Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (14 page)

“Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you,” Tripp said. “The guy didn’t have any ID on him, but I did find something of interest in his pants pocket.”

“What’s that?”

“A vial of blood.”

“That little freak,” VanDeventer said.

“Yeah, the world’s a better place this morning, that’s for sure.”

“What did you do with the vial?”

“I just left it in his pants,” Tripp said. “Let the police worry about it.”

“Good call. You wiped your prints off, I assume.”

“Better than that,” Tripp said. “I wore latex gloves the whole time.”

“Nice.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Tripp said. “The woman dropped her gun at the scene. I figured it might come in handy later, so I took it.”

“Come in handy how?”

“Blackmail her with it, if we have to,” Tripp said.

He expected praise.

But got silence.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to have possession of it,” VanDeventer said. “If the police find you with it—”

“Possession?”

Tripp laughed.

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I stashed it. The important thing is that the woman thinks that I have it; that and the fact that I can have it, if I choose to.”

“That’s better,” VanDeventer said. “You had me worried for a second.”

“You should know me better by now,” Tripp said.

AFTER HE HUNG UP, Tripp jacked off and then went back to sleep. He got up two hours later and bought a bottle of carpet shampoo, a bucket, a sponge and bottled water at Home Depot. Then he drove to Washington Park, found a nice secluded parking spot, and cleaned the trunk of the Dodge repeatedly until he was positive that not a trace of evidence remained.

Then he went for a walk.

Under a nice Colorado sky.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Day Five—April 16

Saturday Morning

______________

RAVE GOT PULLED out of a fitful sleep when the doorbell rang and Parker jumped out of bed to check. She looked at the clock—10:15 a.m.—and pictured two cops standing on the front steps. Then Parker shouted, “It’s London.” She pushed out of bed, used the facilities and studied the damage to her face while the shower warmed up.

She was lucky to be alive.

Very lucky.

And she owed it all to Forrest Jones.

The man she shot in the face.

Parker tried to convince her last night that Forrest’s death wasn’t her fault. “He was already beat. If you turned the gun over, you’d both be dead right now. Your only option was to shoot. If you hadn’t pulled the trigger when you did, Forrest would have gotten his neck snapped a heartbeat later. All you did when you pulled the trigger was give him a chance. That’s what he wanted you to do.” He paused and added, “Forrest was my best friend in the world. If anyone was going to blame you, it would be me. If he was here right now, he’d have no problem with what you did.”

Those words might be true.

As far as they went.

But there was a lot more to the story.

She violated her directions to stay sober.

Because of that, she pulled over at the wrong place.

And because of that, Forrest had to run a long way to get to her; and lost the element of surprise. When he finally did get to her, he was totally exhausted. He fought as well as he could, but the fight started lopsided and quickly got worse. So it was true that he was already beaten when Rave had to decide whether to pull the trigger, but he was already beaten because she had forced him into that situation.

He was dead because of her.

That was a fact.

And it would never change.

She should have listened to Parker outside the club when he told her to abort.

Everything was her fault.

SHE STEPPED INTO THE SHOWER and stuck her head under the spray. The hot water on her scalp felt good. Her ankle felt less twisted this morning, too. Luckily she veered off the road last night when she ran. Otherwise, the guy would have killed her.

He followed.

And tried to find her.

Coming within ten feet.

As she laid there in the weeds holding her breath.

He stood there.

Looking around.

Listening.

Then he ran back to the cars and drove away, taking Forrest’s body with him. Why he did that was still a mystery.

Parker showed up a minute later.

And got her calmed down enough to drive.

They searched for her gun but couldn’t find it.

Then they came home.

And stayed awake until dawn, waiting for slayers.

But none came.

WHEN RAVE GOT OUT OF THE SHOWER, London had scrambled eggs and hot coffee waiting for her.

She also had news.

“I’ve been waiting for Nick to volunteer something about the Cameron Leigh case,” she said. “Last night he did. He told me two very interesting things. First, she died with a wooden stake through the heart.”

“I knew it!” Parker said. “Those freaks.”

“The other interesting thing is this,” London said. “They found a vial of blood in her purse.”

Parker looked at Rave and said, “It’s probably time you knew a few more things. Some of us have an affinity for the taste of blood. So what we do is exchange blood between one another. The blood that Cameron had was probably mine; although it could have been Forrest’s or a number of other persons, too.”

Rave didn’t quite understand.

“What do you mean, you exchange blood?”

“We make a slight cut, just deep enough to bleed, and then drain the blood into a vial,” he said. “Then we exchange those vials among one another. Not everyone participates, but some of us do.”

“Meaning that you do?”

He nodded.

“I didn’t want to tell you before, because it’s sort of freaky,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d understand or not.”

She didn’t understand.

But didn’t care at this point, either.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Day Five—April 16

Saturday Morning

______________

TEFFINGER WAS ALONE IN HOMICIDE when his phone rang and the voice of Barb Winters came through. She was the proud owner of new breast implants, a new wardrobe and a few new male callers.

“Got some job security for you,” she said, meaning a body.

Teffinger stood up, realized his coffee was lukewarm and dumped it in the snake plant.

“I’m totally slammed,” he said. “Call Baxter.”

“You’re going to want this one,” Winters said.

“Why?”

“Because the guy has a wooden stake sticking out of his heart,” she said. “As if he was a vampire or something.” She chuckled and added, “If you want, I can call around to the hotels and see if Van Hellsing is checked in anywhere.”

“It’s a guy?” Teffinger asked.

“That’s what they say.”

ON THE WAY TO THE SCENE, Teffinger passed a billboard of Jena Vellone; someone had climbed up there with a can of red spray and painted HELP ME, as if Jena was speaking the words.

An image flashed.

