Текст книги "Blood Drive"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Forty

I keep running, away from Darryl and his carefully prepared, poisoned lair. Once I get across the freeway bridge, I stop. I don’t have my purse; it’s in Bradley’s car. Which means I don’t have my cell phone to call for a ride or to alert Williams to what’s transpired. The only thing I can do is continue to police headquarters on foot.

The run is actually restorative. I pump my arms to the rhythm of my stride, and by the time I’ve reached my destination, I feel as if I’ve worked all the toxin out of my system. I feel strong and alert and very, very angry.

And as luck would have it, what should I see parked in front of police headquarters but the Fairlane. I peer inside, but as I suspect, Bradley has either ditched my purse somewhere or put it in the trunk. Since I have an overwhelming urge to do violence, I decide to check the trunk. I grip the ridge with both hands and peel back the metal until the trunk is doubled back on itself. I want to rip the thing right off, but somebody might be watching.

My purse is inside, tossed into a corner, to be planted somewhere incriminating, no doubt, when the time is right. I snatch it up, wondering whether to alert Williams that I’m on my way up, or to just appear and watch Bradley squirm.

You can’t go up, Anna.

I whirl around. Casper?

You have to get to Ryan. Bradley suspects he’s at the cottage. He’s on his way there now.

Casper’s voice is different somehow. There’s an urgency I’ve never heard before. I have no way to get there.

From the corner across the street, a car engine sparks to life. I turn again, toward the sound.

Anna, remember what I told you before. You are at a crossroads. The path you choose now determines what you are to become.

For a fleeting moment, excitement overshadows my concerns. I’m going to meet Casper. I must be.

I wait for the car to pull away from the curb.

It doesn’t.

Impatience flares. Damn it, Casper. Come on.

There’s no answer, and no movement from the car. Furious now, I cross the street and jerk the car door open.

The engine is running, the keys dangling from the ignition. The driver’s seat is vacant.

Shit. You can’t keep doing this.

But I know I’ll get no answer. And no satisfaction. I slam into the front seat and peel away from the curb with a screech of tires. I hope this is his car. And that I burn every bit of rubber off the damned tires.

The car is a little Miata, responsive, fast. I dodge morning commuter traffic and head for Mission Beach. When I get to the cottage, I use the alley in back to scope things out. There is a car parked in front of my garage. I pull behind it, blocking the escape route. I don’t recognize the car, a black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows. I wonder who this car belongs to, but I don’t waste much time pondering the question.

I test the back door. It’s locked. I can’t see much through the windows, just into the kitchen and a hallway beyond. I also can’t hear any voices. I’m just about to make my way around the house to the front when the brush of a hand on my arm makes me jump.

I’ve got his throat in my hands before the brain registers that he is no threat and reason takes over. “Jesus, Ryan.” I squeeze him against my chest in a hug of relief and apology. “What are you doing?”

He puts a finger to his lips and gestures toward the house. “That FBI man is here,” he whispers. “He’s got someone with him. He said I should go with them, but I don’t trust him. I told him I had to get my stuff and snuck out the back. I’ve been hiding in the garage, waiting for you.”

An almost parental impulse to remind him that I told him not to let anyone in flares, but it dissipates just as quickly. This is not the time for scolding. Instead, I turn his shoulders and push him toward the gate. “Your instincts are good. Let’s get out of here.”

We duck away from the door and are almost at the car when a shout from above snaps our attention to the balcony outside my bedroom. Bradley is there, his expression one of mingled confusion and rage.

“Stop.” His voice bellows across the yard. He’s fumbling for something under his jacket.

I push Ryan toward the car and we dive inside. A bullet hits just below the windshield and is deflected onto the glass. The safety glass morphs into a starburst, the pattern radiating outward like an intricate spider web.

I shove Ryan down and crank over the engine.

The second shot passes through the glass and slams into the console. It’s almost impossible to see through the windshield now. I put the car in reverse and use the side mirrors to back out of the alley. Once on the street, I punch at the glass until the windshield falls away. People passing on the sidewalk stop and stare. From the corner of my eye, I see Bradley and a second man running down the alley toward us.

