Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (5 page)

“The singer’s good,” he said.

The woman turned.

She had blue eyes.

As soon as Teffinger looked into those eyes, a primal instinct kicked in. This was the woman he’d been searching for. The one he’d been waiting for. He always knew he’d recognize her when he finally met her. And this was her.

No doubt about it.

He never suspected she wouldn’t be white.

But she wasn’t.

And that was fine.

The woman held his eyes.

And studied him.

“You’re already with someone,” she said, nodding towards Jena Vellone. The woman had an English accent with a French overlay.

Totally unexpected.

Very sexy.

“She’s an old high school friend,” Teffinger said.

The woman leaned in close and put her mouth to Teffinger’s ear, almost touching, and whispered, “You and your old high school friend have a good time tonight.”

Then she stood up and disappeared into the crowd.

Teffinger almost followed, but the bartender was shouting at him.

Setting down drinks.

Wanting money.

HE PUSHED THROUGH THE CROWD, back to Jena Vellone, handed her the OJ and vodka and said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

Sure.

What?

“I just met a woman but she ditched me because she thought I was with you,” he said.

“You are with me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Teffinger said, “but she thinks I’m with you romantically.”

“Nick—”

“Look,” he said. “All I need you to do is tell her that you and I aren’t involved.”

“I got a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t you put the little fellow back in his cage, chill out, and just have a nice evening with me.”

He held her eyes.

“This is important,” he said. “I really need to see if I have a chance with this woman.”

“Why didn’t you ever go after me like this?”

He shrugged.

“You know why,” he said. “You were younger.”

“Yeah, back in high school, but not now.”

He almost added, “Plus you were Matt’s sister,” but detected something in her eyes, and said, “You know something—you’re right. I came here to get you drunk so let’s get going on it.” He clinked her glass with his can and took a long swallow.

Good stuff.

Ice cold.

“Get me drunk and wrestle me,” she said.

“Right.”

Then Jena shook her head and said, “Okay, I’ll do this for you.”

“You will?”

She nodded.

“But after I get you set up with the woman, you need to spend the rest of the evening with me and get me drunk and wrestle me like you’re supposed to.”

Teffinger clinked her glass.

“Agreed.”

They headed into the crowd.

Chapter Fifteen

Day Two—April 13

Wednesday Night

______________

TRIPP SAT BEHIND THE WHEEL of the Dodge rental in a lower downtown parking lot near Coors Field, waiting for Jake VanDeventer to show up.

Tripp didn’t know a lot about the man.

But did know a few things.

He knew that VanDeventer opened his first gem mine thirty years ago in North Dakota at age fifteen, and mined it at a profit for two years without the help of a single human being. Now, thirty years later, he lived in Johannesburg and owned a large number of insanely successful diamond mines scattered throughout Africa. He had a rugged, tanned face and a lean body that hadn’t lost an ounce of strength.

He wasn’t a man to be messed with.

With as much money as VanDeventer had, he should be happy.

He wasn’t.

Anything but, in fact.

He had his reasons.

Reasons that Tripp couldn’t argue with.

SUDDENLY VANDEVENTER APPEARED at the passenger window, opened the door and climbed in.

They shook hands.

And then hugged.

“Good to see you,” VanDeventer said.

“Likewise.”

“Still no word from Abbott,” VanDeventer said. “I had a P.I. friend check around town to see if he was in custody or in a hospital. He isn’t, so I’m guessing he’s dead.”

Tripp was afraid of that.

And pulled up an image of the tattooed skinhead.

Dead.

“No reports of his body showing up though, I assume,” Tripp said.

“That’s true,” VanDeventer said. “My guess is that he went after Rave Lafelle and somehow got himself killed. Then the woman decided to not be associated with him and disposed of the body, or had a friend do it. Who knows?”

Tripp shook his head.

“Abbott was a good guy,” he said. “But he wasn’t the most careful guy in the world.” A pause. “You going to replace him?”

VanDeventer nodded.

