Deadworld (26 page)

Chapter 41

Nick watched Jackie doze off for the fourth time during his briefing. Gamble kindly kept nudging her, but Nick wished he would just let her be. The case appeared to finally be unnerving the rest of them. It had begun to sink in, the fact they were dealing with something both more and less than human. Nick held out the vague hope that he could set the stage by having Reggie show up, but Reggie remained curiously and disturbingly silent. Even the smart-aleck Pernetti kept his mouth shut.

After sixty minutes of explaining everything he and Shelby could do, what he had seen Drake do over the years, and his own meager efforts to stop him, Nick had the group about as up to speed as he was. They now knew what their capabilities were.

“Thank you, Mr. Anderson,” Belgerman said, standing up from his seat. “I’m not sure how much it will help, but we are more informed than we were, which can’t hurt.”

“If we catch him on this side, can we keep him from crossing back over?” Gamble wondered after leaning against Jackie yet again.

“The crossing over is, like I said, a mystery to me as well,” Nick said. “I’ve never done it. I intend to do it only one time.”

“And what if the only way to catch him is to follow him to wherever the fuck it is he goes?” Pernetti asked.

Nick could only shrug. “I don’t know. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Has any information been dug up on him?”

“No,” Gamble answered. “We’re trying to trace him through the Rolls and the old furniture store, but it’s been nothing but dead ends. Something might break, but it could take days or longer before we find it.”

“We probably have less than two,” Belgerman added. “So let’s get back to it, everyone. Mr. Anderson and Ms. Fontaine are our main links to tracking this guy down right now, so everyone keep an ear out for their call if and when it comes.”

It didn’t matter. Drake could track them easily enough if he had access to spirits on the other side to do his grunt work. Cynthia at least would be fine—some smoke inhalation, a cracked rib, and some bumps and bruises. He wondered what she had been up to in order to bring down one of Drake’s goons. He needed to keep her out of all this. She needed to stay on the sidelines.

Shelby had said little since Cynthia’s, but the undercurrents in her voice had told Nick all he needed to know. She would be out for blood at the first opportunity, and Nick knew there would be no stopping her.

“Jackie, go get some sleep. You slept through half the meeting.” Belgerman’s tone indicated that it was not a suggestion.

She stood up, one hand leaning on the table for support. Nick could see the imperceptible wavering of her body. She would not even be able to stand much longer, much less stay awake. “I’ll grab a cot in the break room.”

“No,” Belgerman said, sounding much like a father. “You’ll lay down on a real fucking bed and get five or six hours minimum of sleep. If I hear from you before eight o’clock tonight, you’re fired.” He pointed a finger at her, stabbing the air for emphasis. “And take some goddamn meds, for Christ’s sake. Being awake does you no good if you’re in too much pain to walk.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Jackie said, limping toward the door.

“Bullshit,” Belgerman snapped back. “Gamble, take her home, and you better find someone to post there. She might be a target now, for all we know.”

“That’s a waste,” she retorted. “I don’t need a damn babysitter. I just need—”

“Do you know that you aren’t a target?”

“Sir, I’m not . . . Okay, fine, I don’t know. I can just sleep here anyway.”

“People doze here, Jack. They don’t rest. You going to push me on this?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned wearily against the doorjamb. “No, sir.”

“Good.”

Nick offered a pained smile even as he spoke up. “She can stay at my place. I’ve got extra rooms, and I can hang out there until this evening. If Shelby gets a hit on Drake, you send someone out, and I’ll head into town. Drake won’t be coming to my place.”

“What?” Jackie pushed herself back straight. “I’m not sleeping at your place. That’s crazy.”

Belgerman’s eyes narrowed. “Why is that crazy? Sounds like a reasonably legit plan to me. You aren’t staying here, and, honestly, I trust Nick’s opinion on this stuff. If he says you’ll be safe out there, that’s where you should be.”

Nick watched Jackie pondering the trap she was in. Her mouth worked in soundless agitation, and the look she gave might have melted lesser men. He knew she didn’t want to, but, like it or not, she would be protected at his house, and if he guessed right, she would not want to look chicken by saying she would rather be at home pulling an extra man out of the search for Drake.

She threw up her hands. “Fine. Stupid fucking idea, but fine. I’ll get a couple hours in and then come back down to help out. That okay with you two?”

Belgerman nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll see you back here—”

The door slammed shut behind her as she limped out. Nick let out his breath. Maybe it was an even poorer decision than he’d first thought. “She’ll need more than two hours.”

