Violets Are Blue Page 19

  No one had left the house to hunt.

  We still didn’t know if Jamilla was inside, or even if she was alive. I stayed awake and watched. I couldn’t sleep, not even for an hour or so. The FBI continued to collect information on the people inside the domain. What in God’s name were they doing down there?

  There was no word on the identity of the Sire. We did learn about the two blond males with the ponytails. William and Michael Alexander were the sons of a post-hippie couple who had worked at the ranch as animal handlers. The mother had been a zoologist. The boys had grown up comfortable around wild animals. They attended schools in Santa Cruz until they were nine and twelve, at which time the boys began to be homeschooled. They wore Moroccan robes and were always barefoot on their occasional trips to town. They were considered bright, but odd and extremely secretive. The boys had gotten into trouble in their early teens and been sent off to a state correctional facility for aggravated assault. They had been dealing drugs and also been caught breaking and entering.

  Kyle joined me in the rocks overlooking the ranch at around three.

  “You look kind of green around the gills,” I said to him.

  “Thanks. Long night. Long month. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” he asked me. He seemed like a detached observer now. Calm and cool. It was pure Kyle. Calculated intelligence. “I don’t know anything more, Alex. I’ve told you what I know.”

  “I can still see the body of Betsey Cavalierre. I don’t want to see something like that again. Yes, I’m worried about her. Aren’t you? What are you feeling, Kyle?”

  “If she’s alive down there, they have no reason to murder her now. They’re keeping her there for a reason.”

  If she’s alive.

  Kyle patted my shoulder. “Get some sleep if you can,” he said. “Rest up.” Then he wandered off. But when I looked his way, he was watching me.

  I leaned against an oak tree and covered myself with my sport coat. I must have fallen asleep at some point between three and three-thirty. I saw Betsey Cavalierre in my dream, then my partner and friend Patsy Hampton—who had also been killed. Finally, I saw Jamilla. Oh Christ, not Jam. I couldn’t stand that.

  I was aware of someone nearby, standing right over me. I opened my eyes.

  It was Kyle. “Time to go in,” he said. “Time to get some answers.”

  Chapter 87

  THE RANCH was four to five hundred yards away. The terrain between the house and us was too open for us to sneak up on the complex. Was this where Jamilla had been murdered?

  Kyle whispered, “She might still be alive.” It was as if he were reading my thoughts. What else did he know? What was he hiding from me?

  “I’ve been thinking about the brothers,” I said. “They never had to be careful before, so they weren’t. The magicians were the careful ones. They committed murders for a dozen years. Never got caught. There’s no record that they were even suspected of any of the murders.”

  “You think the new Sire set up Daniel and Charles?”

  “That’s part of it, I’ll bet. The brothers committed murders in towns where the magicians toured. The Sire wanted us to catch up with Daniel and Charles. It was a trap.”

  “Why kill them in New Orleans?”

  “Maybe because the brothers are psychopaths. Maybe they had orders to do what they did. We’ll have to ask the Sire.”

  “They don’t think anyone can stop them. Well, they’re wrong about that,” Kyle said. “They’re going to be stopped.”

  Which was when we got a surprise. The front door of the ranch house opened. Several men in dark clothes emerged. The two brothers weren’t among them. The men hurried to a grassy area where pickup trucks and vans were parked in a ragged line. They started the vehicles, then drove them toward the front of the house.

  Kyle was on his Handie-Talkie. He alerted the snipers waiting in the trees and rocks behind us. “Stand ready.”

  “Kyle, don’t forget Jamilla.”

  He didn’t answer me.

  The front door opened again. Shadowy figures began to move out of the house. They were clothed in hooded black gowns and they came in pairs.

  One person in each pair held a handgun to the head of the other.

  “Oh shit,” I whispered. “They know we’re here.”

  There was no way to tell who anybody was, or if any of the robed figures were actually hostages. I tried to pick out Jamilla’s shape, her walk. Was she among them? Was she alive? My heart felt heavy in my chest. I couldn’t spot her from way up here.

