Tempted in the Night (15 page)
"I'll do it," Harris said.
John wanted to argue with him, prove he was up to the task, but instead he nodded and stepped aside. The chaotic tangle of his thoughts shared one common theme: Simon Brody—psychotic killer of women—vampire—obsessed with Jessica Winslow. Needing the distraction of physical movement, he wandered around the room, playing the beam of his flashlight over the floor and into the corners. When he reached the closet doors, he peered inside. A small dark shadow on the floor caught his attention.
Taking a closer look, he discovered that it was a black leather jacket. He bent down to retrieve it and when he held it up, saw only half a jacket. The other half still lay on the floor.
His gaze fell on the small decorative dragonfly pinned to the lapel. He'd seen it before and it didn't take long to remember where. His memory of the evening outside the bar came rushing back and he knew that this was the jacket Brody had ripped off Jessica when he attacked her.
Not sure what he intended to do with the garment, he leaned over to pick up the other half. As he did, several things fell from the folds and landed on the floor. Using the beam of his flashlight, he saw a tube of lipstick, two writing pens and a small notebook—all things that could have spilled out of her purse that night Brody attacked her.
Bending over, he picked up the notebook.
"What's that?" Harris asked, coming to stand beside him.
"I don't know." John shoved the jacket halves under his arm so he could open the book. "Looks like Jessica's day planner. I found her jacket in the closet."
Harris looked over his shoulder as he flipped through the pages. "She likes to write."
"Understatement of the year," John said, scanning the detailed comments, notes, names, addresses, and phone numbers scribbled across the pages.
"Oh, look," Harris said in what sounded like a teasing tone to John. "She even wrote something about you. I didn't know your parents weren't married when you were born."
"She meant it as a term of endearment."
"Yeah, I'm sure."
John smiled, but it soon faded. "Someone ripped out the page for this week." He flipped the pages back and forth, hoping they were just stuck together. His first thought was that Brody had ripped it out. The question was—why?
He hadn't seen Jessica since the wedding and wondered what she had planned for this week. Whatever it was, she needed to change her plans. He absently handed the book to Harris as he pulled out his cell phone and quickly keyed in a number.
"Julia?" he said a moment later. "This is John. Is Jessica there? It's important."
"Why, no she's not, John," Julia replied. "I thought she would have told you. She went back to
England
yesterday. Is there a problem?"
"She did?" He tried to ignore the unexpected stab of disappointment he felt that she had left without saying good-bye. It wasn't like they were friends or anything, he reminded himself. Julia said something on the other end, but his mind was too muddled to follow along. Then he heard the admiral's worried voice on the line.
"John, what's going on?"
"Admiral, I have reason to believe that Brody is after Jess, but if she's in
England
, then she's probably okay."
"I'll call her anyway, just to make sure she arrived safely."
"Thank you."
"I don't think she's headed to jolly old
England
," Harris said as soon as John got off the phone.
The grim sound of his voice tripped the alarm bells in John's head. "Why is that?"
Harris picked up a piece of paper stuck between two pages in the book and held it out so John could see. It was a folded magazine page filled with photos of old homes in the
New Orleans
area. One photograph in particular caught his eye. It was of an old Southern manor with gargoyle figures perched on the roof, giving it a touch of Gothic architecture.
"This doesn't mean anything," John argued.
"Not by itself," Harris agreed. He held out the day planner so John could see the page it was opened to. It was the schedule for the next week. Across the top, in large bold handwriting, was written
Find house with
chupacabras
.
John keyed another number into his cell phone and waited for his old college roommate to answer the phone.
"Vince, I need a huge
favor
."
"You already owe me three huge
favors
," the tired male voice chided on the other end.
"Do me this one and I'll give you my firstborn child."
"Like you'd find anyone willing to have sex with you."
"Yeah, yeah.
Look, I need to know if a Jessica Winslow was on a flight yesterday leaving Dulles and arriving somewhere in
England
. Can you access that information?"
"You know I can. The question is, should I? If the government wanted the average citizen to have access to this information—"
"I wouldn't have to call in
favors
from my best friend, who happens to work for—"
"If you're not on a secure line, you can stop right there," Vince warned him, his tone no longer teasing.
John heard the sound of fingers flying over the keyboard. Though he tried to be patient, he felt as if he were stuck in a time warp, where his thoughts were racing along in
hyperdrive
while the rest of the world was moving in slow motion.
Finally, Vince's voice sounded in his ear. "Okay, I checked every flight leaving for
England
from any airport in a hundred-mile radius of the D.C. area, and there was no Jessica Winslow on any of them. I did, however, find a Jessica Winslow on the
flight to
New Orleans
yesterday."
"Thanks, man. I owe you big-time."
"Yes, you do. And that's the way I like it.
You.
Owe. Me. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
About to hang up, an idea came to John. "There is one more
fav
—"
"I already booked you on the next flight to
New Orleans
. It leaves tomorrow morning at
"
"Thanks, I'll pay you back."
"No need. I used your credit card."
John disconnected the call, not wanting to know exactly how Vince had accessed his card number, and turned to see Harris watching him.