“Don’t worry, Nick. She’ll be fine once you get her out there and in a bed.” He chortled at his own wording the moment he finished. “Sorry, didn’t mean it quite that way.”

Nick gave him a feeble grin. “I wasn’t even close to taking it that way. I think she would prefer to strangle me at the moment.”

“Probably right,” John said with an amused shrug. “Glad she’s at your house and not mine. She’s on vacation the second this case is done.”

She needed that vacation now. Yesterday. Nick could not help wondering to himself if Jackie would even make it to the end of this case. Emotional stress was particularly hard to manage if you were physically hurting. He knew that well enough. “She really needs it.”

“Nick,” he said, laying a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely sure this Drake guy is not going to come anywhere near your place?”

He nodded once. “Trust me, John. He’s too close to the end, and he won’t risk mucking his plans to come after one little beat-up FBI agent on the off chance I get lucky and get him. She’s safe.”

“Okay, thanks. This is just a little against protocol, but we don’t really have one when it comes to dealing with vampires.”

Nick shook his hand and left to track down Jackie.
This is just a little against my protocol as well.

Chapter 42

A little demon inside Jackie’s head continued to jab his pointy little fork at her skull. His cousin lanced her ribs with a shish kebab skewer on every breath, and some torturous little bastard with hot coals and a cheese grater was telling her to keep the knee still or else. Mostly, however, it was the notion of going to sleep at Nick’s. Why had she agreed to such a stupid idea? Grief. It had to be the only logical explanation for thinking that napping at the vampire’s pad was a good idea.

He stopped at her apartment so she could pick up extra clothing, and grabbing a few things from the bathroom gave Jackie time to actually look at her reflection in a mirror for the first time since the attack at Cynthia’s house. “God, I really look like shit.” Then again, that was probably a better state of affairs when hanging with a vampire. Maybe the attraction for blood was less if you were unattractive. “Nuts,” she muttered and grabbed the small bag with a brush, toothbrush and paste, and deodorant. “I’m completely fucking nuts.”

Outside the bathroom, Jackie realized there was a dent in her wall. She could not even recall how it had gotten there. She fed Bickerstaff an extra-large bowl of cat food with some tuna mixed in, scooped his cat box, and marched back out the door with her duffel. The sky was threatening, storm clouds rolling in from the west. There would be rain. All the better, Jackie figured. It suited her mood.

The rain had begun to fall by the time they reached Nick’s, and the misty drizzle, along with the fading, late afternoon light, gave the house a warm, inviting look. Fucker. Why couldn’t he live in a shitty, two bedroom apartment like every other lowlife private dick?

Fortunately for Nick, he had kept quiet the entire trip out, letting Jackie doze, her head propped against her hand. She had been ready for him to say something, anything remotely tactless, and give her a reason to tell him to fuck off, but he had not. He had known to leave well enough alone. He said nothing until the clunk of the garage door behind them made Jackie jump in her seat.

“I’ll take your bag into the spare room and get things situated for you.”

Jackie looked at his hand as if he held a cockroach in his palm. “I’ll hold on to it, thanks. Just show me the room, and I’ll get my couple hours. Then you can turn around and take me back downtown.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, Jackie, but there is no way you will be back up in two hours.”

Opening the door, Jackie stepped out of the car. “It looks a lot worse than it is, believe me. I’ve been worse off and been just fine.” The look Nick gave her, staring at her with those luminous eyes, clearly stated his opinion on her assessment. “Fuck you. I’ll be fine. I didn’t need to come out here.”

He stepped around the car and opened the door into the house for her. “Then why did you?”

“Because . . .” The reason escaped her for a moment, lost on her while she stood in the doorway beneath the arch of Nick’s arm. “I had no choice.”

“Fair enough. You want anything to drink? Tylenol? I have some with codeine around here you could use.”

“Nothing a shot or two of tequila wouldn’t fix,” Jackie muttered and stepped inside. “I’m fine, thanks. Just show me the damn room.”

“Go through the entry and down the hall. Second door on your left.”

Jackie made an effort to avoid limping as she proceeded across his house, but gave in after several steps and continued with the limp. Did she really have to prove herself to him? No. It didn’t fucking matter what he thought. She just needed to get a little energy back, and then they could get back out and find that bastard Drake. They had to. Some little eight-year-old’s life was depending on her to figure things out before it was too late.

The room had more of the same craftsman-style furnishings, a double bed with a heavy head- and footboard, a large leather-covered chair in a corner, and a bookshelf filled with more Old West knickknacks. The man could open a tourist shop with all the shit he had around his house. Jackie tossed her bag on the chair, kicked off her shoes, and sat down heavily on the down comforter covering the bed. The instantaneous relief made her groan. Nick showed up at that precise moment, a bottle of something in his hand.

