Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (19 page)

She receded in thought.

And looked like she was about to say yes.

But said, “I can’t. I have to be on the air tomorrow at six.”

TWO MINUTES LATER, LONDON CALLED.

She missed him.

Would he be home tonight?

“Do you feel like going to San Francisco?” he asked.

“Are you serious?”

He was.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “See when the absolute next flight to San Francisco is and get tickets.” He pulled his wallet out and gave her a credit card number. “Call me as soon as you get the tickets and let me know when the flight leaves. I’m going to drop Geneva off and then head home.”

Five minutes later London called and said, “I have us booked on a 9:45 flight.”

“Tonight or the morning?”

“Tonight.”

Heavy black storm cells raked across the scariest sky Teffinger had every seen.

He swallowed and said, “Good.”

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Day Six—April 17

Sunday Afternoon

______________

WHEN RAVE showed up at the Old Orleans in the early afternoon to rehearse with Friday’s Child, Tim Pepper greeted her with a busted up face. His right eye was almost swollen shut and his lower lip was puffed up. Rave felt his pain and hugged him long and tight to prove it. Then she said, “Don’t tell me. Our guitar-playing friend.”

Pepper nodded.

“He was waiting for me when I came out of the club last night,” Pepper said. “Apparently he wasn’t too thrilled about the way things turned out.”

“He’s a nut case,” Rave said. “It’s better that we found out now.”

Then she told him how he trashed her house.

“Did you file a police report?” she asked.

“No,” Pepper said. “I just want him out of my life. Hopefully, that was it.”

“If he bothers you again, let me know,” Rave said. “I have a friend who will have a talk with him.”

FRIDAY’S CHILD HADN’T SHOWN UP YET, so Rave sat down at a battered old upright piano in the corner and worked out the chords for the melody that came to her in the shower this morning. Pepper sat on the edge of the stage with his legs dangling. Then he clapped, dropped down to his feet and walked over.

“That, my dear, is your first single.”

She studied him.

To see if he was messing with her.

He wasn’t.

“You think?”

“No,” he said. “I know.”

When Friday’s Child showed up a few minutes later, they immediately set to work on the new song. Within an hour they had Pepper grinning from ear to ear.

“Now I know how Brian Epstein felt,” he said.

PARKER PICKED HER UP after the rehearsal and said, “You don’t have a gig tonight, right?”

“Right.”

Not tonight.

Or tomorrow night either.

“Good,” he said.

“Why?”

“I want to take you on a little trip.”

“A little trip to where?”

“New York.”

“New York?”

“Right,” he said. “Have you ever been there?”

No.

She hadn’t.

“What’s in New York?” she asked.

He kissed her and said, “Me—the real me. I want you to know who I am so you can decide whether you want to be with me or not.”

“I already know that, Parker,” she said.

“Reserve your judgment until after tonight,” he said.

“Why? What’s going to happen tonight?”

“You’re going to meet some more vampires.”

THREE HOURS LATER THEY LIFTED OFF a DIA runway into a violent, turbulent sky. Rave didn’t care about the sky. There were no slayers up there.

That was the main thing.

Plus she was with Parker.

And had the new song.

“My life is all peaks and valleys,” she said. “There’s nothing in between anymore.” She squeezed Parker’s hand. “Whatever happens tonight isn’t going to change the way I feel about you.”

“We’ll see,” Parker said.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Day Six—April 17

Sunday Evening

______________

ALLEY RAN OVER AND BRUSHED UP against Teffinger’s leg as soon as he walked through the front door. He picked it up, carried it into the kitchen, grabbed a can of Bud Light from the fridge and drank half of it in one long swallow. Then he put a little on his finger and gave Alley a taste. When London walked into the room, Teffinger said, “Alley likes beer.”

She didn’t care.

She kissed him like she meant it.

“I have three words for you,” she said.

Teffinger raised an eyebrow.

“And what might they be?”

