Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1)

by Connie Suttle

  I also dropped by a twenty-four hour Walmart and bought more jeans. Gavin and the mud had ruined one pair and I was washing clothes every fourth day as it was. More tops found their way into the basket, too, along with additional underwear. I went out on a limb and bought cotton bikinis. Hey, I could wear that stuff now. If things had been different, I might have taken time to revel in the fact that I could now find pretty clothes that fit and looked good on me. Constant worry and watching your employer's back as well as your own will take those thoughts right out of your head.

  "That was a bust," I said to Phil as I drove through the gate shortly before sunrise. I didn't take time to explain myself and he didn't bother to ask. I think we both knew I was grasping at straws.

  A new door to my bedroom waited when I reached the guesthouse. It was nice and thick, with (gasp) a lock on the inside. Not that I held any illusions about that—Gavin could probably kick this one in, too. That man was stronger than he looked and he looked pretty damn strong. His scent was more wonderful than anything I'd ever eaten, including freshly baked cookies. No, Gavin didn't smell like any food I'd ever tasted before, but that didn't keep me from wanting to sink my teeth into him anyway.

  Dumping my Walmart bags into the chair at the side of the bed, I drifted into the bathroom and took a quick shower, washing away the smells and everything else I'd wandered through during the night. I used unscented soap but that even had a smell to me, making me wonder if every vampire's sense of smell was that keen. I had a pair of windows in my bedroom but the drapes were lined and I had rolled-up towels on the sills to help keep light from spilling in under the edge of the curtains. Any dim light that filtered over the top of the drapes didn't bother me; I was still alive, or as alive as any vampire could be, I suppose. I yawned a little while I combed out my hair and flopped into the bed afterward, asleep before I could cover up.

  * * *

  "Winkler said I could come with you." That was Gavin, telling me he wanted to come along. I didn't want the distraction or the embarrassment.

  "No," I said. This was my fourth night out, looking for the kidnappers. I was feeling inadequate enough as it was. I didn't need a witness.

  "Tell me why." It sounded like an order, so I stood there beside the driver's side door of the van for a moment, considering my answer. Bumping my head against the glass of the window, I felt like crying instead.

  "Because I feel like a fool," I said. "And you'll just say I told you so when I don't find anything."

  "That could very well be true," Gavin's voice was soft at my ear. I hadn't heard him come up beside me—when had he done that? He'd been five feet away when I'd said no. His hand was on the back of my neck, stroking my nape with his thumb. Lazy circles were gently drawn on my skin as Gavin's breath fanned my temple. That might have made my knees give way in another life. That life was over, now. I didn't have time for this and it was dangerous in the extreme, on top of that. Did vampires get to have lovers? Once again, the FVM was missing in action. And it was never a good idea to date or bed anybody you worked with. That was trouble with a capital T.

  "Gavin, get in the fucking van," I grumbled, jerking the door open.

  "What are you looking for?" Gavin asked as we bounced over a speed bump. We were driving through yet another Mexican restaurant parking lot—On the Border, this time—the one on Northwest Expressway.

  "Winkler was buried in one of those tool boxes that fit across the back of a pickup," I mumbled distractedly as I slowly drove past the row of vehicles up front. "And I smelled Mexican food inside Winkler's Jaguar but didn't find any evidence that the security guard had been in the car or the trunk. Obviously, there was another vehicle to pick up the one driving the Jag afterward, plus the toolbox had to be hauled in somehow, along with the dead guard. The only truck that can hold three or more people has to be a club or extended cab."

  "So, you've put Mexican food together with a pickup that has a missing toolbox and extra seating?"

  "I know. It's not much," I grumped. I sure as hell wasn't telling him about the scents of those men or the one associated with the dead body. I'd recognize that, sure enough.

  "What's this?" I crept past a late model silver extended cab that looked like the toolbox had been removed recently. The truck was clean except for a bit of red dirt behind the cab where a toolbox might fit. I drove a little way past, found a space and parked the van. Gavin got out with me and followed along behind as I walked casually toward the truck. Glancing around quickly to see if anybody was watching, I slipped between the truck and the car parked next to it.

