Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (14 page)

Another reporter calls out, “What about Constance Bertram’s allegation?” He consults a notebook in his hand, then glances up. “That Point Loma Academy is, and I quote, ‘a hotbed of Satan worshippers’ and that the administration refuses to acknowledge it.”

Johnson sighs. “I think I’ve answered that but let me make it clear one more time. We have found no evidence to suggest these girls—or any students at the Academy—
are anything but normal teenage girls. I can’t begin to explain what might be motivating Ms. Bertram’s allegations. Or should I say accusations.” He smiles, as if begging the reporters’ indulgence. “In fact, if any of you figure it out, let me know. All I can tell you is that
we
haven’t found any basis for them.”

My cell phone vibrates with an incoming text. When I check it, I see it’s a message from Simon.
Monitoring additions to the relevant databases and searches. Taking necessary steps. Kallistos asked that I keep you apprised.

Necessary steps?

I tilt the phone so Zack can see the message, too. He whispers something to the agent standing next to us on the podium, then motions for me to follow him back inside.

Johnson doesn’t see us leave. He’s too busy with the reporters.

“What the fuck?” Zack hisses as soon as we step into the foyer.

I’m already dialing Simon. “What are you doing?” I snap as soon as he picks up.

“Helping,” he replies, no trace of surprise or irritation in his voice at my abrupt greeting. In fact, he continues as if I’d begun with a sunny “Good morning.”

“Listen,” Simon continues. “You heard me tell Kallistos our system was not breached and that the victims must have been identified another way. I’m betting good old-fashioned surveillance was used to find them. Ninety-six girls are in the YBV programs in San Diego, Los Angeles, and Orange Counties. They are now all under guard. Round-the-clock protection. Discreet, of course.”

“Of course.” Sarcasm drips from Zack’s voice. His cheek is pressed against mine, the cell phone sandwiched between us. “Simon, I wasn’t kidding before. You realize what you’re doing could get you arrested,” he whispers.

“Only if you can prove it. And you can’t. Besides, you have bigger fish to fry.”

“Unlawful surveillance is a Class D felony,” Zack persists.

Zack’s admonishment doesn’t faze Simon in the least.

“Don’t think of me as an evildoer. Think of me as a difference maker. Like Tony Stark, only without the awesome iron suit.”

“Is Kallistos with you?” I ask.

“No. I’m back in the office. But, hey, remember he mentioned we were going to place Ford under surveillance?”

A sense of foreboding washes over me. “Yeah.”

“Well, the good news is that some photos our guy took just came in. You’ll never guess who he was meeting with just a few hours ago.”

Zack’s holding his breath, waiting for Simon’s answer.

I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming.

“Asa Wade,” he says.

“When it rains, it pours,” I grumble.

“Shit,” Zack says. “He’s back? Wait. That was the good news? What’s the bad news?”

My heart sinks. My stomach roils. “What happened?”

“Ford left the hotel on foot. Paul lost him.”

“What the hell do you mean he
lost
him? How does a vampire lose a human in broad daylight?”

Simon doesn’t sound the least bit worried. “Never fear, fellow crime fighters. I have a plan to draw him out.”

After Simon gives Zack and me the details of his plan, we head for the Wellington in Mission Hills to await Seamus and Sarah—and put the first part of Simon’s “foolproof” plan into action.

It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust after we step through the large wooden door that leads into the steakhouse. Zack, of course, doesn’t have the same problem.

“Looks like we have our pick of tables,” he says.

“Emma? It’s been a while.”

I recognize Vasilis’ voice. As a fixture at the Wellington, it’s his expertise behind the bar that has earned the restaurant its reputation for serving the
perfect
martini.

“Vasilis, this is my partner, Zack.”

As he gets closer, I see he’s wearing his standard “uniform,” black shirt and trousers. His dark hair is neatly trimmed. The black horn-rim glasses he wears were fashionable when he was turned in the late forties. Now they’re all the rage again. At five-ten, he’s shorter than Zack, but I wouldn’t necessarily assume he’s weaker. Zack doesn’t make that mistake, either.