“Mile … High … Club.”

He chuckled.

“Are you serious?”

“You have no idea.”

He handed Alley to her. “In that case, I’m going to take a quick shower.” Then he said over his shoulder, “Hey, would you mind driving to the airport?”

“Sure.”

“I seriously need to get a few beers in my gut.”

She chuckled and said, “You’re such a poet sometimes.”

“It doesn’t come easy,” he said. “I work at it.”

THEY MADE SURE ALLEY HAD PLENTY OF FOOD and water, left a radio playing on low volume, and then headed for DIA. All the while, Teffinger kept his eyes locked on the storm cells and tried to drown a bad feeling with long gulps of Bud Light. “I really apologize for not being around much the last couple of days,” he said. “I feel like I invited you to a party and then left while you were in the bathroom. This is unusual, even for me. I hope you don’t think this is the way I always am.”

“I understand,” she said. “Stop worrying about it.”

“The truth is, I’m scared to death that Jena’s going to end up dead and I’m going to find out after the fact that she wouldn’t be if I had just been a little smarter, or a little quicker, or a little less full of coffee, or a little more full of coffee.”

He drained the last of the beer.

Crushed the can in his hands.

And tossed it into the back of the 4Runner.

“She’s on the news every ten minutes,” London said. “Her and that guy who got killed like a vampire. Everyone in the city is obsessed with at least one of those cases.”

Teffinger didn’t know that.

He hadn’t watched ten seconds of the news for days.

But it didn’t surprise him.

“I’m not even sure why I’m going to San Francisco, to tell you the truth,” he said. “This whole billboard link is a long shot to start with. And I’m spending all my time on it. All my time. I wonder if it might be smarter to just come up for air and see if there’s another angle that I missed. I’m starting to wonder if I’m just making busy work to trick myself into thinking I’m actually doing something constructive.”

She studied him.

“You need a good night’s sleep.”

THEY SPENT AN HOUR in a dim concourse bar and then boarded the plane, which turned out to be unusually empty—no doubt because all the sane people in the world knew better than to climb into something that would in turn climb into that sky.

That insane sky.

The liftoff turned out to be even worse than Teffinger envisioned. The plane lifted off the runway and then got slammed back down immediately by a strong gust that kept it pinned to the asphalt. Then it lifted again, just before it got to the end of the runway, and bucked wildly from side to side.

Then it climbed.

Into a mean sky.

The lights of Denver got smaller and smaller and then disappeared altogether as the aircraft headed over the Rocky Mountains. Ten minutes later the twitching suddenly stopped and the plane got so still that Teffinger may as well have been at home on his couch.

No one was in their entire row, all the way across.

No one was in front of them.

Or behind them.

No one could see them from their seats.

London turned off all the overhead lights in that area of the plane. Then she put a blanket over Teffinger, unfastened his belt and slipped her hand into his pants.

“Do you want to do it in the bathroom or right here?” she asked.

Good question.

Right here would be a lot more comfortable.

Everyone in the plane seemed to be sleeping.

The flight attendant hardly ever came around.

Plus she looked like she’d understand, even if she caught them.

“Let’s try here,” Teffinger said.

London put a blanket over herself.

And wiggled out of her pants and thong.

Then she stood up.

Looked around.

Saw no one.

And climbed on top of Teffinger, making sure they were under the blanket, just in case.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Day Six—April 17

Sunday Evening

______________

RAVE AND PARKER took a cab from the LaGuardia Airport into the city just as the sun set and the lights came on.

“I’m jealous,” Parker said.

“Why?”

“There are certain things that you wish you could do again for the first time,” he said. “Seeing New York is one of them. Seeing it at night is even a bigger one.”

Rave squeezed his hand.

“I feel so small,” she said.

“That’s how it always starts,” he said. “Later it will make you feel big.”

Rave doubted that.

She felt like an ant.

Insignificant.

