Authors: Jess Haines

Stalking the Others (7 page)

BOOK: Stalking the Others

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I wasn’t about to tell him I’d been searching for Chaz and Dillon, too. Disappointing, since he’d already essentially answered the question I’d been intending to ask him. Then his last question registered. “Sorry, what? I haven’t, but—hasn’t Sara been keeping in touch with you?”

“Not since the phone call a couple weeks ago. I assumed she was with you since both of you fell off the radar after one of our officers jumped the gun and tried to take you in. Are you saying she isn’t with you?”

I cursed softly. “No. No, she’s not with me, but she’s safe.” I really, really hoped that wasn’t a lie. God
damn
Royce. Whatever the vampire had done to Sara, I’d make him repay a thousandfold.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time to pay him a visit before sunrise. Without the belt, during the day I’d be at a bigger disadvantage than he would.

“Wherever it is, it better be safer than Fort Knox. The vampires in the city have been withdrawing their assistance from any programs that support Weres since that girl was killed—Trish Booker, the CEO of that genetics research corporation—and there have been a few skirmishes. Killing someone who was contracted to Alec Royce wasn’t smart. I just hope we get to the person responsible before the vampire does.”

And I hoped I would get to him before the police or the vampire did.

“Anyway, check in with me again in a couple days if you can. Stay low and keep out of trouble, and I’ll keep you posted on how the investigation is coming along.”

As soon as I hung up, I dialed Royce’s cell phone, also from memory. I was startled when it was answered by a woman. Using a very throaty, just-had-sex voice. A voice I had zero patience for dealing with at the moment.

None of my business. None whatsoever.
I silently repeated that to myself a few times while I asked, “Is Royce there?”

“He’s occupied at the moment. Who is this?”

I gritted my teeth when I recognized her. Miss Sunshine herself. “Jessica, please don’t play games with me. This is Shiarra. I need to talk to him. Now.”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Hold on one sec.”

It seemed “one sec” meant, as usual, an age and a half for Royce to deign to talk to me. Staring over the water, listening to the monotone lapping of the surf didn’t sooth my nerves at all. Once he finally got around to it, the vampire sounded about as thrilled to talk to me as I was to call him.

“Ms. Waynest. What a surprise.”

“What have you done with Sara?”

“That’s it? No hello? No ‘terribly sorry for throwing your hospitality back in your face and all the inconvenience I’ve caused you despite your generosity’? Not even a ‘I have a really good explanation for my actions, I swear’?” I could almost visualize him doing talky hands at the phone while he assumed a higher tone to mimic my voice. He did a rather scarily accurate imitation, actually. If I hadn’t been so red from embarrassment at his statements, I might have laughed at the sheer incongruity of the thought of him doing something so absurd. It didn’t help that I could hear Jessica giggling in the background. Damn it.

‘Don’t fall for his tricks,’
the belt hissed, startling me.
‘You know as well as I do that it’s a monster. It doesn’t deserve an apology. Not from you.’

Common sense warred with the belt’s warning. Royce had been devious and underhanded, yes, but he hadn’t done anything to do me direct harm. Still, he’d never been fully forthcoming with me, and offering him any kind of apology now might lead to my giving him more information he could use against me. I’d have to remember to be careful about that in all my dealings with him from now on.

“No,” I managed to say aloud, responding to Royce in a much more subdued tone. “Not now. Not yet.”

He made a sound that might have been a snort. It was hard to tell over the crappy cell connection. “Forgive me if I don’t have the patience to deal with your insufferable attitude this evening. Good day.”

And the bastard hung up on me.

I had to look at the screen to be certain. But it was true.

That fucker.

He probably would have said as much if Sara was hurt (or, God forbid, worse). Surely she was fine. But now I wouldn’t know until the next time I confronted the vampire in person.

And apologized.

That. Fucker.

I’d make the time to see him and check on Sara. Somehow. Meanwhile, with both the Nightstrikers and a couple of NYPD detectives on my side, I should be able to track Chaz down in no time. The sooner I put an end to this mess, the better.

