“Sure thing!” The phrase, matched with an overly cheerful voice, left me ninety-nine percent positive someone was listening to the call. I hung up and hit the shower, wondering when my life would get back to normal.
My wet hair hung in wavy black tendrils plastered to my skin. As I stepped out of the shower, Ted opened the door with his key. I hastily put on a bathrobe and found him at the dining room table. He had everything a man needed to fulfill my dreams: a brilliant mind, a loving heart, and a bag from my favorite Mexican place.
“Are those tacos?”
“Extra spicy and regular. Guess which one you get?”
Ted liked his food extremely spicy, whereas I preferred not to burn through my digestive track. I tore open the bag, making it into a tablecloth.
“Dig in, sweetheart.”
“I knew you would notice that.” He unwrapped his own foil package of chicken and cheese goodness. “I think the house may be bugged.”
“What?”
“William noticed a scent today, sort of a citrusy perfume. Since you don’t wear perfume—”
“Someone else was in the house. Probably another woman,” I finished for him, alarmed.
“Or someone planted something. Cameras and microphones have gotten smaller but you still need to put them in place. A little spray adhesive goes a long way, even if it does smell like oranges.”
Someone had invaded Ted’s private space. If he’d been home they could have killed him. The question was who? OPS, a bunch of people who were horrible for a living, was the best option. A murderous psychopath was the worst, but more likely. “You think it was the killer?”
“Sure, who else would it be?” he replied, happily munching a late-night dinner. His hair was still gelled to perfection—a few blond spikes at the crown of his head, the rest of it laid flat. His brown eyes were dark in my dining room. I couldn’t read any fear in him. He was as he’d always been, Ted, cleaner than most men, dressed in jeans that hugged his ass and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rumpled just so. How he could be so cool when a murdered was stalking him and had broken in was beyond me.
“You’re okay with this?”
“It is what it is.” He stopped to take another bite. “William is the best doorman I ever saw. No one’s going to get to me with him around.”
Except someone had gotten inside, when William had been in town, so he wasn’t enough. Unless he’d failed deliberately. “What if he’s the one you have to worry about?”
“If William wanted me dead, I would be.”
It was hard to argue with that, or that William had a good reason to plant a bug. I searched my brain, trying to come up with something that would make Ted see reason. “What if he wanted you afraid? What if he gets off on scaring the crap out of people? Vampires can be twisted, you know.”
“And you don’t like them,” he finished my rant for me.
“This isn’t about me, it’s about you. If you’d seen how that girl was hung up, I don’t think you’d be so quick to trust that condescending ass—”
“He’s my friend,” Ted interrupted firmly. “Superior, stiff and formal, but my friend and right now, he’s the best protection I’ve got when I sleep.”
Ouch. My ego needed a second to process that Ted didn’t think sleeping next to me was his best choice. We’d never fought side-by-side, but I assumed loving him put me at the top of the list. “Really? What about me?”
“You’re amazing. You’re strong. But you’re not supernatural and he is.”
Cool logic soothed the hurt burning through me. He was taking this seriously, even if he wasn’t thinking about it the same way I did. I pressed my lips together, forcing myself to shut up and think it through. Ted wanted the strongest, fastest bodyguard he could get, and that was William. Probably. “Can you trust him? I mean really, really trust him?”
“With my life,” Ted said, leveling me with a gaze that ended the argument. “I have actually, more than a few times, and he’s never let me down.”
“Fine. But don’t expect me to trust him.”
He laughed for a long time while I ate my dinner, trying like hell to ignore him.
Despite his worries about safety, Ted slept fine in my bed. I guess I’d worn him out just the right way to get him to sleep. In the room dark enough that I could barely make out his features. I didn’t trust William. I didn’t like the idea of some OPS assassin making Ted a target, and I wasn’t okay with the way things were.