Vampire and werewolf shake hands warily, each cautious of the other.

“We’re meeting someone,” I say. “Mind if we take the corner table by the bar?”

“Help yourself. I think it’s going to be a slow night. Drinks?”

Zack and I slide into opposite sides of the L-shaped black leather booth.

“Club soda,” Zack says.

“Make that two,” I add.

As soon as Vasilis leaves, Zack leans across the table. “You come here often?”

I shrug. “Often enough. My place is close. They have good food. It’s quiet.”

Quiet is right. The dimly lit steakhouse holds less than a dozen tables. Even on a busy night, the setting lends itself to intimacy.

Zack eyes Vasilis, who is busy scooping ice into a cocktail shaker. “He the owner?”

“No, he manages the place. We go back.”

I’ve piqued his interest. “How far back?”

“We met in New York City shortly after he was turned. I was tracking a suspect who was connected to a missing persons case. Vasilis was bartending at the Waldorf where the guy was staying. He slipped him a Mickey during last call. Helped me catch the bastard. We lost touch for a while.”

“Here you go.” Vasilis is suddenly at our table. “Traditional martini with olives for the lady. An old-fashioned for the gentleman.”

Glasses are set before us.

Zack frowns. “We ordered club soda.”

Vasilis nods. “Trust me. You’ll like this better.”

I learned years ago not to bother arguing. “This is what The Wellington is known for,” I say, lifting my glass. “A toast. To thwarting Wade’s plans—whatever they may be.”

The rim of Zack’s glass touches the side of mine. “And hopefully catching the bastard.” He checks the time on his cell. “It’s five thirty. Sarah and Seamus should be here by now. Should we call Liz and tell her we’re going to be late?”

The plan Simon concocted is simple. Seamus is to bring Sarah here to meet us, and when we’ve established that they haven’t been followed, the plan is to take Sarah to Liz for a magical makeover. Then I act as a decoy Sarah while one of Seamus’ men escorts the real Sarah to the six-bedroom, six-bath, eleven-thousand-square-foot mansion on Billionaire’s Row in San Francisco that Kallistos occupied before moving here. I’ll return with Seamus to the ranch. By the time darkness has settled over the compound, Kallistos’ security team will have moved in to back up the resident Weres. With luck, Wade will come after Sarah, get captured, then become the perfect bait to draw out Ford and Lamont.

I pull out my phone and dial. As Liz answers, Seamus walks through the door.

Alone.

“Let me call you back,” I tell her.

Zack’s shoulders sag. “She’s not coming,” he says once Seamus reaches the table.

The pack master pulls out the empty chair and sits. “No. I’m afraid not. Sarah doesn’t want to see you, Zack. And she doesn’t want to leave the ranch. She feels safe
with us. This feeling of obligation, or whatever you want to call it, you have to let it go. Sarah isn’t yours to care for. You’re not responsible for what happens to her.”

Zack isn’t so easily dissuaded. “She wouldn’t be in this predicament if I hadn’t left.”

“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t matter. Look, you told her to move on. She’s moving on. Let her go.”

Vasilis approaches the table, presumably to take a drink order, but Zack waves him off.

“I can smell her on you,” Zack says, his voice low, rumbling.

Seamus leans back in his chair. “It that a problem?”

Zack swallows, then, after a moment’s hesitation, “No. No problem.” He knocks back his drink, catches Vasilis’ eye, and orders another. “He’ll come for her, you know.”

Seamus rises. “If he does, we’ll be ready.”

“The King’s offer stands. You could use the help.”

“Kallistos Kouros has his own problems. Word has it heads of state from the other territories are hedging their bets and won’t choose sides. By choosing none, they may become enemies of both.” Seamus turns to me. “I spoke to him a few minutes ago. Told him we can handle Wade ourselves. If Wade’s sorry ass breaches my compound, I’ll have no problem wrapping him in silver chains and delivering him personally. Then Kallistos can do whatever the hell he wants with him.”