Chapter 9

I returned to the house much subdued. There wasn’t a lot of time until sunrise, and despite my confidence that I could find Chaz, I was consumed with a sense of quiet desperation about what to do about Sara or what would happen if I turned. No matter if I turned or not, I was certain there would be consequences for killing Vic, too. The belt wasn’t helping with its alternately radiating senses of smug superiority and irritation. When the sun rose and the belt went inanimate, the soreness and aches of the night settled in to take their places as my companions for the day.

Muscles burning, I settled into a bath, tears from a combination of pain, frustration, and helplessness mixing with the steam.

I had to concentrate on the one thing I thought I could do something about. There had to be some clues to where Chaz was hiding. He wasn’t clever enough to conceal himself from me or the cops forever—but that was just it. I didn’t have forever. I had eighteen days left. If I didn’t step up my efforts, and I turned before I found him, Jack and the other White Hats would kill me before I could see this thing through to the end.

I would visit Chaz’s brownstone after I got some rest. Even with the heat soaking into my muscles, it didn’t help me relax. Without the belt there to shield me from myself, guilt was gnawing at the edges of my consciousness, teasing at my brain, my inner voice telling me what a fantastically shitty person I was.

That I would even briefly consider justifying murdering a man who had done me no wrong was sounding a lot less plausible now that I didn’t have the belt telling me why it was so right. The more I tried not to think about it, the more it ate away at me, consuming my thoughts.

Even after I got out of the bath and lay down on the bed, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, Vic’s surprised eyes stared up at me from below the hole blasted in his forehead, while a phantom gunshot echoed in my ears. Tossing and turning for what felt like hours, I eventually gave up and threw on a robe, padding downstairs to the kitchen.

Most of the people in the house had drifted into nocturnal schedules, save for Jack and Nikki. They ran the shop during the day, and would only pull all-nighters when a hunt was on. The house was quiet and dark with all the shades pulled down. No one stopped me when I rummaged through the cabinets in search of something to drink that had a little more bite to it than the milk, OJ, and soda in the fridge.

“Looking for something, pretty lady?”

I jerked, banging my head against the top of the counter cabinet as I pulled back, scowling at Bo as I rubbed the newly forming bruise. He smiled sheepishly, tugging absently at a loose thread on his Looney Tunes T-shirt before holding his hand out.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Can’t sleep?”

I accepted the offering, and he tugged me to my feet. “No. I just ... No.”

He nodded, then ambled over to the freezer, pulling out a bottle of vodka hidden under a bag of ice. Of course. The one place I hadn’t looked. That perpetual smile of his briefly waned when he looked at me again, maybe put off by my expression. Desperation is never flattering.

“We’ll find him. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but we will. Soon.”

I only nodded, pulling out a couple of glasses while he brought the vodka and orange juice to the table, pouring a liberal helping of each into the glasses. We settled into our seats, cradling our drinks, sipping in companionable silence. It took a little time for me to build up the courage to say what was on my mind.

“It’s his face, Bo. I can’t stop seeing it. Can’t stop feeling my finger tightening on the trigger. Over and over again.” Taking a big gulp of the drink, I prayed it would hit me hard enough that I’d manage to pass out and get some rest today. Even if it meant the hangover from hell later, all I wanted now was a little slice of oblivion. “How do you live with that? Knowing you took somebody’s life away?”

“You don’t,” he said, avoiding my eyes as he spun his glass between his palms. “You just keep going, and remind yourself every step of the way that you’ve got a bigger purpose in mind. If you’re looking for peace, you won’t find it with us. If you’re looking for forgiveness, the only one who can give you that is you. Justice, now, that we can help you find—but you’ll have to accept that there will be some collateral damage in the process. No one can help you accept that but you. If you can’t carry the weight of that knowledge, you’re not in the right place.”

Well. Good to know. Though the serious words were a bit incongruous coming out of the mouth of a man wearing a Daffy Duck T-shirt, I wasn’t about to point out the inconsistencies.

Bo nudged the vodka and juice closer to me and then got up, taking his glass with him. He clapped me lightly on the shoulder before heading back to bed, saying nothing more as I pondered the mysteries of the contents of my glass.

Bo hadn’t used a bad analogy when he compared the burden of knowing what I’d done with a heavy weight. My shoulders were stooped with the burden of knowledge, and I felt as if I was carrying around about a thousand extra mental pounds. Nothing wanted to line up like it had in my formerly simple life. It might not have been perfect, but it all made
sense
before, and my worries, though they had seemed huge and occasionally insurmountable at the time, had become laughably minuscule in the face of the need to kill-or-be-killed.

