by J. T. Hardy
"I noticed that."
Cavanaugh started shouting, gesturing like he was fighting off giant insects. After a few more shouts, he shoved the phone in his pocket and stormed back into the diner.
"I'll have to get back to you," he said through clenched teeth. "My colleague isn't open to sharing information at this time, and I'm not permitted to reveal anything without approval."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm not giving up. He'll come around, but until then, will you please consider protective custody?"
He stared at me so hopefully, his eyes pleading for me to say yes, to trust him even though he'd told me squat.
"I'll call you if I change my mind."
Not the answer he wanted, but he nodded as if it was the one he expected. "I'll be in touch." Dejected, he shuffled out of the diner and into his car.
"He seems intent on saving my ass," I said.
"Well, it's a nice ass."
"That it is." I tossed some cash down on the table. "Road trip time or wait on the menfolk for answers?"
"Screw the menfolk. Let's see what magical wonders await us in Sedona."
Chapter Twelve
Yellow scrub and khaki cacti turned to rich green and deep red as we drove from Arizona desert into the mountains of Sedona. The streets rose and narrowed, and signs along the side of the road informed us we had crested the mile-high mark. The buttes kept going though, topping out as high as nine thousand feet--or so the signs claimed.
For a popular vacation spot, there wasn't much to it. Route 89 took you from end to end--with way too many roundabouts--and everything in town seemed to be huddled up against it. Sedona was cut right out of the red rocks, and some of the shopping plazas and hotels required hiking-level fitness just to reach them.
But the views. Damn.
The town was tight, but the countryside went on for miles--up and out.
"We fell into a postcard."
Libby chuckled, but even she couldn't stop staring. Despite our impressive combined list of previously lived places, neither of us had ever been to Sedona.
Everywhere we looked, spectacular views of majestic red rocks and buttes against perfect blue skies greeted us. Mixed in with the red were waves of green trees and white flowers. I'd been all over the country in my life, but nothing had ever compared to this. Dad and I had passed close by a number of times, and he used to take me camping to see the old mining towns all across the Southwest, but Sedona had always given him a weird vibe. I guessed he hadn't liked the "magic vortexes."
Plenty of others did, though. I could easily see why so many people retired here--and retired they did en masse. White hair was as prevalent as the white flowers, sprinkled in between the families and couples ready for outdoor adventures.
Not that we planned to linger in town or do any sightseeing. Dr. Bloom said the pebbles had come from the Bell Rock area, so a-hiking we were going.
We found a hotel in our price range along the main road through town, within walking distance of a pizza joint, a damn fine-smelling bakery, and a church. If we were in the heart of Pretty Boy country, we'd need every advantage and protection. Dad and I had never tested the "Pretty Boys can't step on holy ground" theory, but maybe Kurt Smith had.
The Winchester Arms Hotel sat behind a row of shops and restaurants, offering multiple exits and escape routes should the need arise, plus a constant crowd outside to mask our comings and goings. On the downside, the rooms were decorated in 1970 Western Motor Lodge, complete with a fake cow skull over each bed.
I looked for outdoor gear shops while Libby checked in with Roberto. She neglected to tell him we'd left the state, which I wholeheartedly agreed with. He seemed like the kind of guy who would either lecture us, or drive right over to help us--neither of which we needed at the moment.
"There's an outfitters a few blocks down the road." We both had decent shoes and backpacks already, but we'd need canteens, sunscreen, and something warmer to wear besides jeans and our snazzy T-shirts. The temps wouldn't even hit 60 in the day, and unlike Lauderdale, it got downright cold in February at night, especially in the canyons.
The Pretty Boys who took both Dad and Ivy had dropped red Sedona rock. Unless Zack or Cavanaugh called with better information, red rock was all we had, even if there was way too much of it to search.
Libby looked over the map we'd picked up on the way in. "There's a lot of ground to cover if we don't know what we're looking for. Hire a guide?"
"Do you want to bring some poor stranger to a Pretty Boy barbecue?"