  "This is it," I said, nodding in satisfaction. I'd gotten a good whiff of the dead body right away. Gavin blinked at me for a moment, his nostrils flaring a little in surprise. I was afraid he'd belittle me or refute my certainty.

  "What are you going to do?" he asked instead.

  "Convince our friends, here, to come back with me," I said. "Phil and Glen can have them, I think."

  We waited more than half an hour and it was nearing eleven when three men walked out of the restaurant, heading straight for the truck. They'd all been drinking Margaritas; I could smell the tequila. Gavin ducked behind the car parked next to the truck, leaving me to handle the situation. Later, he and I might have a talk about chickening out. He'd insisted on coming, after all.

  "Hi," I said, walking up to the three men. They'd reached the tailgate of the truck.

  "Hey, look at this," one of them grinned as he placed an arm around my shoulders. I had to force myself not to shudder and gag at his touch. He was tall and heavy, wearing a stained t-shirt and jeans. Definitely not a neat eater. His brown hair was a little on the long side, too, and he wore a goatee. His friends both looked like construction workers, with close-fitting t-shirts showing off muscles and everything.

  "Look at me, guys," I said, doing my best to sound sexy. Hell, I don't think I've ever been sexy. Mostly I just wanted to throw up. "You're all coming home with me, aren't you?" I tried to put as much of what I had into that command. All three of them nodded eagerly.

  "Good. Come with me," I motioned for them to follow. Gavin was trailing the four of us, walking in front of the parked cars while the three men and I walked behind them. I loaded my three passengers into the back of the van; they were all smiling and sliding onto seats willingly. Gavin climbed into the driver's seat so I handed him the keys. He drove us to the house while I watched our three guests, all of whom were sitting in the back grinning foolishly at me.

  Gavin and I got our prisoners seated inside the kitchen while we waited for Phil and Glen. "You're going to answer every question these gentlemen ask you and you're going to be honest with your answers," I informed the three as Phil and Glen walked into the kitchen. I didn't ask for names. I had no desire to know who they really were. Phil was grinning as he questioned the first of our captives so Gavin and I left him to it, walking out of the house quickly.

  "I think we should go get their truck," I said, holding up the keys I'd filched from one of the men. They'd been in his hand when I'd stopped him in the restaurant parking lot.

  "Sounds reasonable," Gavin agreed. He drove their truck back and I was happy to let him have that chore. The smell of decay inside it made me want to gag and hold my nose.

  Winkler and Davis were in the kitchen when we returned, watching while Phil and Glen continued their questioning. Winkler drifted over to us when we walked inside. "I remember that one," he pointed to the messy eater. I wouldn't have picked any of them out of a crowd; there were no outstanding features or anything. I knew their smell, though. They were the ones, no doubt about that.

  "How did they get you out of the house?" I hadn't asked until now.

  "I uh, have a baby sister," Winkler admitted reluctantly. "She's in college and they told me they had her. They were asking for a ransom and for me to meet them alone. I fell right into that trap."

  "Is she all right?" I asked. Winkler's dark eyes were watching Phil, Glen and Davis. They were aski
ng the three if anyone else was involved.

  "Yeah,” Winkler answered without looking at me. "I couldn't get her on her cell after they called me, so I panicked. Turns out she was studying in the library with her cell switched off. She now has bodyguards of her own."

  "Better safe than sorry," I nodded.

  "What do you intend to do with those three?" Gavin asked.

  "Phil and Glen will take care of it," Winkler still wasn't meeting my eyes. I didn't know how I felt about that. I didn't say anything, though. Gavin handed the keys to the kidnappers' truck over to Winkler, who accepted them with a nod. "Why don't you go get a drink?" Winkler suggested. He wanted us out of the way while Phil, Glen and Davis did whatever it was they were going to do. I didn't want to hang around to find out what that was either, so getting the hell away sounded like a good idea.

