“I’l do it. But not for you. I’l do it because a vamp who acts like this is a rogue, a threat to al vampires. Sooner or later, what he’s doing wil come to the attention of vampire hunters.
Then none of us wil be safe.”
Max lets his relief show in a tiny gesture of gratitude. He holds out a hand.
I let my feelings show by standing up and taking a step out of reach. Max is stil an asshole in my book. “Where shal I meet you?”
He stands, too, lets his hands fal to his sides. “The border crossing at San Ysidro. Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”
I nod. Max stares at me a minute, waiting I suppose for the ice to melt. It doesn’t, and final y, Max walks away.
For the first time, I notice.
He’s not limping anymore.
At least one wound has healed.
When I get back to the cottage, there’s no one waiting for me, no urgent voice mails announcing yet another crisis. I decide to push everything that happened this morning out of mind and do what I original y intended to do this Sunday afternoon. Curl up with a bottle of wine and watch a Dead Like Me marathon on the Syfy channel.
Only in my original plan, Stephen was supposed to be curled up on the couch with me.
I pour myself a nice big glass of Merlot and fire up the TV.
The first time I saw this series I was human. Amazing how one’s perspective can change. Now not only does the title seem ironic, but a story about a grim reaper? Reapers have it easy. From where I sit, being a reaper is a hel of a lot easier than being a vampire.
CHAPTER 5
I PLANNED TO BEAT EVERYONE INTO THE OFFICE ON Monday morning. Check telephone messages, the calendar, pul notices from the fax and, if no jobs presented themselves, sneak away before David showed up.
Wel, I did beat David.
But not our other partner, Tracey.
She’s already at work behind the desk, pencil in hand, scanning fugitive posters hot off the fax. She’s sitting in David’s seat and looks up when I come in.
She’s pretty in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of way. Big eyes, big smile she can switch to a just-as-big scowl. She uses both to her advantage. She wears very little makeup, and I’ve never seen her long auburn hair in anything but a ponytail.
She’s wearing a Chargers sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. I can’t see anything else, but I’d be wil ing to bet there are jeans on those long legs under the desk. She and I could share the same work wardrobe if she wasn’t four inches tal er.
“Heard from David?” I ask, plopping into my chair.
She nods. “He’s not coming in today unless we need him.
Personal business.”
My shoulders relax. I can imagine what that “personal business” is. Not many doctor’s offices or clinics open on Sunday.
I pick up one of the flyers she’s already set aside. “Ang for us?”
Tracey puts the rest of the flyers down, lays her pencil on the desk. “Not in this stuff. But I have something if you’re wil ing to help me with it.”
I look up. “Go on.”
“It’s not a paying gig.”
I lift my shoulders in a “so what?” gesture.
She presses her lips together. Her expression says she’s not sure now how to proceed.
Unusual for Tracey. Speaking her mind has never been a problem.
I sit and wait for her to decide. I’m in no hurry. And if I end up with the day off, so much the better. I’l go see Culebra. I have a bone to pick with him. My instincts were right. He knew what Max wanted. So why didn’t he simply tel me? It would have saved al three of us—
“My sister is in trouble.”
Tracey’s voice cuts into my head, pul ing me back from my irritation with Culebra and into the present. “Your sister?”
Tracey releases a breath. “She filed a restraining order against her ex. So far, he’s evaded being served. I told her I’d do it. I need backup.”
Coming from Tracey, this is surprising. She’s an ex-cop who got hurt single-handedly taking down an armed bank robber. She didn’t get shot. She got hurt tackling the guy who outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. Saved a room ful of hostages but the back injury developed into spinal nerve injury and she was forced to retire from the force.
Hardly bothers her now. And I’ve seen her in action. That she thinks she needs backup to serve papers must mean this guy is one mean son of a bitch.
She’s watching me and from the look on her face, reads my expression as clearly as if I’d spoken it aloud.
“He is,” she says. “He’s been in jail three times for spousal abuse and always gets away with a slap on the wrist. He’s got money and a good lawyer on his side. My sister has me. I want to get this son of a bitch out of her life. If he violates a restraining order, it won’t be so easy for him to beat the rap.
But he has to be served first.”
“Do you know where to find him?”
“I do. He fol ows my sister the minute she leaves the house for work. He hangs around the parking lot outside, always in sight, then fol ows her home. He won’t let a stranger approach him, but he knows me. He’l think I’m there to warn him to stay away. Again. But this time. .” Her eyes flick away briefly, settle back on mine. “I’l make sure he takes those papers.”
I have no doubt. “So what do you need me for?”
Tracey lets a tiny smile touch the corners of her mouth.
“He’s been making threats. Tel s my sister if she doesn’t come back to him, he’l kil her. He has a weapon. He’s never showed it to me, but Miriam says she’s seen it. Something he picked up at a gun show. Miriam doesn’t know about guns, it’s evidently a rifle of some sort. But she’s scared.”
Tracey stands up, pul s the sweatshirt over her head. She has a T-shirt on underneath, and a.38 police special in a holster on her belt. “If the bastard tries anything, I want a witness.”
My kind of girl.
This is exactly the kind of diversion I need.
I unlock a dk drawer and pul out my own.38.
“So, when do we leave?”
CHAPTER 6
TURNS OUT TRACEY’S SISTER, MIRIAM, WORKS AS A manager in a Ralphs supermarket. It’s the anchor store in a strip mal on University in North Park, flanked on either side by smal er shops, a Vitamin Cottage, a Rite Aid. Miriam isn’t due to work for thirty minutes. Tracey spies a Starbucks on the corner. I accept her offer of coffee and she walks away to get it while I wait in the car.
I look around the parking lot. Ralphs is open twenty-four hours. It’s seven thirty in the morning and there are half dozen cars parked close to the entrance. Tracey and I checked to make sure Miriam’s ex didn’t beat her to work this morning, but his car is not among them. Neither is Miriam’s.
At seven forty-five, Miriam pul s in. I recognize her by the picture Tracey showed me. She’s early. I glance in the rearview mirror, toward the coffee shop, but don’t see Tracey. No matter. I turn my attention back to Miriam.
She resembles her sister, same hair color, same eyes and mouth. They are both thin. The difference is in their height.
Tracey is five-nine, Miriam, five-two, if that. A gazel e and a greyhound. They carry themselves the same way. With confidence. Miriam walks straight into the store, not looking right or left. She knows Tracey is coming today and she knows her ex wil be close behind, but her bearing is unflinching.
I watch the entrance to the parking lot. No cars pul in for five minutes after Miriam’s and the one that final y does is driven by a gray-haired senior in a big SUV who heads for a handicapped space by the door.
I see Tracey now, starting toward me from the coffee shop.