Him, walking out of Jena’s house, swinging the door shut on his way out—not checking to be sure it was locked. Too busy thinking about London.

And now there was another vampire slaying.

As if he had time.

He poured coffee from a thermos into a disposable cup, steering with his knees. Ten minutes later he arrived at a place that would have been dark and deserted last night, on the north edge of town, next to a BNSF railroad spur. Sydney, bless her heart, had already beaten him there. Teffinger left the coffee in the 4Runner, put on gloves and walked over to the body.

The man had a wooden stake sticking out of his heart.

But more than that, someone had shot him in the face.

And even more than that, someone had beaten him with a vengeance.

A news helicopter hovered above, washing the air with a deep rumble. Teffinger looked at it and said, “There’s no keeping this one under wraps.”

Sydney nodded.

And said, “I don’t think our skinhead could have done this.”

Teffinger agreed.

The victim had a solid build.

And muscular arms.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but maybe this will get the press off Jena Vellone,” she said.

Two minutes later, Paul Kwak pulled up in a white van, walked over scratching his truck-driver’s gut, and said, “This guy is seriously dead.”

Teffinger grunted.

“This is connected to Cameron Leigh,” he said. “So give me your best work.”

“Good thing for you I didn’t get drunk last night,” Kwak said. “Hey, by the way, guess what I saw on the way over here?”

Teffinger didn’t know.

“A split-window, just like mine except red,” he said, referring to his 1963 Corvette.

Teffinger raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Kwak said. “It’s really weird to see them on the streets. I always said I’d never have a trailer queen, but I got to admit, I’m getting more and more reluctant to get in traffic.”

“Too many idiots,” Teffinger said.

“Right,” Kwak said. “And that’s not even counting me and you.”

Teffinger chuckled.

Then they processed the scene.

IT DIDN’T HOLD MANY SURPRISES, but did have one. They found a vial of blood in the victim’s front pants pocket. Teffinger dropped it into an evidence bag and said to Kwak, “I’ll bet it’s the same as Cameron Leigh’s.”

Kwak cocked his head.

“How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much do you want to bet?”

Teffinger didn’t care.

Then Kwak said, “Okay, here’s the deal. If it matches the stuff we found in Cameron Leigh’s purse, you win and I have to buy you a box of Krispy Kremes. If it doesn’t, though, you have to get in the elevator on the third floor and take it all the way down to the parking garage.”

Sydney laughed.

“He’d never do that.”

Teffinger knew she was right.

But knew he’d win, too.

“That’s nothing,” Teffinger said. “You got a deal.”

THEN JENA VELLONE CAME BACK INTO HIS THOUGHTS.

And the red spray paint.

HELP ME.

“I have to go,” he said.

On the drive back to headquarters, he had a strange thought. Could the person who sprayed the billboard be the same person who took Jena?

Was it his way of saying she was still alive?

Was he playing a game?

Was he actually talking to Teffinger?

Chapter Forty-Nine

Day Five—April 16

Saturday Morning

______________

TRIPP TOOK A CAB TO AVIS and rented a black hardtop Jeep Wrangler with tinted windows. He didn’t turn the Dodge in, though. That was still parked at the hotel. It wouldn’t hurt to have two different vehicles at this point. Just as he was finishing up the paperwork, a TV monitor in the waiting room caught his eye—a news report about a crime scene investigation in progress down by some railroad tracks.

Tripp watched.

And did something that he forgot to do last night.

Namely, write down the license plate number of the vampire’s vehicle. He nodded at the TV and said, “Thanks for the good work.”

Suddenly a man appeared on the screen.

Incredibly good looking.

But that’s not what made Tripp catch his breath.

It was the man’s eyes that did that.

And not because they were two different colors.

But because they looked like Tripp’s own eyes.

When he was on the hunt.

The man turned out to be Nick Teffinger. Tripp recognized the name but couldn’t place it. Then he remembered. Nick Teffinger owned the house in Green Mountain—the one that the island girl went to after leaving Rave Lafelle’s house yesterday.

Interesting.

Teffinger looked tough.

He’d be some work if it ever came to a life-or-death fistfight. But Tripp had beaten stronger men than Teffinger before—lots of ’em. That’s not to imply that he didn’t get his share of damage and pain.

He did.

But he was always as good as new in a week.

An athletic black woman hugged Teffinger’s side throughout the news report; attentive to his every word and gesture. She was young, but wore a serious face and looked like she knew what she was doing. A detective, no doubt.

Yummy.

For a moment, Tripp pictured her at the warehouse—captured. He chuckled. Teffinger would go nuts. That would be even more fun than taking Lauren Long. Or even better yet, what if he took both the detective and the island girl?

Now that was an idea.

So many options.

So little time.

Chapter Fifty

Day Five—April 16

Saturday Morning

______________

RAVE SPENT THE MORNING frantically teetering on whether or not to walk out the front door, right now this minute, and disappear into the world. Forget the singing career. Forget Parker. Resurface at some point down the road when everything had cooled off. Since this whole thing started a mere five days ago, she had already shot two men in the face.

Before that she hadn’t hurt a fly.

She’d loose Parker if she walked.

And her dreams.

But at least she’d be alive to lament the loss.

Then, suddenly, she stopped all such thoughts when she looked at Parker. Not because she loved him and couldn’t stand the thought of life without him, but because she realized that he was in this too; a strong man, granted, but just as vulnerable as she was in his own way.

London too, for that matter.

They were here right now.

Putting their lives on the line for her.

It was only right to do the same thing in return.

Okay.

The debate was over.

The decision was made.

She’d play it out until the end.

Whatever the end might be.

She wouldn’t run.

Then something totally unexpected happened. Four men showed up at her front door; the members of her band—Jason White, Randy Mortimer, Bruce Jensen and Ronnie Zang.