I wait until the door is closed behind him to let my mind open. I don't trust him. And my instincts tell me that as crazy as it sounds, he not only knows about the Revengers, he may very well be one of them. Which makes me wonder why Avery trusts him so much.
If he does.
But Avery is the one who suggested I contact Chief Williams.
My stomach churns with impatience. It doesn't make sense. Why would Avery do that? He doesn't act like he wants me gone, either, which is what Williams implied. And if the Revengers have David, why not just contact me and offer to make the switch—
my life for David's?
What in hell is going on?
Chapter Twenty-Six
I have no intention of sitting idly by, whiling away the hours until Williams gets back to me. But what to do? My first impulse is to call Avery, tell him everything that happened and see how he reacts.
But he is a doctor and there are patients who depend on him.
Reluctantly, I decide to drive out to Mission Beach and see what progress has been made on the investigation into the arson. I say reluctantly because I'm not sure I'm up to facing the devastation again. But it beats sitting alone at the condo or at Avery's wallowing in my fear. It's not much, but it gets me moving.
There's yellow police tape all around the property. There is a notice posted against the gate advising that this is a crime scene and to keep out. And yet, there are two teenage boys poking around the debris. I literally have to take a deep breath, no easy trick for a vampire, to calm myself before I approach them.
"Mind telling me what you guys are doing?"
The taller of the two turns to face me. He has a silver frame in his hands, what's left of a picture of my grandmother. “What's it to you?” he demands, puffing his chest like a preening pigeon.
I snatch the frame out of his hand and quick as lightning, back him into the fence. His face flashes a warning, but I'm quicker. I grab the fist he's aimed at my head and force it back to his side, squeezing his fingers together until he yelps in pain.
I wave the picture at him. “This is my property. I want you and your little friend off of it."
His “friend” joins us now, as full of himself as his partner was before I put the hurt on him. With no conscious effort on my part, I drop the frame, reach back, and jerk him into the fence, too. I've got both of them, squirming like toads and hurling invectives at me with a fervor I haven't heard since I taught high school. It makes me smile.
"Is there a problem here, ma'am?"
A cop on a bike with the face of an angel.
Who says there's never a cop around when you want one? I shove both boys out the gate. “Found these guys disturbing the crime scene. Since it used to be my home, I took umbrage."
The cop says a few words into the radio at his collar. Then he slip cuffs from his belt and locks the two kids around the fence post.
“I'll take it from here. I've just called for a car. Are you all right?"
I've knelt down to retrieve the picture frame. There's nothing left of the photograph except scorched paper and melted glass. I'm as close to tears as I was in Avery's car right after the fire.
The cop seems to sense my distress. He puts a gentle hand on my elbow and helps me to my feet. “I'll make sure we keep a closer eye on your property, but you might want to hire a private security company. At least then you know there will be someone here twenty-four/seven."
I thank him and assure him I'll do just that.
Then the patrol car arrives and the two kids are bundled off. The bike cop resumes his patrol, leaving me alone to hug the frame and stare out at the ocean through tear-blurred eyes.
Sometimes the sorrow is overwhelming. It takes effort to fight it back. But David is still out there and I doubt I'm going to get much help from Williams, even if he calls me tonight and tells me it's all set. I won't believe David is safe until I see it for myself.
Which means I need an alternate plan of my own. I settle myself on the sea wall at the end of my block and force myself to think.
I make a mental list of what I know is true.
Number one—I know I'm a vampire because of Donaldson. So far, not such a good thing for me.
Number two—I'm pretty sure Donaldson had nothing to do with either the fire or David's kidnapping. I can't be positive of that, of course. I can never be positive because Donaldson is dead. I just have to conclude that he was too scared to lie back at Beso de la Muerte .
Number three—Why is Donaldson dead? Another Revenger attack? Did they follow me or was Donaldson the target all along?
How can I find out?
Number four—I neither like nor trust Williams. He could easily have put that cop on my tail the other night after Avery's party. If he did, he wants me out of the way pretty badly. Our conversation this afternoon confirms that. He didn't succeed in getting me killed, so getting me out of town is the next best thing.
Which leads me to number five—I need to be wary of anything he suggests. However, getting David released is my first priority. I'll pretend to do whatever he says to protect David. Once he's released, though, all bets are off. I want to know why Williams thinks I present such a threat. And to whom?
Number six—What part does Avery play in all this?
That's the question, isn't it? Williams said Avery “had feelings for me.” Obviously, he didn't think that was a good thing. Is that why Williams wants me gone? Am I upsetting some kind of balance of power among the vamp bigwigs? If so, why didn't he just tell me?
I could easily have put his mind at ease on that score. I'm not a political animal nor do I aspire to become one.
The sun is high in the sky. I glance at my watch. Noon. I have no desire for food, but a little company would be nice and I need to get a phone book to arrange for a security detail. I don't want any more little pricks pawing through my stuff.
I head for that bistro down the block and get my usual table on the deck. Jorge smiles and welcomes me back. This time my order is even simpler than before. Just a beer. Erdinger dark.
And a phone book.
