Blood Drive Read online

  What’s going on?

  Williams sits back in his chair, looking hard at me, keeping his thoughts to himself. I let it go on for a moment before I repeat, “What’s going on? What did you get me in here for?”

  His eyes study me for another moment, then clear and his gaze sharpens. “Trish’s grandmother is raising hell. She called for an appointment to speak with me directly this afternoon. She’s already contacted the FBI. She knows there was a connection between Trish and Barbara Franco. Now with Carolyn’s murder, she’s convinced Trish is-” He blows out an angry breath. “That Trish is involved in both murders.”

  The words should send me into another spasm of rage. Instead, only a great sadness descends. “Like daughter, like mother,” I whisper.

  Williams raises an eyebrow. “What?”

  “The first night I met Carolyn, when she came to my parent’s house, she tried to convince us Trish may have had a hand in Barbara’s murder. Now Carolyn’s mother is spouting the same garbage.”

  “Unfortunately,” Williams replies, “that ‘garbage’ makes for great headlines. She’s called a press conference for this afternoon.” He glances at his watch. “Three o’clock, right after our meeting, and on the steps of the mayor’s office.”

  “The mayor is in on this?”

  “Not yet. But this is an election year. The Bernard’s don’t live in San Diego but they are wealthy people with a lot of influence. The mayor will align herself with them if it proves expedient.”

  “And you know this how?” But the answer flashes through my head before he can reply. “I forgot. The Deputy Mayor. A fellow vamp. Great.”

  “You remember her from Avery’s?”

  He asks the question with hesitancy. The first night I saw Williams was the first night I was introduced to life as a vampire. My mentor, Avery, invited me to a party at his home. Besides Williams, Isabel Santos, the Deputy Mayor of San Diego, was there, along with four or five other luminaries, all vampires, all high on the social register. I wasn’t formally introduced to any of them, though intervening circumstances threw Williams and me together soon afterward.

  I feel Williams’s sharp eyes watching me, just as I feel his mind prodding for the emotion those memories evoke. He has other issues with me. I raise my eyes to meet his.

  Why would she do this?I ask.Whywould she want to accuse her granddaughter of murder?

  The corners of his mouth turn down.I don’t know. I thought I’d ask her that very question when I see her this afternoon.

  I want to be there.

  This produces a short bark of laughter.Right. And let her take another shot at you.

  I can see Detective Harris was thorough in his report, and I can read in Williams’s reaction that he would have liked to have been there to see it. I grip the sides of the chair and lean forward.It’snot bloody likely that she’ll get a chance like that again.

  Williams holds up a hand.Hey, I’m not being critical. I think you showed remarkable restraint.

  Then what do you suggest we do? How do we protect Trish?

  The only way we can,he replies. We find the real killer and expose Carolyn.

  That will not make Mrs. Bernard happy. Or the mayor.

  Williams smiles.Notmy problem. I’m not the one up for reelection. Then he gets the same cop look that I see on Max’s face when he’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like.You need to be prepared for what’s going to happen after the press conference.

  What does that mean?

  Listen, Anna, I know what Trish has been through. None of it is her fault, but right now, the official investigation is focused on Trish’s supposed drug involvement. That’s the motive that’s being put forward. No one knows about the abuse or Carolyn’s part in it. If we’re going to crack the kiddie porn ring, it has to stay that way.

  It’s not hard to grasp the meaning behind his words.Trish’sdisappearance is going to look as if she’s is guilty, isn’t it?

  Yes. She needs to stay here. If she leaves, I can’t guarantee she won’t be arrested.

  What if she wants to attend her mother’s funeral? What do we tell her?

  He waves a hand.It’s a murder investigation. I can hold the body for a while. But the important thing is that we work fast. His eyes flash with a knowing gleam.Do what you need to get these guys. I’ll do what I can to stall.

  What makes you think I can do this?

  Are you telling me you can’t?

  Our eyes lock a moment. It’s the first real vote of confidence I’ve gotten from him.What about Frey and the FBI?

  Frey will do what he needs to do-keep Agents Bradley and Donovan busy. I’ve managed to convince them that you are of no consequence in their investigation. They think your appearance at his condo was because the two of you are lovers. You were at Carolyn’s this morning at the behest of your mother, who has asked for your help in the Barbara Franco case. Now that there has been another crime, the police have warned you off. You’ve agreed to let the professionals take over.

  I shake my head and stand.Great. You couldn’t come up with a better reason for me to be at Frey’s? You had to say we were lovers?

  Funny,he retorts. That’s the same thing Frey said.

  Williams rises from his chair to stand beside me. “I’ll walk you out.”

  We start back down the hall and I pause in front of the door where Trish and Frey are talking. “I need to get my jacket and I’d like to say good-bye to Trish.”

  He shakes his head. “They’ve left.”

  “Left?” I push open the door. The room is empty. My jacket hanging from the back of the chair is the only indication we were here at all.

  “Frey has taken her to the living quarters.” Williams explains from the hall.

