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It's a good thing I don't have my gun. I'd be tempted to shoot you for that.
He lets the laughter erupt. For a tough cookie, you are so easy.
I finger the cup, sniff the contents. This smells like blood.
I told you it is. But don't worry. I get it from the hospital blood bank. When we have blood that is going to expire before we can use it, a tech friend of mine gives it to me. It would be thrown out anyway, so why not put it to good use?
But I thought it's not the kind of blood we need.
Technically, no. You couldn't subsist on it for any length of time. But you fed from me just a day or so ago, so you don't need real nourishment. It looks to me as if your taste for regular food is just about gone, too, but you obviously needed something. Think of this as a pick-me-up.
He pauses, a delicate question forming in his head.
No, I answer. I didn't feed from Donaldson. Not that I wouldn't have torn out his throat if he hadn't cooperated. Somebody killed him before I had the chance.
We drink then in desultory silence. The blood has a strange taste. When I drank from Avery, his blood was suffused with life, rich and robust. This is—
"Musty tasting,” Avery explains, reading my reaction. “Like the difference between a fine old wine and a cheap upstart. When you drink from a living creature, you take more than sustenance. You take their life essence. Refrigerated blood loses that spark very quickly. It's why we can't exist on it indefinitely. But it is blood and in an emergency, it has it uses."
"This is an emergency?"
Avery puts his cup down and reaches across the table to take my hand. “You have had a rough night. And I'm afraid what you face today will not be much easier."
I fear that, too. My thoughts are weighed down by the knowledge that I'm no closer to finding David than I was before I went to Beso de la Muerte .
Avery squeezes my hand. “What would you do if David was a fugitive?"
I'm caught off guard by his question. “What?"
"What would you do if you were looking for him because he was wanted by the law?"
I put down my cup and purse my lips. Well, I'd run a credit card check, see if he's bought a plane ticket or made hotel reservations somewhere. I'd call his friends—
My eyes seek Avery's. Gloria. She's in New York .
Avery nods, but just as quickly, I shake my head.
He's not with Gloria. He wouldn't have left knowing I was on my way. I'm the reason he stayed in San Diego in the first place.
What else would you do?
Impatiently, I push away from the table and stand. It's not the same. There was blood in his condo. His wallet and keys were there. The front door was open. David didn't leave willingly. He was taken. The question is why?
I've gathered up my breakfast things and taken them to the sink. Avery waves me off.
Leave the dishes. My housekeeper will be here in a little while.
But I need something to do, even if it's only a mundane thing like rinsing dishes. When I've stowed everything in the dishwasher, I turn back to Avery.
Do you think Chief Williams will help me if I call him?
Of course. Avery pulls a small notebook out of his pocket along with a silver ballpoint pen. He flips to a blank page and starts writing. Then he tears the page off and hands it to me.
"I've already called him and explained the situation. I've included my office number here, too. If you need me today, call. I'll leave word that you should be put straight through."
I fold the paper into my jeans pocket. “I've another favor to ask. Do you suppose I could borrow the Explorer again? If someone is waiting for me at David's, they might be looking for my car."
He points to a spot on the counter. “Help yourself. The keys are right there."
I gather them up and turn to go.
Thank you, Avery. Again.
Anytime, A
He comes around the table and wraps me in a hug. You know I want to help. I just wish there was more I could do.
I let my head rest a moment against his chest, drawing strength. Then I straighten up. Wish me luck.
He smiles. You've got it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When I get to the condo, I ring the bell, hoping irrationally that David will be there to answer the door. I won't even mind the tongue-lashing he's sure to give me for not showing up last night.
But I know deep down he won't be there and, of course, he isn't.
After a moment, I use his own keys to let myself in, amazed that I thought to grab them before leaving yesterday considering the shape I was in.
Everything is exactly as I remember it.
I make a sweep of the entire condo, a thorough sweep this time, before coming back to the dining room. The blood on the corner of the table has dried to black flakes. Thankfully, there isn't a lot of it. Of course, if David was captured by a vampire, there wouldn't be. I push that thought out of my head.
After I've stared at the blood for ten minutes and no useful idea how I might proceed presents itself, I dial Chief Williams. He answers himself, surprising me into speechlessness for a moment until I remember that Avery said this was a private line.
"Chief Williams, this is A
A deep-timbred voice comes back across the line. “Dr. Avery said you might call. Nothing from your friend?"
"No. And I'm really worried. Do you suppose you could send someone to meet me at his condo? I need a professional cop's opinion. I'm out of my depth here."
"I can be there in ten minutes. What's the address?"
I give him the address, unit number and tell him I'll buzz him in. He hangs up and I stare at the phone for a moment. He's coming himself? Not a good sign, I'm sure.
When Williams arrives, he's alone and in civilian clothes. Another surprise. He shakes my hand and explains, this is my day off.
He follows me inside, and his gray-green eyes scan the interior. It's lightning fast but I get the impression he's not missing much. His mind is closed, allowing me the freedom to size him up at close range, something I didn't do at the party. He's tall, over 6', but not as tall as David. He's much leaner, too, a vampire trait, I've discovered. Must be the liquid protein diet. He's wearing jeans and a polo shirt topped by a leather bomber jacket, worn Nike sports shoes on his feet. His hair is dark, but flecked with gray. I wonder if that's an affectation. I don't know how old he is, but I would imagine a police chief would be at least in his fifties. Williams's face is unlined for the most part. Can't do anything about that if you're a vampire, but the hair can “age."
He turns those sharp eyes on me. He lifts a hand and runs it through his hair. Does it look natural? It's a bitch trying to convince a hair stylist that you want gray in your hair when the majority of their clientele is devoted to taking it out.
Very natural. I wave a hand. What do you think?
Williams walks out on the balcony before responding. Nice view.
Nice view? I follow him onto the deck. Chief Williams, my friend is missing. I'm very concerned about him. I need your opinion about what to do. Should I file a missing person's report? Should I start contacting his friends and family? I'm at my wit's end here. I really need your help.
Williams takes a cigar case from the inside pocket of his jacket, takes his time extracting a fat cigar, and rolls it between his fingers before finally bringing it to his lips. He bites off the tip and spits it over the balcony. Then he breaks out a lighter and puffs away until the glowing tip catches.