Bloodlust

Chapter 25

Mitch didn’t think he could sleep, but he must have. When the burner phone rang, it woke him up from a bad dream. Andrew was lost, he could hear him crying, “Daddy, Daddy,” but couldn’t find him.

He was lying on his back, holding the phone on his chest so he wouldn’t miss a call from either Tucker or Clarence. He answered on the second ring. “Here.”

“Hi, Mitch, it’s me.”

Clarence. Earlier, he’d called in a favor of the young cop. Clarence had been happy to oblige when Mitch had asked him to stake out a house. “It’ll give you a chance to brush up on your surveillance skills.”

“Sure. When?”

“As soon as you can get there, and I’d like you to stay until sunrise.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll pay your overtime rate, but out of my own pocket, so don’t turn in the hours. And take your own car, not a squad car.”

“Okay.”

He’d given him Dylan’s house address. “It’s a cul de sac. If there’s a vehicle on it that doesn’t look like it belongs, or if you see anything hinky, get out of there and call me. If not, stay and keep an eye on that house, then notify me if anyone does show up.”

He knew the young, green officer would be way out of his league if he tangled with anyone on Malone’s payroll, so he’d emphasized that Clarence wasn’t to approach or engage if he saw someone.

“Call for backup and notify me immediately. You’re only there to watch, not to follow or chase. Understand? Don’t let them know you’re there. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He’d issued those instructions a couple of hours ago. If Clarence was calling now, still a few hours before dawn, he had something to report. “What’s up?”

“When I got there, nothing was out of the ordinary,” Clarence said. “But a little while ago, a car pulled onto the street and parked in front of that house.”

“Why are you whispering?” Mitch asked. “Is the car still there? Can you be overheard?”

“No, it left. This just feels, you know, secretive.”

“It is secretive. That’s sorta the point of surveillance.” There followed a dead silence. “Clarence? You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Mitch sensed he wasn’t entirely fine. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

“No, but, uh… uh… I… I…”

Mitch heard him swallow hard. Shit! “What went wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. But I looked up whose house that is. It’s your shrink, right?”

His knowing that could prove to be inconvenient, but not necessarily catastrophic. He decided to respond lightheartedly. “Uh-oh, busted. Second time you’ve done that to me this week.”

“I’m sorry, Mitch, but—”

“No sweat. If I’d been you, I would’ve looked up who lived there, too. In fact, I’m impressed you did the research. Shows your potential as a detective. But let’s go back to the car. It’s gone, right?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing happened?”

“No.”

“What kind of car?”

“Dark sedan. No markings.”

“How far away were you?”

“Near the end of the cul de sac. I parked in the driveway of a house for sale. It was vacant, but I thought it would look like the owner still lived there.”

“Good thinking. Could you see the driver?”

“Too dark.”

“Did the driver ever get out, go up to the house?”

“No.”

“Did you get the license plate number?”

“I used the zoom on my phone and took a picture.”

“Text it to me. How long did it stay?”

“Around five minutes. I wrote down the times if you—”

“No, that’s okay.” Was five minutes long enough for someone to determine whether or not Dylan was inside the house?

“Did you see anyone jogging, somebody walking their dog, watering the flower bed, anything like that?”

“At this time of night?”

“Exactly. It would be out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing like that. But there was a package on Dr. Reede’s porch. I noticed it as I drove past.”

“A delivery?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Based on that, Mitch himself would’ve reasoned that Dylan hadn’t been at home that evening. Whoever Malone had sent to check on her likely would have drawn the same conclusion.

He wondered if Malone knew yet that he’d been snookered by Dylan’s text about arriving home. He hoped so. He hoped the bastard was writhing in an agony of anxiety.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah, sorry. Still here. Just thinking all this through. Listen, for the time being, let’s keep this between us, okay?”

“Even from Bowie?”

“For now.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Discretion is part of your surveillance training,” Mitch said.

“All right. But can I ask why you sent me to her house in particular?”

Great! Clarence was getting brighter and growing a pair at the worst possible time. “It’s nothing bad. It’s just…” Think, Mitch! “Kinda embarrassing,” he said.

“Embarrassing? Why?”

“Come on, Clarence. You know. Guy to guy? She’s smokin’ hot and… Like that.”

“Oh,” Clarence chuckled, sounding relieved. “I get it. You wanted to know if she had company.”

“Now you see why I didn’t want it talked about? Guys in the unit would give me shit and never let up.”

“I won’t say anything.”

“My man! Thanks. Go on home, try to get some rest before your shift.”

They signed off, and Mitch took a long, deep breath.

He ran the license plate of the car. As expected, it was registered to an LLC that had a name comprised of capital letters that didn’t spell anything and probably stood for nothing, either.

He did a Google search of the address on the registration. It was a vacant lot for sale and had been on the market for more than seven hundred days. He called the phone number on the real estate listing, and a recording informed him that the number was no longer in service. “Shocker,” he muttered.

He shut down his laptop and turned out all the lights in the main room save for one small lamp.

It didn’t shed much light, but enough to assist him in opening John’s bedroom door with as little noise as possible.