My foot slams the accelerator and we’re gone before they reach the road.

For a kid, Ryan keeps his cool. He’s holding onto the panic handle on the car door with a grip that’s turning his knuckles white, but he’s not cowering in the seat or yelling distracting questions or demanding to go home.

I like him more and more.

But what am I going to do with him?

It will be only a matter of minutes before Bradley comes after us. I have to ditch the car. Straight ahead is Belmont Park, home of the Giant Dipper Coaster and the Plunge, a huge saltwater pool. It’s either an eighty-year-old treasure or a past-its-prime eye sore, depending on your point of view. But it’s a busy, crowded amusement park and just what I need.

I pull into the parking lot and look for the right spot. I find it between two big SUV’s. Perfect concealment for the tiny Miata. Ryan and I jump out and I herd him toward the entrance. We don’t go inside, but rather watch from a protected vantage point beside the box office and wait for the black SUV to appear.

It does, almost immediately. But to my relief, instead of pulling into the parking lot, it veers toward

Mission Bay Drive

and downtown.

To Darryl’s, probably. If I’m lucky, the little shit will have bled to death.

Now that the immediate danger has passed, Ryan’s eyes are big with delayed panic. “Where’s the computer?” he asks. “You don’t have it anymore, do you?”

“It’s okay, Ryan.” I put my arm around his shoulder reassuringly. “We don’t need it anymore. I know who’s responsible for the videos.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t think you ever met him. He was a friend of Trish’s mom.”

His shoulders tense. “It wasn’t Trish’s stepfather, was it?”

There’s a tone in his voice that hasn’t been there before. It’s bitter and full of recrimination. “Stepfather?”

He narrows his eyes. “Trish called him her dad. But I knew he wasn’t. I overheard her mother talking to him once when she didn’t know I was around.”

“What did you hear?”

“Trish’s mom was warning him to stay away from her and he laughed and said why? Since they weren’t blood, what was the problem? It made me sick.”

It makes me sick, too. And angry all over again. What Trish has gone through is loathsome. Carolyn is dead, and I have no idea who the stepfather is. But Bradley and Darryl are very much alive and I make a silent oath that they will pay.

Chapter Forty-One

But right now, I have a problem. I can’t let Ryan go home and I can’t keep him with me. That leaves one alternative.

The cab picks us up in front of Belmont Park. Ryan looks surprised when I tell the driver where we want to go, but once again, he doesn’t ask questions. His faith in me touches my heart.

When we approach the door to Frey’s magical headquarters, I touch Ryan’s arm. “Follow me,” I say. “You might feel something funny, like passing through damp spider webs, but it’s okay.”

His eyes widen. He’s looking past me to the garden. “There isn’t anything back there. Where are we going?”

I answer by stepping through the barrier. His expression stills and he holds out a hand toward the invisible curtain, unable to believe what has happened. At the feel of the curtain on his skin, he yanks his hand away. I hear his voice as if from a great distance. “Anna?”

I step back through.

“What happened? Where did you go?”

I smile. “It’s all right, Ryan. I can’t explain it. I don’t know how it works. But I’m taking you to Trish. You just have to trust me.”

His eyes dart over my shoulder. “Trish is in there?”

I nod.

He looks around at the people passing by on the sidewalk and leans toward me. “And they won’t see us?”

“No.” I remember how Frey explained it to Trish. “It’s a secret government facility.”

Ryan’s expression brightens. “Wow. This is really cool.”

And this time, he doesn’t wait for me to go first.

***

Trish and Ryan have their heads together, talking in excited whispers, while Frey and I stand outside the little office.

“Are you sure it was a good idea to bring him here?” Frey asks, watching.

I shake my head. “I’m not sure of anything except that Ryan needs to be protected.”

He motions for me to follow him and I do. We end up in Williams’s office down the hall. When he hears about everything that happened in the hours since he left me, he frowns.

“I should have stayed with you. I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “You can make it up to me. I’m going after Bradley and Darryl. I need your help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

I shoot him a hard look. “I want you to turn yourself into a panther.”

