Vampire Games (7 page)

As my minivan’s speedometer climbed past 110 mph, I told Mary Lou I would be there soon and hung up. I focused on keeping the minivan from flipping over.

And keeping myself together.

Chapter Fourteen

On my way to my sister’s house, I called three of Tammy’s closest friends. No one had seen her or heard from her, although everyone pledged to do all they could to help me find her.

I also made another call, to an investigator who had a reputation for tracking down the missing, and as I pulled up to my sister’s house in Fullerton, a nondescript Camry was pulling up just behind me.

Spinoza was a small man with a heavy aura. Not a dark aura. Just heavy. Something was eating away at him, making his life a living hell. I didn’t need to be psychic to know that he’d lost something important to him.

Spinoza parked on the street behind me and got out. He was a small man. The complete opposite of Kingsley or the beast, Knighthorse. And as Spinoza came toward me, concern creasing his pleasantly handsome face, I suddenly had a whiff of something that made me nearly vomit.

The scent of burned flesh.

Sweet Jesus,
I thought, as I saw in my mind’s eye a burned hand and twisted metal and broken glass.

His son’s hand. There had been an accident. Mixed with the smell of burnt flesh was alcohol. Spinoza, I was suddenly certain, had been driving. Drunk.

Sweet Jesus,
I thought again.

Spinoza took my hand and as he did so, the psychic vision and smell of burning flesh disappeared. He next gave me a small, awkward hug. The look in his eyes was one of only concern. I suddenly suspected why Spinoza was known for finding the missing, especially missing children.

“
How you holding up?” he asked.

“
Been better. Thanks for coming out on short notice.”

He nodded. “We’ll find her, Sam. Don’t worry.” And his quiet strength and assuredness spoke volumes. It also calmed me down. Somewhat.

I led the way into my sister’s house, where Detective Sherbet of the Fullerton Police Department was already inside. No, I wasn’t too concerned that a homicide investigator was there since I had called him, too. Detective Sherbet had become a good friend. So good, in fact, that he and I now shared a deepening telepathic link. Granted, the good detective wasn’t exactly thrilled by our telepathic link, but he seemed to be getting the hang of it.

We’ll find her, Sam,
he thought, nodding, his words appearing softly just inside my ears.

Thank you, Detective.

Mary Lou came over next with tears in her eyes, looking so distraught that I was the one doing the reassuring. “Not your fault,” I said over and over as she completely broke down.

Once she’d gotten control of herself, I planned our course of action with the detectives. At ten years old, Tammy would have fewer choices available to her. She couldn’t drive and she didn’t have a lot of money. She wasn’t addicted to drugs and didn’t have a boyfriend. At least, as far as I knew.

Truth was, I had a hard time getting a psychic handle on my own kids. I could read their auras, but that was about it. It was the same with my sister and with her kids; and the same with my parents, although these days I didn’t see them very often.

Mary Lou had confirmed that some toiletries were missing, along with her gym bag. We even confirmed that a jar of peanut butter and some saltines were gone, too. Tammy’s favorite snack.

Still, a child walking the streets alone with a gym bag was trouble, and it was all I could do to stay calm. Running outside and screaming for my baby wouldn’t help anything, although that’s exactly what I felt like doing.

Easy, Sam,
came Sherbet’s words.
A child walking around with a gym bag would just as easily get the attention of police. And I have my best men out there looking for her.

“
Does she have a cell phone?” Spinoza asked. We were grouped around Mary Lou’s living room.

“
It’s off,” I said.

Spinoza and Sherbet winced. We all knew that a phone had to be on to be used as a tracking device.

“
Laptop or tablet computer?” pressed Spinoza. “Anything with GPS?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“
Does she know anyone with a car?”

“
She’d better not.”

“
Does she have access to a bike? Anything she can move quickly on?”

“
The bikes are at home.”

Spinoza glanced over at my sister. “And all bikes are accounted for here?”

“
Yes. Bikes and skateboards.”

I was having a hard time concentrating, focusing, and remembering what I should do in an investigation like this.
But it’s not an investigation,
I thought.
It’s my daughter—and she’s gone.

Sherbet glanced at me again and then looked over at my sister. “Do you have any recent pictures of Tammy?”

“
I do, yes. On my cell phone.”

“
Can you print me out a half dozen?”

She nodded eagerly and dashed off to where I knew her husband had his own office at home.

While she was gone, we finalized our plan. Sherbet would work with the local beat cops and cruise the streets in a coordinated effort. Spinoza would hit every Starbucks, fast-food restaurant and store within two square miles. I would contact all her friends and head straight to all her known hangouts.

Mary Lou came back with the color photos. Seeing her photo, with her happy, smiling face made me almost lose it right there.

Easy, Sam,
came Sherbet’s soothing voice.

The detective next instructed Mary Lou to email the same image to his department. An APB had already been sent to all units with a description of my daughter, including her current, assumed clothing. Now they would have a corresponding photo.

It’s real,
I thought, listening to Sherbet instruct his department.
She’s really missing.

I fought to control my breathing. To control myself. Finally, Sherbet clicked off his phone.

“
That’s all we can do on this end,” said Sherbet, turning to us. “Let’s hit the streets.”