She could vanish off the face of the earth right now and the city wouldn’t change an iota.

“How could it possibly make me feel big?”

Parker cocked his head.

“Easy,” he said. “There’s so much to do and see—the shows, the architecture, the whole sensory experience that comes with just being here. You can do more things here, which means you can have a fuller life; and when you have a fuller life, you feel bigger. You feel bigger because you are bigger, inside.”

The shows.

She pictured herself on stage.

On a big stage.

With a sea of faces hanging on her every breath.

“I want to play here someday,” she said.

“That’ll be your choice.”

“You think?”

He nodded.

“There are ten million radios in this city,” he said. “Later this summer, every one of them will be playing the song you wrote this morning. Next summer, they’ll be playing one you haven’t even written yet.”

He chuckled, as if he’d just heard a joke.

“What?” she asked, curious.

“I’m not going to start being nice to you just because you’re going to be rich and famous someday,” he said.

She laughed.

“You’re too much.”

She turned back to the lights.

And realized that right now, this minute, she wanted to live more than she ever had before; there was too much life ahead of her to die.

She held Parker’s hand, leaned into his ear and whispered, “Don’t let me die.”

He squeezed her hand and said, “I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She exhaled.

THE CAB DROPPED THEM OFF at an incredibly luxurious building in Manhattan’s upper west side. They walked across a vaulted contemporary lobby to a reception area where Parker told a nicely dressed woman, “My name is Parker. I’m here to see Twist Anderson.”

The woman nodded.

Expecting him.

“Floor twenty-seven,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Three minutes later, they stepped out of an elevator and knocked on one of four fancy doors on the 27th Floor—2702.

A woman opened the door.

A woman about Rave’s age—extremely attractive; short, stylish blond hair; blue eyes; a thin pricey dress that clung to a curvy body; a glass of white wine in her left hand; slightly intoxicated.

“You’re looking good, Twist,” Parker said.

She said, “You too,” gave him a hug, and then looked deep into Rave’s eyes.

Then, to Rave’s amazement, the woman kissed her.

On the lips.

Rave must have had a look on her face because the woman laughed, grabbed her hand, and said, “Come in.”

The space was huge, with lofty ceilings and a wall of windows that showcased a galaxy of city lights. Furniture was minimal and beige. Splashes of color came from strategically placed pillows, lamps and artwork. A white piano occupied a corner.

Two women sat on a couch at the far end of the room.

Drinking wine.

Smiling.

Watching.

Suddenly Parker kissed Rave and said, “Enjoy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her heart raced.

“You’re leaving?”

He chuckled and said, “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

Chapter Seventy

Day Six—April 17

Sunday Night

______________

OVER EXPENSIVE WHITE WINE, Rave learned a lot in a very short time. Twist was a vampire by night and an associate attorney in a mid-sized law firm by day. Unlike Parker and London, who always referred to themselves as bloodline descendents, Twist called herself a vampire. Rave wasn’t sure if that was just a shortcut in the woman’s dialogue or whether it meant something more.

Twist was actually her real name.

Twist Anderson.

One of the other women—the one with the thick red hair and the pale indoor skin—was Katherine Zale, nickname Kat.

Kat wasn’t a vampire.

She was Twist’s lover.

And a good choice, at that. The woman oozed sex in a way that Rave couldn’t quite put her finger on. She was attractive but not over-the-top stunning; feminine but not overly endowed; in good physical shape but not hard-bodied; articulate but not scholarly. Maybe it was her eyes. There was something about the woman’s eyes that seemed to be able to look right into your soul. However she did it, the fact remained—she oozed sensuality.

The other woman was Natalie Fox.

She was a bloodline descendent in her mid-thirties; petite; with long raven hair, engaging green eyes and lots of expensive jewelry.

Rave liked all three of them.

But if she had to live with one of them on an island forever, it would be Twist.

All three of them were longstanding acquaintances with Parker, London and Forrest.

Rest his soul.