“I already have someone in mind.”

“Good.”

“In the short-term,” VanDeventer said, “we need to have a heart-to-heart with our little vampire friend, Rave Lafelle.” The man exhaled and said, “So tell me about the Paris woman, Diamanda.”

TRIPP FILLED HIM IN on the details of last night and added, “I swear to God she was every bit as strong as me. Have you ever seen a pit bull fight a dog?”

No.

He hadn’t.

“Well the pit bull just gets the other dog by the throat and never lets go no matter what,” Tripp said. “The other dog can be clawing at his balls or whatever, it doesn’t matter, the thing just doesn’t let go. Then when the other dog gets tired, the pit bull gets an even deeper bite on the thing’s throat. Eventually the other dog just suffocates to death. That’s how this Paris vampire was. She got her hands on my neck and pushed her thumbs into my throat and I couldn’t get her off to save my life. I actually thought she was going to kill me. The only thing that saved me was that I dropped and did something like a crocodile death roll.”

VanDeventer nodded.

“I’m not surprised.”

“She was stronger than her bodyguard and he was almost as big as me,” Tripp said. “It was freaky.”

“Some of them definitely have powers,” VanDeventer said. “They’re watered down, but they’re there.”

Tripp exhaled.

“Maybe that’s how Abbott ended up dead,” VanDeventer added. “Got into more than he could handle.”

Tripp nodded

And said, “I tried to get information. But somehow I tripped an alarm and had to get the hell out of there. The only thing I managed to do was grab a laptop from the woman’s bedroom.”

VanDeventer was shocked.

“I didn’t know about that,” he said.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you,” Tripp said. “I tried to boot it up but you need a password.”

“Where is it?”

“The laptop?”

“Yes.”

“In my hotel room. Why?”

“Let’s go have a look.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Chapter Sixteen

Day Three—April 14

Thursday Morning

______________

RAVE WOKE THURSDAY MORNING in a strange bed with someone sleeping next to her—London, the vampire. Then she remembered London’s warning last night that other slayers would be arriving in Denver to finish what the skinhead started. “It’ll be suicide to stay at your place tonight,” London said. “Especially without a gun.”

So they made sure no one tailed them after they left the Old Orleans at two in the morning and then checked into a cheap hotel in Lakewood.

Paying cash.

London’s treat.

Now, outside, it was daylight, but the curtains were doing a good job of beating it back. Rave looked at her watch.

Good.

She’d slept for a solid eight hours.

She put her arms above her head and stretched. The movement woke London who moaned and said with a scratchy voice, “What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

London threw off the sheets, jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, naked.

“What’s going on?” Rave asked.

“I’m supposed to meet that man for lunch.” Two seconds later the shower came on. “I’m leaving the door open so you can use the facilities if you need to.”

Actually, Rave did.

But she dressed first.

And waited until London was behind the shower curtain.

There.

Better.

Now she needed coffee.

London emerged ten minutes later, toweling off, totally at ease with being nude in front of another woman. Rave couldn’t believe the woman’s body. She looked for a flaw and found none. Not an extra pound, not a sag, nothing. The most amazing thing was the woman’s ass, perfectly taut and rounded. Rave had never seen an ass like that and probably never would again. London had won the gene lottery, no question about it.

“Have you ever heard of Wong’s, on Court Street?” London asked. “That’s where I’m supposed to meet this guy.”

No.

Rave hadn’t.

But she knew where Court Street was.

“It’s smack downtown,” she said. “You’ll be hard pressed to find a parking spot.”

“Man—”

“If you want, I can drive and drop you off.”

London’s face lit up.

“Thanks.”

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“Nick.”

“Nick what?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s he do?”

“I don’t know,” London said. Then she grinned and said, “Me, I hope.”

THEY SCREECHED TO A STOP in front of Wong’s at 12:03. London jumped out and said, “Remember, a 9mm SIG—two of ’em.” Then she was gone. Fifteen minutes later Rave stepped into a gun shop on Colfax and filled out the forms to buy two handguns.

