The Becoming

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The cop is driving a red Corvette. Makes it really easy to tail. He leaves the beach and heads to Pacific Coast Highway. He jumps on I-8 and then switches to 163 near Mission Valley. He keeps going north, and I'm right behind him, though he doesn't know it. I can see him checking the rearview mirror, but he's still looking for the Jag.

He turns off at Genesee, the Linda Vista area, and makes a couple of quick right turns. We're in a housing area now and I have to be more careful. He, on the other hand, seems to have relaxed his guard. He takes no evasive action, but pulls right up into the driveway of a modest two-story bungalow on a street with the sweet name, Finch Lane. He doesn't even pause to look up and down the street, but he and his companion take their time unloading beach stuff from the back. I can tell from her expression and body language, she's still not happy that their afternoon was interrupted. He makes conciliatory gestures as they disappear inside the house.

I park a few doors down and wait. I'm betting he'll be back out in fifteen minutes tops—the time it takes to shower and change.

What I'm hoping is that the telephone call he made on the beach was to his friends on the old Revenger squad. Probably made plans to meet them. I'm sure he thinks I ran when I recognized him.

Won't he be surprised!

He beats my time by a good five minutes. His hair is still wet and brushed straight back, as if he didn't want to take the time to dry it. He's dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, tucked, black leather boots on his feet. That's all. No gun that I can see, and even an ankle holster would show in jeans that tight. He jumps into the Corvette, fires it up and backs out of the driveway.

I make my move just before he leaves the neighborhood. At a stop sign, I let the Explorer roll into the Vette, a bumper kiss, but it gets his attention, as I knew it would. Corvette owners are touchy about their cars. Must have something to do with fiberglass.

In a flash, he's out of the car and scoping out the “damage.” He's practically foaming at the mouth, he's so angry. By the time he gets around to aiming some of that fury at me, I've retrieved my gun and cuffs from the glove compartment. He still hasn't bothered to find out who's sitting behind the wheel of the Explorer, but I see him reach into his pocket.

He starts toward me, flipping open a leather wallet to reveal his badge.

I'm out of the door before he gets to the bumper of my car. I'm holding the gun at my side. It's not until I'm right in his face that he realizes whose face is staring back at him.

His expression is almost comical. His mouth drops open, and his eyes widen.

I raise the gun slightly. “Get into my car, asshole, or I'll shoot you right here."

He looks around, gauging the possibilities.

"Don't even try it,” I say. “I'm faster than you, stronger than you, and, oh yeah, I have a gun. Limits your options, wouldn't you say?"

He draws a breath and blows it out. “What about my car?"

"It'll be just fine here. If not, I'm sure the neighborhood tow guys will take good care of it."

He winces, but doesn't argue. I reach for his wallet and shove it into my back pocket. Never know when a badge might come in handy. He crosses in front of the Explorer and opens the passenger side door. He climbs in and I thread the cuffs through the armrest and snap them around both wrists. If he tries to jump out, I can always drag him to death.

He doesn't say another word.

I pull the Explorer around the Corvette and park just on the other side of the intersection. It's a quiet neighborhood, but if I leave his car, it won't be long before someone notices a driverless Corvette at the stop sign.

"Don't move."

He rattles the cuffs. “Like I have much choice."

I jump out and get behind the wheel of his car. I'm really tempted to smash it into a tree, but it's not the car I'm angry with. Lucky for him.

After I've pulled it off the road, I toss the keys into a bush. When I rejoin him, he's frowning.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because I felt like it. Any more questions?"

His lips press into a thin line.

"I'll take that as a no."

Up to this point, I've been reacting on instinct. Now it dawns on me that I don't know where to take this guy. I know what I want to do when I get him alone, but where to take him for privacy on a sunny summer afternoon is the question. His favorite haunt, the park, is out. That's probably where he was planning to meet his friends. He'd deny it, of course, so I won't waste my time asking.

Then I have it. Might be a little tricky, maneuvering a handcuffed man down a set of steep, slippery stairs. But we'd be alone, that's for sure. I head the Explorer back to the coast.

I must have a little smile on my face because he asks, “What's going on? Where are we going? You won't get away with this, you know. I'm a cop. My friends will come looking for me."

I almost hope they do.

Wait. I have to say it out loud for the jerk to hear. Vampire conversation is so much easier.

"The more the merrier."

He's squirming on the seat. “Look. It's not my fault what happened the other night."

"Oh, really? I could have sworn it was you who delivered me to your buddies."

"It's a job. Nothing personal."

That actually makes me laugh out loud. “Dying is personal. Even to the undead."

