by Carina Cook
The detective nodded and watched him as he stood up, shoving the rest of the forgotten donut in his mouth. He’d gotten distracted by all the questions and forgot to eat it. Now that the stress was over, though, his hunger returned with a vengeance.
“One more thing I forgot to ask,” said the detective, leaning toward him on his elbows. “Do you know the name Felicia Garvey?”
Vincent frowned, thinking it over. “No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“She also had a heart attack, about three months ago. She was found clutching a delivery receipt with your name on it.”
Vincent tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. Papadopoulos had been sitting on this news the whole time, pretending that this interview was just a formality and waiting to see whether he’d dig himself into a hole. But not, the detective leaned forward as if he was sensing blood in the water. His alert eyes locked on Vincent’s, and it took all of his self-control not to blanch.
“That seems like an awfully big coincidence, doesn’t it?” asked Papadopoulos mildly.
CHAPTER 13
Ignazio Balma’s work space had offered no clues as to his whereabouts. She had found out a few things about him that would have been useful on a job with a longer time table. If she’d had the time, she could have capitalized on the presence of scantily dressed anime figures on his desk and tracked him down via the orders. There were only so many places to get that kind of thing, and with weeks or months to work, she could have haunted the specialty stores. Made friends with the vendors. If she played it right, they’d be only more than happy to tell her about the whereabouts of the cad who’d gotten her sister pregnant and then left without warning. The technique had worked well in the past.
But she didn’t have that kind of time. While she’d been backstage, Annamarie had called her three times. She didn’t leave a voice mail. Per company policy, they only left messages in the most emergent of emergencies, so at least that was reassuring. But Annamarie would want to know about the case, and Lara wasn’t entirely sure what to tell her.
The truth of the matter, as she saw it, was as follows: she’d failed to catch Ignazio Balma the first time because of Vincent. Vincent had an ability that she’d never seen before, one that could be equal parts dangerous and useful. He could turn out to be a good asset for the company, but she had to admit that her feelings went beyond that. She wanted to help him because she genuinely believed he was a good guy. He put himself last all the time. Some people might judge him for his crappy car and lousy job, but she saw it as a mark of restraint. Instead of profiting off his targets, he left it alone for the most part. What had he said? He only touched the money a couple of times, when he knew without a doubt that it was dirty. Even though he suffered for it, he didn’t compromise his integrity. She could respect that.
She wanted to stay on the case, but how did the succubus fit into all of it? Ignazio had been reading up on succubi, and then he’d fled. Either that was a coincidence, or he’d been doing that research for a reason. And she hadn’t found any other triggers that might make him run for it. Nothing in his electronic trail, his home, or his workplace seemed to indicate a reason to run like a secret girlfriend or an embezzlement scheme. Stealing the audio recordings might suggest a grudge against Tanith Q. None of her employees seemed to like her, and based on her erratic, diva behavior, Lara couldn’t blame them. Perhaps Ignazio had had enough and ran. The theft of the audio then would be personal vengeance and not the urge to make money. After all, if he’d wanted to sell the audio, he would have been in touch with some media outlet to arrange the sale by now, wouldn’t he?
Maybe that was what Annamarie had contacted her about. She’d be watching his electronic accounts for any activity, as well as keeping an eye out for new accounts made in his name and that kind of thing. Maybe she’d found something that would put this whole mess of information into some kind of perspective. Putting off the call certainly wasn’t helping. So she dialed.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for forever,” said Annamarie.
“I was backstage with Tanith Q and her people. They didn’t have much time to spare for me, so I opted not to answer.”
“Ohmigod!” Annamarie’s voice went up about two octaves in her excitement. Not for the first time, Lara tried to picture her. Her voice suggested comfortable prettiness, with a hint of a Southern accent that tended to creep in at the edges when she was stressed out and trying hard to maintain her composure. Lara always pictured her with big, immaculately styled blonde hair but couldn’t quite explain why. Right now, it sounded like she was positively bouncing in her seat. “What’s she like in person? Is she as tall as she looks on camera?”
“She’s positively giant. And rude.”
“Really?” A bit of the excitement leaked out, but it was clear that Annamarie was holding onto it with all her might. “Maybe you just caught her on a bad day.”
“Based on what all of her people said, she’s like that all the time. She’s a diva through and through.”
“So you think Ignazio had enough, took the recordings, and ran for it? Seems like the most logical option.”
“I thought the same thing, but something isn’t gelling.” Lara got into her car and started it up, turning the fans on full blast. Her apartment had a pool, and she was hoping she might get a chance to soak in it for a while tonight. All of this non-stop running hither and thither had made her all sweaty and bothered. “Any chance that Tanith is something other than human?”
Now Annamarie was all business, the crispness back in her voice. “What makes you ask?”
“Nothing in particular, to be honest. Instinct, maybe? If he stole the recordings to make money, why hasn’t he tried to sell them? Why hasn’t he left town? All he’d have to do is rent a car or get an Uber or something. If his goal is money or revenge, he wouldn’t be hiding low like this, would he?”