"Isn't that the first rule of hiking? Bring someone you can outrun?"
"I'm not sure The Flash could outrun the Pretty Boys."
It wasn't a terrible idea, though. You couldn't walk past a row of stores without seeing a tour or guide to all the "magical places." Someone like that had probably heard rumors about strange Pretty Boy-possible sightings. Or they might know where near Bell Rock someone might be able to hide. Caves, mines, old homesteads. The Pretty Boys went somewhere in those rocks, and we just needed to find it.
"Think there's a guide with supernatural knowledge?" I said.
"In a city with 'magic vortexes'--" she made air quotes "--there must be at least one person who fits that description."
Libby checked online as we walked the few blocks to the outfitters, finding a slew of tours to the vortexes, but no one who fit our specific, if weird, requirements.
"Let's ask inside," I said, climbing the stairs from sidewalk to doorway. I doubted anything in this town was level.
Built in the classic adobe style, Rock Rollers had wooden beams, a trellis, and even a bell. Inside, it smelled like new leather and citronella candles. It also had everything a gal could ask for when going on a search through the wilderness for an evil lair--including wooden stakes.
"It's like they knew we were coming." I wiggled the package.
"Toss 'em in the basket."
A girl in a red polo shirt with "Harmony" on her name tag appeared. "Can I help you find anything?"
"Hiking gear."
"What do you need?"
Libby gave her the list. Harmony was around nineteen, with multiple piercings and impressive ink--all nature themed. A free spirit with an open mind? Worth a shot.
"We're also looking for a guide to the more, shall we say, mystical trails," I began. "Would you happen to know anyone?"
"There are brochures for vortex tours by the register."
"We were looking for something other than the vortexes." Anything that touristy would be a lousy place to hide a secret evil lair.
"You'd have to ask the individual guides. I don't get into all that. Ben might be able to help you. He's in the back. Did you need jackets?"
Libby nodded, and I made my way into the back.
A guy a little older than Harmony was stocking an end cap of Sterno stoves. Same red polo shirt, with "Ben" on the name tag. Looked like he walked right off a college admissions brochure.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"Harmony said you might be able to help us find a guide to the weirder side of Sedona."
He looked me over as if gauging my kink factor. "How weird?"
"Weirder than magical vortexes."
Another pause, then he nodded. "I know a guy who does monster tours. Louis Rafael, works over at CPYou Tech Help off Oak Creek."
"He's a guide?"
"Not officially, but he knows where all the weird shit goes down around here. It's a hobby for him and his girlfriend. If you're looking for non-vortex voodoo, he's your guy."
"Thanks." I hurried back to Libby. She and Harmony had our basket filled with enough supplies to last a week, so either she was one hell of a salesgirl, or Be Prepared worked as well for the Marines as it did for the Boy Scouts.
"We have everything?" she asked me, her gaze flicking toward Ben's shelf-stocking back.
"And then some."
CPYou Tech Help didn't cater to the Sedona tourist crowd, b
ut they still welcomed walk-ins for anyone on vacation who ran into computer trouble. They had a brightly colored statue of a giant pig and her baby out front and a cactus in the reception area. I suspected "desert decor" was some kind of Sedona law. We'd seen the same pig and baby statue all over town, painted in a variety of crazy colors and patterns.
Louis was a beefy guy, more muscle than fat. Dark hair, dark beard, pushing thirty. He had kind eyes in a startling blue that matched his thin, out-of-style tie.
He scanned us both and gave us a puzzled look. "Picking up?"
"Other business." I smiled and rested my arms on the counter. "Ben over at Rock Rollers said you might be able to help us. We're looking for a guide to the 'weird shit' of Sedona."
Louis glanced over his shoulder at his fellow tech guy, busily at work on a system that looked older than Louis's tie.
"What kind of weird do you want? I can take you to El Chupacabra, the Mongollon Monster, La Llorona, skinwalkers, the underground Lemurian base--you name it."
"How about fast, swarthy, perpetually anemic. Rumor has it they hang out near Bell Rock."
