Red Sunset Drive, page 20
Dragos growled, his teeth lengthening. “I will show the little man what vampires can really do.”
Brett frowned at Dragos. He’d not seen this type of aggression from Dragos before.
“What did you say, O’Shea?” Allen muttered.
“Nothing. I want you to reconsider. People will be frightened, and who knows what kind of crap this will trigger. We’re working hard to get to the bottom of what’s going on. But be real. You know that there are no such things as vampires or the like.”
Allen’s laugh spiked Brett’s blood pressure. Brett silently counted to three. The guy was loony tunes.
“Sorry, Detective. My public awaits.”
Brett stared at his phone in disbelief. The asshole hung up again. Rushing to the window, he peered down to the street. Sure enough, Allen’s limo pulled up in front of the police station.
“C’mon,” he yelled at Dragos.
He and Dragos took the stairs two at a time, nearly slamming into one another when they reached the landing at the same time. Brett thrust the door open on the first floor, not caring that it banged into the wall. He ran through the lobby of the station. He skidded on the marble floors. His arm flailed to prevent him from hitting the wall. Dragos grabbed Brett’s shoulder, shoving him toward the outside doors.
As he tore through the bronze-and-glass doors, he slammed into Foster, who was entering the building.
“O’Shea! Where the hell are you two going in such a hurry?”
“Allen is … Anders told me …” Brett tried to form the words as he gasped for air. They were going to be too late! He pointed toward the gathering crowd in front of the station.
Foster turned and studied the growing crowd gathering across the street. He saw the comprehension flash across Foster’s gaze.
“Son of a bitch,” Foster hissed. “Let’s go.”
Allen stood in the center of the crowd. His personal bodyguard stood behind Allen, surveying the reporters. When they approached, the guard whispered something in Allen’s ear.
Brett, along with Dragos and Foster, worked his way through the crowd, trying to get close to Allen. There had to be a way to get the man to walk away.
Allen cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. Voices in the crowd drifted away as reporters jockeyed for position with their cameramen.
“Thank you for coming today. I—”
Brett grabbed Allen’s shoulder, causing the smaller man to pitch forward. The crowd gasped. A second later, Allen’s guard grabbed Brett’s hand and twisted. Pain tore through his wrist.
“Let go!” Before he could identify himself, he saw Dragos grab the guard’s hand and effortlessly lift it off of him. With the guard distracted, Brett pulled Allen away from the crowd.
“We need to talk,” Brett hissed.
His face red, Allen shook off his grasp. He raised a finger, pointing in Brett’s face.
“I warned you, Detective. You’re too late.”
Allen straightened his suit jacket and tie and walked back to the crowd. With a wave of his hand, he addressed the crowd. “Sorry for the disruption. I want to thank you all for coming today.”
Brett and Foster edged closer to Allen. The idiot reveled in the attention he was getting. Brett wanted to wipe the shit-eating grin off of the man’s face.
“As I mentioned in my earlier statement, we are facing trying times here in Des Moines. You are all aware of the recent murders of several young women. Well, I am here to tell you that these women died needlessly.”
Brett saw Foster clench his fists. Dragos stepped forward, looking as though he was going to attack Allen.
“Wait!” Brett growled. “It’s too late. We need to use our heads. Follow my lead.”
Foster and Dragos nodded, their attention fixated on Allen.
Once the mumbling of the crowd quieted, Allen held up his hands. “Yes, you heard me correctly. They didn’t need to die. The police have ignored my warnings. Now, we need to work together and catch this killer. With your help, you can warn the public so no more people get hurt.”
With a smirk on his face, Brett tilted his head toward Allen.
Brett watched as a reporter stepped forward. “Mr. Allen. Can you be more specific? Who is the killer? Why won’t the police cooperate with you?”
Several other reporters shouted out questions before Allen could respond.
“Quiet. I can only answer one question at a time. As I stated, I warned the police several weeks ago about a possible danger. They chose to ignore me. Now look what happened; people are dying.”
Several reporters glanced toward him and Foster, whom they knew from previous cases. Brett plastered a smile on his face and shrugged, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He elbowed Foster in the side and muttered, “Smile, sir.”
Allen placed his hands on his hips and turned to gaze at the crowd. Shit. All the guy needs is a soapbox.
“You sound like you know who the killer is. Who is it, Mr. Allen?” a reporter shouted.
Brett’s grin grew. Here it comes!
“I know that many of you don’t believe in the paranormal, but I am here today to tell you that unworldly creatures exist.”
Muffled laughter rippled across the crowd. A couple of cameramen lowered the cameras. Confusion flashed in Allen’s gaze. He tried to regain control of the crowd.
“Yes, the paranormal exists. You all should take precautions,” Allen warned.
“Hey Allen,” a reporter called out, “have you seen these things yourself?”
Laughter blossomed across the parking lot. Allen’s face turned beet red.
“I’m talking about vampires. There is a vampire in Des Moines killing innocent people.”
Silence prevailed as people looked at one another, some in disbelief. Some chuckled.
