The Watcher

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Her words are cut short and in their place, the male voice snaps out in contempt, "Yeah, Daddy. By the pool. Come join us. We wouldn't think of starting this party without you."

  Dan gets several steps ahead before I veer off the path and let his voice guide me. My plan is to go around the pool, get behind Sylvie and her abductor and spring myself on him before he realizes I'm there. I allow the animal to take control of the human. I make no noise at all as I move toward them.

  Dan's voice is plaintive. "Why are you doing this, Alan? You love Sylvie, I know you do. Why would you want to hurt her?"

  "I do love her. But you've spoiled it. You've made her think I'm not good enough. Well, it worked. I'm not good enough. But no one would be. I'm going to spare her the pain of finding that out."

  "Please. Think about what you're doing." Dan's voice is abruptly silent. Then, "Sylvie. I'm so sorry. What has he done to you?"

  He must be with them now. And I gauge that I'm only a few yards from the target. I push closer.

  Sylvie is crying. "Dad. I'm sorry. I begged Alan not to bring you here. I agreed to go with him—anywhere—if he'd promise not to hurt you or Uncle Burt." Her voice breaks. "I think he killed him."

  "No. Don't worry about Uncle Burt. He's going to be just fine. We got to him in time."

  I realize Dan's mistake the same instant Sylvie's captor does. "We?" His voice ratchets from contempt to suspicion with that one word. "Who is 'we,' Dan? Did you bring someone with you?"

  I can see them now, the three of them. Sylvie and her ex-husband have their backs to me, Dan is in my line of sight. I know Dan doesn't do it on purpose, but his eyes shift to me and away, and in that instant, Alan reacts. He whirls around, his grip on Sylvie's throat forcing her to move with him. He can't see me, I've already ducked out of sight, but he yells in my direction.

  "Who's there? Tell me. I've got a knife and I'll cut her throat if you don't show yourself."

  I gather myself to spring. Dan moves first. I hear the scuffle as I launch myself up. Alan pushes Sylvie at Dan. He raises the knife to plunge it into her back but I stay his hand with a growl. He spins to face me, but confusion slows his reflexes. He expects to see a human face, not a two-legged animal.

  The shock lasts only an instant. He twists his hand and lashes out with the knife. The blade cuts through my jeans, opening a gash high on my left thigh. Blood follows the path of the knife in a crimson arc.

  The smell of my own blood triggers an uncontrollable urge to spill his. The change is complete. The vampire takes over. I hear the gasps as Dan and Sylvie see what most mortals never will. I let my gun drop to the ground and prepare to attack the way an animal would, with open jaws and snapping teeth.

  Alan starts to scream. I don't care. He's cowering behind upturned fists, trying to back away. I close in on him. He raises the knife and I let him. I'll give him that last flicker of hope before I rip out his throat.

  The gunshot is so loud, it makes me jump, clapping my hands to my ears. A spray of blood and tissue settles like a crimson veil on my face and clothes. For a moment, I'm not even sure who's been hit. The painful sound continues to resonate like the toll of a bell long after understanding reaches the brain. Alan crumples slowly to the ground, his face gone.

  I drop on all fours. I don't know who shot Alan, but I don't want to take the chance that whoever it is isn't through firing yet. Bullets hurt.

  It gets quiet in the clearing. Too quiet. Sylvie moves first, coming close to stare down at Alan's body. Dan grabs her and pulls her back. She reacts as though slapped, jumping away from her father with a small cry. Then she collapses against him and starts to sob.

  Neither looks in my direction. I'm back to the human Anna, but I have an image of me growling and gnashing my teeth at Alan's throat a moment before. I imagine they do, too, and that may have something to do with the fact that they aren't rushing over to see if I'm all right.

  But there's a bigger puzzle.

  Neither Dan nor Sylvie is holding a gun.

  I look down at Alan's body. The shot took out the back of his head, exiting through a gaping hole just below the bridge of his nose. The shot could only have come from behind. From the bushes. And from a high-powered rifle.

