Jeanne C. Stein - Retribution

by Jeanne C. Stein

  I hear a sharp intake of breath, a muffled conversation as he relays my message and finally, “Jesus, Anna, you never change, do you?”

  “I could say the same for you, Gloria. The kid sounds like he’s about sixteen. His voice is still changing. Should I send the police?”

  Her laugh is short, brittle. “Did you have a reason to call? Or do you get off badgering me?”

  I did have a reason to call. An important reason. It galls me that just the sound of her voice makes me lose mine.

  “Yes. This Eternal Youth thing you’re involved with. I have some questions.”

  “Then contact my lawyer.” Her tone morphs from aggravation to boredom. “Unless you’re asking me to slip you a few jars. Are you suddenly feeing old? See a few wrinkles when you look in the mirror?”

  Laughter bubbles up. If she only knew—

  “No, you idiot. I think there’s something wrong with the stuff. Have you tried it?”

  Now it’s Gloria who laughs. “Are you kidding? Why would I put that crap on my face? I don’t need it. And when I get to the point that I do, I’ll have my own formula made up. This is purely a moneymaking thing. Tremaine seems to have stumbled on a unique product. She asked me to be the spokesmodel. I agreed. Period.”

  Part of me is relieved; part of me wants to howl in disappointment.

  “How do you know Tremaine?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  My hands clutch into fists on the steering wheel. “Jesus, Gloria, will you just answer the fucking question?”

  “Not the way to encourage cooperation, Anna. Okay, I’ll answer your questions if you agree to answer mine. Quid pro quo.”

  I feel the blood rush to my face. If I had the time, I’d find her and snatch every hair from her head. Instead, I speak with slow deliberation. “Fine. Ask.”

  “How’s David?”

  My first impulse to deny her any information about her ex is quickly swallowed up by a better idea. “He’s just great. He’s in the Bahamas with his fiancée.”

  It provokes the desired result. A sharp intake of breath followed by an equally sharp, “Fiancée? When did that happen? Who is she? Do I know her?”

  “That’s three questions, Gloria. Now answer mine. How did you meet Simone Tremaine?”

  At first, I think she’s hung up on me, the silence stretches so long. Finally, though, she says, “Through my agent. She contacted him, he contacted me. We did a deal.” Tiny voice, “What’s her name?”

  “You don’t know her, Gloria. David met her after you broke up. Do you have an address for Tremaine? A telephone number?”

  “Not here. The contract’s in my office in L.A.”

  Another dead end. At least if I can’t track her down any other way, I’ll follow up with Gloria. A surprisingly subdued Gloria. She’s not snapping back with another question, so I take the initiative.

  “The cream, has the stuff been tested?” I ask. “Approved by the FDA?”

  That revives her. She snorts. “Your ignorance is showing. Cosmetics are not subject to FDA approval. It’s left up to each company to substantiate the safety and effectiveness of their products.”

  Too formal.

  She’s been asked that before? “How do you know that?”

  “I’m not stupid, Anna. I looked into it. I’m not going to jump into something I might get sued for later.”

  Ah. Meaning, her lawyer looked into it. Still, no human lawyer could have known or suspected that Tremaine was not what she appeared.

  “Look, Gloria, I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” True enough, I’d like nothing better than to see her go down in flames. “But something is not right with Tremaine. I’m warning you. Get out now while you can. Disassociate yourself from Eternal Youth before it’s too late.”

  There’s a moment of silence and I think Gloria might be considering what I’ve told her. I brace myself for the barrage of questions sure to follow.

  “Oh, Anna,” she says finally. “You’re still jealous of me. It’s so childish.”

  The line goes dead and I’m left gaping openmouthed at the phone. How like Gloria to interpret concern for jealousy.

  I toss the phone onto the seat beside me.

  Then I smile.

  I tried to warn you, Gloria. Don’t blame me when this Eternal Youth thing bites you in the ass.

