Eternal (21 page)

She made a face. “Burnett doesn't like that theory.”

“Fine, we'll ask.”

“Is that how you work with the Vampire Council?” She grabbed the opportunity to move the conversation toward the council.

He made a get-real face. “The Vampire Council doesn't micromanage like Burnett. You'd think you were his daughter.”

“So they don't care about you.”

“They care, they just trust me to get the job done without overseeing every little detail.”

She started walking again. “I imagine when I'm a full-fledge agent, instead of just a junior part-timer, it will be the same.” She couldn't stop herself from defending Burnett, but then added, “But I'm looking forward to meeting them.”

When he didn't respond, she looked at him. “When do you suppose that will be?”

“When what will be?” he asked, and she recognized her own tactic of answering a question with a question.

“Now who's doing it?” she asked. He feigned innocence. “Meeting the Vampire Council,” she answered directly. “When is it going to happen?”

“I wasn't aware that was set in motion.”

“Oh, I just assumed since they had a hand in our work, I'd meet them just like you've met with Burnett.”

“I could look into it,” he said. “But I have a feeling Burnett wouldn't approve.”

“What Burnett doesn't know won't kill him,” she answered.

“But you want to ask him about moving your curfew. How does that make sense?”

“He'd know I stayed out late,” she said, pointing out the difference. “He doesn't have to know—”

“I still think he'll have a shit fit about me keeping you out late and he's going to say no.”

“A shit fit never killed anyone. And we won't know until we ask.”

“Which brings me back to my point,” he said. “Let's ask him about you meeting the Vampire Council.”

“No,” she said.

Chase's brows tightened, and a thin line—a worry line, perhaps—appeared between his eyes. She got the distinct feeling that it wasn't just Burnett who didn't approve of her meeting the Vampire Council. Was there a reason Chase didn't want her meeting them?

Could it be because she was right? Her uncle was part of the organization? Her uncle, whom she believed murdered her aunt?

And Chase knew it.

She recalled her pinkie promise to Miranda. To discover if Chase was more of a toad or a prince. Right now, the Panty Perv was looking more and more like he ate grasshoppers for supper.

*   *   *

Burnett handed them a picture of Liam Jones. “He's a good kid. No criminal history. Was going to college to be an engineer. He's part African-American and part white. He lived with his mother.”

Della looked at the image, and while it had been too dark to see his face in the vision she'd had, she somehow knew this was the right Liam.

Chase stared at the image, and Della could tell he felt it, too. This was their Liam. He looked up at Burnett. “By the way, we'll need a later curfew tonight.”

Burnett's expression hardened. “How late?”

“As late as it takes,” Chase said, looking back at the image. She could tell he almost felt a bond with Liam. Not that she could blame him, she sort of felt one toward Natasha as well. Feeling as if you were in their skin, in their head, sort of did that to you.

“We'll be fine,” Della added. “You know we can take care of ourselves.”

“Being stronger and faster doesn't make you invincible.” Oh, boy, Della had heard that one about a hundred times since she'd been Reborn.

“It almost does,” Chase argued.

Della inwardly cringed. That wasn't the right thing to say. She cut Chase a look of warning.

“And that tells me why I can't trust you.”

“Do you want us to look for Liam or not?” Chase asked.

Burnett contemplated it for a few long, silent seconds. But he wasn't going to stay silent long. He never did.

“Yes,” he said, firmly, “but I'll assign another agent to accompany you for that portion of the evening.”

Chase leaned forward. “I hate to argue with you, but I did some checking. There's a couple of supernatural gangs that hang out around there. Young, teen gangs. We don't need some old fart hanging out with us. They'll blow our cover right off the bat.”

Burnett's eyes got brighter. “I'll go myself.”

“And my point remains the same.” Chase crossed his arms over his chest.

Holy shit!
Had Chase just called Burnett an old fart?

Della held her breath, afraid Burnett would call off the whole mission.

Burnett's eyes brightened and she saw him clamp his jaw shut as if to keep from going bonkers on Chase's ass. “I'll send a younger agent.”

Chase exhaled. “We really don't—”

“I. Will. Send. A. Younger. Agent.” Burnett's dark and very loud voice left it clear that it wasn't up for debate.

When Chase settled back in his chair, Burnett continued, in a more normal voice. “I'll call with details when I have them.”

“Fine.” Chase rose and started out. Della got just out of the office and looked back at the still-pissed Burnett. She let Chase get out of the front door and then she stuck her head back in the door. “I don't think you look like an old fart. He hasn't ever seen you without your shirt.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I think.” He stood up. “Be careful. And watch him, he might be even more of a wild card than you.”

“I will.”

*   *   *

A radio was on inside the Owen house. But again, it appeared as if no one was home. Or someone inside was sleeping with such low breathing they couldn't pick it up. Della took in a noseful of air. She had to bypass Chase's clean scent to see if she could pick up any traces of human.

It was there. “I smell…”

“I know, but I smelled it yesterday, too,” Chase said. “They probably have a workout room and it's filled with sweat. Haven't you ever been to a human gym? The smell is almost overpowering.”

Della hadn't been in a gym since she'd become vampire. Cutting him a look, she wondered why he would go to the gym. The machinery wasn't strong enough to offer a vampire a real workout. Then she remembered why most guys go to gyms: to meet hot girls.

She gave the door a good hard knock again. They stood another couple of minutes at the kelly green front door with no answer. Della reached back and twisted her ponytail, the hair band from the Camaro's glove compartment again.

On the drive here, Chase had tried to start a conversation, but she'd avoided it. She was still stuck on the possibility that Chase might actually know her uncle.

“We have choices,” Chase said and took a few steps back to look up.

“What kind of choices?” Della asked, fighting off the wave of disappointment as well as the overwhelming sadness—the same one she'd felt when they'd been here yesterday. Was it the home? Or was it the ghost?

