Chapter 10
Disconnect
Author's Note: I wanted to get this edited and posted in time to wish everyone a wonderful Thanksgiving! I hope you enjoy the latest chapter.
Intro Song: There and Back Again by Chris Daughtry
Tuesday morning came quickly and Mick St. John found himself hurrying down the same stairs he had so recently climbed, after just a few hours of rest in the freezer upstairs. He was rushing to a dawn rendezvous with Eugene Divan, the forensics expert Victoria had arranged to have investigate the scene of the fire. That vampire, who seemed to be everywhere, stopped him before he got to the front door of the condo.
"Mick, I've scheduled a service for Sara at 7:00 P.M. tonight at Marble Cemetery. It shall just be me and Josef. I thought you would like to know – I'm sure he would appreciate your being there."
"Thank you, Victoria. That is very kind of you. I'll be there. Do you ever sleep, by the way?"
Victoria laughed throatily, looking up at the tall, sexy vampire. "You know, my motto as a human was always "I can sleep when I'm dead" because I just wanted to grab all of life that I could. Who knew that the same would hold true when I was a vampire?!" Mick St. John nodded to the mysterious woman and headed out the door into the gray pre–dawn light.
Arriving at the site of the ruined brownstone, he was relieved to see that it was no longer smoldering. Like any vampire, he had a healthy respect for the damage fire could cause. It was, however, occupied by a short, heavy–set man with a friendly face. Seeing Mick pick his way through the rubble, he hurried over, stripping off latex gloves as he came.
"You must be Mick St. John," he exclaimed, sticking out his hand to shake Mick's, the early dawn light falling on his balding head. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Let me show you what I've found so far." He led the vampire over to a small tarp he had spread out on one side of what had once been a large, comfortable bedroom for Sara Whitley, carefully pushing aside the wreckage with his insulated boots as he walked.
"Here's what I've got so far – but it isn't much." Divan pointed out some charred, twisted metal and a couple of shattered dials and pieces of hardware that he had set out on the tarp. "Remains of oxygen tanks." His grim face betrayed his feelings. "Definitely the cause of all this destruction, in my opinion. I'm still reconstructing the scene, but I don't think I'll find anything to change that."
"Anything odd so far, Eugene - beside the presence of so many oxygen tanks?" St. John liked the pleasant little man.
His eyes bright with good humor, despite the early hour, Divan responded, "Please. Call me Gene, everybody does – except my grandkids. I'm Papa Gene to them. There was one thing that struck me as odd. From the position of the shrapnel from the tanks, it appears to me that the oxygen tanks were all very close to where Victoria told me the bed was located."
"There were six tanks. What possible reason could there be for placing them all near the bed, Gene? Especially when the patient didn't consistently need it." The frown deepened on the private investigator's face as he anticipated the answer.
"I've been doing this a long time, Mick – and I can't imagine a scenario in which that would make sense...unless you were trying to set them up to cause an explosion."
"How much spark would be required to set them off? Would a lit cigarette do it?"
"If the tanks were open and bleeding oxygen? Absolutely!" Divan answered with conviction. "The force of the explosion would have been enormous with that many tanks – a very effective bomb. I'm actually surprised, in that case, that there is as much left standing of the building as there is." Mick shook his head at the thought of someone doing this to a helpless, comatose woman and her caretaker.
There are humans who are bigger monsters than vampires...
"What's over there?" he asked the forensics expert, gesturing toward a glass jar set off to one side on the tarp, half full of bits and pieces of material.
"Oh, that," Gene's face saddened. "That is all the human remains I've been able to identify so far. I feel badly because Victoria impressed upon me how important it was to retrieve remains for the next of kin, but the force of the blast is making that extremely difficult. This is all I've been able to gather. I have another couple of hours before I have to leave – maybe I'll be able to find a little more." He seemed genuinely distressed at his inability to do more.
"It will be enough, Gene. I promise you, the people that miss her will be thankful to have this." Mick comforted the small man.
