Bobby gave me a nod. We waited for Sid and Maya to go back inside the store, waited for the patrol unit’s lights to go out and the car to drive off. Then we made our move, crossing the street, avoiding the security and street lights, and making it to the corner of the pawnshop/HQ building. We peeked through the front window, finding a gap between a poster for an antique weapons show and an old toaster oven. Inside, the new player in our little dramedy, the pawnbroker, was showing Brent a wall safe. We could only see Brent in profile, but he had one hand inside the vault and his eyes were closed as if he was concentrating.
Then I felt the wash of power. Not a tsunami like Bobby’s, but more the natural flow of the ocean. Still, it was enough to make the hair on my arms stand on end. And it wasn’t coming from me—as far as I could tell, my only superpowers were magical sensitivity and resistance to mesmerism. Oh, and chaos. Yeah, the thing with that is it doesn’t come when you call. And just try putting it on your resume.
“What’s he doing?” I whispered to Bobby.
Bobby’s eyes were shining, as electric blue as I’d ever seen them and completely focused on the scene inside. “He’s reading the vault,” he whispered back. “Brent must be a telemetric. It makes sense why he’d be part of our team. I’d wondered—”
The dead weight of my heart sank to my stomach. I sometimes forgot we vamps hadn’t cornered the market on magic. Just by touching your plate, a telemetric could tell you what you had for dinner and whether you used your finger to push the last of the peas onto your fork. More usefully, he could probably tell who’d been in the vault and maybe even where they were headed afterward.
So, we had a telemetric on our side and the Tampa vamps had a truth-teller on theirs. Two truly powerful powers. Right here. There was definitely more going on than some killer kids. Way more, if both sides had brought out the big guns. I hoped Bobby and I weren’t caught in the crossfire.
Crap! Marcy. If Brent could read objects, could he read people as well? If so, one touch and he’d find out we’d asked Marcy to spy on him. He’d know we had suspicions about what the Feds were up to. We’d be totally exposed.
“Bobby, you have to tell Marcy.”
“Shh!” Bobby hissed.
I was about to get all indignant when I realized he was trying to listen in on Brent’s report.
“Why didn’t you pass this machine along right away?” Brent was asking.
The pawnshop guy crossed his arms defensively. “Hadn’t had time to investigate it yet. We’ve let it be known we’re in the market for the unusual and the occult. Do you know how many crazy stories we get? If I passed them all along, you guys would be chasing your tails day and night. When a guy comes in saying he’s got an energy transference machine, I take his name, give him a few bucks, and send him on his way. Business as usual.”
“Until now,” Sid cut in.
Pawn guy looked just shy of mutinous when a flash of … something around the far corner of the shop caught my attention. I squinted into the night, trying to catch it again.
There it was—a quick glint of light reflecting off glass … no, glasses. We weren’t the only eavesdroppers. I was torn between sneaking up on our Peeping Tom or staying to listen in, but then realized I could pretty much be in two places at once.
Stay here, I ordered Bobby. I’d get the full scoop later, probably word for word. He had that kind of memory. Meanwhile, I crept silently toward the corner, but not close enough to the building that I’d set off any potential perimeter alarms. I peered around. Nothing.
Apparently, I wasn’t stealthy enough. When I peeked around the corner where the Peeping Tom had disappeared, I found him staring right at me. Yes, he—brown wavy hair tending toward frizz, wild eyebrows that did their best to meet up with his hairline, round glasses sliding down his nose. Fine lines and wrinkles put him at about my dad’s age, give or take. He held a finger to his lips, signaling me to be silent—as if I hadn’t been. When he took it away, he mouthed, “Trust no one.”
Then he bolted like a rabbit. There one second, gone the next. Like magic … literally. I felt it like a backdraft sizzling over me. I knew there wasn’t any point in giving chase and possibly calling attention to myself. He was gone. Just gone.