Though I was a private investigator, I had been reluctant to use old-fashioned, reliable methods to gather what I needed and end this as rapidly as possible. I was thinking too much like a law-abiding citizen. Early on, using my key to get into and search Chaz’s home and sending one of the White Hats to question some of the people at the gym where he worked hadn’t led to any clues, but I had done a very haphazard job in my haste.

Now that I was thinking about it more rationally, I couldn’t imagine Chaz hadn’t called and said something about where he was going to the guys at work. At the very least, he must have contacted them to let them know he wouldn’t be in to teach his regular cardio and body-conditioning classes. I’d been expecting him to hide somewhere off the radar, and I was acting under the assumption that the only way to find him would be to use supernatural connections.

Though I was still counting on those supernatural connections being my best bet, there had to be some other, more mundane means of finding him, too.

The police were hindered by procedure. I doubted they had solid proof of Chaz’s connection to the murders of those people who had been suspected of being infected with lycanthropy outside of contracts, other than what Jim Pradiz had provided only a few weeks before. Since the cops might not yet have thought to use banking or credit card activity to track him down, or even bothered getting started on looking for him when he wasn’t necessarily implicated as a suspect, the wait to get a search warrant approved for credit card records could take a while. Not only that, but the credit card company had up to ten days once they were served to supply the records. Theoretically, that could drag out beyond the end of the month, if the cops even thought to go that route to find him.

Chaz received his bank statements via e-mail. I’d seen him check one, once, using his computer at home. He’d set up his system to automatically download his e-mails without a password. If his computer was still there, there might be an e-mail trail or something in his bank statements that would lead me to him.

I did some mental calculations, picking up the bottle of vodka as I rose and headed back to my room. From my recollection, he wouldn’t be getting that e-mail from his bank for another few days. Painful to wait, but I could manage. In the meantime, I’d return to Chaz’s gym and do a search for the next best thing.

It was about time Kimberly and I had a reckoning.

Chapter 10

(Days left to full moon: 17)

There is nothing quite like going on a bender when your life is on the line.

I woke up with a taste in my mouth like something had crawled in there to die, my joints still burning with the fire of a thousand suns, and a jackhammer pounding its way out of my skull. Not to mention a queasiness that rivaled the one time Sara and I had bought one of those big box taco deals from some fast food joint after a night of beer and karaoke—which I’m never doing again, thanks—coupled with a fierce craving for something sweet and full of carbs. Pancakes smothered in syrup and butter sounded like both an awesome and disgusting idea right about now. Belgian waffles would be even better.

Odd. Breakfast for me usually meant coffee and some eggs or yogurt and granola.

Putting my cravings down to a side effect from the drinking, I rubbed my temples and sat up with a groan. The shade over the window was pulled, and it seemed too dark in the room. Turning on the lamp at my bedside was a horrible idea. Pain instantly shot from my retinas all the way to the back of my skull, making the pounding worse.

Getting up to shamble over to the bathroom seemed like a good idea until I stood up. The swaying and the dizziness wasn’t fun, but it passed after I gave myself a moment to adjust.

Splashing my face at the tap helped marginally. Rinsing away the taste of roadkill and drinking a little cold water helped more. Though I still squinted against the lights, I felt much better, more refreshed.

Throwing on some clothes, I gave the belt a passing glance, curled as it was on top of the dresser like a snake poised to strike. Putting it on could wait until tonight.

My muscles protested the stairs, but I made it to the kitchen in good time considering I was walking like someone had wound barbed wire through all the joints in my legs. The pain and soreness eased away by the time I got to the bottom.

Strangely, the scent of Italian food—tomatoes and oregano, garlic and parmesan—drifted my way long before I opened the door. Jack and Nikki were puttering around, doing dishes, and clearing things off the table, counters, and stove. Bo and Keith were at the table, picking at bowls of ice cream, Keith’s nose buried in a book. Clearly I’d just missed a big meal.

Nikki smirked at me over her shoulder before shoving a container into the fridge. “Sleeping beauty’s awake.”

Jack glanced my way, then went back to rinsing out a big pot. Bo and Keith waved me over, and I edged past Nikki and Jack to sit with them. Bo pushed a bowl and a container of cookie dough ice cream my way. It wasn’t waffles, but it would do.

