Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (40 page)

After he left, Addison’s lips drew into a bow, wet and pink.

“Nicky is gone,” she said, biting down on the word
gone
. “He left last night.”

I took a sip of tea, trying to hide my surprise. A distressing coolness plowed through my chest. “When is he coming back?”

“Who knows? Maybe never. He bought a one-way ticket to London.” Her eyes looked shiny, as if she were holding back tears. “I’ll probably never find another vampire.”

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and Raphael walked
through the door, the breeze stirring his hair. He wore a white crewneck T-shirt, and the thin cotton showed the outline of his biceps. One hand was tucked casually into the pocket of his blue shorts, pulling the fabric across his crotch. The muscles flexed in his thighs and calves as he walked toward the sofa. I remembered how, barely an hour ago, I’d tucked my bare foot around that calf.

The coldness in my chest scattered, and I smiled up at him.

He sat down beside me, his weight denting the cushion. He’d just showered and shaved, and I breathed in his smell. He reached for my hand, locked his fingers through mine, and pulled me into a kiss. His lips felt plush and soft. I had a sudden image of Villa Primaverina at high tide, green waves crashing against the seawall in the same rhythm of lovemaking.

I’d forgotten about Addison until she cleared her throat. Raphael kept kissing me, and I leaned back, my lips barely an inch from his. “We have a guest. Addison says Dr. Parnell left Marrakech.”

Raphael’s fingers tightened around mine, and then he glanced at Addison.

She sighed and crossed her legs, pulling the dress over her knees. “You spooked him. Both of you.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Raphael said. “To complain?”

“I came to tell you why he left.”

Raphael gave her a long, analytical look. Any second now he’d dissect her thoughts and memories, and she’d end up with a headache.

She rubbed her temple. “Please don’t do that. Nicky
used to give me migraines. His mind is like an elevator door. It opens and closes. And when it’s open, he sees everything people don’t want him to see. When you were at my
riad
, he saw something in your head or Caro’s. And he left
me
.”

Raphael’s jaw tightened.

Addison unwrapped the white scarf and pointed to old bruises on her throat. “Nicky and I did a lot of coke. And when he’s wired, he talks. He forgets that he’s telling the same story. But I know it’s a true story because the details never change.”

“Details about what?” Raphael asked.

“The Al-Dîn Corp. A long time ago they hired him to study bugs in Gabon. Nicky said it was the kind of job you couldn’t leave. Like that Eagles song, ‘Hotel California.’ When you signed up with Al-Dîn, they owned you. They owned Nicky. He couldn’t leave. He’d been in Gabon a long time before Caro’s husband arrived.”

I tried to keep my face expressionless. Where was Addison going with this story? Was she even telling the truth? “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” She smiled tolerantly. “Your husband replaced a biochemist who’d gotten killed by bats. Dr. O’Donnell. Nicky said the bats lifted the guy off the ground. They flew off with him.”

I studied Addison’s face. It showed no trace of guile. But her pinpoint pupils, twitchy gestures, and rapid speech indicated that she was wired. Maybe she’d been high when Parnell had told her about the expedition, and she’d fabricated her own version.

Apparently Raphael was thinking the same thing. “Bats can’t lift a man,” he said.

“They were huge,” Addison said. “And they carried viruses. The CEO of Al-Dîn went on the expedition with Nicky, and he—”

Raphael leaned forward. “Who?”

“Mustafa Al-Dîn,” Addison said. “He’s a Turkish vampire. He shot one of the bats. Then he had his picture taken with the corpse—he and a Baka guide held it up. The damn bat was crawling with Marburg Virus. Mustafa got sick and had to be transported out of the jungle.”

“You sound like you know this man,” Raphael said.

“No.” She shook her head. “Nicky told me about him.”

Raphael gave her a dubious glance. “Only a small percentage of vampires come down with hemorrhagic fevers.”

Addison shrugged. “I don’t know how viruses work in the undead. I just know that Mustafa recovered. But his immune system went haywire. He ended up with stem cell leukemia. He left Gabon. And he put his lover in charge of the expedition. Some bitch named Tatiana. I know what she and Nicky did. Not that I’m jealous or anything.”

