The Blood In the Beginning (17 page)

‘Miguel, of course.'

‘Dr Rossi?' Absolutely not what I expected her to say. How had he known? Was
he
stalking me? ‘Right. I'll get back to you on this.' I made to hail a cab.

Jones touched my arm, stopping me. ‘Save your cash. I'll drive you back to campus. It's on my way.'

I struggled with it for a second, while feeling the fifty-dollar bill in my pocket. ‘Sure. Thanks.' What the hell, right? ‘I've an early class on campus.'

‘Great. This'll give us a chance to compare notes.' She led the way to a grey Lexus parked a little further down the street and beeped it open.

‘Notes?' I asked as I got in the passenger side.
Did she study medical science as well?

‘You know, how you blend, trouble spots, men.' She strapped in and started the engine. ‘They're the hardest, don't you think? Such a temptation, though. Take Daniel Bane, for example. You go there?'

‘He's my boss.' My voice was ice-cold. ‘I haven't gone anywhere with him.'

‘Except to dinner?'

‘Are you spying on me?'

‘Protocol. You haven't shared your allegiance.'

‘Allegiance to whom?'

‘That's what we're waiting to find out.'

The woman made no sense. I was beginning to wonder how she had managed Flanagan so well, because as far as chit-chat went, she scored zero on the conversational scale. Jones kept asking questions as we hummed along the near empty streets, questions I couldn't comprehend. I was a fourth year undergrad. Decent IQ. You'd think I'd have more savvy, but no.

‘How long have you been a Lander?'

‘A what?'

‘Not from a grotto then? Still tethered?'

‘Huh?' I was way behind, trying to decipher her lingo.

She grabbed a pair of sunglasses out of the glovebox and slipped them on. As far as I could tell, it was still pitch dark.

‘Ms Jones, I have no idea what you're talking about.'

She studied me, keeping one eye on the road. ‘I see that. It's fine if you don't trust me. We just met, but you need to come clean with Miguel, before things become complicated. He's your contact, right?'

Maybe I was in an alternate universe where this made sense to everyone but me. ‘He was the ER doctor on call when I came in.'

She pulled a bottle from a small cooler sitting between the bucket seats. The top popped and a faint mix of aromas filled the car, predominately saltwater and blood. ‘Help yourself.'

I swallowed a sudden dry feeling in my throat. ‘I'm good, thanks.'
Who the hell are you?

She snapped her head around. ‘I could ask the same.' She frowned. ‘You really are seamless. Rossi warned me, but I didn't believe him.'

I had no answer for that. ‘Right here's fine.'

She pulled over two blocks from Tom's apartment and laid her hand on my shoulder. It was strong, cool. It seemed to soak up my nerves. In spite of everything, I relaxed a little. ‘Talk to Miguel, Ava. Whatever you're here for, you owe him that.' She had a little private chuckle. ‘I do understand your reluctance. You should have seen me, when I first came up for air.'

Was she talking about her student years? Prepping for the bar exams?

‘I'll see you next week,' she said. Her strong face, one that had handled Flanagan in two seconds flat, wasn't one to argue with.
You can trust me, and Miguel. That's what we're here for.

Shivers went up my spine.

‘Call my secretary during office hours. He'll book you in.'

‘Thanks.' I needed to sleep. This was all a bit too Fellini for so early in the morning. I faced east, watching the skyline light up with the approaching dawn as she drove away. Maybe I could crash for a few hours before things turned any more bizarre.

* * *

I was out like a light for fifteen minutes, twenty tops, when the blender whirred into action. I sat bolt upright, then fell back down to cover my ears with the pillow. There was a faint but unmistakable scent of cat pee.
Why hadn't I noticed that before?
I threw the pillow onto the floor and groaned.
You little stinker, Sim!
My eyes opened a crack, stung by the bright morning light coming in the east windows. The curtains I'd carefully closed not long before were drawn back, blinds open wide. This was so not Tom. But apparently, it was standard morning-Zoe.

‘Did I wake you?' The voice was sweet, syrupy.

‘You're kidding, right?' I groaned into the sleeping bag.

‘Smoothie?'

