Blood Drive (Anna Strong Chronicles #2)

Blood Drive (Anna Strong Chronicles #2) Page 43

I'm not sorry he's dead.

Frey crouches over the body. He watches until I back off, and then he turns away, too. He slinks toward the window and leaps through. When I look outside, I see him lying under the canopy of a shade tree, head resting on front paws like a pet tired after a long day of play.

I rest my cheek against the glass. The coolness is a balm on my feverish skin. I'm waiting for the vampire to retreat and the human Anna to reappear. It takes longer than it should. Is this an indication that I'm becoming more animal - if that's in fact what being a vampire is all about - and less human? Not a comfort.

Finally, my pulse slows and my blood cools. I return to Darryl's body and stand over it. He has a look of surprise on his face. I try to dredge up pity or compassion. I can't. He was a child pornographer, he killed Trish's mother and admitted being an accomplice to Barbara Franco's murder. He deserved what he got.

But I have to clear my head and decide what to do next. Bradley is out there as well as the two who killed Barbara and molested Trish. My original thought to torch the place would be the easiest way to destroy the computers and the videos, not to mention a way to explain Darryl's death. But there may be evidence on those computers to tie Bradley in with Darryl - bank records or e-mails, maybe. As it stands now, my word is all that I have to offer as proof that Bradley is involved.

I have to take the computers. I trudge back to the bedroom. Besides the laptop Darryl took from me earlier, there are three computer systems and a digital camera. I also find a box of disks and some files in a cabinet in the closet. I bring everything into the living room and pile it on the coffee table. I'll pull the car around to load up.

When I look for Frey, to let him know what I'm doing, he's no longer under the tree in the backyard. No matter. If he's not waiting for me at the car, I'm sure he's somewhere nearby. How far can a panther get in broad daylight? Or a near naked man, for that matter?

I reach into my pocket for the car keys.

The pocket is empty.

Shit.

I glance around the living room.

They could have fallen out of my pocket in here, or outside when I was dodging bullets.

I don't find them near Darryl's body or in the bedroom. That leaves only one alternative. I yank open the front door - and find myself face to face with Bradley. He's not alone.

"Well, well," I say. "Special Agent Bradley." I look past him to the two young thugs at his side - thugs I recognize from Beso de la Muerte. "And you're Darryl's friends. Come on in. He's inside."

The expression on Bradley's face is part confusion and part distrust. He looks past me, but from this vantage point, Darryl's body is hidden from view.

I step back. "Come in."

Bradley steps around me, carefully, as if afraid physical contact might have an unpleasant effect.

He has no idea.

He hasn't uttered a word. And neither have his companions. They stand awkwardly outside, not moving to join Bradley. I don't know whether they're shocked because they didn't expect to see me at Darryl's or afraid because they know what I am.

I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me and know Bradley has found Darryl.

"You two better wait out here," I say, shutting the door before they can react. I snap the deadbolt in place. Let them run. I know where they live.

I rejoin Bradley in the living room. He's knelt down beside Darryl, his fingers probing for a pulse. When he hears me behind him, he makes a fumbling move to get up, at the same time reaching for the gun under his jacket.

But I stop his hand with my own, forcing his arm up and back.

He resists at first, but all I have to do is lean into him to get the desired result. If he continues to fight, I'll snap his arm off at the shoulder.

He knows the drill. He stops fighting and sags against me to relieve the pressure. His breathing becomes sharp, shallow gasps of protest. "You're breaking my arm."

I use my free hand to slip his gun out of its holster and toss it out of reach. Only then do I let him go, shoving him so hard he stumbles backward. He lands in an awkward heap on the couch.

He straightens up, grabs his shoulder and tries to knead away the pain. His eyes travel to Darryl's body. "Who killed him? It looks like he's got a broken neck."

"You want me to show you how it was done?"

His expression alters from unsure to calculating as he looks over the stuff on the coffee table. "You plan to turn this over to the police?"

"Does that make you nervous?"

He smiles. "Why should it? There's nothing to connect me to Darryl. I came here to serve a warrant."

Now it's my turn to smile. "Right. Without your partner. And those two outside are undercover cops, I suppose."

He shrugs and then winces. His hand goes again to his shoulder. "I have no idea who those two are. They were here when I arrived."

He's too smooth. I have nothing to use as leverage against him, and if he did confess, with no witnesses, how would I prove it?

The only chance is the one I'm going to have to take - turn the computers over to the police. Maybe Darryl wasn't as careful to shield Bradley as he thinks.

I roll my shoulders. "Guess we'd better call Chief Williams, then, huh? Let him sort it out."

He tilts his brow and looks up at me. "How are you going to explain that?" His gaze drifts to Darryl and returns to me. "It's no secret you've been protecting that kid, Trish. What's to stop the cops from deciding that you killed Darryl, especially when they see what's on those computers?"

He seems to be gearing up for something. I stay quiet and wait for him to continue.

He leans toward me. "I can fix this. You could walk out of here right now. I'll get rid of the computers. Darryl's body, too. I'll go back to Boston. It will be as if none of this happened."

"What about Trish? She's suspected of killing her mother. Can you fix that?"

He jerks a thumb toward the front door. "Those two outside. They killed Barbara. We can fix it so they're blamed for Carolyn, too. In fact, I can set everything up. Get them to confess and then arrange an accident."

"Confess to whom?"

"To you, of course. With me as witness. It's perfect."

It is. Almost. The only thing that's missing is Bradley at my feet with his throat torn out.

"Why am I supposed to believe you'll do all this?"

"Darryl let things get out of hand," he replies. "I didn't sign on for murder."

"No, you just signed on for the sexual exploitation of a young girl. An underage girl, in case you forgot."

The edge in my voice takes some of the eagerness out of Bradley's expression. "No one got hurt. Not really. If you saw the videos, you know. She liked it, and - "

That's as far as he gets. I grab him by the scruff of the neck and heave him off the couch and down to the floor.

"Well," I whisper, my teeth at his jugular. "At least you'll die knowing that Darryl wasn't lying when he told you what I was."

Bradley tries to wriggle out of my grasp. I pin him down with one hand and grab his face with the other. I hear him screaming, but it's from far away. I wrench his head to the side and kiss his neck with my lips. Then I bite down. Hard.

The first lush, warm mouthful of his blood sends fire raging through mine. I push against him, my body moving to the rhythm of his heartbeat. The blood drive. I've never felt so alive.

An arm encircles my waist.

I rip it off.

It comes back, forceful, strong. Stronger than I. I'm torn away from Bradley and flung down on the couch.

Like a cat, I land on all fours, then spring to my feet. Rage, unrelenting in its intensity, propels me back toward my prize. Bradley is trying to get up. He has a hand pressed against his neck, but blood oozes between his fingers.

I smell it. I feel it.

It belongs to me.

Only one thing stands between us.

Frey.