I nod. “They should. They are. But Haskell has a friend in the district attorney’s office, and he’s calling in a favor. The relationship between Haskell and Patterson was more than purely business. Over the years, Patterson became like a daughter to this woman. SDPD hasn’t made much progress. Officially, we’re just reviewing the casework.”
“Unofficially?”
“The fact that she’s missing hit the papers yesterday. The story is getting a fair amount of press. The DA wants us to close the case. It’s an election year and he’s out to win the hearts and minds of the voters. Something with this amount of visibility, if handled right, could cinch what is sure to be a close election.”
“Politics as usual. Where do you want to start?”
“SDPD already covered the usual stuff. They checked the psych wards, hospitals and morgues. There haven’t been any recent credit card charges or bank withdrawals.”
“What about log-in access for things like email, social networks and other accounts?”
“Nothing for a couple weeks.”
“I almost hate to ask, but could this be a publicity stunt of some kind?”
I remember the sense of urgency and concern in Haskell’s voice when we spoke. “My gut says no, but I don’t think we should rule anything out.”
Zack nods.
“According to Haskell, it’s not unusual for Amy to go incommunicado when she’s finishing a project. But it’s highly unusual that she’d up and leave town without telling her. And Patterson’s car is still in the building’s parking garage.”
“I assume they checked local taxi and car services?”
“Yup. That turned up zip, too.”
“No signs of a struggle in her apartment?”
I push back from my desk. “Not according to the police report. I haven’t personally searched the place yet. It hasn’t been declared a crime scene. No sign of foul play. Haskell said she couldn’t get away from the gallery this morning. She’s the only one there. But she’ll give us the keys so we can check the place out on our own. She’s expecting us.”
He rises. “Want me to drive?”
“Sure. The Haskell Gallery is on Prospect Street. I can give you directions.”
Zack follows me toward the elevator. “I know where Prospect is.” He punches the call button. The doors slide open instantly. He holds them and waits, allowing me to enter first.
He did most of the driving in Charleston, which made sense. We were in his territory. San Diego is mine.
“You aren’t one of those guys who pretends they know where they’re going because they’re too stubborn to take directions from a woman, are you?”
We face forward. The doors close.
“Do I
The elevator makes its descent. Our reflections stare back at us in the polished steel of the panel doors. Zack’s expression remains neutral.
“Looks can be deceiving. Sometimes you think you know a person, then you realize you don’t really know them at all.”
He nods. “I suppose that’s true.” There’s a hint of sadness in his tone. Zack’s shoulders tense—a reaction so brief I doubt he’s even aware he reacted at all. “Everyone has secrets.”
He makes his way toward the exit, and I wonder again what really brought him to San Diego. I wonder why he left his pack behind in South Carolina. I wonder if he’s joined one here. Mostly I wonder if he’s been wondering about me.
We walk through the foyer of the FBI building into the light of day. I pause, close my eyes and tilt my face up toward the sun. How many more days will pass? How many more women will I have to save? I silently recite the same words I do every time I go out on a new case.
“You coming, partner?”
Zack has passed me and is waiting next to one of the bureau’s many black Chevy Suburbans parked near the entrance.
Before I can answer, a silver BMW convertible pulls into the lot. It whizzes by, making a sharp right turn and pulling up to the row of SUVs directly in front of Zack. The car’s curves are sleek, its paint job gleaming. A woman steps out of the driver’s side. Zack’s eyes are glued to her. I can’t blame him. Her long legs emerge first, toned and sporting a pair of expensive red heels that boldly accentuate her black-and-white dress. As she approaches Zack, she removes her dark designer sunglasses and the silk scarf covering her head. She’s pretty, even-featured. Her makeup is meticulous. Long blonde hair spills out and hangs loose in waves that brush her shoulders.
The tension in Zack’s body tells me the woman is more than a stranger stopping to ask for directions. He knows who she is and he’s not happy to see her. His shoulders bunch; his mouth turns down. I can’t quite make out what she says to him as she approaches, but his response is clear. He shakes his head and motions her away. The gesture is understated, discreet, but it carries with it a sense of finality. He looks past the woman, at me.
Her head turns, following his line of sight. Her eyes connect with mine briefly before she dons the glasses once again. The fraction of a second is all she needs to convey a warning. All I need to determine that she, too, is Were. One intent on marking her territory? I resist the urge to let my hand slide to my hip, where my gun rests securely in its holster. I choose instead to annoy her further by smiling and waving.
“You waiting for an invitation, Monroe?” Zack calls out before climbing into the Suburban and closing the door, effectively dismissing Miss Fancy Pants.
As I approach she turns on her heel. A confident toss of her head in Zack’s direction says she’s gotten her message across. Now that she’s seen me, now that she’s convinced I’m not a threat, she doesn’t bother to spare me a second glance. By the time I reach the Suburban, she’s returned to her car, climbed inside and fired up the engine. With a squeal of tires, she’s gone.
But not before I notice the license plate. South Carolina. It’s reflex to store the number away in the back of my mind.
I open the car door. “I get the feeling she doesn’t like me.”
Zack is waiting behind the wheel, hands at the ten- and two-o’clock positions, knuckles white. He avoids looking me in the eye. “She doesn’t like the fact we slept together.”
He says it casually.
“You told her we slept together?” I ask, sliding into the passenger seat.
His gaze meets me head-on. “Would you have preferred I lied?”
“She your girlfriend?”
He throws the car into reverse and steps on the gas. “Ex.”
I wonder if the status came before or after the revelation. It doesn’t matter. In the month we worked together I came to know Zack’s moods well enough to interpret this one. With one single syllable, he’s effectively closing the door on that subject.
It’s okay.
Zack can have his secrets.
I certainly have mine.
PRAISE FOR THE ANNA STRONG, VAMPIRE SERIES
“Many unexpected twists and turns . . . Packed with action that is sure to chill readers to the bone.”
—Examiner.com
