Once Bitten, Twice Shy (19 page)

"Okay."

"Dawn is coming."

"Yes."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. At the moment there couldn't have been a bigger gap yawning between us if we'd been standing on opposite sides of the Pacific. I was sorry for it. And grateful. "Well," he said, "good night."

"Good night."

He moved so silently I wouldn't have known he entered his bedroom and closed the door unless I'd been watching. If vampires dreamed, and if it would be a comfort to him, I hoped he would dream of his sons.

"I'm having a hard time getting the wife to cooperate." Cole had managed to keep my business card safe from the ravages of the washing machine. Obviously his guardian angel had dropped the ball. Too bad it hadn't landed on Cole's head. A bout of amnesia could've turned events in a safer direction for him. As it stood, he'd kept his word and approached Amanda Assan with our plan. Needless to say she was less than enthusiastic.

"No kidding?" I checked my watch. It was 2:00 in the afternoon. I'd only been up an hour and already I was irritated. And not just because of the nightmares that had stalked my sleep, or because Cole had ignored my advice. True to form, Evie had followed through and left the number of Albert's nursing agency on my voice mail. I'd called them and they'd told me I'd have to put him on a waiting list. They had recommended another group in the meantime, and I'd given them a call. But it bothered me to hire blind like that, not knowing a place's reputation. No choice, though. I sure wasn't going to make Evie do any back-checking in her condition and frame of mind. When I had a spare minute I'd do it myself. Meantime, Albert would be breaking in a new nurse named Shelby Turnett any minute now. I'm not big into prayer, but I did send up a wish that she had thicker skin than mine. She'd need it.

Now this. Trying to gain cooperation without threat leverage always annoys the hell out of me. People are just too willing to say no.

"Did she say why?" I asked.

"She was putting her jewels in the safe last night when he caught her checking out the contents of a small duffel bag she remembered he'd brought back with him from India. When she asked him about it he told her to mind her own damn business. Then he ordered her to stay in the house for the next week. She had to sneak in her phone call to me. Apparently she's not allowed to talk to anybody either." A spurt of rage made me grit my teeth. I calmed myself with the reminder that soon Amanda Assan would be a free woman.

Cole went on. "She also said one of their houseguests had to go to the emergency room last night and for some reason Assan was more enraged than worried. Long story short, he's on a rampage and everybody in the house is kissing his ass until further notice."

"There's got to be a way to get a peek inside that duffel bag. I wouldn't mind checking out the sick houseguest either. Did she say where they'd taken him? Or was it a her?" He took so long to answer I thought we'd been cut off. "Hello?"

"I just had a thought and I'm feeling like an idiot for not thinking it before."

"What's that?"

"I have pictures of everyone Assan's talked to in the last two weeks." Cole speeded up as he began to get excited. "Amanda hired me as the new pool boy so she and I could talk without making Assan suspicious. I might have a picture of that houseguest. And if Assan's meeting with terrorists I might have the pictures to show which ones!"

Oh baby!

"I'm supposed to clean the pool today," Cole went on. "Why don't you come with? You could meet me at my office and take a look at the pictures first. Then we could go to Assan's together. We'll both do the pool work, then I'll go to the kitchen, now that I know where it is," he paused and I could tell he was smiling, "and distract the cook while you snoop around. What do you say?"

"This could be incredibly dangerous for you, Cole." I don't even think he heard me. He rushed on, like a parent-challenged teen planning his first kegger. "You know what else? I saw somebody the night we met. At the party?"

"Yeah?"

"As I was leaving, a door opened and a man looked out. I got the feeling we were having a mutual oh-crap-you're-not-supposed-to-see-me reaction."

"Could you identify him again?"

"No problem." Being purely hetero, I'm a little embarrassed to say this, but he was easily the best looking guy I've ever seen.

Click. Blocks of information shifted and realigned in my brain as I realized Derek Stinkin' Steele must be the same stud Cole had glimpsed during the Great Bathroom Escape. And his amazing looks suddenly made sense in light of Assan's legitimate profession. It was suddenly imperative to know the man's true identity.

