Touch of Evil (8 page)

"Go get a hot meal at Denny's," I said, with a warm smile that wasn't faked. His return grin said that business hadn't been too good. A lot of those guys would die without a handout. As much as I hate that there are people who are willing to beg for a living, it's reality, and charity is a big part of my religion.

As I started toward the crosswalk, a droning, sing-song voice chilled my blood. "We wish to speak to you, Not Prey."

My head immediately started to throb as the combined force of the queen collective entered my skull like an icepick. I turned and saw the pale eyes of the bum take on an inner light. When he opened his mouth, a chorus of voices froze me in place. I hated that my voice sounded strangled,

because the words were not only entering my ears, but beating behind my eyes directly into my mind.

"What do you want? You've already broken your word to me. Why should I talk to any of you?" Being a hive mind, I didn't need to explain the situation. They already knew.

The queen collective possessing the man made his back straighten. His face grew confident; assured. He was suddenly a warrior in the prime of his life. Aw, man. I really didn't need a fight right now. "We only learned of Monica's deceit when you did, Not Prey. Her insanity risks the collective, and we feel it necessary to eliminate her. We ask your indulgence while we find another to take her place."

Indulgence? Like they cared what I thought. I snorted and crossed my arms over my chest so they wouldn't see that I was shaking just a little bit. I hated that we two had disappeared to the minds of everyone around us. Businessmen stepped

around us quickly, looking down as though we were a doggie doo-doo pile in their path.

" My indulgence? She tried to kill me! Why shouldn't I just track her down and eliminate her myself?"

The cold sureness in the voice sounded almost condescending. "This is not just a matter between you and Monica, Not Prey—as you well know. There are many other lives to consider. Hosts and Herd with families; jobs. Would you risk all of them for such a small favor? You saw the result when you eliminated Queen Larry without regard for the others."

I did, and I've been paying for it ever since in the confessional. I cocked my head suspiciously. " How small? When can you replace Monica with another queen?"

"Two weeks, and—"

I picked my jaw up off the ground. " Two weeks!

She'll have me dead and buried about thirteen days before that!"

The man began to pick up his backpack and

sign. "We can contain Monica for that long. You have no reason to fear, Not Prey. We thank you for your indulgence and—" the man's eyes cleared like magic and the deep, grateful baritone finished the sentence, "thanks for the money, lady. You really made my day! I haven't had a square in almost a week."

He dashed across the street, leaving me rubbing my arms to get some warmth into my blood again. Could I trust the queens to "contain" Monica? They had managed it for almost six years, but what caused them to lose control earlier? They were right about the others—including Dylan. I wouldn't willingly send them to their death.

A flash of sad anger rushed through me. Had he taken the extra step yet? Was he now a Host? Is that why he was calling? Lord, I hoped not. I took a deep breath and stepped from the shadow of the bridge into the bright sunlight. I tried to shake off the feeling of dread. I had to, or I'd go insane. It was only a few minutes more before I reached the tastefully low-key grocery store on the ground floor of an apartment high-rise. I kept the backpack strapped to me as I entered, and grabbed one of the hand baskets. Technically, you're supposed to check empty bags at the store, but if it ever came to it, the cameras would show that the pack never left my body and I never reached into it. No hints of shoplifting. I'd already had one pack disappear after I'd checked it with the nice service people, who naturally swore that the person who accepted it had gone home for the day. So I keep the pack with me.

After a quick visit to the pharmacy, where I asked for one monthly refill and left the illegible prescription from MacDougal, I started through the throng of people. My pace slowed to a walk as I moved down the aisles. I started in the meat department, where a pair of T-bones begged me to take them home. I followed up the steaks with a nearly frozen chicken. It was about time to restock my ready-made meals.

Every few months, I do a mass shop and a

factory-style cooking session. I make homemade pasties—meat turnovers like pot pies, but with potatoes. Mom used to make them with turnips and potatoes, but I can't stand turnips. I'd always spit the little cubes into my fist by faking a cough and then sneak them under the table to the dog. He had a strange addiction to turnips that made him the gassiest basset hound on the block.