Brett began to laugh loud, gut-busting laughter. Foster and Dragos joined in. Soon others in the crowd joined them.
“I’m scared,” a man jeered. “Dracula’s in Des Moines.”
“Better buy some garlic or get holy water,” someone else hollered.
Allen tore his hand through his hair. His eyes narrowed. “Listen to me! I’m not joking. People are dying. You could be next.”
Foster nodded at the reporters. “O’Shea, look.”
Reporters and the camera crews were putting away their equipment. People started drifting down the street.
One reporter walked up to Brett. “Detective, I saw you standing here. So how are you guys going to catch a vampire?” Before Brett could think of an answer, the reporter chuckled. “God. You guys really have to deal with screwed-up people, don’t you?”
Brett nodded. “All the time. It seems Mr. Allen might benefit from some psychiatric help.”
As the reporter turned to leave, he paused. “Maybe you should wear a cross or some garlic around your neck just to be sure.”
He smiled back at the reporter and gave him a half salute. “You never know. Thanks for the suggestion.”
With arms folded across his chest, Brett waited until everyone left before approaching Allen.
“That went well,” Brett sniggered.
Allen took a deep breath and turned toward him. “You may think you have outwitted me, but there will be another time—another place.”
“Allen, I’ve told you before that there is no such thing as vampires. Besides, why would any of them want to come to Des Moines?”
Allen spotted Dragos watching them in his dark glasses and overcoat. “Who’s that?”
“A friend.”
Allen tilted his head, studying Dragos from head to toe. “Where is he from? He looks foreign.”
Brett smiled. “I suppose you think he’s a vampire because he has long, dark hair and wears a long coat?”
“Of course not,” Allen scoffed. “There’s just something about him. Does he talk?”
Dragos grinned as he walked toward Allen.
“Yes, he talks,” Dragos responded in his clipped English accent. “Are you always such an annoying little man?”
Allen’s bodyguard grabbed Dragos’s coat. Dragos’s grin grew wider.
“Do not touch me.” Dragos eyes glittered dangerously. “You will regret it.”
Foster rolled his eyes as Brett fought to contain his laughter.
“C’mon, Dragos. Leave the guy alone before I have to throw you in jail.”
“Dragos? What kind of name is that? He looks like a vampire,” Allen bellowed. “I’m going to call in experts who will support my claim.”
Brett folded his arms and smirked at Allen. “Good luck with that.
Foster snapped at the bodyguard, “Get your boss out of here!”
The bodyguard did just that.
The three men let out a sigh of relief as Allen’s car disappeared from view.
“We narrowly escaped that bullet,” Foster muttered.
Brett shook his head. “I’m not sure. Even though Allen looked and sounded crazy, someone out there will believe it. And with this airing on the evening news, Victor and his goons will be warned.”
Dragos nodded. “We must find Victor soon.”
37
Randall peeked through the blinds from his bedroom. A black Lexus sat outside his house. He suspected that inside was either Victor or one of his men.
Since the night of the party, he had tried distancing himself from Victor. He could have sworn he saw puncture wounds on the dead woman, but when he returned to the house, the woman’s neck was fine. She even smiled at him. Something was going on. Something that made him want to avoid Victor. The women’s screams still reverberated in his mind. Truth be known, he was afraid of Victor. Victor’s gaze was like staring into a deep well with no bottom. It gave him the creeps.
Victor had invited him over a couple of times during the past few days, but he had scrambled to come up with excuses. He suspected that Victor believed he was lying. The stress had him jumping at shadows and strange noises. He carried a loaded Glock from room to room in his own house. Something had to change.
As he got into his car to report to work, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The Lexus was behind him. There was no subtlety, and this wasn’t a hint. Someone wanted him to know he was being watched. Who else could it be but Victor?
After parking the car at the station, he glanced at the street. The car slowly eased down the street. Even though the windows were heavily tinted, he knew the driver was staring at him. With a shiver, he hurried into the building and clocked in. He was tired of traffic detail. Maybe Anders would reconsider and let him go back to the Detective Bureau.
Absorbed in his thoughts, he turned the corner and collided with O’Shea.
“Whoa! Sorry about that,” O’Shea apologized as he reached out to steady himself.
“No problem.” He knew that if he wanted to go back to being a detective, he’d better get on O’Shea’s good side. He didn’t understand what there was between O’Shea and Anders, but they were close. In a way, he was envious.
Randall then noticed the man with O’Shea. The man seemed stiff and withdrawn. Those dark eyes bore into Randall, causing a shiver to run up his spine. Pasting a smile on his face, he asked, “Hey, who’s your partner?”
O’Shea seemed to hesitate. Randall became instantly suspicious.
“A friend. He’s from England and helping the department.”
“Really? That’s great. You still working the whore murders?”
“Yep. And they’re not all whores, as you put it.”
Randall smirked. “Yeah, whatever. Got any good leads?”
“We think so. With the latest murders, we need to catch the killer soon.”
“Latest murders? The last murder I heard about was that young girl—Jamie, I think—found down by river. That was a week or two ago.”
O’Shea shrugged, looking impatient to leave. “We believe that the killing is escalating.”
