Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between (22 page)

Disco reached past my head and pulled a clean cloth from the shelf inside the stall. He held it under the soft rain from the shower and ran it along my back in soothing, circular motions. He cleansed each surface thoroughly, taking extra care as he ran the cloth along the soreness between my legs. He was gentle, removing the traces of himself and my virginity.

Being with him like this felt more intimate then our time shared in the bedroom. When he finished with my body, he started on my hair, massaging the floral scented shampoo into the thick strands and helping me rinse it clean. Then, he embraced me in the shelter of his arms, his chin resting atop my head in the steaming shower. His hands teased the skin at my back, and I gripped his waist as we swayed back and forth in the stall.

I didn’t know what tomorrow held for either of us, but for the first time, I really didn’t care.

I was ready to start living again.

To hell with the consequences.

This is what it was like to be young and completely enamored. I felt as if a part of me remained behind when I climbed into the car and started my trek home. I didn’t want to leave and would have remained with Disco all day if I didn’t need things like a toothbrush, deodorant, fresh underwear, and clean clothes.

I cringed when I replayed the second message for clarity. If I wanted to keep my job, I had to put in some serious ass kissing effort.

I was starving, a ravenous appetite returning at a bad time. I still hadn’t been shopping, and the kitchen was empty. Digging through the cabinets didn’t help. I didn’t even have an emergency can of soup in the cupboard. I walked down the hall and into my bedroom, yanking off my sweater along the way. I would get some shopping done, call Goose while I was at the market, and after I brought everything back home, I’d go back to Disco’s.

I intentionally chose clothing Disco would approve of, deciding to wear the soft grey cotton sweater that fell to my hips and the tattered blue jeans I wore in high school. I slid on new underwear and quickly dressed before rushing to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I was looking at myself in the mirror, affixing the clip to keep my French twist in place, when I recognized the face from Jacob’s vision. My reflection mirrored the horror I experienced with the epiphany. My mouth gaped and eyes grew wide. How could I have forgotten those jade green eyes and that dark skinned face? Jacob had said he was in a plain black suit, just as I’d seen him dressed after Jude Mason’s party.

I had looked the bastard dead in the eye.

Rushing into to the living room, I paced the circle formed by my recliner, sofa, and coffee table. I thought about the little boy held aloft in Max Starkey’s arms, and tried not to imagine what a vampire like Joseph would do if his parents were somehow involved.

Should I tell Disco? That would be the intelligent thing to do, and he would have to know eventually. Still, I couldn’t shake the image of the sick child from my mind, or the way his parents looked at him. He was just a kid. I couldn’t knowingly lead vengeful vampires to his doorstep.

I decided to call Goose. His home machine picked up and I disconnected before prompted to leave a message. I tried his cell with the same result, annoyed when it clicked over to voice mail. I left him a brief message, explaining he should call as soon as he could. Slamming the phone back into the cradle, I crammed my pockets with my keys, money, and cell, and started for the door.

I froze, hand on the knob.

There was something else I might need.

I returned to my bedroom and pulled down the little black box on the top shelf of my closet. My Ruger was already loaded and the extra magazine was full. I attached the holster to my jeans and slid the gun inside, placing the extra clip in my pocket. I had to dig out the manufacturer’s warranty papers to find my license. I shoved it into my back pocket and hoped like hell I wouldn’t need to explain why I was carrying a firearm.

I left my apartment and headed for the subway. I was anxious the entire trip, and made a conscious effort to keep my arms crossed and my sweater down so no one would notice the gun on my hip. When I came to my stop, I tried to picture the conversation I was about to have with Max Starkey. He had to know how dangerous this shit was, and I had to know exactly what the hell was going on.

I didn’t hesitate when I reached the glass doors that announced I’d found my realtor’s heaven, pushing on the lever and striding confidently inside. It was a nice clean space, not too frou-frou or uptight.

The receptionist looked up from her computer, her friendliness evaporating like water on hot summer asphalt when she got one good look at me.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Max Starkey.” I lifted my chin and smirked at her.

Her arrogance wavered ever so slightly. She couldn’t tell if I was legitimate or not. “May I have your name?”

