by Jill Myles
Besides, I was getting a little tired of everyone using me. I wanted to be in control for a change.
Okay, a lot tired, I mused as I tromped down the side of the highway. And it sucked. If all the other immortals were going to think of themselves first, I needed to do the same.
Time for Jackie to be in charge of Jackie.
The gas station wasn’t far away, and soon I was under the bright lights. My shorts (and panties) were still damp with the heavy petting we’d done in the car, but thanks to khaki and the length of my T-shirt, it wasn’t noticeable. I kept my purse clutched to my chest to hide the fact that I wore no bra.
Inside the gas station, it was nearly deserted. One old man hung out behind the counter, and he gave me a quick, friendly wave as I entered. I waved back, then headed to the back of the store, trying to think through my muddy thoughts as I grabbed a few bags of Doritos and all the Twinkies I could carry. I was starving.
I lingered inside for as long as I could, scanning the parking lot. For some reason, I kept expecting to glance outside and see Luc’s car in front of the store, but it was still down the road, waiting patiently.
After grabbing a soda and a small package of condoms, I put my stuff on the counter and smiled at the old man. My hands were sweaty from nervousness and I wiped them on my shorts. I really, really didn’t want to go back to the car and Luc. I kept thinking about that off taste in his kiss and the hard edge his voice had taken. It killed any sort of desire I felt for the man.
“You seem a little nervous, young lady,” the old man said as he pecked at the ancient cash register and rang up my things. “Is your young man not treating you right?” He eyed the condoms, then eyed me.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to shut down that conversation. “Just tired.” I glanced at the counter, drumming my fingers. Refocus. Refocus. A thought occurred to me and I smiled at the clerk. “Do you have a map of New Orleans here?” We’d be there soon, and thinking about New Orleans got the other, more dire thoughts out of my mind.
Like whether or not I’d have to end up having sex with Luc after all.
The old clerk squinted at me. “New Orleans? No, ma’am. Why would we have that?”
I wrinkled my brow in surprise. “Because it’s the biggest tourist attraction in the state?” Though judging from this small, rinky-dink gas station, they probably didn’t get a lot of tourists passing through.
“In Mississippi?”
Was he senile? “No, sir. Louisiana.”
He shook his head. “You’re in Mississippi, young lady. Just east of Jacksonville. Louisiana’s about an hour and a half back in the other direction.”
That didn’t make sense. I grabbed a nearby newspaper and stared at the top of it. Clarion Ledger, it read, with Mississippi printed beneath in very hard-to-miss letters.
Oh, dear. “We must have taken a wrong turn,” I said as I put the newspaper back on the stand.
The old clerk chuckled at me. “Not likely, miss. You would have had to miss a lot of road signs to go that far out of the way.” He bagged my things and smiled at me. “Twenty-three ninety-five, please.”
I counted out the money and handed it to him. How on earth had Luc missed the turn south to New Orleans? If what the old man said was true, we’d missed it hours ago. Long before lust had started to cloud my mind, much less his.
Either Luc was a really poor navigator, or he hadn’t intended to take me to New Orleans after all.
Cold washed over me, and I forced my trembling hand to take the change and receipt the old man held out to me, careful not to touch his bare skin. “Thank you,” I whispered. I grabbed the bag off the counter and stood there, uncertain. I couldn’t go back to Luc. Couldn’t have sex with him, couldn’t let him carry me off to the wilds of Mississippi.
He was a very dangerous man, I realized suddenly. A stalker, and I’d merrily climbed into the car with him and expected him to take me to New Orleans.
I was such an idiot.
I turned to the man behind the counter. “I need help,” I said, pitching my voice low. “I have to get away from my boyfriend.” Without looking out the window, I gestured with a slight nod of my head down at the highway. “He’s out there waiting for me.”
The old man nodded and gave me a faint smile, as if girls escaped from evil dates through his gas station every day. “I understand. There’s an exit in the back, through the stockroom door.”