After getting Divan a cup of coffee from the local Starbucks, Mick said good–bye, shaking his hand and telling him again how much his efforts were appreciated. "I hope you get whoever did this, Mick," Gene said, as they parted. "They deserve a reckoning with their maker!"
Those words still echoing in his ears, Mick made his way to SoHo and his meeting at New York Medical. On the way, he tried Beth again, knowing that she would probably be on her way to work. The call once more rolled over to her voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Beth Turner..." He growled and threw his phone down on the cab seat next to him in exasperation. Women!
Gabrielle Sinclair met him outside the entrance to the small building housing the medical supply company, stylishly dressed in tight black jeans, black stiletto heels, and an animal print top. "How are you today, Mick – no shower this morning?" Gabby teased.
"Actually, yes – with help from a strategically–placed towel!" Mick St. John grinned down at the petite Asian woman.
Gabby protested, pouting. "You're going to get me in a world of trouble with Victoria for spilling the beans! You are her new favorite hobby, you know."
"Somehow, I think she'll survive, Gabby."
"You met with Gene Divan this morning, right? Isn't he a sweetheart? Did he find anything for you?"
Gabrielle was a bundle of energy this morning, Mick reflected tiredly from behind stylish sunglasses. Man! She's a lot like Beth... no off switch! "He just confirmed what we knew – that the oxygen tanks caused the explosion and fire. He also said he thinks they were all close together around the bed and that's why the explosion was so powerful. I think it's clear that it was deliberate, Gabby. The question is just why – and who." They made their way into the building as they spoke, Mick bending his head to speak to the much smaller Gabrielle without being overheard. She led the way to the run-down office, asking for John Giles, the owner of the small company.
They were ushered into yet another shabby office. Gabby looked around with raised eyebrows, "There doesn't seem to be much money in medical supplies, does there? At least not any that they are willing to put into decor!"
Mick nodded, but did not respond, his thoughts on the opposite coast. Between the hectic pace he had been keeping since getting here, and the time difference, he had not been able to speak live with Beth since their brief conversation during his flight out yesterday morning. He'd left her two voice mails, but had yet to hear back from her. He had no concrete reason to think that anything was wrong, yet he had a constant, nagging worry about her safety. They rarely went this long without speaking, and, he had to admit to himself, that probably had something to do with his sense of unease.
At that moment, John Giles rushed into the office, apologizing profusely for keeping them waiting. He was a thin, nervous man with a heavily-lined face, his eyes large behind wire–rim glasses.
He looks like he should be a school teacher. St. John shook hands with the timid man and introduced Gabrielle Sinclair as a colleague.
Giles sat down behind his desk, nervously shuffling papers and scooping paper clips into a pile. "Wha– what can I do for you?" he stammered, looking from Gabrielle Sinclair to Mick St. John uncertainly.
So jittery! Is he hiding something? The P.I. couldn't be sure. "Mr. Giles," he began, "Ms. Sinclair and I are both private investigators, working on behalf of the families of people killed in a fire at 300 Waverly Place a few days ago. We've come to talk with you about the last delivery your people made there. Six oxygen tanks. What can you tell us about that shipment?"
"I'm n–not sure I'm authorized to tell you anything! We have to comply with HIPAA laws and regulations here."
Mick leaned forward, his eyes boring in on the restless man behind the desk. "There is no proprietary or confidential medical information involved here, Mr. Giles. Ms. Sinclair and I both have the authority to ask these questions on behalf of our clients. There are...inconsistencies...in the way these people died in that fire. You can talk to us – or you can talk to the police. But, either way, we are going to get answers."
Giles visibly shrank back in his chair, away from the intimidating presence of Mick St. John. He looked around nervously, unwilling to make eye contact with the tall man across the desk. "N–no, that's OK. I just don't want to get into any trouble. We don't have anything to hide – I don't have anything to hide," he corrected himself quickly. Mick and Gabrielle exchanged quick glances.