“Janet Hamlin. Tell him Jude Mason introduced us. He’ll know who I am.” I kept a straight face. If this didn’t work, I was sure I could take Bertha Sue. Too bad I didn’t bring a box of Twinkies to distract her.

She lifted the phone to her ear and pressed a button, watching me the entire time. I considered picking my nose, just to see how she’d respond.

“Mr. Starkey? There’s a Janet Hamlin here to see you… She says a Jude Mason introduced you. Yes sir. I’ll send her in.” She informed me with a clipped voice, “He’ll see you.”

I didn’t ask where he was, strolling past her desk, toward the doors situated along the back. Each of them had little nameplates screwed into the wood and I glided past until I found his name emblazoned in gold plating.

Bingo.

Max was seated behind his desk, and still had his hand on the telephone, when I walked in. “Ms. Hamlin,” he said politely and gestured to an empty chair. “Would you please close the door behind you and take a seat?”

He looked completely professional, as relaxed and courteous as he did at the tasting. His suit was understated but expensive, the light blue tie matching the tiny stitching on the pinstripes perfectly. His dark skin and deep brown eyes gave me the same impression I had the first time around. He was boyishly handsome and appeared as trustworthy as an eighty-year-old school teacher. Goose was right. Appearances certainly were deceiving.

“Sure.” I put my best smile forward as I closed the door and slid into the chair across from him. I nested into the comfortable leather seat.

“What can I do for you?” He remained polite and smiling. Not what I had expected. He returned to his seat and leaned back, the chair creaking as the springs shifted under his weight.

“I’m here to ask you some questions,” I responded, equally cordial.

“Regarding?”

Well hell. I’d had this all planned out, and then he went and screwed it up. He wasn’t playing into the asshole mold I’d prepared for, and I couldn’t do the good cop bad cop routine. I decided to go with blunt force honestly. You can’t beat it.

“What can you tell me about the market for vampire hearts?”

“Pardon?” His friendly smile faltered and he looked at me as if I’d lost my gourd.

He was good, real good.

I repeated myself, “Vampire hearts. You know what I’m talking about, so don’t try to deny it.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Ms. Hamlin, I assure you, I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about.” He sounded offended and confused. His voice lost the friendliness that was present just a second before. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring black market business into my office. Please leave.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” I shook my head and lurched toward his desk. We were finally getting somewhere. “You know what I’m talking about. I saw your driver, Max. I saw him through the eyes of a dead man.”

“Are you on drugs?” he asked, mortified.

“No, I am not on drugs,” I snapped. How did I become the weirdo here? He was the one living a macabre version of Driving Miss Daisy. “But I do see dead people. One of the vampires you killed paid me a visit.”

“I think you need professional help.” Max pushed his chair back slowly and rose to his feet.

“Wait.” I took a deep, calming breath. Count to ten. Breathe in. Breathe out. “If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then tell me this. Why did you get into the car with the man I’m talking about?”

“What man?”

“The man from the party. I saw you and Carolyn get into the car with him.”

“The car—” His expression changed as the light bulb went off in his head. He stared at me distastefully. “My son has been gravely ill, Ms. Hamlin. That’s why my wife and I attended the party in the first place. As you can probably imagine, we were eager to get home that evening. When Mrs. Gilstead offered us the use of her car and driver, we graciously accepted.” His lips thinned. “If you have questions about the driver, I’d take them up with her. I would suggest you try a different approach, however. This one won’t win you any contests.”

“I don’t remember a Mrs. Gilstead,” I said like a moron. At least my instincts were correct. I’d rather look like a lunatic than find out the Starkey’s were responsible.

“You were introduced to her.” He eyed me like a nasty piece of toilet paper that stuck to his shoe on the way out the john. I really had to work on my presentation and delivery.

“I was introduced to several people, but Mrs. Gilstead was not one of them.” I sorted through my mental vault and couldn’t recall anyone with that name. If she was there, I was positive our paths had never crossed.

