The Bloodline War (9 page)

“Holy cow, man.” Alex ran a hand through his hair. “Sounds like a screw up of the highest order. You can mellow out about Toni, though, okay. She’s at a hematology seminar in St. Louis. She emailed me just today.”

Waterson’s brows flew up. “Really?” Then he blew out his cheeks. “Jesus Christ, what a relief.” He shoved the rubber band back into his pocket. “Hey, do you mind if I come inside for a minute? It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

“Oh, sure.” Alex stepped aside to allow Waterson to walk past him, smiling apologetically. “California’s sun can be deceiving.” He closed the door. “You want some coffee? It’s hot.”

“Thanks, that’d be great.” Waterson followed Alex into the kitchen. “I’m going to need Toni’s contact information. She’s not answering her cell, and I have to question her about what she might’ve witnessed in or near her hospital room Wednesday morning. But, mostly, hell, I just want to hear her voice and make sure she’s truly okay.”

Alex pulled his
Yes, I practice safe text
mug out of the cupboard and crossed to the coffee pot. After this conversation, he needed the same. “Sure, man, as soon as I get her number, I’ll pass it on to you.” He handed the steaming mug to Waterson. “Cream and sugar?

“Black’s fine.” Waterson took the mug, cupping his hands around it. “You don’t know her hotel info?”

“No.” Alex leaned back against the kitchen counter.

A flicker of surprise crossed Waterson’s face. “Have you asked her for the information?” He sipped the coffee.

“Of course. Several times. But she keeps forgetting to tell me. This seminar’s keeping her super busy, and I think she’s just exceptionally distracted because of that.”

Waterson took another sip. “This is really good coffee, by the way.” He was silent for a moment, just drinking. “Is that…unusual for your sister not to give you any contact information?”

“Um….” Alex’s stomach felt funny all of a sudden. “Yeah, actually, it’s extremely unusual.”

Waterson peered down into his mug for a long moment, then looked up. “My detective alarms are clanging again,” he said quietly.

“Aw, c’mon, man.” Alex pushed off the counter. “Don’t say that.”

Waterson set his coffee cup on the kitchen table. “Would you mind if I take a look at her emails?”

“Shit.” Alex exhaled. “All right, yeah.” He led the way out of the kitchen.

His office was nothing special, simply furnished with everything IKEA could provide, and his computer looked like any other PC to the average consumer, little fishy screen savers bobbing across the monitor. On the inside, though, his tower was jacked to the hilt with such a choice collection of high-tech software, any propeller-head worth his salt would go sloppy-faced over it: CSAP database system, Automated Security Incident Measurement software, intrusion detection, triple data encryption standard, a myriad of filters, and enough firewalls to stop the best of hackers. All comfortably tucked into a terabyte of RAM and kept humming along in a liquid-cooled interior.

Alex wiggled his mouse to make the fishies swim away. Toni’s last email was still up on the screen. “You should be able to see the entire email stream between us for the last couple of days. It’s not much.”

“Okay.” Waterson gestured to the desk chair. “May I?” At Alex’s nod, the detective sat, first pulling the rubber band out of jeans pocket. As he read, he circled it around his index fingers again with that
snappity-snappity
noise. Over and over.
Snappity-snappity
.

Alex couldn’t help grimacing. “I know you’re a cop and all, but, dude, if you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to have to hit you.”

The rubber band stilled. “Sorry. I’m, uh, trying to cut down on smoking and sometimes I have to do something with my hands or go nuts.” He swiveled toward Alex. “These emails aren’t personal at all, general newsy stuff for the most part. Is that normal?”

Alex shrugged. “We usually keep the real personal stuff out of cyberspace and talk about it over dinner.” He and his sister maintained a standing Friday night date.

Waterson nodded, accepting that. “She’s definitely evading your questions, though: where she’s staying in St. Louis and when her seminar ends. Whether she’s doing that because she’s distracted or for some other reason is the big question.”

Alex stilled. “What other reason could there possibly be?”

“I don’t know,” Waterson answered honestly, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He stroked a thumb along his jaw. “When was the last time you actually
saw
your sister?”

“Um, Monday night, right after her car accident. My mother and I both went to see her in the hospital. Wednesday I was supposed to pick her up when she was discharged, but I got a text from her, telling me that she was heading to St. Louis. The hospital was providing transportation directly to the airport.”