"Tell me about the order," Mick commanded, sitting back in his chair, hoping to settle the owner's nerves. Is he lying? Or, is he just a bundle of nerves? I'm having a hard time tellin.
"Ok, he–here it is," Giles pulled a paper out of the stack. "300 Waverly Place. Yes, an order came in on Friday night for six O2 tanks to be delivered there no later than Saturday evening. This is a long–standing account, with an excellent payment record. There was no reason not to fill the order. Then," he squinted through his glasses at the order, "it looks like we picked up a call on our answering machine yesterday –Monday morning – from Paula Bridges, the home health care nurse working there. She called on Sunday afternoon and left a message, saying that the order was delivered in error and that we were to pick it back up. The pick–up was scheduled for Monday afternoon, but when my truck got there...well, I'm sure you know what he found."
"Wasn't that order unusual?" Gabrielle frowned as she joined the conversation. The man's eyes shifted to her, then quickly looked away. "Umm, well, we've been supplying O2 to that address for a long time, along with other supplies. Maybe it was a little larger than what we might normally expect, is all."
"A little larger?" she echoed softly. "The account goes from having one oxygen canister that is only replaced when it is due to expire – to six tanks delivered all at once – and you don't think anything of it? This wasn't a nursing home, you know!"
Giles held up his hands defensively in front of him. "Wait just a minute here. This order was a little large for this account – but it isn't out of the ordinary for us at all! You have to understand that we supply materials to more than just nursing homes. There are private care facilities for wealthy patients all over town, and they are a big part of our business. These patients are old – and sick. They come and go...if you get my drift. I just assumed they got a few new patients in that required O2 support. Happens all the time."
"And, you never questioned it. Just more business for you." Mick glared at the owner.
Giles stood up behind his desk, swallowing hard. "Look, Mr…St. John, is it? I don't know what you're trying to insinuate here, but it isn't my job to police this stuff. I couldn't if I wanted to because of HIPAA laws. These aren't controlled substances; nobody abuses oxygen. They order, I supply, they pay. Simple as that. If you are angling for an insurance settlement for negligence here, it isn't going to work!" He sat back down heavily in his chair, his defiant stance appearing to take a toll on him.
The private investigator decided that the man was probably just as he seemed – a nervous, small–time businessman, who filled orders without asking any questions, just trying to stay afloat. There were presumably also some under–the–table deals going on, which might explain his nervousness. If there was more to it than that, he didn't want to raise any red flags that would cause Giles to cover his tracks. He could have Gabby keep him under surveillance. He exchanged glances with his companion, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
"OK, OK, Mr. Giles. I apologize if our questions offended you in any way. We didn't mean to imply that you had anything to do with this or were, in any way, responsible. I was brought in from L.A. to investigate this – guess I've still got jet lag."
"Sorry, I probably over–reacted too." John Giles smiled tentatively. "There are lots of lawsuits and threats of lawsuits when you work in a town like this. We supply so many types of customers – commercial care, private care, in–home care, you name it. We get a million different requests. That's why this didn't stick out for me. I feel terrible if anything we did contributed to this awful accident in any way."
"One last question," Mick St. John stood up with Gabby to leave the small, seedy office. "Can you confirm for me who pays the account – and who the order supposedly came from?"
Giles hurried toward the door as he answered over his shoulder, obviously anxious to get them out of his office. "I really shouldn't do this – but, the information isn't truly proprietary, so yeah...it's billed to Kostan Industries."
St. John's face betrayed none of his emotions as he smoothly thanked the owner for his time and assistance. He and Gabrielle left the building and, when Gabby paused to speak, he took her arm and walked her down the street toward a small corner coffee shop in the next block. "I don't want to take a chance on being overheard," he murmured, holding up his hand to shield his face from the light as he escorted her along the street.