Chapter Fifteen

After we split up, I sat briefly in my minivan, searching for a psychic hit that wasn’t there. Despite the many abilities I’d been given, a psychic connection to my own kids was not one of them.

For now, I was just a mom with a missing daughter.

I had just put the vehicle into gear, mentally going through a list of her friends and where they lived, when my cell phone rang. I gasped and swerved a little and reached for my cell.

Kingsley Fulcrum.

Shit.

I switched on my Bluetooth. “Hey.”

“
Sam! I just got your text. Have you found her?”

I had indeed sent him a text, but now I regretted doing so. Kingsley Fulcrum was the last person I wanted to think about now.

“
Not yet,” I said, as I turned right onto Commonwealth. My sister lived closer to downtown than I did. People were everywhere. I scanned the streets.

“
I’m coming out now. Where are you?”

“
No,” I said. “Don’t come.”

“
What—”

“
I sent you that text an hour ago. Where were you?”

He paused only briefly, but tellingly. “I was with a client.”

“
I’m sure you were, big guy. And don’t worry, we’ve got it handled.”

“
Sam—wait! Are you saying you don’t want my help?”

“
That’s what I’m saying,” I said.

“
Sam—”

But I had already clicked off.

I sat back and gripped the wheel and wound slowly through downtown Fullerton, knowing that I could have used Kingsley’s help, and knowing that I was allowing the hurt in my own heart to possibly get in the way of such help.

But I just couldn’t see him. Or talk to him.

Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Chapter Sixteen

I tried her cell phone for the tenth time.

And for the tenth time, it went straight to voicemail. Her voicemail message was the generic electronic one. I didn’t even get the benefit of hearing her little voice.

I even checked once or twice to make sure I was calling the right number. Crazy, I know. It said “Tammy” right here in the “Contacts” list, the same Tammy I had called countless times since she had first gotten her cell last Christmas.

I set the phone in my lap, confirmed it was on, and realized that my brain was spinning, looping over the same things again and again. As soon as I set the phone in my lap, I wanted to pick it up again, and try her cell phone. Again.

Again and again.

Deep breaths, Sam.

Yes, I could have used Kingsley’s help. Hell, I could use Fang’s help, too. And Knighthorse’s and Aaron King’s and anyone else I’d ever come across.

Deep breaths, Sam.

She’s not far. Ten-year-old girls eventually get picked up by the police—

Or picked up by other people. Scumbags. Dirt bags. Killers. Child molesters.

Now I was panicking all over again and stomping the gas and whipping through suburban Fullerton as if it was my own private race course.

I ended up at home, which was about three miles from my sister’s home. I parked the van at an angle in front of the house, dashed out, hurdled the chain-link fence that surrounded the property, and plunged inside my house, calling her name.

No response.

I quickly scoured every room. My hope had been that she simply returned to her own home, her own room, her own bed. Still, I called her name repeatedly, searching everywhere and anywhere, even out in the garage. I moved quickly through the house. I sped around supernaturally quickly. The rooms and walls and carpet were a blur. Pictures were a blur. My head was spinning.

I caught myself on a wall.

I gasped, chest heaving. Having a full-blown panic attack wouldn’t help anyone, least of all, my daughter. I knew this. I had cautioned parents of this very thing many times in the past, when searching for their own runaways.

Deep breaths, Sam. Calm down.

Fuck calming down. I want my daughter.

Shaking, I stood straight, hands on hips, thinking hard. Or trying to think hard. Truth was, my brain still hadn’t entirely kicked into gear. Night was coming, but was not here yet.

I hated what I was sometimes. Hated it. Here I needed to find my daughter, and I needed to think
clearly,
but I couldn’t push past the fog.

I paced and checked the time on my cell. One more hour until sundown. Then I would think clearly. Perhaps even get a psychic hit or two.

Except one hour might be too late.

My phone rang. I gasped, and nearly dropped it. Kingsley. Again. The asshole. The fucker. How dare he call me when he knew I was waiting to hear news about my daughter.

I ignored it. He tried one more time. I ignored that, too, hating him more and more.

I had tried her closest friends. Sherbet was cruising the streets with his patrol officers. Spinoza was hitting any and all shops within a reasonable radius.

How much money did she have?

I thought hard, forcing my mind to go back a few days, before my trip to Vegas. Yes, I had given her and Anthony $20 each. A twenty wasn’t much.

I gripped my keys and turned for the door, nodding to myself. Twenty bucks was just enough for—

My phone rang again.

It was Spinoza.

I paused and clicked on, pressing the touch screen so hard I nearly cracked it. “Any news?” I asked. Or tried to ask. My voice cracked and sounded funny, even to my ears.

“
Very good news, Sam,” he said gently. “I’ve got someone here you might be interested in seeing.”

“
Oh, God,” I said and sank to my knees.

“
She’s with me, Sam. Safe and sound. We’re at the bus station in Buena Park. Do you know the one?”

I buried my face in my hands, pressing the phone against my ear. “Yes.”

“
We’ll be here waiting.”

I clicked off and let the tears flow, sitting there on my knees, my face in my hands.

Chapter Seventeen