I circled back around to Bobby. “I missed him,” I said when I got close, “but I got a decent look. Three guesses who it was.” Our Peeping Tom looked just like his picture in the Fed’s briefing folder.
“Batman?” Bobby asked. “Santa Claus? The missing uncle?”
I stared. “How did you know?”
“Men’s intuition.”
“Men don’t get to have intuition.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Okay, fine, I was guessing.”
“Well anyway, you’re right. It was Eric Ricci—checking on one of his inventions, maybe. I mean, an energy transference machine sounds right up his alley.”
“But why? And how did it get here in the first place?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. If I’d caught him, we could have asked. Selene only gave us two more nights to find the killer kids, and so far we keep finding more questions and no answers. Ideas?”
Bobby shrugged. “I guess we go on in. If Sid’s tracking us with GPS, he’ll know we stopped here. Might as well own it. We can tell him we were chasing after their Peeping Tom.”
“And the fact that we let him get away?”
“We sort of gloss over that part.”
“Works for me.”
Bobby offered me his arm, and together we strolled toward the open door of the No Name Pawnshop.
We entered just in time to hear Brent say, “It’s like they purposely blanked their minds, somehow. They made sure to leave no trace—”
He stopped as soon as he saw us, and the others turned as well.
“So glad you could join us,” Sid said wryly. He had his poker face on, so it was impossible to tell what he thought about our sudden appearance.
“We were in the neighborhood,” Bobby answered. “What happened here?”
“Break in.”
“I can see that. Details?”
Everyone exchanged looks, and finally Sid said, “Some electronics were stolen. No big deal, really. But this close to headquarters, while we’re conducting a mission … it pays to be suspicious. We check everything out.”
Uh huh. He was definitely hiding something. Bobby and I exchanged a look of our own.
“Well, you’re not the only ones checking things out,” Bobby told him. “You had an audience. We chased him off—”
“Chased him off? You didn’t think to bring him in for questioning?”
“Where? Right here at HQ? Or maybe we should have turned him over to the cops?”
Oh, good going, Bobby—deflection. I was so proud of my boy.
“I got a good look at him, though,” I said, jumping in with more distraction. “You’ll never guess who it was.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Sid snapped.
I let the moment build. One beat. Two. Until Sid looked like he was grinding his teeth to nubs. “Eric Ricci. Nelson’s uncle,” I told him, in my best dramatic voice.
The silence was golden.
Sid turned to Brent. “Any chance you can track him?”
Brent shot me a look, then Bobby, before saying clearly less than he meant. “I can try.”
On Sid’s order, I took Brent around to the side of the building where I’d seen the mad inventor, and once I pointed out where he’d stood, what he’d touched, etc., Brent shooed me on my way, back to the others.
But I refused to be shooed.
“What?” he asked, when I didn’t vamoose.
“I want to watch and learn,” I answered, all innocence.
“Well, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I need to be distraction-free. I need to focus.”
“You won’t even know I’m here.”
He ground his teeth together and I wondered if the Feds had a
dental plan … for his sake and Sid’s. “Yes,” he said through the clenched teeth, “I will.”
“Fine, then. I’m out.” I turned to go, but stopped and spun to face him again. “Just one more thing while I have you alone. I don’t know what’s between you and Marcy, but if you hurt my friend, you answer to me.”
He looked sad for a second. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
“Why? Because there’s nothing there or because you won’t hurt her?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“All of it. Now, will you please let me work?”
“Who’s stopping you?”
This time I went. Back to the others. Back to secrets and more questions than we had answers for. To debriefing and dodging and eventually, hopefully, showering.
I smelled like a crematorium. Burning flesh and blood. Which made me think of the girl we’d left behind in the burning house and whether she’d lived to tell the tale. I hadn’t been able to see clearly, but from the amount of hair I’d had to brush aside, I guessed it was Kelly. My dead heart clenched. Maybe Sid, with all his contacts and mad computer skillz, could find out whether her body had been found—whether she’d burned up in the fire or miraculously, mysteriously survived. I knew it was false hope, but I couldn’t help it. It was the only thing keeping me going.
