Last Call: Chapter 1

Kara Veran should have gone home—but one last phone call makes that impossible.

Last Call

Chapter 1: One Last Call

I stretched and felt the joints pop and bones crack all through my body.

Man, I was tired.

These were the days when I started to wonder why I ever went into this line of work.

Bounty hunter moonlighting as a P.I. when times got tough might have sounded fun, but it didn't pay the rent…well, at least not today…or yesterday or the several days before that.

The economy was down and so were the jobs.

Yeah, people still cared about cheating spouses and missing persons…but they didn't have the scratch to hire anybody.

And everybody, thanks to the internet, was an amateur detective thinking they were Sherlock Holmes.

Ugh! I hated that…….I'd been doing this job for a very long time and I knew what I was doing…however, anybody with a smartphone nowadays thought they knew everything and they were God's gift to investigation.

I hoped I wasn't like that when I started, but looking back, I knew damn well I wasn't.

I had never been that young.

And then there was the persistent evercreep of apathy dressed up as pragmatism. That was quite a bit scarier.

Heck, one girl even told me that she was okay with her husband having a mistress as long as the mistress was paying for their streaming services and the car note.

That was when I really had to take a second.

In truth, I loved this work…I really did.

Except for the days that I did NOT.

I fell into it quite by accident.

In truth, I'd always had a knack for digging things up and finding things…and chasing things down.

But it wasn't until after I was turned into one of the “undead”…well, had my throat torn open while trying to help a frightened mother and her child and was then subsequently left for dead is more on point, but I digress…..that I really came into my own.

I was faster, stronger, more durable and harder to kill…among other things.

Found out that the species of Vamp that accidentally turned me isn't all blood all the time.

Which is nice.

Blood has never tasted very good to me, but if I mix it with other stuff, it's fine.

I still need a small amount of food and water to keep me going.

Good thing too, because wow, would I have missed out on coffee!

Sometimes I wasn't sure if I needed blood or coffee to survive…so I split the difference and did both!

I was comfortable with my choices.

I sighed and put my arms behind my head and leaned back in my worn old grey rolly chair with the duct tape on the back. We had been through a lot of long nights together and it was comfy.

Too comfy. I started to feel my eyelids get heavy…I should go home and sleep, but my mind kept circling my current economic predicament.

But it wasn't like I was going to magically find a million dollars in my office under the rug (it would sure be nice though)…I needed to get home…get some rest and hit it hard tomorrow.

I pulled the pencil out of my dark curly hair and scrubbed my hands over my scalp, then spindled it back up and pinned the pencil through it again.

The rain outside kicked up and lightning lit up the sky outside the large window by my desk.

I always had my blinds open when I was working late…..I counted like my dad taught me when I was small.

After getting to 100 before a crack of thunder rent the air, I knew that with the storm that far off, it shouldn't look and feel the way that it did.

The air felt like pressure….not the clean feeling or the exciting rush that the storm is moving through….just pressure weighing down on me.

Which meant it was a harbinger of things to come.

Something nasty was on its way tonight, which said it was time to head home.

I kept an office for a reason…even though currently I was running behind on rent—thank goodness my landlord was a sweet soul about it.

Time. To. Go.

I sat up with a click, tossed my black trench coat on from the back of my chair, pulled my feet off of my desk and flipped my good-tread dress shoes on.

Drained the last of my coffee out of the paper cup from the gas station down the street and went to head out.

I didn't technically have the money for gas station coffee…but I loved the stuff…same with their burritos!

Standing in the hallway, locking up….I realized I didn't have my hat.

It was broad-brimmed and would keep the rain off me…not that I worried about getting sick, but still, getting soggy was no fun.

Of course, neither was slipping and falling on my butt.

The rain would turn to ice soon.

And it matched my coat.

I felt off without it.

So, I went against my instincts and headed back in through the frosted glass & fake oak door.

I blurred over and snagged the hat off of the coat stand and then…the office phone started ringing.

I groaned internally.

No.

Well, I could just not answer it….I could leave it.

Instinct kicked in…or muscle memory, and I was already in motion going toward it before I realized what I was doing.

Damn it!

I picked up the phone. I had switched to a smartphone a few years ago, and it had been a great decision.

“Veran Investigations,” I ground out.

“He took my baby!! Please help me!!” The woman over the phone was a panic, tear-riddled mess.

I could hear it in her voice, and her heartbeat over the phone…but there was something underneath it…an odd emotion.

I was still an empath. Gifts didn't change when you died….most times they just got stronger.

This was not good…but all she had had to say was baby in trouble, and that was it.

I also heard a second heartbeat in the background…and it was steady as a rock.

Interesting.

I put the frown that was forming on my lips into my voice. “Ma’am, please don't call here again.” There, that should snap her out of this. I needed her coherent.

It did the trick…and it made the second heartbeat jolt in the background.

“Wait, wait, please….I need your help. Will you please take my case? I can pay you.” She was still frantic, but at least she would be clear enough to tell me what happened and why she was coming to me….if someone found me, then chances were this case wasn't exactly ordinary.

“Alright, tell me what this is about. Who took your child? And how long has it been?…and have you received any ransom demands?” I used my gifts to foist the calm that I wanted her to feel on her.

She must have been confused with the swift emotional shift. “I…I…” I could hear her taking a breath and gathering her wits. “My baby Barah was taken by a vampire. I know you take cases like mine, so please don't send me away. I need her back…please help me. She was taken 2 nights ago, and no, I haven't heard anything since.”

This was bad…very bad….Vamps generally snatch kids for fun, food or profit, depending on who they were in life.

And if you're snatching a kid, it already don't look good.

I had a bad feeling that baby was dead already, but I refused to tell a grieving (and something else) mother that. If it came to the child being gone, I would give her her fee back.

But right now, time was of the essence.

I put the phone to my chest and sighed, picked it back up. “Alright, do you want to come to the office now or make an appointment?”

“We are in Canria.”

My brow furrowed…that was a state over.

Oh, this wasn't good. “Canria?…..alright. Will you be coming to me, or do you need me to come to you? If I need to travel to you, there will be travel expenses.” I kept all emotion out of my voice…being professional was the only way to handle a situation like this.

I'd been called heartless over it so many times.

People had no idea how deeply I felt each and every case…especially cases involving kiddos….they were my weak spot, always had been.

And I already knew…it would be me traveling to them. I'd bet my left foot on that.

“Please meet us at Ricky’s bar here in town. We will wait for you.” She sounded less frantic now, perk of being able to project emotion, but so, so sad.

“Email.” I kept my tone crisp.

She rattled it off.

I sent her an email with the form to fill out about the first round of questions—had she contacted the police, etc.

My phone beeped…email notification….I opened it and read through it.

She had filled the whole thing out that fast? No grieving or worried mother that I had ever met would have been able to do that.

Hmmmm.