“Really? I haven’t seen anything in the paper about other murders.”
“You will soon. Anders is holding a press conference later today. Six bodies will put the heat on us. All of us.”
Randall swallowed hard, forcing the stomach acid back down his throat. Six bodies! Shit! No, it couldn’t be. Could it? No way would Victor have killed all those women. Only a frickin’ maniac would do something like that.
“Are you okay, Randall? You look a little pale.” O’Shea’s eyes narrowed as he stared at him.
The buzz in Randall’s head grew louder. He shook his head. “Nope. Just thinking about something. Hey, I’ve gotta get to roll call. Catch you guys later.”
Randall heard nothing that the sergeant said during roll call. Six more women murdered? Could it be a coincidence? Six women were at Victor’s party. He could try to find one of those women, and then he’d know for sure. But how? He didn’t know any of their names, and he wasn’t going to ask Victor.
After absently loading the radar equipment, he headed for the selected intersection. He was kept busy for the next several hours by writing tickets. As traffic slowed to a crawl, he glanced down the street. The Lexus was back. Mixed emotions warred inside him. As much as he wanted to stay away from Victor, he needed to talk to the guy in an attempt to get information.
Slowly walking toward the car, Randall casually adjusted the visor on his hat.
The driver’s window eased open. Sure enough, Victor sat inside. Instinctively, Randall’s hand moved to rest near his gun.
“Detective Randall. What a surprise to see you.”
Victor’s thin lips stretched into a resemblance of a smile. He wished he could see Victor’s expression, but dark sunglasses masked Victor’s eyes.
“Are you following me, Victor? If you have a problem or something you want to discuss with me, then let’s talk. I don’t like being followed.”
“Detective,” Victor drawled, “why would I follow you?”
Randall leaned down and rested his arm on the side of the car. “Let’s not play games.”
Victor sighed, his head momentarily dipping to his chest. Before he responded, his cell phone rang. Holding up a finger, he turned. “Detective, could you give me a minute?”
“Sure, I don’t have anything better to do,” he snapped. Damn! Who does Victor think he’s talking to?
Although Randall stepped away, he could still hear Victor talking. Whoever was on the other end was getting an ass chewing. After popping a piece of gum into his mouth, he pulled out his cell phone and pretended to check for messages as he continued to eavesdrop.
“It is beyond me how you can’t find him. I am surrounded by incompetence. Do whatever it takes. I want him found,” Victor snarled.
Randall bit back a smile. Victor was seething. He’d never seen the man unruffled before.
After Victor ended the call, Randall murmured, “That didn’t sound good.”
Victor’s lip curled. “Do not provoke me, Detective. You do not want to be on my bad side. Trust me.”
“Uh huh. Maybe I can help. I couldn’t help but overhear, but you seem to be looking for someone.”
Victor’s long fingers tapped on the steering wheel. Minutes ticked by. Hell. I’m over this.
“I need to go. You’d better get those windows fixed. You can’t have car windows tinted that dark. You’re lucky I’m not writing you a ticket.” He turned and walked back to the squad car.
“Wait,” Victor called out.
Randall stopped, expecting Victor to get out of the car. Instead, Victor waved him back to the car. He forced himself to walk back toward Victor.
“Yeah?”
“Perhaps you can help me find a relative. I believe I mentioned this before. I want to help him.”
“Help him? How?”
Victor shrugged. “I owe him some funds. I can help him get home to England.”
England? The guy with O’Shea tonight was from England. “What does this guy look like?”
Victor rubbed his chin as if in thought. “Tall. Over six feet. Dark eyes and hair.”
Crap! It sounded as if Victor was describing the guy he’d met tonight.
Randall’s eyes narrowed. “Kind of sounds like you’re describing the guys who work for you.”
“They’re all my cousins. I promised my sisters to watch over them. I must admit it has become quite tedious.”
Randall nodded. It sounded reasonable to him, though he still had his suspicions. He decided to pretend to help Victor, hoping it might keep the man off his back.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said. Slapping the side of the car, he smiled. “Well, I need to write up some tickets or I’ll be stuck on traffic duty forever. Catch you later.”
Watching the Lexus disappear around the corner, Randall returned to the squad car with a renewed sense of survival. He had to get more information on the man with O’Shea. He could play nice if it meant that Victor left him alone and alive.
38
Brett dropped Dragos at Candy’s house and hurried home after lunch. Anders was holding the press conference at 5:00 p.m.—just in time for the evening news. After working all night, he needed to catch a few hours of sleep before going out again.
He tossed the keys on the table and automatically opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. He headed toward the family room, kicking off his shoes and dropping his holster on the floor before parking himself in the recliner. Just the place for a nap. Quickly emptying the bottle, he leaned back in the chair. His eyes drifted shut.
“Shouldn’t you be out on the street looking for, Victor?” Michael bellowed in his ear.
The deep voice jarred him to his senses. Brett jerked to his feet, instinctively drawing back a fist and swinging in the direction of the voice. His body relaxed as his fist sailed through the shadowy apparition.