“Maybe he’s waiting for the right time to sell…? Nah, that doesn’t make sense either. The sooner the better. The longer he waits, the bigger the chance that he gets caught. So you’re right. There’s something going on here.”
Lara could hear the rapid-fire clicking of Annamarie’s fingers on the keyboard. She waited patiently, not wanting to interrupt a train of thought with more idle musing. Annamarie understood what she was saying, and she’d managed to get the message through without mentioning Vincent or succubi, which made her feel pretty good about herself.
“I don’t have anything in the records about Tanith. No known association with supernaturals or exhibition of powers, but I’ll dig through the footage and see if I can spot anything. That might take a little time, though. I’ll get right on it.”
“I’d appreciate that. I feel like I’m missing some piece of the puzzle, and it’s really nagging at me.”
“Sure thing.” Annamarie paused, and then her voice grew playful. “So before I let you go, who’s the tall guy?”
Lara blinked slowly. “I’m sorry?”
“The tall guy who walked you out to your car at the hospital. He’s pretty cute. Who is he?”
Lara wanted to launch into a million defensive questions, starting with, “Why are you stalking me?” and ending with “Don’t you trust me?” Except that maybe Annamarie had reason not to trust her, because she wasn’t exactly being completely honest about this case. So why was it so offensive? And why did Vincent’s safety matter quite so much to her? It was another of those things that didn’t quite fit, something out of character for her.
She liked him. He was kind and handsome and tragic, and she wanted to save him. She wanted to make him smile and realize that he didn’t need to be alone and maybe, just maybe…be with him? She felt like she’d been skirting around that thought ever since she met him. Maybe that was just her hormones talking, because she hadn’t been with anyone since this guy Chad, who had turned out to be a complete player. But she didn’t think so. She’d been around the block enough times to know the differe
nce between lust and something more, and this had the legs to become something more.
But what did she tell Annamarie about that? And how did Annamarie know they’d been to the hospital in the first place?
“Are you stalking me now?” she asked playfully. Or as playfully as she could manage. She could still feel the edge in her words, but who knew if Annamarie would pick up on it.
“How do you think I knew when Greyson Delongchamp shot you? I keep watch on the hospitals and airports and all kinds of places. I almost called you as soon as I saw you there, but then I saw the guy and figured it must be personal business.”
“Yeah. He’s a…friend.”
Annamarie snorted delicately. “That was convincing. He looks like he should be an actor in one of those dark and gritty movies where the detective stands in shadowy corners and broods while he waits for the bad guys to make a move.”
“I thought so too!” Lara laughed, the tension slowly draining. Annamarie hadn’t been stepping over the line at all. And of course she watched the hospitals. Lara could remember getting shot; it had seemed like Annamarie had backup at the hospital before she’d even regained consciousness. It wasn’t like she’d put a tracking device on Lara or anything invasive like that.
“I think he likes you. If you haven’t made a move yet, you should.”
“You cannot tell that based on thirty seconds of video footage. And if it’s a standard security camera, it was probably crappy footage too.”
“Actually, they’ve got a nice security system there. I patched right in, and I can see all kinds of things. There’s a doctor and a nurse hooking up in one of the broom closets right now. I thought that kind of thing only happened on TV dramas, but apparently it’s a real thing.”
“It’s a good thing they don’t have a camera in the broom closet,” muttered Lara.
“No, it’s not. I haven’t been laid in forever!” said Annamarie, and they both laughed. “So you’ll have to get it on with Mr. Dark and Broody and have an extra good time for me. Actually, no. Don’t do that. Now that I said it out loud, I realized how creepy it sounds.”
“I think I’m going to go now,” said Lara. “Before this conversation gets any weirder.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I’ll get on the Tanith stuff and let you know if I find anything.”
“Thanks,” said Lara, and hung up.
Now what? There was nothing to do but settle into the long, slow slog of surveillance, unless an opportunity presented itself. She punched in Vincent’s number as she pulled out into traffic, hoping that he might have some news for her. Another vision or something. But the phone went to voice mail, and she couldn’t figure out what to say on a message, so she didn’t leave one. She didn’t like leaving voice mails anyway. Her voice always sounded weird when she listened to them later, too high and young-sounding.
He was probably getting stuff to Jin, or working, or something like that. She’d try him again later. For now, she should probably do the things she usually did in cases like this. She’s swing by his usual places one more time, just in case he decided to return. Then she’d go back to her place for a little computer work. She’d make up a list of those anime places just in case, and make a note of his favorite pizza joint and the other things she’d found while she was looking. Then, maybe she’d try and figure out the source of his books. Those succubus books didn’t just come from the local corner bookshop. He would have had to buy them from a specialty dealer, and most of them were fairly discriminating on who they sold to. They wouldn’t have asked him questions about why he wanted the books—that was a level of information they probably would have steered away from—but it would be an avenue worth looking into.
