Part 11 (1/2)
A few minutes later, I unlocked the back door and twisted the handle. It didn't budge. I was just about to up the vamp muscle when I felt it again-that same awareness zipping up and down my spine, making the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. My senses immediately tuned in to my surroundings-the distant sound of traffic, the hum of a nearby air conditioner, the faint sound of voices coming from inside the vitamin store at the far end (they were doing nightly inventory). Normal. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except the way my stomach clenched and unclenched.
Not out of fear, mind you.
Previous Top NextNope, this was more like full-blown panic on account of the fact I'm not in any hurry to have to pull another Houdini and knee a bunch of cops.
I glanced from one end of the alley to the other. My gaze sliced through the darkness. A trash Dumpster towered at one end. A cat tiptoed through the shadows a few feet away. The animal's head swiveled and her gaze caught mine. Recognition sparked and she shrank back, giving a slight hiss.
Okay, so this is, like, why I don't have a cat. Vamps aren't really cat people. Sure, we'll adopt the occasional stray, but for the most part we're a bunch of dog lovers. When we morph, it's usually a Doberman or an Alaskan husky or, my father's particular favorite, an intimidating jackal. (My pops was mucho impressed with The Omen. I know. Creepy or what?) Anyhow, animals can sense our otherworldliness. The cat took one look at me and made a quick getaway. Unfortunately, the strange sensation of being watched stayed with me.
Because there was an entire team of black-clad S.W.A.T. officers staked out on the surrounding building tops, all watching moi, a hardened, wanted criminal? Was there a roomful waiting on the other side of the door to slap on some cuffs and haul me off to the pokey? Then again, maybe I was being a total drama queen. Possibly the only thing on the other side of the door was a handful of my closest friends waiting to scream ”Happy Birthday!”
My over-panicked brain voted for numbers one and two, my ego cast its ballot for three. Reason nixed them all because (a) I would have seen the S.W.A.T. members with my ultra-vamp vision, in addition to hearing and smelling them, (b) same goes for anybody inside DED, and (c) my birthday was months away.
I shook away the sensation and twisted the k.n.o.b again. Hinges creaked and whined. Wood groaned. I made a mental note to pick up a can of WD-40 just as soon as things returned to normal. Closing the door behind me, I stood completely still and let my senses tune in to the darkness. Thank the Big Vamp Upstairs for night vision, otherwise I would have been forced to turn on a light, which would have been the kiss of death. While I felt certain the police didn't expect me to return (in their eyes that would be ultra stupid), they would still be keeping an eye on the place (think Columbo staked out in an old Chevy, munching a sandwich out front, rather than The Unit) for lack of any other leads.
I'd hoped to find everything exactly where I'd left it, but no such luck. The police had taken my computer and iPod, as well as my cell phone and file cabinet. I retrieved a batch of business cards from the spare box in my bottom drawer and paused to take a few swigs of the imported blood, which looked like just another bottle of fine red wine, in a nearby fridge. Cold, I know, but I was running on empty since I'd declined to drink at Ty's place for fear of losing control and giving in to my inner s.l.u.t.
I took a last, long drink before recorking the bottle and putting it back in its place. Then I stuffed the DED cards into an empty envelope and walked into the outer office. Evie's computer was missing, as well, along with the small terminal we'd set up in interview room A, aka the storage closet. The only thing the police hadn't confiscated were the telephones and answering machine. Yeah! A message book sat next to Evie's phone and I glanced at the latest entry from that afternoon.
Rachel Sanchez. The were-Chihuahua. I smiled, tore off the message, and stuffed it into the envelope.
I opened Evie's bottom drawer in search of the one s.h.i.+ning ray of hope amid so much gloominess. See, last month Evie had been totally stressed over her dad coming to visit, which meant she hadn't gotten her usual eight hours, which meant she'd needed an extra pick-me-up midday, which meant she'd headed to Starbucks during our peak hour and had been in such a hurry that she'd forgotten to get a lid for her cup.
Long story short, she'd dribbled mocha latte on the computer keyboard while trying to answer a new call and key in the latest client. Talk about mult.i.tasking. Anyhow, the system had blanked out and we'd had to call a repairman. He'd been able to retrieve some of our data, but not all. After he'd quieted me down (I'd sort of whimpered), he'd suggested backing up to a data pin in the future.
All right, already. So I'd bawled like a baby. My professional life had been on that computer. Talk about a low moment.
I'd picked myself up, as usual, and taken the guy's advice. Now we were a totally hip, totally conscientious matchmaking firm that backed up religiously.
