Cheating Sunrise

Cheating Sunrise - Chapter 10

I laughed it off, blamed it on the meatballs and the lack of sleep. It had been the look on his face as much as the rebellious back-flips being executed by the contents of my stomach. I guess he didn't want a kid, didn't want a kid with me anyway, and didn't have a damn clue why the psychotic vampire chick was even hitting him with a line like that over a midnight snack in a downmarket Italian restaurant.

It was no big deal, not as if I was going to be getting knocked up by him or any other short-lifer anytime soon, or anytime ever.

But it had hurt, the defensive rejection in his eyes, and it annoyed me that I let it hurt, because ever since Travis had taken that helmet off on the beach he had been getting to me in ways that were entirely unexpected, getting to me in ways that I should have been burning down to ash and grinding under my cynical, hard-boiled heels.

We finished eating, Travis paid, and we went back outside and saddled up.

"Lana," Travis said, just before I put the helmet back on. "Do you know how to get to where Monroe lives?"

"Yes."

"We only have a zip code, no address."

"It won't be a problem."

He nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

I rode his Harley hard along the final stretch of I95, south through New Rochelle and the Bronx, switching to I278 north of Rikers Island. I guess it was just me, returning after being kidnapped and almost killed, but the midnight interstate ride through that uninviting urban landscape lit with the occasional pulses of red and blue above an ambulance or an NYPD highway patrol car felt so much like coming home that I had to blink away the mist of tiredness and the cold night air, even behind the visor of Travis Miller's full-face helmet.

I followed the signs all the way along FDR Drive down the east side of Manhattan, getting us to within half a mile of Monroe's zip code a few minutes this side of one thirty in the morning.

I pulled the bike over to the side of the road outside a dark and shuttered espresso shop, took off the helmet and asked Travis for his phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"My secretary."

"It's half one in the morning."

I tapped the number into his phone and waited. I didn't have to wait more than three rings.

"Hey, beautiful."

"Travis thought you'd be sleeping."

"He's still alive?"

"Of course." I winked at Travis, who could only hear my side of the conversation. "I'm keeping him around for the sharp wit and macho stubble."

"What do you need?"

"An address."

"Whose?"

"Monroe."

"The detective?"

"Yes."

There was barely any pause at all before he gave me a Greenwich Street address and an apartment number.

"Thanks," I said.

"Lana..."

"I know. Be careful."

"There's always a first time."

"Did you find out anything more about Project Sunrise?"

"Only that they must keep anything remotely incriminating far away from the internet."