Page 68 of Tested
Fucking Poole and his fucking oath.
I need to finish this today. Betancourt won’t be up for a while yet. I glance at my phone. Brodie could go in with me as back-up, and if we find anything that can be linked to the Princess, then I’ve got something to bargain with.
I hope.
I shoot Brodie a text. It’s only one forty-five, so if he can meet me at Betancourt’s house in an hour, that’ll give us a good four hours before sunset. Betancourt is old enough that he might rise early, so this caper is not without risk, but it’s a chance I’ve got to take.
Brodie is in San Francisco helping out another agent. He suggests I get in line.
I guess I’m on my own. It’s probably better that way. If Brodie had managed to get damaged in some way, it would have been my fault and Poole would take it out of my hide.
With that in mind, I shower quickly and dress. Black jeans, black shirt, two pistols, one loaded with silver bullets, and a hunting knife. Connor-the-PI might not carry weapons, but the Elite team member sure does. Of course, the Elite team member wishes he still had all the toys, but whatever. Choices have consequences.
Downstairs, I make a quick circuit, looking for David. I spy him from the living room windows; he’s on a yoga mat by the side of the swimming pool bent in an unnatural position. I leave a note on the kitchen island.
I’ll be home soon.
Assuming I’m still alive.
I haven’t been to Betancourt’s house since Trajan and I first got together. I plug the address into my GPS and follow the instructions further up into the hills. I park a good block away and with the sun sending shadows in front of me, I slip into the mass of foliage concealing the house from the street.
The landscaping might have been designed for privacy, but it works really well for subterfuge, too. I circle the house, looking for an easy way in. As a member of the Elites, I could have requested a sensor which would have told me which doors and windows were being monitored by a security system. As it is, I’ll have to take my chances.
Then I get lucky. The back yard is equal parts swimming pool, patio, and jungle, and two young women are catching a few late-afternoon rays. I settle in behind a mass of shrubbery, prepared to wait. For a little while, at least. This’ll all be a waste of time if I can’t get into the house somehow.
One of them has a shaved head and what looks to be yesterday’s make-up smeared around her eyes. The other woman has long hair twisted into a tangled mass on top of her head. Neither is wearing a top, and both have the telltale bruises on their throat that mark them as a vampire’s supper.
They don’t talk much, or at least not the kind of chatter that might provide me with a clue. Both lie with their eyes closed, apparently dozing. I shift my position and although a branch snaps under my weight, neither of them move.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. I shift again. The women doze, undisturbed. There’s about twenty feet between me and the back door. I move forward, finding space between two spreading clumps of pampas grass. The bald woman shifts so she’s propped up on her elbows, phone in her hand.
I freeze.
“Almost three,” she says. The other woman hums in response. “You wanna go in soon?”
The other woman raises her arms over her head, giving herself a full body stretch. “I need a dip first.”
Pushing herself off the chair, she takes a couple steps then dives gracefully into the water. She’s wearing a thong which puts even more of her skin on display, and she’s all over a beautiful bronze color.
The bald woman follows, though rather than dive, she goes to the end of the pool where there’s a set of steps going down into the water. She keeps walking until the water is up to her chin, and I ready myself to move.
The two women paddle closer together, and then I get a break. The bald woman pulls the other one in for a kiss, and while they’re distracted, I make a move for the door.
As an Elite, I’d have had access to a screen that would cast me into shadow at the push of a button. Now, I’m stuck moving quickly and carefully, hoping I won’t be seen.
I make it through the door and into a room that must double as a terrarium. Windows fill the wall facing the swimming pool and the air is humid enough to form a beaded mist on the glass. The space is filled with plants: small trees in knee-high pots, smaller pots on tables, and shelves covered with tinier specimens. The air smells rich and fertile, and there are a pair of grow lights set over one of the shelves, casting a bright fluorescent light over the far end of the room.
There’s also a spot behind a pair of shrubs in the opposite corner where a man could hide if he needed to.
I keep moving. The terrarium room opens into a short hallway with a door on either side and one straight ahead. Poole’s notes said the mystery closet was in a main floor powder room. There’s a wide staircase to the right, so I head up.
The stairs open into a tiled foyer. Must be the main entrance. The lights are dim and I stand for a moment, holding my breath to see if I hear any evidence that I’ve got company on this floor.
Nothing.
I make a circuit, checking out the area. One large room encompasses the kitchen, dining room, and a casual seating area. The windows overlook the pool, or they would if the drapes were open. The kitchen has fancy equipment but little evidence it has ever been used. One wall has a fireplace open on both sides, visible from both the great room and a bedroom, with only an unburned firelog on the grate.
A single hall comes off the foyer. The closest door opens into the fireplace bedroom, and the room next to it is a bathroom.
