Crossroads

by Jeanne C. Stein

  It doesn’t take much of a leap to know where Max is heading with this. “You think this coyote is a vampire.”

  “I do. The slash marks are clumsy. Because the bodies are found in Mexico, we haven’t been able to do anything but drug sampling. But I’d be willing to bet if we could do the autopsies here, we’d find something under those slashes.”

  He would. When I worked as a Watcher, I used the technique myself. A vampire can erase puncture wounds from a live donor, but not a dead one. Slashing the throat is a way to hide the fact that a body has been sucked dry.

  Confirming that Max is right about this and how I know that he’s right is not something I want to share. I already know what he thinks of me. “What do you want from me?”

  “There’s a pattern to the killings. We find the bodies on our patrols on Tuesday mornings. Always in roughly the same location.”

  “If you know this, you don’t need me. Set a trap.”

  “We did. Last week. The guy slipped past us as if he was invisible. But not before leaving us another victim. A young girl. You have to realize, Anna, our emphasis is on stopping the drug trade. Not human trafficking. We don’t have the resources to conduct another undercover op. That’s why I’m here. To ask you to come with me tomorrow night. If I’m right, the only way we’re going to stop him is by fighting fire with fire.”

  I snort. “You mean vampire with vampire.”

  Max’s mouth tightens. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  His expression shifts, softens. “Sorry. I know I’m asking a lot. I don’t know what else to do. If we don’t stop him, he’ll go on killing. He likes it. He’s found an easy food source. And he takes money from victims desperate to make a new life.”

  He stops, draws a breath. “Culebra told me you’re some sort of uber-vamp now. Well, I need an uber-vamp. I can’t think of another way to stop him.”

  Uber-vamp. Yeah. That’s me, all right. Head of the thirteen vampire tribes. Only thing is, except for a few extra abilities, I don’t feel any different than I did before. The only thing that’s changed is that I have another uber-vamp, Chael, gunning for me.

  I push the thought out of my head. I can probably help Max. I’m stronger than other vamps. The question is, do I want to?

  Stupid question. I choose my words carefully.

  “I’ll do it. But not for you. I’ll do it because a vamp who acts like this is a rogue, a threat to all vampires. Sooner or later, what he’s doing will come to the attention of vampire hunters. Then none of us will be safe.”

  Max lets his relief show in a tiny gesture of gratitude. He holds out a hand.

  I let my feelings show by standing up and taking a step out of reach. Max is still an asshole in my book. “Where shall I meet you?”

  He stands, too, lets his hands fall to his sides. “The border crossing at San Ysidro. Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”

  I nod. Max stares at me a minute, waiting I suppose for the ice to melt. It doesn’t, and finally, Max walks away.

  For the first time, I notice.

  He’s not limping anymore.

  At least one wound has healed.

  When I get back to the cottage, there’s no one waiting for me, no urgent voice mails announcing yet another crisis. I decide to push everything that happened this morning out of mind and do what I originally intended to do this Sunday afternoon. Curl up with a bottle of wine and watch a Dead Like Me marathon on the Syfy channel.

  Only in my original plan, Stephen was supposed to be curled up on the couch with me.

  I pour myself a nice big glass of Merlot and fire up the TV. The first time I saw this series I was human. Amazing how one’s perspective can change. Now not only does the title seem ironic, but a story about a grim reaper? Reapers have it easy. From where I sit, being a reaper is a hell of a lot easier than being a vampire.

  CHAPTER 5

  I PLANNED TO BEAT EVERYONE INTO THE OFFICE ON Monday morning. Check telephone messages, the calendar, pull notices from the fax and, if no jobs presented themselves, sneak away before David showed up.

  Well, I did beat David.

  But not our other partner, Tracey.

  She’s already at work behind the desk, pencil in hand, scanning fugitive posters hot off the fax. She’s sitting in David’s seat and looks up when I come in.