  My eyes probe the dense brush. Nothing.

  Until all hell breaks loose.

  The echo of the gunshot has barely faded before uniforms surround us. State police, local police, detectives, even a couple of rangers appear out of the shadows like a swarm of gnats. Evidently they were close on our tail and the sound of the shot was like the discharge from a starter's pistol. It brought them at a run, guns drawn. Between Burt and that group of hikers, no stone was left unturned.

  When commanded to place our hands on our heads, we do and the cops approach.

  Our guns are secured. We're separated to tell our stories. I have no doubt they'll be remarkably alike. Dan and I came to save Sylvie from an abusive ex-husband. She has fresh bruises on her cheeks and her father and injured uncle to back up her story that she feared for her life. The question of who shot Alan, though, is the big mystery. The fact that none of us were in a position to pull off the shot, or had a rifle, pretty much lets us off the hook, at least for now.

  During his interrogation, Dan hardly glances my way. I keep waiting for him to say something about the ferocity of my attack on Alan, but maybe he's too busy feeling grateful that I didn't do the same to him last night. I have a feeling it will be a long time before Dan beds a strange woman.

  Darkness has fallen. Lights are set up so that the ME can finish his work. When it's finally my turn to tell the story, I'm handed off to a uniform from El Centro PD. Not considered important enough, I guess, to warrant either of the detectives who questioned Dan and Sylvie. The cop is short and built like a box, square shoulders, square jaw, squat little legs. He's abrupt and listens only perfunctorily to my answers. He's heard the story from Sylvie and Dan and I'm hardly more than a bystander in the drama. The fact that I was fighting Alan at the time he was shot and could very well have been killed, too, is pretty much ignored. In fact, the only detail I'm asked to clarify is my occupation and if I have a license for the gun. I tell the cop yes, that it's in my purse back in the car. He passes that information to the detective who tells the cop to escort me back to the parking lot and verify the license. Noticing the blood on my thigh, the cop does ask if I want a doctor to look at it. It's long since stopped bleeding, I can feel the skin repairing itself. I tell him it's just a scratch and he doesn't push.

  Then he says that once he verifies the information on my carry permit, I'll be free to go.

  Go where?

  But I don't have time to dwell on that detail. About the same time I'm being excused, the press shows up. With lights and cameras and microphones. How they got wind of what happened out here so quickly, I can't even guess. Maybe the hikers. In any case, the detective in charge turns livid with anger. He circles the troops and orders them out. My cop friend and I get rounded up with them and herded back toward the trailhead.

  Halfway to the ranger station, someone from the press notices the ragged tear in my jeans, the blood stains. All of a sudden, I'm a target for questions and cameras. The officer with me manages to deflect most of the attention. He directs me to sit in the back of Dan's car while he secures the area. I watch as the media people, still protesting, are loaded into their vans, wondering who I can call now for a ride home.

  I power up my cell phone. It chirps that I'm getting a text message. Puzzled, I flip it open. There's just enough battery left for the message to come through.

  "Feeling lucky? You should be. I could have killed you, too, but this is much more fun. Say thank you, Anna."

  Chapter 19

  This game is getting old. Say thank you? My "unknown" messenger has just announced that he is the one who shot Alan. The message is written out, no text-speak. Could definitely have come from Foley. He doesn't strike me as cool enough to know how to compose a message the way a
nyone under thirty would. But he's made a serious mistake. How does he think he can get away with the shooting?

  Any reservation I may have had about the veracity of Max's claim vanishes. Foley is in league with Martinez but he's on my trail now, which means he's not on Max's. But being so blatant about it is puzzling. What does he hope to accomplish with this cat-and-mouse game? And he's just killed a man and not come forward to acknowledge it. How is he going to spin that?

  The cop comes back to the car and opens the door, an invitation to step out. He dutifully notes that it's my name, address, phone and license numbers on the gun permit. I'm just about to ask him for a ride into town when another car pulls into the lot.

