Retribution

“And?”

“A lot of stuff with chemical names I can’t pronounce along with one I can. Animal glycoprotein.”

“Animal glycoprotein? What the hell is that?”

“Vampire blood.”

“Animal glycoprotein? How can that be vampire blood?”

Williams pauses a long moment before he says, “You seem unable or unwilling to accept the fact that we are no longer human, A

His words send a tremor through me. “I am not an animal.”

He waits even longer this time to respond. “And you are not human, either,” he says at last. “But this is not the time for debate. The point is, she was using vampire blood in her cream.”

“Where would she get an idea like that? Didn’t you say you’d never heard of vampire blood having any topical application?”

“I also remember saying just because I hadn’t heard of it didn’t mean it might not be possible. We now know it is. The extraordinary results she was getting must have been due to the infusion of vampire blood. It has to be. The remaining ingredients in the cream are found in every commercial product on the market.”

I get another shiver of disgust. Explains the smell I detected—raw meat.

Williams continues, “I also found out from an associate that Burke seems to have disappeared. He said Simone Tremaine has disappeared and I didn’t correct him. The PR rep for Second Chance has no idea where she is. The fire is being investigated as suspicious, possibly an insurance scam, though the same rep swears the cream is legit. They claim they lost everything in the fire, including formulas and the names of test subjects.”

Not everything. I saw those trucks. To Williams, I reply, “Convenient, that. What about the security guard?”

“No record. He’s an employee of Nelson, has been for several years.”

“Then I’ll be paying them a visit.”

Williams releases a breath. “I wish I could go with you, but my place is with Brooke.”

Certainly out of character for Williams, placing concern for a human over his own desires, but I ’m not going to argue the point. I don’t want to spark more animosity between us.

A bit of the conversation I had with Gloria flashes into my head. “Is it true cosmetics are not regulated by the DA? ” I ask.

Williams launches into cop-speak. “The FDA’s legal authority over cosmetics is different from other products regulated by the agency.

There’s no premarket approval process. The exception is color additives.”

“Great. You can use blood but not red dye.”

“Not really. Burke took a huge chance. Maybe she realized it.”

“And had the place burned to the ground.”

“Odd, considering the success she seemed to be having with the cream.”

Maybe not. Something obviously went wrong. Like the fact that the test subjects were attacking people. Or maybe it was my involvement. Still, she’s got a fleet of semis full of the stuff somewhere. Perhaps Jason can shed some light on that.

There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say. I ring off, promising to call Williams as soon as I’ve had my talk with Jason Shelton.

BY THE TIME I HIT THE ROAD, THE RAIN HAS LET UP, but clouds still hang heavy over the beach, blurring the line between sea and sky. As usual, the commute is a bitch. Southern California drivers don’t make exceptions for road conditions. They forge ahead at well over the legal speed limit, figuring if they ignore the standing water on the freeway, it can’t hurt them. Unfortunately, I’m forced to slow to a crawl twice on my way to the Nelson Security office because some jackass in an SUV hydroplaned himself into an accident.

It’s always an SUV.

By the time I get to the address listed for Nelson Security, I’m a coiled spring of aggravation. I’ve experienced enough shock, horror and frustration the last couple of days to be wound so tight, I can’t wait to come face to face with Jason Shelton.

I’m ready to kick some vampire ass.

CHAPTER 34

NELSON SECURITY HAS ITS MAIN OFFICE LOCATED in a strip mall in Chula Vista. Not a particularly nice office in a not-so-nice neighborhood. Two Hispanic teens in baggy jeans and dizzyingly white T-shirts lounge in front of the 7-Eleven next door. They eye me first, but it’s my car that holds their attention. And not in the car-enthusiast kind of way, but the wondering-what-they-can-get-for-it-from-the-neighborhood-chop-shop kind of way. I’ve seen the look before.

I make a point of sounding the beep on the Jag’s remote. I have a state-of-the-art alarm system. Not that it did me any good when a pack of werewolves attacked it a few months ago. These guys don’t look like werewolves. And I can keep an eye out through the window while I’m inside.

There’s no one behind the reception counter when I walk in. There is a two-way mirror behind it.

Shit. Let’s hope I can keep the attention of whoever comes out to greet me before he or she notices I’m casting no reflection.

And wouldn’t it be nice if that someone was Jason Shelton.

No such luck.

A woman pushes through a door to the right of the desk. She’s about thirty, a little thick through the middle but with the biggest breasts I’ve ever seen. They strain at the buttons of a pink cotton blouse like two overripe melons. It’s hard to keep my eyes off them, but I force myself to look up, noting that she has beautiful green eyes and a great smile. I doubt many men have ever noticed, either.

“Good morning,” she says. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for an employee of yours. Jason Shelton.”

She sniffs. “Welcome to the club.”

The reply raises my eyebrows. “He doesn’t work here anymore?”

“Good question. He never quit, just hasn’t shown up for work for the last two weeks.”

“Great.” I let a whine of irritation creep in. “And his phone has been disco

She raises a shoulder. “Sorry, I can’t help.”

I blow out a breath. “How about giving me his home address? Maybe he hasn’t left town, just got a new job. It really isn’t like him to walk out without giving notice. I could tell him he needs to get in touch with you.”

She eyes me. “We are a security company. We don’t give out employee’s personal information.”

Okay, lie number one didn’t work. I blow out an exasperated breath and reach into my jacket. I pull out a small leather wallet and flash a badge—quickly.

“Okay, I’ll be honest with you. My name is Cordelia Case. I’m an undercover cop working a robbery detail.”

I repocket the badge before she gets a good look at it. Otherwise, she’d see it was a tin sheriff’s badge I’d picked up in Deadwood on vacation three years ago. David and I have used it in our work. No one yet has looked at it closely enough to realize it’s a fake.

Green eyes, here, is no different. However, her expression does change from suspicion to concern. “You think Jason—?”

“We suspect Shelton is involved in a series of burglaries. Most of the houses involved belong to your clients. The robberies started two weeks ago. About the time you say he stopped showing up for work. The address we have for him belongs to his dead mother. We ’re hoping you’ll be willing to cooperate. Save your company the embarrassment of being implicated.”

She raises an eyebrow. “We haven’t had any reports of burglaries.”

Smart cookie. “We’ve encouraged the victims to keep it quiet. When our investigation is over, you’ll be given full credit for cooperation.

And exonerated from any hint of complicity.” A pause. “Of course, you have to swear you won’t mention this to anyone until we have Jason in custody.”

She fixes me with a steely gaze that makes me think she may ask to see the badge again “Not even my boss?”