"You're not human. You feed on innocent victims. You don't deserve to live. You and your kind are freaks."

Sounds very much like what I said to Avery not too long ago. Funny, how one's perspective can change. “I don't feed on innocent victims,” I say staunchly. “I've never fed on an innocent victim."

Course, I've never fed on anyone except Avery, but I keep that to myself.

"You have to. Otherwise, you couldn't survive. It's what a vampire does."

"Where do you people get this stuff?"

Avery would be proud of the outrage I put in my voice.

He looks at me as if I'm speaking in tongues. “You are kidding, right? You really aren't going to tell me that vampires have gotten a bad rap over the ages? That it's all been a horrible misunderstanding? That Donaldson's victims deserved what they got?"

Donaldson. He would bring up that creep. I flounder a bit for the proper retort. All I can manage is a weak, “Donaldson was a rogue."

" Was a rogue?"

He picked up on that fast enough.

I nod. “He won't cause any more trouble."

He sits back in the seat with a satisfied smile. “Son of a bitch. They got him."

"Who's they? "

He directs that satisfied smile to me. “You'll find out soon enough."

But I want to find out now. We've arrived at our destination, and I reach into my pocket for my passenger's wallet. It's about time I found out this guy's name. I flip it open while he looks on, a puzzled frown on his face.

"What are you going to do with that?"

I smile. “Well, Trooper Lawson, we're going to take a walk. If we meet anyone, I'm an investigator bringing a suspect to the scene of his crime. If you try to get away, I'll simply flash this badge and shoot you. By the time it gets sorted out, I'll be gone. Are we clear?"

Lawson looks around. “We're at the Cove. What are we doing here?"

I've reached across him to pull my holster out of the glove box. When I'm properly attired, I hang his badge from my belt. “Looks good, doesn't it? Official."

He doesn't agree with me, not that I expect him to. I climb out of the Explorer and come around to his side. The good thing about dealing with someone who knows about vampires is that they understand the superhuman strength thing. He doesn't try to pull away when I uncuff him from the armrest and torque his arms around his back. When he's out of the car, I shove him against the door and do a thorough pat down. I know he isn't wearing an ankle holster for a gun, but that doesn't mean he can't have a knife tucked away in those boots. No sense taking chances.

I pull a thin, steel blade from a pocket in the lining of the boot. I hold it up. “Very nice. Wouldn't slow me down very much, but effective against humans, I suppose."

"I didn't know I'd be running into a vampire today."

I toss it into the car and nudge him forward. “I suppose not. If you had, you'd have shoved a stake down your pants, right? Let's go."

We're in the parking lot of an abandoned seashell shop right at the busy La Jolla Cove. There's yellow tape all around because of construction work. The old-fashioned shell shop is being remodeled into a new-fashioned gift shop. But anyone seeing a police officer escorting a handcuffed man through the back, would probably assume it was crime scene tape. And since the crew seems to have left for lunch, it's easy for us to slip inside.

Lawson starts looking a little nervous when he realizes where we're going. “You're taking me into the cave?"

"Not as picturesque as where you took me,” I reply. “But just as private."

The cave is a well-known feature of the cove. To get to it, you have to take a flight of sheer, slick, stone steps straight down to the water. It's reputed to be an old pirate's hideout, and it's a good one. From land, you can't tell it's there. And from the sea, if you don't know what to look for, you'd never guess it was anything but sea-battered coastline. When the shell shop was open, it was a big attraction for tourists. Risk your life to see where a pirate stashed his booty. Deserted now, it's perfect for us.

Lawson stumbles on the wet steps. I don't help him. I let him fall to his knees, actually hoping he'll tumble all the way down to the water.

Soften him up a little.

He looks back at me as he struggles to his feet. “You could help me, you know. Take the cuffs off so I can use the rail."

"And miss the show? I don't think so. Keep going."

He mumbles something that sounds like “miserable vamp bitch” but I don't ask him to repeat it.

It takes a good ten minutes to get down to the water's edge. At the bottom, there's a little beach protected by a natural sea wall.

The waves crash and boom around us, perfect insulation in case Lawson needs to yell or scream—or something.

He stops at the water's edge and turns toward me. “Well, we made it. What happens now?"

I look around for a place to stow the gun. Wouldn't want it to get wet. I find a little shelf in the rock and place it and Lawson's badge out of reach of the breaking waves.

Then I turn, too, and we're face to face. The cave throws jagged shadows, alternating light and dark, making him look like the jester on a pack of playing cards. He's scowling, holding himself upright, full of stubborn resolve.

But there's another vampire trait I'm starting to develop.

It's an ability to smell fear.

And right now, he reeks of it.