge of the sectional. Glenda's fresh scent carried from the other room. He wondered if Steve could smell it. "What message?"
"Second time in as many months, some cow comes in and tells me you got her pregnant."
"What?" Ben frowned. The Seattle cows would have gone to the nest, and the woman he had a week ago wouldn't have known how to find him. He had had other women, but he had used aliases each time. That left the woman he had fucked in Steve's cow-bar, but he didn't remember giving her his name. Maybe Steve had given it to her.
"Mr. Mighty Sperm Strikes Again." Steve laughed and leaned back. "If you got it, Budola, don't complain. It won't last."
"Who was she?"
"Didn't say. Just her phone number. Cute thing, well built. Said you spent some time with her when you were running away from home."
The arousal left him. He was on complete alert. He had spent time with no one. This was a setup. Ben ran a hand over his leg. "I never spent time with anyone."
"Someone's after you, then," Steve said. "I'd let it drop."
"Who would set me up?" Ben asked. He clenched his fist. No wonder Mikos hadn't wanted him in the nest. "How would they know to go through you?"
"I been thinking about it on the drive over last night, and I figure Candyce told someone how she found you, and that someone told the cops. They're trying to find you. That's why I came up here." Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest. People change,[C&F137] but the old friendships never died.
"Were you followed?"
Steve shook his head. "I may act stupid, but I watch my ass."
He probably did, if he had managed to stay alive this[C&F138] long. Vampires like Steve usually died in their first year. Ben licked his lips. Someone trying to find him. A woman. He might be able to use that. "You check out the phone number?"
"It's the Hilton in Portland. The extension is a room number."
"Really?" Ben asked. Better and better. They wouldn't expect anything in a public hotel. "How long is she going to be there?"
"She says until she hears from you, but I think she'll leave in a week or so when she discovers the ploy isn't working."
Ben lay flat on the sectional, the crown of his head brushing against the back cushion. "I didn't say it wouldn't work."
"You're not going there!" Steve's voice echoed in the living room.
Ben sat up. Steve's eyes were wide, his face even whiter than it had been before. "Why not? What's the worst case? They catch me. Cops can't kill me in Oregon or Washington without a valid reason. They can't hold me for long, and even if they try, I'm stronger than they are. I can charm any one of them."
"They'll charge you with Cammie's murder."
Ben shrugged. "I'll wait until the night shift. There has to be someone on the force with a little blood-drinking problem. They can't hold me. They've never been able to hold any of us longer than twenty-four hours."
"And if they take you out into the sun?"
"They won't," Ben said.
"They'll do anything they can," Steve said.
Ben smiled just a little. "So they take me out into the sun. It won't kill me. It'll just cause a lot of pain. Then I get my lawyer to sue them for inhumane treatment."
"Inhumane treatment." Steve chuckled. "To a vampire. That's rich."
"Vampires are human under Oregon law," Ben said. "It'll work."
Steve shook his head. His long hair caught on his collar, making it look as if he had a pageboy. "Sounds like a lot of work for nothing."
"It's not nothing. At best, I'll be some poor innocent kid who ran away from home who’s being suckered into some game. At worst, they'll try to nail me for the murder. It might work to my advantage to have my name cleared. Mikos can afford a good lawyer, and the nest most certainly can handle any jury. Lots of options, Steve, old boy, and none of them threaten me." Ben stood. The television blared studio laughter from the other room. He couldn't see Glenda. Good.
"You take too many risks," Steve said.
Risks would make Ben strong. A vampire didn't become as powerful as Mikos without gambling a bit. Ben had a feeling this might work to his advantage.
He walked over to the high windows. The lights reflected the room to him—the new sectional, the easy chairs, the stereo set. He thought he caught the edge of Steve's leather jacket, but he couldn't be certain. "How long has it been since you saw her?" Ben asked.
"She came into the Keg last night. I left and stayed at Mikos'."
"So Mikos knows about this?"
"He's the one who helped me find you."
"What did he say about it?"
"He just shook his head, and said you were the most fertile vampire he'd ever met. Said he thought Van ruined your only chance at a byblow. So what happened to Candyce?"
"Van killed her." The sentence came out easier than Ben expected it to. The thought didn't bother him as much as it once had. Candyce was gone now, and he could do nothing about it. Nothing except try again.
"Fuck." Steve leaned forward and rubbed his bare chin. "And they kicked you out of the nest?"
"No." Ben came back to the sectional and leaned on it. "I left on my own. I want to try again, and I don't want that bitch Van to get at the next one."
Steve frowned. "Why'd Van go for her anyway?"
"Said Candyce wasn't ready to be in the nest, that she'd break."
"She probably would have. She always was one strong little bitch."
"Yeah, well. It's over and done now. I got Glenda." Ben rocked a little on his feet. Now that he knew what he was going to do, he wanted to get busy.
"Little heavy for my tastes," Steve said. "But she looks like a breeder."
"That's what I'm hoping," Ben said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Steve, I'd offer to let you stay, but I have business in the next room that wouldn't understand."
"Jesus. Sounds like a wife, not a cow."