He brings a frosty mug, a bottle, and the telephone directory. I open the yellow pages, pick a company in the beach area and make the necessary arrangements. When I'm assured a guard would be dispatched within the hour, I return my cell phone to my purse and turn my attention to the beer.
I pour and sip and let my eyes wander over the crowd on the beach. There's a party going on to the left. A lot of tight bodies playing sand volleyball to the right. And in front, a couple sunning themselves on a blanket.
I watch them, trying to remember how it felt to spend an afternoon with nothing more important on my mind than when to reapply sun block.
I envy them.
And as if picking up on my thought, the guy hoists himself into a sitting position and reaches for the Coppertone. He says something to his partner, and she rolls onto her side and takes the tube. He turns and she begins smoothing the lotion over a well-muscled back. Then it's her turn, and as he goes to work on her, his face is in my line of sight.
I almost drop the mug. I catch it before it makes too much of a mess, but a frothy wave of beer does manage to spill onto the tabletop and down my pant legs.
I hardly notice because I'm staring at the cop who stopped me for “speeding” the other night. One of the Revengers.
And at the same moment I recognize him, he sees me, too.
His eyes widen, and his hand stops in mid-stroke. We remain that way for what seems a long time, though I'm sure it's only a heartbeat or two. It's as if we're each waiting for the other to make a move.
He blinks first. He mumbles something to his companion and reaches for a cell phone. She doesn't turn to look at me, though, so I'm guessing he doesn't mention the fact that he's just spotted a vampire. Instead she starts gathering their things together, frowning as though irritated that their day at the beach has been disturbed.
I'm not irritated, though. I leave J
orge a ten and duck back inside the bar, watching through the tinted glass as the couple make their way to the street. Then I make a dash for my own car. It's only a half a block down the road, and I move so fast I know they haven't seen me. In fact, the guy keeps looking back over his shoulder, completely unaware that I'm already in my car with the engine running, prepared to follow them. He's looking for a Jag, not an Explorer.
It's the break I've been waiting for.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The cop is driving a red Corvette. Makes it really easy to tail. He leaves the beach and heads to Pacific Coast Highway. He jumps on I-8 and then switches to 163 near Mission Valley. He keeps going north, and I'm right behind him, though he doesn't know it. I can see him checking the rearview mirror, but he's still looking for the Jag.
He turns off at Genesee, the Linda Vista area, and makes a couple of quick right turns. We're in a housing area now and I have to be more careful. He, on the other hand, seems to have relaxed his guard. He takes no evasive action, but pulls right up into the driveway of a modest two-story bungalow on a street with the sweet name, Finch Lane. He doesn't even pause to look up and down the street, but he and his companion take their time unloading beach stuff from the back. I can tell from her expression and body language, she's still not happy that their afternoon was interrupted. He makes conciliatory gestures as they disappear inside the house.
I park a few doors down and wait. I'm betting he'll be back out in fifteen minutes tops—the time it takes to shower and change.
What I'm hoping is that the telephone call he made on the beach was to his friends on the old Revenger squad. Probably made plans to meet them. I'm sure he thinks I ran when I recognized him.
Won't he be surprised!
He beats my time by a good five minutes. His hair is still wet and brushed straight back, as if he didn't want to take the time to dry it. He's dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, tucked, black leather boots on his feet. That's all. No gun that I can see, and even an ankle holster would show in jeans that tight. He jumps into the Corvette, fires it up and backs out of the driveway.
I make my move just before he leaves the neighborhood. At a stop sign, I let the Explorer roll into the Vette, a bumper kiss, but it gets his attention, as I knew it would. Corvette owners are touchy about their cars. Must have something to do with fiberglass.
In a flash, he's out of the car and scoping out the “damage.” He's practically foaming at the mouth, he's so angry. By the time he gets around to aiming some of that fury at me, I've retrieved my gun and cuffs from the glove compartment. He still hasn't bothered to find out who's sitting behind the wheel of the Explorer, but I see him reach into his pocket.
He starts toward me, flipping open a leather wallet to reveal his badge.
I'm out of the door before he gets to the bumper of my car. I'm holding the gun at my side. It's not until I'm right in his face that he realizes whose face is staring back at him.
His expression is almost comical. His mouth drops open, and his eyes widen.
I raise the gun slightly. “Get into my car, asshole, or I'll shoot you right here."
He looks around, gauging the possibilities.
"Don't even try it,” I say. “I'm faster than you, stronger than you, and, oh yeah, I have a gun. Limits your options, wouldn't you say?"
He draws a breath and blows it out. “What about my car?"
"It'll be just fine here. If not, I'm sure the neighborhood tow guys will take good care of it."
He winces, but doesn't argue. I reach for his wallet and shove it into my back pocket. Never know when a badge might come in handy. He crosses in front of the Explorer and opens the passenger side door. He climbs in and I thread the cuffs through the armrest and snap them around both wrists. If he tries to jump out, I can always drag him to death.
He doesn't say another word.
I pull the Explorer around the Corvette and park just on the other side of the intersection. It's a quiet neighborhood, but if I leave his car, it won't be long before someone notices a driverless Corvette at the stop sign.
