Текст книги "The Watcher"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER 6

I HEAD FOR HOME PLOTTING HOW QUICKLY I CAN get to Beso de la Muerte. Fisher's blood bums through my system. But I know I have to check in with David first and after our late night in San Francisco, I doubt he'll be in before ten. Unlike me, David is not a morning person.

My cell phone rings just as I'm walking in the front door. I flip it open. "Anna Strong."

"Hey, partner."

David's voice is cheery and much too alert for this early in the morning. "David?"

"When are you coming in?"

"You're at the office already?" I may be able to get away earlier than I expected.

A chuckle. "Don't sound so shocked. How soon can you get here?"

I glance down at my wet, bedraggled form and torn clothes. "I haven't even showered yet."

"Well, get to it, girl. I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? What kind of surprise?"

"If I told you, it would spoil it. See you in a few."

He rings off and I'm listening to dead air. The enthusiasm I felt over the possibility of getting to Culebra's early vanishes with the suspicion that I'm going to hate his surprise. I always do. They usually involve his girlfriend, Gloria. For a man who is smart and sexy and a great business partner, his taste in women sucks. To make matters worse, he's oblivious to the fact that we hate each other.

I look around my sun-filled cottage. I want to take a shower, a long, hot shower, and fall into bed.

I heave a sigh and toss the phone onto the couch. Oh well, one out of two isn't bad. Before starting upstairs, I flip on the coffeemaker. I don't care what David's surpriseis, it can wait until I've washed Fisher's foul taste from my mouth and off my body.

The shower revives me though I scrub so hard, my skin tingles when I'm through. I lather on a rich, perfumed body lotion and slip into a clean sweat suit to head downstairs for coffee.

I'm a purist when it comes to coffee, no flavored blends for me. I like the rich, dark taste and aroma of a Jamaican or Kona coffee, mellowed with real cream and a little sugar.

I fill a mug and take it back upstairs. I've only been back in the cottage a month. It burned to the ground not long ago, another of Avery's legacies. When I rebuilt it, I added a deck off the master bedroom. I furnished it with a wicker table and two chairs, though I've yet to have anybody up here to occupy the second. I sink into one now and cast a glance toward the empty one. It seems I've more than one itch that needs scratching. I've fed, in a matter of speaking, but a different kind of hunger remains. My sexual appetite is as strong as my appetite for blood.

I selfishly wish Max were here. Except for the one time when I scared myself by almost drinking from him, sex with Max is great. But what am I thinking? I've got to stop this. I'm breaking up with Max the next chance I get. I have to.

So then what? Maybe David's surprise is a hot friend who just got into town and David wants to set us up. Maybe I should wear something sexy to the office. Maybe …

Maybe Williams is right. If I had a mate, I could be inside right now sweating up the sheets instead of sitting here alone thinking about it.

So stop thinking about it.

My coffee is at perfect drinking temperature—body temp—and I suck at it greedily. It's still too early for the beach to be crowded, but there are a couple of surfers bobbing hopefully on the water. Hopefully is the operative word, the swells are as flat and listless as I feel. Still it's a distraction from a body aching for release.

I focus on the surfers until my cup is empty, then rouse myself to a standing position. I may as well get this over with. I change into jeans, a cotton sweater and running shoes. Hardly sexy. I just can't imagine what David has waiting for me. I have a nagging suspicion it won't be anything good.

IT'S NOT.

I smell her as soon as I walk into the office.

David is sitting alone at the desk, but her perfume, some expensive, flowery signature brand made exclusively for her, emanates from his clothes and skin like deadly fumes from toxic waste.

Gloria.

I was right. I'm going to hate this.

He looks up, sees me standing at the doorway and frowns. "Jesus, Anna. What's wrong? You look like you're going to be sick."

"Where is she?"

The frown dissolves into a grin. "How did you know?"

