Blood Ties: A Grace Harper Novel Page 11

  The receptionist glanced at the waiting room, but no one was waiting. "What did you need to know?"

  "Awesome! What's your name?"

  "Selene."

  "Thank you so much, Selene." She wiggled her fingers at me and I pulled out my phone and brought up a note app like a good little assistant. "Okay," Libby continued, "so in my story, it's a mystery by the way, the main character is framed for murder. Her blood is found at the scene of the crime. She's sure her boyfriend's ex put it there--she works at a blood bank you see--so I need to know how hard it would be for someone who works at a place like this to steal someone's blood."

  "Uh..."

  "I imagine you have security?"

  "We do. The donations are kept secure."

  Libby nodded and I made notes.

  "How tight?" I asked as if it mattered to our story. "Just a regular lock or like PIN numbers and tracking software?"

  Selene laughed. "That's a little extreme. It's blood, not gold."

  Libby rubbed her hands together. "Good, that makes it easier for my bad girl then. What about before you lock it up? Like, could a tech sneak an extra vial of blood?"

  "Maybe. We collect a pint-sized bag, plus a few vials for testing."

  "Perfect! She could steal one of those."

  "Wouldn't your character recognize her boyfriend's ex taking her blood?"

  "No, she's never met her. She finds out about her later."

  Selene nodded slowly. "Oh. She could do it, then. People might not notice an extra vial."

  Libby nodded excitedly and I took fake notes like a madwoman. Even I was buying her cover story. "This is fantastic, really. What about bloodmobiles? Same procedures?"

  "Yes, though the blood is brought back here for testing."

  "What happens then? Do you test all the blood here or do they do it at the branches?"

  "This is the main branch for the area, so we do the bulk of the testing here. The lab screens all donations for HIV, hepatitis, and whatnot." She pulled out a pamphlet and slid it over to Libby. "It's all here."

  "Perfect." Libby scooped up the pamphlet. "It is possible to see the lab?"

  Selene hesitated. "We're not supposed to let anyone back there."

  "We won't touch anything, I swear. Just a quick peek to get a feel for the place so I can describe it later. Please?"

  Libby's eager smile won her over. "I guess that would be okay. Alice?" she called to a woman setting out supplies. "Could you watch the front for me for a few minutes?"

  "Sure."

  We followed Selene back, Libby chatting the whole time, oohing and ahhing and asking questions, me taking discreet videos as we moved.

  The lab looked like most labs I'd worked in. Basic Formica counters, refrigeration units for the blood, a sink reminiscent of high-school chemistry class. Rows of plastic vial holders lined a counter next to a centrifuge.

  "This is the lab," Selene said, waving at the two techs working there, both middle-aged women, one Latina, one redhead. The Latina was fiddling with the vials and a giant needle-looking thing while the redhead did paperwork at a desk up front. A small pink Jeep sat next to a vase with fake flowers. Selene grinned. "It's not fancy, so feel free to spruce it up in your book."

  The vial tech looked up questioningly.

  Selene jerked a thumb at Libby. "She's a writer working on a book."

  "Ay," the tech said, smiling. The other didn't bother to glance up from her papers. No sign of any Pretty Boys, and neither of these women looked like Mediterranean models or minions of the undead.

  Neither acted suspiciously either. No furtive glances, no sudden interest in who we were or what we were doing. No behavioral traits of anyone who regularly stole blood and helped bad people target good people.

  "Do you keep track of whose blood is whose?" Libby asked. She studied the lab like she planned to rob it later. No one batted an eye. The woman could have a future as a criminal mastermind if she wanted one. What had she done in the Marines--black ops?

  Selene picked up a blood bag and showed it to Libby. "The bags have a collection ID number, but no, we don't track names on the individual bags. Just basic patient records."

  Most likely stored on the computer in the corner, where the paperwork woman was working. Ivy's name was in there. Maybe the other names of the people Eddie was watching as well.

  "Where does the blood go from here?" I asked. The lab didn't appear to have advanced testing equipment, and I doubted the basic tests revealed enough specific information to track someone like the Pretty Boys were doing.