“We could go inside and see if we find any pictures that might tell us for sure if Natasha Owens is our girl.”

“I think that's called breaking and entering,” Della said.

“Just entering,” he said. “I saw an upstairs window that's open. And we'd hear if a car pulled up.”

She considered Burnett's parting words about Chase being a wild card. But the temptation lingered.

“It's not as if we're going to steal anything,” he added.

She backed up and looked up at the second-story window, raised a good four inches. Oh, hell, what was the worst that could happen?

You could get caught, arrested, and then for sure your dad will pull you from Shadow Falls.

Her mind flashed an image of Natasha and Liam. Okay, was that the ghost? Or was it just her accepting that sometimes you just had to take risks? “Let's do it.”

 

Chapter Twenty-three

“Or maybe we shouldn't do it,” Della added a second later, when she realized what they were about to do was really a crime. And at seventeen she could be tried as an adult.

Chase cut his eyes to her. “Do you want to wait outside?”

“No,” she snapped, feeling as if he was calling her a coward.

He looked around and tilted his head to the side as if to confirm no cars were coming.

“Then let's do it.” He leapt up, caught the windowsill, let go with one hand, and then lifted the window up. Only after he'd climbed in did she jump up.

She caught the windowsill and Chase offered a hand. She ignored it and pulled herself into the room. A game room. A large brown leather sofa cornered the room and a large television sat in the other. A treadmill and a set of weights were set to the side, which she hoped explained why the scent of human was so strong.

Music, a Dido song, piped into the room from two speakers in the ceiling. Della looked around at the nice interior, feeling the sense of sadness even stronger in here than outside. She glanced around for any personal photos, but other than a few prints of wildlife, nothing hung on the wall.

Chase walked to the door, slowly opened it, and started moving down the hall. Della, feeling like a criminal, crept behind him. He appeared to be heading down the stairs, but her gaze shifted to the hall wall that was lined with what looked like family photos.

“Look,” Della whispered, still feeling edgy. Her gaze shifted from the two parents—one American and the father looked at least part Asian—to a young girl. Natasha. Her heart sang a little victory song.

“It's her,” Della said. “I knew it.”

“Okay,” Chase said. “Now we know her name is Natasha Owen. Let's see if we can find her bedroom and see if there are any clues in there that might help us.”

He moved to the first door on the right and opened it. A bedroom. Decorated in soft cream colors, the room looked devoid of personality. The bed appeared freshly made or perhaps never slept in. Guest bedroom, Della surmised, and both she and Chase stepped back at the same time. The door made a slight clink when he shut it.

The next room he opened sent a warm wash of emotion over Della. Painted and decorated in bright purple with whitewashed furniture, it had teen written all over it. Even the bedspread, a brighter purple, screamed that this room had been lived in by a young person. Someone who loved life and lived it with gusto.

This was it. Natasha's room. Della knew it.

Three pairs of shoes were scattered around the room, jeans and some blouses were piled in one corner as if the last time Natasha was here, she hadn't been sure what to wear and had changed clothes several times.

Had she been going on a date? Or going out for pizza with her friends? Oddly, standing in the room, Della felt bits and pieces of Natasha's personality seep into her pores. A few CDs were on the dresser. She loved music. Maybe even to dance.

Pushing the crazy thoughts away, she started doing what they'd come in here to do: to see if they could find any clues.

The bed wasn't made, as if the world had stopped the day she had gone missing—or as her parents saw it, the day she died.

For one second, Della remembered how her mom hadn't touched her room after she left for Shadow Falls. Was that a sign of love?

On the bedside table was an eight-by-ten photo of Natasha and two other girls, all laughing and capturing a moment of happiness, of friendship.

Della moved closer to the picture and thought of her two friends Miranda and Kylie. Were these Natasha's best friends? Had they too been devastated at what they thought was her death?

Picking up the frame, Della recalled the few friends she'd left behind in her old life. Oddly, they hadn't been nearly as important to her as Miranda and Kylie.

Pulling herself out of her past, she noted another picture of the three girls with graduation caps sitting on all of the girls' heads. Natasha was older than Della had originally thought. That, or she'd finished school early.

She put one picture down to pick up the other. Natasha's face drew her attention. There was something … almost familiar about it. And it was more than just having seen it in the photo with Chan and her aunt.

The sound of Chase opening drawers and rummaging through things behind her called her attention. She got a big sensation that they were intruding on the parents' personal shrine to their daughter, and she put the picture back down, almost wishing she hadn't even touched them.

She glanced back at Chase. “Don't move things around too much,” she said, sensing the mom or dad came in here often and had memorized the placement of all their daughter's things. Things that told of her life.

“I'm just looking for anything that might give us something to help find her.”

Della didn't know what that something would be, but being here felt right, almost as if the ghost had led them here. On top of a dresser was a picture of a man. Dark hair, slanted eyes. Della was almost certain it was the same man in the family photo that hung in the hall.

Funny how Natasha looked more Asian than her own father. Luck of the draw, Della thought, remembering how she hardly looked Asian.

All of a sudden, behind the soft music and lyrics, came the sound of a car moving down the road. “Someone's coming,” she said.

“I know,” Chase said.

By the time they got to the window, the car was pulling into the drive. “Shit,” Della muttered.

“No problem,” Chase said. “We'll wait until he unlocks the door, then we'll jump out this window. It's going to be okay,” he said, as if sensed her near panic.

Sensed it correctly. Della's adrenaline pumped like crazy. The thought of being caught sent bolts of fear coursing through her veins. And then she heard it. Not the driver in the car outside who had cut the engine off. The car was the least of their problems. What Della heard were footsteps. Footsteps moving up the steps from inside the house.