I sat up, stretching my back, blinking the memory of sleep from my eyes. There in the kitchen was Zoe, girl wonder, pouring three tall glasses of a bright-coloured liquid … red or green, take your pick. I sure couldn't tell the difference, but since I was awake, I was hoping for green — kale, banana and coconut would be nice. ‘Sure.' Might as well be nurtured while the offer was on. It wasn't going to be a good night's sleep supporting me during the day ahead. Zoe handed over a glass, her painted nails clicking as she let go. I took a sip and gagged. ‘You liquefy a candy bar in there?' My whole mouth puckered as sugar exploded over my tongue.

‘You guessed!'

‘What else?'

She tapped out the ingredients on her pointy glazed fingernails. ‘Ice cream, protein powder, frozen banana, raw egg, and grenadine for colour and a touch more sweetness.'

Red it was. My ex would throw up, for sure. ‘You and Tom been going out long?'

‘Ages!' She smiled like the Mona Lisa. ‘Our first date was on the new moon. Isn't that special? Do you think he planned it that way?'

Not even a little.
‘Are you talking about the new moon two weeks ago?'

‘I know!' Zoe skipped back to the kitchen. She was wearing black leggings and a white crop tee. Her toenails were painted, each one a different colour. ‘Did they find the person who pranked the lab?' she asked.

It took me a moment to know what she meant. ‘Not yet.'

‘So disrespectful.'

‘Agreed.'

She picked up the third glass and took it to Tom's bedroom.

I was tempted to warn her, or him, but changed my mind. Some things had to be learnt firsthand and Tom's food preferences were definitely one of them. I dragged myself to the kitchen and poured mine down the sink. Sim eyed me suspiciously when I held a smoothie-dipped finger out to her. She licked it, her sandpaper tongue giving me a quick rush of goosebumps. Surprisingly, the cat was on team Zoe. She loved it. ‘That'll do, puss, unless you want to learn how to say
diabetic ketoacidosis
.'

I started the coffee maker with two scoops of organic ground coffee, warmed two cups under the faucet, and did the rest of the dishes while I waited. When the brew was ready, I poured, inhaling the rich aroma. A pinch of salt went in mine, and a splash of non-GMO organic milk in the other. When Zoe came out, the virtually untouched smoothie in her hand and a pout on her lips, I relieved her of the drink. Replacing it with the coffee mug, I nudged her toward Tom who emerged from the bathroom. Yeah, I decided to take pity. The girl needed all the help she could get.

‘Thanks, babe.' Tom kissed her cheek. He was shirtless, wearing faded black drawstring pants.

She leaned into him for a moment before picking up her gym bag. ‘I'm off to spin class.'

‘I'll walk you out,' he said and took a sip of coffee.

‘Have fun.' I nodded to Zoe and took my cup back to the couch. It was a little too domestic in the kitchen for my taste. I scrolled for Miguel Rossi on my phone and tapped ‘call.' He had some explaining to do about this Teern company, my new attorney, and possibly other things that I wasn't sure about yet, like my origins. I looked at the time after it started ringing. Seven in the morning wasn't early for a doctor, unless he'd been on-call all night.
Oh, well.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Ava. Good.'

Weird hello.
‘Dr Rossi.' I thought a formal approach would be best.

‘Did Jones take care of things?' He said it before I could launch my attack.

‘About that. You want to tell me what's going on?'

‘I could say the same to you.'

‘See, that makes no sense to me. I want to know how you knew to send Jones, let alone why you did it. And what the hell is Teern? I've been —'

‘When are you free?' he cut in.

‘Pardon?'

‘I agree. We need to talk. I'm asking when.'

It popped my rant bubble. Rourke was expecting me today — Saturday mornings were his admin hours at work — and I was training in the afternoon, with study after that. I wasn't working the following night, but had kids' classes to run and my own training at the academy, which I needed to keep up now more than ever. ‘This afternoon? Before training?' I'd find a secluded spot to call from.

‘I'll pick you up. We can talk freely at my place.'

Um, no.
‘What's wrong with the phone?'

‘Too risky.'

‘Give me one good reason why I should trust you.'

‘Because, Ava, I can save your life.'

I waited several heartbeats. ‘I'll call you after I speak with Rourke.'
And decide if you are as safe as you want me to believe.

‘Just tell me when, and I'll be there.'

I clicked off, and shot a glance at Tom who had just returned. He headed straight for the kitchen. ‘What happened to you?' he asked as he popped bread in the toaster and poured oil in the frying pan.