He lets a growl escape his throat. A very convincing growl. “No problem. What else?”

“Garlic. You’re not affected by it, are you?”

***

I ask Frey to borrow a car from one of the psychics on duty. Preferably, I tell him, an old one. I can’t be sure what condition it will be in when we return it.

He has no trouble securing one, which I take as a good sign. After all, a psychic should know whether lending her car to a stranger is a good idea or not.

Once we’re on the road, Frey asks about the plan.

“Plan?”

His lips pucker with annoyance. “You don’t have one?”

“Oh, you bet I do,” I snap. “We go in, tear Darryl’s heart out, and destroy the computer and anything else we find that has any link to Trish. Then we burn down the scumbag’s house and go after Bradley.”

He grins. “Works for me.”

I glance over at him. “You know I never suspected Darryl to be a part of this. He’s different on his home turf. Either that or he’s a damn good actor. Is he the reason you came to San Diego? You suspected he was taking over his dad’s business?”

Frey shakes his head. “I never met Darryl in Boston. If I had, I damn sure would have recognized him the other day. His last name is different from his father’s, too. Probably changed it when he moved here.”

I wait a moment. “Things become uncomfortable for you in Boston? Darryl mentioned something about your coming under suspicion there because you seemed to know too much.”

He sniffs. “That was Bradley’s doing, I’m sure. But yes, a rumor went around that I had made a deal to extricate myself by turning on Darryl’s father. The truth was, I learned about him the same way I learned about Trish. One of his victims was a student at my school. She attempted suicide. Her best friend came to me and told me why. I did some investigating, contacted the Feds and they got him.”

The same story I heard from Darryl. I glance at Frey. His expression is harsh. “But you left Boston.”

“Our school board was very conservative. I didn’t have much of a future there once the rumors started flying. It didn’t matter that they were unsubstantiated. But the one concession they made was to let me resign with the promise of a good recommendation. It’s how I got my job here.”

He lapses into silence, but after a moment, he adds softly. “You know this is not going to be the end of it for Trish. Her videos are already out there.”

I know it. I just don’t want to hear myself say that I know it. I shrug. “I just hope Darryl kept good records. I’ll track every scumbag customer if it takes the rest of my life.”

The absurdity of that remark makes Frey laugh. And I know why.

Sometimes I forget what I am.

We’re approaching Darryl’s street. Frey starts to undress, pulling his shirt over his head, skimming out of his slacks. He sees me watching and grins.

“It’s easier on my wardrobe to do this now. And I’ll need something to change into later, right?”

Last night I didn’t really pay attention to Frey’s body, I was too busy wondering if I was about to become dinner. Today, it’s different. I take a quick, involuntary appraisal. Frey’s chest and shoulders are broad, powerful looking, his arms and thighs well muscled and firm.

“Damn, Frey. I’m impressed.”

He slips Gucci loafers off his feet and flips them into the back seat. The only thing he has on now is a pair of very brief briefs. When he looks at me, an intense physical awareness prickles my skin.

I arch an eyebrow and wait.

“This is as far as I go on a first date,” he says.

I blow out a puff of air and wait for my heartbeat to return to normal and the heat to dissipate from my skin.

What the hell am I thinking?

I pull over at the corner of Darryl’s block, dragging my thoughts back from the abyss, and tell Frey which house is his. “I’ll go in through the front, get him to come outside so you can sneak in the back.”

If he caught my momentary lapse into sexual fantasyland, he doesn’t show it. He simply nods and looks around. “I won’t make the change until I get into his yard. It’s pretty quiet around here. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“You can get over these fences?”

“Like a cat.”

He steps out of the car and disappears faster than I would have anticipated. In a moment, I hear the frantic barking of a dog a few door down. Then a yelp of pain and silence. I don’t want to know what made it stop.

Chapter Forty-Two

I park a few houses down from Darryl’s and climb out of the car, pocketing the keys. It’s oddly quiet in the neighborhood for a weekday morning. No commuters on their way to work, no children waiting for school busses on the corner. I see the edge of a drape in a living room window rise and fall as I pass by on the sidewalk, but as long as I keep moving, I don’t seem to be attracting any undue attention.

