I glanced at my phone for messages before I remembered where I was. One of my calls before I left the house had been to Bruiser, who hadn't answered. If he called back, I wouldn't know until I got out of here.
I returned to the file, deliberately hunting for red folders, and I found a slim one containing a stack of police reports written in the same distinctive handwriting as the cigarette smoker, the cop who had been investigating the vamps and the disappearances of witch children: Detective Elizabeth Caldwell.
In the red folders, I found dozens of small scraps of paper, each smelling of old smoke and containing terms, names, questions. Little made sense until I found a scrap that read: A few sips of witch blood brought the devoveo back to sanity for nearly an hour. On another I found one that said devoveo: the Curse of the Mithrans. And young rogue: the cursed.
I sat, holding the two scraps of paper, my gut telling me that something important was contained in them, but my brain couldn't see it. So I copied down the phrases and went on with my hunt.
I wanted to read more about Caldwell's investigations, and remembered Rick's key ring. No door keys on it. But there was a key marked 666-0W. I tried it on a file cabinet I hadn't been able to get in to last time I was here. With a metallic click, the drawers loosened and the top one eased out an inch. Every file was red. Every single one. I opened the drawer and let my fingers do the walking through the tabs. It was a file on area witches, compiled by Elizabeth Caldwell. And there was one file marked Devoveo. Inside were reports of young rogues who had also been witches. Which made no sense at all. Vamps would turn shamans, but not witches, yet I was pretty sure they were collaborating with witches. Nothing made any freaking sense.
Settling down with several files, I spent another hour doing research and trying to find a common thread in Elizabeth Caldwell's investigations before thirst drove me to put everything away, lock it all up, and again bang on the door. And bang and bang. And bang. Eventually I heard the lock click; the door opened to reveal Rick himself, hiding behind two drink cans. "Sorry. I forgot about there not being a phone in here. Coke truce?"
I propped a hip against the doorjamb, took an icy, sweating can, popped the top, and drank. Wryly, I said, "There isn't a bathroom either." Without a segue, I said. "Who is Elizabeth Caldwell?"
Rick's expression went instantly to cop face as he shut down his reactions. "She was a good cop, killed in action in 1990. By vamps unknown. She was also Jodi Richoux's aunt."
My mind went into overdrive. Jodi had pointed me to red files, all belonging to Elizabeth. Jodi had a reason to hang around me, other than friendship. I had a strong hunch Jodi had secretly taken over her aunt's research, an aunt who had died by vamp attack . . . I'd gotten Jodi into vamp HQ. I had contacts with the vamps. I was research.
I don't know why it hurt, to learn that she was maybe using me for a case. It's not as though we were bosom buddies. But it did.
Rick didn't seem to notice my reaction. "Come on," he said. "I'll walk you out."
Silent, we took the stairs, and Rick let me stop off in the ladies' room, where I didn't bother to e-mail the photos; instead, I checked my voice mail. One was from Bruiser, and unexpected relief flooded me. If there had been a feeding frenzy, he had survived it, sounding bland, factual, and surprisingly helpful. I hadn't expected to get anywhere with my latest request.
Back on the main floor, Rick stuck his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and casually asked, "So. Want to get dinner on Saturday? My treat."
A frisson of uncomfortable heat roiled through me. A date? It sounded like a date. His treat and all. It had been years since I'd had a real date. And Saturday was just after the three days of the full moon. Beast would still be feeling . . . amorous. I swallowed and was pretty sure I blushed, hoping it wasn't easy to tell with my coppery skin. "Um. I should be finished with this contract by then. Sure. Maybe eight?"
He nodded, ducking his head and glancing up at me. "Bikes. Burgers. Okay?"
"Yeah." Actually, that sounded like a fun date. And I had houseguests, so I didn't have to worry about any awkward leave-taking or expectations. "Um . . . Eight, then."
Rick nodded at me, gave a little one-fingered salute-style wave, and disappeared back into the bowels of the NOPD. Crap. I had a date. I flipped open my phone and returned the most important call that had come in while I was trapped in the woo-woo room. It was answered on the first ring. "George Dumas."
I straddled Bitsa and helmeted up. "Jane. So, you got permission for me to visit the official vamp cemetery?" Not to be confused with the grave site where I'd killed the rogue the other night.
"Yes. When?"
"No time like the present."
"On my way."