He had a vague smile on his face. “You still think two hours?”

“I’m setting the alarm on my phone,” she snapped back. “I’ll be up. Take my fucking phone, and I’ll kill you.”

Nick put two shot glasses down on the nightstand next to the bed and poured from a bottle of Patrón tequila. “This bed will spit you back out when it’s good and ready. I’m guessing four hours minimum. Here,” he said, handing her a shot. “It’ll take the edge off.”

“You know your tequila at least.”

He nodded, raising his shot to her. “I’ve had my share. Here’s to reaching the ends we seek and to better days.”

Odd thing to toast, but Jackie could argue with neither. “Thanks.”

Nick poured one more shot in her glass and headed for the door. “See you when I see you, Jackie. Get some rest.” He closed the door behind him.

Jackie stripped down to panties and a T-shirt and pulled back the comforter, revealing burgundy flannel sheets smelling faintly of lilacs. Not exactly the smell she would have associated with Nick Anderson. More of an oak-and-leather kind of guy, she thought, setting the alarm on her cell phone for two hours. Five thirty PM. They could be out of there by six, hit a Burger King on the way in, and be downtown, good to go, by seven.

Slipping beneath the sheets, Jackie moaned with pleasure at the softness enveloping her body. It felt like the bed was wrapping itself around her. “Goddamn,” she said and reached over to turn up the volume on her phone. She downed the other shot of tequila and sank back into the feather pillow with a heavy sigh. Jackie slept before the warmth from the shot had faded from her throat.

She woke with a gasp in near darkness, the sounds of someone thrashing in water fading quickly from her foggy brain. She swore and reached over to pick up the phone, its screen glowing faintly in the dark. It read 9:37 PM.

“Son of a bitch!” She sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, feeling a bit light-headed. Leaning up to reach the lamp on the nightstand, Jackie put pressure on her injured knee. For a moment she thought something hard tore itself right off the bone. “Oh, goddamn.” An instant later Jackie was on the floor, all her weight shifted to the other side of her body.

The door swung open, and for a horrifying moment Jackie thought Nick was going to rush up to her, her T-shirt hiked up to her breasts, sprawled on the floor. The far slighter and curvier silhouette revealed Shelby.

“Jackie! What happened? You okay?” In one smooth motion, she reached down and scooped Jackie up, depositing her on the bed as if she weighed little more than a rag doll. Her hands were hot against Jackie’s skin, and her blue eyes literally were glowing in the dark. “Christ, look at that knee.”

Jackie could only shrug. “You have an ACE bandage out here anywhere? I really need to get back downtown.”

She smiled and patted Jackie on the cheek. “Sweetie, you shouldn’t be going anywhere, though I’m admittedly curious about how Nick got you to agree to come out here.”

She felt heat flush to her cheeks. “I was ordered out here! I had no desire to be out here in his bed.”

Shelby laughed. “His bed is down the hall, Jackie. Don’t worry. You won’t be offending me with anything you might do out here. Now lay back for a sec. Let me see what I can do.”

Jackie slumped back in the bed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . . I didn’t need to come out here for a fucking nap.”

“You need to sleep the rest of the night, Jackie,” Shelby said, her fingers brushing with light strokes over and around the injured knee. “Things are getting done. The entire FBI is out combing the city for this guy, and so are half the police. Not that they will find him, but I, on the other hand, am better situated to sniff out the crotchety old fuck.”

Something warm and syrupy began to crawl through her knee. The relief was instant. Jackie stared. “What did you just do to me?”

Shelby grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s just a little vampire voodoo. Against my better judgment, but it should have you up and moving in pretty short order.”

“You drank more blood, didn’t you?”

“You can tell, huh?” She chuckled and winked at Jackie. “I wish Nick would hurry the hell up. I want to get back out on the street.”

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

The grin faded for a moment. “I don’t kill for blood, Jackie. Ever.”

“Good. I don’t have to arrest you then.”

The front door thumped shut before Shelby could answer her. “About fucking time.” She stood up and pointed a finger at Jackie, her eyes electric and pulsing. “Get more rest, hon. You’ll be more help tomorrow at full strength instead of half-assing your way around tonight.”

Jackie struggled to sit up but found herself wanting more and more to just curl up and go back to sleep in the soft, downy warmth of the bed. “Damnit, Shelby. Don’t do that.”