Waterson frowned. “So soon after an accident?”

Alex spread his hands. “Toni’s generally a hard charger, so, you know….”

“You didn’t talk to her on the phone about it, though?”

“No.”

“So you haven’t heard the sound of her voice since…when?”

“Shit…Tuesday, I guess. I called her at the hospital to check in.”

“Did anything strike you as strange about the conversation?”

“No.” He shoved his hands into his pocket. This conversation was really beginning to blow chunks. “She was just anxious to get out, doctors making the worst patients and all.”

Waterson went silent. He stared at the computer screen for what seemed like a small eternity, stroking his jaw again. “Is there any way to determine if these emails are actually coming from St. Louis?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Alex took over his desk chair. “Even though Toni would be using her own laptop, she’d most likely be hooking into her hotel’s WiFi.” As he spoke, he clicked on
details
at the top of Toni’s email. A full message header popped up. He scanned down until he found the
received from
line, then ran the IP code and checked the location. “It’s the Crowne Plaza Hotel in St. Louis.”

Relief spread over Waterson’s face. “Well, that’s good news. Now I can track—”

“Not necessarily.” Alex’s throat squeezed down to a narrow cable as he read further. “This might just be a proxy server.”

“A what?”

“A forged IP address. In other words, even though the email
looks
like it came from St. Louis, it could’ve actually originated from someplace else. See”—he pointed to a row of numbers on the screen—“the time stamps are off…they don’t match.”

Waterson bent and squinted at the monitor. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s a significant time delay between when Toni’s message was sent and when it arrived here, meaning that it bounced through several servers before coming out as the Crowne Plaza.”

Waterson straightened. “Why would it have done that?”

Alex scooted his chair back and looked up at the detective. “Somebody programmed it to do that.”

Waterson’s face stilled. “To hide the email’s true starting point?”

“That’s the usual reason, yes.” Alex’s stomach was
really
feeling funny now.

A tic pulsed in Waterson’s jaw. “Can you determine the actual place of origin?”

“Probably not. The sender most likely used an anonymizer to create their proxy server, and those are almost impossible to trace.” Maybe he’d just get it over with and throw up already.

“Damn,” Waterson breathed.

“Tell me….” Alex had to swallow twice before he could continue. “What does all this mean, Detective? Is Toni in trouble?”

“I’m not sure,” Waterson answered, at least still being honest about it. “I don’t like this, though.”

Alex didn’t, either. “Do you think any of this has to do with that murder you guys investigated together? It just seems like all this convoluted crap started right after Toni consulted with you.”

“That occurred to me, too, but I’ve wracked my brain and can’t come up with any connection.” Waterson sighed. “This is probably just one of those stupid situations that will turn out to be nothing. Toni’s probably consumed by work, like you said, and hasn’t realized how much time has passed since she last called you. I’m sure there’s—”

“Yo, John!” A voice hollered from the front of the house.

“Here!” Waterson shouted back. “Excuse me,” he added to Alex, “that’s my partner.”

Waterson headed out of the office and into the living room.

Alex followed, slowing in the hallway at the sound of the other cop’s voice.

“—just got word from Matthews,” he was saying. “He’s at the Medical Examiner’s office.”

“Hell, finally,” Waterson came back. “The ME got a report on our acid corpse yet?”

“No, amigo, that’s the thing.”

There was a weird note in the partner’s voice, and Alex stopped walking completely.

“The corpse is gone.”

“What do you mean
gone
?” Waterson demanded.

“Gone, like in,
poof
! Like it just got up and walked out of the morgue.”

Chapter Nine

Kimberly sat in a chair on one side of the mansion’s long, elegantly set dining room table, with the other four Dragon women, Maggie, Ellen, Hannah, and Beth, seated next to her.

A marvelous spread was artistically arranged before them: Ladyfingers on crystal plates, petit fours and daintily iced cookies on tiered stands, a gaudy silver tea service with delicately flowered china cups and small plates. All of it to celebrate the Fab Five’s first meeting with the “new acquisition.”

The guest of honor was seated across from them, her hands folded on top of the table and her expression closed. She hadn’t spoken a word.

