Shadow Prey

“I’m going to sit around and read Anderson’s notebooks for a while. Maybe go for a run before dinner.”
    “I told you. There’s nothing in it—Anderson’s stuff,” Lucas said. “We won’t find them on paper. If the Crows are lying low, we need somebody to talk to us.”
    “Yeah. But somewhere, there’s something. A name. Something. Maybe somebody from their prison days . . .”
     
    The day was chilly, but the bright sunlight felt fine on Lily’s face. She walked with her head tilted back as they crossed the street, taking in the rays, and Lucas’ heart thumped as he walked behind her, marveling.
    Shadow Love was parked a block away, watching them.

CHAPTER
24
    Shadow Love stole a Volvo station wagon from the reserved floor of an all-day parking ramp. He drove it to the cemetery and waited a half-block from the hillside where they’d bury Hart.
    The wait was a short one: Hart’s funeral moved like clockwork. The funeral cortege came in from the other side of the graveyard, but Davenport and the New York woman came in from his side. They all gathered on the hillside and prayed, and Shadow Love watched, slipping back to the warm moment when he slashed Hart, feeling the power of the knife . . . . The knife was in his pocket, and he touched it, tingling. No gun had ever affected him the same way, nor had the knife, before the Hart killing.
    Blood made the stone holy.  . . .
    When the funeral ended, Davenport and the New York cop walked away from the crowd with another man, down the hill toward his mother’s grave. When they stopped, Shadow Love’s forehead wrinkled: They were at his mother’s grave. What for? What did they want?
    Then they split up. The other man wandered away, and Davenport and the woman continued on until they crossed through the wrought-iron fence onto the sidewalk. The woman tilted her head back, smiling, the sunlight playingacross her face. Davenport caught her arm as they got to the car and bumped his hip against hers. Lovers.
    He would have trouble staying with the Porsche, Shadow Love thought, if Davenport stayed on city streets. He couldn’t get too close. But Davenport went straight to I- 35W and headed north. Shadow stayed several cars back as Davenport drove into the Loop, made one left and dropped the woman in front of her hotel.
    As Shadow Love waited at the curb, Davenport pulled out of the hotel’s circular driveway, crossed two lanes of traffic and headed straight back toward him. Shadow Love turned in his seat and looked out the passenger window until Davenport was past. Following him would be impossible. Davenport would see the U-turn close behind him, and the tomato-red Volvo was not inconspicuous. The woman, on the other hand . . .
    Lily.
    Shadow Love touched the stone knife, felt it yearning for drink . . . .
     
    Shadow Love had worked intermittently as a cab driver, and he knew the Minneapolis hotels. This was a tough one: it was small, mostly suites, and played to a wealthy clientele. Security would be good.
    Shadow Love left the car at the curb, walked to the hotel entrance, and carefully stepped into the lobby and looked around. No sign of the woman. She had already gone up. Three bellhops were leaning on the registration desk, talking to the woman behind it. If he went farther inside, he’d be noticed . . . .
    A flower shop caught his eye. It had an exterior entrance, but it also had a doorway that led directly into the hotel lobby. He thought for a moment, then checked his billfold. Forty-eight dollars and change. He went back outside and walked to the flower shop.
     
    “One red rose? How romantic,” the woman said, her eyebrows arching, a skeptical note in her voice. The hotel was expensive. Shadow Love was not the kind of man who would have a lover inside.
    “Not my romance,” Shadow grunted, picking up her skepticism. “I just dropped her off in the cab. Her old man give me ten extra bucks for the rose.”
    “Ah.” The woman’s face broke into a smile. Everything was right in the world. “For ten dollars you could buy two roses . . . .”
    “He said one and keep the change,” Shadow Love said grumpily. He had forty-eight dollars between himself and the street, and this flower shop was selling roses at five dollars a pop. “Her name is Rothenburg. I don’t know how you spell it. Her old man said you could get the room.”
    “Sure.” The woman wrapped a single red rose in green tissue paper and said, “Is