Bishop's Flight, page 14
“We did have one question.” Carwyn glanced at Brigid, then back at Miguel. “Jessica Mathis mentioned that Lucas told her he’d met… How did he put it?”
“An angel,” Brigid said. “He told her he’d met an angel at a gas station. Would that even be possible? I can’t imagine Lucas was getting his own petrol. He had a driver.”
Miguel’s cheeks reddened a little. “That’s my fault. I mean… Okay, so Rose and Agnes were manic about keeping the kids’ diets really healthy, right? But Lucas started high school and starts asking me about different snack stuff. What are Doritos? Why was everything flaming hot? I figured it was no big deal, right? He’s old enough to make some of his own choices, so whenever we’d stop for gas, I’d let him go into the gas station and pick one snack. Just one. The rule was he had to eat it in the car and he had to brush his teeth before his moms woke up that night so neither of us got in trouble.”
Brigid shook her head. “So you’re saying that Alina was able to target Lucas was because he stopped at gas stations for crisps?”
Carwyn shrugged. “That may have been the only time she could get him alone. I’m sure they followed him, figured out his routine. Was there any particular place he liked to stop?”
Miguel nodded. “There’s a Rebel convenience store not too far from his school that was near an In-N-Out Burger. A lot of kids from his school liked to hang out there. I figured since it was a familiar place, it would be safer.”
“She probably blended in with the kids,” Brigid said. “I doubt you’d have noticed her.”
“He was never in there for more than a few minutes,” Miguel said. “Hell, half the time the other guard would go in with him.”
“But not all the time?” Carwyn asked.
Miguel shrugged. “I guess not. I mean, the kid was already chafing at having two guards on him all the time. If we’d tried to look over his shoulder while he was getting his after-school snack around a bunch of kids he went to school with, he would have rioted.”
“So the Discord chats are likely nothin’,” Brigid said. “And we know where they probably met, but that tells us bugger all about where he’s being kept.” She looked at Miguel. “Have you heard from Lee? Has he found anythin’ about those cars missing from Preston’s?”
“He sent me a text,” Carwyn said. “Traffic cameras spotted two of the vehicles, and both sightings were in Henderson.”
“Henderson is southeast of the city,” Miguel said. “Not far. It’s kind of like a suburb these days.”
“So we focus the search in that area,” Brigid said. “Like Lee said, someone is going out to get supplies for the boy, get water and food, buy newspapers. Two traffic cameras picking up Preston’s cars in one city isn’t a coincidence. We have to narrow the focus.”
Normally it would be thin information to narrow a search, but Brigid was feeling desperate. They had a little over twenty-four hours and nearly nothing to go on.
Miguel looked at the table as his phone began to buzz and light up. “It’s Bernard.”
“He’s been distracted by all this nonsense with Rose ripping off heads,” Carwyn muttered. “Not a good situation. We need him focused on Lucas.”
“Let me call him back.” Miguel picked up the phone, and Brigid slid out of the booth.
“Where you going?” Carwyn frowned.
“I’m getting a maple-and-bacon donut,” she said. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. It’ll either be heaven in my mouth or utter disaster. Tell me what Bernard said when I get back.”
She finished with her maple-and-bacon donut as Bernard walked through the doors. He nodded politely at the host before he headed toward them.
The vampire lieutenant was wearing his typical uniform of a black three-piece suit, brown oxford shoes, and a demure silver tie with a ruby pin. His hair was set in immaculate waves, and Brigid would have had to be blind not to catch the café host’s admiring look as Bernard walked down the narrow aisle between booths.
He looked down his nose at Brigid. “Donut?”
“Heaven in my mouth.” She licked the maple glaze off her little finger. “What information do you have for me?”
He looked around the shop. “Where are Miguel and Carwyn?”
“It’s two in the morning and we have leads to follow. I told them I’d wait for you here while they visited the last questionable contact in Lucas’s chat history.”
“Who is?”
“Man by the name of Clarence Johnson. Forty-seven, former boat dealer, and deeply in debt because of online chess tournaments.”
Bernard slid into the booth, and it instantly felt fancier. “And they think waking a human up at two in the morning to ask questions is a good idea?”
She glanced at the clock. “Barely over twenty-four hours. We don’t have much of a choice. We’re focusing on Henderson because two of Preston’s cars were spotted there, so move your people in. Sniff things out. See what the vampire rumor mill is saying. There have to be whispers, but your people are the ones who would hear them. We’re new faces.”
“Understood and I agree. I’ll contact our informants.”
“What’s the mood like back at the Del Marco?”
Bernard shifted. “To the public? Business as usual.”
“And privately?”
He looked reluctant to speak.
“Bernard, I’m not asking to spread gossip,” Brigid said. “I need to know what kind of expectations I’m working with.”
“Rose and Agnes are arguing. Rose wants to hand the city over to Zasha and whoever their allies are. Just walk away with the children.”
“And Agnes knows that isn’t an option.”
Bernard nodded. “No one wants to lose Lucas, but handing the city over to an individual like Zasha Sokholov—any of the Sokholovs, but particularly them—would be a disaster.”
“And it probably wouldn’t keep Lucas safe anyway.”