  "Hospitals mostly."

  "Any hospital, or specific ones?"

  "We usually work with hospitals in our area." Selene gave me a funny look. So did the paperwork woman, but hers was just an annoyed glance. "Is that important to the book?"

  Libby laughed and waved a hand at me. "Oh, she's already thinking about book two. Totally different plot. The ex's revenge might be connected to a much larger crime. We're still working out the details."

  I grinned. "Sorry, didn't mean to confuse you."

  "Yeah." Selene looked at her watch. "Listen, I need to get back. You got everything you needed?"

  "I did, thank you so much. This was a huge help. I might even name a character after you." She winked.

  "Oh, that would be cool."

  Libby dropped the act on the way to the car.

  "You were amazing," I said.

  She fanned herself with a hand. "Oh stop you're gonna make me blush."

  "Are you sure you're not an undercover spy?"

  "Like I could tell you if I were." She rolled her eyes.

  The video was a little choppy, but it was good enough to peek into all the nooks and crannies we hadn't been able to poke around in.

  "I knew I liked you for a reason," I said.

  "Yes, but did we learn anything?"

  "Ivy gave blood here and then she disappeared. Either someone is a great actor, the minion wasn't at work today, or the victim's blood is getting identified at one of the hospitals this center uses."

  "Is your dad's hospital near here? Do they use the same blood center?"

  "It's in Boulder City, but Universal Blood Centers is a chain, so it could be the same. I'd have to ask, or maybe get a look at some labels or records."

  I unlocked the doors and Libby and I got back into the car. She pulled her seatbelt on. "If whoever is supplying the Pretty Boys names is at one of the hospitals, they'll be a lot harder to find."

  "Much." Practically anyone on staff had access to the blood bank. "And unless the Boulder City hospital gets its blood from just this branch, that rules out the Pretty Boy spy being here in Summerlin."

  "I wouldn't take the odds on that."

  "Me either. I think it's more likely the spy works in a hospital or testing facility with access to multiple blood banks and branches."

  Libby frowned. "Unless it's a lot bigger than we think and the Pretty Boys have people everywhere."

  "That's a depressing thought." I reached for my phone. "I wonder if Universal Blood has a headquarters or testing lab in Sedona. Something that fits all our pieces of the puzzle."

  There had to be a link between the blood bank, the red pebbles, and the missing people. Ivy Helgarson had no connection to Kurt Smith or Caleb Marlowe, aside from being people Eddie was ordered to watch. It was possible both Ivy and Marlowe donated to or received blood from UBC. Marlowe had been to an ER recently, and that ER could have been served by UBC. Dad also had his blood taken and tested, though I'd need to check on who handled the blood at Thompson General. Kurt Smith had no connections to blood at all, but if he was already on the run, his connection could be as old as mine was.

  My web search came up empty. "No Sedona branch of Universal Blood Centers."

  "That doesn't mean there's not a hospital or lab there they use."

  The engine idled, the AC slowly cooling.

  "Go or no go?" Libby asked.

  We just didn't have enough to link Se
dona and the blood bank yet, and I didn't want to leave the area if Dad was potentially still here. "Let's watch the blood bank a while, see if Eddie or Zack show up. Maybe Eddie's mom works there and she doesn't even know he's using her to find people with the right blood."

  "Worth a shot." Libby picked up her backpack and left the car. "I'll cover the back. Keep your phone handy."

  "Will do."

  I watched the blood bank, taking advantage of the downtime to reexamine my puzzle pieces. Libby's stocking-the-pantry theory made sense if the Pretty Boys were creating some kind of people herd, but snatching homeless people off the street was a much easier way to do it. These victims were being selected, but why?

  With the exception of Kurt Smith, Eddie's list had confirmed the blood link, so it was reasonable that the Pretty Boy victims on Cavanaugh's list were also connected by blood. It couldn't be through blood banks, though. I was five when someone had written my name down on vellum.

