Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,91

fans . . . though not as many as I’d like. Sometimes they don’t take no for an answer, so I decided to get a gun for peace of mind.” She turned her sultry gaze on me. “Although you never learned how to take yes for an answer, sugar.”

I tried to stay on point. “Then where did you get the gun?”

“I wanted something big, sturdy, reliable. It was a private sale. Cash. Very anonymous.”

“Ivory, if that’s the gun that murdered me, I deserve to know who owned it.”

The vamp considered that and agreed. “All right, but don’t tell him I told you. He might cut off my supplies, and I can’t have that.”

“Who?” Sheyenne demanded.

“Brondon Morris. He sold me the gun.”

CHAPTER 41

Leaving Basilisk, we rushed to the factory of Jekyll Lifestyle Products & Necroceuticals. McGoo would already be there with Robin, but he didn’t know that Harvey Jekyll wasn’t acting alone. Brondon Morris did some of Jekyll’s dirty work; apparently, he carried more than product samples in his case.

When we arrived after dark, the company was locked up tight, and a thick chain secured the fence gate and sally port. I was stuck outside.

The separate administrative building was dark and quiet, but I could see lights and hear nighttime generators humming inside the industrial complex. Perfumey vapors wafted from the smokestacks, venting the chemical operations on the process floor.

Sheyenne rattled, tugged, and twisted the padlocks and chain with her poltergeist hands, then drifted back, dismayed. “I can only do so much, Beaux. How did Robin and Officer McGoohan get in? Do you think he called for backup?”

“I’m guessing McGoo won’t want to share credit for the big arrest—he needs every brownie point for his personnel file.” I looked around, but saw no sign of them. I pulled out my phone and called Robin’s number. No answer. Maybe they had gone back to the offices in defeat, so I punched in that number, but the phone rang and rang until the voice mail kicked in. I tried one last call, to McGoo’s private phone. Again, no answer.

“We’ve got to get in there,” I said, very worried now. “Spooky, go scope the place out. Check the offices. I want to know where Robin and McGoo are—and if there’s anybody else inside.”

“Leave you here? I won’t be much good in a fight if I can’t touch Jekyll or Brondon—”

“Right now I’ll settle for recon.” She blew me a kiss, then flitted off through the fence and into the dark compound.

The bright lights from the factory windows told me something was going on in the main building. I regarded the fence, the razor wire on top. If my friends were in trouble, I wasn’t going to stay stuck out here in the cheap seats.

Bracing myself, I grabbed the chain links with stiff fingers, poked the toes of my shoes into the gaps, and hauled myself up. This was not my favorite thing to do. When I lurched over the curled razor wire, the sharp metal barbs tore the fabric of my shirt and pants, and I didn’t want to think what it was doing to my skin. I’d be seeing Miss Lujean Eccles for another patchup as soon as this was over. But if Robin and McGoo were in there and in trouble, I didn’t care how battered I got trying to save them. As I let myself drop, I heard a ripping sound, then I fell free. I got to my feet, brushed myself off, and staggered toward the factory and the open loading dock door.

From my earlier infiltration of JLPN during the garlic-laced shampoo case, I was already familiar with the big chemical vats on the process floor, the tanks of fragrances, base chemicals, active agents, dyes, and fillers. Mammoth horizontal stirrers churned the huge cauldrons, and the mixtures were piped off to bottling lines that filled containers, pasted on labels, sealed caps, and boxed up the necroceuticals for distribution.

During daylight hours, the factory was a synchronized, bustling place, filled with workers. Now most of the machinery was turned off, but I could still hear the sighing, burbling sounds of fermenting mixtures and chemical reactions.

I also heard voices, a man and a woman.

Brondon Morris, wearing a green plaid sport coat, had forced Robin up the metal steps and onto a catwalk on top of a huge vat. I saw no sign of McGoo or Jekyll, and I felt cold inside, fearing that McGoo might already be dead somewhere. What if Brondon had