Blood Drive
Chapter Thirty

Why does it not surprise me that you're here?
Before he can answer me, Frey must send him a telepathic message, because he says, Yes, go back to the girl. Anna and I will talk in my office.
I put a hand on Frey's arm to stop him. "Wait a minute. I'm not leaving."
Williams motions Frey to go on. "My office here. We're not going anywhere."
Frey obviously says something else that, since I cut our psychic link by biting him, I'm not privy to. By the weary expression on Williams's face, I can guess it's not anything complimentary nor is it anything with which Williams takes umbrage. It has to be about me.
When Frey leaves us, Williams's temper erupts. " You bit Frey? What were you thinking?"
"What was I thinking? You let me leave your office this afternoon thinking he was a monster. He wouldn't answer my questions. What the fuck did you expect me to do?"
"And if I had told you that Trish was safe with him, would you have believed me?"
Of course not. I don't say it aloud or project it, but it's the obvious answer and Williams knows it.
He lowers his head and peers at me. "Besides, you should thank me for getting you out of there. Otherwise, you'd have Frick and Frack from the FBI on your tail as we speak." He jerks a thumb. "My office is right down the hall. We can talk there."
With a glance at the door behind which Frey and Trish are no doubt discussing her mother's death, I reluctantly follow Williams. Disappointment and a feeling of inadequacy squeeze at my heart. I want to be there for Trish, to be the one she turns to for comfort and healing. I'm family. Frey is a stranger.
She doesn't know that, Anna.
Williams's tone is not harsh or severe, but is laced with a kind of sympathy. Not typical in his dealings with me. He's stopped in front of another of those nondescript doors that line the back of the great room. He holds it open. Come in. Please.
Please? A courtesy? You must be feeling guilty about letting me think the worst of Frey.
He reads the disdain in my tone but shrugs it off. Frey is the one who should be angry about that. After all, he's the one you attacked because of it.
Contempt isn't fazing Williams. He must have something really important to discuss.
Unlike his spacious quarters at SDPD, this office is small, nondescript, austere. It looks to be the same size as the one I shared with Trish. The only furnishings are a metal desk and two straight-backed chairs - one behind the desk and one in front of it. There is nothing on the desk, not a telephone or computer.
Williams pulls the chair from behind the desk and positions it beside the other. He motions for me to sit.
"Why not?" I respond. "I'm sure you have a lot to explain. Might as well get comfortable." But as my butt hits the cold, hard seat, I amend that. "Well, at least as comfortable as possible. I take it you're not such a big shit here, huh? Don't warrant padded chairs."
But Williams acts impervious to my insults. His expression never wavers from polite concern, and his eyes don't spark or flash with anger or annoyance. A warning spasm of alarm erupts inside me.
What's going on?
Williams sits back in his chair, looking hard at me, keeping his thoughts to himself. I let it go on for a moment before I repeat, "What's going on? What did you get me in here for?"
His eyes study me for another moment, then clear and his gaze sharpens. "Trish's grandmother is raising hell. She called for an appointment to speak with me directly this afternoon. She's already contacted the FBI. She knows there was a connection between Trish and Barbara Franco. Now with Carolyn's murder, she's convinced Trish is - " He blows out an angry breath. "That Trish is involved in both murders."
The words should send me into another spasm of rage. Instead, only a great sadness descends. "Like daughter, like mother," I whisper.
Williams raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"The first night I met Carolyn, when she came to my parent's house, she tried to convince us Trish may have had a hand in Barbara's murder. Now Carolyn's mother is spouting the same garbage."
"Unfortunately," Williams replies, "that 'garbage' makes for great headlines. She's called a press conference for this afternoon." He glances at his watch. "Three o'clock, right after our meeting, and on the steps of the mayor's office."
"The mayor is in on this?"
"Not yet. But this is an election year. The Bernard's don't live in San Diego but they are wealthy people with a lot of influence. The mayor will align herself with them if it proves expedient."
"And you know this how?" But the answer flashes through my head before he can reply. "I forgot. The Deputy Mayor. A fellow vamp. Great."
"You remember her from Avery's?"
He asks the question with hesitancy. The first night I saw Williams was the first night I was introduced to life as a vampire. My mentor, Avery, invited me to a party at his home. Besides Williams, Isabel Santos, the Deputy Mayor of San Diego, was there, along with four or five other luminaries, all vampires, all high on the social register. I wasn't formally introduced to any of them, though intervening circumstances threw Williams and me together soon afterward.
I feel Williams's sharp eyes watching me, just as I feel his mind prodding for the emotion those memories evoke. He has other issues with me. I raise my eyes to meet his.
Why would she do this? I ask. Why would she want to accuse her granddaughter of murder?
The corners of his mouth turn down. I don't know. I thought I'd ask her that very question when I see her this afternoon.
I want to be there.
