by Tina Folsom
That news surprised him and made him curious. “What do you mean by desirable?”
She shrugged. “You can choose from profiles at the sperm bank. You know, to pick the kind of attributes you hope the donor will pass down to your child. He had a PhD from MIT, an IQ that put him in the top brackets at Mensa. I know some people would judge me for how I chose him. But I wanted the best genes for my child.”
Stunned at her words, John stared at her. “Those were the only criteria they gave you? Nothing else to identify him by?”
She shook her head slightly. “I knew he was Caucasian, had blue eyes and dark hair. But they don’t give you much else. No pictures, if that’s what you mean.”
“Hmm, I see. So I assume he would never find out that his sperm had resulted in a child.” Knowing how strict privacy laws were, John didn’t expect an answer. “Just like you don’t know his name, he doesn’t know yours.” A dead end then.
“No, sorry. Maybe I should have gotten more information on him back then, but I didn’t.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean? How?”
“Their systems are hackable.”
“Hackable? How do you know that?”
“I’m a programmer. I was tempted to find out more about Buffy’s potential father back then. I got into their system. It was easy.” She sighed. “But I didn’t go through with it. In the end, I decided it was best not to know too much. So I never accessed his file. What I knew was enough. The sperm donor was healthy, young, and intelligent. That was all that mattered.”
John nodded, contemplating her words. She’d made a wise decision not to pursue the matter any further, though one thing made him curious. “Do you still use your skills as a hacker?” After all, it could be entirely possible that by hacking into a system, she’d drawn somebody’s attention on herself, who now wanted to hurt her by kidnapping Buffy.
She shook her head. “I actually work in cyber security now. That experience showed me how vulnerable certain organizations are. So I made it my business to help them patch those areas that are vulnerable to a cyber attack. One of my first independent jobs was to shore up security at the sperm bank.”
“You run your own business? As a cyber security expert?” He glanced at her, running a long look over her feminine features.
“Why does that surprise you? Because I’m a woman?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
She lifted her hand. “No need to apologize. I get that a lot.”
“It’s just that when I think of a cyber security consultant, I imagine somebody a bit geekier.” And Savannah was anything but geeky. She was sensual, sexy, like sin itself. And he was back to thinking about her sexually again. How long had he managed to keep his mind off her delicious curves by acting professional and asking her about things that should have been completely innocent? Five minutes? Ten?
If he continued like this, one of two things would happen. He’d either find himself pressing Savannah against the nearest flat surface, burying his cock in her while he drank her blood, or he would return home at sunrise, needing either an ice-cold shower or a hand job, or possibly both.
The former, he couldn’t allow under any circumstances, and the latter didn’t sound in the least bit appealing.
4
John had suddenly fallen silent, and Savannah wondered whether she’d said something wrong. She hoped her confession about Buffy’s father or her foray into hacking hadn’t turned him against her, because she couldn’t risk Scanguards not taking her case. She needed to find Buffy, needed to bring her home. It was all that counted. And she would play whatever role was necessary. Remaining silent during the rest of the drive to keep from saying anything else controversial, was a small price to pay to secure Scanguards’ help.
When they pulled up next to Grattan Elementary, Savannah was glad to get out of the car. The school building took up more than half of one city block, with a single row of houses facing away from the schoolyard occupying the remainder of the block.
“Show me where the parents pick up their children.”
She nearly shrieked at the sound of John’s voice next to her. She hadn’t heard him walk around the car to join her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently.
“It’s nothing. My nerves are just frayed.” She motioned to the street corner. “This way.”
The sound of a beep came from behind her a moment later, indicating that John had locked the car doors. The fog had descended on the city again, and the cold, humid air seemed to seep through her sweater, making her realize that she’d left the house without a jacket. She shivered involuntarily.
“You’re cold,” he said matter-of-factly.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But he was already taking off his jacket, and a moment later, he’d laid it over her shoulders, the inside still warm from his body heat. She couldn’t help but pull the garment tightly around her torso so the heat wouldn’t escape.
“Thank you. Normally I don’t get cold that easily. But I haven’t slept much since…” She didn’t complete the sentence. She knew she didn’t have to. She pointed to a gate. “That’s where the parents line up with their cars, and the kids get signed out by a teacher.”
John nodded. “Wait here.”
Savannah watched him walk to the gate, peer in, then take in his surroundings. He didn’t just look at the school, but also at the opposite side of the street, the houses facing it, and the buildings up and down the next street. When he walked up the short incline and turned to look down onto the school’s roof and the teachers’ parking lot, which abutted the children’s playground, she wondered what he was looking for.
Moments later he was back.
“What were you looking at?”
“If I were to abduct a child from this school, I would have to scope it out first, figure out where the teachers would be, who could see me depending on where I was, and where the best place to hide would be.”