Bernard offered her a curt nod. “Correct.”
She sat back and mulled over their options. “You send those pictures of the flooring to your daughter?”
“I have.”
“Anything?”
“She’s still searching images online to find anything that can narrow it down. It appears to be a man-made material. It appears woven. It’s unusual but it’s also black. The computer doesn’t know quite what to search for.”
“Woven, synthetic carpet.” Brigid turned the idea over. “Wouldn’t be industrial. Could it be something from a garden center? Something like that?”
He cocked his head. “That’s an interesting thought. Woven vinyl perhaps? Why would you need woven vinyl flooring? What would be the purpose?”
“It wouldn’t be comfort.” She tapped her fork on the edge of her plate. “It wouldn’t stain if it got wet.”
There was something there…
Wet.
Drainage.
Then why not a slick flooring like in a garage? Something easy to spray off?
A thought was tugging at the back of Brigid’s mind.
You wouldn’t want to slip.
“Why would you slip?”
Bernard asked, “What’s that?”
She looked up from contemplating her empty plate. “Woven vinyl flooring. It wouldn’t be damaged by water. It wouldn’t pool on the top like a solid flooring. Think about those outdoor carpets they make for conservatories, things like that.”
“Conservatories?”
“Ah… patios.” Brigid waved a hand. “Outdoor spaces.”
“So you think Lucas is being kept outdoors? Not likely.”
“No, it was definitely inside.”
There was something she wasn’t putting together, and it was sitting right on the edge of her mind. There was a connection she was missing because she was feeling stressed and desperate to find the boy.
You know what it’s like to sleep in fear.
“If and when Bernice gets back to me with an answer, I’ll call you immediately.” Bernard craned his neck and glanced at the front of the coffee shop as the bell over the door rang. “I should get going.”
“Thanks for meeting me here.”
“Not a problem. I needed to clear my head anyway.” Bernard slid out of the booth and stood. “I wish I had something else to give you right now, but I don’t.”
“This city is too damn big.”
Bernard’s expression was grim. “And hiding one teenage boy isn’t difficult.”
She nodded. “I’ll call Lee. See if he’s come up with any other ideas or leads. I can catch a taxi back to the house if I need to.”
He pointed to the front. “My driver and I can take you if you prefer.”
The thought of sitting in the back of a car with Bernard, reeking of failure, made her shake her head. “I’ll wait for Carwyn and Miguel.”
“Very well.” Bernard started to leave.
Brigid sipped the glass of water the host had handed to her when she picked out her donut. “Bernard?”
He turned and walked back so he wouldn’t have to yell. “Yes, Miss Connor?”
“What about Preston’s secretary? Did you find her?”
“I have a number and address, but unlike middle-aged video game players, I do not think we’ll get anything from Gayle Pickman in the middle of the night. We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow evening if we want her to cooperate.”
“I get it.” It drove her crazy to be so limited, but she knew it was the reality she had to deal with. “Thanks.”
The man walked out of the coffee shop, and she saw his driver jump out of the car to open the back door. The low-slung sedan pulled away from the entrance to Night Cup, stopped, and immediately backed up.
Bernard’s door flew open and he rushed into the restaurant, not bothering with niceties at the door.
Brigid was already standing, sensing the man’s urgency. “What is it?
“Come with me.” He held out a hand. “We need to go to the hospital right away.”
Twenty
Miguel was an easy companion to work with, and if there wasn’t a missing boy sitting in the front of his mind, Carwyn would have greatly enjoyed chatting with the man more.
“Little League.” Miguel pointed at Carwyn. “I tell you, those parents get crazy. I offered to be the assistant coach—assistant, right? And I thought the head coach was exaggerating.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Nearly had fist fights between innings.” Miguel shook his head. “Unbelievable. I told my wife, ‘Honey, I don’t think this is the right kind of influence on our boy, you know?’ But he loves it. Absolutely addicted to the game.”
“How old is he?”
“Just turned ten.” Miguel was beaming. “And our little one, he’s all about soccer. Of course they couldn’t like the same sport, right?”
“Is there a lot of gear with baseball?” Carwyn knew a little about the sport, but he hadn’t had young children in centuries. “There are helmets and such, yes?”
“Bats, helmets, gloves, uniforms. It’s a lot.”
“At least with soccer the equipment is simple.”
“True, but if I have to run out one more time right before a game starts because my kid forgot his shin guards…” The human shrugged. “I can’t complain. I was a shit when I was a teenager. Nearly got myself killed a few times. My dad wasn’t thinking about bats or shin guards, you know? He was thinking about how to keep me alive.” Miguel fell silent, a shadow falling over his face.
Carwyn could see paternal responsibility written all over the man’s face. “You’re very attached to Lucas.”
“He was like my first kid.” He swallowed hard. “I started guarding him right around the time my oldest was born. They say that a good bodyguard shouldn’t get attached, but—”
“That’s pure shite.” Carwyn shook his head. “You’re spending that much time with anyone, you’re going to have feelings for them. It’s impossible not to. They become like an extension of yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We protect those who are important to us with a ferocity that is instinctive.”