I backtracked to the meat section and added a couple pounds of burger to the basket. I suddenly had a craving for burritos with lots of salsa, or maybe some thick meaty lasagna. Heck, I'd

probably make them all. I freeze everything in individual portions anyway. That way I can have a good meal even when I'm on the run. It makes sense with my crazy schedule.

Going through the store I remembered I was out of freezer bags, so I moved over a few aisles and grabbed a couple of boxes and tossed them into the heavily loaded basket. There was no way this was all going to fit into the backpack. Screw it. I'd walk home and carry a couple of bags. If any of the Herd tried to stop me, I'd beat them senseless with a frozen chicken.

I shouldn't have gone down the frozen food aisle. I normally don't. There's nothing behind those glass doors that isn't pure carbs, but I convinced myself it was the quickest way to the check-out. My eyes cheated. They were supposed to stare straight ahead, moving only to avoid shoppers, but they flicked sideways at one of the frozen offerings. I couldn't believe it! My hand reached for the silver handle before I could slap it back, and one more item was added to my pile. Well, there went my walk home. I'd have to run to keep it from melting all over my backpack.

Fortunately, the check-out line was short.

Mornings are the best time to shop, if a person can manage it. I waited as the groceries were scanned and wrote out a check for the balance. The clerk glanced at it and looked at me for the first time since I'd emptied the basket.

"You wrote the wrong date on here, Ma'am. Today's the 17th, not the 16th."

I furrowed my brow and looked at the checkout display, but didn't believe what I saw. "No, today's the 16th. I just flew in at the airport this morning."

The customer behind me in line interrupted. "No, it's the 17th all right." He pulled from his basket a newspaper and handed it to me. Oh, man! It was the 17th! No wonder Joe's been calling over and over. He was afraid of exactly what happened! I'd slept for over twenty-four hours! Eek!

I owed my brother a major apology.

4

I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the building. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not taken the last two blocks at a dead run. But the shriek of the burglar alarm, combined with the sight of flashing police lights at the entrance to my building gave me an incentive to hurry.

It had to be my apartment. None of the others have an alarm. I looked up and saw a cop standing on the fire escape outside my apartment. A second one joined him on the fire escape landing, and spoke into his radio before heading down the iron steps.

I hurried to where Connie stood just inside the front door, talking animatedly to a third uniformed officer.

"Kate—you're back! I thought your brother said you'd be out of town until tomorrow. But I should have known when I saw your truck in the garage."

I blinked in surprise. Joe hadn't said anything about actually visiting with one of the tenants.

"What's going on?" I dropped my backpack and grocery sacks onto the floor and turned my

attention to the cop. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with short blond hair and wide blue eyes. He had a fresh-scrubbed look and the kind of soft skin that made me think he'd have a hard time growing a beard.

"We got a call from the alarm company about a possible break in. When we arrived, Ms. Beltaine here met us at the front door and said the owner of the building was out of the country. . . ."

"My name's Kate Reilly, I'm the owner of the building."

He nodded and wrote that fact in his notebook.

"Ms. Beltaine here says she saw a teenage female running away from the scene right after the alarm went off, but by the time we got here she was long gone. The ladder to the fire escape was pulled down, so my partner and Officer Phillips went up to investigate further while I took Ms. Beltaine's statement."

He nodded in the direction of the two uniformed officers who had come down to join us. Both were large men of middle age with close-cropped hair. The redhead on the left had a small brass name plate that said Scott. By process of elimination, the brunet carrying a crow bar must be Phillips. His face looked familiar, but it took a long moment before I recognized where I'd seen him before. Joe had introduced us—after Phillips' neck brace had saved my life. A weird coincidence after the dream I'd had earlier. I promised myself I'd check with him and make sure Joe really had built him a second brace, and see whether he'd found anyone willing to manufacture and sell them—as soon as we finished dealing with this mess.

