Hard Times (A Sam Harlan Novel Book 2) (19 page)

Callie sipped from her cup and whispered a quick thanks to Angie, then turned to Elias and said, “Any details you can remember about Santiago might help.”

Tommy chewed at his lip. He hadn’t touched his cup of tea. “What was he wearing?”

“Wearing?” I asked.

“Yes,” Tommy said. “Let’s start with the small details. Was he wearing slacks? Jeans? Shorts?”

“Jeans,” Elias said after a moment. “Blue jeans.”

Tommy considered that. “New?”

“They weren’t full of holes,” Elias said. “They weren’t dirty, either.”

Tommy nodded. “That’s good. What about his shirt? Shoes?”

“Uh … a button-up shirt,” Elias said. “Always button-up shirts. And cowboy boots. Alligator or snakeskin boots, I think.”

“You think?” Tommy asked. “Or you know?”

“I know,” Elias said. “I thought they were flashy.”

“Good,” I said. My mind spun, remembering everything Jack had taught me in our limited time together. “Santiago’s got to be staying somewhere clean, not hiding out in the woods somewhere. A house. A hotel or motel.”

Tommy shot me a questioning glance. “They do that?”

“Yes,” Callie said, before I could respond. “They will hide where it’s dark and no one visits. They prefer to stay away from prying eyes.”

“She’s right,” I said. “I heard of a vampire burrowing under the dirt once to stay out of the sunlight.”

Angie had busied herself cleaning the kitchen after preparing tea, and I had almost forgotten about her until she asked, “Does sunlight kill them?”

Everyone turned to her. She held a dishcloth in her hand, her feet firmly planted on the kitchen tile.

She is holding up rather well given the circumstances.

“It makes them weak,” I said. “Vulnerable. They’re still hard to kill, and dangerous as hell. Santiago caught me yesterday, in the sunlight, in an alley not far from your family’s restaurant. He almost killed me.”

Elias gulped and Tommy’s eyes flickered to the scab on my eyebrow. “I wondered about that,” Tommy said. “You’ve been walking like you’re hurt.”

“I’ll live,” I said. “We just have to be careful. You saw how fast it moved. How strong it is.”

He cocked his head to the side. “It
can
be killed, right?”

“Yes,” I said, “it can.”

Elias licked his lips. “What else do you need from me?”

“What kind of car did he drive?” I asked.

“Car?” Tommy asked.

“They don’t just fly around,” I said, waiting for Callie to back me up.

She nodded. “They can jump great heights, but they can’t fly. They have to move around like a human.”

“He drove an SUV,” Elias said. “A white one.”

“Did you get the plates?” Tommy asked.

“No. Why would I remember license plates?”

Elias had a valid point. Most people didn’t notice, let alone memorize, license plates. It was just another random piece of information in a day most people spent inundated with useless information.

“That’s okay,” I said, raising my hand. “Can you at least tell us the make and model?”

“It was a Ford, I think. An Explorer.” He paused. “It was clean on top but dirty on the bottom.”

“Dirty?” Tommy asked. “Dirty as in muddy?”

“No,” Elias said. “Dusty. Lots of dust on the bottom.”

The hills of Central Iowa were covered with dirt and loose rock roads, most of which left a reddish dust on vehicles. I noticed it the first few days living at Jack’s, while I worked to file his will. Every trip into town left the truck covered with a light speckling of dust that, if left in place, would cake so thoroughly that it took a pocket full of quarters at the local car wash to remove.

Tommy shrugged. “A dirty SUV could mean anything.”

I stared, waiting for more.

“You must be joking,” Tommy said. He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his short blond hair. “There’s hundreds of miles of roads in the county, and that’s just
this
county. Santiago could be anywhere.”

“I think it would want to stay close to the girls,” I said. “Its clothes weren’t dirty. He’s staying somewhere warm and dry. Could be out in the country. A farmhouse, maybe.”

Tommy scowled. “Do you have
any
idea how many farmhouses we have around here, and pretty much all of them on dusty roads? This doesn’t help.”

“It’s one more thing than we knew before,” I countered.

“Maybe,” Callie said, “there’s something else you saw that might be important.”

Angie stepped behind Elias, wrapped her arm around him, and gave him a tight hug. “Think, honey.”

