Retribution

CHAPTER 37

THE LINE AT THE BORDER CROSSING IS LONG. I’M stalled behind twenty cars waiting to be waved through.

I don’t mind. I’m in no hurry.

I drum my fingertips against the steering wheel, replaying everything that’s happened since Sandra’s call Sunday night.

Every mistake. Every blunder. Every miscalculation.

Following Burke to that restaurant. Revealing myself to her.

Stupid mistake number one.

Breaking into the warehouse the first time. I could have copied every fucking file in the place. Why didn ’t I? Instead, I memorized useless information. Burke knew that I’d be looking for her. How could I have thought she’d hang around that house in Coronado waiting for me? Learning the names of her employees and those test subjects would have been far more valuable.

Stupid mistake number two.

A driver behind me honks. I restrain the urge to flip him off and roll a foot or so forward.

My head aches.

One hundred test subjects. Three dead. In all the confusion, I ’d forgotten to ask Williams if he’d seen the coroner’s reports. Maybe when I get back, I’ll call him.

Maybe.

If Culebra dies, I won’t really care what killed them.

The before-and-after shots of the three dead women flash through my brain like a slide show. The transformation was incredible.

Vampire blood had that effect? I wonder if they’d have been as happy with the results if they’d known the price those young girls paid for their vanity. Twelve vampires dead. Would they have cared?

I mentally sift through everything I found in Burke’s file—insurance forms, utility bills—there was something else, wasn’t there?

I slam into reverse, forcing the guy behind me to back up. He’s yelling and waving a fist at me, but I keep at him, pushing him back until I have room to make the U-turn.

When I pull out of line, I give him my sweetest smile and wave farewell.

I remember what else was in Burke’s file. There was a telephone number. No name. No address. Just a number.

I’m driving with one hand on the wheel, the other rummaging through my purse.

Where is that damned cell phone?

My fingers finally close around it. I let the number float to the surface of my consciousness and punch it in. It rings once, twice, ten times.

No answer. No machine.

Shit.

The next call I make is to Williams. I catch him on his way back to Brooke’s.

“I just remembered something that was in Burke’s personal file. Can you do a reverse search on a telephone number?” I ask. “Get me a name and an address?”

He doesn’t question the request, just says, “What is it?”

I recite the number. “Will you call me as soon as you have the information?”

“Hang on.” The line goes silent as he puts me on hold for nearly a minute. I’m starting to get angry when he clicks back on.

“It’s a Denver number. Meet me at the airport.”

“The airport? Why? Is it listed to Burke?”

“Just meet me there.” Williams rings off.

A Denver number?

If it’s a Denver number, maybe I’m wrong about its significance. Maybe it doesn’t belong to Burke.

Maybe I’m wrong again.

I get back on the freeway and head west. Why would Williams want to meet me at the airport? He must have a reason. What isn ’t he telling me?

I call Frey’s cell next.

The sound of his voice sends a tremor through me.

“My God, you sound terrible.”

He manages a laugh. “You should see the way I look. Anna, where are you?”

I tell him, putting as much hopefulness as I can into a new development that may prove worthless.

He listens. Then he says, “Better make it fast. I’ve got maybe twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours? Until what?”

Frey coughs once. Clears his throat. “Until I end up like Culebra. Or worse.”