With that, he’s gone.

“Now what?” I ask Zack.

Vasilis arrives with Zack’s drink.

He accepts it and says, “So much for Simon’s plan. I may get drunk.” He motions to me. “The lady will have another. And menus, please.”

I suppress a smile. “How much does it take to get you drunk?”

Zack fishes the cherry out, pops it into his mouth, and crunches down on it. “A lot.”

I raise my glass. “Well, I don’t have your metabolism. So don’t expect me to match you drink for drink, big guy.” I study him for a moment. The line of his jaw seems softer, the shoulders more relaxed. “I can’t tell if you’re celebrating or trying to drown your sorrows.”

I get the shrug. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“So Sarah and Seamus?”

He nods. “It’s a good thing. Seamus was right. I asked her to move in with me out of a sense of obligation, of duty. She always wanted it to be more.” He pauses to take a sip of his drink. “I didn’t.”

Vasilis arrives with menus and my second martini. I’ve barely touched my first and my head is already spinning. What is Zack saying? I put my menu aside and in a hushed voice I ask, “Are you telling me that you and Sarah weren’t really . . . together?”

“By together you mean—”

“Having sex,” I whisper.

His eyebrows shoot up.

“Never mind,” I tell him.

Only he doesn’t want to let it go. “We broke it off before I left South Carolina. I told you that.”

“But then you asked her to move in with you. This entire time I thought . . .” This is dangerous ground. The last thing I should be doing right now is dredging up the past. I shake my head. “It’s none of my business.”

I feel his fingertips brush mine. The touch is hesitant, barely there, then gone. “Do you ever wonder?” he asks,
softly. “Do you ever think about how things might have turned out?”

My heart is hammering in my chest. I’m certain he can hear it. “Turned out?”

“That night at the Hotel Del. We were in the courtyard. I’ve replayed that moment over and over in my head. I have a thousand different endings.” He smiles down into his drink before finishing it off. “None of them end with you just walking back inside, leaving me alone.” The hand that was so close to mine slides back.

Of course, I know what really happened. That was the moment of our first kiss, the night we made love. It seems a lifetime ago. “I think about it,” I admit, surprising even myself.

“But not with regret.” He lifts his empty glass into the air so that Vasilis can see it.

“My situation,
our
situation, is complicated.” I resist the temptation to reach for his hand. “There’s so much I’ve regretted doing. And so much I regret not doing. But my life is what it is.”

He fixes his gaze on me. “I told you once I could pretend, keep my distance, not push. I’ve kept my word.” He leans forward, lowers his voice a notch. “I know there are a million reasons why you wouldn’t want to be with me. I get that. What I don’t understand is why you’re with him.”

“Are we ready to order?” Vasilis places the old-fashioned on the table and collects the empty glass.

“I’ll have the usual,” I answer.

Zack glances at his menu for the first time. “The house wedge. Rib eye, rare, with the seasonal vegetables and the mac-n-cheese.”

“Excellent choice,” Vasilis tells him before taking his leave.

Zack is waiting for an answer.

I stall.

I finish my first drink. Then lift the second one to my lips—seeking inspiration more than liquid courage. I’d been trying to avoid eye contact, but I can’t help stealing a glance over the rim of my glass.

He’s smiling. “You don’t have an answer.”

The hope in his eyes is almost too painful to bear. The truth is, I don’t have a
good
answer. I’ve yet to clear the air with Kallistos about the key card. On top of that, he’s taking circumspect and completely unsanctioned actions. He’s acting the part of a King, protector of the realm. While I understand his need to do so, I fear it may compromise our investigation. Our goals are not the same. In fact, they may be at cross purposes.

“I—”

He holds up his hand. “Let me savor the moment.”

We sit in silence.

Our salads arrive.