  “Everybody move. Now,” Kyle spoke into his radio. “Go. Go!”

  The black-robed figures continued to move toward the waiting trucks and vans.

  One of the hostages suddenly dropped to the ground—only one.

  “That’s her,” I called out.

  “Take out the one over her!” Kyle ordered.

  A shot rang out from one of the snipers. A hooded figure slumped over in a heap.

  We charged forward, running down the steep hill toward the ranch. Some of the hooded figures fired shots at us. No one was hit. The FBI agents didn’t return fire yet.

  Then gunfire rang out from the hills. Some of the robed figures dropped to the ground, dead or wounded. A few put their hands above their heads in surrender.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the robed figure I thought was Jamilla. She had stood up again but was stumbling, almost falling. Then the hood was pulled back, and I could tell it was Jamilla. She looked up into the hills. She put her hands up high.

  I started to sprint. I was looking for the brothers. And the Sire.

  I moved toward Jamilla. She was massaging her wrist. She was also shivering, and I gave her my jacket. “You okay?”

  “Not sure. They hung me from a beam, Alex. What an unbelievable scene. You can’t imagine. I thought I was dead.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “Where’s the Sire?” I asked.

  “Maybe still inside. I think there’s another way out of there.”

  “Stay right here. I’ll take a look.”

  She shook her head. “No, not on your life. This is payback. I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter 88

  JAMILLA AND I searched the main ranch house, then we checked a large unattached bunkhouse. We didn’t find anyone there, not a straggler, not William or Michael Alexander. And not the mysterious Sire. Jamilla was still shivering some, but she refused to turn back.

  “You’re sure the brothers weren’t out front with the others?” she asked. “Two blonds? Ponytails?”

  “If they are, Kyle has them by now. I don’t think so. Let’s check the smaller shack. You know what’s in there?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t get the grand tour when I arrived. Just straight to the dungeon. Then they left me hanging, so to speak.”

  I threw open the door of the shack and saw heaters and a water pump. The room smelled strongly of urine. A mouse scooted into a hole in the wall. I winced and shook my head at what I saw next. Two bodies lay sprawled and spread-eagled against the far wall. They were teenagers, males. Both were naked except for a few face and chest rings.

  I bent over them and took a closer look. “Look like street kids to me. The blood’s been drained from the bodies.” There were bite marks—not just on the necks but on the faces and limbs. The skin of both was as pale as alabaster.

  I looked away from the clouded eyes that stared up at me. There was nothing we could do for them now. I noticed a reddish-brown hatch cover among the dusty machines that provided water, heat, and probably air-conditioning to the ranch.

  I moved across the room, bent down low to get a better look. The cover was loose, so I was able to pull it off.

  Darkness. Silence. What else was down there? Who else?

  I looked at Jamilla, then I shone a flashlight into the hole. The hole was wide enough for someone to get down inside. I saw metal stairs. A tunnel.

  Then I saw footprints in the dirt below. Several pairs.

/>   “Go tell Kyle.” I turned to Jamilla. “Get some help.”

  Jamilla was already heading out the door. She started to run. I stared down into the abyss and wondered if anybody was looking back at me.

  Chapter 89

  I WAITED as long as I could, then I lowered myself slowly into the black hole. I fit easily and started to climb down the sturdy metal ladder.

  There were several steps, steep and precarious. I pointed the flashlight around. I could make out a dirt floor, corrugated tin walls. The ceiling bulbs had been broken. A narrow tunnel stretched out before me.

  I didn’t hear any sounds up ahead, so I began to make my way down the tunnel. I moved slowly and carefully. I had the flashlight in one hand, my Glock in the other. I kept looking back for Kyle and Jamilla. Where were they?

  I saw a discarded carcass a short way down the tunnel. I took a breath, focused my light on it.

  A single eye stared back.

  What I was looking at had been a small deer. Only the head and shoulders remained. I remembered reading that tigers eat their prey starting at the rump. They consume bone and all. There were more smudged footprints in the dirt. It looked like two pairs, but I couldn’t tell for sure in the dim light. There were smaller animal tracks that might have been the cat’s. Oh, Jesus.