It’s quiet in front of Darryl’s place, too. I expect to see the Chevy Suburban from the cottage parked in front, but it’s not here. Darryl’s garage door remains open, though, and the VW inside. I’m pleased that we’ll find him at home.

I glance at the gate. It’s secured by a heavy chain and an industrial sized padlock. It doesn’t take much effort to kick it free. And the noise produced when the gate crashes onto the driveway has the desired effect.

Darryl steps out of the front door.

He stares at me. His face reflects neither surprise nor anger, but rather mild curiosity. His shirt and jeans are spotted with blood that smells damp even from this distance. Ordinarily, that would be enough to trigger the hunger. But the cloying stink of garlic overpowers the scent of blood.

Until I see Frey, I know I will have to keep as far away from Darryl as I can.

He moves, finally, a small half-turn, as though preparing to go back inside. But instead, when he faces me again, he has a gun in his hand. He looks at it, then at me.

“I know this can’t kill you,” he says thoughtfully, as if speaking more to himself than to me. “But I imagine it hurts to get shot.” He chambers a round and aims for my chest.

I dive for the ground as the bullet rips into the concrete. I roll away as the second shot slams into the ground inches from my head. I’m up and at him before he gets the third shot off.

It’s a weak hit, the garlic stops me like an invisible force field. But it’s enough to knock him off balance and into the living room. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to dislodge the gun from his hand. I jump away from him, back into a corner, crouch to await his next move.

He gets up slowly, smiling. “I heard from Bradley a few minutes ago. He was surprised to see you. Said it was bad luck for me that I let you get away. Well, maybe I’ve got a second chance to make it right. I bet I can shoot you in a lot of painful places. You might just become cooperative enough to tell us where you took Trish and that friend of hers.”

He raises the gun and takes aim. I tense, ready to leap out of range. Where the hell is Frey?

The shot reverberates like a cannon in the small room. But the bullet goes wide and high, raining a dust storm of ceiling plaster down on my head. Darryl starts to scream. The dust is thick enough to prevent me from seeing what’s happening, but the sound of bones snapping makes it clear.

“Don’t kill him,” I tell Frey. “At least not yet.”

The dust is settling a little, so I step around to the windows and throw back the drapes. I open the windows, too. There are two besides the one I dove through earlier. Sunlight and fresh air stream in. There’s a ceiling fan dangling precariously overhead, Darryl’s shot loosened the plaster around it. Can’t flip that one on. But there’s also a fan sitting on the floor in the next room. I bring it into the living room, plug it in, and let a flow of cool air clear away the last of the dust.

Frey, in his panther form, is snarling into Darryl’s frightened face. He’s knocked him on his back, and the sound I heard must have been the snapping of an arm that Darryl now cradles against his chest. The gun has skittered somewhere out of sight.

Darryl is whimpering and trying to scoot backwards away from Frey. But like a cat stalking a mouse, the panther moves with him, not making a sound, watching with quiet intensity, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you,” I tell Darryl. “He’ll bite your head right off.”

As if to prove the point, Frey snaps his jaws.

Darryl yelps and cringes back.

I put a hand on Frey’s head. “I’m going to take a look around. If he moves, kill him.”

Frey nuzzles my palm and resumes his vigil.

I find what I’m looking for in one of the back bedrooms-three computers with all the necessary hard and software to turn out the stack of DVDs and VHS tapes that line the floor. Some are already packaged for mailing, others sit in their jackets. There are a dozen piles. Just about the number of videos they forced Trish to make.

I kick at the stuff on the floor, scattering and stomping until I’ve reduced as much as possible to shards of plastic and ribbons of tape.

But my rage is far from satisfied.

I return to the living room.

“Bite him,” I tell Frey. “His leg.”

Darryl starts to scream before Frey sinks fangs into the calf muscle of his right leg. I watch as Frey closes his jaw and shakes his head, worrying at the leg as a cat would a bird. I let it go on for a full minute, before I call him off.