“What the hell time is it? How long was I out?”

Keith shrugged. “It’s a little past 8:30. Nikki said she found the empty bottle of Grey Goose on the dresser. We all thought it’d be better to let you sleep it off.”

I turned about six shades of red, covering my face with my hands. Bo and Nikki laughed at me. All I could think of was the day lost to me. The hours that could have been spent hunting. The ticking time bomb I was becoming.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bo said, elbowing me lightly to get me to stop hiding my face.

Still feeling like an ass, I kept my head down, pushing my hair back just enough so the curls wouldn’t fall into my bowl or stick to my spoon when I shoveled a bit into my mouth.

Speaking around the bite of sugary bliss, I shook my spoon at Jack. “I know you wanted to wait for news from your contacts in the city before we went back, but I need to go to SoHo. I’ve got an idea.”

Jack was not impressed with my spoon. “You realize that’s just asking for trouble, don’t you? Why don’t we send Bo or Patrick? The police and vampires aren’t looking for them.”

“Mostly because I know what I’m looking for. If we left now, it’d be dark, and I doubt anyone at Chaz’s gym knows what happened between us. Maybe I can bluff my way into his stuff and find some records that might help. Or see if anybody overheard where he went. The guys there know me, and they’re more likely to talk to me than somebody they’ve never met.”

He frowned at me, leaning his hip against the sink and scrubbing his chin absently despite the suds covering his fingers. The serious look in his eyes went so well with his soap beard, I couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Jack’s frown deepened, and he glanced at Nikki, who smirked as she reached over to flick his chin with a towel, getting rid of the worst of the suds. He then realized what he’d done and grabbed the towel from her to wipe his face. More’s the pity. For a second I had mistaken him for a human being instead of a machine sent back in time to prevent anyone from having a good time or a sense of humor.

“It’s risky,” he muttered, returning his attention to the sink. “You can go, but not alone. Take Nikki or Bo with you.”

Nikki scoffed. “Like hell I’m going anywhere at this hour. Not unless we’ve got a hunt.”

I turned to Bo, knowing my expression must have been pitiful already, hamming it up even more by widening my eyes and letting my lower lip tremble. His laughter boomed through the room, loudly enough that Keith glanced with raised brows from over the top of his novel.

“With a face like that, how could I resist? Let me polish this off, then we can go.”

Matching his grin with one of my own, I took a couple more bites of my own ice cream before rising. “I’m going to change into my gear. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Dashing upstairs, I forwent the body armor, but put on the belt and a
very
oversized sweater of Bo’s that hung low enough to hide the stakes and had to be rolled up a half-dozen times at the sleeves to leave my hands free. It would make access to the weapons difficult, and made me look like I had the fashion sense of a four-year-old, but I doubted anyone at the gym would care. I wasn’t planning on being there long, and the guys who knew me would probably assume I’d borrowed it from Chaz.

The belt took some time to examine my thoughts before it said anything, though it reveled in the exercise as I raced out of the room and down the stairs again. Keith dropped his book and flattened himself against the wall as I rushed past, and I barely remembered myself enough to throw a “Sorry!” over my shoulder before I was outside and breathing in the cold night air.

Bo was already warming up his car, a late model silver BMW. He took off as soon as I slid into the passenger seat, and I gave him directions to Chaz’s gym, thinking hard about where I might search first. He didn’t have an office, but he
did
have a cabinet with files on his clients near the front desk. Doubtless Kimberly’s information was somewhere in those files. If I could get whoever was manning it to let me check it, I’d be golden. If not, one of the guys might have overheard something, and I could interview whoever was around. It was open twenty-four hours, so depending on who had taken the night shift this time around, there was a good chance one of the employees would know where I could find her.

If not, Chaz had said her office was “next door” to his gym. There couldn’t be that many massage therapists with offices in that area. Process of elimination would serve just as well as digging up the info from Chaz’s files.