Elias turned to her. “I thought you didn’t believe any of this?”

She stroked her hand gently across his forehead. “I don’t believe
them
. I believe
you
. If you say this thing wasn’t a man, then I believe you.”

“No matter how crazy it sounds?”

“No matter how crazy, I believe in you, Elias. You just
need
to concentrate.”

He turned back to us and closed his eyes, breathing shallowly for several minutes, then nodded his head. “He took us aside. Each of us. But he spent more time with my mother.”

“Your mother?” I asked. “How much more?”

He hesitated. “A lot more.”

“Maybe your mom knows something,” I said.

Elias froze. “You want to talk to my mom?”

Everyone was nodding and even Angie joined in. “I think we should give it a try,” I said.

* * *

We were still sitting at Angie Bent’s kitchen table, our tea long since cold, waiting for Leticia. It was almost midnight, a time my father called the witching hour. I used to roll my eyes at the expression, but now it filled me with dread.

There was something about that peculiar time of night. It was later than evening but not yet morning. It hinted at impossible things, things that were not of this earth. Maybe it was the change or maybe it was meeting an honest-to-God witch, a woman who held the power to trap me in a hallway or peer into the hazy possibilities of the future.

Maybe I’m suffering from some type of PTSD.

There was the thing I’d tried to hide from myself for weeks, the thing I could no longer ignore. I wasn’t just tired and hurt and scared.

Closing my eyes, even for a moment, brought forth memories of Katie as she died. If not that, then the memory of plunging my knife into Stacie’s heart, the woman I’d tried so desperately to save.

Most of all, I was haunted by the image of fire consuming my daughter. She never blinked. Not once. That, above all else, pained me most.

What had she felt in those last moments? She told me she was hungry, the ravenous, crushing hunger of a youngling. Was she confused when I stabbed her through the heart? I told myself it was necessary, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

Callie watched me from across the table, her hand absently fiddling with the teacup, her striking green eyes catching mine. Callie had never indicated she blamed me for Katie’s death. She’d never pointed her finger and demanded to know why I hadn’t protected her sister.

How could she
not
blame me?

I had thought long and hard about forgiveness since Peoria. About acceptance. Callie devoted her life to Christ. Maybe that allowed her to forgive.

Hell, maybe she’s just a better person.

I couldn’t forgive myself. Killing vampires wasn’t therapy. It wasn’t my calling. It was my penance. Now lives depended on me. The Mendozas. The Glicks. Tommy Mueller. Angie Bent. The people of Marshall County, preparing to celebrate Halloween, blissfully unaware of the evil that walked among them.

There was a knock at the front door and Elias stood and answered. His mother, Leticia, entered. Even with the late hour, and even though she must have been sleeping, she somehow still managed to be exotically beautiful.

Her lips were full, red, and luscious, so alluring it almost hurt to look at them. For a moment, I wondered how it would feel to kiss them. I tried to push the thought out of my mind, but her ample chest caught my attention. She wore a thin blue shirt under a gaping jacket, and the cold night caused her stiffed nipples to poke through the fabric. Her pajama bottoms displayed the fullness of her hips, making my imagination race.

God, what’s wrong with me?

Sex hadn’t crossed my mind in six weeks, not since the morning when Stacie had joined me in the shower. Everything after had been too terrible, too mind-numbingly violent, to allow any such thoughts, but suddenly my libido was roaring back.

Focus, damn it. People’s lives are at stake.

“Mrs. Mendoza,” I said. My voice was higher-pitched than I intended. “Glad you could make it.”

She was staring at us. “What is this? Elias? What are these people doing here?” She pointed at the deputy. “What is
he
doing here?”

“Mom,” Elias said. “We have to talk to you.”

“About what?” she demanded. “What is so important that you call me to your—” She paused and her face flushed, glaring at Angie who stood in the kitchen. “Your girlfriend’s house?”

“Hey,” Angie protested, stomping her foot against the hard tile. “I’m not some whore. Elias and I are in love.”

“Yes, I know what you and my son are in,” Leticia said, her voice soft but deadly. “My child has poor taste, as he will eventually realize.”