  I kept moving, trying to adjust my eyes to the semidarkness. There were shards of glass all over the dirt. Someone had purposely smashed the overhead lightbulbs.

  I heard the tiger roar and almost dropped the flashlight! It wasn’t the smoothest move of my life, but I’d never been in a closed-off area with a tiger before. The big cat’s roar inside the tunnel echoed off the tin walls. It was unexpected and terrifying. I didn’t know what to do next.

  The cat roared a second time, and I found that I couldn’t move. I felt nailed to the spot. I wanted to turn around and go back, but that wasn’t an option right now. I couldn’t outrun a tiger in this tunnel, or anywhere else for that matter.

  Somewhere in the inky blackness of the tunnel up ahead, the cat was watching me. I debated shutting off the flashlight, but I kept it on for now. At least I would see the cat coming. I concentrated, stared out into the darkness, kept very still, as if that would help me. I had the Glock pointed straight ahead. I wondered if it was possible to bring down a big cat with a handgun, even a powerful one. No way of knowing; no practice range for this kind of shooting. I had my doubts, though.

  I couldn’t see the cat, but I could almost visualize the thirty teeth in its mouth. I remembered the wounds a cat had made on the victims in Golden Gate Park.

  Someone called out; someone was there. Behind me.

  “Alex, where are you? Alex?”

  I heard Jamilla coming forward in the tunnel and I let out a breath.

  “Don’t move,” I whispered. “Don’t do anything. The tiger’s in here.”

  I didn’t dare move. I wasn’t even sure I could. It was a standoff. I couldn’t imagine the tiger being as frightened as I was. Was the Sire there? The two brothers? Anybody else?

  “Alex?”

  It was Kyle. He was whispering. But if I heard him—

  “Stay right there, Kyle. I mean it. Listen to me. Stay where you are unless you want me dead.”

  Everything happened in a terrifying instant.

  Suddenly, the cat rushed at me. Full speed? Half speed? Very goddamn fast. Shadows—a blur of fur.

  It seemed to leap straight up into the cone of light shining from my flashlight. The cat was tensed muscle, raw speed, gleaming teeth, and the widest, brightest eyes—tremendous focus. It was aimed at me as surely as a deadly bullet.

  Its upper body twisted athletically, showing off incredible strength. It seemed to be three to four feet off the ground, coming straight at me, unstoppable.

  I had no choice, no options, and no room for error. I didn’t even have to think about my next move. It just happened. I squeezed the trigger of my Glock. I fired off three quick shots. All head and upper-body shots, I hoped, but I was just guessing.

  The cat kept coming at me. It didn’t even slow down. The gunshots couldn’t stop it, could they? I had no defense and no place to run, no place to hide.

  The big cat hit me hard, knocked me down like weak prey. I waited for the powerful jaws to clamp down on me, to crush my bones. I might have screamed. I don’t know what the hell I did. I’d never been more afraid. Not even close.

  The cat kept going past me! It made no sense. I didn’t understand. A few feet up the tunnel, I heard a loud thud. It was down. I had shot and killed a tiger.

  Chapter 90

  “HOLY SHIT! Holy shit!” The words exploded out of Jamilla’s mouth. Then she smiled. “Jesus. I don’t believe it.” She stared down at the huge, fierce animal that had tried to kill me and was now lying at her feet.

  I pushed myself up, forced my legs to move. I took tenuous steps back to where she and Kyle were standing. The cat lay twisted across the width of the tunnel. It didn’t move and it wasn’t going to.

  “Are they down here in the tunnel? The Lost Boys?” Kyle asked in a whisper. “The Sire?”

  “I haven’t seen anybody. Just footprints, and the cat. Let’s go,” I finally said.

  The tunnel was much longer than I would have thought. I wasn’t even sure which direction we were headed. Toward the road? The foothills? The Pacific Ocean?

  “I sent men toward the perimeters of the property, about five or six hundred yards out. It spreads us thin,” Kyle said. “I don’t like it.”