"Don't move."
He rattles the cuffs. “Like I have much choice."
I jump out and get behind the wheel of his car. I'm really tempted to smash it into a tree, but it's not the car I'm angry with. Lucky for him.
After I've pulled it off the road, I toss the keys into a bush. When I rejoin him, he's frowning.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Because I felt like it. Any more questions?"
His lips press into a thin line.
"I'll take that as a no."
Up to this point, I've been reacting on instinct. Now it dawns on me that I don't know where to take this guy. I know what I want to do when I get him alone, but where to take him for privacy on a sunny summer afternoon is the question. His favorite haunt, the park, is out. That's probably where he was planning to meet his friends. He'd deny it, of course, so I won't waste my time asking.
Then I have it. Might be a little tricky, maneuvering a handcuffed man down a set of steep, slippery stairs. But we'd be alone, that's for sure. I head the Explorer back to the coast.
I must have a little smile on my face because he asks, “What's going on? Where are we going? You won't get away with this, you know. I'm a cop. My friends will come looking for me."
I almost hope they do.
Wait. I have to say it out loud for the jerk to hear. Vampire conversation is so much easier.
"The more the merrier."
He's squirming on the seat. “Look. It's not my fault what happened the other night."
"Oh, really? I could have sworn it was you who delivered me to your buddies."
"It's a job. Nothing personal."
That actually makes me laugh out loud. “Dying is personal. Even to the undead."
"You're not human. You feed on innocent victims. You don't deserve to live. You and your kind are freaks."
Sounds very much like what I said to Avery not too long ago. Funny, how one's perspective can change. “I don't feed on innocent victims,” I say staunchly. “I've never fed on an innocent victim."
Course, I've never fed on anyone except Avery, but I keep that to myself.
"You have to. Otherwise, you couldn't survive. It's what a vampire does."
"Where do you people get this stuff?"
Avery would be proud of the outrage I put in my voice.
He looks at me as if I'm speaking in tongues. “You are kidding, right? You really aren't going to tell me that vampires have gotten a bad rap over the ages? That it's all been a horrible misunderstanding? That Donaldson's victims deserved what they got?"
Donaldson. He would bring up that creep. I flounder a bit for the proper retort. All I can manage is a weak, “Donaldson was a rogue."
" Was a rogue?"
He picked up on that fast enough.
I nod. “He won't cause any more trouble."
He sits back in the seat with a satisfied smile. “Son of a bitch. They got him."
"Who's they? "
He directs that satisfied smile to me. “You'll find out soon enough."
But I want to find out now. We've arrived at our destination, and I reach into my pocket for my passenger's wallet. It's about time I found out this guy's name. I flip it open while he looks on, a puzzled frown on his face.
"What are you going to do with that?"
I smile. “Well, Trooper Lawson, we're going to take a walk. If we meet anyone, I'm an investigator bringing a suspect to the scene of his crime. If you try to get away, I'll simply flash this badge and shoot you. By the time it gets sorted out, I'll be gone. Are we clear?"
Lawson looks around. “We're at the Cove. What are we doing here?"
I've reached across him to pull my holster out of the glove box. When I'm properly attired, I hang his badge from my belt. “Looks good, doesn't it? Official."
He doesn't agree with me, not that I expect him to. I climb out of the Explorer and come around
to his side. The good thing about dealing with someone who knows about vampires is that they understand the superhuman strength thing. He doesn't try to pull away when I uncuff him from the armrest and torque his arms around his back. When he's out of the car, I shove him against the door and do a thorough pat down. I know he isn't wearing an ankle holster for a gun, but that doesn't mean he can't have a knife tucked away in those boots. No sense taking chances.
I pull a thin, steel blade from a pocket in the lining of the boot. I hold it up. “Very nice. Wouldn't slow me down very much, but effective against humans, I suppose."
"I didn't know I'd be running into a vampire today."
I toss it into the car and nudge him forward. “I suppose not. If you had, you'd have shoved a stake down your pants, right? Let's go."
We're in the parking lot of an abandoned seashell shop right at the busy La Jolla Cove. There's yellow tape all around because of construction work. The old-fashioned shell shop is being remodeled into a new-fashioned gift shop. But anyone seeing a police officer escorting a handcuffed man through the back, would probably assume it was crime scene tape. And since the crew seems to have left for lunch, it's easy for us to slip inside.
Lawson starts looking a little nervous when he realizes where we're going. “You're taking me into the cave?"
"Not as picturesque as where you took me,” I reply. “But just as private."
The cave is a well-known feature of the cove. To get to it, you have to take a flight of sheer, slick, stone steps straight down to the water. It's reputed to be an old pirate's hideout, and it's a good one. From land, you can't tell it's there. And from the sea, if you don't know what to look for, you'd never guess it was anything but sea-battered coastline. When the shell shop was open, it was a big attraction for tourists. Risk your life to see where a pirate stashed his booty. Deserted now, it's perfect for us.
Lawson stumbles on the wet steps. I don't help him. I let him fall to his knees, actually hoping he'll tumble all the way down to the water.
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