Blood Wager (Blood Destiny #1)

by Connie Suttle

  "What do you want?" I asked. "I could run into Port Aransas to that little grocery store they have if you tell me what you'd like."

  "Can you make chicken and dumplings? I haven't had that in three years," she was pouting a little.

  "How old are you?" I asked.

  "I just turned twenty, two months ago," she brightened up a little.

  "Well then, as a belated birthday present, I'll make chicken and dumplings for you. Tell Winkler I went to the store," I said. Phil, Glen and Davis were all lounging around the kitchen and they heard me, so I guess that was good enough if she did forget to tell her brother.

  Whitney got chicken and dumplings about an hour and a half later, plus peanut butter cookies. I don't know where she or any of those men, for that matter, puts all that food. They never gain an ounce. I'd gotten my meal in town, behind the post office. Just about anybody would have thought I was necking with the man and he certainly enjoyed it. "Where are Sam and Todd?" I asked while I picked up plates.

  "Sam went home to spend a couple of days with his dad before going back to school," Whitney grumbled. "Todd works for Sam's dad, so he drove Sam to his dad's ranch."

  "That was really good, Lissa," Winkler said, changing the subject. "You're spoiling us," he rubbed his stomach. "The cook we have in Dallas can't do chicken and dumplings like that."

  "You can always look for another cook," I said and shut the door of the dishwasher, turning it on. "I'm off to trot around the property."

  * * *

  That was Thursday night. I was just getting out of bed Friday night when Davis came knocking on my door.

  Gavin was already up and not looking happy about it, I noticed. He and Davis were standing outside when I opened my bedroom door. "What's going on?" I asked, confused. Davis was worried about something.

  "Whitney's gone and we can't find her," Davis said, worry creasing his brow. "We found evidence that she walked out to the mailbox. That's what she told us she was going to do, but we found no trace of her when she didn't come back to the house. Winkler's about to tear the place apart. We're hoping you can help us out with this."

  His eyes were begging me to be able to help them out with this. The truth was, I probably wouldn't have a better clue than they did about what had happened. "Did you find the mail or anything else she might have left behind?"

  "There were a couple of flyers on the ground. Phil picked those up and brought them to the house," Davis said. "But we can't find anything unusual about them."

  "Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. It hung three inches past my shoulders and was long enough to braid or pull up in a clip if I wanted. "Let me get dressed." I was still in my pajamas, my feet bare.

  "All right, but hurry it up, willya?" Davis left the guesthouse.

  "I suppose you're going to wait the usual twenty-four hours before doing anything?" I asked Gavin minutes later as I hastily stuffed a foot into one of my black athletic shoes. He shrugged as I ran out the door. Hot and cold. That was Gavin. It made me wonder if he cared about anything. The mail that Phil picked up was sitting on the kitchen island, so I held it to my nose and sniffed discreetly. Whitney's scent was fresh. Two other scents were Phil and possibly the mailman.

  Winkler barreled into the room, ready to explode. No way did I want to stand in front of the man when he was like this and I was a vampire.

  "Where does Sam live?" I asked, worried that Winkler might take the house and a few people apart. "You know Whitney has a crush on him."

  "What?" Winkler thundered.

  "They like each other, doofus. Have you checked with him?" It was possible—he had a cell, she had a cell. I assumed they'd exchanged numbers.

  "Probably not a good idea to call the boss doofus when he's like this," Davis whispered in my ear.

  "Gotcha," I said, allowing Davis to back me away from Winkler, who now appeared to be growling.

  "Sam lives between Alice and Freer," Glen said, punching a number into his cell phone. With my hearing, I could hear it ringing from where I was standing. The conversation came in loud and clear, too.

  "Hello," a man answered, and it wasn't the Sam I knew.

  "This is Glen Danford," Glen said. "Is Sam Jr. there?"

  "I wondered when you'd call," the voice said. "I'm afraid Whitney and Sam managed to get a marriage license three days ago. They got married this afternoon and only called a few minutes ago to let me know. They're on their way here now."

  "Oh, lord," I muttered. Winkler went crazy.