It takes every bit of effort not to roll my eyes skyward and groan. My sinuses are still revolting from the onslaught. I haven't felt like this since I was exposed to a creep who had binged on garlic. I cross the office and open the slider. Wide. "A lucky guess. Where is she?"

He sits back in his chair, still grinning. "She went across the street to get some rolls from the deli. Should be back in a minute. Are you hungry?"

I grunt a noncommittal reply and drop into my chair. I'm sure it'll take Gloria longer than a minute to get back. Someone will recognize the goddess and beg an audience. It happens all the time. If I'm lucky, she'll be detained a long time.

Gloria Estrella is a model. Tall. Beautiful. Rich. She and David became an item when he was playing football. Why they are still together is one of those great mysteries of life. She hates what he does for a living, hates that he lives in San Diego alone instead of L.A. with her and most of all hates that he has a female partner. Or more precisely, she hates me. She met Max not too long ago and got it into her brain that if David insists on doing what he's doing, Max would be a more suitable partner for him. David won't admit it, but I know in my gut she tries to impress that upon him at every turn.

I must have a glazed look on my face, because David leans across the desk and asks, "Seriously, Anna. What's wrong? You look a little green."

I shake off his question with a curt shrug. It would do no good to tell him what's wrong. I've tried before. Now my indigestion is coupled with disgust. So, I ask, "What's she doing in town?"

He gives me a raised eyebrow. "You can't have forgotten. The restaurant grand opening. It's this weekend, remember?" He flourishes a fancy envelope with gold engraving. "Your invitation. We expect you to be there, you know."

I can't keep the aggravation out of my voice. "That'syour surprise?"

The corners of his mouth turn down. "I know you and Gloria don't get along but this is a big deal. She wants you to be there. It's a peace offering."

Gloria is at the door trying to sneak up on us. A tightness in my shoulders puts me on alert. That, and the insipid smile that appears suddenly on David's face.

"And Max, too, if he's in town."

Even expecting it, her voice from the doorway makes me jump, which is a pretty good indication of how she affects me. She dulls all my senses except an overwhelming feeling of revulsion.

I don't bother to swivel around in the chair to face her. David, however, jumps to his feet like an eager puppy and motions for her to take his seat.

She does.

We're face-to-face. Unless I pretend I'm blind, I have no choice but to raise my eyes to hers. I have to look up. Even sitting down, she's tall. My shoulders start to bunch together again.

The last time I saw Gloria, her hair and eyes were dark. Today, hazel contact lenses complement auburn hair touched with silver. The face is the same, though, heart shaped and delicate with flawless skin made even more radiant by artfully applied makeup, subtle makeup. Only a critical woman would notice the paint. I peer at her, searching for an imperfection.

Not even a solitary laugh line.

She knows what I'm doing. She sits without moving and lets me take inventory. She's wearing black slacks and a sweater the color of jade. It's tight. It would be. Got to get your money's worth out of the implants.

I make a vampire note to look her up in thirty years when she's sixty and I'm—the same as I am now.

I'd smile if I didn't hate this woman so much.

She is smiling, though, idiotically, as if the expression on my face was not poisonous. "Hello, Anna. You look much better than the last time I saw you. Your hair is combed. Well, sort of."

Every muscle in my body clenches in preparation for attack. The last time Gloria saw me I was in the hospital, recovering from being beaten, raped, and turned into a vampire. How nice of her to remember how awful I looked.

My jaw locks. Probably a good thing. Forces me to swallow the "fuck you" response that springs to my lips.

David jumps in. "Gloria. Anna had just been assaulted. Did you forget?"

His tone is scolding, but his face betrays how he feels about her. He's so fucking in love, it rolls off him in waves like her obnoxious perfume.

It's disgusting.

She tilts her head as if listening, but her eyes never leave mine. "Oh, that's right. Then she got involved with the doctor that treated her at the hospital. I hear he resigned not long after and disappeared. And what about Max? Seen much of him lately?"

Her implication is obvious. I get a mental picture of throwing Gloria on the carpet and gnawing at her throat like a dog with a bone. The fantasy makes me smile.