"You're going after her?" he asked.
"I am. I hope I'm wrong about this and Brody's not after her."
Maybe I'm the one obsessed with her
, he thought miserably to himself. "But I have to make sure she's okay."
His cell phone rang and he saw by the caller ID that Charles was calling him back.
"I finally reached Gerard," Charles said. "Not only is Jessica not there, but he's not expecting her any time soon."
"I know where she is," John told him. "She went to
New Orleans
."
"Oh, good."
Charles sounded relieved. "I'll call her and tell her to be careful then."
John was confused. "You know how to get in touch with her?"
"Of course.
If she's gone to
New Orleans
, then she's probably staying at our family home."
John couldn't believe his ears. "You have a home down there?"
"Really, it's more of an estate. No one's lived there in years, but I pay a service to keep the place cleaned and operational, just in case."
"Will you give me the address? I'm flying down there. I know she can probably take care of herself, but I'll still feel better if I go."
There was silence on the other end and then Charles spoke, sounding calm but serious. "I'll give you the address tonight, when you stop by."
"Charles, I don't really have time—"
"It's important. Just swing by on your way home."
The admiral's mansion was a good thirty minutes out of his way. John sighed.
"Fine.
As soon as I'm finished here, I'll swing by." He hung up, wondering what
was so important it
couldn't be discussed over the phone.
He turned to find Harris watching him. "What?"
"If you're right about Brody, then this could be a very dangerous situation you're heading into."
"True."
"Brody's not like me—he wasn't created by a
chupacabra
. I created him. Do you realize what that means?" Harris didn't wait for John to answer. "It means that every day, his intelligence deteriorates a little more. The longest I've seen a vampire last is two months. Some don't make it that long. And when their mind starts to go, it goes fast. Then all that's left is a creature with superhuman strength and no capacity for rational thought."
John stared at Harris. "If you're trying to scare me, then you've succeeded. But if you're suggesting that I stay here and let Jessica face this creature by herself, forget it."
"Actually, I was going to suggest that I go—by myself."
"What?"
"I think it would be better if I went, instead of you," Harris elaborated.
"No way.
Besides, how are you going to get down there? Fly?" He paused. "Vampires don't really fly, do they?" Suddenly, he wasn't sure.
Harris shook his head. "No, we can't fly. So I'll have to get down there the same way Brody does—on foot. It might take a day or two longer, but I shouldn't be too far behind him. Hell, I might even catch up to him."
"If you do, great.
But if you don't, then I want to be down there when he arrives."
Harris shrugged. "Suit yourself."
John grew thoughtful. "Let me give you my cell phone number. You can call me when you get to
New Orleans
." He paused. "I don't suppose you have a cell phone?"
Harris gave him a look. "What do you think?"
"I think we have a lot to do before tomorrow morning, so let's get started." He looked back at the dead woman's body, new rage and frustration filling him. There was no way he was going to let Brody get his hands on Jessica. Brody would have to kill him first.
John showed up at the Winslow mansion an hour after parting company with Harris. He was perplexed by the strange relationship he was developing with the vampire. They shared a common interest in wanting to find Brody, but beyond that, he didn't know. Vampires were supposed to be evil and yet he didn't get that sense from Harris.
Even more perplexing to him was the relationship Harris had with Mac and Dirk. He wouldn't have thought it possible that vampire hunters could be friends with a vampire—and truth be told
,
the interaction he'd witnessed the other night wasn't exactly the friendliest. On the other hand, Mac and Dirk hadn't made any effort to kill Harris, so that said something. He just wasn't sure what.
"Come into my study," Charles said after he'd ushered John inside.
As he followed the admiral down the hallway, John wondered exactly what it was the older man wanted to discuss. "Charles, I'm not going to let you talk me out of going."
Charles waved his comment aside as he sat down behind his desk. "I have no intention of trying to talk you out of going, I assure you."
"Then why—"
"The other night," Charles interrupted, "after you made your big discovery, we dumped a lot of information on you at once. Because it was so much, there were other things we never got around to telling you; things I think you should know. For instance, Mac and Dirk aren't just vampire hunters—they're Night Slayers."
John mentally waved the information aside and sank into the chair opposite Charles. "Vampire hunters, Night Slayers—I don't care what you call them, Charles."
Charles's brows furrowed and he flexed his hands where they rested on the desktop. "Perhaps I'm explaining this badly," he tried again. "What I'm trying to tell you is that Mac and Dirk are especially
equipped
to hunt vampires."
John grew impatient because they were wasting time. "I know. I've seen the sword."
Charles's eyes lit up. "Exactly; the sword is a perfect example. Those are Death Rider swords and in the hands of a Night Slayer, very powerful weapons."
And in
his
hands, a .44
mag
was a powerful weapon—what was the man's point?
"Mac and Dirk are not like you and me," Charles continued. "They're changelings."
"Like I said, I don't care what you want to call them—"
"They're not human," Charles interrupted, earning John's undivided attention.
"Excuse me?"
Charles sighed. "They're not human—anymore."
"They're not?"
First Jess.
Now Charles.
John wondered if insanity ran in the Winslow family.