My hand dove between a box of tampons and a can of hairspray and started to search. I unearthed a spare lip gloss, a bottle of clear nail polish (was there anything that stuff couldn't fix?), a chocolate-dipped spoon, two packs of Equal, a data pin, a mini curling iron-yes!
I planted a big one on the small contraption and stuffed it into the envelope along with the rest of my goodies. Closing the drawer, my gaze snagged on the message light flas.h.i.+ng on Evie's telephone.
No touching, I told myself. First off, I didn't want to leave a fingerprint because if the cops fingerprinted they would know I'd been here.
Then again, they'd probably already fingerprinted and even if they hadn't, this was my place. My fingerprints were everywhere.
And, I was pretty sure that leaving a fingerprint wasn't like getting offed and having the contents of your stomach examined for time of death. It was a fingerprint, for heaven's sake. There was no way to tell what time or date it had been left. Or was there?
I was sort of figuring this stuff out as I went along and my curiosity quickly voted N-O.
I turned the volume b.u.t.ton down all the way so as not to alert Columbo that there was anyone inside and pressed the play b.u.t.ton. My vamp hearing tuned in to the nonexistent sound and the words echoed through my head.
”You've reached Dead End Dating, where finding love is as easy as applying for a modest, but well worth it, home equity loan.”
It wasn't the greatest slogan, but I was still working on it.
”Our offices are closed, but if you'll leave a name and number, someone will contact you on the next business day.” Beeeeeep.
”I'm calling for Lil. This is Ayala Jacqueline Devanti.”
Aka my one and only Dead End Dating failure.
Okay, so she wasn't my only one, but the f-word was such an ugly term that I reserved it for only the most disastrous of experiences. In a nutsh.e.l.l, Ayala was the daughter of one of my mother's friends and the perfect female vampire. She was ultra hot. Educated. Her o.r.g.a.s.m quotient rivaled even mine (baker's dozen, or it had been the last time I'd actually had s.e.x, say, about a hundred years ago) and she desperately wanted to settle down and contribute to the vampire race.
I know, she should have been an easy match, right? I'd thought so, too, which was why, before I'd paired her up with a real candidate and added her to the Wall of Fame, I'd hooked her up with Wilson Harvey. See, Wilson had had the hots for my best friend, Nina Two (brunette, conservative, did the financials for her father's female sanitary products plant in Jersey) but he hadn't wanted to admit it. Nina had been slow on the uptake as well. So I'd paired them each up with primo potential mates and sent them to the annual midnight soiree sponsored by my mother's huntress club. They'd each been insanely jealous of the other (am I good or what?) and had come to their senses (h.e.l.lo Wall of Fame), but not before Ayala's werewolf lover had shown up and staked me in the shoulder.
Ouch.
He'd been aiming for Wilson, of course, but I hadn't been able to stand idly by and let some crazy wolf off my best friend's eternity mate. Not to mention, Wilson had yet to pay his hook-up fee and I wasn't eating that.
Anyhow, in the short time since getting staked, I'd introduced Ayala to several potential eternity mates, expecting each one to be It. Surprisingly, she hadn't clicked with any of them. She didn't like brunettes. She didn't like blonds. She didn't like doctors. She didn't like lawyers. She didn't like condescending men who only cared how many times she could scream their name during one s.e.xual encounter.At least none who fell into the born vamp category.
I'd broached the subject with her a few times and suggested she let me fix her up with, I don't know, maybe another werewolf? I mean, she had listed Wolf as her all-time favorite movie. And her number one song? Big surprise. ”Werewolves of London.”
Forget the writing on the wall. She had it tattooed on her forehead. But, alas, she wasn't ready to come out of the closet. She wanted to settle down and make babies, and she was looking to me to make it happen.
Always up for a challenge-and a free shopping spree (her father was well-connected with Barney's)-I was still searching for Ayala's perfect someone.
”Friday was a total disaster. He wore a navy suit and I absolutely abhor navy. Did I mention that on my profile?”
Uh, no.
”It made him look even more washed out,” the message continued. ”Even after we had dinner, he still looked as dead as ever.
But I'm not crying over a spilled martini. There's always next week, right? Provided, of course, you have someone. You do have someone else lined up, don't you?”
No.
”But of course you do,” she went on. ”You're the expert.”
The line clicked and the second message played.
”Lilliana? This is your mother.”
As if I didn't know.
”Things are chaos right now. Pure chaos.”