On second thought, maybe I didn’t want to know the truth. In the end, I didn’t say a word as we all trooped through the pawnshop to the heavily reinforced connecting door to HQ.
10
I was still in the shower when I heard a noise like an electric razor starting up and realized it was my phone … my Fed phone … on vibrate, rattling on the counter as it did when I had a call or message coming in. Immediately, I thought of Marcy and bolted out of the shower, soap in my eyes and dripping all over the floor, to grab for the phone. In all the insanity of spying on the spies and then debriefing, I hadn’t had the chance to call and tell her about Brent’s ability until, well, shower time, when I’d completely forgotten about it in my quest for clean.
But all that awaited me was a text from Restricted. Baffled, I clicked over to the message, which sent ice racing through my veins.
Check out the “closed” Sun State Clinic on
Mercer. Come alone. Tell no one.
A Friend
The message mysteriously erased itself as I read.
I couldn’t even form a thought beyond Huh? Except for Hunter and the Feds, no one had this number, and while any of them might call from a restricted number, no one I knew had the power or know-how to erase the words as they were read. Sid might have the technical knowledge to retract a text, but the timing … that smacked of magic, and Sid was most definitely a mundane. Or the best actor in the known world.
I debated what to do. At some point—tonight, even—I should probably go back to my apartment and play bait for the killer kids, but that would give me only the illusion of freedom. The Feds would probably have some kind of surveillance on my place so they could close in if the kids showed, which meant I’d be watched.
And speaking of traps, the text could very well be one—the Feds testing my loyalty, seeing if I’d keep secrets from them. Or it could be the killer kids trying to lure me out on my own. So, going somewhere on the basis of an anonymous text would be stupid. Too many unknowns. But not going … not even an option. I was way, way too curious. Plus, it might matter to the mission. Plus again, the sooner we wrapped this up, the sooner I got back to the downtime I loved so much—Project Runway, mani-pedis, slipping off with Bobby. No uncontrollable thirst, raging fires, killer kids, or vampire truth-tellers.
Okay, so I was going to follow the lead. Like that had really ever been in question. But the trick was to go smart … and I just happened to have an idea about that.
I dressed quickly, brushed, flipped, fluffed, dabbed, the whole nine yards. Then I went to pitch my cover story to the Feds. I told them I needed to get back to my place to play bait. The killer kids had come for me there once before and left me that lovely wall art. Maybe if I went home, I argued, they’d try again.
All this because I knew I couldn’t leave for my rendezvous straight from HQ. Sid and Maya wouldn’t even need to have me followed—my cell phone GPS would give me away. If I “accidentally” left my phone at HQ, someone might stop by my place to return it and I’d be discovered missing. I wouldn’t put it past them; Sid seriously hated anyone being out of communication range for even an instant. The Feds disappeared people who crossed them, or so I’d heard. I didn’t want to find out firsthand.
If they hadn’t set all hands on deck to research the latest known cult member, I’m not sure they’d have let me leave, but I was a proven disaster at research, chasing one bright, shiny tangent after another. It was a lot like doing dishes. Break a few plates the first time … or crash one little computer system … and no one asks you to do it again.
I wondered whether they’d send Bobby home with me as backup, but he was a research whiz and couldn’t be spared. Besides, I think Sid and Maya thought we might get a little … distracted … with the place all to ourselves, and miss the signs of any danger at my door. So I was on my own, just like I’d hoped. Not that I didn’t want Bobby as backup for the rendezvous, but if my anonymous texter didn’t show because I’d brought Bobby along, I’d miss out on whatever he or she had to tell me. If it was a trap, I had a way better chance of rescue if Bobby was on the outside rather than inside with me.