“But I also allowed him freedom I probably shouldn’t have.” Miguel grimaced. “I just can’t think of what I could have done different, you know? Not let the kid use the bathroom on his own? Not let him pick out chips at the corner store?”
“This isn’t your fault.” Carwyn reached over and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Lucas ran away. You weren’t supposed to keep him prisoner. That wasn’t your job. You did the best you could.”
Miguel swallowed hard. “I think Bernard is the only reason my kids still have a dad. I saw the look in Rose’s eyes, and…”
“Parents become feral when we lose our children.” Carwyn flashed back to the desperation, the raw panic, the overwhelming rage when his own son had been taken by an enemy. “I lost a child. He was centuries old, but when I looked at him…” He blinked, then refocused. “I still saw the boy he was. He was my descendant by blood and by amnis. I saw him grow up. I remember…”
In his mind, Carwyn saw a round-cheeked baby playing in the mud and laughing at farm dogs. A vibrant boy, thin as a sapling, bounding across fields at midnight. A curious young man, eager for knowledge and eternity, begging Carwyn to sire him.
“I remember every moment.” His voice was rough. “We never forget our children.”
Miguel pulled up to a low-slung tract house in a middle-class neighborhood that had seen better days. The grass was overgrown in the front, and an old boat sat in the driveway gathering cobwebs under the hull.
From the front window, Carwyn saw a flickering light that appeared to be the television. “Clarence Johnson looks like he might be awake.”
“I’m gonna pull into the driveway with the lights on,” Miguel said. “Give him a heads-up that he has company.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“He’s gonna be either shocked or supershocked that someone is knocking on his door at two in the morning. I’d rather give him a little advance notice if we can.”
Carwyn was still staring at the boat. “Why own a boat when you live in the desert?”
Miguel looked at the boat. “Oh, there’re lakes around here.”
“Lake Las Vegas? I thought that was one of those artificial landscaping kind of lakes to make rich people feel like they have waterfront property.”
Miguel chuckled. “It’s artificial, but it’s not just for landscaping. You can boat on it. Fish. But the real deal is Lake Mead. Oh man, that’s some good fishing. I remember going out with my dad when I was a kid.” He pointed to the boat in Johnson’s driveway as he pulled up next to it. “That’s a sport fisher. You can take them on the ocean, but you’ll see a lot of them on Mead.”
“Is that the lake with the massive dam on it?”
Miguel nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. Hoover Dam.” He unclipped his seat belt and opened his car door. “I know you can’t go out during the day and all that, but it’s beautiful at night too. When I was younger, me and a bunch of buddies would rent a houseboat and take that out on the lake. It was a hell of a good time. And the stars out there in the middle of the desert?” Miguel shook his head. “Magical.”
“Must be heaven for water vampires.”
Miguel laughed. “We don’t get too many of those around here.”
They walked slowly up the front walkway, which was overgrown with Bermuda grass and weeds. There was a dusty set of folding chairs sitting on the small porch; one appeared to be broken. An overflowing ashtray sat in the middle of a tilting table, and a crushed silver beer can was stuck under one leg in an attempt to straighten the table’s lean.
“How does this guy have over twenty grand to lose betting on chess?” Miguel muttered.
“Clearly he doesn’t.” Carwyn reached out and knocked on the door. He gave it a solid but not thundering rap and almost immediately heard someone stir inside the house. “Good idea with the headlights, Miguel.”
“I do occasionally have—”
Cannon fire cut off Miguel’s voice, and Carwyn jumped back as the wooden door of the house splintered outward. A second explosion rocketed out, and dust flew through the air. Through the ringing in his ears and the confusion, Carwyn’s eyes darted from the smoke and dust at the door to the dark figure kicking in the dust.
“Get the fuck away!” a voice screamed from the house. “I don’t know anything! Get the fuck away!”
He moved with preternatural speed, rushing the human who had shot through the door, grabbing the shotgun, throwing him on the ground, and punching him in the head until he was still. Then he rushed to Miguel, rolling the man to his back.
The human’s chest was a mess of blood and dirt, deep red seeping through caked earth where he’d fallen forward onto the dusty front lawn.
“Help!” Carwyn’s voice boomed through the night. He rolled up his sleeve and his fangs fell. He slashed a deep gash in his wrist with his own teeth and poured the blood directly onto Miguel’s chest. “Anybody, help! Call an ambulance!”
Carwyn heard doors opening and a woman’s sharp scream. A few moments later, he heard sirens wailing.
“Stay with me.” He bit his other wrist and poured more blood into Miguel’s wounds, hoping to keep him alive until the ambulance arrived.
Miguel didn’t speak, but his eyes were wide and pleading.
“Stay with me.” Carwyn didn’t let go of his hand. “Stay with me. Your children need you. It’s not your time to die. Do ya hear me?”
The man’s head moved in an incremental nod.
“Good. My blood will help stop the bleeding.”
Another small nod.
Carwyn calculated the spread of the shot, the velocity it must have had to blast through the door and hit the man.
A second shot in the heat of panic and fear.
Miguel was dying in front of his eyes, and Clarence Johnson lay still on the ground, blood from his nose seeping into the dry earth.