Her mouth curled up on one side, a sly, sardonic grin. “It makes me powerful, Jackie. It’s like someone turned the volume up on everything, inside and out, and it’s a good thing I’m leaving, because you smell good enough to eat, and I’m really hungry.” She giggled and skipped out the door as Nick came in, stepping sideways to avoid running into her. “How’s Cyn doing?” Shelby asked as she passed him.

Nick looked at Jackie for a moment before glancing back down the hall at Shelby. “Sleeping. She’s drugged up pretty good at the moment. I did manage to get out of her that she was trying to contact Reg but found someone else, apparently, who didn’t want her snooping around. Laurel tried to rescue her. I think something’s happened to Reg on the other side.”

“Damn. I hope not,” Shelby said. “Reg is a good guy. I’ll call you later, babe. I’m hitting the streets.”

The front door slammed shut before Nick could reply. Jackie threw the cover back over her legs before he could look at her. She had the feeling he would see whatever it was Shelby had done to her leg. The warm puddle had begun to expand, crawling like warm goo beneath her skin.

“I tried to wake you at six,” he said but did not sound terribly apologetic. “You didn’t even move, so I figured you would be good until I got back from seeing Cyn. Shelby kept an eye on things.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Jackie replied. How had Nick ever dealt with a woman like that? Of course, he would have been drinking blood back then, too. “It’s important I get back downtown though. I’m the lead on this case.”

Nick’s mouth creased into a frown. “Can I make a blunt observation without you deciding to bury your fist in my face?”

“I wouldn’t . . . What? Fine, I won’t.”

“I think you are quite aware of the fact that you are not capable to lead this case right now.” His mouth worked in silence for a moment, pondering the next words. Jackie decided to keep the “so what” reply to herself until he finished. “Your partner and best friend is dead, and every second you are away from this case is a betrayal to her memory. I know how this works, Jackie. I’ve been there myself. If you want to help her out the most, stay here and rest and get some strength back.”

Jackie stewed on the words. What could she say to that? The bastard was right. Still, it infuriated her that he could assume how she felt about things. “So I’d guess a hundred forty-four years is a long time to be betraying your wife?” She knew the instant she said it that it was uncalled for—spiteful even. The hard, fathomless look from Nick just made it worse. “Sorry. I’m being a bitch. Really. I didn’t mean that.”

His look softened. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve had about as shitty a couple days as one can have. You deserve to feel bitchy, and I could have easily kept my trap shut. It’s not my place to suggest you do anything.”

“Thanks, but I should still get back. I can give Gamble a call and have him put my apartment on hourly watch.”

Nick ignored her. “It’s a bit late, but I’m going to make dinner, and you probably haven’t eaten anything since McD’s this morning. I’ll make some coffee, and the shower is the next door down the hall on the left.”

Jackie crossed her arms over her chest. She could just as easily grab a burger on the way in. “You aren’t taking me back in, are you?”

“It’s safer if you stay, Jackie. Drake won’t come here.”

“You honestly think he’ll come after me?”

“If you interfere with his plans, he’ll kill you.”

“And you don’t want that on your guilty little conscience, do you?”

He gave her a half smile. “Not really, no. So go shower. I’ll have food and caffeine by the time you get out.” He turned and walked out.

“Stubborn asshole!” she called after him, but he said nothing.

She could just call a cab and tell him to go fuck himself, but real food and coffee sounded wonderful, as did the shower, and Jackie felt a little nervous about going anywhere until the weird, vampire-voodoo thing was done doing whatever it was doing.

The shower turned out to be the size of a walk-in closet with its own steamer built in. Ten minutes of that, and Jackie had nearly turned into a puddle on the slate tile floor. The throbbing headache had reduced itself to a background pulse, her breath caught on only the deepest inhalation, and when she stood up from the stool, she could actually put pressure on the knee. Everything from the waist down felt thick and tingly. Jackie found it oddly pleasant but wondered how it would be if that syrupy warmth kept on going until it filled her head. All she could do was trust Shelby knew what she was doing.

“Because I smell good enough to eat,” Jackie mumbled into the towel outside the shower as she dried herself. She laughed at the absurdity of it. Could the world be any more fucked up?

Clean, warm, and dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, Jackie felt nearly human again as her sock-covered feet padded silently into the kitchen. An Italian opera played quietly through hidden speakers, and Nick Anderson stood there in an apron and an oven mitt, shoveling some kind of garlic, cheesy-covered pasta into bowls on the counter. Quart-sized coffee cups sat next to them, steaming away with the black oil of the gods.