Part 20 (1/2)

David is splitting logs in a clearing behind the cabin. He's bare chested, sweaty and oblivious to our approach. Earbuds attached to an iPod at his waist explain why. I can hear the music. I could hear the music even without vampire hearing. He's got the volume turned way up. He's listening to Incubus, one of his favorite alternative/rock/trash/whatever groups.

He's really gotta be depressed.

”That's your friend?”

I turn to look at her. Tamara is staring, her mouth open. ”Why are you still here?”

She doesn't answer, which makes me take another look at David. I guess I've known him for so long, I've become oblivious to how he must appear to other women. He's a big guy, hard muscled, broad shouldered, lean. He's wearing a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, no socks. His face is darkly handsome, strong mouth and jaw, full lips, blue eyes, cross-cropped dark hair. He swings the ax with easy grace, the muscles on his bare arms barely rippling with the effort. He's not aware that he has an audience, so there's no self-consciousness, no coyness in the way he's attacking that woodpile.

And attacking is what he's doing. I bet I know who he's thinking about.

Tamara is still staring. She's making no move to leave, so I tell her to stay here while I get his attention. No sense scaring the s.h.i.+t out of him and maybe getting bashed in the head in the process.

I cross around in front. He's so engrossed in the work and lost in the music I realize calling out to him isn't going to do it. I wave my hands and jump up and down until he catches the movement and looks my way.

His face turns red. He holds the ax in front of him like a weapon. ”What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?”

”Good to see you, too. Want to put the ax down so we can talk?”

He's still glaring when Tamara moves to join me. She's grinning like an idiot. ”You're David Ryan, right? Heisman Trophy winner?

Played tight end for the Broncos?”

Now it's my turn to stare-at Tamara. ”You know who he is?”

David switches his gaze from me to Tamara. Curiosity softens the anger. The ax falls to his side and he pulls the earphones from his head. ”And you are?”

She thrusts out her hand and takes a step toward him. ”Name's Tamara. People call me Tammy. I brought Anna up here. Didn't have any idea who we were coming to visit though. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to meet you.”

I'm listening to this openmouthed. People call me Tammy? That's like calling a tiger ”p.u.s.s.y.”

David is smiling. He takes Tamara's hand and shakes it. ”Football was another lifetime ago. I hardly think about it anymore.”

”No way,” Tamara says. ”You were a great player. If you hadn't gotten hit in that Giants game and hurt your knee, you'd still be playing. It was a cheap shot, and Rutherford should have been thrown out of the league.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing and seeing. Talking to David, Tamara's demeanor softens and d.a.m.n, if she doesn't even look different. Prettier, somehow, more feminine. Christ, is this another spell? Here I am listening to a muscle-bound Amazon, a werewolf, no less (and one I would have sworn had a lesbian thing for Sandra), gus.h.i.+ng over a muscle-bound, strictly heteros.e.xual ex-jock whose chest is starting to swell like an overinflated inner tube. Her sense of purpose in bringing me here seems to have vanished.

”You know how I got hurt?” David asks, clearly flattered that she does.

That's it. I step between them. ”Hey. I came up here for a reason, and I don't have all day. You two can continue this trip down memory lane another time. David, we have to talk.”

The pleasant face he's showing Tamara morphs into the angry face he wore the first moment he saw me. ”I told you to leave me alone.”

”Believe me, I'd love to. Unfortunately, I can't. Gloria needs you. Another thing I can't believe I'm saying. You have to come back to San Diego now.”

It's David's turn to look incredulous. ”What are you talking about? Why would you think I'd be interested in anything to do with Gloria? Are you nuts?”

”You get that question a lot, don't you?” Tamara says to me with a smirk.

I ignore her and focus on David. ”Gloria is in trouble.”

”No s.h.i.+t. She's in jail for murder.” I shake my head. ”She's out on bail, but she may not be for long. She's at County General Hospital. The official story is she tried to commit suicide.”

Emotions play across David's face like a fast-forward slide show-fury, hesitation, concern, distrust. ”I don't believe it. Gloria would never try to kill herself. Is this a trick?”

”Good question. Detective Harris is working on that now. The important thing is, if she doesn't have anyone to stay with her, they may revoke her bail. I can't do it. I'm working on something else. You could. Will you?”

David slams the ax into the log he was splitting when we arrived. ”Let's go.”

No questions, no indecision, no wavering.

David goes inside to grab a s.h.i.+rt.

Tamara watches as he walks away. I think she's forgotten I'm here. She's focused on the door David disappeared through like a puppy eagerly awaiting her master's return.

David is back in two minutes. He secures the cabin and comes down the steps, pointing to the Harley. ”That your bike, Tammy?”

She nods. He fishes keys out of the pocket of his jeans and tosses them to me. ”I'll ride back with her. You take the Hummer.”

Tamara beams, David takes her arm and steers her toward the bike, and I'm left standing alone on the porch.

Nice to see he's over Gloria.

CHAPTER 43.

I WATCH DAVID AND TAMARA PEEL AWAY DOWN THE driveway with a rooster tail of flying gravel. Have I fallen down the rabbit hole? It occurs to me that I didn't tell her not to mention the fact that I'm a vampire to David. Or to warn her what will happen if she's entertaining thoughts of delivering David to Sandra to use as leverage against me. But I remember the stupid way she looked; her brain was vapor locked by giddiness. What are the odds my name will even come up?

Any skepticism I had that Tamara and Sandra cooked up this visit today to trap me into another meeting vanished with the look of pure delight on Tamara's face when David wrapped his arms around her waist. I wonder how she's going to explain her distraction to Sandra? Or is Sandra a football fan, too?

Christ.

I walk around back to the carport and climb into David's Hummer. After my Jag, driving it is like wrestling alligators. It does better on the open road, though, and I head right for the O'Sullivan house.

The O'Sullivans live in Fairbanks Ranch, a wealthy enclave in northern San Diego County. It's two fifteen when I pull up a block away from the O'Sullivan compound. Fairbanks Ranch is not a gated community. It doesn't have to be. Each residence has a gate and fence all its own.

I'm debating whether to walk from here or drive up to the house. I have a better chance of getting in and out without notice if I walk. On the other hand, the streets of Fairbanks Ranch are wide and tree lined and patrolled regularly by a security company. If I leave the Hummer here, will it attract notice?

The answer comes immediately. A sedan marked ”Fisher Home Security” has pa.s.sed by twice in the five minutes since I arrived.

The second time, the car pulls to a stop behind the Hummer and the driver's door opens.

I watch in the rearview mirror as the uniformed guard approaches. He's middle-aged, gray, balding, with a slight paunch. His bearing suggests a military background, erect, stern. He has one hand on his belt, resting on the handle of a long flashlight, the mannerism of one who was used to carrying a gun. The military was most likely followed by a stint as a cop.

I roll down my window and wait.