"Saw Max just last night," I reply.

"Really?" One perfectly plucked eyebrow jumps skyward. "How is he?"

"Fine." Didn't ask about you, though.

She reaches out a hand and David grabs it. "Then we can expect you both at the opening. It should be so much fun. Lots of celebrities. Lots of good food." She smiles with deadly sweetness. "Oh, and I have a designer friend in town. I told him you might need a dress. You're about a size eight, right?"

Jesus. Used to be an eight before the liquid protein diet. She damn well can tell the difference. Everybody can tell the difference. "Four, actually."

"Really?" Her tone tips beyond disbelief to incredulity.

My jaw is locking up again. "And I can find my own dress, thank you."

I realize my mistake as soon as the words escape my lips.

So does Gloria. "Wonderful. Then you'll come." She bats mascaraed eyelashes up at David. "See, I told you. Now you don't have to be worried you won't know anyone at the party. Anna will be there." Flashing eyes back in my direction. "And Max, too, I hope."

My cell phone chirps, saving me from having to answer. I dive for it in my bag and flip it open.

"Anna Strong."

"Anna, it's Williams."

I rise from the desk and turn my back on the lovebirds. "Are you calling about this morning?"

"No. I figured if I hadn't heard from you, either Fisher was dead or you were."

His tone, however, is light.

"Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Actually, I'm calling about Max." He's serious now, the undertone of humor gone. "I had a talk with Max's boss over at the DEA. He's sending someone over to police headquarters in half an hour. He thinks you should talk to him."

My heart starts pounding an alarm. "Why?"

"Max hasn't checked in for over a month. Not since he quit. They think he's gone rogue."

I don't know what's more shocking—Max quitting the DEA or the idea that he's a rogue agent.

Both concepts are ridiculous. I almost blurt the same out loud. But I stop myself. Gloria and David are watching me. I feel it and when I turn around, sure enough, David's face reflects curiosity, Gloria's reflects the profound hopefulness that this is a permanent summons to somewhere far away.

"I'll be right there." I flip the phone closed. "Sorry. I have to leave. David, I'll check in later, okay?"

He opens his mouth but I'm out the door before he gets a word out. I do catch Gloria muttering "same old, same old," under her breath.

I really hate that bitch.

CHAPTER 7

MAX GONE ROGUE? IT'S BEYOND RIDICULOUS. Yet, I knew something was wrong when I saw him last night. I thought it was fatigue and weariness. Maybe it was guilt that he'd kept something as big as quitting the agency from me. Especially if he was now after Martinez on his own.

Why would he not tell me that?

The drive from the office to SDPD headquarters isn't a long one. Morning commuter traffic, though, is heavy and it's slow going. I have more than enough time to run through every scenario I can think of to explain Max's actions. None of them makes sense.

The lobby of SDPD headquarters is quiet when I arrive. And there's a familiar face behind the counter—Patrolman Ortiz, a fellow vamp who works for Williams. I don't know how old he is in vamp years, we've never had the opportunity to discuss it, but in human terms he looks to be in his early twenties, five foot ten, 160 lean pounds. He's cute with an aquiline nose, dark hair and eyes, and olive skin stretched over high cheekbones. The only creases in his uniform are straight and sharp, and exactly where they're supposed to be.

"You stand up there behind that counter all night?"

He greets me in his usual chivalrous Latin way, with a little bow and a smile. "Good morning, Anna. Williams is waiting for you." Even though we're all alone he leans forward like a conspirator and adds, "Good work this morning. I take it you are unhurt."

I pat my stomach. "Only a raging case of indigestion."

He nods. "I understand. Cleanse yourself as soon as possible."

Fisher's blood roils in my system. I want nothing more than to rid myself of it. Drinking of Ortiz would at least get the bad taste out of my mouth. I get a flash of ravishing him behind the counter, putting some wrinkles in those perfectly ironed slacks. I lean toward him. "Is that an offer? Because I might just take you up on it."