It didn’t take us long to get there. Traffic had died down for the most part by now, and we found a parking garage half a block from the building housing the Midtown Elite Fitness Center, not far from the Plaza District—or Royce’s main office. The sign for the gym was clearly visible even from halfway down the block. There were some other businesses in the building, too, including some boutiques and a café on the first floor, but that was to be expected in this part of town. Chaz had a nice brownstone in Queens, not terribly far from here. It made me wonder how many times he’d brought his “work” home with him, which must have pissed me off more than I’d realized, because the oh-shit handle above my door cracked under my fingers.

“Hey, lighten up over there. Did you break something?”

I let go of the handle and concentrated on the parking structure straight ahead, not meeting Bo’s concerned gaze as he glanced at me. “It’s fine. We’re almost there.”

Absently picking at the plastic now embedded in my palm, scowling more in anger than pain, I waited impatiently for Bo to find a spot and park the car. He’d barely come to a stop before I was out the door and moving.

“Shia, what the hell’s gotten into you? Hold up!”

I waited impatiently for Bo to reach my side, hooking my thumbs over the belt under my sweater and drumming my fingers against the leather. Though he didn’t often show signs of his earlier injury, his running days were long over, and when he tried anything faster than a brisk walk, he gained a limp. As he was sporting now while he hurried to catch up with me.

The belt chose that moment to make its first snide remark of the evening.
‘Why do we need him again? He’s just going to slow us down.’

Don’t you get started,
I thought at it.

‘There’s nothing to start,’
it complained.
‘You’re doing boring reconnaissance crap. What do you
need
me for? I’d rather you had me on while you sit and watch those chick flicks of yours than do this wannabe gumshoe crap.’

Oh, for the love of—

“Are you okay?”

The concern in Bo’s voice snapped me out of my murderous thoughts. Forcing a smile, I hooked my arm through his, tilting my head up to give him my best innocent look. “I’m fine. Just a little concerned to be out in the open, that’s all. Let’s get this over with.”

‘The sooner the better.’

He shook his head but didn’t argue, and we made our way to street level. Gleaming towers of concrete and chrome loomed over us like giants in the dark, sharp edges and tinted glass lit by the advertisements and signs and headlights all around us. Even at this hour, the streets were packed with people, most headed to or coming from restaurants, bars, and nightclubs. This wasn’t the best part of town for nightlife in the city, but it had its charms.

We made our way toward Chaz’s building, but I was dragging my feet, looking around. Something felt... off.

Bo didn’t notice. He seemed cheerful enough to have me on his arm, and to go at whatever pace I chose. He didn’t argue when I paused in the middle of the sidewalk, though he did look down at me with mild surprise. The belt was practically thrumming with energy. Whatever was going on, it sensed it, too.

‘Were. Close. Keep scanning the street. It’s here somewhere.’

That sent a shiver of mixed fright and anticipation through me. I didn’t have my armor or my guns. Though I was fast with the belt, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face a Were without any weapons but the stakes. Even if they were silver, I’d have to get far closer than was safe to use them—and, as far as I knew, Bo didn’t have any weapons on him at all.

But then I saw what the belt and I were looking for, and forgot all sense of caution.

Blond hair in a ponytail and body encased in a pink, Juicy Couture velour tracksuit set, that boyfriend-stealing, two-faced, anorexic bimbo of a cheating whore, Kimberly, was just leaving the building Bo and I had been headed toward. If not for his sudden pained cry, bringing her attention our way, I might have had the element of surprise on my side.

Thanks to my sudden, unthinking rage, my grip had tightened so much that I’d nearly broken the radius of his left forearm. Even after I realized he was in pain because of me, it took me a second to remember I was supposed to let go.

The noise he made drew the attention of Kimberly, along with that of most of the other people on the street around us. Her brown eyes, wide with alarm, met mine for a split second—narrowed with recognition and anger—and then she was running. Away from me.

I didn’t wait to see if Bo was okay. There was no time or room for second thoughts. With the help of the belt, I was after her, and wouldn’t stop until my hands were wet with her blood.

Snarling, I dodged pedestrians and kept my gaze locked on her fleeing back, every step bringing me inches closer to bringing her down.

Distantly—very distantly—I recognized the path she was taking. It would bring us right to Central Park. As a Sunstriker, she had to know that she was as good as dead if she didn’t change direction, and soon.

If I didn’t kill her, there was no doubt in my mind that the Moonwalkers would as soon as she set foot on their territory.

It only made me more determined to catch her first.

BOOK: Stalking the Others

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