  She’s pretty in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of way. Big eyes, big smile she can switch to a just-as-big scowl. She uses both to her advantage. She wears very little makeup, and I’ve never seen her long auburn hair in anything but a ponytail. She’s wearing a Chargers sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. I can’t see anything else, but I’d be willing to bet there are jeans on those long legs under the desk. She and I could share the same work wardrobe if she wasn’t four inches taller.

  “Heard from David?” I ask, plopping into my chair.

  She nods. “He’s not coming in today unless we need him. Personal business.”

  My shoulders relax. I can imagine what that “personal business” is. Not many doctor’s offices or clinics open on Sunday.

  I pick up one of the flyers she’s already set aside. “Anything for us?”

  Tracey puts the rest of the flyers down, lays her pencil on the desk. “Not in this stuff. But I have something if you’re willing to help me with it.”

  I look up. “Go on.”

  “It’s not a paying gig.”

  I lift my shoulders in a “so what?” gesture.

  She presses her lips together. Her expression says she’s not sure now how to proceed.

  Unusual for Tracey. Speaking her mind has never been a problem.

  I sit and wait for her to decide. I’m in no hurry. And if I end up with the day off, so much the better. I’ll go see Culebra. I have a bone to pick with him. My instincts were right. He knew what Max wanted. So why didn’t he simply tell me? It would have saved all three of us—

  “My sister is in trouble.”

  Tracey’s voice cuts into my head, pulling me back from my irritation with Culebra and into the present. “Your sister?”

  Tracey releases a breath. “She filed a restraining order against her ex. So far, he’s evaded being served. I told her I’d do it. I need backup.”

  Coming from Tracey, this is surprising. She’s an ex-cop who got hurt single-handedly taking down an armed bank robber. She didn’t get shot. She got hurt tackling the guy who outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. Saved a room full of hostages but the back injury developed into spinal nerve injury and she was forced to retire from the force.

  Hardly bothers her now. And I’ve seen her in action. That she thinks she needs backup to serve papers must mean this guy is one mean son of a bitch.

  She’s watching me and from the look on her face, reads my expression as clearly as if I’d spoken it aloud.

  “He is,” she says. “He’s been in jail three times for spousal abuse and always gets away with a slap on the wrist. He’s got money and a good lawyer on his side. My sister has me. I want to get this son of a bitch out of her life. If he violates a restraining order, it won’t be so easy for him to beat the rap. But he has to be served first.”

  “Do you know where to find him?”

  “I do. He follows my sister the minute she leaves the house for work. He hangs around the parking lot outside, always in sight, then follows her home. He won’t let a stranger approach him, but he knows me. He’ll think I’m there to warn him to stay away. Again. But this time …” Her eyes flick away briefly, settle back on mine. “I’ll make sure he takes those papers.”

  I have no doubt. “So what do you need me for?”

  Tracey lets a tiny smile touch the corners of her mouth. “He’s been making threats. Tells my sister if she doesn’t come back to him, he’ll kill her. He has a weapon. He’s never showed it to me, but Miriam says she’s seen it. Something he picked up at a gun show. Miriam doesn’t know about guns, it’s evidently a rif
le of some sort. But she’s scared.”

  Tracey stands up, pulls the sweatshirt over her head. She has a T-shirt on underneath, and a .38 police special in a holster on her belt. “If the bastard tries anything, I want a witness.”

  My kind of girl.

  This is exactly the kind of diversion I need.

  I unlock a desk drawer and pull out my own .38.

  “So, when do we leave?”

  CHAPTER 6

  TURNS OUT TRACEY’S SISTER, MIRIAM, WORKS AS A manager in a Ralphs supermarket. It’s the anchor store in a strip mall on University in North Park, flanked on either side by smaller shops, a Vitamin Cottage, a Rite Aid. Miriam isn’t due to work for thirty minutes. Tracey spies a Starbucks on the corner. I accept her offer of coffee and she walks away to get it while I wait in the car.

  I look around the parking lot. Ralphs is open twenty-four hours. It’s seven thirty in the morning and there are half dozen cars parked close to the entrance. Tracey and I checked to make sure Miriam’s ex didn’t beat her to work this morning, but his car is not among them. Neither is Miriam’s.