He caught the image, too. He grins and holds up a hand. "I'm afraid my girlfriend would not approve. Not even if I explained it was a favor for a friend." He hands me the code and points deliberately to the elevator. "I will tell Chief Williams you are on the way up."

Girlfriend, huh?Curiosity prompts the next question. Vamp or human?

Human.He mimics my gesture of a moment before, patting his stomach. Keeps me strong and off the streets. You should settle down, too, Anna.

I fear Ortiz has been inducted into the "let's get Anna a human of her own" club. I can't face another lecture. I ward it off by heaving an exaggerated sigh. Okay, okay, I'm on my way.

I sense his amusement and it follows me into the elevator. When the doors slide open on the top floor, Williams is waiting to greet me. He's not laughing, though. He's frowning.

"When did you see Max last?" he asks without preamble.

I catch myself before blurting out the answer. "Why?"

He motions me to follow him to his office. He's changed into formal chief of police mode, tailored gray suit, white shirt and gray-striped silk tie. I can feel him probing my mind, but I learned early on in the vamp game how to close off my thoughts if I need to.

Which is a kind of giveaway in itself to an old soul as powerful as Williams. He waits until we're both seated to comment. "It must have been recently or you wouldn't have asked me to check on him for you. Well, maybe it's just as well that you don't tell me. The Feds have you in their 'bad news' file after what happened with your niece."

Old news. I wonder why he's bringing it up?

That he picks up. "I'm not going to get involved in whatever is going on with Max, Anna. I'll let you handle it on your own."

It's not surprising that the Feds don't like me. I sent an FBI agent away for what I hope amounts to life. But the last part of Williams' statement is. He's always been reluctant to unleash me without being somewhere in the background to mitigate the damage. "Any particular reason why?"

Do you need my help?

I have to consider that a minute. Having an ally in the police department, especially such a powerful one, is something I've come to take for granted. At the same time, this is not the Watcher organization. I follow my own counsel on most things and that can put Williams in a precarious position. So far, he hasn't had to choose between his job and me, though what happened with Trish came close. I don't want that to happen again. Ever.

Idon't know what's going on with Max. That's the truth. I have no problem meeting with the Feds on my own. Do you know anything about the agent they are sending? Is he likely to tell me anything?

Williams shakes his head. The only thing I know is that his name is Foley.He glances at his watch. And he should be here any minute.

We spend the time waiting for Foley by talking about Fisher and what happened on the beach. Williams is satisfied with the way I handled it, a great compliment in itself. He starts to shift the conversation toward a different subject, Avery again, but his phone rings.

Good. I caught the gist of what he was about to say and I don't want to discuss Avery. What happened with the vampire who first seduced and then betrayed me hangs like an ever-present specter between Williams and me. I just want to forget it.

Williams replaces the receiver. Foley is here. He's on his way up.

Williams comes around the desk to stand by me and we wait for the knock that announces Foley's arrival. I don't know what to expect since the last time I had dealings with the Feds it ended badly. So I'm surprised when the guy Williams invites in actually has a smile on his face, a smile that doesn't fade even when Williams introduces us.

The guy holds out a hand. "Name's Matt," he says.

I take his hand and shake it. Briefly. My hands are always cold. "Anna Strong."

If he notices the icy hand, he doesn't remark on it. Williams makes his excuses and leaves us. Foley motions to a chair. He's dressed in traditional Fed garb, dark suit, cream-colored shirt, discreet tie. He's short, shorter than me, probably just made the height requirement, and carries a little extra weight around his middle. He has a good face. Not handsome in the traditional sense, but even featured and square jawed. He looks friendly.Unusual for a Fed.

He watches me as he settles into the chair. "I know about the trouble with your niece. I'm sorry one of our own was involved in it. If you haven't gotten an apology from the Bureau, I'm here now to offer it."

The Bureau? Surprised, I ask, "You're not DEA?"