This produces a short bark of laughter. Right. And let her take another shot at you.
I can see Detective Harris was thorough in his report, and I can read in Williams's reaction that he would have liked to have been there to see it. I grip the sides of the chair and lean forward. It's not bloody likely that she'll get a chance like that again.
Williams holds up a  hand. Hey, I'm not being critical. I think you showed remarkable restraint.
Then what do you suggest we do? How do we protect Trish?
The only way we can, he replies. We find the real killer and expose Carolyn.
That will not make Mrs. Bernard happy. Or the mayor.
Williams smiles. Not my problem. I'm not the one up for reelection. Then he gets the same cop look that I see on Max's face when he's about to tell me something I'm not going to like. You need to be prepared for what's going to happen after the press conference.
What does that mean?
Listen, Anna, I know what Trish has been through. None of it is her fault, but right now, the official investigation is focused on Trish's supposed drug involvement. That's the motive that's being put forward. No one knows about the abuse or Carolyn's part in it. If we're going to crack the kiddie porn ring, it has to stay that way.
It's not hard to grasp the meaning behind his words. Trish's disappearance is going to look as if she's is guilty, isn't it?
Yes. She needs to stay here. If she leaves, I can't guarantee she won't be arrested.
What if she wants to attend her mother's funeral? What do we tell her?
He waves a hand. It's a murder investigation. I can hold the body for a while. But the important thing is that we work fast. His eyes flash with a knowing gleam. Do what you need to get these guys. I'll do what I can to stall.
What makes you think I can do this?
Are you telling me you can't?
Our eyes lock a moment. It's the first real vote of confidence I've gotten from him. What about Frey and the FBI?
Frey will do what he needs to do - keep Agents Bradley and Donovan busy. I've managed to convince them that you are of no consequence in their investigation. They think your appearance at his condo was because the two of you are lovers. You were at Carolyn's this morning at the behest of your mother, who has asked for your help in the Barbara Franco case. Now that there has been another crime, the police have warned you off. You've agreed to let the professionals take over.
I shake my head and stand. Great. You couldn't come up with a better reason for me to be at Frey's? You had to say we were lovers?
Funny, he retorts. That's the same thing Frey said.
Williams rises from his chair to stand beside me. "I'll walk you out."
We start back down the hall and I pause in front of the door where Trish and Frey are talking. "I need to get my jacket and I'd like to say good-bye to Trish."
He shakes his head. "They've left."
"Left?" I push open the door. The room is empty. My jacket hanging from the back of the chair is the only indication we were here at all.
"Frey has taken her to the living quarters." Williams explains from the hall.
I rejoin him, looking around. There is a steady murmur of voices coming from the thirty or so people seated at computer terminals. Besides that, there is nothing but silence coming from the dozen or so doors that line the back wall. "Where are the living quarters?"
He waves a hand toward the last door at the end of the hall. "That way."
"How big is this place?"
"Big enough. I'll give you a tour if you like."
I debate whether to press Williams into taking me to Trish. I can tell from his demeanor and the neutrality of his thoughts that he will acquiesce to my demands. He's waiting for me to make the decision.
"Let's go," I say after a moment. "When I come back here again it will be to take Trish home."
Williams hasn't asked nor has he probed to find out what I plan to do. I find that reassuring. Instead, he leads me back toward the entrance, nodding acknowledgment to the greetings he gets along the way. As far as I can tell, everyone in this strange telephone center is human.
Who are these humans? I ask. What are they doing here?
His lips quirk in a tight little smile. They are our fundraisers.
I snort. I told Frey that's what I thought. He just called me an idiot. So what do they sell?
The future.
What?
Williams laughs. They're psychics. All of them.
But they're human.
Of course. All psychics are human. All humans have the ability to become psychics. It involves learning to focus and tap into the part of the brain that interprets more than what is.
I thought psychic hot lines were a scam.
Most are. These, however, are not. They service a very special clientele.
Special how?
He shrugs. People important to the future of the world.
You mean like Heads of State? Religious leaders?
Williams stops near one of the consoles and turns to face me. No. The real power behind what the world is to become. You, Anna. You are one of those. Would you like to see?
My heart flutters and then begins to pound in my ears. I don't understand or believe any of this. I don't want to. I force the fear out of my thoughts and replace it with resolve. Don't do this, Williams.
I brace myself, expecting him to seize the opportunity to force whatever the hell he sees as my future down my throat. He's tried before.
But instead he smiles. I know. You have Trish to think about. Take care of it. Then we'll talk.
The softening of his attitude is more disturbing than what I'm used to. I think I prefer the acerbic Williams.
He's pushed a button on a panel beside the elevator "door." There is a whir as the cage descends. The little reception area appears as the doors slide open.
Williams touches my arm before I step inside. God speed.
I see his face as the doors close, hopeful, confident.
I don't know what God he's referring to. I'm not sure I want to.