"I told you I'd pass along everything I found on the Goths and wanna-be vamps. Didn't you believe me?" he asked. He shook his head of longish blond curls, rolled his soft brown eyes. Conover was tall, well built, probably in his mid-thirties. Around her age. Jamilla could tell that he was a big flirt, and that he had a high opinion of himself.
"Sure, I believed you. But I had today off, and this case is burning a hole right through me. So here I am, Harry. Better than E-mail, right? What do you have for me?"
She sensed that he wanted to tell her to get a life, to enjoy her day off. She'd heard it all before, and maybe he was right. But not now, not with this case still on the boards.
"I read in a couple of the reports that some of the local ghouls might be living together commune style. You have any idea where?" she asked.
Conover nodded and even pretended to be concerned. He was also checking her out, she could tell. Obviously, he was a breast man. "We never got any confirmation of that," he said. "Kids crash together, of course, but I don't know about any commune. There are a couple of hot clubs — Catalyst, Palooka-ville. And lots of kids share cribs on lower Pacific Street."
She didn't give up. Never. "But if a lot of kids wereliving together — any ideas where that might be?"
Conover sighed and actually looked a little annoyed with her for asking. Jamilla could tell he wasn't the kind of cop who put too much of himself into his work. She would have transferred him in a second if he worked for her, and Conover would have sworn it was a gender thing. It wasn't. He was a lazy, half-assed cop, and she hated that. Lives depended on how well he did his job. Didn't he understand that?
"Maybe out in the foothills. Or north around Boulder Creek," Conover finally volunteered in a soft drawl. "I really don't know what to tell you."
Of course you don't, Harry. Duh.
"Where would youlook first?" she persisted. If you were worth jack shit as a cop.
"Inspector, I just wouldn't be chasing this one too hard. Yes, there have been some curious disappearances around here. But that's true of just about every town up and down the coast of California. Kids are more restless now than they used to be when we were growing up. I don't believe anybody's getting seriously hurt in Santa Cruz, and I sure don't buy that this is the freaking vampirecapital of the West Coast. It isn't. Believe me on that. There are no vampires in Santa Cruz."
She nodded, pretended to agree. "I think I'll try the foothills first," she said.
Conover saluted her. "If you're finished chasing ghouls before seven or so, give me a call. Maybe we could have a drink. It is your day off, right?"
Jamilla nodded. "I'll do that. If I'm finished before seven, Harry. Thanks for all your help." Jackass.
Chapter 81
She was pissed now. Who in their right mind wouldn't be? Here she was, working her butt off in somebody else's town. She parked the Saab on a funky side street in town, near the Metro Center, right across from the Asti bar. She had lost track of the San Lorenzo River while she was driving, but it was around here somewhere. She could smellit, anyway.
She had just gotten out of the car when two men appeared. They walked up quickly and flanked her tightly on either side.
Jamilla winced. They almost seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Blond pony tails, she thought. College kids? Surfers? She sure hoped so.
They were well built, but they didn't look like weight lifters. More like they came by it naturally. Images of Eros, Hermes, and Apollo came to mind. Muscles that were extremely well denned. Virility. Chiseled marble.
"Can I help you fellows out?" she asked. "Looking for the beach?"
The taller of the two spoke with tremendous confidence, or maybe it was cockiness. "Doubt it," he said. "We're not surfers, actually. Besides, we're from around here. How about you?"
Both of them had the deepest blue eyes. They were incredibly intense. One looked no older than sixteen. Their movements were deliberate and controlled. She didn't like this. There was no one else around to intervene on the side street.
"Maybe you could tell mewhere the beach is," she said.
They were crowding her physically, standing too close. She wouldn't be able to get her gun out. She couldn't move without bumping into one or the other. They wore black T-shirts, jeans, rock climber's shoes.
"You want to back off a little?" she finally said. "Just back off, okay?"
The older one smiled. The dent between his lip and nose was a sexy, round hollow. "I'm William. This is my brother, Michael. By any chance were you looking for us, Inspector Hughes?"
Oh no, oh Jesus. Jamilla tried to reach for her sidearm in the holster strapped to her back. They grabbed her. Took away her gun as easily as if she were a child. She was astonished at how fast they moved — and how strong they were. The two of them pushed her down on the sidewalk and handcuffed her. Where did they get cuffs? In New Orleans? The murdered detective?
The older one spoke again. "Don't scream or I'll snap your neck, Inspector." He said it so matter-of-factly. Snap your neck.
The second one spoke then. He was right in her face. She saw the long canine fangs. "If you hunt for the vampire, the vampire will hunt for you," he said.
Chapter 82
She was gagged, then roughly thrown onto the rear seat of a pickup truck. The truck started up and took off with a jolt.
Jamilla tried to concentrate on everything about the trip. She counted off the seconds, kept track of the minutes. There was stop-and-go city driving, then faster, smoother riding, possibly on Route 1.
Then a very bumpy road, possibly unpaved. She figured the trip took approximately forty minutes.
She was carried inside a building, some kind of ranch house or farm structure. People were laughing. At her? They wore fangs. Jesus. She was put down on a cot in a small room, and her gag was removed.
"You've come looking for the Sire," the one who called himself William whispered, his face up close to hers. "You've made a terrible mistake, Inspector. This one will get you killed."
He smiled horribly, and she felt as if she were being both ridiculed and, at the same time, seduced. The one called William touched her cheek with his long, slender fingers. He lightly caressed her throat, stared into her eyes.
She was repulsed, wanted to run away, but couldn't do anything. There were a dozen or so vampires here — watching her like she was meat on a spit.
"I don't know anything about a Sire," she said. "What's a Sire? Help me out here."
The brothers looked at each other, shared a knowing smirk. A few of the others laughed out loud.
"The Sire is the one who leads," said William. He was so calm, so very sure of himself.
"Who does the Sire lead?" she asked.
"Why, anyone who will follow," William answered. He laughed again, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely at her expense. "Vampires, Inspector. Others like Michael and myself. Many others, in many, many cities. You can't imagine the extent of it. The Sire stands firm with simple directions for what to think, how to act, things like that. The Sire is not accountable to any authorities. The Sire is a superior being. Are you starting to understand? Would you like to meet the Sire?"