  CHAPTER 24

  THAT GLORIA REFUSES MY ADVICE DOES NOT SURPRISE me. I’m only glad I was able to take the wind out of her sales about David. Sure, it was lie; he’s not engaged. And she’ll likely find that out on her own, but it shut her up for a minute at least.

  It’s a tiny victory, even though I learned nothing new about Tremaine.

  What is surprising is arriving at the warehouse, my next destination, and finding the parking lot empty.

  I pull up to the door, park and look around.

  Apprehension replaces the brief feeling of satisfaction. This cannot be a good sign.

  I get out of the car, shut the door quietly and approach the front door.

  The office is dark. I walk around the building. There is one car parked beside the loading dock, a late-model Ford sedan. On the sides and trunk of the car are those magnetic signs with “Nelson Security Services” and a telephone number superimposed over a logo.

  Did Burke hire security after I broke in? Surely, though, she wouldn’t have suspended operations because of a missing file.

  I walk back around to the office door and knock.

  After about thirty seconds, two armed security guards appear from the back. One has a dog, another German shepherd naturally, on a short leash.

  The guard with the dog comes to the door. He mouths through the glass, “Closed.”

  He’s short and heavy-lidded and looks mean. So does the dog, eyeing me with a sneer and a trail of drool.

  “Where is everybody?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Not a clue. Come back tomorrow. The place is supposed to reopen then.”

  He turns and walks back to his partner. They both watch me through squinty eyes.

  Shit.

  Guards now.

  With a dog, no less.

  I get into my car. I’ve got to find that receptionist. I don’t want to bust my way in and subdue those guards (and dog), but I might have to.

  Until I remember.

  The receptionist uses Eternal Youth. Is she one of the test subjects? If so, she’ll be in that file I gave Ortiz. All had contact information on the forms. When I try to call Ortiz, his phone goes again to voice mail.

  I have no choice but to drive back to Chula Vista. Even if he’s already left for work, it’s likely Ortiz would have left the file at home. Burke is not yet an official suspect in the death of those two women. I’ll just have to charm sweet Brooke into letting me see it.

  This time, when I pull up, Ortiz’ garage door is open. There are two cars parked inside. One is his—I recognize the Navigator—the other is a candy-apple red Miata with a San Diego State bumper sticker. Brooke is probably a college student. Ortiz, you are a dog.

  At least my timing is good. I’d rather deal with Ortiz than his petulant girlfriend.

  And there are no other cars around. I’m assuming Edie has left, which is a relief.

  I don’t know if vampires are capable of blushing, but I get the uncomfortable feeling I might if I was to see her again.

  Brooke answers my ring. She must have just gotten out of the shower because her hair is wet and she’s dressed in sweats. She doesn’t say hello when she sees me, just turns on her bare feet and pads away with a curt, “He’s not here.”

  I’ve accepted less cordial invitations. I let myself in and follow.

  She’s trounced off to the dining room table. That she’s a student is reinforced by the open college chemistry text perched on a notebook next to a bowl of Cocoa Puffs.

  She sits, thumbs a page of the text, takes a spoonful of cereal, ignores me.

  I wait.

  Another page, another
mouthful of cereal.

  Finally, I break the stalemate. “Where’s Ortiz?”

  She doesn’t look up. “I told you he’s not here.”

  “So. Where did he go?”

  “He left for work. Ten minutes ago.”

  “Who picked him up?”

  Finally, a question that gets more than a bored monosyllabic reply. She turns and stares at me. “Why would anyone pick him up?”

  I jerk a thumb toward the front. “Because the garage door is open and his car is inside—”

  She jumps up and takes off for the door. Her reaction triggers my own alarm. When we get outside, she clasps both hands over her mouth and gasps.

  “Oh god—I heard a noise, but I thought—”

  I pull her hands down. “What noise?”

  She’s crying. “A loud pop. Right after Mario left the house. I didn’t go look. I was still mad . . .”

  She takes a step into the garage, but I’m there first. The car doors are closed but unlocked. I open the passenger side door and look in.