He nodded slowly and leaned closer over the counter. "Ah, the new weird. I hear ya."
"New weird?"
"Oh yeah. Stuff has always been weird around there, but it's been getting weird up in those rocks lately. Hardly anybody's talking about it, and trust me--people here, they love their monster legends and alien conspiracies."
"That could be the place."
"Bell's all wrong, though. You want the Boynton Canyon area. Way past the regular trails and Jeep paths. Largest concentration of misplaced hikers in the past five years. They get lost out there, but wind up a hundred miles away with no memory of how they got there. The tin hat crazies blame the aliens."
They were half-right. "How much to take us there?"
"Three grand."
I rolled my eyes. "I'll give you two hundred bucks."
"Tourists pay more than that for a few hours' drive and a couple of chants."
"We don't need the full mojo show, just a guide."
"It's a lot of guiding, my friend. It takes half a day to get there, easy, plus the rental gear, not to mention the risk involved. This kind of service doesn't come cheap. Two grand is the lowest I'll go." He pointed a finger at me. "But you'll have to cover the rental gear."
Still felt like we were being mugged. "Which is?"
"You know how to ride a dirt bike? Where we're going, we won't use roads."
He expected me to laugh, but this wasn't funny. I didn't have that kind of money--not without wiping out most of what I had. Saving Dad was worth it, but only if I knew for sure this guy could help us find the Pretty Boys' evil lair.
"If I decide to this, how soon can you be ready?"
"A day."
"A whole day?"
"Unless you call me before it gets light out. To make it there and back before nightfall, we'd have to hit the trail at dawn. Otherwise we'd get stuck out there at night, and you don't want to be in those buttes when the sun goes down, even if you don't believe in monsters."
"I'll let you know."
"I'll be here."
We needed another guide. Or enough evidence that his prices were worth the risk to my savings.
By the time dinner rolled around, we were well-stocked on gear, fresh out of ideas on where to look for additional clues, and craving burgers. We stopped at the place across the street from the hotel--a cute two-story outdoor plaza around a courtyard, nestled below street level. According to the locals, their burgers brought in more tourists than the landscape.
We ordered a plate of spicy poppers and a couple of prickly pear margaritas.
"Like the sign says, you really can't beat the views in this town." Libby leaned back in her chair and gestured at nature's majesty spread out before us. The sun was low on the horizon, casting gold shadows across the rocks. Pink and orange smeared the sky like a chalk painting, setting everything around us aglow.
"We don't see those babies in Lauderdale. Less work to look at them over a margarita than hike them, though." Nothing that rose up that high and straight was meant to be scaled.
"The bikes should help."
"Not very stealthy."
"Are you going to hire him?" She refilled her drink from the pitcher.
"Not unless I have no other options." This sucked. "We could rent some bikes ourselves. People hike up there, so how dangerous can a peek around be? We'll look for another clue, maybe find some hint about Pretty Boys in the desert, and then we'll concentrate our search with more firepower."
"We'll call Uncle Roberto."
"Works for me."
Our burgers arrived on glazed terra cotta plates with blue and yellow piping. Swiss cheese oozed over the side and I caught a whiff of something sweet, yet spicy in the sauce. I took a bite. Oh yeah. They earned their "best burgers in town" slogan.
We ate in silence, too busy enjoying the sunset and the food to worry about it possibly being our last meal. Dessert was a given. Lava cake with vanilla ice cream. You can never go wrong with the classics.
I paid the check and we left the restaurant, heading down the stairs to the courtyard. Night had come and tiny white lights along the shop awnings twinkled on one right after the other, almost as bright as the stars in the sky. A cold breeze blew, but not quite enough for a full shiver.
Nothing about Sedona suggested vampires lived in its hills. Tourists strolled along the busy street laughing and pointing, or bobbing their heads to the band playing on the deck of a nearby restaurant proclaiming the best wood-grilled pizza in town--and smelling yummy enough to back it up.