They were unaware of the stylish figure they cut, tiny Gabrielle, striking in her black jeans and high black heels, Mick, tall and muscular, in his long, tailored pin stripe coat, collar upturned against the sun. At the coffee shop, they both ordered elaborate drinks in order to sit in the shaded courtyard area attached to it.
"You know," Gabrielle said wistfully as they sat down, "I've never actually tasted a frappuccino." They weren't around when I was turned – but they look wonderful!" She eyed the large, whipped–cream-topped drink as she stirred it with her straw. "There are days when being a vampire sucks..."
"Yeah...I hear you." Mick thought back to his short sojourn as a human and how wonderful coffee – and other foods – had tasted. Even though they couldn't drink the actual beverage, the aroma was still comforting, and the action of sitting down at a coffee shop felt very...human.
He briefly toyed with the idea of asking Gabrielle about her background, as Victoria had suggested. Glancing at his watch, he decided against it as he realized their time was short – they still had to get to Brooklyn to meet with the home health care agency head at 2:00 P.M. Later. He liked Gabby and knowing the circumstances of a vampire's turning was usually a window into who they were.
Coming back to the task at hand, he sighed. "Well, that appears to be a dead end – with the trail leading right back to Josef, which isn't good. That account must be paid out of Josef's finances automatically or he would have mentioned it. I don't think he knows half of what his accountants have set up."
"Did you think Giles was telling the truth?" Gabby asked thoughtfully.
"I don't know. I was going to ask you the same thing. Usually, I can tell, but the guy was so nervous, I couldn't be sure." St. John sighed again, stabbing at his own drink with short, frustrated thrusts of the straw. "I think this was just a dead–end." They talked about the case a few minutes more, then got up and hailed a taxi to get to Brooklyn, where the home health care agency was based.
Down the street from where the two vampires sat, contemplating coffee they could not drink, John Giles picked up his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers. After a short pause, he spoke, his voice very different from the nervous tone he had displayed with his two recent visitors.
"Yeah, just wanted to let you know that two of them were just here. Asking about the fire at Waverly Place." He glanced down at the infrared scanner in the middle desk drawer, and closed it slowly as he listened.
"No, I don't think they suspected anything, but they DID trace the fire to the oxygen tanks. No, I don't know where they headed from here..." He listened for a moment, then added, "I will." With that, he replaced the receiver gently, and smiled to himself as he readjusted his wire rim glasses and picked up his pen. It was going to be a productive week
Beth Turner's drive in to work this morning was uneventful, unlike that of Monday – a good thing, given her level of distraction. Why didn't Mick call back? Should I call him? No – absolutely not! She was at war with herself during most of the drive over whether or not to call St. John. She finally decided that it was up to him to reach out to her – after all, he was the one who had a woman answering his cell phone for him!
Without the delays she had experienced the previous day when she realized that none of her clothes were at Mick's penthouse apartment, she was able to beat not only the rush hour traffic, but also most of her work colleagues. Most... but not all. When she walked off the elevator, lost in thought, she ran squarely into Jamie Sommers.
"Jamie! I'm so sorry!"
"Beth... I'm glad I ran into you – literally! I tried to call you last night to make sure you got home OK, but the calls kept going to voicemail. Are you OK?" The young woman looked at Beth anxiously, her dark brown eyes huge in her face.
"Dammit!" Beth rummaged in her purse and pulled out her iPhone, groaning as she looked at the dark display and tried, unsuccessfully to turn it on. "Dammit! I'm sure I plugged it in last night; maybe the end worked out of the wall socket. That's happened before – hazards of an apartment in an old place." She sighed, "It's dead – and I didn't throw my charger in my purse, either!"
"Dead as a doornail, huh?"
Beth had to smile at the observation – she hadn't heard that term since she was a child.
"Don't worry, Beth, I know where there's a charger in the office!" Jamie took her new-found friend by the sleeve and escorted her across the floor of cubicles to one on the far side of the room by a bank of windows. She pointed out a receptacle on the desktop next to the computer. "This is Phil McDonald's cubicle – he keeps an iPhone charger on his desk all the time just for cases like this."
