Daylight was just about to hit me so I ran. The light blistered my skin before I ever reached the hole where Winkler had been buried. The blisters that were forming on my exposed skin began to blacken as I tossed the dead man inside the hole, and the pain I felt as my skin started melting is indescribable. I was shrieking from the agony as I shoved the dirt I'd removed from the site into the hole. Then, my arms black, my face most likely black and the rest of my body beginning to boil, I burrowed into the loose earth until every bit of me was covered. After that, I can't tell you what happened. I might have been dead, but wasn't I already?
* * *
When Winkler punched the code into the keypad outside the gate and let himself in, his entire staff—the ones that were still on their feet, anyway—all rushed him at once, demanding to know what had happened. Winkler was dazed and couldn't give coherent answers right away so Davis, Glen and Phil hauled him into the kitchen. Glen, who had some medical training, checked Winkler over and then started pouring fluids into him. "No soda, you need water and juice," Glen ordered. Winkler said something rude to Glen. Glen just laughed at his employer.
"Where the hell were you?" Phil demanded.
"Metal box buried in the middle of nowhere," Winkler choked a little on his orange juice, coughed a bit and then continued. "Lissa pulled me out of there. Don't know how she found me. Some dead guy was there, on top of the box."
"Where's Lissa now? Did she bring you back?" Davis asked urgently.
"Don't know. She stayed behind. Told the guy driving the van to drop me off here. So he dropped me off here and left." The van was still parked in front of the gate; the farmer had left it there and walked away.
"So, we don't know where she is?" Davis was a bit more concerned, now.
"Try calling her cell," Phil suggested. Davis pulled his cell out and hit Lissa's number on speed dial. There wasn't an answer.
"Fuck," Davis breathed, trying again. Still nothing.
"Now what?" Glen asked.
"She got me out of that hole and she seemed okay," Winkler was sipping more juice. "Is there anything to eat?" Davis herded the cook into the kitchen and she started making breakfast for all of them.
"Do you remember anything about where you were? What if those shitheads who buried you found her out there?" Davis was back to worrying about Lissa.
"I don't remember," Winkler rubbed his forehead.
"Stop bothering him. We'll worry about Lissa later," Glen growled. "She's a big girl. She can take care of herself." Davis almost growled at Glen but held back. Phil got on the phone and managed to find a doctor willing to come to the house for a fee. The physician pronounced Winkler "In good condition but dehydrated," and charged a thousand dollars.
"I could have told you that," Glen muttered angrily after the doctor drove his Mercedes out of the driveway. They still hadn't heard anything concerning Lissa and they were all worried.
That was nothing compared to Gavin's anger and distress when he emerged from the guesthouse after darkness had fallen. Davis informed him that a Good Samaritan had left Winkler and the van in front of the house before disappearing. Davis also informed Gavin that Lissa was missing; she'd pulled Winkler from his underground tomb and sent him back with the unknown driver. "We can't reach her by cell and Winkler was still drugged enough that he has no idea where he was," Davis paced a little. Gavin looked thunderous.
"You didn't go looking for her?" he was growling, now.
"Where the hell were we supposed to start?" Davis raked a hand through his hair. "We have absolutely nothing to go on."
"We had nothing to go on last night as well," Gavin swore a little. "Lissa was the one who figured things out enough to go look."
"If she comes back, I don't know if I want her going off by herself like that again." Davis was allowing his anger free rein. Gavin's was mostly held in check. If he allowed his anger to surface, somebody might die.
"Keep trying her cell phone," Gavin ordered. "It's dark, now."
Davis gave Gavin a long look and pulled out his cell phone.
* * *
We don't breathe when we sleep. If I'd tried, I would have suffocated there in the cold, wet soil. A dead man lay buried next to me—so close I touched his flesh when I scrambled out of my makeshift grave. My clothes and skin were covered in mud as I crawled out and I probably looked like a creature from one of those swamp movies. That didn't do much for my ego, let me tell you. Dirt and mud caked my hair, too. Rain was falling as I stood at the edge of the wheat field, beating down on my back as I shoved the displaced dirt over my exit hole. The dead security guard could stay there and rot for all I cared. I figured he'd led the kidnappers straight to Winkler, handing out phone numbers and the address so they could lure him away from the house and then take him. The kidnappers had killed the former security guard for his trouble.