Kimberly had been tempted to greet the new girl with a
Rah! Rah! Way to stick it to Roth, sistah
. Word had it that Toni, as she preferred to be addressed, and Roth were locked in a showdown: Toni had refused to date any of her mate-choices the whole week she’d been here, and Roth had countered by not allowing Toni out of the mansion until she did.

Toni’s hutzpah brought warmth to Kimberly’s heart, oh, yes it did. Such gumption made Toni a perfect candidate for Kimberly’s Evil Plans of Doom, although with all this showdown stuff going on, Kimberly hadn’t been able to approach Toni about it. Yet.

That left her with here and now, in front of the other Dragons, to set her scheme of mutiny in motion. But since all of the Dragons had to get on board with the plan eventually to make it work, anyway, now was actually good timing.

“Would you like a cookie?” Maggie of the short curly blonde hair and pastel-colored clothes peeled tinfoil off the top of a fluted tray. “Homemade Oatmeal Butterscotch,” she coaxed Toni in her soft southern drawl.

Kimberly nearly rolled her eyes. To Maggie, there wasn’t any problem that couldn’t be solved with a pinch of Southern hospitality. Not that such a thing had worked for her own adjustment. From what Kimberly understood, Maggie had spent her first six months in Ţărână crying. Hopefully, those memories would put Maggie firmly in Kimberly’s camp.

“I brought you some books as well.” Hannah’s golden blonde hair was in pigtails today, her big belly close to popping with her fourth pregnancy. She sat straight in her chair, holding herself with the royal composure that came with being Ţărână’s premier reproducer; Hannah Crişan was pretty much treated like the Town Princess on any given day.

She was the one Kimberly had to worry about. Ask Hannah Banana about Ţărână, and she’d swear they all lived in MunchkinLand.

“I run the library in town,” Hannah told Toni, “so if you want a specific book, just let me know.”

Still mute, Toni gave Hannah a flat stare.

Ellen took a swing. “You’re a doctor, right? I’m a dentist, so whenever you’re ready, I’d love to share my observations with you.” Today, like every day, Ellen’s shoulder-length light brown hair was in serious need of doing battle with a comb. “I think you’ll find my research about Vârcolac dentistry fascinating.” As a logical thinker, Ellen could be counted on to keep a level head about Kimberly’s plan, whether she agreed with it or not.

More silence.

Beth Costache, owner of The TradeMark and the most stunning of all of them—which was really saying something—let out a long sigh. “She thinks we’re a bunch of brainwashed bimbos.” Beth was the wild card. She was sweet and caring, yes, but so gaga over her heartthrob of a husband that she might not want to go against him, even for the greater good.

Ellen nodded. “Suffering from Stockholm Syndrome or full-on Patty Hearst hopefuls.”

“From where I’m sitting,” Toni finally spoke, her tone crisp, “all of you are pretty much poster girls for the Stockholm Syndrome. If not that, then you’re cult devotees. Either choice means you’re brainwashed.”

Kimberly laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Hannah shot her a repressive look. “This community is not a cult,” she corrected. “I assure you, Dr. Parthen, every one of us began our time here the same way you have—taken from our lives and forced into a strange place with unfamiliar people, feeling scared, angry, and frustrated.” She smoothed a hand over the mound of her belly. “But we all ended up giving this place a chance, and if you’re willing to let us tell you about this community’s incredible benefits, maybe you’ll decide it’s worth a chance, too.”

Toni arched her brows. “Benefits like contracting Black Lung from days on end of breathing cave dust?”

Ellen’s brows drew together. “Oh, we don’t—”

“I think we should clear up the Fiinţă issue right away.” Maggie took one of her own cookies and placed it on a napkin before her. “I really hate it when the new girls think we’re addicts.”

Toni looked curious, probably despite herself. “Fiinţă?”

Ellen slid a cucumber sandwich off one of the crystal trays. “That’s the elixir that comes out of a Vârcolac’s fangs when he or she feeds. It serves several important medical functions you might find interesting; it mixes with the blood of the Vârcolac’s host to create a more useable blood for them, and it has a repairing and clotting function so that when he pulls out his fangs, the punctured vein closes instantly.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “But mostly Fiinţă is Mother Nature’s way of making sure hosts never balk at being fed upon. The elixir gives incredible pleasure.” She smiled as she chewed. “Suffice it to say, most Vârcolac couples make love and feed at the same time.”