  "Get out of the house, get out of the house," Davis had a hard grip on my upper arm and was dragging me out the French doors and onto the deck as Winkler raged inside the house. "Go down the beach, go somewhere. Just get the hell away from here. I'll call when it's safe," Davis almost flung me down the steps leading to the beach.

  I ran. Not as fast as I could go, mind you, but pretty fast, anyway. While I ran, my brain worked furiously. I figured Sam might be in trouble if Winkler caught up with him anytime soon. Sam was a good kid and I didn't want anything happening to him. Skidding to a stop on the sandy beach, I turned on a dime and trotted toward the garage, punching numbers into my cell phone as I went.

  I knew Sam's last name and hoped he was listed in the phone book. It took a few minutes to call information on my cell phone, since the reception on the beach sucked. Seconds ticked away while I waited for an answer. After getting an operator, I asked if there was a listing for Sam Sheridan.

  "Junior or Senior?"

  "Uh, Senior, I guess," I replied. "Is the address the same for both?"

  "Yes." The operator rattled off the number and the address, which was somewhere off highway 44. I thanked the woman and hung up.

  "Where are you going?" Gavin demanded when I raced inside the guesthouse to grab my purse. No sense driving without a license, even if it was bogus.

  "To prevent a murder, I hope," I said and ran downstairs to the garage. One of the SUVs was missing; Winkler was on his way already.

  "What happened?" Gavin was beside me in a blink.

  "Sam and Whitney got married this afternoon," I said, jerking the door to the Cadillac open. I hoped it had gas in it.

  "Christ," Gavin muttered, running a hand through nearly black hair. "Lissa, you don't need to get in the middle of this." Was that concern in his brown eyes? Couldn't be. They were hooded immediately.

  "That kid doesn't deserve to die and don't stand there and tell me Whitney didn't participate in this," I snapped at him. He could've volunteered to help me, but then this was Gavin, the man who stood on the sidelines and watched everybody else worry. "Winkler just needs to calm down enough to see sense," I said.

  "And if Winkler doesn't calm down, you could end up dead!" Gavin was almost shouting, now. Well, here was emotion—it was just the wrong kind.

  "You know what?" I looked at him steadily over the car door. "I'm already dead." I slid into the Cadillac, starting it up and driving off, leaving Gavin standing in the garage, cursing loudly.

  The Cadillac had built-in GPS; I'd never have found the place without the gadget telling me how to get there. Winkler, Phil, Glen and Davis had gotten there ahead of me—I could see the SUV parked in the driveway of the large farmhouse while all four of them fretted and paced behind the vehicle. They never saw me as I drove slowly past the lane leading to the Sheridan home. I watched in shock as Phil lifted up the rifle he was carrying, firing it at the house. Okay, things were already serious. All four men ducked behind the SUV when return gunfire came from the house. It was time for strategy.

  I left the car about a quarter of a mile down the road and ran back. There were a few trees around the house suitable to hide my presence, so I sneaked in behind one of those. The gunshots were sporadic; I don't think anybody wanted the police to show up. There was some shouting back and forth, though, and more than a little creative cursing going on. Blocking all of that out of my mind, I concentrated instead on turning to mist.

  A window on the second floor
was open a couple of inches. The night was nearly perfect, with a light breeze rustling the trees and the surrounding cotton crop as I misted through the small space the open window provided. It would be infinitely more enjoyable if bullets weren't flying. I couldn't hear anybody upstairs so I floated halfway down the steps. Sam was there at the bottom of the landing, holding a sobbing Whitney. Sam Sr. was gripping a rifle and kneeling next to one of the front windows. For a moment, flashbacks to hundreds of old westerns skipped through my mind, along with visions of gun-wielding cowboy heroes that never seemed to run out of bullets.

  It took the full five minutes to turn back to myself and Whitney almost shrieked when I slipped down the rest of the steps, coming to a stop next to her and Sam.

  "Calm down, both of you," I said, holding my hands out in a placating gesture. Sam Sr. was now pointing his rifle at me, but lowered it when Sam explained that I was a friend.

  "Why are you here?" Whitney was still sobbing.