"We should crash early," I said, heading for the crosswalk to the hotel. Even the sidewalk was decorated with inlaid stones and patterned brick. And the ever-present pig statues, which the waitress had informed us was a javelina.
"Not a problem. I apologize in advance for how hard I'll be to wake up tomorrow. Consider yourself warned."
I tossed her a jaunty salute. "Roger that."
In the street ahead of us, a string of pink Jeeps with "Pink Jeep Tours" rolled past. They turned down a side street behind the restaurant and into a rear parking lot.
"Wait, I know that Jeep." I'd seen it before, but where wouldn't come to me. Parking lot of the hotel? Back in Vegas? "Lib, do you remember seeing a pink Jeep recently?"
No answer. Not even the snappy tunes from the band broke the all-too-familiar silence.
I turned. Libby stood a few paces behind me. She stared into nothing, not moving, not talking. Just like everyone else on the street.
"Aw hell, not again."
Chapter Thirteen
Two Pretty Boys stood on the sidewalk. Behind them, a white van idled at the curb, its side door open and dripping with cliché. Unless another Pretty Boy was dyeing his hair, the redhead at the wheel had to be human.
Which just pissed me off.
The Pretty Boy on the left was as handsome as they always were, clearly getting his fashion sense from the covers of romance novels. The other was so unbelievably beautiful he damn near stopped my heart. Unlike every other Pretty Boy I'd seen, this one was pale as marble, with delicate features and white-blond hair flowing across his shoulders in waves. His eyes swirled with color like opals in the light. I dub ye Fabio and Handsome Vlad.
"Grace," Handsome Vlad said, his voice like sunlight on wind chimes. "Come to me."
I wanted to. My feet moved forward, dragging the rest of me with them. He was just so beautiful.
Handsome Vlad gestured for me to come closer, his long, pale fingers elegant and dancing in the night air. I took another step.
He smiled. So did Fabio, but his was the grin of a predator, romance cliché or not.
I stopped, part of my brain screaming at me from deep down and far away. This was wrong. I didn't want to be anywhere near those things, no matter how yummy they looked on the outside.
"No." All I could manage, but saying it gave me the strength to s
hake my head.
The air pressure around me changed and both Handsome Vlad and Fabio glared, their gazes sliding slightly past me.
"Be a good girl and run," a man said softly on my right.
I jerked and turned, certain no one had been there an instant ago. A man stood beside me, tall, dark, and sexy like all the others, only this one was familiar. My helpful hottie from Frisco's.
"No need since you keep saving me," I told my rescuer, prince of the good Pretty Boys. How had he even found me? Whoever his minions were, they deserved a raise. I wasn't that easy to track.
Which was creepy, sure, but at least it worked in my favor.
"Stop chasing monsters and I won't have to."
"But I don't see you in between rescues," I said, reaching for the dusters at the small of my back. "You don't call, you don't write--"
"Run!" he said. An instant later he blurred and vanished.
Like hell.
A wall of char-scented air hit me from the side. Pain exploded from shoulder to hip. I curled sideways, the air rushing from my lungs as the world swooshed past. I flew into the air and my backpack shot from my shoulder. It fell to the sidewalk a few feet from Libby, still frozen in time.
I braced for impact, and--
No ground rushed painfully toward me. The sidewalk flowed below me like a river, punctuated by the slap-slap-slap of quickly running feet. Stores jiggled past, staying even with my sight line.
One of those pretty sons of bitches was carrying me. He'd snatched me off the street like some cheap smash and grab!
This is not how I go out.
I yanked my arms tight against my sides and hung limp, willing myself to turn slippery as an eel. The Pretty Boy stumbled and I broke free of his grasp, sliding down his body, and hitting the sidewalk at an ill-advised speed. I bounced and skidded, cursing every decorative bump and red rock I hit.
Stonework was only pretty from a distance.
I looked up. A third Pretty Boy glared down at me. Not nearly as pretty as his buddies, and twice as rude.
He blurred and grabbed my ankle, cold fingers against my skin.