"Forget the pool work for now," I said, "and tell me you're a big fan of the Pink Panther movies."

"I own the whole set."

"Then I assume you also own a few disguises?"

"A dozen at least." I could tell he was grinning. Despite knowing better, so was I.

"Excellent." I told him to meet me down the street from the hospital Vayl had taken Derek to. "How soon can you get there?"

"An hour."

"Good. See you then."

We hung up, and after a quick phonebook search I found Samaritan Care Center in the yellow pages. Thirty seconds later I knew Derek was still there, reclaiming some lost fluids in room 429.

I kicked it into gear. I pulled the costumes I'd brought from my trunk. One would transform me into a working-class brunette, the other a truck-stop blonde. I chose brunette.

The hair was straight and shoulder-length. I stuck a red beret on top at a jaunty angle and a new girl began to emerge from the mirror. I called her Dee Ann. She liked to pronounce her name Dee-on and, though she worked as a bank teller, she pretended she could paint better than Van Gogh. A man's shirt covered in multicolored parrots, blue jeans, army boots, a long green trench coat and reflective sunglasses completed the ensemble.

I dressed in my room. My weapons case coughed up Grief and a small black box containing Bergman's latest prototype. It had started life as a band-aid. But Bergman had replaced the absorbent padding with a tiny bug. That went on the middle finger of my right hand. I stuck the receiver, a former hearing aid, into my left ear. Theoretically I should be able to attach the bug to Derek's skin, and it would transmit every conversation he took part in for the next two hours. Having had some experience with Bergman's new inventions, I wasn't expecting it to last more than 20 minutes. Hopefully that would be all the time I'd need.

On the way to the hospital I dialed Albert. I often called him in transit. That way I always had a good excuse to hang up. He answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey Albert, it's Jaz."

He chuckled and said, "Two calls in two days. Jazzy, are you turning into a nag?"

I had to slow down so I wouldn't swerve into a fire hydrant. Albert hadn't been nice to me—or anyone else—in years. Was he high?

"Just curious what the doc said," I replied, careful to keep my voice neutral.

"Said I could keep my foot—for now. I gotta tell you, I've never been so relieved about anything!" Ah, so that explained it.

"That's great!"

"So, uh, about the nurse."

"Yeah?"

"I cleaned the house. They're pretty anal about week-old sandwiches on the end tables."

"I imagine so," I said.

It is a strange and unfair phenomenon that children of crappy parents still love those parents. Despite my best efforts, I'd never been able to erase that feeling. So maybe it's understandable that I suddenly felt the urge to park the car and tap-dance the rest of the way to the hospital, throwing some classic Gene Kelly moves in as I went. Luckily I managed to resist temptation.

"Did you hire one yet?" Albert asked.

"Yeah. She should be there in the next 20 minutes or so."

"What's her name?"

"Shelby Turnett."

"What's the story on that, would you tell me? With millions of names out there made just for girls, why do they have to go and use men's names? As soon as you name a girl Bobbi or Terri or Shelby that name is ruined for men for all time!" I should've known the grouch in him couldn't be defeated.

"I gotta go now."

"Work or play?"

"Work."

"Have you noticed that's all you ever do? You should play more." He barked it, like an order, and I instantly wanted to work for the next 48 straight. Juvenile, I know, but he brings that out in me. I struggled to keep my temper in check.

"I think I've forgotten how." It was supposed to be a joke, but neither one of us laughed.

"Matt was good for you that way. He always made sure you had plenty of fun to balance your serious side. You need to find somebody like him. It's been long enough." I knew, for him, that ended the subject. He had commanded me to move on, therefore I would. What a jerk.

"I have to go," I said as evenly as I could considering I wanted to reach through the phone and smack him upside the head.

"Me too."

Click. We were done.

Like a couple of Shriners who've veered off the parade route, Cole and I arrived at our meeting place in tandem and parked one behind the other. The minute he saw me he started laughing.

"This is serious stuff, Cole," I said, trying to sound stern.

"Aw, come on Lucille, admit it, this is fun." He blew a big blue bubble and popped it all over his nose.