Ben suppressed a sigh. "She has a real-world job that I need to her to work at for a while. So I play a few other games."
Steve shook his head. "This power thing you and Mikos do makes no sense to me. It's a hell of a lot easier to go down to the Keg, get your feed and whatever other gratification you need, and pull in your half of the take. Room, board, and cash. Drugs and free pussy. What else could a guy want?"
"You tell me," Ben said. "You're the one running errands for me. And I don't even pay you."
Steve pushed himself out of the armchair. "You know," he said. "Van probably wanted you out too. Your one part brilliant to two parts stupid. And sometimes it's hard to tell which part is which."
He walked across the thin carpet to the front door. "This'll probably be the last time we'll connect, Ben," he said. "I'm not going to be your message boy any more."
"Never asked you to in the first place," Ben said. Then he tipped an imaginary hat—a gesture from their high school days. "But I do appreciate the assistance, this time."
"Oops," Steve said, reaching into his pocket. "Almost forgot." He pulled out a piece of paper and held it out.
Ben had to walk to the door to get it. He glanced down, and then smiled. "The phone number."
"All you need is that extension," Steve said. "It's the room number. And then you're home, if that's what you want to call it. I still think it's two parts stupid."
"Or maybe it's one part brilliant," Ben said. He held the door and watched as Steve hurried out of the artificial light. He didn't want to see Steve anymore either. It seemed as though every time their paths crossed, Ben's life changed.
This time it had to change for the be
tter.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The rental car's air conditioning system cheeped. It sounded like a small bird strangling underneath the hood. Eliason gripped the wheel, wishing for his Ferrari. This white sedan monstrosity did not move well in traffic. It had no pick up and was too big to fit into spaces between trucks.
This trip had been interminable. Losing an entire day in transit was making him crazy. He had spoken with Thornton on the phone, but hadn't received the results he wanted. Cammie had left the police station upset, but hadn't said what her plans would be.
"I think I should drive," Whitney said for the third time since the plane had dumped them at the minuscule Eugene airport. Traveling with Whitney hadn't been a joy either. Whitney refused to eat anything covered with red sauce,[C&F139] and had asked for a special meal from the airline. When Eliason had received his tiny plate of lasagna, Whitney had made a gagging noise and disappeared to the back of the plane for a good ten minutes. Still, Whitney wanted to find Cammie as much as Eliason did.
"We should be there by now," Eliason said, ignoring Whitney. Eliason's eyes ached. He hated driving unfamiliar cars at night.
"Why? The clerk gave us no time limit on the directions. She just said the hotel was downtown. And how the hell do you know it was the right hotel?" Their panic was feeding off each other’s. Whitney had never left the Midwest. Eliason had offered to go alone, but Whitney had insisted. If Cammie were in trouble, Whitney said, he would know better than anyone else how to help.
"Because DeeDee had Cammie's mailing address. I called before the flight took off. Cammie's registered." Eliason's hands were sweating. He had tried calling Cammie from the airport and had received no answer in her room. She hadn't picked up her messages either, for two days. The nervous feeling he had had in the base of his stomach ever since she left had grown worse.
The highway arched downward. He stayed in the left lane as the rental car clerk had instructed him,[C&F140] and turned onto a four-lane one-way street near some small motels. He followed the street past a series of houses that blended with businesses. A fresh fish market stood on one corner, a law office on another. Only five other cars were on the street at all. Eugene was quiet at night.
The hotel stood next to a concrete monstrosity that the large electronic sign assured him was the area's civic center. He went around the block and ended up next to a white limo in the Hilton's valet parking area. He left the keys in the ignition and the car running.
"If they want you to move this thing," he said to Whitney, "circle around the block. I'll come get you as soon as I know something."
"Let's just go in, Brett," Whitney said. "Cammie's probably in the restaurant —"
"Probably," Eliason said. "But no sense in going through the trouble to park this thing if we'll need it again right away."
He got out and stepped up on the concrete sidewalk leading into the hotel. The double doors opened into a plush lobby. Two well-dressed couples laughed in front of the door to the downstairs restaurant. The restaurant itself looked full. A woman wearing a long black evening dress and carrying a beaded clutch purse hurried to the elevator. Eliason scanned the lobby until he saw registration.
First he tried the small white hotel phone on the edge of the long registration desk. Cammie did not pick up, and the operator asked him if he wanted to leave a message. He declined. Then he hung up and leaned on the counter.
The man behind it, wearing a navy blue suit, was hunched over a computer screen, face flushed. He hit several keys, then sighed in frustration.
"They take more time than they're worth, don't they?" Eliason asked. He didn't want the clerk to know he was feeling panicked. People seemed to help better when they believed the information wasn't crucial.
The clerk looked up, startled. His flush grew, and then he smiled. "When they're working, they're wonderful little things," he said. "But when the entire system shuts down I remember why I hated this job when I had to do everything by hand." He stood up and tugged at his suit coat. "May I help you?"
"I've been trying to reach Cammie Timms for two days now. The operator says she hasn't been picking up her messages."