Which wasn’t easy to do while holding a pistol in one hand.

He made his way across the room to the bed, where he set the pistol on the nightstand and then lay down with as little jostling as possible.

In spite of his precautions, Dylan turned from her side facing away from him onto her back.

“I tried not to wake you.”

“I was only dozing. What are you doing?”

“Keeping watch over you.”

“I don’t need watching over.”

“Yes you do, Dylan,” he said somberly. “You do.”

“I’m still not convinced that Roland poses a threat to me. But even if that is so, no one in the world could find me here.”

Back to Roland, he thought with irritation. “That’s why I brought you here. No one can find you. But say someone did, that big room out there is too much distance between us.”

She glanced at the nightstand. “Is the gun necessary?”

“I hope not. But no sudden moves, please. I chambered a bullet.”

“Why all these safety measures? What’s happened?”

“My hunch was right. Someone went to check your house.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a cop.” Her huff of annoyance annoyed him. “Just trust me on this, all right? I’m here, and I’m staying.”

“For how long?”

“Till daylight.”

“Then what?”

“Then… I don’t know. I’m thinking. Go back to sleep.”

She lay still for a time before turning onto her side toward him. “Don’t take this as surrender. I just don’t know what choice I have.”

“None.”

“With you injured and in a weakened state, I might manage to overpower you and escape. But I doubt I’d get very far in a swamp teeming with life-threatening hazards.”

Hearing the irony in her tone, he turned his head on the pillow and pretended to consider her chances of success. “You’re fit. You might make it as far as the camo garage.”

“If by some miracle I found it, I wouldn’t know how to get into it.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Those locking mechanisms are intricate. But you’ve got a doctorate, don’t forget. You might figure them out. However,” he said, holding up his index finger, “even if you did get into the garage, I’ve hidden the keys to both vehicles.”

“And confiscated my phone.”

“There’s that,” he said. “So…”

“So I’m pretty much stuck.”

“Pretty much.”

They exchanged smiles, then he turned serious.

“I’m sorry I badgered you into talking about your husband.

I wanted to know why you’re inside that bell jar, why you keep a grip on self-control like you’re afraid that if you loosened it even a fraction, you would fly apart.

Now I know why.” He looked at her with regret.

“I hadn’t counted on it being that bad.”

Pensively, she stared at a spot beyond his shoulder before meeting his gaze again. “I think I needed to talk about it. I hadn’t really done so in years, not since I went into practice.”

“How’d that come about?”

“Once I got George’s remains returned to the US, I held a memorial. One of my psychology professors attended. A week or so after, she invited me to lunch, where she urged me to resume my studies.

“I did, and, after earning my doctorate, that same advisor encouraged me to make a clean break. Too many people in my circle had known George and our story. She called the specter of it stagnating, and challenged me to relocate and make a new life for myself.

“She had a colleague here in Auclair who wished to retire but wanted to leave his patients in good hands. She recommended me. Now, four years later, here I am.”

“With a thriving practice.”

“I’ve been fortunate.”

This is one messed-up situation, he thought. He was a cop after information that she had refused to give up. She could be the oracle that would provide him with what he needed to get Malone. Instead, she stubbornly remained an obstacle.

Yet none of that mattered right now. She lay with her hands pressed together beneath her cheek, looking warm and tender, approachable, touchable, sexy as hell, and he wanted her.

“You relocated to a new place,” he said, “but have you made a new life?”

“Are you circling back to the forbidden subject of my personal life?”

“Well, we didn’t finish that earlier conversation about it.”

“Yes we did. I told you that I don’t discuss it.”

“Not with patients, I know. Not normally. But think of all that’s happened with me that’s never happened to you with another patient.”

“None has ever broken into my office or come to my house. None has ever kidnapped me.”

“See? Transformative experiences. You saved my life tonight,” he said, gingerly patting his middle. “In some cultures, saving someone’s life binds you to them forever.”

She laughed softly. “What cultures?”

“I forget, but I know it’s a thing.” He turned onto his side to face her. “Don’t panic, I’m just getting a crick in my neck.”

He made a production of resettling, which brought them closer together. “Ah, much better. Where was I? Oh, I know. Given the life-changing experiences we’ve been through together, I believe I’m entitled to know a little about your life outside the bell jar.”

“Like what?”

“Like if you’ve had any torrid affairs.”

She gave him a look.

“Oh. Not torrid? Hmm, that’s too bad.” He feigned regret. “Well then, how about boyfriends? How many? More than one, less than, say, twenty?” He made a spiraling motion with his hand. “Ballpark.”

Another look.

“Okay. Is there a current boyfriend?”

She lowered her eyelids halfway. Her facial features went into repose. He recognized the signs of withdrawal intended to conceal her susceptibility, when actually it did the opposite; it announced it.

“No?” Then, suggestively, he whispered, “Want one?”

Her eyes opened and looked deeply into his with yearning. It was yearning, dammit. He knew it. But what she said was, “You can’t be a boyfriend to me, Mitch. I’m your therapist.”

He slid his hand up under her hair and conformed it to her nape. “Dr. Reede?”

“What?”

“You’re fired.”