“But you can’t possibly see enough at night. It’s too dark.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow during the day,” he promised, “but I wanted to get an idea tonight so that I know what I’m looking at when I go through the police report.” He took her elbow. “Now let’s drive to your babysitter’s house.”
In the car, she gave him Elysa’s address and he entered it into the navigation system of his car. It wasn’t far to her Laurel Heights flat, which she shared with two roommates. Outside, John stopped the car, but didn’t turn off the engine.
“Do you want me to introduce you to her?” Savannah asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t want her to know who I am. I’m not going to talk to her directly, not right now anyway. I don’t want to spook her, if she’s involved in Buffy’s disappearance. I’ll be watching her to see if there’s anything of concern.”
“What now?”
“I’ll drive you home. Then I’ll look into a few things.”
She gave him her address in Lower Pacific Heights. It wasn’t far, and there was very little traffic at this time of night. She was looking for something to say, to drown out the silence between them, when John suddenly said, “You mentioned you run your own business. Any employees?”
“I have two IT experts working for me, Rachel Ingram and Alexi Denault. Why?”
“Have they met Buffy?”
“Of course. Occasionally, I take Buffy to my office with me when school lets out early, or when I can’t get a babysitter. They know her well.”
“So both of them have been employed by you for a long time?”
“Alexi is relatively new. I hired him about eight months ago. But Rachel has been with me for almost three years. Why are you asking?”
“Most abduction cases involve people who know the victim,” he said.
At the last word, she sucked in a breath. She didn’t like to think of her daughter as a victim. It dehumanized her. Made her an object.
“I’m sorry,” John s
aid quickly, as if he understood. Did he?
She glanced at him and nodded. “So you think Alexi or Rachel could have something to do with Buffy’s disappearance? I don’t see it. Neither Rachel nor Alexi ever showed much interest in her. You know, they’re not into kids. They were nice enough to her when she was in the office, but I could tell they weren’t that keen on having her around, asking questions and making noise while they were trying to work. Buffy is a curious little girl. Some adults find that exhausting.” But she never got sick of answering her daughter’s many questions, satisfying her curious mind.
“We can’t rule out the possibility. Email me their home addresses and the address of your office. I’ll look into their backgrounds,” John insisted.
A moment later he pulled up in front of her home, a condo in a two-unit Victorian building situated on a quiet side street.
“Do you live upstairs or downstairs?”
“Upstairs.”
“And the neighbor who took Buffy to school that day?”
Savannah pointed to a single family home on the same block. “Two doors down. The little yellow house. Nancy lives there with her husband and their son.”
John nodded. “I’d like to see Buffy’s room.”
“Of course.” Savannah reached for the door handle and got out of the car.
When she walked around the car, she noticed John glancing down the street at her neighbor’s house, then looking across the street, assessing the surroundings just like he’d done at Buffy’s school. She couldn’t help but wonder what the street looked like to his trained eye, whether he recognized any dangers past or present. Could he immediately ascertain the weak points in a place, the way she detected vulnerabilities in rows and columns of computer code?
At her front door, John joined her, though his gaze remained vigilant, scanning the deserted street. There was something reassuring about him standing there, waiting for her to unlock the door. Confidence exuded from him. This was his profession, to see things other people didn’t see, to find what was hidden, to protect those who needed protection. Standing there at the threshold to her flat, Savannah felt it as if he’d recited his resume, as if he’d told her about every case he’d solved, every person he’d saved. The knowledge wrapped around her like the warmth of his jacket.
“No security system?” he asked when she opened the door and started walking up the narrow staircase.
“It’s a pretty safe area. And I don’t really have anything worth stealing.” There were many larger mansions only a few blocks away. A burglar would find those more appealing.
He didn’t answer, but followed her. In the long upstairs hallway, a feature of so many Victorian flats, she flipped the light switch. “Buffy’s room overlooks the garden.”
She walked to it. But at the door, she hesitated. John caught up with her and stopped next to her. “Something wrong?”
She looked at him. “It’s been hard for me to go in here since she disappeared. Seeing her room all empty just brings reality home, you know?”
He put his hand on her shoulder for only a second and said, “If it’s alright with you, I’ll go in alone.”
Savannah nodded and John opened the door and stepped inside. She remained standing just outside, but her gaze drifted to the interior of Buffy’s room, her empty bed with the stars over it that lit up in the dark, the chest of drawers that contained her socks and underwear, her T-shirts and sweaters, its surface overflowing with projects for school, the multi-colored bean bag in the corner, where Buffy loved to sit and read, sinking so deep into it that she almost disappeared if she was wearing colorful clothing.
Savannah turned away. She couldn’t look anymore, or she would start crying again. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart.
“I’ve got everything I need so far.” John’s voice was behind her, closer than she’d expected. “Is this picture of her current?”
She turned and looked at him holding a snapshot of Buffy sitting at the kitchen counter, eating cake. Savannah smiled. “I took it only a month ago.”
“May I take it?”