  "Come on," I grabbed Gavin's arm and pulled him out of the house. We drove the Volvo. It was the car the day staff used and not nearly as nice as the Jaguar, but I didn't want anything that smelled like those three men around me. Gavin didn't argue when I climbed into the driver's seat. We drove for a while, eventually parking in a little spot that overlooked Lake Hefner. It was March seventh, a Saturday and fairly calm if a little cold out as I watched gray water lap the lake's edge. Gavin sat silently beside me. For a while, anyway.

  "What was your life like, before?" he asked. I went still with fear. "What life before?" I answered his question as evenly as I could with one of my own, keeping my eyes on the water. Gavin didn't reply. I might have given anything at that moment to be able to discuss my past freely with someone—perhaps ask for advice or even a little sympathy. That, as far as I knew, was impossible. I had a secret to guard, one that could get me killed if I breathed even a partial sentence of it. No matter how much I trusted or distrusted someone, they weren't going to pry that secret open. If I wanted to die, I knew how to do it now. I also knew how painful it was going to be but it would likely be over in a matter of minutes. I knew how quickly my skin had blackened and melted while an early morning sun spread fingers of light across an Oklahoma wheat field. From that point forward, I didn't think I would ever look at wheat fields the same way.

  That's what I ended up saying instead. "You know, I'm never going to look at a wheat field the same again," I said. "I think I'm always going to see the dirt I was digging through after I heard Winkler kicking the end of the toolbox with his feet. If I hadn't seen a little bit of reflection off the Jaguar's tail light where it was buried in a ditch, I would never have found him and he'd likely be dead now."

  "How did you get the car out of the ditch?" Gavin latched onto another portion of my story that would have to be explained away.

  Lying isn't something I like doing, but I lied shamelessly to Gavin. "A farmer came along with a tow bar on his truck. He helped me get the car out after I told him I'd swerved to miss hitting a deer."

  "I hope that mud pack you were wearing helped your skin," Gavin almost smiled.

  "Hmmph," I grumbled. "I've never heard of Oklahoma's red dirt being good for much of anything in that department. Did you know they have a rattlesnake roundup every year in several Oklahoma towns?" I asked, deliberately changing the subject. "Sometimes I feel sorry for the rattlesnakes." I spared a glance for him, but he was watching the water now.

  "Perhaps the snakes should mark their calendars and arrange to be out of town during those times," Gavin said, his mouth quirking a little as he turned toward me.

  "Well, there's an untapped market," I retorted. "Snake calendars. With snake cell phones and MP-3 players after that. Of course they can only pay scale." Gavin just held his head, the joke was so bad. "Sorry," I apologized. "Didn't mean to give you a headache."

  "Take me out to the wheat field," Gavin said suddenly. I studied his face briefly and blew out a breath. The mask was back in place.

  "All right," I said, starting the Volvo and putting it in gear. We shouldn't have gone. I had to drive past the turn-off; the silver pickup was parked on the edge of the wheat field and Phil, Glen and Davis were all out there digging, with three bodies lined up beside the original gravesite. "Fuck," I muttered as we slowly drove past. I was hoping they hadn't seen us.

  "Don't worry about it," Gavin said softly. I was shaking, I know. Maybe he was used to this sort of thing but I sure as hell wasn't. When we drove into Yukon, Gavin asked me to pull over and he switched places with me. I think if I hadn't been vampire, I would have lost anything I'd eaten in the past few hours. As it was, I just hunkered down in my seat, pulled my knees up to my chest and stared out the window on the way home.

  Chapter 7

  "Honored One, the primary has performed past expectations. She found the three who kidnapped the secondary using what little she had at her disposal, including scent and deduction skills. I am amazed that she managed to solve that, yet remains ignorant of the fact that one of her own kind is never more than a few yards away most of the time. A fascinating paradox. Work has also slowed on the project. Will continue to keep you informed.

  G."

  * * *

  "Pack up, baby sis wants to go on spring break." Those were the first words Winkler spoke when I walked into the main kitchen. Davis had been waiting on Gavin and me the minute we'd come away from the guesthouse, informing us that there was a meeting in the kitchen. Fortunately, I'd already sneaked out to feed.