I squeezed my eyes shut, still trying to decipher Rossi's side of the conversation. ‘When?'

‘Last night? You were arrested. I found out at three a.m., in front of Poseidon.'

‘Shit. Sorry. Cate was meant to call you.'

‘She did.' He took a slurp of coffee. ‘By then I was driving to the precinct.'

‘You came?'

‘For all the good it did. They sent me away. Said you'd be a few more hours.'

Oh, boy. No wonder he looked like he hadn't slept. ‘So sorry.'

‘Not your fault.' He sighed. ‘Kippers and eggs on toast?'

I caught a whiff of the salted fish as he opened the tin. My favourite breakfast was on the stove, something I had developed an instant love for when rooming with an Australian in my freshman year. This guy was too good to me. ‘Love some.'

‘So tell me what the hell happened.'

I climbed onto the barstool and filled him in. He was even more suspicious of Rossi sending the lawyer than me. By the time he stopped the cross-examination, I'd nearly lost my appetite, paranoia returning in spades.

‘Definitely make the appointment with Jones though. Maybe you can find out more then. But Ava, be careful.'

‘Gotcha.' I took my breakfast to the lounge and sat at the coffee table, back against the foot of the couch. Sim crept in close, her nose working overtime. ‘I'll save you some, little queen.' She sat next to me, staring at my plate, making sure I did.

‘Big day?' Tom asked as he stretched. I tried not to notice his biceps flexing when his fingers laced behind his head.

‘It's filling up.' I shoved a huge bite of kipper-topped toast into my mouth and fished out my phone. Today's schedule looked intense. Study for biochem. Meeting with Rourke. Call Jones's office, although it was too early for that now. I tagged it for later. Miguel Rossi? Bold question mark after his name. Cytology lab download available … shit! In thirty minutes. Training tonight, and it must be my turn to buy the groceries. I could stop at All Organic Foods off Sunset. I made a note of my bank account and cash. It was doable.
Better make a move.

CHAPTER TEN

While my cytology slides downloaded, I dressed in jeans and a faded UCLA tank top, cleaned up Tom's kitchen, ran a load of washing and redid my braids. Yeah, multi-tasking. I took an hour or so to go through the lecture notes and slides, then caught a bus to the downtown precinct. Two visits in the last twenty-four hours. Yay. The air weighed heavy and hot, an energy sucker, just like the last three hundred and sixty-five days before it. Sure, it was June, end of spring term at uni, but every day seemed much the same — hot, dry, smoggy. If it weren't for air conditioning, we'd all be dead … Paradox: if we didn't use air cons, there wouldn't be nearly the excess of energy pollutants contributing to the sultry brown, suffocating heat. Even with the ban on hydrofluorocarbons, the ozone was shot full of holes. No coming back from that. The vicious cycle wouldn't resolve any time soon. I trotted up the steps, feeling the sweat run down my back and spread out under my arms. Inside the precinct, cold, dry air slapped me back. Better enjoy it. In a few moments, I'd acclimatise and it wouldn't feel nearly so refreshing. I checked my gun at security, spread my arms and legs for the pat down — standard procedure and very professional — picked up a temp ID and headed to the elevator.

Rourke's office was on the third floor. I sat on the bench outside his door, waiting for him to finish an interview. Judging by the decibels coming through the rippled glass, someone was getting a kick in the teeth and it wasn't Rourke. I took the opportunity to pull out my phone and give Kathleen Jones a call. Why not? For all the confusion, she'd so far been a major ally. Like Tom said, she may not be trustworthy, but there was only one way to find out. ‘Hi. I'd like to make an appointment?'

‘Sure thing. What's your name?'

Her receptionist was an extremely helpful male, lovely voice, who had me smiling by the time I hung up. I made a note of the date and time on my calendar. Another task done. The Virgo in me beamed. The rest of me ached to go back to bed.

As I put my phone away, Rourke's office door opened and a young cop exited, tail between his legs. Rookie, no doubt. Our eyes met and I gave him the ‘been there, copped that' look. He almost smiled. Rourke called me in and I took the seat, warm to the touch. The paperwork on his cluttered desk was so high, I couldn't see over it when I slouched. People didn't realise how much admin was involved in his line of work. I wondered if Rourke had, when he'd signed up for the job.