“You have any evidence to support this theory?”
“I found the old man’s ID . . . ”
“Tell Jack.”
“It’s been destroyed. I’m guessing that between the time he died and the time she screamed—and he was still warm so that wasn’t long—something reduced his ID to a fine ash.” Tony twisted out of Lee’s grip. “Your average hooker couldn’t do that.”
“You could.” From the look on his face, Lee knew exactly how that had sounded. “Look, you have no proof Valerie’s involved in anything but bad timing. You’re not a detective . . . ”
“And you only play one on TV.”
“Is this about me? Because I’m paying attention to her? For fuck’s sake Tony.”
“I saw how she looked at you.”
“I’m an actor. Lots of people look at me.”
Tony meant to say, I think you’re in danger, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “I saw how you looked at her.”
Before Lee could respond, Pam rapped on the dressing room door and called, “They’re ready for you on set, Lee.”
Lee took a deep breath and shrugged into the overlay of James Taylor Grant. “We’re done talking about this,” he growled, opened the door, pushed past Pam, and slammed the door so hard two framed photos fell off the wall.
“I think you’re in danger,” Tony said, staring at the broken glass.
“Lee . . . ”
“I’ve got that promo thing tonight.” Lee shrugged out of Grant’s leather jacket. “With the American affiliates. There’s going to be a lot of liquor, so I’ll probably get a room at the hotel.”
Not the sort of hotel a basic streetwalker could score an entry to. “Okay.” Tony held out the next day’s sides. “You’ve got a ten a.m. call tomorrow.”
Lee looked down at the paper, up at Tony, closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “She’s very beautiful and I’m not dead but I would never . . . ”
“I know.” And ninety percent of the time, he did.
If he wanted to talk to a hooker, Tony had to go back to where the hookers were. Back in Gastown, he wrapped himself in a notice-me-not and wandered along the sidewalks, searching for Valerie among the men and women who had nothing left to sell but themselves.
A little voice in the back of his head had started trying to tell him that she was with Lee when he spotted her outside the Gastown Hotel on Water Street. Same blue dress. She was standing by a car. A classic Chevy Malibu. Mid-sixties probably, jet black. Tony couldn’t see much of the driver except for the full tribal sleeve tattoo on the arm half through the open window.
He was a block away on the wrong side of the street so he started to run. Stopped when she half-turned and looked right at him.
Her eyes widened and he had no doubt she could see him clearly.
As clearly as he could see her. Surrounded by traffic and people, she was entirely alone. Her need to be seen hit him so hard it nearly brought him to his knees.
Then she shook her head, got into the car, and by the time he reached the curb in front of the hotel, Tony couldn’t tell which set of taillights he needed to follow.
Nine-thirty the next morning, Tony was out in the studio parking lot waiting for Lee, pretending he wasn’t. He stepped back as Jack’s truck pulled in and then stepped forward again when the constable stopped a mere meter away. “Listen, Tony, can you do me a favor. Tell Amy . . . ”
“No.”
“I’m just going to be late, that’s all. I’ve got another missing person and my time is fucked.”
Tony closed his hand over the edge of the open window. “This missing person, does he own a classic car?”
He got his answer from the look on Jack’s face when he pushed up his sunglasses. “Tony?”
“Check around. See if an old John Doe with a tribal sleeve turned up. Left arm.”
Jack glanced down at the paperwork on the seat beside him. “My missing person has a tribal sleeve. Left arm.” When he looked up, his eyes had narrowed to the point where they were nearly cliché. “What do you know?”
“I spooked her and she got careless.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And this isn’t a police case.”
Jack stared at him for a long moment and finally nodded. “You want me to call you when this old John Doe turns up?”
“You can.”
“But I don’t need to.”
Tony shrugged.
“So while I’m dealing with this case that isn’t a police case, what are you going to be doing.”
“Research.”
“Where do you research this kind of shit?”
“I work on a vampire/detective show, Jack.” Backing away from the truck, Tony spread his hands. “I’m going to talk to the writers.”
Lee half expected Tony to be waiting for him in the parking lot. They were used to spending nights apart—hell, they’d spent five weeks apart during hiatus while he was in South Africa shooting a movie—but this . . . He couldn’t fucking believe they were fighting over a woman. Wasn’t that what straight guys did?
When Tony finally appeared forty minutes later, Lee stepped toward him only to be yanked back into place by the stunt coordinator.
“Trying to keep you from breaking bones,” Daniel growled. “Pay attention.”
They moved directly from set-up to rehearsing the fight scene to shooting the fight scene.
By the time Lee was free and the crew had scattered for lunch, Tony was behind closed doors in CB’s office.
“How long’s he going to be?”
“Jesus, Lee, how should I know.” Amy reached under a fall of matte-black hair to adjust her headset. “Stupid PA quit and it’s not like I don’t have the whole office to . . . ” She rolled her eyes as the phone ran. “CB Productions, can I help you?”
His scene later in the day was all weird, esoteric dialogue, the vampire/detective version of techno babble. He should go to his dressing room and run lines but all Lee could think of was brown eyes and chestnut hair and a blue dress. “I’m done until three. Tell Tony I’ve gone into downtown.”
Amy nodded, rolled her eyes at whatever was being said on the other end of the phone, and waved him toward the door.
Valerie was waiting on the corner of West Cordova and Homer Streets. Well, not waiting for him but since he was the one who drove up beside her, Lee figured she might as well have been. “Hey!”
Her smile made him feel immortal.
“You hungry?”
“Hungry?”
Her confusion made him feel like pounding the men who’d all asked her a different question. “You do eat, don’t you? Come eat with me,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. “You and me. Just food. I promise.”
“Just food?” She pushed her hair back off her face.
“Lunch.” It felt like they were speaking two different languages. “I’ll pay for your time, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“He went where?”
“Downtown.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Hey!” Amy lunged up from behind her desk, grabbed Tony’s wrist and hung on. “You want to explain yourself!”
Faster to explain than fight. “Lee’s hooker is something like a succubus.”
“She’s a demon? Tony, do not tell me we’re starting that demon shit up again because we barely survived the last time they came visiting!”
“No, I’d know if she was a demon.” After Leah and the Demongate, if there was one thing Tony could recognize, it was a demon. “I said she was something like a succubus. All her victims are men, probably men sexually attracted to her but . . . ” He waved a hand. He didn’t have a lot of actual fact although the show’s writers had come up with a lot of theories. “Anyway, she’s definitely sucking the life out of them and she wants Lee.”