Mind Sweeper (30 page)

“Much better.” Jean Luc’s thumb rubbed over my wrist languorously. He lifted my arm and I felt a pinch. I flinched slightly.

Dalton framed my face with his hands and held me steady. “Stay with me. It’ll be over soon.”

This really wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t sure what I had been so worried about. But when Jean Luc pulled on my arm, everything swirled around me. Warmth ran along my wrist, wrapped up my arm and shot through my chest. I moaned and closed my eyes, but as soon as I did, images of Dalton and me in bed flooded in. My skin tingled and I opened my eyes and stared at his lips, licking my own in the process. I leaned in to kiss him, desperately needing some sort of contact, but he held me still, shaking his head slightly.

After a few more seconds, Jean Luc stopped and lightly lapped my wrist with his tongue. Jean Luc’s voice sounded deeper when he spoke. “This should heal quickly.”

I tried to turn to him, but Dalton held me firm.

Jean Luc spoke again. “I have to leave for a while, Kyle. You should be fine with Dalton. Sebastian cannot hurt you now.”

“Thank…” But the air moved around me and I knew he had flashed out of the room.

Dalton released my face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I don’t feel any different. Just a little sleepy.”

“Jean Luc said it might happen. Why don’t you lie down for a while and rest? I’ll stay here until Misha gets back.”

I propped my head on the arm of the couch and closed my eyes. I didn’t have the energy to tell him I was better off alone.

Chapter 31

Misha was clicking away on his laptop when I woke up on the couch. I sat up slowly. He came over and sat next to me.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I actually feel good after the nap. Where is everybody?”

“I sent Dolly home early and Dalton left shortly after I got back.”

“Jean Luc?”

Misha’s normally open face closed down. “We probably won’t see him until tomorrow.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked nervously, “Is something wrong with him?”

“No, nothing like that.” He hesitated. “He just needs a break.”

“You mean he needs to feed?”

He sighed. “Yes. He only took a little bit from you. It whetted his appetite, so he’ll need more now.” Misha pulled me into his embrace. “Don’t worry. I was going to order Thai, are you hungry?”

“Yes. I have a lot to tell you.”

While we ate our dinner, I filled Misha in on the pictures and how we had found what linked Cowell, Brubaker and Watson. Misha was ecstatic.

“I’m going to try to track Watson’s whereabouts over the last few years. It sounds like he’s fighting supes for a reason. If Hampton was after people at this dig, we need to find out who the others were and determine if they’re safe.”

“The pictures might help. If we could find one person, they might be able to identify the others.”

We cleaned up and I volunteered to help with the research. To be honest, I wasn’t too keen on going home anyway.

Misha searched on Watson while I decided to do a little investigative work on my own. I clicked through Jonathan’s pictures again, paying particular attention to the one of Jonathan and the two other college students. The picture title read Tiff and Rich. I scanned the other pictures and found both Tiff and Rich in several photos from other digs, as well as general college pictures. I then called the number Carl had given us when we were in Chicago. I got his voice mail.

“Carl, this is Jill Smith. I was with Lieutenant Dalton when we spoke to you yesterday. Thank you for sending these pictures. I have a question. In several photos there are references to a Tiff and Rich. Do you have more information on these two people, possibly their full names and where I can reach them? Any help would be appreciated. You can either call, text or email me the information. Thanks.” When I hung up, Misha was clearly waiting to get my attention. “What can I help you with?”

“Watson is a slippery devil. His address is phony. I can’t find any credit cards on file for us to track, either.”

“What do we know about him?”

“His military record is pretty straightforward. He worked special forces for a little over ten years in the Army.”

“Did he have a specialty?”

Misha grimaced. “Ammunition.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“Wait, that gives me an idea.” Misha clicked away on his computer.

“Are you going to fill me in or what?”

“Ammo. Bullets are normally made out of lead with a copper casing. Watson can’t go into his local gun shop and buy silver bullets filled with iron and salt. He has to be making them himself.”

“So what are you looking for?”

“I’m going to find out if any equipment has been purchased recently for casting bullets, and search for iron and silver purchases.”

“Seems like a bit of a stretch, Mish.”

He smiled. “Let the master work, grasshopper.”

Two hours later, Misha slapped his hands on the table. “I think I have something.”

I closed my Sudoku puzzle book. “What?”

“Most of the deliveries I’ve been tracking have gone to businesses. But there have been some deliveries to a Simon Williams on the west side.

“Could be an alias.” I sighed, because I knew exactly what was coming out of Misha’s mouth next.

His eyes filled with glee. “I think we need to stake him out.”

I did an internal eye roll. Misha loved stakeouts. Hours of eating junk food and reciting TV shows was his idea of heaven and my idea of purgatory. “Let me change out of this suit. I have some extra clothes in my car.”

I trudged down to the parking garage, retrieved my bag of clothes, and trudged back upstairs. I changed in my office and came back into the main room to find Dalton sitting there with Misha.

“I understand we’re going on a stakeout.”

Great, purgatory had just turned into hell.

When we arrived at Simon Williams’ address, we drove by slowly and checked the place out. The area was pretty run down. The small, ranch-style home had seen better days, and there were no lights on in the house. There was also a large metal outbuilding to the side with a padlock on the front door.

Dalton spoke first. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home right now.”

Misha continued driving. “I’m going to park the van down the street so we have a clear line of sight.”

We parked and Misha grinned at Dalton. I had insisted they both sit in the front seat, hoping Misha’s ramblings would be directed at him.