Now, all I had to do was clean myself up as best I could, find a ride into town and explain to Winkler and the others where I'd been all day. No problem. I walked across the road and then to the edge of the deep ditch where the Jaguar lay. Here was transportation, if it were on the road instead of in the ditch. I'd seen the keys; they were still in the ignition the night before. The farmer had come to get his tractor earlier, I imagined, it wasn't parked next to the wheat field where he'd left it.
I stared a little longer at the Jaguar. Was I a vampire or not? Time to find out how strong I was. I'd see if I could pull Winkler's Jaguar out of the ditch using my bare hands. Grabbing the back bumper, I heaved a little, lifting it right up. I decided that vampirism might have its perks—the jury was still out. Pulling it out of the ditch was a little harder; the soft ground sucked at the front wheels, creating deep ruts as I heaved and tugged on the vehicle. It took nearly five minutes to get it out of the ditch and onto the road, but I did it.
The Jaguar started right up, thankfully, but hunger was now gnawing at me. I'd ignored it at first, but my body had healed itself from the extreme sunburns I'd gotten and was now demanding to be fed as compensation for the daytime restoration. I checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror as I drove toward Oklahoma City. My mud-streaked face was frightful. Nobody was going to allow me to approach them like this. Nobody.
The hitchhiker, dressed in faded jeans, old boots and an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a ragged t-shirt was walking backward along the side of the road, his thumb out, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He'd do fine as a meal—if he consented to get into the car with me, that is. I slowed down and pulled over, rolling down the passenger window to talk to the boy.
"Wow, a Jag!" The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen, I thought, as he leaned down and peered appreciatively at the interior of Winkler's Jaguar. "Man, what happened to you?" He'd gotten a good look at me, his eyes finally adjusting to the dim interior of the car.
"Fell in the mud," I said. "Back in one of those wheat fields. You want a ride or not?" It never occurred to me at that moment why the boy might be hitchhiking after dark. My hunger was ruling my brain as well as my good sense. If I had any, that is.
"Yeah, I do," the kid hopped in and slammed the door. Loud noises hurt my ears nowadays. I disliked the kid already.
"Where to?" I asked. "I warn you, I'm not going past Oklahoma City."
"That's good enough," he said as I started to pull onto the deserted road. "Yeah, that's good enough," he repeated, yanking a knife from his jeans pocket and stabbing me in the ribs with it. The Jaguar screeched to a halt when I hit the brakes as hard as I could.
"All right, that's not really nice." My hand was over the kid's and jerking the knife out of my flesh in no time. His eyes were wide and frightened as I squeezed his hand, breaking bones. He released his grip on the knife while writhing and whining in his seat. Lowering my window, I flung the knife into the field on the opposite side of the road before turning back to the youth.
"I'm not even going to be gentle about this," I growled, jerking him toward me and sinking my fangs into his throat to drink.
He was whimpering and had wet himself when I shoved him away from me. "Now," I said, angry compulsion in my voice, "you're not going to remember me or anything else about this. Get out and go home. And give up your life of crime while you're at it. You suck as a criminal."
The boy lurched out of the car, witlessly wandering away and leaving the passenger-side door open. "Fuck," I muttered, reaching over to close it. The wound in my side tugged and ached with the effort. The drive to Oklahoma City was almost calm and uneventful after that. I thought to check the knife wound while I sat at a traffic light later, but it looked to be closing up already. You should have seen the committee waiting on me, though, when I drove through the gate.
"Where the hell have you been?" Davis jerked the car door open and almost dragged me out of the car. I had to unbuckle the seat belt first before he had any success at it.