  Cavanaugh's list was from the Florida and Southeast region, but Eddie was watching people in this area, so the Pretty Boys were what? Regionalized? Or were we dealing with two different groups?

  I'd seen my share of cop shows. Zack displayed stalker behavior, but it was also protective detail behavior. Eddie had seemed convinced that Zack was a good guy. What if Zack wasn't looking for victims to kidnap, but to protect? Just like the Pretty Boy who'd saved Dad and me twenty years ago, and the one who'd shown up in the nick of time at the bar. How had he even known I needed help? Did he have his own Eddie keeping an eye on me?

  That was a little disconcerting. I'd never spotted anyone watching me like that, but there had to have been someone or I'd be discovering first-hand what the Pretty Boys wanted with me.

  Two groups, two different methods of finding them. That would explain why Eddie's list had the clearer connection and Cavanaugh's went back twenty years. It would also explain why the people on Cavanaugh's list were all dead, and the ones on Eddie's were still breathing.

  If Eddie had been following us for nefarious purposes, and he had known we were in Kurt's apartment, he'd have told Zack and his buddy and they would have come in after us. Yet they didn't; they just sat outside and watched.

  It didn't feel like these two Pretty Boys meant me harm.

  I dialed Libby. "Cancel the stakeout," I said. "I think we're chasing the wrong Pretty Boy."

  A good diner menu ought to mimic a small novel, and the Sunset Diner didn't disappoint. Page after page of heavy laminated paper offered breakfast in every shape and size, lunch favorites from around the globe, and good old-fashioned dinners from the 1950s. It was a time machine of yumminess.

  "I don't think Zack took Ivy Helgarson or my dad," I told Libby after we ordered. A gyro for her and an open-faced turkey sandwich for me. I outlined my two types of Pretty Boys theory.

  Libby didn't look convinced. "It fits what we've observed, but if he's protecting people on the list, wouldn't he have rescued them by now?"

  "Not if he's outnumbered. There might be two or three good ones versus six or seven bad ones."

  "Where do you get that number?"

  "That's how many we've seen over the years."

  "We need to talk to Zack."

  "He's not being cooperative in that regard." My phone rang and I snatched it up. Cavanaugh.

  "I just landed. Where are you?" he said, sounding winded. I pictured him hurrying down the concourse, lugging his bags.

  "Sunset Diner off the 515."

  "On my way. Don't go anywhere."

  I hung up. "Cavanaugh's inbound."

  "How much are you going to tell him?"

  "Depends on what he tells us." I twisted my hair back into a knot. Our waitress was also inbound with our food, and I'd gotten enough gravy in my hair during my lifetime. She set the food down on the table. It looked and smelled divine. Dad and I had never done the whole Thanksgiving turkey and all the trimmings thing, but open-faced sandwiches we could manage.

  "Crazy idea, but what if you are honest with him?" Libby said, popping an olive into her mouth as the waitress greeted another table.

  "He'll have me committed."

  "I didn't."

  I sighed and mopped up some gravy with my bread. "Fine, if he's honest with me, I'll be honest with him. But if he gives us attitude, he gets that thrown back in his face instead."

  "Only fair."

  We'd finished our meals by the time Cavanaugh strolled in the door.

  "Ms. Harper."

  "Mr. Cavanaugh."

  I gestured at the empty chair and he took a seat. He looked at Libby questioningly, but he didn't need to know her name.

  "We're face to face. Let's talk." No sense dragging our feet on this.

  "I had a good flight, thanks for asking."

  I opened my mouth, but Libby kicked me under the table. She shot me a glare. Be nice.

  "Sorry," I said. "It's been a long day. Thanks for coming all this way on short notice to meet with us." Though it had been his idea to drop everything and come running.

  He paused, glancing at both of us as if questioning my sincerity. "Thank you. It looks like the Helgarson case is connected to Anita Rosenberg's," he said. "I'm not sure about your father's case, however," he continued.

  "Oh, they're connected all right."

  He paused, giving me a look that should have been done over the top of glasses. You got the most bang for your condescending buck that way. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

  "I followed the blood trail."