Balma’s apartment didn’t appear to have changed when she drove past. No new cars in the lot, and the curtains in exactly the same position that she’d left them in. So no luck there. She went home. Took off her shoes and pants and had a tub of yogurt. Made herself comfortable on the sofa with the computer and got to work. It didn’t take too long for her to make her way through the few tasks she’d set for herself. Annamarie had already done the bulk of the surveillance work, and it was just a matter of checking the parameters and the results to make sure she couldn’t think of anything to add to the search based on what she’d seen that day. After some thought, she ended up adding the book dealers and anime porn shops to the list. It didn’t hurt to be thorough.
Once all of those tasks were done, she thought about calling Vincent again but had to talk herself into it. She didn’t want to seem desperate, or to bother him when he was dealing with his sick boss. But he’d called her when he needed someone to support him, and the situation with Ignazio was fairly urgent, so it seemed to support making another call. But if he was busy, she’d just beg off and talk to him later.
This time, the phone didn’t even ring. It went straight to voice mail.
Lara hung up, trying not to be alarmed by this development. Maybe his phone was out of battery, or maybe he’d turned it off entirely to conserve battery while he was in the hospital. That made perfect sense, and of course there was no reason to worry.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from doing it. She knew Vincent was capable of taking care of himself, but she didn’t like not knowing where he was. The longer she sat there, the more she worried.
Finally, she pulled her computer to her once again. If Annamarie had patched into the hospital surveillance, she could do the same. She’d watch the feed to make sure he was at the hospital, and then she would chill out. Maybe head to the pool for a few laps like she’d been thinking about, and then get ready for the evening’s work. They’d find Ignazio Balma that evening for sure. She was due some good luck.
It took some looking around, but eventually she found the feed in the networked system she shared with Annamarie. The video quality was everything Annamarie had claimed. Then she got to work, trying to spot Vincent’s distinctive tall lankiness on the screen in fast forward. Once, she thought she had him, but it turned out to be a janitor.
Finally, she found him, leaving the hospital about twenty minutes after she’d gone. He walked to his car and then had a conversation with a man in a car next to him. The portly figure looked vaguely familiar to her, but she didn’t place him until she ran a facial recognition search on him. That was George Papadopoulos, detective with the Las Vegas PD. They’d almost crossed paths a few times on her jobs, but so far she’d managed to stay a step ahead of him.
Her stomach sinking, she dug into Papadopoulos’s recent activities. When she saw that he had Vincent in custody, she snarled aloud and banged her fist on the laptop.
She couldn’t dial fast enough. When Annamarie answered, she didn’t even say hello.
“I need a favor. Remember that cute guy that I refused to admit I was interested in? I need you to help me get him out of police custody.”
CHAPTER 14
It took all of Vincent’s self-control not to flinch in the face of Detective Papadopoulos’s accusing stare. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was being accused of. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the truth. No way had Papadopoulos known about the voice and Vincent’s angel of death abilities.
“What…what exactly are you insinuating?” he stammered.
“You seem nervous,” murmured Papadopoulos. “I might assume that I’m on to something.”
“Hell yes, I’m nervous!” Vincent’s composure broke, and the words came tumbling out. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of! You’ve got me in here, playing some kind of mind game that I don’t understand, and accusing me of—what? Giving those people heart attacks with my magic touch?”
Okay, that was a bit too close to reality, but Papadopoulos seemed sheepish. He didn’t realize it was the truth.
“Of course not,” said the Detective. “But there are a lot of ways to give someone a heart attack. If the person was in poor health, like Felicia Garvey, no one would blink an eye. But Maurice Levante had just
been to see his doctor the day he died, and he got a clean bill of health. The doc was pretty surprised to find out that his patient had flat lined just a few hours later.”
“I still don’t see what that has to do with me,” mumbled Vincent, his righteous fury spent. “People have heart attacks. I deliver to a lot of people. I bet if you look in my history, you’ll find a few people who gave birth the same day I delivered them food, but I don’t see you blaming me for that.”
“Three people, Vincent.” The detective folded his hands and stared across the table with eyes like lasers. “Three people had heart attacks in your presence in the past couple of months. Two of them died.”
“I guess I just have bad luck. Are you charging me with something?”
Before Papadopoulos could respond, the door opened to admit a harried looking officer in uniform. He leaned down to whisper something in the detective’s ear. Try as he might, Vincent couldn’t catch what it was. It sure made Papadopoulos angry, though. His ruddy face darkened to a furious shade of purple, and he barked, “What?!” before the uniformed officer began whispering again.
The detective pushed himself away from the table with a muttered, “Goddamn. You’re free to go.”
Vincent blinked. “What?”
The detective sighed. “I said, you’re free to go. But before you do, answer me this—how is it that you have the fingerprints of a dead man?”
Vincent was already half out of his seat, eager to get out of Dodge before they changed their mind, but this question plopped him right back down into it.
“What?” he demanded.
“Your ID’s fake. We know that. You know we know it. Vincent Malone doesn’t exist, according to the US government. That doesn’t surprise me. But what does is that when I run your prints, they match the prints of Roy Vane.” The detective watched him carefully for a reaction, but Vincent just felt numb. “You recognize the name?”