Grateful, I smiled at him and threaded my way back through the dusty aisles. “You won’t tell him you saw me?”
“Didn’t see anybody,” he agreed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
There was a dirt path behind the small area designated for receiving, and I ran down it, clutching my grocery bag and purse. The path descended into the woods and I followed it, trying not to think about scary stuff like wolves and bears and things like that.
After all, I couldn’t die from a grizzly bear attack. It’d just hurt like a bitch. And I didn’t even know if grizzlies lived in this neck of the woods—so to speak.
I ran down the path for what seemed like forever until it branched down the side of a hill, and I paused. If Luc tried to follow me, I was going down the exact way he’d expect me to. And the path wasn’t too hard to find behind the gas station. Sucking in a deep breath, I eyed the woods to the right of the path and took a step off. I could go cross-country for a bit.
As it turned out, cross-country sucked.
My cute ballet-style sneakers weren’t made for heavy hiking, and by the time I’d gone a couple hundred yards, my ankles were hurting and my shoes were filled with mud. A stick jabbed me in the leg and I swore, resolving to take a plane on my next road trip across the damned South. Damn Remy and her nitwit ideas.
“Jackie,” Luc’s voice called in the distance.
Shit.
I dropped to the ground, ignoring the mud and the branches that dug into my skin. It didn’t matter if I was sitting in a nest of snakes—I was not getting up until Luc was gone.
Sure enough, he paced down the path a few moments later, shining a flashlight as he looked for me. I ducked my head, hiding behind the foliage and keeping my body as low to the ground as possible.
“Jackie,” he called again. “Where are you, ma belle? Come back. We are almost to New Orleans.”
Lying bastard. I clenched my hands, resisting the urge to choke him. Better yet, smack him on the forehead and wipe his mind—
Wait. I froze in place, thinking hard. My hands had been all over Luc just a short time ago and he hadn’t shown any signs of succumbing to my curse.
Which meant that Luc was something supernatural.
Which explained why my internal tuning fork went nuts every time I saw the guy.
Which explained why I was alternately attracted to and utterly frightened by him. What was he? A demon? No, demons were female, I reminded myself, thinking of Mae. He wasn’t an angel or a vampire, since he wasn’t affected by night or day.
So what the heck was he?
And why did he want me?
My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten in hours. I unwrapped a Twinkie very slowly and ate it, careful to make as little noise as possible. I wasn’t getting up from here until I knew it was safe.
When sunlight broke through the trees, I sat up and dusted myself off, surveying the damage. Snack cake wrappers and empty chip bags littered the area around me, but at least I was still safe. Luc hadn’t returned last night—he’d searched the path for well over an hour, and then disappeared. I had been tempted to follow him to see if he was going to leave, but I forced myself to remain in the dirt and wait him out.
I looked like quite a sight, too. My legs were scratched, bug-bitten, and covered in mud. My porn star’s assistant T-shirt had big muddy blobs across the boobs and stomach where I’d laid in the dirt, and I had no bra. My hair was a tangled mess, but at least I had my purse. And since the sun was up, I could call Noah.
Except—I didn’t have my
phone. I searched my purse three times before I remembered tossing it down on the floor of the car and then climbing into Luc’s lap. Well, drat.
I eyed the path. Guess this was a good time to see where it led. I thought about heading back down to the gas station, then nixed it. If Luc was still nearby, he’d find me for sure. In my muddy, nasty gear and my red hair, I’d stick out no matter where I went.
So I decided to head farther down the trail and see where it led. Couldn’t be any worse than the situation I was in.
After a half hour of walking, I came upon a small cabin—a tiny stroke of luck in what was turning into one long, ugly streak of misfortune. From the looks of the shanty, it wasn’t more than eight feet by eight feet on the inside. There was no car pulled up, or even a place to park a car.
Hesitant, I knocked on the door.
No answer.
I pried it open and peered inside.
A deer head stared back out at me.
I jerked backward in surprise, then relaxed when I realized the deer head was stuffed. I opened the door farther and stepped inside, glancing around.