  "Whitney, if we aren't careful, somebody is going to die over this," I told her. "Maybe more than one somebody. If you want to avoid that, you need to walk out of this house with me, right now. Your brother needs to calm down—enough that you can talk some sense to him, anyway." I wiped tears off her face with a thumb. "You have to be the grown-up here, I think."

  "Will was going to sell me to Weldon Harper's son," Whitney was back to weeping. "I don't want him. I don't."

  "I know that, honey. But you have to say that to your brother. I don't think he wants to hurt you. He was shocked when he found out you cared about Sam." Whitney blinked as I explained this to her and more tears fell. Sam was trying to get his arms around her again while Sam Sr. went back to his window.

  "Will you walk out with me?" Whitney's voice quavered. She'd made a decision.

  "I said I would," I nodded.

  "We're coming out!" I shouted, "Whitney and I!" I was slowly opening the front door so they wouldn't shoot first and ask questions later. I was also shielding Whitney's body with my own as much as I could. I had no idea what reaction a vampire's body would have if it sustained bullet wounds. Yeah, I was shaking when I walked out the door.

  "Winkler, we're coming out," I called again, watching him, Phil, Glen and Davis closely. They were all standing there, rifles at the ready, as Whitney and I walked across the wide front porch and then down the steps leading to Sam's home. I think we would have been all right and Winkler might have calmed down as soon as he got his hands on Whitney, but Sam, thinking Whitney was walking away from him for good, ran after us shouting her name. It took every bit of speed I had to shove my body in front of his, and I felt all three bullets enter my back when they shot me.

  Chapter 8

  I must have been in and out of consciousness and had no idea how I came to be where I was. I thought I heard Gavin shouting at one point, followed by more blackness and then horrible pain around my back, as if someone were digging around in it. More yelling came, followed by something cold in my mouth and after that, nothing.

  I was a little stiff when I woke but I did wake—alone and inside my guesthouse bedroom. Well, that was it for me. I didn’t care who it was that shot me. They'd been trying to shoot Sam instead of talking about it first. I didn't need this. I sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I felt achy, experiencing a bit of sharp pain around my back. Vampires heal extraordinarily fast, I suppose. I'd certainly healed quickly from the burns I'd gotten in a wheat field one fateful morning. Dragging myself to the closet, I pulled my bag out and with much effort and hefting, I lifted it onto the bed. Wishing I could move faster than the snail's pace I was going at right then, I dumped clothing inside the suitcase, not caring if it was folded properly or not. After the clothes, I tossed in my toiletries and the envelope of cash I had. No way was I giving any of that back now. The fuckers had shot me. I intended to call a cab on my cell phone and then throw the phone at the house as hard as I could when I left. Surely I could get a plane ticket—one that would land me somewhere else before dawn arrived.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Gavin was standing in my doorway, staring at my nearly packed suitcase. I was tossing my bottle of shampoo in the bag when he appeared.

  "Getting the hell out of here," I snapped. "No way I'm working for somebody who's that trigger happy."

  "And just where do you intend to go?" Gavin glared at me.

  "Just about anywhere," I said. "As long as they speak English there and don't shoot at me." I glared right back at Gavin.

  "Lissa, listen to me. You can't go."

  I zipped my bag closed and set it on the floor. "Why the hell not?" I asked.

  "Because Winkler won't let you, that's why," Gavin said. "Do you think he didn't run a background check on you when you went to work for him? He's in the security business, Lissa. He knows your ID is fake." He now wore a slight frown and his arms were crossed over his chest while he watched the fear come over me.

  "Oh, dear God." I slumped onto the bed, dropping my head in my hands. "Why did he hire me, then?" I looked up at Gavin. I was having trouble keeping the quaver out of my voice. Tears were threatening and I had no desire for Gavin to see that.

  "Because you could be useful to him and he had a way to blackmail you, didn't he?" Gavin said.

  "So, all he has to do if I don't obey his every whim is threaten me?"

  "Or worse. Don't get me wrong, most of the time he's a reasonable man. Other times, well, you know what happened last night."