Raphael waved his hand impatiently. “What about the bats?”

She took a sip of tea before she spoke. “Tatiana decided to catch one. She put a team together. Then she made Nicky and some other guys go into a cave. They were supposed to get a baby bat.”

“Did they?” Raphael asked.

“Not on that jaunt. Things got too hairy. People died.
Al-Dîn began looking for more scientists.” Addison’s eyes flicked over to me. “Your husband replaced Dr. O’Donnell.”

Pressure was gathering behind my eyes. I did not want to hear the rest of her story. Was it phony? If not, had she embellished Parnell’s tales? St. Augustine had written that the truth could sound like a lie, and a lie could seem truthful. It depended on the speaker’s verbal skill.

Raphael tugged his earlobe, as if he didn’t trust what he was hearing.

She smirked. “You guys think I’m a loon. I’m just trying to help.”

Raphael and I looked at each other.
She’s crazy, mia cara.
He turned back to Addison, “Did Parnell tell you what happened to Jude?”

She nodded. “When the mercenaries came, Nicky said there was a lot of confusion. He took advantage of it and ran like hell to a clearing. But daylight was coming, so he went back into the forest and climbed a tree and hid in an old gorilla nest. It was shady under the canopy, but he covered himself with branches and fronds to block the UV light. Then he heard gunfire. He looked down and saw Jude running toward a waterfall. The mercenaries were right behind him. They shot Jude in the back, and he went over the falls. Nicky said it was a three-hundred-foot drop.”

I felt dizzy. I leaned back against the sofa and forced myself to breathe.

Addison tilted her head, watching me, her gaze iniquitous. “Nicky said the soldiers climbed down the falls. He lost sight of them. But he thought they were searching
the river. Nicky heard more gunfire. And then everything was quiet.”

I couldn’t absorb her words. I felt distraught, as if I’d been watching an air show and a plane had slammed into a mountain.

Raphael put his arm around me.

“I’m sorry,” Addison said, her lips twisting, as if she were holding back a smile.

I narrowed my eyes. She wasn’t sorry, not one bit. She’d come here to wound me, and to also signal her availability to Raphael.

She lifted her pocketbook and stood. “Now you know how your husband died. But you’ve told me nothing. I still don’t know why Nicky ran away from me. I don’t know what he saw inside your head. But it must have been bad.”

“He saw nothing,” Raphael said.

“You better hope he didn’t.” She winked. “If you get bored with the grieving widow, give me a call.”

HEATHROW INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

LONDON, ENGLAND

Human odors engulfed Nick Parnell as he walked in Heathrow Airport, past the food court in Terminal Three. His pulse quickened as he breathed in cologne, pizza, tobacco, burned coffee, and blood. Straight ahead, a long line twisted away from the British Airways help desk. As he passed by, he caught the tang of acetone and overripe fruit.

The odor of human ketoacidosis, he thought. And of hidrosis—a vampire’s sweat.

Nick’s tailbone prickled as if he’d sat on an anthill. He darted into an alcove and studied the passengers. A teenage boy with a mohawk. A mother soothing her ginger-haired infant. A long-legged brunette reading
Vogue
.

Where was Tatiana?

Two days ago, he’d called Al-Dîn Corp’s main office in Cape Town, South Africa, and he’d reached a bullheaded receptionist. “Let’s cut through the shit,” he’d finally said. “Find Tatiana Kaskov. Tell her that Dr. Nick Parnell has information about Jude Barrett’s kid. Got a pen? Here’s my phone number.”

Tatiana had called an hour later. Nick had cut a deal: For one million euros, he’d tell her where to find Vivienne Barrett.

“Meet me at Heathrow,” he’d said. “Terminal Three. The Caviar House Seafood Bar—not the oyster bar.”

It was a foolproof plan. She couldn’t kill him in an airport. Every part of her body would be scanned, right? She couldn’t bring a weapon past security. Besides, witnesses and cameras were all over Heathrow. He’d thought she would try to negotiate a lower price, but she’d agreed.