I could try to wrap up my paying case tomorrow, then get Samuel back to LaRue, and square things up with Jeremy Steel. There was a guy from my old squad who might help with that last one. Still, unless Calvin was a kick-ass detective who really didn’t need me, I had too much on my plate to set up round-the-clock surveillance on Ted. I wanted to take care of him, to make his safety my top priority but I just couldn’t.
“I’m fine, you don’t need to protect me,” he mumbled, half-asleep.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
His only reply was to grab me and pull me close.
11
Several hours later, I woke up with my shoulder talking smack about the car accident, not ready to deal with whatever my ringing phone was bringing me. I ignored the pain and took the call, mumbling my name without looking up from my pillow.
“Guess what?” Jo asked me, sounding entirely too chipper.
“What?”
“The sun rose half an hour ago and I’m still awake.”
I checked my clock. My vision was still fuzzy with sleep but I could tell the first number wasn’t an eight. “You don’t say?”
“I do. Awake. Totally awake, despite sunrise for the second time in my very long life and it’s thanks to you.”
“You’re welcome. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“If you want to. Me? I’m not so sure, I might go back to sleep or maybe I’ll pounce on Jean-Laurent. I could do that you know, because I’m like completely—”
“Awake,” I cut her off.
“Yup. Second day ever awake. Just thought I’d let you know.” She practically sang the last words, completely pleased with herself.
“Thanks. Enjoy being awake.”
“Will do.”
I hung up the phone and rolled back over, nudging Ted’s sleeping form.
“Jo’s up?” he asked.
“She’s awake.”
“That a big deal for vampires?”
“She seems to think so.”
“I’ll ask William.” He half-dozed for a little bit. “Are we doing anything today?”
“I’m heading to LA to photograph a cheating husband and you’re running a business.”
“I meant in the us sense. Are we doing anything together today?”
“I’d like us to be, but…”
“But who knows what’s going to come for us today, right?” He stroked a line down the edge of my face. “Get some more sleep and call me if it works out. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I struggled to give him half a smile. It would’ve been nice to tell him I love him and then have a normal, danger free breakfast. Just like it would’ve been great if Jo’s discovery hadn’t come thanks to such hazardous circumstances. I closed my eyes to imagine that life and fell back to sleep before I heard him leave the apartment.
Coffee came from a drive-thru window, with me hoping this would be my last jaunt to LA. The rational part of my mind knew Dan might take weeks to use that hidden bedroom. The hopeful part was daydreaming he’d entertain not one but fifty photogenic men right where I could see them in the next hour. Hope only got you so far, though, and most of life took real work.
I put my cell phone on speaker for a call that would be a hell of a lot of work.
Randall Nicholson was everyone’s friend except mine. He grated on my nerves like an out of control five-year-old. He had a thing for movies. Not like the rest of us who might enjoy a movie or two—no, Randall liked them all. He’d worked at a movie theater in
high school and joined the Army to pay for film school. You’d meet him and he’d ask what your favorite film was. Twenty minutes after you answered, you wouldn’t get a word in edgewise. From that day on, whenever he saw you, Randall would quote every line, every catch phrase, until even the suggestion of that movie made you want to scream.
Dug in with bullets flying overhead, he’d quote Apocalypse Now. Raiding a bazaar in Cairo, he’d recite lines from Aladdin as if he had the script in front of him. It never failed—no matter where we went in the world or what kind of gruesome work we did, Randall had a movie for it. With no sense of propriety, he’d sing from Sweeny Todd as we cleaned up bodies or quote Fatal Attraction as we took apart a child prostitution ring. Randall and I were never going to be friends.
Which was why calling him ate at me so much. I could ask Douglas to do it since he had an ability to tune Randall out—or maybe he actually enjoyed the mindless reciting. Foisting Randall on Douglas had gotten to be a habit that I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about. But I didn’t want Douglas to know about Jeremy Steel. I was trying to keep that name off LaRue’s radar. If Douglas knew something LaRue knew it, so I picked up the phone with a heavy sigh and dialed a number I hated knowing.