“This whole thing reminds me of an episode of
Magnum, P.I.
”

I shut my eyes and leaned back. The fun had officially begun. After a couple of minutes, Misha’s voice faded.

The next thing I knew, I was skipping along the sidewalk humming. I moved my arm and metal jingled. Smiling, I held my arm out in front of me. The heart-shaped charms on my bracelet danced along my wrist, the sun catching the silver, making it shine even brighter. But a shadow blocked out the sun behind me. Before I could see what it was, an arm grasped me from behind. I tried to scream, but a white cloth slammed over my face and I couldn’t breathe. Within seconds, everything went dark.

“Kyle!”

I jerked awake. Dalton’s concerned face filled my view.

“Are you okay?”

I rubbed my hand over my eyes. “Yeah, just a bad dream.”

Before he could ask me what it was about, Misha interrupted. “We have company.”

We watched a beater truck coming down the street. It was the same one that had tried to run us down in the alley. The truck pulled up next to the outbuilding and parked. Watson stepped out of the car.

“I think we have our winner,” I announced.

“Except he’s not alone.” Misha motioned to the car following him. It screeched up along the curb. Watson made a grab for a gun in the cab of his truck, but they were on him in a millisecond.

Misha growled. “Vamps.”

He jumped out of the car and ran toward the house. Dalton pulled his gun and yanked open the passenger door.

“Wait. Bullets won’t kill them, but it will slow them down. Aim for the heart.” He nodded and jumped out as well.

I moved to the driver’s seat and whipped the van around. By the time I drove back down the street, Misha had one of the vamps in a headlock. Dalton shot at the other vamp until he let go of Watson, who dropped to the ground.

The vamp took a step toward Dalton and my heart sped up. Before the vamp could even think of attacking, I slammed my foot on the accelerator and plowed into the bastard. He skidded up over the hood and smashed into the windshield, cracking it with a sickening thud. I swallowed back the bile in my throat, put the van in reverse and jammed down the pedal, launching him off of the van onto the ground.

Misha threw the other vamp down, but he jumped back up immediately. Dalton shot him in the chest. This time he staggered and fell to his knees. In the meantime, Misha scooped Watson up and threw him in the back of our van. Dalton jumped into the front seat and I took off, craning my head to see around the cracks in the window.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly to keep my hands from shaking. When I looked over my shoulder I saw neither vamp had pursued us. Turning my attention to what was going on inside the van, I watched in the rear view mirror as Misha ripped off Watson’s shirt and used it to staunch the blood pouring from his stomach and arm.

Misha barked, “Get the first aid kit in the back.”

Dalton retrieved it and they worked on him.

“How bad is it, Mish?” I asked.

“They ripped him with their claws, and I think his shoulder is dislocated.”

“Did they bite him?”

“I can’t tell right now. Get Doc on the phone and see if she can meet us at the facility.”

“Do we really want to take him there?”

“How are we going to explain his injuries at a hospital?”

“Good point.” I called Doc. She was just getting off her shift and could get there in a half hour. It would probably take us that long to get there ourselves. I hung up and my phone rang. It was Jean Luc.

“What happened, Kyle?”

“We have Watson, but two vamps attacked him, and we’re on the way to meet Doc at the facility.”

“I will meet you there.”

He hung up before I had the chance to ask him how he knew we were in trouble.

Chapter 32

Doc and Jean Luc had been patching up Watson for forty-five minutes. Misha, Dalton and I waited in Doc’s office, not wanting to crowd them. After another ten minutes, both Doc and Jean Luc came into the room.

We stood up, Misha speaking first. “How is he?”

“I put a lot of stitches in him. Luckily, the gashes were not too deep, so no organs were affected,” Doc replied.

“Can we speak to him?” I asked.

Doc shook her head. “Not right now. I knocked him out while we were stitching him up. It would have been too painful otherwise.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” I persisted.

“Should be. He needs some blood. I have some O-neg in the back which I’ll use until I can type him.”

“He is A negative,” Jean Luc said.

My mouth dropped open. “You can tell just by the smell?”

Jean Luc grinned at me. “I am good, Kyle, but not that good. I noticed it in his military records.”

Leave it to a vamp to notice and remember blood types. I wondered if blood types tasted different, depending on availability. Did O-positive taste like cheap wine and AB-negative like Château Lafite? It was a question for another day. Doc and Jean Luc left to check on Watson. Misha went to the van to bring in some of the snacks he had stashed in there for the stakeout, which left Dalton and me alone.

I stood and he reached an arm out to stop me. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Back in the van, you were having another nightmare.”

I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Tell me about it.”

Before I could protest, he held up his hands to stop me. “If it really is a vision of the future, you should tell us about it so we have an idea where to look if it happens.”

“I’ll tell Misha and Jean Luc about it later.”

Before he could comment, Jean Luc poked his head into the room. “Watson is awake.”

“I’m going to check on our patient to see if he’s ready to talk.” I walked down the hall, Dalton following me. I was fine with that. He could give Watson the scary cop face while I asked questions.

We walked into the room. Watson leaned back against a pillow while Doc checked his stomach. His eyes were glassy. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the drugs or Doc being so close to him. He was male, after all.

He looked up at us and tensed slightly. Doc placed a calming hand on his shoulder. I pulled a chair over next to the bed so I could be at eye level while I spoke to him.

“How are you doing?”

“Better. Where am I?”