  It's not a police car, but a dark, late-model Chevy with tinted windows. The cop starts toward it, undoubtedly ready to order it out of the park, but the driver's door opens and a familiar figure steps out.

  "It's all right," I tell the cop. "I think it's my ride."

  A uniformed Ortiz approaches. "SDPD," he says, holding out a hand. "If it's okay, I'll take Ms. Strong home."

  The cop looks puzzled but shakes Ortiz' outstretched hand and doesn't object. As we walk toward the car, I open my mouth to ask Ortiz how he knew to come after me.

  I never get the chance. He opens the back door and motions me inside.

  "Get in, Anna."

  The voice comes from the backseat. A familiar voice. I lean down to look in.

  It's Williams.

  And he's pissed.

  Chapter 20

  Williams' eyes flash red in the dim interior of the car. His anger is palpable, radiating outward in a burst that I feel like heat on my skin.

  "Get in."

  For just an instant, I consider turning around and beating it back into the canyon. But Williams would probably send Ortiz after me and what would that accomplish but to delay the inevitable? I toss my purse inside before folding myself into the backseat.

  Williams doesn't wait for me to get settled or for Ortiz to get the car back on the road before he starts in.

  "Tell me something, Anna, do you have a death wish? Could you have called any more attention to yourself? How the hell did you get involved in a kidnapping in El Centro?"

  He's speaking quietly but with great agitation. The softness of his voice makes his anger more intimidating than if he'd been yelling. He stops abruptly and waits. I swear he's growling, he's so furious.

  "Well," he snaps when I don't reply quickly enough. "Are you going to answer me?"

  I feel like a kid who's a hairbreadth away from being smacked if she gives the wrong answer. The fact that he's completely shut me out of his head confirms how close I am to unleashing the beast. I let a few seconds go by to give Williams a chance to cool off.

  When his shoulders become less rigid and the frown lines around his mouth retreat from exasperation to mere annoyance, I ask, "What would you like to know first?"

  "How did this happen?"

  The version I offer Williams is sanitized. No mention of a drunken tryst. I compose my words as carefully as my thoughts to give nothing else away.

  When I'm done, he says, "You want me to believe you ran into this 'old friend' by chance in a bar last night and he told you his daughter was in trouble and you rushed to her aid."

  "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

  He doesn't appreciate my attempt at humor. Watching his face is like watching an approaching storm. There may be blue skies overhead now, but you know trouble is coming.

  Since he's not asked another question, I venture a few of my own. "How did you find out about it? How did you get here? Why didn't you let the local cops know who you were?"

  He passes a hand over his face. I suspect the gesture is a delaying tactic. I sense his anger boiling again to the surface. I don't push.

  Finally, he says, "The report of a suspected kidnapping is broadcast statewide. An alert was issued as soon as that girl's uncle spoke to the police. He said you and her father were going after her. He named you, Anna. It is all over the news. The press will be waiting for you at the cottage, at the office. David has called me a dozen times already."

  He says all this in a clipped tone, as if I've done something wrong. It's beginning to tick me off but it does clarify one thing. How Foley knew where I was. "I was trying to save a woman's life. What's wrong with that?"

  Williams turns in the seat. "What's wrong?" he snaps. "How were you going to do that, Anna?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean did you bring your gun? Were you planning to use human self-defense techniques? If you'd gotten shot, what would you have said to avoid being brought to a hospital? How would you have explained a wound that heals almost instantly? The anomalies that would have appeared in your blood had samples been taken? Or would you have simply told the doctors not to worry, that you're a vampire and have no need for human medical assistance?"

  His sarcasm is as heavy-handed as his anger. And he doesn't wait for me to answer. He points to the blood on my clothes, his eyes so intense, I feel the pressure of his gaze. "Blood. Yours or his? Did you control the bloodlust and hide your true face?"

  Again, he gives me no opportunity to confirm or deny. "You didn't, did you? You took the easy way, unleashing the animal. You exposed your nature yet again to mortals. It's in your head. I see it."

