Twilight Hunger (11 page)

As he paused, crouching in the bushes while deciding what the hell to do next, she came. Morgan. Awakened by the alarm, she had gone directly to the study where he had been. As if she knew. God, how connected they were.

She stood in the open window, looking out into the dark ness, her face completely confused, utterly vulnerable. She would remember their encounter only as a dream. And yet she knew someone had been inside her house. The way she was staring out, squinting, searching the darkness, it seemed al most as if she were hoping to see him, rather than fearing she might.

The woman had no idea the kind of power she was playing with. No idea.

She had better hope she never had to learn.

He started to leave, but then he saw her move, and some thing about the way her eyes changed caught
his attention. She was turning, staring hard at the windowglass, and lifting a hand to her neck.

Oh, God, the reflection. She saw the wounds by night that would have vanished at the first touch of sunlight on her flesh. She saw the two punctures, the tiny ribbon of blood on her white flesh. She saw them—and she knew.

“P
ersonally,” Lou said, “I think Lydia's just been watching too many movies. This paranormal bullshit is all the rage on the big screen lately.”

“Yeah?” Max glanced across the front seat at him. He was driving his beat-up Buick, and there was a console in between them holding his foam coffee cup, his sausage-and-egg croissant, a small notebook, several candy bar wrappers, and numerous other bits of paraphernalia. The man spent way too much time in his car.

“Sure,” he said. “What, you don't know? I figured you probably saw every new monster movie the minute it came out.”

She sent him a smirk. “I don't like poorly done horror,” she said. “It just isn't what it used to be anymore. All slash and no class. You know what I mean?”

“Sure I do.”

“Besides,” she said, “I don't like to go to the movies alone. And there's not exactly a steady stream of potential dates beating a path to my door.”

He shook his head from side to side. “I can't imagine why not.”

“No? Well that's nice of you, Lou. But you're just saying that. I'm not really very pretty.”

He made a grunting sound and blurted, “The hell you aren't.”

Max averted her face, pretending to look out the passenger side window so he wouldn't see her shit-eating grin. “Well, maybe I'm passably cute,” she ventured. “But cute isn't the same thing as sexy. Men don't tend to see me as sexy.”

“Blind men, maybe.”

Her smile grew even wider. She forced it into hiding, made her eyebrows arch in delicate surprise, and turned to look at him. “You mean
you
think I'm sexy, Lou?”

“I…?” He closed his mouth, drew his brows together, saw right through her. “You know, you shouldn't tease an old guy like that. It's not nice.”

“I'm not—”

“Look, here we are,” he said, wheeling the car toward the parking lot as if it were the safe zone in a life-or-death game of tag. “Now remember, hon. This lady is an old, dear friend of mine. I care about her feelings. She's just lost her best friend in the world, and I gotta tell you, that's the least of the losses she's been through in her life. So you be on your best behavior. I'm talking manners, Maxie. Show some respect.”

“Sheesh, you act like I'm going to go in there and spit on her or something.”

“I just want you to ease her mind. That's all. Disabuse her of this farfetched notion she has about bloodsucking night stalkers. And be convincing. Okay?”

She lowered her head, lifted her gaze and fluttered her lashes. “Anything you say, Lou.”

Lou rolled his eyes heavenward as he pulled the car
into the first empty space in the lot outside June's. The place had a bar in one half and a dining room in the other. It was pretty dead at midmorning on a weekday, which was, Max figured, why Lou had chosen it.

She got out her side, not bothering to lock the door, which Lou remedied for her with a look of exasperation. The way Max figured it, if someone was so desperate for wheels that they would make off with Lou's rustmobile, more power to them. He would do better collecting the insurance.

They walked up the steps to the diner's entrance. Lou opened the door for her, and she made damn sure to brush his body with hers when she went through it. He pretended not to notice.

A woman looked up from a table when they came in, her eyes skimming Max quickly, lighting on Lou, and warming as she got to her feet and smiled. It was a weak, watery smile. And Max probably would have felt a rush of sympathy for anyone else who smiled like that. Except that this woman was a buxom bleached blonde who would look good in a feedbag, and she was sending that wet smile to
her cop.

Max quelled her urge to scowl at the woman as Lou led her to the table.

“Lydia,” Lou said. “How you doing, hon?” He reached out for a gentle hug as he spoke to her, and Max felt her blood throb in her temples.

“I'm all right. Thanks for coming, Lou.” She eased her grip on him and glanced at Maxine.