"Jamie, you are a lifesaver." Beth impulsively hugged the taller woman. "You have no idea how much easier you just made my life!"
"Anything for a friend!" Jamie Sommers grinned – not only was she making progress toward her objectives, she also genuinely liked Beth Turner. "I'll just leave Phil a note to give me a call when it's charged up, OK?" She then scribbled a few words on a notepad and stuck it in front of the phone charger, now holding Beth's dysfunctional cell phone. "Now that that's out of the way, how about some coffee for us early risers – no one else is around yet. I'll tell you all about Carl and his group."
Beth allowed herself to be led away toward the life–sustaining brew, leaving her sleeping phone behind.
The woman pacing in her luxurious apartment did so with the grace and implied threat of a caged tiger. Victoria had finally convinced Josef that he needed to get some sleep in one of the guest freezers, but she herself could not yet afford that luxury. Gabrielle Sinclair was accompanying Mick St. John to assist him in his investigation, but she was also keeping her eyes and ears open for the New York vampire community.
Victoria knew in her gut, even without yet having proof in hand, that the killing of Sara Whitley had been the work of Crucis. Gabby and Mick had to find the proof of this that she needed in order to band the rest of the New York vamp community together. "They have to," she muttered.
She had tried to convince Josef to stay over one more day and return to Los Angeles on Wednesday, but he was committed to flying back with Mick that night. He wanted to be back in his freezer by morning. They were running out of time...
"Come on Gabby, I'm counting on you." Victoria muttered out loud, as she continued her pacing.
Mick and Gabrielle made their way to the home health care agency in Brooklyn, giving Mick a taste of how frustrating New York traffic could be. A trip that should have taken a half–hour, ended up lasting well over an hour, courtesy of a wreck that blocked a key intersection. Mick's nerves were on edge and he was fuming by the time they arrived at their destination.
"I'll never complain about L.A. traffic again!" He hopped out of the cab, holding the door open for Gabby. She smiled as she exited the cab, finding Mick's old–fashioned manners charming and decided to needle him a little. "Hmmm, well, you'll have to show me how easy it is to get around L.A. the next time I come out, Mick, because I don't really recall that... What do you have – 13 million people in the greater L.A. area?
Shaking his head, he followed her inside into the lobby of Renaissance Home Health Care. In contrast to the shabby business they had visited earlier, Renaissance had the look of a large corporation, with a polished marble and glass lobby, reception area, and security system. Approaching the receptionist, Gabby asked for the director. "We have an appointment," she told the older woman behind the counter. "I'm sorry; we're a few minutes late because of traffic."
As she talked, Mick noticed a large, professionally–done poster on an easel next to the reception desk, commemorating the life and work of Paula Bridges. He recognized the face of the friendly nurse he had met when he and Beth followed Josef Kostan to New York and first learned about Sarah Whitley. That's a nice touch – but they skipped the part about how she was murdered…
After checking them through the security scanners, they were escorted to Albert's office, where they were greeted warmly by the director.
Judy Albert was one of those fortunate women who are blessed with great bone structure and become more handsome as they age. Her short hair was snow–white, thick, and stylishly cut, emphasizing her features. Her form–fitting black suit was clearly expensive. The whole look was one of elegance and professionalism.
"I want to start by saying how devastated we all were to hear what happened," Judy led them over to a comfortable–looking seating arrangement after introductions. Sitting down and crossing her shapely legs, she continued. "Paula was very well–liked and well–thought of here. She'd been an employee with us for over 20 years."
"I saw the poster in the lobby for her," Mick removed his sunglasses in the relative comfort of the office. "That was very nice."
"Well, it was the least we could do. I've been here for 25 years and this is only the second time anyone has ever died on the job. We are going to set up a fund to help establish a nursing scholarship in her name."
"How did you find out about it?" Gabrielle chimed in.