Sid and Maya did, however, order me up some watchdogs, as anticipated. They arrived within a half hour of plan approval, one of them driving the car I’d been issued and which the Feds had towed away for examination after the home invasion. The other bodyguard drove a nondescript black car with tinted windows. The first guy unfolded himself from my car and kept going, all six and a half feet of him. He then climbed into the passenger seat of the other car, leaving me to adjust my mirrors and seats, the angle of the steering wheel, the air conditioning vents, you name it.
I drove home, constantly looking in my rearview window, but my surveillance team was good. They even took a different route back to my place so that no one would see them following me. While I was alone, I grabbed my vamp-supplied cell and dialed Hunter; I could have speed-dialed him on the Fed phone, but I couldn’t be sure the Feds weren’t recording my calls. And Hunter’s number was full of nines and sixes and totally easy to remember.
Even with ninja-vamp reflexes, driving while dialing was probably not recommended by the highway patrol. But I only got flipped off once, and it was totally her own fault that she didn’t realize a yellow light meant speed up, not slow the hell down. And anyway, I missed her by an eyelash.
Hunter showed up at my door twenty minutes after me with Mina in tow, just as I’d asked. She had her hair rolled into a French twist, also as I’d asked, since there was no better way to hide the fact that I had a helluva lot more hair than she did. I’d entered my apartment as Gina Covello, or Gail Kuttner, or whoever, but I was leaving as Mina Whatshername. I hoped her shoes were my size.
I greeted them at the door with a kiss to both cheeks
so that my bodyguards could see me, and then I ushered them inside.
Mina’s eyes were gleaming. “Hunter filled me in.”
I cut my gaze to his. “Only what I know,” he swore, “which isn’t much.”
“Better for you that way,” I answered, cool and cryptic.
I hadn’t told him where I was going or why. Just that I needed to escape my apartment without being seen. If he thought that was weird, he kept it to himself.
“Come on,” I said to Mina. “Let’s switch clothes.”
“Right here?” she asked.
Hunter looked a little too interested in that idea.
“My room,” I said, taking her hand.
“Hey, I should get something out of this,” he protested. “At least you could let me watch.”
“You get to imagine,” I told hi
m. “Stay.”
Hunter pouted like a little boy denied dessert, and Mina said, too close to my ear, “I want to hear all about it when you get back.”
“Sure, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Oh please, is that the best you can do?”
“No, but it’s not the worst, either.” I turned and let a little of the night’s darkness seep into my eyes, and she shuddered, but I wasn’t sure it was in fear.
Once in the bedroom, I shut the door and quickly stripped. She watched, which was a little freaky. “Uh, I need your clothes,” I reminded her.
“Oh, right.” She wore a wrap dress, so all she had to do was untie the knot at her hip and unwrap it. It was also aqua. Good for drawing the eye and focusing attention away from the face. Lousy for sneaking around at night. But since I’d be waltzing right out the front door, there was no sneakage required.
“What size are your feet?” I asked.
“Six and a half.”
“Close enough.” I wanted to be as complete in my transformation as possible. I didn’t know the watchdogs outside or how observant they might be, but if borrowed shoes had meant hobbling around like a wicked stepsister trying to fit into Cinderella’s size-five glass slippers, I’d have opted for my own kicks.
I stepped into her shoes and twirled in the dress. “How do I look?” I asked.
“Great. Just keep your face out of the light, stand as tall as you can, and hope no one notices our height difference.”
“It’s not all that much!” I protested.
“Honey, if you have lifts stashed away somewhere, now would be a good chance to use them.”
Finished, I texted Bobby one word—Listen—hoping he’d understand and that no one else who might be reading his messages would, then locked my two phones away in a drawer. I traded out the contents of my purse for Mina’s.
“Ready,” I announced.
“Really, you’re not even going to give me a hint what you’re up to?”
“Not a one.”
“Tease.”
I shrugged. “Not the worst I’ve been called. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Fangtastic Page 11