“She and her husband Timothy were standing with us when Jude introduced you, Ms. Hamlin. I remember clearly.” He paused, then added, “You don’t seem to be functioning on a rational level, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Timothy,” I breathed. My own light bulb went off, accompanied by a mind numbing alarm. I remembered. Ms. Hardbody and her husband with slate grey eyes and hair reminiscent of George Hamilton. “Timothy and Sarah Gilstead.”

“That’s right.” He nodded but frowned at my expression. “Are you all right?

“Yeah, yeah,” I stammered, standing and stumbling around the chair. I had to get out of here. Disco needed to know what I’d learned, and I had to speak to Goose.

“Are you sure?” He came around the desk and reached for me. I threw my hands up and he stepped back, eyes flaring wide.

“Listen to me, Max.” I spoke quietly and looked him dead in the eye. “You might think I’m crazy, and that’s fine. You don’t have to believe a word of what I’m about to tell you. But if you love your family, you’ll take what I say to heart.” I pressed into his personal space, speaking clearly. “Stay away from the Gilstead’s. They are into some heavy shit, and you don’t want to be in the middle. I promise you.”

“You’re not talking about the tasting, are you?” A well-founded fear crept into his voice. Good man. He was starting to believe I wasn’t some crazy loon paying a social call.

I shook my head and never broke eye contact. “I’m not talking about blood or anything else that’s consensual. Your friends are murdering people—
my
people. And you don’t want to be involved with my people, Max. They’re the type to bleed you dry and leave your corpse to rot. When the reckoning comes”—I lifted my hand and made an arch, pointing across the room—”you’ll want to be way the fuck over there. Do you feel me?”

“Yes,” he answered in a hoarse croak.

I nodded in approval, turned around and opened the door, and stepped into the hall. I walked past the receptionist, smiling at her shocked face when she told me in a superficial voice to have a nice day, and I gave her a parting gift—my middle finger.

Retrieving my cell, I dialed Goose. His voicemail clicked over and I was forced to do the most annoying, rude, and discourteous thing anyone can with a phone.

I spammed him.

I kept calling his number, over and over. On the fifth try, I heard the click that indicated he’d pushed talk.

“Rhiannon?” He sounded as if he’d intentionally muffled his voice so someone else couldn’t hear. “I planned on calling you after I finished here, but when you kept calling, I was afraid something was wrong.”

“Where are you?” I was out of breath from jogging along. I stopped on the sidewalk and waited, not hearing him well through the speaker.

He didn’t answer right away. “I’m following a lead.”

“Tell me you are not going after Timothy Gilstead.”

When he didn’t respond, I had my answer. My chest constricted with panic and I tasted bitterness rising from my stomach.

“Listen to me. The man that killed Jacob works for them. You have to get out of there, right now. Do you understand? Get the fuck out of there!”

“Are you serious?” He spat into the phone, voice low.

“Would I fucking lie?” I snapped. “That night we left the tasting I saw Max and Carolyn Starkey getting into a limo. Their driver was the same person that killed Jacob. I don’t know why I didn’t place him immediately, but it’s him. He was even wearing the same fucking suit.”

“Then we need to pay a visit to Max and Carolyn—”

I cut him off. “I already did. It wasn’t their car or driver. Sarah Gilstead said they could use the limo to get home to their son.” I dodged people on the sidewalk, cursing in annoyance. “Leave whatever you’re doing and meet me at Disco’s. This shit can’t wait.”

“I’m leaving now.” Wind crept into the phone and I could barely hear his last two words. “Be careful.”

“You be careful.” I could take care of myself, but Goose was a walking target. “I’ll see you at Disco’s.”

I hung up the phone and hurried to hail a cab. The sooner I got to Disco, the better. I walked to the street to flag down a yellow submarine when something shoved against my lower back and a hand grasped my arm from behind. I opened my mouth, prepared to give a good tongue chewing to whoever was moronic enough to push me.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” a deep male voice spoke into my ear. “The tazer I’m holding against your spine will incapacitate you. We can do this without resorting to that, but if you push your luck, I’ll be forced to use that option.”

“Who are you?” I tried to get a look at the face behind the voice, but failed. “And what the fuck do you want?”