"I was called by the nurse who was to work the 6 AM to 12 noon shift on Monday. The brownstone had already burned to the ground by then, and the fire marshal told her that Paula and her patient had both died in the fire. As soon as I confirmed it, my first call was to the next of kin in California. I understand you are both here representing that family."
"Yes, we are." Mick leaned forward. "So, Paula was working on Sunday. Was that a normal shift for her?"
"Actually, it's interesting that you ask that. No, it wasn't. Paula's been on that assignment for so long, she has her pick of days and shifts. She normally works days during the week, but one of our fill–in nurses had a family conflict, so she switched with her."
Gabby quickly picked up on Mick's line of questioning. "What can you tell us about the person who asked to switch?" If there is a key to what happened from this angle, it will be with that woman.
"Well, I can't give you her name, if that's what you're asking. I'm sure you can understand the confidentiality issue, Mr. St. John. However, I can tell you that she traded with Paula for Monday, then traded that shift for Sunday night. She told me there had been a change in her plans and she couldn't work on Monday after all. By that time, Paula had made other plans for Monday and didn't want to trade back, so she switched for Sunday night..."
"Does that happen often?" Gabby was shocked that such a professional–looking agency could be run so casually.
"No, not that often. But, we do try to be sensitive to the fact that our employees have lives, and sometimes those lives run counter to their work responsibilities. As long as they are trading among other people assigned to the same account, I don't have a problem with it. They didn't need any special permission from me to do this, if that's what you mean," the director stated emphatically. "However, I certainly don't encourage the kind of chaos they were generating over the coverage on these two days. That is highly unusual."
"The woman who traded with her – was she the one who called in?" Mick pressed.
"No. The nurse who notified me was coming in to work Monday morning. The woman who traded with Paula was to have worked on Sunday night. I didn't hear from her last night - but she did call me this morning."
"Doesn't that seem odd? I would have thought that she would have called you right away – she had to have seen the fire if she went to work."
"Under the circumstances, I don't think so. She was very shaken, as you might imagine. There but for the grace of God, you know. That is the kind of close call that causes one to re–evaluate one's life. She also felt very guilty over asking Paula to take her shift. She asked for some time off, and, given what happened, I thought that request very appropriate. She left town to visit family. She will call me when she gets back." Judy rose, clearly signifying the end of the interview. "I'm afraid I cannot provide any additional information without violating our very strict policies regarding privacy and confidentiality. I'm sure you can understand."
The two vampires rose and were escorted back to the lobby by the director. "Mr. St. John, Ms. Sinclair, it was a pleasure to meet you both. I just wish it had been under better circumstances." With that, the elegant woman shook their hands and disappeared back into the inner workings of Renaissance Home Health.
"Another dead end," Gabrielle intoned, as they exited the building, both vampires putting on their sunglasses in defense of the bright afternoon sunlight. They stopped in the only shade available – under a lonely oak tree outside the main entrance.
"Maybe not," Mick hailed a passing cab, holding up one hand to block the sunlight leaking in through the tree branches. "I have some contacts in L.A. that may be able to help us figure out who – and where – the woman is who made the switch with Paula. It may be completely innocent – but it doesn't feel right. Something smells, Gabby. I would think that any innocent person in her position would have called Renaissance right away, no matter how shook up they were - regardless of what Judy Albert says."
Holding the cab door open for his companion, Mick hit a familiar number on his cell. Climbing into the cab behind Gabrielle Sinclair, he said, "Logan! Mick! Yeah, I'm in New York. I've got something I need for you to check on..." The cab pulled away, taking them to their rendezvous with Victoria Silver and Josef Kostan.
The two vampire leaders sat in Victoria's elegant, Asian–inspired living room, sipping a new sampling of rare blood from her special collection. "I have to restock when I get back to L.A." Josef contemplated the dark red liquid. "You have inspired me, Victoria. By the way, I didn't mention it at the time, but serving us Beth Turner's blood type when we came in...nice touch. Especially since it's so rare."