  "Yeah." My back was throbbing from what happened last night. "Is Sam still alive?" I was shivering, now.

  "Yes. Very much so. And still married to Whitney, it seems. Flaring tempers almost turned that whole thing into a bloodbath last night. You were the one standing in the middle of it all."

  "Lucky me," I retorted. "I hope he never wants a meal cooked by me again. The asshole."

  "Lissa, he didn't shoot you. Phil did. All three times."

  "Great. My least favorite asshole." I got off the bed and paced a little, hugging myself tightly. "Prick. Jerk. Motherfucker." I wasn't sure I had enough obscenities to cover what I thought of Phil. Turning back to Gavin, I examined his face. It had become just as shuttered as it usually was. "Why are you bothering to tell me this? Why do you care?"

  "Lissa, don't." Gavin turned away from me.

  "So, I'm supposed to stay and pretend nothing happened? Like I wasn't shot, getting his sister back for him? Like I didn't stop Phil from murdering Sam? Because that's what happened. When Sam ran out the door, it was all I could do to jump in front of him before the bullets started flying."

  "I think Sam's father is grateful," Gavin said, his back to me, still.

  "Yeah? That does me a lot of good." I picked up my suitcase and flung it through the closet door. "Get out," I said. "Right now, I don't think I want to talk to anybody, including you. Does Mr. High and Mighty Winkler expect me to guard the perimeter, tonight? I'll drag myself to work if I have to. And thanks for waiting to tell me he could blackmail me any damn time he wanted. Get out!" I flung an arm out, knocking a vase of silk flowers off the chest beside the door. That must have done it for me. I threw everything I could get my hands on, smashing it against the wall. Some of it went through the sheetrock, I threw it so hard. I was weeping and cursing while things broke inside my bedroom that night.

  * * *

  "She's a little upset," Gavin informed Winkler. "I told her she had to stay and she started throwing things. It'll stop when she runs out of things to throw. I hope you didn't have anything important in there."

  "Fuck," Winkler sighed and walked into the kitchen. "I can't let her go—fuck."

  "Phil should stay as far away from her as he can get," Gavin observed dryly.

  "You think I didn't tell him that already? I'd be dead if not for her. Hell, Sam or Whitney might be dead if not for her. And I still don't know how she tracked those three assassins. I can't let her go."

  "Your second in command ruined this, you know. Now she hate
s you just as much as she hates him. You've seen how fiercely she protects someone she cares for. You may have removed yourself from that equation."

  "I know. Fuck."

  "When do you expect her to go back to work?"

  "I don't know. What is it, Saturday?" Winkler was pacing in the kitchen.

  "Yes. Saturday evening."

  "Then put her back to work on Wednesday if she's up to it. If not, let me know. Do you think she'll accept payment as compensation?" Winkler looked at Gavin.

  "I may be very wrong, but I don't think she'll accept anything from you right now."

  "I know that, too."

  Gavin let himself into the guesthouse as quietly as he could, but silence was all he heard from Lissa's bedroom until he heard the sob. And it was followed by another. "No, Lissa," Gavin whispered. "No."

  * * *

  Gavin slipped a note under my door, telling me that I wasn't to go back to work until Wednesday. Great. Perfect. I still wanted to run away, but Winkler could call holy hell down on me. No way could any normal person get over three gunshot wounds to the back that quickly. No way. He knew what I was. It was likely that Gavin and the others did, too. Fucking perfect. I'd made myself a hostage. Tied myself up with a ribbon and handed myself right over to them. Now there wasn't any telling what I might be asked to do. I still had one option, as painful as that might turn out to be. At least I'd be dead at the end of it and beyond their reach. And I still had to feed myself, on top of it all. It's not as if you can go to the counter in 7-Eleven and buy a pint of blood.

  "Where have you been?" Gavin started in on me the minute I got back from having dinner.

  "You know what I am so I don't have to mince words anymore," I snapped angrily. "I have to eat, you know."

  "Lissa, there are other ways. Come here. Winkler had this brought in for you."

  I didn't want to "come here", but Gavin repeated his request so I followed him into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and I stared at shelves filled with bagged blood.