  At seven forty-five, Miriam pulls in. I recognize her by the picture Tracey showed me. She’s early. I glance in the rearview mirror, toward the coffee shop, but don’t see Tracey. No matter. I turn my attention back to Miriam.

  She resembles her sister, same hair color, same eyes and mouth. They are both thin. The difference is in their height. Tracey is five-nine, Miriam, five-two, if that. A gazelle and a greyhound. They carry themselves the same way. With confidence. Miriam walks straight into the store, not looking right or left. She knows Tracey is coming today and she knows her ex will be close behind, but her bearing is unflinching.

  I watch the entrance to the parking lot. No cars pull in for five minutes after Miriam’s and the one that finally does is driven by a gray-haired senior in a big SUV who heads for a handicapped space by the door.

  I see Tracey now, starting toward me from the coffee shop. At the same time, the unmistakable crack of a rifle echoes across the parking lot.

  It’s muffled.

  It came from inside the store.

  I jump out of the car and run toward the store entrance. In one motion, I’ve unbuttoned my jacket and drawn my .38 revolver. I flatten myself beside the big, glass doors and peek around to look inside.

  It’s early enough that the store isn’t filled with midday shoppers. Still, there’s chaos inside. The two dozen or so people I see are flinging themselves behind checkout counters, store displays, a pyramid of canned goods—anything that can provide cover.

  Then there’s only one person left standing. His back is to me. He’s dressed in a duster and black jeans. He moves to my left, out of my line of sight, but I catch a glimpse of the rifle before he disappears from sight. An AK-47. The weapon of choice for every fucking punk these days.

  Tracey is suddenly at my side. “What’s going on?” She’s pulled her weapon, too.

  I shake my head. “A robbery?”

  She pulls a cell phone from her pocket.

  A voice from inside. “Miriam. I know you’re here. Come out or the next time I shoot, it won’t be in the air.”

  Tracey’s fingers freeze on the buttons. “Jesus. When did he get here? Weren’t you watching? Didn’t you see him drive in?”

  Her voice is sharp with recrimination, but I understand. It’s her sister. I place a hand on her arm.

  “He must have already been inside. But I did see Miriam arrive. She was early.” I gesture to her Tracey’s phone. “Make the call.” Then, “Is there a back way in?”

  Tracey nods, phone at her ear. “An office door.”

  “If Miriam is in the office, try to get her out the back.”

  She nods and disappears around the corner, talking to the dispatcher as she goes. I maneuver for a look inside. Someone is approaching the shooter. A man. He’s wearing a suit and tie with a little nametag pinned over the jacket pocket. His hands are in the air and he’s talking quietly.

  I can hear every word.

  “Abe, you remember me. I’m Steve Robinson, Miriam’s boss. Please put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt anyone. I know it. Miriam knows it, too. But she’s scared. She won’t come out.”

  He’s talking in a calm, steady voice. He’s got guts, I’ll give him that. At the same time, I know Abe is here on a mission. I could easily use vampire speed and strength to take him down, but in front of all these witnesses?

  “Come on, Abe, give me the gun and it will be over. You haven’t hurt anyone yet. We can talk it out.”

  Abe is quiet and still. It gives the manager the impression that he’s getting through to him. He takes a step closer.

  “No!” The word rips out of me at the same time Abe raises the assault rifle. He fires a burst that slams the manager back against a checkout counter. I see the gaping chest wound, smell the blood as it explodes out of his back, and I know.

  Miriam’s boss is dead before he hits the ground.

  I step out, fire at the broad of Abe’s back. I squeeze off every fucking round and pull back. I know the shots hit the mark but Abe doesn’t go all the way down. He’s knocked to his knees, staggers back to his feet, whirls toward me.

  He’s wearing a full torso vest.

  He sprays a burst in my direction, shattering the door and sending glass flying into the parking lot. Instinctively, I duck and step back behind the door. In the distance, a siren shrieks. Reinforcements.

  Abe hears it, too, and moves deeper into the store, yelling Miriam’s name.

