Dracula Hearts of Fire Book two of Dracula Hearts
CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SKYSCRAPERS BATHED in the light as the morning was sunny and warm. Michael was finally able to appreciate it as he had some great news. A struggle ensued with his new red tie, but he was in a great mood. John Shaw had phoned him, saying he had an anonymous officer willing to give up Lauren’s location for a couple of grand. Of course, the money had to come out of Michael’s pocket. John couldn’t say for sure that the information was helpful, but he believed it to be.

Michael was ecstatic and hoped that he wasn’t too late. He assumed she hadn’t found someone else already, but life had a way of doing the unthinkable. Lauren was such a great catch that Michael was sure there would be plenty of takers. He hoped that she was his catch of a lifetime, and he expected she hadn’t yet caught the attention of another, but he wouldn’t bet on it. It wouldn’t be pleasant to head back to Boston with his tail between his legs; he was in a good enough mood to smile at the thought.

Michael had gotten himself a cell phone for the first time. He stared at it on the small table beside the bed, willing it to go off. At one o’clock, he called John, but it went directly to voicemail. His mood went from good to a little nervous. He took the tie off and tossed it onto the bed, wishing he could smash it like a stubborn alarm clock at dawn. Had something gone wrong? Had it been a police sting? What if John Shaw had been sucked dry by a vampire? He had no other leads to follow, no ropes to cling to, and this one was becoming unraveled. It was funny how the mind liked to conjure up problems that didn’t even exist.

“Ring, damn you!” He felt like punching the cell, but he didn’t.

Michael never paced in his life, but he started at a little after two. And with another call that had gone to voicemail, his mood shifted to desperation. He knew he was most likely unreasonable but still. It was awful having a situation where Michael was dependent upon another. He looked out the window briefly and then continued to pace. The phone rang, and he rushed to it, only to discover that it was some bullshit about lowering the interest rates on his credit cards. Time was moving forward as his mood was declining. Michael felt like punching John Shaw, whether he deserved it or not. Unfortunately, the situation he found himself mired in was no one’s fault but his own; if you let something precious leave, you shouldn’t be surprised if you can’t get it back.

He called for a nine-inch all-meat pizza at almost three o’clock and sprinkled it with flakes of blood but could only manage a couple of bites. It smelled good, though, and was a bit of a distraction. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. A freight train plowing through the hotel wouldn’t be a good enough distraction. That’s what he got for letting Lauren’s gray-blue eyes get to him—falling for a red sheriff. How stupid was that? They put their lives on the line daily. If John had an official office, he would go there. However, his Lincoln Town Car was his office. It was just easier and cheaper, keeping the overhead to a minimum. Technology made it easy with a cell phone, laptop, and GPS in the car. The private eye placed ads online and in the New York Times whenever business tipped a little too low for comfort.

At four o’clock, Michael went crazy in the motel room and had to go for a walk; he grabbed his AT&T cell and took off. He reached incredible speeds as he blurred through the city. Michael almost ran into the M10 Harlem 159th bus and apologized to the driver. He blurred to the American Museum of Natural History at Central Park West at 79th Street but didn’t go in. He stared up at the pillars and then sat on the steps and stared at the traffic. Another call to John went unanswered. He watched tourists taking photos of one another in front of the Museum and thought it might be fun to go inside with Lauren on his arm. He looked at a young couple walking hand-in-hand, stopping at a portable booth selling hot dogs and pretzels in front of the museum; they bought a single pretzel and ate it together. When their lips touched, Michael had to look away.

“Come on, John, call me already.”

Suddenly, one yellow taxi smashed into the back end of another yellow cab. The drivers got out, and the foul language started to fly. It was obvious who was at fault, and yet the argument ensued. They talked as much with their hands as with their curses. Another driver had to get in the middle to stop the two short men from coming to blows. Michael knew the police would soon be on the scene; he had had enough and blurred off.

Michael didn’t stop until he got to Central Park West at West 72nd Street; he was at the Strawberry Fields Memorial entrance, across from the Dakoda Apartments, where John Lennon was shot. It was then that the cell rang once. “John, is that you?”

“It’s me, Michael,” said John Shaw. “But I’ve got some bad news.”

Michael’s heart sank. “Bad news, what do you mean?”

“Lauren didn’t show up for work. An investigation has started, but she’s officially missing.”

“Missing. What the hell does that mean?”

John hesitated. Almost ten seconds went by before he responded. “She’s a vampire sheriff Michael. When they go missing, it’s never good news. They’ve found her badge, which would have enabled them to track her, but no bones yet. It doesn’t sound good. What do you want me to do?”

“Find her. That is what I want you to do!”

“I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I know that!” And with that, Michael cut off the call.