Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

O ne hour after nightfall, Tohr traveled in a scatter of molecules to the west, to a solidly middle-class neighborhood a good ten miles away from the Wheel. When he re-formed, it was in the shadows between a little Cape Cod and a ranch. Moments later, Qhuinn joined him.

“Across the street?” the brother asked.

“Yup, that’s the house.”

“Let’s do this.”

The snow dump from the blizzard the night before had been properly plowed and shoveled from the streets and walkways, but that didn’t do much for them as they hoofed out across a lawn toward the street. Getting over the piles on either side of the road was a thing—and the first clue something was off was that the driveway and walkway they were heading for were not shoveled.

In fact, 2168 Foote Avenue was the only house on the street that hadn’t gone the snow removal route. The split-level was well-tended enough, with a solid roof, trimmed bushes and shrubs, and a fit-in-with-the-humans Christmas wreath on the front door. But the little place was totally snowed in still. Of course, as a vampire lived there, you could make the argument that getting a car in and out of the garage wasn’t necessary. Except when as Tohr measured the darkened windows? Yes, interior shutters could explain that, too, but—

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Qhuinn said as they stopped next to the mailbox. “Or has been for a while.”

Tohr glanced around. It was a cold night, so most of the humans had their drapes pulled to keep the heat in, and this was good news. Also, no traffic coming and going on the street. Everyone was still hunkered down, in recovery from the weather drama.

“You ready to do a little breaking and entering?” he said.

Qhuinn nodded. “Yup, I think it’s come to that.”

The two of them walked down the property line on the right, heading for the back corner of the garage. Off in the distance, a dog barked, and the scent of spaghetti sauce wafted over on the breeze, like the people next door were running the hood over their stove as they heated up nonna ’s gravy.

When they made the turn and got to a door, Qhuinn stepped up with a lock kit and went to work. He didn’t take long, and then they were in the garage.

There was a very faint smell of gas in the air, but no car. As Tohr triggered a penlight, some faded oil marks in the center of the one-car space soaked up the illumination.

“Looks like our friend Candice left . . .” Tohr murmured as he walked over to the entry into the home. “ . . . waaaaaay before she went to the Audience House two nights ago. If this is even her place.”

At this point, he had no idea who the hell the female was. The name she’d given when she’d registered to see Wrath? False identity—and the irony was that she’d come to get it verified and entered into the species database. Or at least that was her excuse to get in the door and drop off that package.

“If she has a security system,” he said as they went over to the interior door, “it’ll be interesting to see who shows up when the alarm goes off.”

Maybe whoever it was could answer some questions. As this was clearly a vampire house—because there were no human scents anywhere—it wasn’t going to be ADT and the Caldwell Police Department, for sure.

“Let’s try to get inside,” he said.

As he trained his light on the door, Qhuinn worked his lock kit at both a knob and a dead bolt. And then they were in a pitch-black kitchen that had been scrubbed clean: In his bright little beam, there was nothing out of place, the counters cleaned off, the little table shut down with its three chairs tucked in tight, the trash bin empty.

And no alarm.

When Qhuinn opened the refrigerator, the light went on—so there was electricity coming into the place and being paid for by somebody.

“Nothing,” the brother said. “Not even ketchup or an old mustard container.”

“Let me check the cupboards.” Tohr found stacks of plates and lineups of glasses, but no food. “Nada.”

“Is this a rental?” Qhuinn glanced over his shoulder, the piercings in his ears glinting in the light. “Or is that Candice’s name on the deed?”

“Don’t know. It’s just the address she listed when she registered with Saxton’s paralegals. He’s researching the property records as we speak.”

The pair of them made quick work of the floor plan: Living room, sitting room with a TV, two bedrooms, two full baths. Upstairs, there was a primary suite, and what do you know, there were no clothes in the dresser or the closet, no toiletries in the bath, no photographs of the female or her family.

Back downstairs, Tohr stood at the base of the steps and stared at the front door as he took out his phone.

Vishous answered on the second ring. “Empty?”

“Like a ghost town. And you still haven’t found anything about her? At all?”

“Nothing. Whoever that female is, she’s a ghost.” When Tohr went quiet, there was a chuckle on the other end. “So you’re thinking the same thing I am?”

Qhuinn came up from the basement. “Nothing in the cellar except a pair of washing machines.”

“She doesn’t live here,” Tohr concluded. “This was a lie, too.”

None of it made sense. Female comes in, to register a name that was fake and an address that was a lie, into the species database. She leaves those papers behind and disappears.

“What’re we doing now?” V said over the connection.

“I want you to send me a really good still of her from the footage,” Tohr said grimly. “And the address of Broadius’s maid, the one who found him.”