  I rejoin him, looking around. There is a steady murmur of voices coming from the thirty or so people seated at computer terminals. Besides that, there is nothing but silence coming from the dozen or so doors that line the back wall. “Where are the living quarters?”

  He waves a hand toward the last door at the end of the hall. “That way.”

  “How big is this place?”

  “Big enough. I’ll give you a tour if you like.”

  I debate whether to press Williams into taking me to Trish. I can tell from his demeanor and the neutrality of his thoughts that he will acquiesce to my demands. He’s waiting for me to make the decision.

  “Let’s go,” I say after a moment. “When I come back here again it will be to take Trish home.”

  Williams hasn’t asked nor has he probed to find out what I plan to do. I find that reassuring. Instead, he leads me back toward the entrance, nodding acknowledgment to the greetings he gets along the way. As far as I can tell, everyone in this strange telephone center is human.

  Who are these humans?I ask.Whatare they doing here?

  His lips quirk in a tight little smile.They are our fundraisers.

  I snort.I told Frey that’s what I thought. He just called me an idiot. So what do they sell?

  The future.

  What?

  Williams laughs.They’repsychics. All of them.

  But they’re human.

  Of course. All psychics are human. All humans have the ability to become psychics. It involves learning to focus and tap into the part of the brain that interprets more than what is.

  I thought psychic hot lines were a scam.

  Most are. These, however, are not. They service a very special clientele.

  Special how?

  He shrugs.People important to the future of the world.

  You mean like Heads of State? Religious leaders?

  Williams stops near one of the consoles and turns to face me.No. The real power behind what the world is to become. You, Anna. You are one of those. Would you like to see?

  My heart flutters and then begins to pound in my ears. I don’t understand or believe any of this. I don’t want to. I force the fear out of my thoughts and replace it with resolve.Don’t do t
his, Williams.

  I brace myself, expecting him to seize the opportunity to force whatever the hell he sees as my future down my throat. He’s tried before.

  But instead he smiles.I know. You have Trish to think about. Take care of it. Then we’ll talk.

  The softening of his attitude is more disturbing than what I’m used to. I think I prefer the acerbic Williams.

  He’s pushed a button on a panel beside the elevator “door.” There is a whir as the cage descends. The little reception area appears as the doors slide open.

  Williams touches my arm before I step inside.God speed.

  I see his face as the doors close, hopeful, confident.

  I don’t know what God he’s referring to. I’m not sure I want to.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When I step through the mystic waterfall shielding the entrance to-whatever that was-I’m relieved to be back outside. Frey and Williams seemed very much at home in those strange surroundings. I’m much more comfortable in this one.

  But I’m also struck with the painful awareness that I don’t have a plan. I hardly know more than I did when I found Trish hiding in my garage. But I do have one untapped resource. Ryan.

  And the instant I think it, I realize I’ve left his number in the pocket of the jeans I was wearing yesterday. On the way back to the apartment, the fact that I seem to be going in circles, literally as well as figuratively, is frustrating enough to make me laugh out loud.

  When I get off the elevator, I am greeted by a couple of burly construction types hanging my new door. I don’t see the building manager around, and I really don’t like the fact that strangers have access to my apartment. My discomfort, however, is nothing compared to the awkwardness of the two guys when they watch me approach and realize that I’m the occupant.

  The guy holding the door clears his throat. Loudly.

  The second guy sends a skittering glance into the apartment.

  It’s at that moment I know.

  I put a finger to my lips and shake my head.

  They nod in comprehension, obviously bright enough to recognize it’s my favor they need to curry.

  I slip inside and pause to listen. There’s a rustling of fabric, a slide of wood against wood as drawers are opened and closed.

  Someone is going through my things.

  I catch him in the bathroom, at my hamper. He sifts through the clothes inside, selects a pair of panties and shoves them into a pocket. His malevolent little face is scrunched up in a smile.

  “You should have taken the black ones, Burdick. Pink is not your color.”

  Burdick’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes squeeze shut. He reminds me of an ostrich who thinks because his head is buried, the rest of his body has disappeared, too.

  I cross over to him, clucking my tongue.

  He doesn’t open his eyes.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. He jumps.

  I take his shoulders and turn him to face me, away from the mirrors.

  “But, you know, I think we can work this out.”

  He grunts.

  “I want to move out. This weekend. But, gee, that means I can’t give the proper notice. That won’t be a problem, though, will it?”

  At that, he opens one eye and moves his head slowly from right to left. As far as I can tell, he has yet to draw a breath.

  “And as for the deposit, I want it back. First and last month’s rent and my security deposit. All of it. In a check on Saturday. That’s three days from now. Think you can arrange it?”

  That at last provokes a reaction. “All of it? I don’t think I can do that-”

  “Of course you can, Burdick. It will be a lot less expensive than defending yourself against the charges I could bring against you for this. Especially since I have two witnesses right outside. They seem like smart guys. They aren’t going to jeopardize their own skins for you.”

  He opens the other eye, his lips press into a thin line, and his brows scrunch together. “How do I know you won’t press charges anyway?”

  “You don’t,” I respond cheerfully. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  There’s a timid knock from outside and an anxious voice calls in, “Burdick, we’re done here. Should we wait for you?”