He shakes his head. "FBI." Before I can comment, he follows with, "You are exactly as I pictured you. Or rather, as Max described you."

Another unexpected revelation. "Max told you about me?"

Foley nods. "Of course. Max and I are friends. I know a lot about you. I know how you and Max came to be acquainted. How it was your contact that supplied the information needed to get Max that job with Martinez."

Okay. I suppose if Foley was Max's friend and a fellow federal agent, he might know about that, know that a skip I caught was a drug runner for Martinez. He used me to leverage a deal with the Feds. Information in return for immunity. It's how Max got his job as Martinez' driver.

But then Foley continues, ticking off the items as if reading from a mental checklist.

"I know that you were a schoolteacher who left education to pursue a rather unusual career path as a bail enforcement agent. I know you have been at odds with your family about that decision, but that they have come to terms with it, probably because of what happened with your niece. I know you have a relationship of some kind with Police Chief Williams, though not the details of that relationship…"

He seems prepared to go on but I hold up a hand to stop him. There would be no reason for Max to share any of this with Foley. "Max told you all that?"

Again, the slow smile. "Not exactly."

Suspicion turns to anger. "Have you been investigating me?"

"It's routine."

"Routine?"

He nods. "You're involved with Max. It's policy to run a background check on anyone close to an agent—especially an undercover agent. Don't look so disapproving. It's for your protection as well."

"Does Max know what you're doing?"

"He set it in motion."

"How?"

"I told you. Anyone involved with an undercover agent comes under scrutiny. Max knows this."

"Scrutiny? Or invasion of privacy?" But the rankling goes deeper. "Max didn't tell meabout this."

Foley sits back in his chair. "You think he should have?"

I don't know what I think. I only know what I feel– anger. What else has Foley found out about me? When I meet his eyes, he seems to read the question reflected in mine.

"Max doesn't know everything," he says quietly. "I didn't see the point in telling him about your lovers—Dr. Avery, that teacher at your mother's school. I will tell him, if I think it necessary."

Foley's kindly demeanor suddenly rings false. The smile is the same, the straightforward manner relaxed and open. But there is an undercurrent. He's playing a game with me. The only consolation is that I get no vibe that he thinks I'm anything other than a female who likes to sleep around.

"What do you want from me?"

"Your help. We need to find Max."

"Is he in trouble? Because I don't believe he quit the agency."

Foley shrugs. "I can only tell you that he hasn't checked in in a month." His eyes narrow a little. "In fact, the last contact we had with Max was the day after he spent the night with you. Do you remember?"

I do. I was chasing the scumbags who exploited my niece at the time—including the one who turned out to be an FBI agent. I knew then something was going on with Max, but I was too involved in my own troubles to follow up on it. Maybe I should have.

I shake off the thought. Max is a successful and resourceful undercover agent for the DEA. He wouldn't have accepted help from me even if I'd offered it.

I look up at Foley. "Why are you here? What is the FBI's involvement?"

"Interdepartmental cooperation."

"Bullshit. I know enough about government bureaucracy to know there is no such thing as 'interdepartmental cooperation.' What's the real reason?"

Foley lets a sigh escape his lips. It comes off as dramatic and practiced, something meant to divert suspicion.

It doesn't. I don't move a muscle and I don't lower my eyes, forcing him to be the one to shift in his seat and look away. He does, finally, pushing himself to his feet. He crosses to the window and says over his shoulder, "Max is a friend. We've known each other a long time. If he's in trouble, I want to help. Before he gets in any deeper."

A friend? Somehow I don't think so. "Gets deeper in what? Isn't he doing his job?"

Foley isn't looking at me. If I wasn't aware that he would surely notice that I cast no reflection in the window he's so determinedly staring out of, I'd jump up and force him to meet my eyes. I don't buy this friendship thing and I don't trust his motives. "You think he's in danger because of Martinez?"

At that, Foley turns. "No, Ms. Strong." He isn't avoiding my eyes this time. "I'd say he's in danger because of you."