“Yellow,” he answered.
I cringed. “Randall, it’s Hicks.”
“Lovely Lady calling me in the afternoon. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I stumbled over phrases in my own head, then finally blurted out the truth. “I’m trying to track down a movie star. I need your help.”
“Do, or do not. There is no try.”
“Uh, right. His name is Jeremy Steel—”
“‘Because that’s not what we stand for in America,’” he quoted Jeremy’s last movie.
“Yeah, that Jeremy Steel. What do you know about him?”
“He’s never been up for an Oscar but the teen awards circuit loves him. His last film got best explosion from—”
“That’s great but I want to know about him. The truth about him.”
“You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth.”
I groaned; I’d walked into that one. “Randall, does it ever occur to you not to talk in quotes?”
Silence filled the phone line. “Um, actually no.”
“Oh. Well, okay, I guess.” That threw me. I’d assumed he knew it was annoying and could drop it at any time. “Anyway, can you get me a full biography? Where he’s from, what he’s done? I mean go through everything, every interview, all of it. I think he’s lying about his background but I need someone who really knows movies to figure it out. That’s you, right?”
“Yeah, baby.”
I groaned again.
“I mean, no problem, Hicks. I’ll handle it like a research project. And um, while you’re on the phone, I got into UCLA film school. So, um, I’ll be around, you know?”
“Seriously?” The idea of Randall and all his annoying quotes living an hour away made me want to hit something.
“They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
I gave him a pass on that one since it wasn’t a direct quote, confirmed my email address so he could send me any details and did my best not to scream when he finished the call with a wooden, “Hasta la vista, baby.”
The lock on the rooftop access for the building next to Dan’s office read Square in deep stamped letters. Square locks maintained their hold even when you put a bullet through them. Of course, being bulletproof didn’t mean I couldn’t pick it. I opened it in about five minutes. The gravel on the roof crunched under my sneakers. Tiny clouds of dust blossomed with each step. I’d be coated in dust before the end of the day. I hunkered down on the edge of the roof, my camera seated on the ledge. The lens pointed into the hidden love nest.
The digital zoom turned the blinds into fuzzy lines but the bed stood out clear enough for incriminating photo. I sat on my heels until the fake tissue in my leg screamed at me. Not wanting to risk a muscle spasm, I shifted, sat cross-legged, walked the edge of the roof a little. Dan didn’t leave his office all morning. A few minutes after he finally went out to lunch, I took my own lunch break and came back to the roof with a sandwich wrapped in grease-stained paper. I consumed it in a few minutes, waded up my trash, and went back to watching.
I went numb on that rooftop, starting with my body, but my mind went, too. The white gravel under my feet, the white of the roof, and the white-gray of the parking lot below swam in front of my vision. Too much white and too much quiet. There were car noises, but ten stories gave them a muted sound. Dan was on the phone. I hadn’t brought any toys that would let me hear him. My world was white and fuzzy, a place of soft sound and washed-out color. Another minute ticked by, or maybe it was an hour. Too long. I grabbed my phone anxious to prove a world of color still existed.
“Hello?”
My throat constricted, but a second hello broke through the walls of silence.
“Calvin.” I heard my own voice for the first time in hours. “I’m at a dead end with my case. Do you need me?”
“Maybe. The Las Palms Motel, Yucca Street and Hollywood Boulevard. I can’t be outside but I can give you instructions.”
“Sounds great,” I agreed, and I meant it, getting there faster than I wanted to admit, not stopping for gas or a drink, anxious to accomplish something today. The hotel stood at the end of a busy block, a pink square of nothing, decorated with nothing, about three stories high with fire escapes up and down the sides. A few palms stood outside, looking worn out with strings hanging from the leaves. Maybe being the hotel trademark was too much effort for the plants. No bums out front or cracks in the wall, but unemptied ashtrays and trash blowing in the parking lot made it feel low-rent.