It was a hunting lodge of sorts. A few bags of old and moldering deer corn lay in the corner, along with a metal coffeepot and a camp stove. The window had a small hole cut out of the corner, the perfect size for sticking a rifle through and shooting game. Bambi’s head was the only decoration on the wall to my right.
To my left, however, was a spare set of camouflage clothing. A quick check under a table scored me some boots, and a cap hung on a hook. Perfect. I changed clothes and left the few dollars remaining in my wallet on the table as a thank-you.
The pants and top were musty and smelled like old, wet dog, but they were clean and mud free. No one would look at me too oddly when I went into town, though they might question my sense of fashion. And I was determined to find a town around here.
I rummaged through the rest of the cabin but found nothing else worthwhile. No phone, no TV, no food or drink. I eyed the deer corn for a moment, then decided against it. Even I wasn’t that hungry. When I was done in the cabin, I grabbed my purse and shut the door behind me.
The path to the cabin had forked, and I followed the new path for a good while. It must have been three miles and the oversized boots were determined to rub my feet raw, but I was descending some big-ass hill, so I felt like I was getting somewhere.
Unfortunately, that somewhere was right back down to the highway. I came out next to a sign that declared how many miles it was to the next town. Damn—much too far to walk. I hesitated in the woods, then glanced back at the road. I couldn’t stay here; I had to take my chances with a lift.
For the second time in what seemed like a string of really bad coincidences, rather than a road trip, I pulled my shirt tight against my breasts and struck a sexy pose, sticking my thumb out. Oh, please, let someone be into chicks dressed like a centerfold for Guns & Ammo.
Once again, the succubus genes didn’t let me down. Within five minutes, a truck pulled over. I approached the side as it idled, eyeing it suspiciously. It was fairly new as far as trucks go, and enormous. Bumper stickers about fishing and beer and ex-wives covered the back end, ruining what might have been an otherwise fine-looking vehicle. The passenger-side window was rolled down and I peeked in, hoping to God that it wasn’t Luc.
It wasn’t. It was a dirty-looking man of indeterminate years, wearing a red cap that sported a rebel flag. And he was eyeing me like he’d just hit the jackpot. Lucky me.
“Hey,” I said, smiling faintly. “You a cop?”
“Naw,” he said, his eyes widening at the sight of me. He glanced around, then leaned over. “How much?”
I frowned. “How much for what?”
He licked his lips nervously and leaned over a bit more, hanging off the steering wheel. He smelled like he hadn’t seen a shower in weeks. Heck, maybe he hadn’t. “How much for . . . you know.” Licked his lips again, eyeing me. “A hummer.”
Oh, ew. He thought I was some sort of hillbilly hooker? Please. I curled up my lip to spit back a fine retort, but stopped.
I could get to New Orleans in a nice truck like this.
It was time for Jackie to look out for Jackie again.
I turned the lip curl into a smile, putting on my best Hi-I’m-a-Redneck-Whore look. “Five bucks for you, sugar,” I drawled. “If you want the full kit, it’ll cost ya twenty-five.”
His eyes bugged and he opened the passenger door for me. “What do you get for twenty-five?”
“A muskrat up your ass and a video of it on YouTube.” I smiled sweetly and took his hand.
He collapsed with a heavy snore.
I glanced around to see if anyone was looking, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to the passenger side of the cab. Guilt returned, but I forced it away. I’d just ripped his consciousness from him, but thinking about the fact that he wanted me to blow him for a car ride made me feel better. Jackass. Besides, I refused to believe that the condition wasn’t reversible.
I climbed into the truck and buckled in. Lucky for me, this big monster was an automatic, and I leaned over and picked through the glove compartment to see if there was anything useful. A handful of uncashed lottery tickets—along with a tin of chewing tobacco—spilled out onto the floor. I picked up the first ticket—a five-dollar winner. The next ticket was a twenty-dollar winner.