They stood glaring at each other like a pair of gunfighters in an old western, and I suddenly considered a different possibility about why Elias was spending nights with Angie. His mother and girlfriend were both strong-willed women, both willing to fight, even though the fighting took the form of verbal jabs and dagger-eyed stares.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have time for a family throwdown. I snapped my fingers and it echoed like a gunshot against the walls of Angie’s living room. “Ma’am,” I said. “Elias needs to speak with you, and it’s quite urgent. Can you put aside the snark?”

Leticia turned her smoldering dark eyes on me and I suddenly empathized with baby seals, right before the shark attacked.

“Who are you? Wait, you were in the restaurant, with him,” she said, lifting a carefully lacquered nail and pointing at Tommy.

“My name is Sam Harlan,” I said. “Mary Kate Glick asked me to look into Elena’s disappearance. Colden is worried about her.”

“Colden?” she asked. Her face softened. “He shouldn’t be worried. Everything is fine. Elena can be flighty. There’s nothing to worry about. Certainly nothing that justifies”—she waved her arm around the room—“this.”

“Mom,” Elias said. He took a halting step toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Who is Ignacio?”

Leticia turned to her son, her face puzzled. “Who?”

“Ignacio. Don’t you remember?” Elias asked. “Grandmother’s friend? He’s been stopping by the house for weeks.”

Leticia’s eyes widened as her brain tried to process his words. “I don’t know any Ignacio. Why are you asking me this?”

“His name is Ignacio Santiago,” Elias said. “He knew Grandma and Grandpa in Mexico City.”

She started to speak, then hesitated, her jaw working. “It sounds familiar,” she offered, “but I don’t remember. Am I supposed to know this man?”

Tommy’s face twitched when Leticia called Ignacio a man, his hand unconsciously drifting to his holster. The attack at the Glick house had spooked him. It had opened his eyes to the things that go bump in the night. He didn’t know the half of it. Not yet.

He watched Leticia with chilly cop eyes. I don’t think he trusted me. He seemed to have more faith in Callie. Everyone assumed Tommy Mueller was a jerk. Maybe he was, but he wasn’t stupid.

Tommy coughed and everyone turned to him. “Mrs. Mendoza, you may not like me—” She started to speak, but Tommy cut her off. “Don’t you think it’s odd,” the deputy continued, “that you don’t remember this man? A man Elias assures us has been in
your
home, talking with
your
family?”

“I don’t—” She squinted, as if a memory was trying to surface. “Ignacio? He
was
in our kitchen. He told me everything would be fine.”

I thought about asking about her mother, Maria Diaz. We were in the same fragile state we had been with Elias the hour before. If I spooked her, it might push her away from the memories we needed to recover. “Mrs. Mendoza? Santiago might be a danger to your family.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, reaching for her son’s hand. “Who might be a danger to my family? What kind of danger?”

“We’re
all
in danger,” Elias said. “Santiago. Remember?”

Her eyes finally focused. “Ignacio.” Her face paled, her coppery skin standing in stark contrast to the luscious red of her lips. “He’s an old family friend.”

I watched as the slowly dawning horror crept into her eyes.

It’s breaking loose.

“Wait,” she said. “He said he was a friend of my mother. You mean he’s not?” She clutched her son’s hand tightly until Elias drew back, wincing in pain.

“Mrs. Mendoza?” I asked. “I believe he means your family harm. Elias said he spoke with you. Do you remember?”

She nodded. “Yes. In the kitchen.”

“What did you speak about?” I asked softly, careful not to push too hard.

“He told me about my father,” she said. “They were close.”

Callie had been watching our exchange and finally spoke up. “Mrs. Mendoza? Santiago is a young man. How could he have known your parents when they were young?”

Leticia blinked furiously. “I never thought about it.” She took a halting step forward, then almost fell.

Elias grabbed her arms and steadied her, then led her to the couch against the wall. Everyone watched with concern, even Angie, who turned back to the kitchen and quickly returned with another cup of tea.

Leticia took the cup gratefully. “Thank you,” she said, her words almost sincere, a far cry from moments before.

“Mrs. Mendoza?” Callie asked. Her hand went to her chest and she held her crucifix. “Don’t you think it odd that Santiago is so young?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking, “now that you mention it, that
is
odd. He was no older than you,” she said, pointing my way.

“He’s older than me,” I said. “Much older.”

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“Because he’s not a human being,” Callie said.