  Then there's no point in denying it. And yet, if I hadn't used my powers, I never would have reached Sylvie in time to prevent Alan from plunging a knife in her back. I want to remind Williams of that, but he's not in a receptive mood.

  He continues to stare at me in stern disapproval. "You are so ignorant, so impatient. I protected you when your niece was in trouble because I could. But now you have exposed yourself again. This time to strangers over whom I have no control."

  I know it's not smart to argue, but smart is hardly what I've been lately. "I think you're overreacting." I say it in a very small voice. "I didn't kill this guy."

  "Oh? What did you do, Anna?"

  The image is sharp in my mind. Lunging at Alan, growling, snapping at his throat.

  "It will be clear in the minds of this woman and her father, too." Williams says it softly. "Anna, did you not learn anything from what happened with Trish? The mortal world has its own rules. We have to abide by them if we are to coexist. As much as we may want to, we cannot use our powers impulsively. We cannot call attention to ourselves."

  "That's a funny statement coming from a chief of police."

  As usual, the mouth engages before the brain is in gear. Williams is holding himself in check, I can tell by the way his hands curl into fists and his lips form one thin line of irritation.

  I hold up a hand. "Okay, that was stupid. You have never shown anything but your human face in public. I think I understand why you chose to be a policeman. It puts you in the position to use your powers to protect those who are most vulnerable. But you do it discreetly. I get that. I respect what you do."

  The frown softens.

  I take that and the fact that he hasn't tried to rip my head off as a signal to press on. "I think you and I have the same instincts. So how could I have ignored a father's plea for his daughter's safety?"

  Williams drops his head a little and looks at me with brows drawn in pained tolerance. "You could have called the police—called me—when you first heard the story."

  "There wasn't time. I swear I thought I was just going to serve the guy with a restraining order. Things got out of control."

  He nods. "And why was that? How did you find yourself in such a situation to begin with?"

  His tone is deceptively neutral. He is looking at me with an expression that says more clearly than words that he already knows the answer. I cross my arms over my chest and nod for him to continue.

  "You got into a fight with David and crawled away to nurse your wounds in a bar. You got drunk, Anna, and ended up with a stranger in a motel room. Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?"

  "Irresponsible?"
It comes out whiney and childish but I don't like being put on the defensive for trying to help, even though I called myself worse this morning. "Funny word to use considering how it turned out."

  He's clearly not impressed. "What would you call it then? You did get drunk last night, didn't you? Did you feed from the guy while you were having sex? Did you take care to obliterate the marks? Do you even remember?"

  How does he know so much?

  Williams shakes his head. "How do you think? You smell like sex and a distillery."

  He's looking out the window. I'm glad. He can't see the color that floods my face. I'd been careful to keep my thoughts compartmentalized, hidden away from his scrutiny.

  Shit. While I could screen the thoughts, I could do nothing to block that sensitive vampire nose. A hundred showers wouldn't have been enough to erase the scent.

  Williams isn't finished. He turns in the seat. "That woman's uncle, the one you met last night in the bar, told the El Centro PD the whole story. The real story, Anna. You never laid eyes on either of those men before last night."

  So he knows every damned gruesome detail. I shouldn't be surprised.

  I hunch a little lower in the seat. "You said David called you. What did he say?"

  Williams is frowning again, not the least bit fooled by my lame attempt to change the subject. But he says, "Not much. Just that you and he had a fight. He's very upset. He cares for you. Too much, probably."

  Well, that shouldn't be a problem for very much longer.

  Williams picks up on that. What does that mean?

  There doesn't seem much point in trying to hide the reason David made me angry enough to jump out of his car and head for the nearest bar. I let Williams pick the details out of my head. He actually smiles as he absorbs the implication of what transpired between us. He especially likes the part about David suggesting I become a cop.

  Hey. I hold a hand up to stave off his too obvious enthusiasm. Who said I want to be a cop? I like being my own boss. Working for you would be—I have to fumble for the right word. He is a powerful vampire, after all. Difficult. You and I don’t see eye to eye. On anything.