Retribution

“Especially not your boss.” I lean over the counter and lower my voice. “He’s not out of the woods yet himself.”

Her eyes widen. Then abruptly, she turns away from me and heads for the desk.

I barely have time to dive below counter level, out of mirror range. I fumble with my shoelaces until I hear her once more at the counter.

When I straighten up, she’s walking her fingers through a Rolodex. She pulls out a card and hands it to me.

“This is the address we have for Jason. You’re sure we’ll get exonerated when Jason is arrested? My boss will kill me if I keep this from him and something goes wrong.”

I raise my right hand. “You have my word.”

Now to get out of here before she thinks too long about my story or turns around and glances in that mirror.

I’m almost at the door when she calls out for me to stop.

I freeze.

Shit.

I swivel to face her, prepared to bolt.

But she’s looking at me, not at the mirror. “When you arrest Jason,” she says, “think you can get him to return the magnetic car signs?

Those things cost us fifty bucks a piece.”

“Absolutely.”

Back in the car, I release a long breath and take a look at the card. The address is here in Chula Vista, but at the other end of town.

Since the streets are still slick with rain, I forgo the freeway and take surface roads. Might take me a little longer to get there, but I don ’t need any more frustration.

Jason’s address is an apartment complex on H Street right on the boundary between Chula Vista and unincorporated San Diego County. It’s close to the freeway and there’s the constant drone of fast-moving traffic in the background. With the rain, the sound is muted and rhythmic, almost like the sound of the ocean at my place.

That’s the only romantic illusion. The place is a dump. Reminds me of the apartment Trish lived in with her mother. Could have been built by the same developer. The building is squat, two -storied, flat-roofed. The place is in bad need of a paint job. Asphalt tiles curl like withered leaves exposing the tar paper roof underneath. I wouldn’t be surprised if residents in that top floor aren’t scurrying around to find pots to catch the leaks.

Jason’s apartment is on the ground floor. I pick my way through a courtyard littered with broken bottles and fast -food containers. His door sports an unpainted patch, as if someone kicked it in and nailing up a square of rough plywood was the extent of the repair work. Fits though. Anything else might have spoiled the trashy ambience of the place.

I stop outside the door and listen. First I hear music, both the volume and type of which surprises me. It ’s soft jazz, played at a softer level. I would have expected something along the lines of heavy metal played at an ear-splitting decibel.

Then I hear voices—two. Male and female. The man is being gently persuasive. It takes me a second to realize what he ’s being persuasive about.

When I do, I put my shoulder to the door and burst through.

CHAPTER 35

JASONSHELTON’S VAMPIRE FACE IS UNLIKE ANY I’VE seen. The pupils of his eyes haven’t turned catlike the way mine do, but cornea and sclera blend together so there’s no white at all. It’s like looking into black marbles. He has two needlelike fangs that descend past his lower lip. He’s clutching something in his right hand. His face looks normal except for the fangs and strange eyes.

We stare at each other for a moment, he looks as shocked by my appearance as I am by his.

The only light in the room is streaming in from the broken door. Heavy black-out drapes cover the window. We appear to be in a living room, though the only pieces of furniture are a bed and a dresser. The music comes from a radio perched on that dresser. Next to a half dozen condoms.

Condoms? Since when do vampires use condoms?

The smell of sex is strong.

“Jason Shelton?” I ask.

That galvanizes him into action. He lets something drop to the floor and scuttles over the bed like a crab.

“What are you?” he rasps by way of answer.

What am I?

I reach down and pick up the thing he’d dropped. It’s a capped syringe filled with a pale gold liquid.

Is this the way he’d subdued the girls after he turned them? Am I too late to save this one?

The girl I’d heard through the door has backed herself into a corner. She’s naked and her small, emaciated body looks frail in the dim light of the room.

I face Jason, send out a probe. Let the girl go.

There’s no response. Just a wild-eyed, creepy stare out of those onyx eyes.

If you let the girl go, I won’t hurt you.

Not exactly a lie. I’m not sure what kind of monster he is, but I don ’t intend to hurt him. Exactly. I intend to kill him when I get the information I need.

Still, no response. Nothing. Just like with the girls at the safe house, there’s no psychic co

“Let the girl go.”

That provokes a reaction. Jason reaches out and the girl rushes to him. He grabs her arm. She yelps as he pulls her close. “I asked you what you are.”

The girl finds her own voice. “Kill it, Jason,” she screams. “You’re a vampire. Kill it.”

Kill it? If I wasn’t so angry, I might find the situation fu

“Nice move, Jason. Very brave.” I grab his fingers and bend them back until he releases the girl. I spin her away from him. “Get your clothes on and get out.”

She plants herself in front of me. “No. I want to be a vampire. Jason said—”

I smack her across the face with the palm of my hand. “It’s not life he’s offering you,” I snarl. “Now get out.”

She backs away, rubbing her cheek but still not making a move toward the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Maybe if I scare her enough, she’ll get the idea.

I reach out and grab Jason by the neck, lifting him off his feet. I bite his cheek, tearing a piece of flesh from the bone and spitting it back at him.

Jason is screaming and clutching at my hands with his own. I turn toward the girl, show her the beast, let her see and feel the full fury of my anger.

That gets her moving. She grabs her clothes and runs out.

I would have let her get dressed.

Now that she’s gone, I turn my attention to Jason.

“Where is Simone Tremaine?”

He gasps and continues to snatch at my hands, finally croaking, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

I put my face close to his, lap at the blood on his ruined cheek. Whisper, “Think about it, Jason. The woman you’ve been turning girls for. The woman who bleeds them to death. Where is she?”

I release my grip on his neck enough to allow him to speak.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer. Guess I have to use a little more persuasion. You like to fuck?” I tighten my hold on his neck with one hand and grab his balls with the other. They’re slick with sweat and sticky with the girl’s sex. I can barely restrain a gag reflex.

But I manage. My fingers tighten and squeeze. “Better think fast, Jason.”

Jason flies into a full-blown panic. His legs flail, his face reddens and his breath comes in short, rasping gasps.

And I’m not even squeezing hard yet.

“Please. Stop.”

The hammering of his heart thunders in my ears. I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. Reluctantly, I relent.

I release him and he falls to the floor, curling into a fetal position, using one hand to cover his head and the other his genitals. I give him a second to catch his breath, then haul his ass up and throw him on the bed.

“I’m not going to waste any more time with you. Get your pants on. We’re going to see a friend of mine. Between us, I’m sure we’ll find a way to loosen your tongue.”