Frey backs away, eyes bright, sniffing at the blood pooling under Darryl.

I squat down beside Frey, lay a gentle hand on his head, and turn my attention to Darryl. “You remember how this works, don’t you, Darryl? I ask you a question, and you give me an answer. Only this time, it won’t be me biting you if I don’t like what I hear. It will be my little friend here.”

Darryl’s eyes are dull with fear. They’re locked on the jungle cat, never shifting away, when he asks, “What do you want to know?”

“Were there other girls besides Trish?”

He shakes his head, and at the movement, Frey tenses and growls. Darryl freezes, his voice barely a whisper when he answers, “No. Just Trish.”

“Who are the men with Trish in the video?”

Darryl closes his eyes. When he doesn’t respond, I wave a hand. “The other leg.”

His eyes pop open, “No. Please. I’ll tell you.”

I stop Frey with a nod.

Darryl wipes at his face with his good hand. “I met them at a bar. They’re college students. They go with me sometimes to Beso de la Muerte. They were there the last time. You know, when I was with you.”

I do remember. The two at the bar. “Names.”

He spouts them off, and I sort them away, conjuring up their faces in my head. I know I’ll recognize them when I see them again.

“Where do they live?”

“An apartment near SDSU.

6300 Montezuma Road

.”

“Good.” I pat his leg, the good one. “So far, so good. Now, what happened with Barbara Franco? Who killed her?”

Darryl’s voice becomes a whine. “It was a mistake. We only wanted to scare her into keeping quiet.”

“We?”

“Me and the guys on the video. We picked her up on the way to school and took her out to the desert. But she wouldn’t listen. She kept fighting. One of the guys took off his belt and started hitting her. Then he put it around her neck. It was over so fast. She just died.”

“And then the sick fucks had their fun with her, didn’t they?” It’s my own voice but from a place I don’t recognize. The fury is back.

Frey hears it, too, and muscles ripple under the dark fur as a low growl emanates from his chest. He bares his teeth and growls.

I want to let him finish it. But there is one more thing.

“The people who buy your videos. I want to know who they are.”

“It’s all on the computer. I can get it for you.”

The answer comes too quickly.

“I’m not stupid, Darryl. What did you do, fix the computer so you could delete everything if you needed to?”

He lapses into silence.

I think about my conversation with Max. “I think I have the solution. I’ll take the computers with me and turn them over to Chief Williams. His experts will get what we need.”

Darryl’s eyes narrow. “But if you do that, they’ll get the videos, too. It’s all there. Everything that we did with Trish. Do you want to take the chance that somebody might make a copy?”

No. I don’t. The idea that the scum who bought those tapes would get away with it and move on to other victims turns my blood to ice. On the other hand, exposing Trish to more humiliation if she’s made to go to court to testify against any of them is just as bad.

Darryl smiles at my distress, knowing the reason for it. The smug expression on his face is too much. It makes me angry enough to forget about the garlic infusing his blood. I don’t know what kind of effect drinking from him will have, but in a flash of anger, I don’t care. I bend over him, growling, and actually have the skin of his neck in my teeth when Frey lashes out with a paw. The blow sends me tumbling off Darryl. In a flash, I’m back.

Like animals fighting over a bone, Frey and I face off. I want to finish Darryl. Drain him. Make him die screaming. I want it so badly I’m willing to fight Frey for him. Every muscle in my body, every cell prepares to do battle. I’m on all fours, like the panther, and the sounds coming from my throat are as ferocious as the ones coming from his.

A spark of something human flashes in Frey’s eyes. He is snarling, lips curled back to expose fangs as long and sharp as daggers, but he doesn’t advance. He watches me, motionless. His breathing becomes soft susurration, the only sound in the room. Next to us, Darryl lays frozen in terror, his heartbeat so frenetic it echoes in my ear as if it were my own.

A voice I barely recognize erupts from my own mouth. “I want to end it.”

Frey moves so fast, I have no time to react. He breaks Darryl’s neck with one snap of powerful jaws.

And for Darryl, it’s over.