Nick walked to the Caviar House, but Tatiana wasn’t there. Next, he checked the monitor. No arrivals or departures from Cape Town. Something was wrong. Had she set him up? Probably.

He bought tickets to Bangkok, Stockholm, Chicago, and New York, all of them departing at various times. It had been a pain, too—it seemed as if every tourist in the world had converged in London. But Heathrow was always like this in late July. At least he’d gotten tickets. Now, if Tatiana showed up with thugs, Nick could get on a plane.

He walked back to the Caviar House. Still no Tatiana. His shoes clicked over the floor as he hurried down the corridor. As he passed by a guy who wore black leather pants, Nick smelled beer, sweat, and urine.

The guy sniggered. “What are you looking at?”

Hey, asshole
, he wanted to tell the boy.
I’ve been a vampire for fifty years. Long before your whore mother pushed you out of her cunt.

The guy’s laughter followed Nick down the hall. He wasted time in the boutiques. He pulled out Addison’s Visa and bought jeans, Gucci loafers, and a white Dior dress shirt. He stuffed the bags under his arm and headed to the No. 1 Lounge. Soon, he’d need blood. If Tatiana didn’t show up, he’d have to go into downtown London.

When he stepped into the lounge, his tailbone started burning again. He heard piped-in music, something Celtic. The smell of sausages and onion soup rushed up his nose. A group of Asian businessmen walked by, carrying laptops. Through a gap in the crowd, he saw Tatiana. She sat at a table, backlit by dark windows. Her hair looked blonder than he remembered. A glass of white wine sat at her elbow. She reached past it and tapped a thin cigar into an ashtray. The strap of her summery yellow dress fell over her shoulder.

Tatiana wearing a dress?
Maybe it wasn’t her.

Her disinterested gaze scraped over him, then flicked away. She lifted the cigar and took a puff. Nicky saw a tattoo on her wrist.

It’s her.
The realization crashed into his head with the force of a North Sea breaker. Cold pressure rushed around him in all directions. She lifted her cigar, as if saluting him, but her eyes held a savage gleam. A sick feeling curled in his belly.

Let’s get this over with
, he thought.

He turned down a hall, toward the restroom. He’d just opened the door when Tatiana cut in front of him. The
cigar was gone, and she held an empty wineglass. A travel bag was slung over her shoulder.

He forced himself to smile. Damn, he shouldn’t have come to the lounge. It had real glass and real pottery plates. “You look great,” he said.

“You look like crap.” Her other hand shot out and gripped his elbow. She towed him into the bathroom and shoved him against the wall. With one smooth motion, she slammed the door and wrenched the knob.

Great
, he thought.
Now I’m trapped with this crazy bitch.

She kicked him in the groin. A sob burst through his teeth, and he bent over double. Pain ran through him like spilled acid. Through a haze, he saw her sling her travel bag on the lavatory counter. Then she smashed the wineglass against the sink.

He felt a rush of air, and then she was holding the pointy end of the glass against his neck. His heart pumped hard. What did she plan to do? Scar his face? Blind him? He’d like to see her try.

“I thought we had a deal,” he said.

“Don’t scream or I’ll puncture your carotid,” she said. “Your blood pressure will drop, and you’ll fall to the ground. You’ll watch me cut out your heart. And I won’t be gentle.”

“Go ahead,” Nick said through gritted teeth. “Slice me up. You’ll be drenched in my blood. You won’t make it out of the lounge.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got clothes in my luggage. Move, Nick.” Pushing the glass against his neck, she guided him toward a stall. “Get inside.”

“No.”

“I didn’t hear your answer.” She pushed the glass into his neck.

He felt a sting, and then a cold tickle ran down his throat. “For God’s sake, Tatiana, can’t we get a beer and discuss this?”

“I prefer the stall.” She shoved him inside, toward the toilet. “Turn around slowly,” she said.

He shuffled his feet in a circle, feeling the shard graze his neck. Then he was looking directly into her eyes.

“You’ve got holes in your plan,” he said. “Same as always. You can’t read my mind. If you kill me, how will you find Vivienne Barrett?”