  Cavanaugh sighed. For a guy so insistent on seeing me, he wasn't very forthcoming. "Ms. Harper, a dangerous killer is kidnapping people and you're on his list."

  "You've told me. Three times."

  "I'd like to take you into protective custody until this is resolved."

  Like hell. That explained the "I'm in charge here" attitude.

  The waitress returned and handled Cavanaugh a menu. He shook his head. "Anybody up for dessert?" she asked instead. "We've got the best pie in town."

  "Apple," Libby said. "Three slices."

  "You got it." The waitress headed back to the kitchen.

  "Whose custody?" I continued.

  Cavanaugh seemed confused. "Excuse me?"

  "You're not a cop, or a fed, and you haven't once shown me a badge--even though you've done your best to make me think you're law enforcement. I ask again--whose custody would I be in?" Not that I had any intention of going with him. No way was I sitting locked in a windowless room somewhere waiting for scraps of vague information.

  "I'm not at liberty to say--"

  "Wrong answer," I said, slapping the table. He jumped, and several heads turned our way. I smiled until they turned back around. "I'm not going anywhere with you unless I know who you work for and why you're trying to find these people."

  "I work for concerned parties--"

  Libby snorted. "Knock it off. You asked for this meeting, so say what you wanted to say."

  His face reddened and he moved his hands under the table. I tensed, but if he'd had a weapon he would have pulled it by now. I fought the urge to check.

  "Ms. Torres, I'm trying to protect your friend."

  Libby's eyebrows rose. "You know who I am?"

  "I'm doing my job."

  I leaned forward and placed my palms flat against the table. "What job is that exactly?"

  "Protecting innocent people from dangerous men."

  "They're not men and we all know it. Isn't that why we're here? Quit stalling and talk."

  He paled, all the anger and frustration draining out of him like we'd pulled a plug. Ah, finally, we were getting somewhere. "Then let us protect you, Ms. Harper."

  "I've been protecting myself against blood-sucking fiends my whole life, so excuse me if I don't jump into your arms and cower."

  Cavanaugh blinked. For a moment he sat staring, his jaw clenched, his breathing shallow. He licked his lips, sweat beading up along his hairline.

  I'd freaked him out for sure, b
ut I couldn't tell if he was scared for me or because of me.

  "You think you know what you're running from, but trust me, you don't. Let us protect you. Please."

  His desperate tone made it past my defenses. That didn't sound like a tough guy act, or a fake cop act, or a hard-ass trying to make you do what he wanted act. It sounded real. I just didn't get this guy.

  "I don't care about me," I said softly. "I'm trying to find my father. Talk to us and we can share information and find our missing people. If not--" I held my hands up, palms facing him "--then we're done here and you're wasting time my father doesn't have."

  His shoulders sagged and he leaned back. "I'll need to speak to someone first."

  "We can wait."

  He glanced at Libby, way too many conflicting emotions rippling across his face, then rose. Without a word, he turned and headed into the parking lot. Once outside, he made a call.

  Libby leaned over and watched. "Secret government organization?"

  "I'm thinking shady pharmaceutical company that hopes Pretty Boys are the key to immortality drugs."

  "Nice. All kidding aside, who do you think he's working with?"

  I sipped my iced tea. "Not sure. Partner or organization? If he's offering protection, he might actually have some muscle backing him. Secret organizations don't like to share, though."

  Cavanaugh's request didn't appear to be going well. He raked a hand through his hair, arguing and looking more frustrated by the second.

  And also more human.

  "I must be tired," I said. "I'm feeling sorry for him. He wants to talk to us, but it looks like someone else is running the show."

  "Also my take," said Libby. She signaled the waitress for the check. "Vampire hunters? Watchers' Council? Protectors of the Innocent Masses?"

  "D. All of the above."

  Cavanaugh banged his fist against the roof of his car.

  "If he'd just tell us who he's working for, we might all get the answers we want."

  "He didn't blink when you mentioned blood-sucking fiends."