  Ortiz’ folder, the one he had last night, is on the seat. It’s unzipped and open.

  It’s also empty.

  I get Brooke back inside and call Williams. He comes right over. We get Brooke calmed down and convince her that this is just some silly misunderstanding and one of Ortiz’ cop buddies did pick him up for work. When she tries his cell, it goes right to voice mail. Not necessarily a bad thing, since she says he often turns off his phone when he checks in for duty.

  The tears are dried, her fears at least momentarily alleviated. We ask if she has classes today. She says yes. We convince her to go, that we’ll let her know as soon as we get through to Ortiz. She heads back to the bedroom to get ready.

  Williams releases a long, pent-up breath. “Jesus. She got Ortiz.”

  I feel like knocking my head against the wall. “I never should have taken that file. I should have made a copy. I’ve let Burke know we can connect her to Eternal Youth. Is she going to kill every one of those test subjects? Why? It can’t be simply to get even with me.”

  Williams shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll know when we get an analysis of the product. I dropped it off on my way here. I put a rush in. We should hear in three hours or so.”

  “I can’t wait that long. I’m going to the warehouse. There were personnel files that should tell me where the receptionist lives.”

  If she hasn’t gotten rid of those, too. I rub my eyes as if to rub away the thought and look up at Williams. “Where will you be? I’ll call as soon as I get to that receptionist.”

  “I’ll be at the park. I’ll get the witches started on another locator spell.” He looks toward the house. “I’ll give Brooke my cell phone number, to let her know as soon as we reach Ortiz.”

  His tone is lower, huskier than I’ve ever heard. His concern for Ortiz is genuine.

  Maybe there’s hope for Williams yet.

  CHAPTER 25

  THIS SEEMS TO BE A MORNING FOR SURPRISES.

  This time, I’m looking down at the warehouse from my perch on the frontage road and even the security car is gone.

  Now, that doesn’t mean one of the guards didn’t drop the other off or go for coffee, but it does give me a window of opportunity.

  One guard, with or without the mutt, is better than two.

  I head for the back. It’s still deserted. Eerily different from my first visit yesterday when the parking lot was full and trucks came and went like ants at a picnic.

  I launch myself upward. The windows on the first floor allow me a peek into the factory. I’m looking for the security guard. No one in sight. It isn’t until I’ve allowed myself a scan of the area that I’m aware of what else I’m not seeing.

  I’m not seeing anything on the conveyor belt.

  The conveyor belt is completely empty.

  About the same time that registers, the hair on the back of my neck rustles as if touched by the hand of god.

  It’s the last thing I feel before I’m blown off the building and slammed into the ground.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE FORCE OF THE EXPLOSION BLOWS OUT EVERY window and covers me with shards of glass.

  I lay on the ground a minute, taking mental and physical inventory. My skin burns, my ears ring. Don’t see any blood. I’m lying on my side, twenty feet from the building. I try to roll on my back, straighten out. My left arm aches and I realize it’s twisted above the elbow in an unnatural angle. Probably broken, though no bone protrudes.

  I sit up.

  My back protests, but follows my mental command to move. That left arm is what’s really protesting. I pass fingers gingerly up the arm until I find the point at which bone pushes against the skin. Grasping the arm with my right hand, I give it a sharp tug.

  Pain causes my vision to go black. There’s a popping sound and the bone shifts into place. It’s all I need to do. Accelerated vampire healing will take care of the rest.

  Except for the pain.

  It hurts like a son of a bitch.

  The ringing in my ears subsides to a dull roar, and I shake my head to clear it.

  At first, I think what I hear next is a result of the blast. Some shift in decibel or tone that sounds less like percussion-induced noise and more like—

  Screaming.

  Screaming?

  I’m on my feet and racing back toward the flames.

  It’s not my imagination. It’s in my head.

  In my head.

  Vampires. Inside. Trapped.

  The building is fully engulfed. Flames shoot out of the windows. Smoke and heat don’t scare me. Flames do. Burning is one of the ways a vampire can be killed.