  There’s a service counter about ten yards inside the door. I pull a speed loader from the pocket of my jacket, reload. I could be at that counter and over before Abe could take another step. But there are too many eyes on me now after that exchange of fire. I suck in a breath and sprint toward the counter, feeling like I’m moving in slow motion.

  I dive over and startle two female employees, pressed like frightened rabbits against the counter. They look up at me with eyes round with fear. I place a finger to my lips, push up to squint over the counter.

  Abe is heading toward the back of the store. He stops at the office door, tries the lock. When it doesn’t yield, he kicks at it and screams, “Come out, Miriam. If you don’t, I’ll kill everyone in this store. The blood will be on your hands.”

  One of the women beside me grabs my arm. “He’s crazy. You’ve got to stop him. You’re a cop or something, aren’t you?”

  I shake myself free of her grasp. I fall in the “or something” category. But she’s right. Fuck restraint. I can’t give that maniac the chance to kill someone else. Before she can say anything else, I’m up and over the counter.

  I have a decision. I could break his neck. But how would I explain getting to him faster than is humanly possible and then using strength that is humanly improbable? No. I can explain one much easier than the other so I tap him on the shoulder and let him spin toward me. He has a heartbeat to look surprised. Then I fire. It takes only one shot. To the bridge of his nose. Abe collapses like a deflated balloon, leaving bits of his head plastered against the office door like a macabre Halloween decoration.

  There’s blood. Lots of it. Pooling around his head. He fell faceup and there’s only a small rose blooming on his face. The pool is coming from the exit wound. Still pumping from a heart that hasn’t gotten the message yet.

  The smell. When I look down, I realize I’m splattered with blood, too. My clothes, my hands. I want to lick at it. Instead, I set my jaw and tense every muscle to keep the vampire in check.

  It’s a good thing I fed yesterday.

  THERE IS A REASON I CHOSE TO BECOME A BOUNTY hunter and not a cop. I’m reminded of it in the minutes that follow. Cops appear from everywhere. I’m ordered to drop my gun, put my hands behind my head, kiss the ground.

  I do what any sane person in that situation should do.

  Obey.

  My gun is kicked aside, my hands secured behind my back.

  I can hear
the same thing happening to Tracey behind the closed office door. In a second, she’s led out and pushed to the floor beside me.

  Miriam is hysterical. She’s yelling at the cops that it was her sister and I who saved her. Soon the two women who were hiding behind the counter join us and add to the din.

  It takes six cops, a couple of detectives and two hours to sort out the story, check that Tracey and I are fugitive apprehension officers and are indeed licensed to carry. Tracey still has the temporary restraining order in her pocket, which adds credence.

  By the time our hands are freed, Miriam has gone into shock. Tracey is told she can take her home. I’m told I can accompany a detective downtown to give yet another statement.

  The wheels of bureaucracy creak round and round.

  Tracey stops to thank me, but I wave it aside.

  “Take care of your sister. Stay with her for as long as she needs you. David and I can handle everything at the office.”

  She smiles. “Maybe we should consider adding process server to our curriculum vitae.”

  “Might liven things up.”

  She glances down at the corpse of her ex-brother-in-law. I think if no one was watching, she’d kick the bastard. Instead she walks stiffly away and moves off to join her sister.

  At the same time she’s leaving, another familiar face is approaching through the throng of cops gathered around the door. He heads straight for me.

  Shit. Detective Harris. I was hoping to avoid having to repeat the story yet again. I release a breath, huff, “What took you so long?”

  Harris looks at me with raised eyebrows. “I heard what happened. Knew there couldn’t possibly be more than one Anna Strong.” He walks over to the body. The medical examiner is off to one side making notes. He and Harris nod to each other. Then Harris kneels down for a closer look. “Nice shot.”

  “Couldn’t miss. We were nose to nose.”

  “Heard that, too. How’d you pull that off?” He stands again and aims his squint-eyed Dirty Harry cop stare right at me. “A guy with an AK-47 and you manage to close the distance between a counter fifty feet away and the shooter without drawing fire. What are you, faster than a speeding bullet?”