Chapter Thirty-three

I called right at 7:00 p.m.

Danny picked up and told me to hold on. No other pleasantries were said. There were never any pleasantries said. While I waited and while I listened to him breathing steadily on his end, I thought of us standing together in the shade of the Fullerton Arboretum. It had been a small wedding. Just forty or so family and friends. It had been a beautiful, sunny day. Danny had looked so handsome and awkward in his suit. He kept folding his hands over and over at his waist, trying to look dignified standing in front of everyone, but mostly looking nervous as hell. I had watched him the entire way as walked down the aisle with my father. Danny had watched me, too, and the closer I got the more his nerves abated. He quit fumbling with his hands. He then smiled at me brighter than he had ever smiled at me before or after.

I heard something akin to a hand covering the phone, heard muffled voices, then more scraping sounds and Danny spoke into the phone. "You've got eight minutes."

"Eight!?"

A second later, a squeaky little voice burst from the line.

"Mom!"

"Hi, baby!"

"Don't call me baby, mom. I'm not a baby."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Man."

"I'm not a man, either."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm a boy."

"You're my big boy."

He liked that. I could almost see him jumping up and down on the other end of the line, pressing the phone into his ear with both hands, the way he usually does.

"Daddy says you can't come see us tomorrow. That you are too busy to see us."

"That's not true - "

"Yes, it is true, Sam," said Danny's voice. He had, of course, been listening in from the other phone, as he always does. "You're busy with work and you can't see them."

I took in a lot of air, held it. Let it out slowly.

"I'm sorry, angel," I said to my boy. "I'm going to be busy tomorrow."

"But we never get to see you - "

"That's enough, Anthony. Get your sister on the line."

A moment later, I heard Tammy say, "Give me that, jerk," followed by Anthony bursting into tears. Sounds of running feet and crying faded quickly into the distance, followed by a door slamming. He was probably crying now into his pillow.

"Hi, mommy," she said.

I was too broken up to speak at first. "Is Anthony okay?" I asked, controlling my tears.

"He's just being a baby."

"No, he's just being a little boy."

"Whatever," she said.

"Don't 'whatever' me, young lady."

She said nothing. I heard the pop of chewing gum. I also heard Danny making tiny shuffling movements on his end of the line. No doubt looking at his stopwatch. Yes, stopwatch.

"What did you guys do today?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said.

"How was school?"

"Boring."

"Did you do your homework?"

"Maybe."

"Is that a yes or a no, young lady?"

"It's a maybe."

I knew Danny was on the other phone, listening, hearing his daughter disrespect her mother, and not giving a damn. I let the homework go. She was right, after all. I presently had no say in whether or not the homework got done, nor did I have any way of enforcing any house rules. I knew it. She knew it. I also suspected she was deliberately hurting me, since my unexplained absence was hurting her.

"I miss you," I said. "More than you know."

"You have a funny way of showing it, mom."

"I'll figure out a way of seeing you guys more soon. I promise."

"Whoopee."

"That was rude," I said.

"So?"

"Don't be rude to your mother."

"Whatever."

I took a deep breath. I knew my time was running out fast. I suspected Danny sometimes cut our conversations short. Either that, or time disappeared when I spoke to my kids. Even when they were being impossible.

I said, "I promise, I'll see you as soon as I can."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, and I heard the faint hope in her voice. She was still trying for badass pissy, but the little girl who missed her mother was still in there.

"Not tomorrow, angel," I said, my voice breaking up. "But soon."

She was about to say something, probably something mean or rude or both. But something else came out entirely. A small, hiccuppy gasp. She was crying.

"I love you," I said. "I love you more than you could possibly know."

"I love you, too, mommy," and then she really started crying, and I was crying, and Danny stepped in.

"Time," he said.

"Goodbye, angel," I said quickly. "I love you!"

She was about to say something when the line went dead.

Chapter Thirty-four

Monica and I were sitting in my minivan down the street from my house. Very far down the street. In fact, we were at the opposite end of the street. Still, from here I could see my house - yes, my house. In particular, I could see anyone coming or going, especially Danny and his lame new Mustang.

Mustang? Weren't those for college girls?

Also from here, I could see the Pep Boys' sign rising above the house. Looming, might be a better word. The lights in the sign were currently out. The boys were asleep. Allegedly.

The night was young and some in the neighborhood were still out and about: pushing baby strollers, walking dogs, jogging, or, in one case, power walking.

My windows were heavily tinted for two reasons: The first was because I happened to be fairly sensitive to the sun. Go figure. The second was because I often used my nondescript minivan for surveillance. And when I was doing a lengthy surveillance, I would actually pull down a dark curtain from behind the front seat and hunker down in the back of the van, looking out through the many blackened windows. I even had a port-a-potty for long surveillances.

Tonight I didn't expect to need my port-a-potty. Tonight I expected the action to begin fairly quick. Call it a hunch.

"So is this a real stakeout?" asked Monica. She was sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat. She could have been a teenager sitting there next to me.

"Real enough," I said.

"And that's your old house up there?"

"Yes."

"So are we stalking your ex-husband?"

"I'm a licensed private investigator," I said. "I'm licensed to stalk."

"Really?"

"In most cases."

"What about this case?"

"In this case," I said. "We're stalking the hell out of him."

She giggled. If Danny spotted me following him, he could report me to the California Bureau of Investigative Services, where I would probably be heavily fined and face jail time, probably a year. The CBIS frowned upon investigators abusing their privileges.

Which was why I was parked way down the street. Back when I had first caught Danny cheating on me, I had been reckless and he had spotted me.