  "Where are we going?" Gavin's arms were crossed tightly over his chest.

  "Port Aransas, Texas. One of the safer places for spring break, actually." Winkler was smiling. Maybe he could smile the day after having three men killed, but I couldn't. Yeah, I know they'd pretty much condemned him to death, but still. "We have to be at the airport in a couple of hours. The private jet will be there waiting for us."

  Private jet. Winkler had a private jet. Maybe it was time for me to borrow somebody's computer and look him up on the internet. Instead, I grumbled the entire way to the guesthouse and even while I was throwing my meager supply of clothing into the roller bag.

  "Stop complaining." Gavin stood in my half-open doorway, watching while I flung my six pairs of jeans into the bag. "Do you have any extra shampoo?"

  Somehow, he must have known that I always buy in bulk. It saves future trips. Stalking into the bathroom, I pulled the full bottle from beneath the sink and brought it to him. "There," I said, plopping it into his hand. "Anything else? I have extra deodorant, conditioner and socks."

  "No on all three counts," he replied, his beautiful brown eyes almost smiling. With Gavin, an almost-smile is as good as a guffaw from anyone else.

  "Good," I muttered. "I don't like sharing my socks."

  My trip on Winkler's private jet was probably going to come to mind every time I had to take a commercial flight from then on. The seats were wide and comfortable and nobody was crowded. No layover in Dallas, either—we'd flown straight to the Corpus Christi airport. Two security guards were there waiting on us with two of Winkler Security's ever-present SUVs. Winkler had left the add-on guards in Oklahoma City, hoping that continued activity there would indicate he was still in residence. If anybody left alive knew he'd been there, that is.

  "You going out with us Tuesday night?" our security guard driver asked. Gavin, Davis and I had climbed into the same vehicle, but the driver was talking to Davis and not to us. Gavin had a few words with him and the other guard when we got off the plane but that was it. They could have been old friends, for all I knew.

  "Yeah. Winkler already talked to Shirley." Davis was grinning at the guard. I had no idea who Shirley was and I found myself wondering if she was an old girlfriend or the proprietor of the local brothel. Those two choices seemed to encompass Winkler's relationships with women. Present company excepted, of course.

  I also had a brand new envelope tucked away in my luggage, only this one held twenty-five thousand in cash. Winkler's reward to me for bringing in the three who'd tried to kill him. It felt like blood money to me, but it was money—ready cash in
case I had to go on the run. The other thing he'd handed me (which shocked me completely), was a credit card with my name on it. It was an American Express employee card, through Winkler Security. Well, la-de-dah.

  "So Davis doesn't have to keep giving you cash when you run errands for us." Winkler grinned as he said it, so I stopped myself from smacking him.

  There was no condo waiting on us as the guard (whose name I learned was Todd) drove us out to Mustang Island. Oh, no. There was a beach house to end all beach houses. It had to be at least six thousand square feet with a detached garage and the inevitable guesthouse on top of that. Yeah, Gavin and I got that. "Come inside the house when you drop off your bags," Winkler ordered after we parked inside the spacious garage. "Sis is already here and I want you to meet her."

  Gavin and I dutifully dropped our bags off in the large sitting area of the guesthouse, and he claimed the bedroom nearest the door, just like last time. It was larger than the one I was left with, but I wasn't about to argue. My bedroom had two twin beds in it; his had the queen. He was bigger than I was, I reasoned. I checked my windows plus the blinds and drapes that covered the windows. All appeared sufficient to block the light. My bedroom faced west, too, while Gavin had the east side. At least we had our own shower, just like last time.

  Gavin was waiting for me at the bottom of the guesthouse steps after we'd settled in. Together we walked to the French doors at the back of the house. A wide, cedar plank deck that overlooked the waters of the gulf fronted those doors. The salt air on the barrier island was thick and almost tangible around us. Somehow, I knew there would be fog in the morning but I couldn't have said how I knew it. Gavin opened the door and motioned for me to go ahead of him. Winkler was there, a drink in his hand already, his sister peeking around his tall, muscular body.