The clerk sighed again. "It's the computer system. They're supposed to be forwarded to her. She's at our sister hotel in Portland for a few days, but she left most of her belongings here. I know because I set the whole thing up a couple of evenings ago."
The counter dug into Eliason's chest. Portland. She was farther away than he thought. But at least someone knew where she was. "Did she say what she was doing in Portland?"
The clerk shook his head. "She looked pretty serious though. Said it was a family matter."
Goosebumps formed on Eliason's arms although the room temperature didn't change. Family matter. Ben. She must have found him. And she had gone without help, without backup.
"Can you tell me how to get to that hotel?" Eliason asked.
"Better than that," the clerk said. "I have a map."
He opened a drawer next to the computer and pulled out a pre-printed map of the area. "Ignore the inside," he said. "It takes you to Salem. The diagram you want is on the back." He turned it over and slid it at Eliason.
Eliason took the thin tri-folded paper, and slapped it against his hand. "Thanks," he said. He had to make himself walk out of the building. The time pressure that had been bothering him since he spoke to DeeDee in Madison two days before had just grown stronger. For the last forty-eight hours, he had been running at top speed, blessing the airlines for the frequent flyer miles they had given him for all those conferences he had attended, which allowed both him and Whitney to schedule the trip within a day and to fly free on top of it. Even though that had been relatively painless, changing his appointment schedule and finding other physicians to watch his Westrina Center patients had not been[C&F141] . He had probably gotten about four hours of sleep since he left the Ovens of Brittany parking lot.
Whitney had gotten about the same. In the Denver airport they had spent their two-hour layover discussing various plans, various things they could do if they found Cammie in trouble. Neither of them had expected her to be out of the city.
Outside, Whitney had moved the car forward to allow a Subaru to pull up just outside the door. He had remained in the driver's seat. Eliason had no choice but to crawl in on the passenger side.
"What's wrong?" Whitney asked.
"She's in the Hilton in Portland, on family matters."
"Oh, God." Whitney leaned his head forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. "I knew I should have come with her."
"What would you have been able to do?" Eliason asked.
Whitney sat up and started the car. "Read the signs better. She's there meeting that brother of hers, isn't she?"
"That's what I figure," Eliason said.
"The brother that was last seen in the company of a girl recently murdered by a vampire."
"The same."
"The brother who raped that girl the night she got pregnant."
"She only has one brother," Eliason said.
"God, Cammie." Whitney held out his hand. "Let me see that map."
Eliason handed it over. His hands were shaking. He had known when he sent her off alone that she would hit bottom. But now that bottom was probably here, he didn't want anything to happen to her. He should have stopped her. He should have declared his undying love, locked her in his apartment, and made her stay until she vowed she would remain in Madison for the rest of her life.
But that wouldn't have worked. Cammie was a woman of action, and she had focused on her brother instead of on herself. That one error—which Eliason might have prevented if he had only talked to her more—might cost Cammie her life.
"I sure as hell hope Portland's close," Whitney said.
Eliason leaned back as Whitney turned right on the one-way street leading out of the Hilton's parking area. "An hour or two won't make any difference either way," Eliason said, trying to convince himself. "She's alr
eady been there two days."
"Christ," Whitney said. "We're just in time to pick up the pieces."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ben pulled the Lexus into a space across the street from the hotel. The night was cool and the wind off the Willamette River was fresh. He loved Portland. He might actually move here when the opportunity presented itself.
He buzzed up the windows and slipped out of the car, leaning for a moment against the polished metal exterior. Camila Timms. The name was familiar. It brought—
(Cam-Cam!)
—odd memories into his head. Ever since he had called the Hilton and asked for the name of the party in room 361—and it had been surprisingly easy to get—a vague headache had threatened at the back of his brain. That night, he had made slow casual love to Glenda, enjoying it in a way he hadn't thought possible, and then had had nightmares about a man with glowing red eyes, nightmares so strong they had awakened Glenda. To awaken a cow after her first time took something short of an earthquake.
Something was going on here, and it had nothing to do with Candyce.
He tugged on his pants legs and steeled himself. Then he stood and pressed the button on the key chain that activated his car alarm. The car chirruped its response to him.
The street was empty. A door banged in the breeze, and he suspected that someone was watching him through the empty windows of the office building behind him. It didn't matter. He was getting stronger each day. He could take anyone.
His leather shoes clicked on the concrete as he crossed the street. He had to snap himself into alertness. Odd memories had been flooding him on the two-hour drive.
"Mommy, what was my real daddy like?"
His mother moved sharply, a flush rising in her cheeks. She kept her gaze on the bread dough, half rolled on the counter before her. "I don't know, honey," she said. "I never met him."
Her voice was funny. Ben swung his feet. They barely connected with the floor. He hated being ten. Grownups lied to kids. She knew what his real dad had been like. She just refused to tell him.
He rubbed his eyes and stretched, half tempted to go down to Steve's cow-bar and drain some unsuspecting cow until it couldn't stand any more. Maybe after he saw this woman. He wanted to be hungry, and on the edge when he saw her. That kept him thinking clearly and gave him an advantage if he had to attack her.
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