"Ms. Reilly." He shifted the handkerchief and pry bar to his left hand long enough to extend his latex covered right for me to shake. "Good to see you again. Sorry about the circumstances."

"Me too."

Officer Scott had a soft tenor voice that seemed odd coming from such a bulky body. "We took a look around. It looks like she got scared off before she got inside, but you'll need to come up and take a look around and let us know for sure." I gathered up my grocery sacks and started over to the elevator, the cops and Connie at my heels. I wasn't sure why she chose to come along, but it seemed a little ungracious to ask her not

to—particularly since she was the only witness. We rode the elevator in silence. The hallway we exited into wasn't large. Since I had taken all of the third and fourth floors for my apartment, I'd claimed virtually all of the usable space, only leaving enough for visitors and pizza delivery types to make their way either to my front door at one end of the short hall, or the door to the stairs at the other. The wailing of the alarm was making all of us wince. I hurried the few steps to my front door. Connie looked around as if she was confused.

"Wow, the hall's much bigger on my floor. And the ceiling's lower." She was almost shouting to be heard over the siren.

I suddenly realized she hadn't ever been up to my apartment. It was kind of a surprise, although maybe it shouldn't have been. She's always called me on the phone instead of stopping by to discuss repair issues. Fortunately, Connie's never needed much. I'd worked hard to make sure the building was in good shape before I rented the space—and I work hard to keep it that way. That reminded me of my conversation with Joe. He'd mentioned she had a plumbing question. As soon as the cops were finished I'd need to talk to her about that. I hoped it wasn't serious. But whether it was or wasn't, I'd have to deal with it. In my experience, ignoring a plumbing problem almost always leads to serious water damage.

I juggled my bags to retrieve the keys from my back pocket and opened the door to let us all in. The front door of my apartment is original from the factory days. It's heavy fire-resistant steel. Adding the locks had been a royal pain. Still, nobody's going to be breaking in through it. Not in this lifetime. Any burglar with an ounce of sense would do exactly what this morning's teenager had—go for the fire escape and windows. I immediately went for the burglar alarm keypad and entered my code. The infernal wailing finally shut off, and the next words echoed in the silence.

"Some door." Scott commented a little too loudly. "No one's coming through this without dynamite."

I grinned in acknowledgment of the compliment and stepped aside to let everyone in while I gathered up my groceries. Connie's eyes widened as she stepped over the threshold, and her mouth formed a little "o" of appreciation.

"Wow! This is . . . beautiful. And the elevator opens right into it like a penthouse. That is so cool." She'd stopped right in the way—staring at the elaborate painted tin ceiling with the pattern of flowers and geometrics. The cops and I had to edge around her. It wasn't easy with my hands full of the backpack and groceries, but I managed.

"Thanks." I set the bags onto the kitchen island. The cops were here on business, so I didn't want to dawdle, but I did take a second to stuff the frozen item into the freezer, bag and all, before beginning an inspection of the place with Officer Scott. Nothing was missing. Other than the window

next to the fire escape being jimmied, nothing much seemed to have been disturbed.

"The alarm must've scared her off." It was possible. It was even probable. But the thought of someone having invaded my home made me angrier than I'd been in a long time. Home was my haven, damn it! I was grateful for the police response, glad that the burglar alarm had worked, but pissed that it had been necessary. I was even more furious when I saw the damage to the

window. I'd be spending a chunk of my afternoon replacing the lock and the trim, and sometime soon I'd have to repaint the whole works to cover the gouges in the paint. Damn it! I ground my teeth in frustration and fury. One more thing to do. One more expense. Just what I need.

The cops didn't stay long once I reassured them nothing was missing. They filled out their reports, assured me they'd check the crowbar for

fingerprints and left. I didn't get to talk to Phillips about the neck guard as I'd hoped, because Connie pounced on me about her plumbing problem before I could even escort them out the door.

"I had a plumber come in to do some work yesterday."

I sighed. Another bill to pay, or at least she would deduct it from her rent. "What's wrong with the pipes?"