“Lydia, this is Maxine Stuart, the girl I was telling you about. Maxie, Lydia Jordan.”

Lydia's smile didn't falter, didn't turn into one that seemed forced or strained, as Max had expected it to.
She probably thought Max was too young to be any competition for Lou's affections. Well, she damn well better think again.

“I can't tell you how grateful I am that you agreed to meet with me, Maxine,” Lydia said, reaching out to clasp Max's hand in both of hers. “Lou says you know more about this kind of thing than anyone he knows. And I so need the opinion of someone like you, whose judgement I can trust beyond question.”

Max blinked, a little surprised. So Lou had sung her praises, had he? Cool. That was good to know. She shot Lou a look, but he avoided it and waved at the chairs. “Let's sit and get on with this.”

Max sat on one side of the small square table, Lou on the other, with Lydia in between them. Lovely. A waitress appeared to fill the coffee cups waiting on the table, left menus and quietly vanished.

“Gee, she was talkative,” Max commented.

“I told them we wanted as much privacy as possible.” Swallowing as if she had a lump in her throat, Lydia looked Max in the eye. “I understand Lou has already told you the basics. My partner…my…my best friend in the world, Kimbra Sykes…was killed on her way home one night two weeks ago.”

“I've seen Lou's notes on what happened,” Max said, keeping her voice down in case anyone might be listening in. She wouldn't want to get Lou into trouble for the world. “They found her the next morning in an alley.”

Lydia nodded, her blond hair moving with every motion. She wore too much makeup, Max thought unkindly. Old broads tended to do that. Pile it on in an effort to cover up the ravages of time.

“Lou's going to be mad as hell at me for this, Maxine,
but…” Lydia pulled an envelope from the black leather attaché case at her side, slid it across the table. “I got copies of the crime scene photos and the autopsy report before the F.B.I. took over the case.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Lydia, how the hell—”

Lou broke off as Max started to open the envelope and Lydia held up a hand to stop her. “I'll go freshen up, give you time to look that over.”

Max paused with her hand inside the envelope. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking.”

“That's okay. Go ahead, that's what I brought it for.” She got to her feet, headed for the rest room in the back and vanished from Max's line of vision.

“You didn't know she had this stuff?” Max asked, sliding the documents and photos from the envelope.

“No, and I have no idea how the hell she got her hands on it, either. The freaking Feds came in, took all the evidence and destroyed any copies we'd made.”

Max looked up at him. “They did?”

“Yeah. It just happened. There's something going on, Maxie, but I'll be damned if I know what. My best guess would be maybe a serial killer using this same MO But if you breathe a word of that, I'll deny it.”

“Thank goodness Big Brother keeps the public so well in formed,” she muttered. She laid the stack on the table, flipped over the top page and stared down at the crime scene photo graphs. A woman, very tall and lean, maybe in her early for ties, lay on the ground in an alley. She wore khakis and a forest-green sweater with a V-neck. Her light brown hair was twisted into a neat knot.

“Not a hair out of place,” Max muttered. “Look at
her clothes, Lou. They aren't dirty or torn. Her makeup isn't even smeared.”

“I know.”

She flipped through the photos and got to the autopsy shots, which were routine until she got to the closeups of the woman's neck. Two tiny punctures marred the lily white skin there. Again she flipped pages rapidly, until she got to the autopsy report. “The woman died from blood loss,” she told Lou. “It says an impossibly small amount of blood remained in her body, but that she didn't have a single injury anywhere. Not a cut, not a bruise, no internal bleeding, nothing—except for those two puncture wounds at her throat.” She skimmed the page, then went back to the first stack of photos, flipping quickly through them. “And not a drop of blood at the crime scene, either.”

She lifted her gaze, met Lou's eyes. Then, beyond him, she saw Lydia approaching slowly and took her cue, shoving the stack of papers and photos back into the envelope. No one should have to see their best friend looking like that.

“Well?” Lydia asked, stopping, standing near the table. “What's your opinion?”

“Can I keep these?” Max asked, holding up the envelope. “I'd like to study them a little more.”

“Of course. I made copies. But…what do you think, Maxine? Am I completely insane to think it could have been…I mean…”

“You're not insane at all. Either someone was trying very hard to make this murder look like the work of a vampire…or else it actually
was.
”

“Maxie…”
Lou looked as if he wanted to throttle her.

