Retribution

Maybe I own one of those, too.

I eye the bed, thinking perhaps I should stretch out on that silk damask spread and close my eyes.

How many women did Avery have in that bed?

Does Avery’s smell still cling to the bedclothes?

The thought propels me back into the main cabin. I close the door behind me.

I’ve just settled into my seat when Shelby reappears. He points to a telephone on the console. “Mr. Williams is calling.”

He waits for me to pick up before returning to the cockpit.

“Hello?”

Williams doesn’t speak right away. Waiting for me to yell at him, I suppose.

Like it would do any good.

When I remain silent and don’t launch into a tirade, he jumps in. “Got some more information on the cream. Further analysis showed the blood in the cream is breaking down rapidly. It’s doubtful that the cream could remain potent long enough to achieve those remarkable results for more than a couple of weeks.”

Perfect to assure repeat customers. And to necessitate a steady stream of vampire donors.

Williams continues, “No official COD yet for Burke’s three test subjects. The wounds they sustained were critical but not necessarily fatal. It might take up to two weeks to get complete tox screens back.”

“Any other attacks reported?”

Another brief hesitation. I can imagine the relief he must be feeling that I ’m sticking to business. I glance around the plane. There’ll be time later to pursue this flying palace.

“No,” he says. “It may be that with the declining potency of the cream, the other effects wear off as well. If the two are related.”

“What are the odds that they aren’t? What about that syringe?”

“Nothing. Preliminary results ruled out most common narcotics. Identifying the compound is going to take time.”

There’s a pause, then he adds, “There will be a car waiting for you at the airport in Denver. The person meeting you will be of assistance if you come up against Burke or any of her followers. Locate Burke as soon as you can and get back to me. I have a plane of my own standing by. I can be there in two hours. We will do this together. Remember—I intend to be in on the kill.”

I mouth the right words, tell him I understand and will wait.

It gets him off the phone.

I replace the receiver and cross to the bar. I choose a thirty-year-old scotch, pour two fingers into a glass, add a couple of ice cubes.

The liquor burns my throat and hardens my resolve.

I take the little .38 I’d clipped to my belt this morning and lay it on the bar. Williams can remind me that he and I are in this together, that he has as compelling a reason to want Burke dead as I do, that Ortiz was his friend, not mine.

And he’d be right.

It doesn’t matter.

The simple truth is if I get Burke in my sights, there’s no fucking way I’m going to wait.

The drink both relaxes and settles me. Since Culebra ’s black-magic illness, I’ve had little time to think through a course of action.

Explains the blunders. This time I plan to be ready for any contingency.

Best-case scenario? I arrive at the address and spy Burke through a window. One shot through the forehead should do it.

Wonderful fantasy. Probably won’t happen. I have no reason to believe she’d go into hiding with, or ru

What if Burke has do

I let my head rest against the back of the seat and close my eyes. How did Burke come up with the idea of using vamp blood in a cosmetic? However it happened, that such a bizarre notion would appeal to her is not surprising. She’s sadistic and cruel. Where did she find Jason? What exactly was he? He was still attempting to turn others when I found him yesterday at his apartment. Had he been in contact with Burke? Had she set up another factory from hell somewhere? Or is it in his nature to turn others, a biological imperative of his species—whatever the hell it is.

Questions I may never get answered. Questions I hope I don’t get answered. I don’t want to have a discussion with Burke. I want to kill her.

I glance at my watch. The pilot said flying time would be two and a half hours. We’ve been in the air for forty-five minutes.

The sky outside my window is cloudless. When I glance down, I see the begi

Give me the beach anytime.

My thoughts turn inward once more—to Burke’s test subjects. What’s going to happen to them? Williams said the effectiveness of the stuff breaks down with the blood. According to the file on the test subjects, most of the women had been using the cream for two months.

Will the women return to their former middle-aged dowdy selves when the effects wear off? Are there more sinister side effects? Could the three who developed a taste for blood be reacting to a withdrawal symptom? Maybe the craving is brought on by the cream losing its potency. Is that why they were killed? Will more bodies show up?

Christ, Burke, what have you done?

The intercom crackles on, alerting me that we are begi

If it gets me to Burke quicker, I don’t care where we land.

CHAPTER 40

THE JET CRUISES TO A STOP IN FRONT OF A LARGE hangar with the logo XJet. There’s a limo parked to the side of the hangar, and a man stands beside it watching our approach. I assume this is Williams’ friend.

When the engines have shut down, Shelby comes back to open the airstair door. “I see you have a car waiting.”

I precede him down the short set of steps. We’re being buffeted by a cold wind blowing, I presume, off the white-capped mountains to the west.

To the west. Even the mountains are in the wrong place here.

At the bottom, an XJet employee in jeans, a long-sleeved blue shirt and a Windbreaker welcomes me to Denver. He addresses me by name and with a deference I’m not used to. Avery must have paid well for that obsequiousness.

Shelby hands me a card. “Tom and I have rooms at the Clarion right down the street. Here is my cell number. When you ’re ready to leave, call. We’ll make sure the jet is ready whenever you are.”

At the same time he’s telling me this, I hear the limo engine crank up.

A private jet and a limo waiting at the airstrip—maybe I’ve been too hasty in refusing every perk of Avery’s inheritance.

The limo pulls alongside the jet. The back door opens and the guy I saw watching a moment before steps out. He ’s handsome, young and, as Williams mentioned, vampire. Which means although he looks twenty-five, he could be hundreds of years old. Lawson has joined Shelby at the foot of the stairs and the guy greets them in a way that makes it obvious he ’s met them before. It also puts me on alert that if he was a friend of Avery’s he may not be a friend of mine.

When the social niceties have been observed, he turns his attention to me. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Strong. I’m Joshua Turnbull.”

With his slight southern accent, the name fits. He is making no attempt to probe my thoughts, allowing me to be frank in my appraisal. He is just under six feet, a little thicker through the middle than most vampires I’ve met. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He’s dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved cotton shirt and a denim jacket. He’s wearing well-worn boots with a stacked heel and a leather belt with a silver belt buckle. He looks like a cowboy. All that’s missing is a pair of six-shooters on his hip.