"You are so naive," I said, but I couldn't quite swallow the smile that kept surfacing every time I took in a new detail of his appearance. He'd gone with a pair of Drew Carey glasses. A green fishing hat, complete with dangling lure, hid most of his shaggy hair. Fake teeth gave him a slight overbite and a gray jogging suit somehow managed to make him look wimpy and anemic.

"Check out the socks," he said, wiggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. He hiked up the legs of his sweatpants to reveal black dress socks. I couldn't help myself. I started to giggle.

"Those socks really bring out the turquoise in your sneakers."

"Did you notice they match my eyes? The shoes, not the socks." He batted his eyelashes as I pretended to inspect his legs.

I nodded. "I can see that. Now we just need to get you a handbag to complete the look."

He clapped his hands, fingers splayed like a three-year-old's. "Oh goody! Shopping!"

I shoved him toward my car. "Oh, just shut up and get in."

He looked at me brightly. "You mean I'm driving?"

"Yup."

He didn't argue the point, just jumped behind the wheel and started rubbing the soft leather of the seats as if it was his favorite cat. I got in beside him.

"So what's the plan?"

"We go up to Derek's room, pretend we're looking for our father. When he's not there, we both go into hysterics, thinking Dad's dead. You raise hell, I pass out and fall onto Derek. The key is, I have to touch him."

"Why?"

I showed him the band-aid.

"Hey, I was just asking a question. You don't have to flip me off."

"I was just…" I took note of the finger I was holding up and dropped my hand into my lap, laughing so hard I nearly blew snot all over the windshield. Cole started laughing too, and we sat there for a couple of minutes like two hyenas while deadly serious events moved forward without us. Eventually we would catch up, but for the moment it felt great to let go and laugh. As much as it sucked to say so, Albert was right, it had been a long, long time since I could.

Either Cole had just come along at the right time or I was going to have to carry him around in my hip pocket for the rest of my days.

Cole glanced out his window and pointed at a black SUV that had just passed us. "Hey, I recognize those guys." He looked at me, his face suddenly sober. "They work for Assan."

I nodded and put oh my seatbelt. "Follow them."

I filled him in on the bug as we drove. Luckily the story only took a minute, because we didn't have far to go. They stopped in the loading lane of the hospital. One guess who they'd come to recover.

"Change of plan?" asked Cole, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. Follow my lead and we can still get it done."

"What are you thinking?"

I adjusted my wig in the passenger side mirror so I wouldn't have to look at him. Until now he'd still been on the periphery of this whole nasty deal. Now I was about to dump him front and center. The guilt made my stomach ache. "I think I'm about to get very sick."

I'll say this for Cole, he's flexible and functions well under pressure. Not a letter of recommendation I'd be happy to write considering what kind of people hire that type, but true all the same. We drove around the block and parked right behind the SUV.

"Come around to my side and open the door," I said, feeling the blood drain from my face. "He's coming."

"Already?"

I didn't need to reply. Cole was already out of the car. Moments later he opened my door. "Undo my seatbelt, and take your time about it," I said, that terrible feeling of imbalance momentarily blurring my vision. Something shook me at the core, as if the Ohio River had suddenly reversed course or all the grass in Browns Stadium had burst into flame.

"We have to meet them near the door," I said. "Be loud. Be scared. Make a major scene. Make sure something happens so that I can touch him."

He nodded. "Ready?"

Hoping I wouldn't puke on Cole's nifty velour jogging jacket, I nodded. He pulled me out of the car and helped me toward the door. My blood seemed to jump in my veins, a warning so dire I would've turned to run if Cole hadn't been holding onto me.

"There they are," he said.

I raised my head, forcing my eyes to team up, show me the scene. The men, a couple of clones of the gatekeepers Vayl and I had dealt with last night, had reached the first set of automatic doors. One pushed the wheelchair. The other strode beside it. Derek slumped inside it, pale and tired looking, wearing a black turtle-neck and white jeans. His head was tilted to one side, as if to protect the bandaged area that reminded me forcefully of my last confrontation with his attacker. Then I realized he was watching his reflection in the glass doors.