Page 10 of John’s Yearning

“May I take it?”

She nodded.

“Thank you, Ms. Rice.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll contact you tomorrow evening to let you know what I’ve found.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He tipped his head slightly, almost as if he was performing an old-fashioned bow. “Have a good night.”

He let himself out, and she locked the door behind him. When she walked into the living room and switched on the light there, she suddenly realized that she was still wearing his jacket. She rushed to the window, but John’s car was already in motion and was gone a few seconds later.

5

John kicked the gas pedal down. He needed to drive. To clear his head. To drown out the memories that were assaulting him. But he realized within minutes that the drive through the nearly deserted streets of San Francisco did nothing to stem the swell of memories that rushed over the wall that he’d tried to erect inside himself. It was all Savannah’s fault. Her fault that he was reminded of the tragedy that had befallen him. A tragedy that felt as if it had happened yesterday.

He stopped the car on the next block and pulled a bottle from a secret compartment underneath the passenger seat. Maybe a few gulps of blood would help calm him. He unscrewed the top and set the bottle to his lips, took a sip, then another. He felt the viscous fluid coat his throat and ease some of his pain. But he knew it wouldn’t last long. It never did. He had to keep busy, keep moving, keep working. Keep outrunning the memories like he’d done for the last four years.

He stared at the clock on his dashboard. It was getting late. He turned the car around and headed back toward Laurel Heights, where Buffy’s babysitter lived. He would start by checking her out to see if anything was amiss. While he didn’t necessarily suspect her of kidnapping Buffy, she was the one person who probably knew the child’s movements the best. She could have—inadvertently or not—given the kidnapper information that made it easy to snatch Buffy at the moment she was least protected.

When he approached the block where Elysa Flannigan’s flat was located, he could already hear the noise of people partying. Earlier when he’d stopped by with Savannah, he’d seen lights in the flat and several people milling about, apparently preparing for the party. Now, loud music droned from open windows, laughter and loud voices mingling with it. John stopped the car on the opposite side of the street and looked to the building. Through the lit windows of Elysa’s flat on the second floor, he spotted balloons among the dancing crowd. A birthday party. But not Elysa’s. The name he could make out on the banner that hung across the front door—and which hadn’t been there earlier, when he’d passed by with Savannah—read Tracy. One of her roommates.

A car approached, blinding him for a moment, before it came to a halt in front of the building. Two guys in their twenties got out, and the car drove off. They sauntered up the steps. John followed them with his eyes. He didn’t hear a doorbell, instead the two visitors simply opened the door. John watched them disappear inside. Clearly, nobody was checking who was entering the flat. It would be easy to mingle undetected.

John exited the car and crossed the street. Just like the two young men before him, he turned the doorknob and let himself in. The music was louder inside and got even louder as he ascended the stairs and reached the narrow hallway. It was crowded here as people tried to get from the living area in the front of the flat to the kitchen, where presumably the liquor was being served, in the back of the place. Nobody took any notice of him. Nobody asked whose friend he was, or whether he had an invitation.

He wanted to shake his head. Humans. They had no idea about the many dangers that lurked in the night. But even if they knew vampires existed, they would probably still assume they were safe, believing the false lore that a vampire couldn’t enter a house uninvited. Well, he was here, inside their private space, and nobody had invited him. Just as well that he wasn’t here to do any harm. But he was here to snoop around, to get a feel for Elysa and the company she kept.

The crowd was young, most of them in their early to mid 20s with a few younger ones sprinkled in. Youngsters who were definitely below the legal drinking age, yet enjoying the freely flowing alcohol as readily as their older counterparts.

John made his way through the hallway, peering into the rooms along the way. Each room was occupied to varying degrees. Some guests lounged on beds and chairs, bean bags or simply on the floor, others leaned against walls and doors, or sat on window sills, unconcerned that a wrong step by a fellow partygoer might send them tumbling out the open window. Others danced to the music that was too loud and seemed to have no discernable melody, just a hard, deep beat that resonated like the amplified heartbeat of a creature in pain and made the old wooden building shake to its foundation.

At the entrance to the kitchen, John stopped. It was packed here too. Several men and women were doing shots. From the smell that drifted to him, he knew they’d mixed Vodka with cherry- and strawberry-flavored syrup and chilled the mixture. Several of the drinkers were already so wasted that with each new shot they downed, half of it spilled on their skin and clothes, leaving streaks of red that in the right light looked like blood.

“You must be one of Elysa’s friends.” The female voice came from next to him.

John glanced at her. She was a good foot shorter than him, affording him a perfect view down her cleavage, though he hadn’t aimed for that. He lifted his gaze just a bit, taking in her petite frame, her heart-shaped face and the blond pixie haircut.

“Why do you say that?” John replied.

She leaned closer and gave him a definite come-hither look. “Because she always invites the hottest guys.” She made a dismissive hand movement toward a group of men in the kitchen. “Real men. Not like these boys.”

“Well, I guess that’s Elysa.” He craned his neck. “Where is she?”

The girl jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “In the living room I think. But I’m sure she’s busy. Why not hang out with me for a bit?”

“Sure, why not?” After all, this girl would probably eagerly talk about Elysa and her roommates just so she could spend time with him. He knew the type: eager to please. “So how do you know Elysa?”

“I’m her roommate, Nikki. And what’s your name, handsome?” She tried her bedroom eyes on him. Unfortunately, the move was wasted on him. She was exactly the opposite of his type.

“John.” He smiled, pretending he was here to enjoy himself. “So, you live here.” He looked around appreciatively. “Nice flat.”

“I can show you my room.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Sure, later,” he placated her. “So, you’re in the same type of job as Elysa?”

She grimaced. “Me? Looking after little brats? No way! I’m not a saint.” She winked at him.

“Not like Elysa, huh?”