The elevator struggled getting me to the third floor. When the slow bumpy ride ended I found the door to the room was cracked open for me. Inside Calvin sat near the window of a standard-issue hotel room. The dated tropical décor didn’t impress me. The blinds were open but with the angle, no sunlight entered the room, making the shiny green leaves of the jungle print curtains look dusty.
“What are we looking at?” I took the chair next to him.
“See that hotel room?” He pointed across the way to one in a row of identical openings. That hotel looked better than the one we were in.
I nodded but he didn’t respond. I waited for him to look at me for a while before I gave up. “Yup.”
“Samuel checked in there on Friday night. We got a call from him the next morning. That’s pretty much all we know.”
“That’s it?”
“I got here last night. Asked the night clerk but he didn’t have anything to tell me. Went to security at the back lot where Jeremy Steel works, played the phone call for them. They lied and said they didn’t know who it was. A minute after I left, they called someone and said they had another one asking about the call. The voice on the phone asked if they had cleaned up the hotel room. They swore they had. They were lying though, so at some point today, someone is going to go into that hotel room to clean up whatever they think is left behind.”
I let out a long breath. Calvin was waiting just like I’d been waiting on the roof. Boredom threatened to creep into my soul again.
“Did you get a key to the room?”
“On the table.” He tilted his head without moving his eyes. What could he see at this distance? Could he see inside the room?
“Why don’t I go have a look?”
“Just don’t bump into anyone who comes to call.”
I agreed with another nod he didn’t see and let myself out.
Across the street, I opened a hotel room door to a familiar scene—king bed, flowery curtains and coverlet (this time roses, not tropical leaves), pale walls, and two chairs around a small table. Another typical American hotel room, smelling like cleaning product and conditioned air, sanitized for someone’s protection. The smell told me Samuel hadn’t been here long. In the bathroom, I found the start of black mold behind the toilet, tha
t housekeeping had shorted him one towel (medium size), and nothing that mattered.
In the main room, I checked the carpet over, looking close to find something that may have dropped. Either the maid had been in or there wasn’t anything. I suspected the latter but kept looking. Nothing in the drawers. Nothing in pages of the movie schedule. The room was about as helpful as Dan’s unused love nest. Until I hit the bedside table. That drawer yielded something.
Silver gleamed on top of the Bible, a book no vampire could touch. The object looked like a cigarette case, but when I flipped it open the hinge surprised me. Two women stared up at me, the one on the right slightly tired, the one on the left smiling. Both photos shined silver like the case. How long ago had photos been made of silver? Turn of the century, maybe?
I studied the two women that Samuel, silent vampire thug, cared about. He’d carried photos of them, putting them safely on the Bible before he went about his work. I tipped the frame over again, this time opening my magic up to whatever it had to tell me. Love, longing, and joy came back to me. The frame was old. He cherished the photos it held and remembered the women inside often.
It was the kind of pleasant vibe I could get lost in for hours. I didn’t have things like that in my life. I had love, sure, but it was new, not aged the way the love on this frame felt. I sat on the bed, taking in the feeling for a while. Too long—the electronic lock on the door beeped. With no time to hide in the bathroom, I dove under the bed, grateful for the crawlspace.
The picture frame wedged underneath my chest and I had a minute of claustrophobia-induced panic. I managed to get an arm free, then the other. On my side, the panic wasn’t as bad. Good thing, too, since a pair of men had entered the room.
Their leather-looking black shoes moved like sneakers. Their pants were the thick black cotton of work uniforms. Probably the two back-lot security guys Calvin talked with.
“What are we here for?” a voice asked.
“Damned if I know,” answered a second, much more put upon voice. “Anything that looks like something, I guess. Studio wanted the guy to disappear. Can’t disappear if you leave shit behind.”
Hollywood Dead: Elisabeth Hicks, Witch Detective Page 13