  I answer for him. “Yeah. He’s on his way out.”

  Burdick manages to gather his wits about him enough to straighten his shoulders and steady his voice as he prepares to leave. “Okay. You’ll get your check. I don’t want any trouble.” He starts to pull the panties out of his pocket.

  I stop him with an upturned hand. “Keep them.” As if I could ever imagine wearing them again. There isn’t a disinfectant strong enough. “Consider them payment for the door.”

  I follow him out and close and deadbolt the door with a decisive click. When I’m alone, I realize my hands are shaking.

  How many assholes am I going to have to deal with in my immortal life? How many monsters like the creeps who hurt Trish, and how many insignificant insects like Burdick? Is this what I have to look forward to for all eternity?

  I return to the bathroom to splash water on my face. The towel I grab to dry off has a scent clinging to it-Max’s. I bring it to my face and inhale. It’s a reminder that there are good men out there.

  Goodmen.

  Another complication I can’t face right now.

  My jeans are in a pile on the living room floor. I fish Ryan’s number out of the pocket. The idea that Burdick might have touched them, too, or the underwear tucked inside when I pulled them off, makes me cringe. But hopefully he wouldn’t have been depraved enough to touch things in full view of his workman.

  I can only hope.

  To be on the safe side, I handle the jeans with two fingers and dump them into the hamper. Maybe I should burn them.

  Then I focus on the number, written in precise, uniform numerals. The stamp of a budding engineer. I dial it and he picks up on the first ring.

  “Where is she?” he demands in a rough whisper.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  I can hear his teeth grind. “I’m in class. We aren’t supposed to have our cell phones on. Tell me. What have you done with Trish?”

  I glance at my watch. I never gave a thought to the time. “When is school over?”

  “In about an hour. Damn it. Where is Trish?”

  “What school?”

  There is a voice in the background calling Ryan’s name impatiently. He snaps back at me, “Mission Bay High.”

  “I’ll be out front. Look for a red Jag.”

  He doesn’t have a chance to answer. The connection is cut, probably by some angry teacher. Hopefully, I didn’t get him into too much trouble. How am I going to convince him that Trish is safe and that it’s in her best interest to give me that computer? He certainly isn’t easily frightened or intimidated-not by me anyway.

  I blow out a lungful of air, trying to expel the negative energy that darkens my mood. I look around the apartment. At least I’ll be getting out of here. That triggers the thought that I never did get around to having my furniture delivered. That number is in my purse, and after calling the store and arranging delivery on Saturday, I actually feel a little better. Saturday. Three days from now. I’ll be moving back into my own place. The DNA test results will be back and I’ll find out just how good Sorrel is.

  Three days.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mission Bay High School is located on Grand Avenue

  , one of the busiest thoroughfares in San Diego. When it was built, however, it wasn’t so busy. MBH is one of the oldest schools in the county and it looks it. The buildings are sun bleached and badly in need of paint. The meager landscaping shows signs of giving in to the constant onslaught of salt air and the annual pounding of seventeen hundred pair of student feet. The grass is brown, and a few scruffy bushes cling to life. But the school has a surfing team and that makes it one of the most popular among teens and assures parental support.


  I pull up about fifteen minutes before the end of the school day and Ryan is already at the curb, pacing and frowning with the intensity of a pit bull. He barely lets me come to a stop before he yanks open the door and jumps in.

  “Let’s go,” he says in tight voice.

  I look pointedly at my watch. “I thought school wasn’t over for another fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s over for me. Has been since you called. Now take me to Trish.”

  His face is so implacably hostile it almost trips an outburst of my own temper-until I remind myself that this is the kid who helped Trish and protected her when she had no one else. He deserves some respect for that.

  Act like an adult, I tell myself. Say something meaningful.

  I turn in the seat to face him. “Would you like to get something to eat?”

  “Are you crazy? I want to see Trish. If you don’t take me to her, I’ll jump out of this car and start yelling that you are trying to molest me. I can be very persuasive. Do you want to see?”

  His response is explosive and full of rage. But under the rage blazes fear. He’s scared to death for Trish. And he now sees me as the enemy-another adult out to take advantage of her.

  I hold up a hand. “Ryan, listen to me. Trish is all right. She’s safe. I’m sorry I can’t take you to her. You must have heard what happened to her mother. The police are looking for Trish. They think she’s involved. We had to take her to a place where no one can find her.”

  “We?”

  “Mr. Frey and me.”

  Ryan’s expression is a mask of dark skepticism. “You told me I’d be able to talk to her. Mr. Frey never answers his phone anymore. And if Trish was really all right, she’d call me. I think you’re lying.”

  His voice shakes a little at the end, as if he’s fighting tears. He has turned his face away from me so I won’t see if he loses the battle.

  I place a hand on his arm. His whole body stiffens, but he doesn’t jerk away. I take that as a good sign. “Let me tell you why I came to you. I have a friend in the police department. He knows where Trish is and he’s not going to tell anyone. He’s giving us a chance to help her.”