Retribution

CHAPTER 14

GRUDGINGLY, I GIVE THE DEVIL HER DUE. THE witch pulled off a good one.

Shit.

I’m looking up and down Prospect with no real hope of spying the limo and the sinking realization that it would make no difference if I did. By the time I retrieve my car, Belinda Burke will have vanished.

I run back to the garage to get the Jag.

Thoughts cascade through my head like white water over a dam. She knows about Frey. She knows about the amulet. Can she trace it back to the witches in Balboa Park?

I’ve got to warn them.

The first call I make is to Frey. He doesn’t answer. I try Culebra’s cell, hoping Sandra will pick up.

Once again, there’s no answer.

I disconnect and, fighting off the fear that they are both dead, call Williams. He does answer. Before I can ask, he tells me that he talked with Sandra a few minutes ago. Culebra is hanging on. I fill him in on what happened with Burke, including her threat against the witches.

He assures me they are protected as long as they stay at the headquarters. He asks the obvious questions and I give him as full a description as I can of Burke’s new persona. He wants me to come in and give the description to a psychic artist who can render a sketch.

There isn’t time.

Now that I know Burke’s assumed the guise of someone else, my next task has to be to determine who that someone else is. And get to her fast.

We ring off.

I’m back on Prospect. Burke must know it was no coincidence, my appearing in the restaurant. She’s smart enough to know I probably followed her from the warehouse, which makes it safe to assume she won’t be going back there anytime soon.

Which also makes the warehouse the logical place to start.

I’m retracing my footsteps to National City. Worry about Culebra and Frey and sudden doubt about my choice to go back to the warehouse are unwelcome passengers in the car with me. What if I ’m wrong and Burke is waiting for me at the warehouse? What protection do I have against her power? I was helpless in that restaurant.

I’m suddenly aware that I’ve got the charm clutched in my fingers.

This is my protection. The moment I feel its warning heat, I’ll know she’s near. This time, the moment I see her, I’ll shoot the bitch no matter where we are.

The warehouse parking lot is still crowded. Trucks from a loading bay around the side come and go. I pull right up to the door and park in a visitor’s space.

May as well.

I check the .38 and slip it into the pocket of my jacket.

Quicker access.

I touch the amulet.

It’s cold.

A gun and a charm.

I’m not leaving anything to chance.

A glass door opens into a reception area. Simple, utilitarian, no fancy furniture. Only an oversized metal desk behind which sits a woman with a computer monitor in front of her and a telephone headset attached to her ear. She’s in her twenties, stylishly dressed in a light wool pantsuit and silk blouse. She has dark hair and eyes. When she looks up at me and smiles a welcome I detect no threat. She’s human. That doesn’t mean she can’t be a witch. Or that Burke hasn’t assumed another disguise.

I touch the amulet to be sure.

Nothing.

She’s not Burke and Burke must not be close.

The woman has not yet greeted me and I realize she’s talking on the phone. She rings off and says, “Sorry about that. The phones have been crazy since that newspaper article appeared yesterday. Are you here to place an order?”

She pulls a clipboard from a stack on her desk and holds it out to me. “We’ve had trouble with the website. So many hits, customers have not been able to access order forms. I’ve been telling them to come in and do it in person if they’re in the San Diego area. They’ll get the product much faster that way.”

“Product?”

“Eternal Youth.” The smile dims a little when she sees I’m not reaching for the clipboard. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Eternal Youth? Why does that ring a bell? I let the name filter through the cogs. It comes to me in a lightning bolt of recognition.

Yesterday’s paper.

Gloria and her new gig.

And something else.

The woman with Gloria. The president of the company.

The redhead, Simone Tremaine.

One and the same. Belinda Burke.

The woman behind the desk has returned the clipboard to its stack as she takes another phone call. I’m processing possibilities. I could go to Gloria and see what she knows about Simone Tremaine. Good old Gloria, once again she ’s gotten involved with a less than scrupulous business partner.

Last resort. I’d rather not see Gloria again—ever. She’d likely use any opening to weasel her way back to David.

The second possibility is to find out what I can from the receptionist. I doubt she ’s going to give me Simone’s address or home telephone number no matter how sweetly I ask.

That leaves two options. Go back to the cottage and do an Internet search. Most likely a waste of time since Simone Tremaine is probably unlisted.

Or come back tonight and go through Belinda’s files. Behind the reception area is a door with a glass window. I mosey over and look in.

There’s a long hall with doors opening on both sides—offices, no doubt—and a door in the back. Through the one on the end is something that looks like the landing to a flight of stairs.

“Can I help you with something?”

The enthusiasm has gone out of the receptionist’s voice.

I turn to her. “I’m not here to place an order,” I say, stepping back to the desk. “But I am interested in the company. What can you tell me about Simone Tremaine?”

The silky smooth smile of the saleswoman returns. “She’s wonderful. She discovered the formula for Eternal Youth herself. Are you from the press? I have a press kit I can give you.”

This time I take the offering. It’s slick and glossy and the first page is a headshot of Simone. “Where is she from, do you know?”

“New York. She was in advertising there. Which is why she’s so good with the media. They love her.”

Yeah. That and the fact that she can hex people to believe anything she wants.

I flip the twenty or so pages contained in the kit. Every one has a photo of Simone along with before and after shots of middle -aged women transformed from drab to gorgeous. No cream could possibly—

The receptionist interrupts my train of thought with a laugh. “I can tell from your expression you’re skeptical of those results. Most women are.” She reaches for something at her feet and comes up with a handbag. She fishes out a wallet and flips to a driver’s license.

“How old do you think I am?” she asks.

“I’m not good at that game,” I say. Being a vampire puts you at a disadvantage.

She holds out the picture so I can read her date of birth.

I look from the license to the woman and back again. “Is this a joke?”

She laughs. “Nope. I’m an Eternal Youth customer myself. And I’m fifty-two years old.”

I react the way she expects—with shocked appreciation at the transformation. I don’t bother to tell her that she’s probably under some kind of spell, that the woman she has so much admiration for is a cold -blooded killer who has to be working an angle that I’d bet is more complicated than rejuvenating aging skin. Belinda Burke is not a humanitarian.

Instead, I take the literature and, thanking her for her time, leave. I’ll come back tonight, when I can be alone with Burke’s files and see for myself what’s going on.

In the car, I call Williams. I tell him who Burke is pretending to be, and he promises to pass the information to Ortiz. Legally, we can ’t prove she’s done anything illegal. Yet. So there can be no official police involvement. But at least Ortiz may be able to use his connections to track her down.

Then I call Frey. This time he answers. He sounds spent. Culebra’s condition worsened once, about an hour ago, but he adjusted his counterspell and Culebra is resting again.

I fill him in on what I learned. Culebra’s relapse would coincide with my confrontation with Burke in the restaurant. She knows now that we’re working against her.

What I don’t tell Frey is that she knows it’s Frey who is keeping Culebra alive. May as well not add to his concern.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask Frey.

“Yeah,” he says. “Find Burke. Kill the bitch.”