At London’s insistence.

Because they couldn’t afford to be sitting ducks.

Then she did something she promised London she wouldn’t do. She swung by her house and threw stuff in a suitcase—clothes, CDs, shampoo, a hair dryer.

Then got the hell out of there.

No problem.

She pointed the front end of London’s vehicle back downtown to find a place to park and wait for London’s call. On the way, she noticed something unusual.

A vehicle seemed to be following her.

Doing the exact same speed as her.

Hanging back fifty yards.

Just for grins, Rave took a right on the next side street.

The other car followed.

She shouldn’t have gone home.

Why hadn’t she been smart enough to listen to London?

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

She made another turn.

Left this time.

The other vehicle followed.

Chapter Seventeen

Day Three—April 14

Thursday Morning

______________

TEFFINGER DIDN’T GET HOME from Jena Vellone’s until two in the morning and then got up at six, seriously in need of a truckload of coffee. He should have slept longer but London was already in his head. The big question is whether she would actually show up for lunch today.

Or blow him off.

He was at his desk when Sydney walked into the room shortly after seven. She studied him as she poured coffee, then walked over and took a seat in front of his desk.

“You look like Alley dragged you around all night,” she said.

Teffinger grunted.

“Alley got adopted.”

Sydney raised an eyebrow.

“By who?”

“Jena Vellone.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Probably to get in good with you,” she said. “That woman would do anything for a plate full of Nick Teffinger, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Teffinger shrugged.

“Which totally baffles me,” Sydney added. “Since she’s the most eligible bachelorette in Denver and you’re—well, you’re you.”

Teffinger chuckled.

“It’s an enigma,” he confessed.

“An enigma wrapped in a mystery,” Sydney said.

Teffinger didn’t know whether he should venture into the subject he was contemplating, but had to tell someone, if for no other reason than to see how the words sounded out loud. “I met a woman,” he said.

Sydney studied him.

And must have recognized the look because she said, “You’re in lust.” Teffinger didn’t deny it. “What’s the poor victim’s name?”

“Oh, no you don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know you’ll be running a background check on her before that cup is empty,” he said.

“So?”

“So, forget it.” He sipped coffee and added, “She’s Jamaican.”

“Jamaican?”

He nodded.

“A black Jamaican, with blue eyes.”

Sydney chuckled and said, “You’re way out of your league, cowboy. You know that, I hope.”

CAMERON LEIGH—the woman murdered with a wooden stake through her heart—had a friend named Beth Sorenson. Beth’s number was programmed into Cameron’s cell phone. Sydney called that number twice yesterday, to ask the woman if she knew where Cameron had planned to go “downtown” on Sunday afternoon. The woman never answered so Sydney left messages.

“She called me back at 10:30 last night,” Sydney said. “She said Cameron was going to go to a rave in an old brick building off Wazee.”

“A rave?”

“Yeah. A gothic rave, apparently.”

“What’s a rave?”

“You don’t know?”

No, he didn’t.

So she explained.

“Anyway,” she said, “my plan this morning was to walk around the area and check for security cameras.”

Teffinger swallowed the rest of his coffee.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“You’re coming with me?”

“I want that skinhead and I want him now,” he said.

They filled a thermos.

Then headed out.

FOUR HOURS LATER THEY WERE BACK, with videotapes from a furniture warehouse that had security cameras that shined on an alley that a lot of people used on Sunday to go to a rave.

Teffinger and Sydney watched for a half hour.

And saw no signs of Cameron Leigh.

At least not yet.

But did see plenty of skinheads.

“This is going to be tougher than I thought.”

Then he looked at his watch—high noon, exactly.

“Oops.”

“What?”

He was already out of his chair and said over his shoulder, “I’m supposed to be at Wong’s.”

LONDON WAS SITTING IN A BOOTH when Teffinger ran into the restaurant at 12:15 out of breath. He slipped into the opposite side and said, “I am so sorry. Thanks for waiting.”