She nodded.
“Thank you, Ms. Rice.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll contact you tomorrow evening to let you know what I’ve found.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He tipped his head slightly, almost as if he was performing an old-fashioned bow. “Have a good night.”
He let himself out, and she locked the door behind him. When she walked into the living room and switched on the light there, she suddenly realized that she was still wearing his jacket. She rushed to the window, but John’s car was already in motion and was gone a few seconds later.
5
John kicked the gas pedal down. He needed to drive. To clear his head. To drown out the memories that were assaulting him. But he realized within minutes that the drive through the nearly deserted streets of San Francisco did nothing to stem the swell of memories that rushed over the wall that he’d tried to erect inside himself. It was all Savannah’s fault. Her fault that he was reminded of the tragedy that had befallen him. A tragedy that felt as if it had happened yesterday.
He stopped the car on the next block and pulled a bottle from a secret compartment underneath the passenger seat. Maybe a few gulps of blood would help calm him. He unscrewed the top and set the bottle to his lips, took a sip, then another. He felt the viscous fluid coat his throat and ease some of his pain. But he knew it wouldn’t last long. It never did. He had to keep busy, keep moving, keep working. Keep outrunning the memories like he’d done for the last four years.
He stared at the clock on his dashboard. It was getting late. He turned the car around and headed back toward Laurel Heights, where Buffy’s babysitter lived. He would start by checking her out to see if anything was amiss. While he didn’t necessarily suspect her of kidnapping Buffy, she was the one person who probably knew the child’s movements the best. She could have—inadvertently or not—given the kidnapper information that made it easy to snatch Buffy at the moment she was least protected.
When he approached the block where Elysa Flannigan’s flat was located, he could already hear the noise of people partying. Earlier when he’d stopped by with Savannah, he’d seen lights in the flat and several people milling about, apparently preparing for the party. Now, loud music droned from open windows, laughter and loud voices mingling with it. John stopped the car on the opposite side of the street and looked to the building. Through the lit windows of Elysa’s flat on the second floor, he spotted balloons among the dancing crowd. A birthday party. But not Elysa’s. The name he could make out on the banner that hung across the front door—and which hadn’t been there earlier, when he’d passed by with Savannah—read Tracy. One of her roommates.
A car approached, blinding him for a moment, before it came to a halt in front of the building. Two guys in their twenties got out, and the car drove off. They sauntered up the steps. John followed them with his eyes. He didn’t hear a doorbell, instead the two visitors simply opened the door. John watched them disappear inside. Clearly, nobody was checking who was entering the flat. It would be easy to mingle undetected.
John exited the car and crossed the street. Just like the two young men before him, he turned the doorknob and let himself in. The music was louder inside and got even louder as he ascended the stairs and reached the narrow hallway. It was crowded here as people tried to get from the living area in the front of the flat to the kitchen, where presumably the liquor was being served, in the back of the place. Nobody took any notice of him. Nobody asked whose friend he was, or whether he had an invitation.
He wanted to shake his head. Humans. They had no idea about the many dangers that lurked in the night. But even if they knew vampires existed, they would probably still assume they were safe, believing the false lore that a vampire couldn’t enter a house uninvited. Well, he was here, inside their private space, and nobody had invited him. Just as well that he wasn’t here to do any harm. But h
e was here to snoop around, to get a feel for Elysa and the company she kept.
The crowd was young, most of them in their early to mid 20s with a few younger ones sprinkled in. Youngsters who were definitely below the legal drinking age, yet enjoying the freely flowing alcohol as readily as their older counterparts.
John made his way through the hallway, peering into the rooms along the way. Each room was occupied to varying degrees. Some guests lounged on beds and chairs, bean bags or simply on the floor, others leaned against walls and doors, or sat on window sills, unconcerned that a wrong step by a fellow partygoer might send them tumbling out the open window. Others danced to the music that was too loud and seemed to have no discernable melody, just a hard, deep beat that resonated like the amplified heartbeat of a creature in pain and made the old wooden building shake to its foundation.
At the entrance to the kitchen, John stopped. It was packed here too. Several men and women were doing shots. From the smell that drifted to him, he knew they’d mixed Vodka with cherry- and strawberry-flavored syrup and chilled the mixture. Several of the drinkers were already so wasted that with each new shot they downed, half of it spilled on their skin and clothes, leaving streaks of red that in the right light looked like blood.
“You must be one of Elysa’s friends.” The female voice came from next to him.
John glanced at her. She was a good foot shorter than him, affording him a perfect view down her cleavage, though he hadn’t aimed for that. He lifted his gaze just a bit, taking in her petite frame, her heart-shaped face and the blond pixie haircut.
“Why do you say that?” John replied.
She leaned closer and gave him a definite come-hither look. “Because she always invites the hottest guys.” She made a dismissive hand movement toward a group of men in the kitchen. “Real men. Not like these boys.”