“Sorry, Lou, but for crying out loud, do you have any better theories?”

“A hundred! Alien abduction would be a better theory than that. Jeez, Max, I brought you here to make things better, and you've only made them worse.”

“Don't yell at her,” Lydia said. Her voice was soft but firm. “I wanted her to give me her honest opinion, and she did that, in spite of the fact that she must have known it would piss you off, Lou. Let her be.” She turned her attention to Max. “What do you think I should do now?”

Maxine felt herself grow a little taller. The woman was asking her advice as if she were someone important, someone whose opinion mattered. And the fact was, Max realized, she
was.
No one could help Lydia more than Max could. But damn, this was one can of worms she'd been secretly hoping she wouldn't have to open again—at least, not yet. She remembered the burned, sooty face of that man and the sound of his voice, threatening her loved ones on the phone.

She shook herself and realized Lydia was still waiting for an answer. “The first thing, the most important thing, is that you are to tell no one about this. No one. Pretend you don't know. Pretend you're swallowing whatever cock-and-bull tale they spin for you about Kimbra's death. Thank them and don't argue. Don't question. I swear to God, that's vital.”

Lydia looked surprised but was nodding emphatically. Lou, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes on Max and was staring at her as if she'd lost her mind.

“Other than that, just go about your daily business as normally as you can. Stay off the streets, behind locked
doors at night. Some company wouldn't be a bad idea. I mean, just in case.”

“Yeah, right,” Lou said. “I suppose you're gonna suggest she hang garlic and crucifixes around her bed, too, huh, Maxie?”

She shot him a glance. “I don't think they really work.”

He rolled his eyes, shook his head. “Lydia, go home and for get about this meeting. I should have known better than to bring Mad Maxie Stuart in as the voice of reason. Let the authorities handle this, and I promise you, you'll get your answers in time. You just need to be patient.”

He turned then. “And as for you—”

“Lou, please,” Lydia said.

Max slumped in her chair. “It's okay, Lydia,” she said. “Go ahead, go back to your routine. Trust me, I'm on this.” Then she sighed. “Maybe you should go now. I think Lou wants to yell at me alone for a little while.”

Lydia looked at her, finally nodded. “Looks like you can handle him.”

“I can.”

“Thank you, Maxine. Thank you. I'll be in touch.”

Max yanked a business card out of her pocket and handed it to Lydia almost as an afterthought. “It's, uh—one of my old ones. Haven't had new ones made up yet.”

Lydia nodded, tucking the card into her pocket. Then she gave Lou a hug and left the diner.

Max got to her feet. “Come on, Lou.”

“Come on where?” he asked.

“My place. There are some things you need to see. And if you still want to yell at me after you've seen
them, then you can feel free. I'll welcome it. But if not—then you gotta help me figure this out.”

“There is nothing you can show me that will make what you just did to that woman all right, Maxie. I'm never gonna forgive you for this.”

“Yeah, you will.”

He reached for the envelope, but she snatched it off the table before he could grab it. “That's classified material,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “I've got reams more of it at my place. So this will fit right in.”

He stared at her, waiting for the punch line, and when it didn't come, he lifted his brows and widened his eyes.

“Come on,” she said. “I'll explain when we get there.”

 

Lou noticed the change in Maxie right off the bat. Man, she'd taken him by surprise, encouraging Lydia's delusions instead of debunking them. Max was wild, yes. Impetuous, that, too. Irreverent, and a little bit self-involved. But damn, he'd never thought she would turn on him when he was counting on her.

He was more than a little disappointed. Then again, she was a kid. What could you expect?

But now he was getting worried. When they left the diner, she acted as if she thought someone might be watching them. She looked up and down the road, looked underneath his car before she got in, checked the back seat, and then kept checking the rearview mirrors as he drove.

“What the hell is the matter?” he asked her.

She glanced at him, shook her head. “Stop at the bank. I need to get something.”

He frowned at her, but pulled into the bank's driveway. “Drive-through window?” he asked.

“Safe deposit box.”

Okay,
that
sent a little chill up his spine. What the hell was Mad Maxie up to? He parked the car as she dug through her purse and finally came up with a key. Then he followed her inside, and damned if her behavior didn't set his antennae on high alert. He'd seen her cynical, skeptical and ridiculous, but he'd never seen her paranoid. And there was part of him—a small part—that thought maybe she had reason. He found himself watching her back as if she were his partner and they had just entered a roomful of cutthroats.