"Rolling around in the muck, what does it look like?" I was almost shouting at him. "That security guard we fired was in on this. They shot him and buried him right on top of the box they stuck Winkler in. I shoved him back into that hole and covered him up before working on getting the Jaguar out of the ditch."
"Why didn't you answer your cell?" that was Glen and he sounded really mad.
"I don't know." I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket. It was covered in muck just as I was, in addition to being completely dead. I handed it off to Glen so he could see for himself.
"Do we need to go out there?" Davis asked.
"Only if you want to show the police where the body is buried." I examined the driver's seat of the Jaguar; it was covered in mud. Gavin was there within seconds, examining it with me. Suddenly, gripping my arm in his hand, he hauled me toward the guesthouse.
"What the hell are you doing?" I was trying my best to pull away from him without exerting too much energy. It would certainly stir up unwanted interest if I threw him across the yard like I wanted.
"Tossing you in the shower," he said through clenched teeth.
"Good. Why didn't you tell me that? I can walk, you know. You don't have to drag me."
"Oh, I intend to help," he said.
"No you're not."
"I've seen everything you have before."
"I beg to differ. Unless you've sneaked in while I was sleeping." A horrible thought flitted across my brain. Had he? That made me pull harder against his hold. Gavin just found a better grip and forged on.
"I was speaking in female generalities."
"Well, you're still not helping," I informed him tartly.
"Do not be obstinate about this," he growled, hauling me up the stairs.
"I will be obstinate about it," I told him angrily, still struggling against his grip.
"Do not," he propelled me down the hallway toward my bedroom, "attempt to thwart me in this." He kicked open my bedroom door and pulled me inside. I tried to dig my heels in but my mud-caked shoes slid traitorously across the carpet. My shoulder met the tiled wall of the walk-in shower. Gavin was already turning on the taps and then reaching for my shirt. I should have just let him have his way. We ended up tussling in the shower instead and somehow my shirt and jeans got ripped until I let him have the shreds of each. They were pulled away and he was examining the thin cut that remained from my stab wound.
"What the hell happened?" Gavin asked, kneeling down to get a better look at my gash. The warm water poured down on both of us, soaking him (and me) in very little time.
"I picked up a hitchhiker," I mumbled as he poked the wound. "He stabbed me."
"No kidding." Gavin pulled the edges of the wound apart.
"Hey, that hurts!" I slapped him on the head. I guess vampires could feel pain—it hurt when the kid stabbed me and now Gavin's assistance didn't feel all that great either.
"What happened to the kid?" Gavin grabbed the soap and began cleaning the wound.
"I took his knife and threw it out the window, then told him to go home and give up his life of crime because he sucked at it."
"You don't say," Gavin was thoroughly washing the gash, now.
"I did say. You heard me, didn't you?" I wanted to slap his head again; he wasn't the gentlest nurse I'd ever had.
"How did you figure out where Winkler was?" Gavin was now cleaning my arms with a mesh sponge and body wash.
"Con. What Glen and Phil heard when they called Winkler's back-up cell. I took a wild guess and made a stab at Yukon. It was really lucky, too. I suck at Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, both."
"Yukon. You-con." Gavin tried it out for himself.
"Yeah. Lucky guess."
Gavin washed my hair, even, but let me do my breasts and between my legs, thank goodness. When he didn't try anything funny, I gave up and let it go. After years of visits to the gynecologist, I no longer needed that little paper sheet they let you drape over your lap. Why use it? They're just going to look anyway.
"Winkler wants to see Lissa!" Davis was pounding on what was left of my bedroom door. I was drying off while Gavin leaned against the vanity, his arms crossed over his chest, watching while I toweled myself dry. He'd knocked quite a bit off the bottom of my bedroom door, kicking it in earlier.
"I'll be out in a bit," I called.
"I don't care if it was luck." Winkler refused to listen to me. Ten thousand dollars cash in an envelope—that's what he handed me. A reward wasn't the reason I'd gone looking for him in the first place.
"You ought to care. If I'd guessed wrong, you'd still be there," I frowned at him. "I do have a proposition for you, though."
"What's that?" Winkler quirked a dark eyebrow at me.
