Cat Adams - Blood Song

that.”

“I can get some hair from my brush in the bathroom.”

“Good. Once you’ve got it, hit the reset button, do the voice recognition and the palm print, then say,

‘Pregnancy override.’ Two smal drawers wil open up beneath the palm reader. Drop the hairs in the

left one. The right one has a sharp point in it. Jab your finger on it until it draws blood.”

Ow.

“The drawers wil close, and the machine wil start cross-matching the DNA between the two samples.

It’l take about twenty-four hours. When it finishes, if you’re cleared, you’l get the green light and it wil

have reset to the ‘new you.’”

“And if it doesn’t?”

A long pause. “Cal me back.”

“Right.”

He hung up without saying good-bye—probably to go find and study the tech manuals. I went down

the hal to the bathroom I share with the guys from the bail-bonding company and retrieved my

hairbrush. I fol owed Justin’s directions careful y, with Gibson in fascinated attendance.

“Think it’l work?” he asked.

I sighed and steeled myself before stabbing myself on the finger prick. “Ow. It’s never a good thing

when the tech guys start saying things like ‘theoretical y’ and ‘in principle.’”

Gibson winced, but whether it was in sympathy or frustration at the fact that al my records were just

out of reach I couldn’t be sure.

“Even if it does, it’s going to be twenty-four hours before I can give you any more information.”

He put both hands on the back of the guest chair, leaning his weight on them. “You don’t have

anything that’s not in the safe? Written notes? Message slips?”

I shook my head. “Not real y. Everything’s on the computer …” I wound up leaving the sentence

dangling as my mind wandered. “Except … I remember the name and address of the place where I

reported for duty. I can take you there.”

He shook his head. “No way, Graves. This situation is a political nightmare, a freaking diplomatic

‘incident’ just waiting to happen. You’re going to give me the name and address of the building and

anything else you can remember about how you were hired, and then you’re going to stay the hel away

from that part of it. It’s going to be hard enough finding out whether the prince you were guarding was

the real deal or a body double and what happened. The State Department is going to have a fit, and

they’re going to want in. They’re also going to want you out of it except as a witness.”

“But—,” I started to protest.

“I’l keep you advised. But stay away from it. Trust me, you’l have enough on your plate, dealing with

the vampire end of things.” He was probably right. That didn’t mean I had to like it. I scowled at him but

gave him the information without further argument.

Gibson reached into his pocket, withdrew a notebook and a silver Cross pen, and scribbled down the

address of the hotel.

“I’l head right over. In the meantime, thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else

before I get back”—he reached into the breast pocket of his suit for a business card—“give me a cal .

Otherwise, I’l meet you back here, this time tomorrow.”

Crap. He was going to leave me stuck here without my car. I mean, yeah, he was in the middle of an

important investigation and it was only a couple of blocks, but I had that whole sunlight al ergy thing to

consider. “Right.”

He stopped so abruptly I wondered if he’d heard my thought. “Do you need me to take you back to

your car?”

I could tel from the way he said it, he was hoping I’d say no. He was just that anxious to get on with

the investigation.

“I can give her a lift.” Dawna appeared in the hal , carrying a tray with coffee and creamers.

“Thanks.” He took a Styrofoam cup from the tray and took a long pul . “I appreciate that.” He took one

more drink, then set the cup on the tray and started down the stairs.

“No problema.” She gave him a smile that could’ve lit the entire West Coast.

She watched him for a ful minute, until he disappeared from sight. When the door slammed, her face

took on a calculating look I knew from long experience. She’d set her sights on the detective.

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Dawna. Bad idea.”

She stuck her lip out in a pretty pout and huffed a bit, flinging her long black ponytail over her

shoulder. “Damn. There you go, spoiling everything. Is he yours? Is that the problem?”

“No.” I admitted. “He’s sick. There’s something wrong with him. I can smel it.”

“You can smell it? Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Ewwww. That is just … gross.” She shook her head. “What do I smel like?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “Chanel Number Five, high-quality leather, and chicken salad on

rye.”

She blinked. “Wel , al right then.” Then, giving a gusty sigh, “Shame, though. He seemed nice. A little

old. But nice.”

I didn’t answer. I’d grabbed a cup of coffee from the tray and was taking a long pul of liquid nirvana.

Caffeine, nectar of the gods. I didn’t gulp it down, it was too hot for that, but I savored each sip, letting

the scent fil my nostrils and chase away the stench of il ness.

“Thanks for that. Give me a few minutes more to myself, okay? I’ve got to make a couple cal s.” I’d

start with my gran, which would be tough enough. But as soon as I’d finished with that I was going to

have to cal Bob’s wife and break the news.

Gran stil wasn’t answering the phone. That was ominous al on its own. She’s healthy as a horse, but

she’s not young. Of course it was much more likely that she was avoiding my cal s. She does it every

time my mother talks her into something they both know I’m not going to approve of—little things, like

letting my mother, who has had her license revoked and is an uninsurable drunk, take the car.

Don’t think about it. You don’t know that’s what’s happening. She could be busy at the church.

I tried cal ing Kevin. I real y did. But he didn’t pick up. I left him a voice mail saying I was hanging in

there and not to worry and thanking him, Emma, and Amy for saving my life.

My own voice mail was stil presently unavailable, which was getting annoying. If I didn’t have access

in the next hour or so, I was going to be cal ing the main line and complaining to my carrier.

I hesitated before dialing the next number.

Gwendolyn Talbert had been one of the best therapists in the business until she retired two years ago

due to health problems. She had specialized in trauma victims—particularly children. She saved my

sanity and probably my life after the events that led to my sister’s death and my own torture. It was

Gwen’s delicate use of magic that had blunted the memories of the trauma, making them bearable,

enabling me to eventual y have a normal, loving relationship with Bruno DeLuca. No, I hadn’t dated

anyone since we broke up, but that was by choice, not because I wasn’t able to.

Now I needed help. I was hanging on to my sanity with my teeth and toenails, mostly by very

deliberately not thinking about things. But that wouldn’t last. The shock would wear off, and when it did I

was going to need a damned good therapist. I wanted it to be Gwen.

The phone rang three times before going to voice mail. Apparently this was not my day to reach