  I race to the front. Maybe I can get in through the door. It hangs open on an explosion-warped frame. No flames here, not yet. But there’s no one here, either. Not in the reception area, not in the office area in back.

  I send out a mental probe. Where are you?

  An answer comes back from a chorus of frantic voices. The basement. We’re in the basement.

  Basement?

  The corridor at the end of where I’m standing leads only to the factory floor. I know. I traveled it last night.

  I don’t know where that is. Tell me.

  An anguished cry, from a female voice: We don’t know. We were drugged when we were brought here. Please. Help us.

  Frustration and panic claw at my heart. I can’t go back down those stairs into the factory. The flames are too intense. I feel the heat through the soles of my shoes.

  Maybe there’s another way.

  Outside, I race around the building, circling, looking for anything that might be another entrance. I tell the female vamp to keep talking, hoping her voice can guide me.

  She babbles, crying, begging me to find her.

  I can’t.

  There is no other way in that I can find.

  Nothing. I find nothing.

  The vamp’s voice becomes shrill with fear.

  I beat my fists against the loading dock. Why can’t you free yourselves? Exasperation fuels my feeling of helplessness and it comes out in an angry wail.

  We can’t. The collars.

  There is such despair in her reply, it floods me with remorse and determination. I start again. At the front, circling, searching, running my fingers along the base of the bays in the loading dock, ignoring the white-hot metal that singes my fingers.

  Until I find it.

  A seam in the metal of the middle bay.

  There is no latch, no hinge, no keyhole. I pound at the metal with my fist.

  Yes! A chorus of frenzied voices. We hear you!

  I beat at the metal until it caves. Then I tear a great rip in the metal and bend it back. It’s dark inside and smoke pours out like a genie released from a bottle. When I step inside, and my eyes have adjusted to the smoke and light, I follow the screaming voices filling my head.

  Follow them to a scene straight from hell.

  CHAPTER 27

 
THERE ARE TWELVE OF THEM. YOUNG, FEMALE. They are naked, hanging upside down, hands bound behind their backs with silver chains. When I break into the room, I’m hit with their relief. It’s so tangible, it fills me with panic.

  Panic because they think I can save them. Their expectation and gratitude swamp my senses.

  But I don’t know if I can save them.

  I don’t know how.

  I shut down my thoughts while I move from one to the other. My own senses are recoiling so violently, it takes all my strength to shield them. I force the revulsion down. Look at them, Anna. Figure out how to set them free.

  Each vampire has a metal collar around her neck. Each collar is a small trough with a spiked spigot. The spike has been driven into the vampire’s jugular, piercing it. From the spigot hangs a tube. Blood drips from the tube into collection bags. Or, in the case of the two vampires on the end, a stain where the last drops fell onto the floor. For those two, there’s no help. They have been drained lifeless.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. For a moment, I’ve forgotten the reason I’m here. Forgotten the heat that grows more intense, ignore the cries of the vampires that the flames grow closer. All I can think is, Why would Belinda Burke do this?

  Does she hate vampires so much, she came up with this elaborate, horrifying way to kill them? Did she plan to bring me here after she finished her revenge against Culebra and Frey? The thought fills me with horror.

  So what changed her mind? Why did she decide to destroy her demonic torture chamber now and let the vamps trapped here either bleed to death or be destroyed by the flames?

  The flames.

  The anguished voice of one of the vampire’s brings me back. I push the fear and hatred to the back of my mind. How can I save these women?

  I do the only thing I can think of. With shaking hands, I go from one to the other, turn the spigots until the blood flow stops. I avoid looking in their eyes. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

  I unhook the tubes and chains and lower each gently and carefully to the floor. I don’t touch the collars. I have no idea what might happen if I try to take them off, but the fact that just touching them brings shudders of agony numbs me. I unbind their hands. The four nearest the front get to their feet on their own. The ones behind are shakier and I help them to stand. Slowly, clumsily, we start to make our way outside. The stronger of the injured help the weaker.