Victoria smiled. "I do try, Josef." She said nothing further, allowing him to take the conversation where he wanted.
Now that they were alone, Josef decided it was time to address an entertaining, but nonetheless, irritating issue - that of Victoria's blatant, continual, and - from Mick St. John's point of view - clearly unwanted sexual advances. Josef was very aware that the younger vampire was nearing his breaking point; Mick did have a fuse, especially where Beth Turner was concerned. And Victoria was rapidly shortening it with her behavior.
Had she been a rank-and-file vampire, Josef had no doubt that Mick would have already handled the situation. Over the decades, however, Josef had instilled in him an understanding of - and healthy regard for - the hierarchy of vampire society. As the leader of the L.A. vamp community, and the most senior vampire present, Josef had the rank, and the right, to intercede. He was aware of how protective Mick had been during this whole crisis, and appreciated the fact that his friend wouldn't willingly ask him to step in while Josef was dealing with his own tragedy. But, even in light of his personal devastation, he still had obligations to uphold. Recognizing the subject as a potential minefield, he broached it gingerly. "So, Victoria. I take it you have designs on my good friend?"
"Only if he wants it." The beautiful vampire smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I've given him ample hints – but I quit throwing myself at men a long time ago. The ball's in his court now."
"You do know he has a human girlfriend."
"Well, of course." Victoria sipped the life–giving blood. "But I don't consider that a serious issue. You and I both know those relationships almost never work out. How many times have we seen that particular tragedy play out over the years? I'm surprised you didn't counsel him about that."
Josef bristled at the implication that somehow he'd been derelict in his duties. "You obviously haven't spent enough time around Mick St. John yet. He's the most bull–headed man I know – human or vampire! He's also really in love with Beth Turner. I don't think you're going to get the response to your 'hints' that you're looking for." A lot more that could have been said, but he decided that such conversation was pointless.
"What do you think of her?" Victoria was curious about a human female that could attract, and keep, the intriguing and gorgeous Mick St. John.
Josef took another sip of his beverage, reflecting on what to say to Victoria. He decided against telling her that he had recently brought this human woman under his protection, giving her rare status within the vampire community. There were some things she just didn't need to know. Yet.
"I actually like her – but please don't tell Mick that. I have way too much fun giving him a hard time about his human girlfriend. She's smart, funny – and completely committed to him. She accepted what he is almost without blinking, as far as I can tell. I think being a vampire actually bothers Mick more than it does Beth most of the time. You and I both know how rare that is." Josef finished his drink, thinking back to the day that he found out that Sara had known for some time that he was a vampire. When he discovered it didn't bother her, it had been the happiest day of his life. He sighed as the reason for this trip weighed down on him.
Victoria seemed to be reading his thoughts. "I know your mind has been on Sara – and that is as it should be. But even if it was for an unfortunate reason, it was good for you to come here and meet with the leaders. When you leave here, our problems will follow you back to L.A. A few thousand miles won't insulate you from this danger, Josef. It was important for them to hear that you agree with me regarding the threat to our safety. I am getting frustrated with this 'head in the sand' mentality in my community where the threat of Crucis is concerned."
Josef only nodded, so she continued, "You will address this with Mick, right?" Her tone let him know that this was not really a question. When he didn't answer, she reiterated, "Right, Josef?"
"Yes, Victoria," Kostan clenched his jaw irritably, an alarming cold flash of anger rising, then disappearing, from his eyes. "But not today, if you don't mind. I have a burial to attend."
Victoria rose in her graceful manner and walked over to the bar, pausing to squeeze Josef's shoulder with one hand as she passed by. "I certainly didn't mean today. You are right, you have a burial to attend. I think it's time to switch to alcohol, don't you?"
With that, she expertly mixed and poured two dirty martinis. Handing one to her guest, she took a long sip herself as she walked back to her seat. The two old friends settled in to wait for Gabrielle and Mick, together in the room, but alone with their thoughts.
End Song: Heavy, Linkin Park