As I settled behind the desk, I tried not to think about where Zack was resting, or if he was alone. Was he with Victoria? Just the thought made me see green. Green and red—jealousy and anger; a dangerous combination. I didn’t think I was the jealous type, but when it came to Zack, all bets were off. As for Victoria, vampire bitch, I was going to have to up my game. I needed to do a major reassessment, to get another gun, maybe a few more knives, or even a grenade or two. If I hadn’t been shielding, I would have sensed her coming. As much as I hated to admit it, Tymon was right; there was a lot more to shielding than I realized.
On that thought, I flipped open the dossier and began reading. Jessie, you bad boy. He wasn’t only selling booze; he was also running drugs through the bar. He was also up to his eyeballs in debt. So, what did that have to do with SangreLa? Anya said he frequented the club and claimed to be friends with the owner. He took Tamara there the night she was abducted. Was she taken from SangreLa? Were the two somehow connected?
Using Zack’s archaic push-button phone, I called my old unit and asked for Allen Lambert. When Mick broke his leg and I had to partner with someone else, that someone was Allen. Allen had my back. He knew the score with Gonad and had offered to go to bat for me, but I wouldn’t let him.
“Lambert speaking.”
“Allen, it’s Diana.”
“Di! How the hell are you? How’s the new gig treating you?”
“I’m still alive,” I half-joked.
We chatted about his kids and our jobs before I cut to the chase. I filled him in on Jessie. He said he would look into it and to call back in an hour.
As it turned out, four of the missing girls were seen at Venom the night of their disappearance. I asked him about SangreLa, but as far as he knew, the two weren’t connected. We made plans to go for a beer before hanging up. Jessie was a bad dude, but my gut said he wasn’t acting alone. Someone was pulling his strings. I thought of Tamara’s bite marks. Were the girls being trafficked to vampires? If so, why?
After talking to Allen, I called Tymon. His voicemail picked up, and I left a short message about how I was making progress. Before ending the call, I added that I didn’t have my phone with me but would check in again soon. Hopefully, that would hold him until I could get back to my apartment and get my things.
Around four, I took Selma’s suggestion and went for a swim. Zack had an array of swimsuits to choose from. Of course, they were all bikinis. I chose one that made me look as if I actually had boobs and didn’t have the entire ass missing.
October in Charleston ranged from chilly to balmy. Today was on the chilly side. I slid into the warm pool with a sigh. My parents had a pool. As a kid, I used to love to swim in it. I would have loved it more had it looked out over the ocean. A girl could get used to this. As I leaned over the side and gazed down at the crashing waves, I felt a pang of sadness for Zack. To never see the sun again would be tragic.
A memory flashed through my head—of Victoria with her eyes glowing red, her claws unsheathed, and her fangs fully extended as she tore into Zack. Blood was everywhere. Not mine, but theirs. Was he hurt? Did he let her rip him apart, or did they laugh about it later while snuggling in bed? Lenora wasn’t the only one I needed to tread carefully around.
At five, I pulled the robe on over my swimsuit and headed back to the main house, hoping that Selma would have a change of clothes for me. Selma was nowhere to be found. I had all intentions of going back to my room but instead decided to explore. The technical term would be snooping but exploring sounded so much better. The house was beautiful, the furnishings light and airy, just like a beach house should be. There were four bedrooms upstairs and two more on the main floor—one of which appeared to be the master. It was clear from the immaculately made bed and empty drawers that the master slept somewhere else. Huh, interesting. Selma said he was resting. I pictured a dark, dank, windowless room filled with coffins, and shivered. Do you sleep in a coffin? Did I really want to know? The answer was yes.
It took some searching, but I finally found the basement door hidden in an alcove off the kitchen. At least, I thought it was the basement door. This is a bad idea. With a twist of the knob, I slowly pulled it open. Fully expecting to find rickety, wooden, horror-flick basement stairs, I was thrilled to discover the same plush carpet as upstairs. My gut screamed for me to stop, to turn my ass around and get the hell out of there. Did I listen to it? No. I ignored the one thing that made me a good cop—and all because I couldn’t stand the thought of him with her.
It wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind me and I was staring into the smothering darkness, that I realized my mistake. Shitfuckityshit! I scrambled to find the light switch. At the discovery that there wasn’t one, I panicked. Cursing like a sailor, I threw myself at the door, only to find that the door had locked behind me. This was bad. So very, very bad. I was trapped in the darkness with nowhere to go but down.
8
I wanted to go down those stairs about as much as I wanted to get a barium