Zack eats his with gusto while I pick. About half of the tables in the restaurant are now occupied, some with faces I recognize from the neighborhood. My mind wanders back to safer territory. I retreat into the case, letting the details roll around in my head like stones in a polisher. I sift through the evidence, replay interviews.

“Why’d you order the Caesar if you don’t like it?” Zack asks.

“I like it. I guess I’m not all that hungry.”

He reaches across the table with his fork and spears a
leaf of romaine. “I have an idea. Something that might lead us directly to Ford or the missing girls.”

I’m surprised how relieved I feel to be getting back to business. “I’m all ears.”

“Remember that thing Liz tried to do when her boyfriend, Evan, went missing last spring?” he asks.

“Scrying?”

“It didn’t work because he was in a coma.”

“Divination isn’t her strong suit. Otherwise I would have asked days ago.”

“So, it’s a long shot. What do we have to lose?”

“We’ll need something personal.”

“We have laptops belonging to two of the girls.”

I shake my head. “No. Tech doesn’t work. We’d have to call their parents. We could tell them we want DNA samples on file. Hair from a comb or brush would easily work.” I pause, wondering whether it would be possible to tie Ford to the girls. “You know, being able to place Ford and the girls in the same place at the same time would all but cinch Lamont’s involvement in all of this. But that means we’d need something from him, too. That won’t be as easy to get.”

Zack’s busy scrolling through something on his phone. He holds it up so I can see. It’s one of Ford’s football jerseys on eBay—game used and signed. The current bid is twelve hundred. The auction closes at midnight. “Would this work?”

“Can you tell where the seller is?”

He scrolls again. “Ships from Denver. We could have it in hand by early afternoon. I need to set up an account.”

“It’s not too late. If Ford doesn’t lead us to the girls
tonight, we can call their parents and make arrangements to have their items picked up in the morning. It’s worth a shot.” I wave to get Vasilis’ attention. “Let’s box up dinner. I’m just a few blocks away. It’ll be easier to monitor the auction on a laptop. Go get the car. I’ll get the check.”

I pull my wallet out of my bag. When I do, the key to the penthouse falls out, onto the floor.

I don’t pick it up.

*   *   *

Zack’s picked me up and dropped me off on occasion, but he’s never been inside my place. I live in a converted carriage house in one of the oldest sections of town. I use the term
house
loosely. At less than four hundred and fifty square feet, the entire place is about the size of Zack’s master bedroom. I unlock the door, flip on a light, and head straight back to the dining room.

I don’t have a designated workspace. I work anywhere and everywhere. The tiny dining room is but a few steps away from the kitchen, making it the perfect place to work tonight. We can eat and obsessively monitor eBay. I unpack my laptop and plug it in.

“Plates are in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Silverware in the top drawer to the right,” I call out. I remove my jacket and drape it over the back of one of the chairs. Within seconds my laptop is fired up and my fingers are flying, trying to find the jersey that Zack showed me in the restaurant. “Bourbon’s above the fridge.”

“Want me to open this?” He’s standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of cabernet sauvignon in his hand.

Aside from the modest table and chairs, the only other piece of furniture in the dining room is an antique
sideboard. It holds my
good
crystal and china and sometimes doubles as a bar. I tilt my head in its direction. “You’ll find glasses on the shelf and a corkscrew in the middle drawer.” Then, “How did you find the jersey? I’m not seeing it.”

Zack circles around the table and looks over my shoulder. “Search
Ford football jersey signed
.”

The listing comes right up.

“It’s still twelve hundred.”

He’s moved back into the kitchen. I hear the cork pop, the wine being poured. When he returns, I’m watching him, my arms crossed, my hands attempting to rub away a sudden chill.

“Are you cold? Do you want to turn on the heat?”

I accept the wine he’s holding out. “How about a fire? There’s a stack of wood on the back deck.”

Zack opens the French doors and heads outside. My heart starts to pound. Is it the chill of the evening or something else making my skin go cold? Is Demeter subtly reminding me that she’s ever present, ever watching?

“Matches?”