I smiled, glancing over at my sleeping passenger. “New Orleans, here we come.”
With a road map, some instructions from a helpful man at another gas station, and a few bucks in my pocket, I was soon headed back in the right direction. I cut south through Mississippi and crossed over Lake Pontchartrain’s long Causeway, constantly checking my rearview mirror for cops. It was silly to think that someone might report the truck stolen, of course. My redneck friend had been riding alone, and he wasn’t able to tell anyone what I’d done.
Thinking about the people I’d zapped made me physically ill, and I had to press a hand over my mouth as I drove, concentrating on the road with ferocity. Focus on saving myself first and then I could worry about saving everyone else I’d screwed up.
I abandoned the truck in a parking lot on the outskirts of town and reported a flat tire, so someone could find my sleeping passenger and take him to a hospital. I called a cab from a nearby store and had it take me to the French Quarter. New Orleans, finally. The relief that shot through my system was palpable.
There had been over seventy dollars in uncashed lottery tickets in the glove compartment, and I’d redeemed them all before crossing the state line back into Louisiana. Now with the rest of the money in my pocket, I stopped at a nearby café and ordered coffee and something called a beignet.
Beignet must be Cajun for sugary-delicious, because I ate four of them before stopping myself and saving my money.
A few people were giving me weird looks, probably due to the commando gear, and I decided that the next course of action was to get some new clothes if I wanted to keep a low profile.
Or call Noah.
The Itch was rearing its ugly head, and I knew it was only a matter of a few hours before I’d be in dire need once more.
This was a matter of life and death, so Noah first, fashion later. If Noah was even around. He’d said he’d meet me in New Orleans, but if he was still in jail, I was screwed. I had Delilah’s name and knew that she lived in a district somewhere in town, but I couldn’t remember anything other than that. Drat.
“Excuse me,” I said, heading back into the café and wiping my fingers on a napkin. I smiled at the woman behind the counter. “Can you tell me some of the districts around here?” Maybe if I heard the name, it’d ring a bell.
She gave me an uncomfortable look, as if she’d like nothing more than for me to leave her shop—and her—alone. “Districts?”
I must have looked like more of a mess than I’d originally thought. “Never mind,” I said. “Where’s the closest internet café?”
The baris
ta pointed me across the street and I headed over there, renting an hour’s worth of computer time. I drummed my fingers on the mouse, thinking. A quick Google search of New Orleans maps had revealed a hell of a lot of districts, but I didn’t remember which one was Delilah’s. The Garden District sounded about right, but there were two of them on the map, and a ton of houses in those areas. I wasn’t quite sure where to go next, so I Googled Noah’s business and found the phone number.
His assistant answered the phone. “Gideon Enterprises, may I help you?”
Crap, what was his assistant’s name again? I thought for a minute, leaning against the pay phone. “Hi, uh, is Noah there?” Should I mention that I thought he was currently in jail?
There was a pause on the other end. “Mr. Gideon is currently unavailable. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, um,” I hesitated for a moment. “Do you know when he’ll be available? I really need to talk to him.”
Another pause. “Is this Miss Brighton?”
Uh oh. “Maybe.”
Relief broke through his voice. “Mr. Gideon will be so happy you called. He’s been checking his messages every hour and asked me to let him know as soon as you called.”
Oh, thank God. “So he’s okay? He’s not in . . . jail?”
“No, ma’am. The police had to release him when they had no evidence against him.”
That was great news. “Is he there?”
“No, he’s in New Orleans looking for you. He’s rather upset that you haven’t called him in the past twenty-four hours.”
“I lost my phone.” I fiddled with the heavy metal cord of the pay phone. “Can you give me his number?”
“I’m texting his BlackBerry right now. Is there a number he can reach you back at?”
I gave him the number on the pay phone and hung up. The moments ticked by excruciatingly slowly as I stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring. What if this was one of those stupid pay phones where you couldn’t call back? What if Noah was still pissed at me and wouldn’t call now that he knew I was alive and kicking? What if—