"Take back half this money and let me have the next four or five nights to go hunting that scum."
"You think you can find them?"
"No idea. I'd like to try, though." I was already leafing through the hundred dollar bills inside the envelope, counting out five thousand.
"You know, I think I'm willing to let you try." Winkler was grinning at me suddenly. "Keep the money. It's yours." He waved a hand dismissively. "Take tonight off and rest up."
"Fine." The envelope went into my pocket. Gavin, Davis, Phil and Glen had all been there, listening to the conversation. Gavin was frowning, as usual, and he followed me out of the house when I left.
"What you did for him was worth five times that," he muttered beside me.
"Maybe you're used to the big bucks. I'm not," my voice was a little frosty. "Now, I think you've seen a little too much of me tonight. Go away."
"It was my pleasure," Gavin said and left, allowing me to make my way to the guesthouse alone.
"I'll just bet it was," I muttered at his retreating back. I heard his low chuckle as I started up the steps.
* * *
"Honored One, the secondary was kidnapped by enemies and there was very little information to be had to track him. Even his experienced staff failed to come up with any ideas or methods with which to locate him. The primary, however, managed not only to track him but dug him out of a field where he'd been buried inside a metal box. At great risk to herself, she sent him back to the residence and then more than likely slept in the soil—I smelled evidence of charred flesh as well as blood from a knife wound about her when she returned the following evening. I must say, there are not many among us who might have met with such swift success on a similar assignment.
G."
She'd been reading when he checked on her later during his meal break. Lissa glared at him when he peeked inside her bedroom door. Gavin had already asked Davis to have the door replaced; she didn't like being unable to close herself off from him and the others—he could see it in her eyes. Gavin sighed and left her with her book.
* * *
Taking my favorite van, (the farmer had left it parked out front when he dropped Winkler off) I drove off the property as soon as I'd taken a shower and dressed. Gavin was frowning at me when I left, so I briefly considered giving him the finger on my way out. I fought off the urge—he'd find a way to retaliate, I just knew it. Serge an
d Ed crossed my mind, too. I hadn't thought of them in days but now that I was going out to hunt someone myself, my old fear reared its ugly head.
People are creatures of habit. I certainly was. I went to the same kinds of movies. Had my favorite foods, went to the same restaurants and bookstores. I'd gotten a really good scent off Winkler's captors. At least some of them. There were two distinct scents inside the Jaguar, both of them fresh, along with Winkler's of course. And the security guard's body hadn't been transported inside the car; the scent of it wasn't there. That meant they had another car, truck or van following to take them away from the burial site.
The Mexican food? That was a plus. They'd been hungry before they took Winkler out to shut him up in a metal box. I knew what that box was, now—the metal toolbox that went on the back of a pickup. Since there had to be at least three kidnappers, I was more than likely looking for a club or extended cab.
I also knew where most of the Mexican restaurants in town were. The people I'd worked with at the courthouse loved Mexican and we'd sometimes go out on our lunch hour to whatever the popular place was at the moment. That night I drove by Ted's Café Escondido, Border Crossing, On the Border, Nino's, Cocina de Mino and several little hole-in-the-wall places. I didn’t catch a scent at any of them. I even drove past the wheat field while more rain fell, watching as puddling water destroyed the footprints left behind. The ruts from the Jaguar were still there but since the police hadn't been brought in on Winkler's kidnapping, most people would think that someone had slid off the road and then managed to get their vehicle out again. It happened all the time in Oklahoma. Good Samaritans abounded usually and the odds of somebody coming along with a trailer hitch or tow bar to get you out of a mess were actually pretty good.
I fed while I was out, too, at one of the Mexican restaurants. Most likely, I was searching for a needle in a haystack but I wasn't willing to let those scum go. They hadn't been decent or honorable over what they'd done to Winkler. That metal toolbox was a makeshift coffin and if I hadn't gotten lucky he would have died—alone and frightened, I'm sure. Speaking from personal experience, I'd had it with people leaving you alone to die.
Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1) Page 8