  I didn’t answer him. I was still shaky, not quite over my bad moment of truth with the tiger. My heart was pumping like an engine pushed to its limit. I wondered if I might be going into shock.

  “Alex?” Jamilla spoke. “You with us? You okay?”

  “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going.”

  Soon we could see the faintest glimmer of daylight up ahead. That was hopeful. But where were we coming out of the tunnel?

  “Can’t tell how far it is,” I said. “Or what’s between us and the light.”

  My hip brushed against something. Then my shoulder. I jumped back and my whole body shuddered. But it was only a valve sticking out from the tunnel wall. Nothing. Scared the hell out of me, though.

  Then I could see part of the scene outside—a couple of cypresses leaning away from the wind, a streak of soft gray sky.

  It wasn’t far, maybe thirty or forty yards. Usually, the most dangerous part of a raid was breaking in, but now it was getting out of this dark tunnel.

  I turned to Jamilla and Kyle and whispered, “I’ll go first.”

  I knew I was better with a gun than Kyle, and I was physically stronger than Jamilla—at least I thought so. Besides, this was the way it had been the past few years: Gary Soneji, Casanova, Geoffrey Shafer, now the Alexander brothers and their Sire. I always go in first. How long am I going to keep it up? Why am I doing this?

  “Don’t forget, they’re human,” Jamilla said. “They bleed too.”

  I wanted to believe she was right. I moved forward quietly, quickly. I hesitated at the mouth of the tunnel. Took a breath. One Mississippi, two . . . then out into the big, bad world.

  I don’t know why, but I yelled at the top of my voice as I burst outside into the light. No words, just a loud scream. Actually, maybe I do know why—I was afraid of these two killers, of their merciless cult, of the Sire. Maybe they bled, but they weren’t human. Not like the rest of us.

  I was in a pocket chasm surrounded by low-lying hills. I saw no one out there. No sign that anyone had been there recently. They had to have come this way, though. The tiger must have been in the tunnel with somebody.

  Jamilla and Kyle came out of the tunnel behind me. The looks on their faces showed their disappointment, their fatigue and confusion.

  I heard it before I saw anything.

  Then a black pickup truck came roaring around the side of one of the hills. It was headed straight for me, and I had a choice: dive back into
the tunnel or hold my ground in the face of the blond killers. They were inside the truck. I could see both of them.

  I held my ground.

  Chapter 91

  THE FACES of the killers glared through the curved windshield of the truck. I raised my gun, held it as steady as I could. Jamilla and Kyle did the same. The black Ford truck kept coming fast, almost as if they were daring us to shoot.

  So we fired. The windshield splintered. Bullets pinged off the roof and hood. The roar of the guns was deafening in my ears. The acrid smell of cordite filled my nostrils.

  Suddenly, the truck stopped, then shot into reverse. I kept shooting, trying to hit the driver as the target distanced itself, the vehicle backing away, veering left then right then left. I took off running up the hill, my legs heavy, as if my shoes held lead weights.

  I couldn’t let them get away. We’d come too far, gotten too close. These two would kill again, and again. They were madmen, monsters, and so was whoever had sent them on their mission.

  Jamilla and Kyle were climbing up the steep, grassy terrain a few steps behind me. The three of us seemed to be moving in slow motion. The pickup truck was weaving wildly, its rear end fishtailing. I was hoping, praying that it would flip as it climbed in reverse up the steep side of the hill. I heard the grinding of gears, and suddenly the truck flew forward. It was coming at us again, picking up speed.

  I went down on one knee, aimed carefully, and put three shots into the windshield. The glass was filled with bullet holes.

  “Alex, get out of the way!” Jamilla shouted. “Alex, move it! Now! Alex!”

  The pickup kept coming. I didn’t move away. I put a shot right where I figured the driver had to be. Then another.

  The big black truck was almost on top of me. I thought that I could feel heat from the engine. My face and neck were in a hot sweat. I had the irrational thought that a vampire can only be killed by a stake, fire, or by destroying its domain, where it sleeps during the day.