This time, I intended to play it safe.

"So what's it like having kids?" asked Monica. She was chewing some gum, occasionally popping bubbles inside her mouth, the way kids used to do it back when I was in high school. I never did figure out how they did that, or how she was doing it now, and with that thought, something fairly exciting occurred to me.

Hey, I can chew gum!

At least gum that had no sugars in it at all. I asked Monica for a piece and she reached into her little purse and produced a rectangular square. It was cinnamon and sugar free. I had no clue what it would do to me, but I was eager to find out.

God, I'm pathetic.

I unwrapped the gum hastily and tossed the discarded paper in my ash tray. Saliva filled my mouth as the sharp bite of cinnamon tore through even my dulled taste buds. Cautiously, I swallowed my own saliva, now filled with cinnamon flavor.

I kept an eye on my dashboard clock. I would know in less than two minutes if my body would reject even this small amount of flavoring.

And while I waited, I chewed and chewed, savoring the flavor, savoring the smooth texture of the gum on my tongue and in my mouth. And, like riding a bike, I produced my first bubble in six years. It popped loudly and Monica giggled. And just as I was scraping the gum off my nose and chin, something in my stomach lurched.

But that's all it did.

Lurched.

Nothing came up. No extreme pain. Nothing more than that initial, slightly painful gurgle. I grinned and continued happily chewing the gum.

So there you have it. Vampires can chew gum. Wrigley should consider a new slogan: "So good, even a vampire won't projectile vomit."

I asked Monica for the brand name of the gum, and she fished the package out again and told me. I grinned. Hell, I was going to buy stock in the company.

"Look," said Monica pointing through the windshield excitedly. "Someone's leaving your house."

I took my binoculars out and adjusted them on the medium-sized figure. It was Danny, and he was dressed to kill.

Chapter Thirty-five

In his girly Mustang, he exited the driveway, drove briefly towards us, and then hung a left down a side road inside the housing track. I started the van and pulled slowly away from the curb. Like a good girl, Monica checked her seat belt. She was grinning from ear to ear. I'll admit, P.I. work can be fun.

Twenty seconds later, I made a right onto the same road Danny had made a left onto. As I did so I caught a glimpse of him making a left out of the track, and onto Commonwealth Avenue.

It was just past ten and I wondered who was watching the kids. Until I realized it was, of course, his slutty, ho-bag secretary.

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

You probably don't want to piss-off a vampire. Just sayin'.

Anyway, I hung a left on Commonwealth, and easily picked up the shape of the Mustang's taillights about a half mile down the road. One thing about my current condition, my eyesight was eagle-like. And it only got better when I was in my, well, eagle-like form. Or bat-like. Or whatever the hell I transformed into.

While tailing someone, I could hang back farther than most investigators could. Still, it was a fine balance of staying far enough back to not get spotted, but not so far that I hit a red light and lost him altogether. I should probably have rented a car for tonight, but it was too late now.

Live and learn.

Next to me, rocking slightly in her seat, Monica was chewing her nails nervously. From my peripheral vision, her mannerisms and sitting position suggested she was no older than ten years old. About the age of my daughter.

My cell rang.

Shit. I dreaded looking down. Was it Danny? Had he spotted me already? Impossible.

It continued ringing and finally I reached for it in the center console, where it had been charging. I looked at the faceplate. It was Kinglsey.

I unhooked the phone from the charging wire.

"Arooo!" I sang, "Werewolves of London...."

"Not funny," he said, his deep voice rumbling through my ear piece. "And please not over the phone."

"Big brother and all that," I said.

"Something like that."

"You sound like you're in a pissy mood," I said.

"I am." He paused on the other end. Up ahead, Danny took a right onto Harbor Boulevard. He didn't use his blinker. I should make a citizen's arrest. Kingsley went on, "You nearly killed my client the other day."

I turned onto Harbor as well. I wasn't sure I heard Kingsley right. "Your client? What do you mean?"

"Ira Lang."

I nearly dropped the phone. "Excuse me?"

"Ira Lang is my client, Samantha. And he's been my client for the past few years, since his first arrest. Now he's in the hospital, with a face full of metal pins and screws and staples."

I looked over at Monica, who was still peering ahead, rocking slightly. From this angle, I could see where her left eye drooped badly, the result of her husband's attack with a hammer, the attack which had resulted in Ira's first arrest.

Kingsley's words had sucked the oxygen from my lungs. I found myself driving on automatic, vaguely aware that I was still following the Mustang far ahead. Danny was slowing for a red light. There were three cars between us, and he was still a quarter mile down the road.

"This is a problem," I said.

"Damn straight, Sam. My client's going to press charges."

"I'm not worried about that," I said. "Let's talk later, Kingsley. This isn't a good time."

"Swing by my place when you get a chance."

"Okay," I said, and hung up.

Monica was watching me curiously. She, like most people, was far more psychic than she realized. She had picked up something in my voice, something in my mannerisms. She knew something was wrong.

Hell, yeah, something was wrong. The guy I was seeing - the guy who had touched me more intimately than any man had touched me in a long, long time - had gotten her ex-husband out of jail on a technicality.

Who then went on to bludgeon her father to death.

Sweet Jesus.

Monica was still watching me. I looked over at her and gave her the brightest smile I could muster. It seemed to work. She smiled back at me sweetly, reminding me of a child all over again, a child eager for good news.

I reached out and held her hand; she held mine in return, tightly. I continued following Danny at a distance, and holding Monica's hand.