And then Tabitha began to scream.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I stood in the rental house shower, technically goop-free as of five minutes ago but still feeling polluted. Brude. Even if we were able to find the Rocenz and scrape him outta my brain, would I ever consider myself clean again?
Plus, we’d heard from Martha. Only our mission had succeeded. NASA had taken hard knocks in California and Madrid, from which it wouldn’t soon recover. So Roldan’s stock had just doubled, making the Valencian Weres the newest, worst threat to national security. Bad news for the good guys. Especially considering Cassandra’s vision. More than ever before I worried for the safety of my team. In light of Pete and Ethan’s deaths, I’d pleaded with them all to go home. Let Vayl and I tackle the next leg of this quest alone, especially since it wouldn’t be an Agency-sanctioned mission. Only Cassandra had agreed to fly back to the States, and I still thought the main reason was because Dave had called to let her know he was about to come home for a couple of months. At least she was taking Jack along. Now I wouldn’t have to worry about him becoming possessed too.
A knock at the door. “Occupied!” It opened anyway. “What the hell?”
Vayl said, “I have sent the others into Canberra to secure transportation for us to Sydney and, from there, to Marrakesh. They will be, how do you say, crashing at a hotel in the city afterward.”
I leaned against the wall. So tired. What was that saying? Yeah, I guess I could sleep when I was dead. “Okay. Wait, you sent what others?” I strained to hear. Was that a coat dropping to the floor?
“All of them.”
“It takes four people to book plane tickets?”
“No. But it takes one person to watch Cole and another to monitor Kyphas; therefore, I sent the lot.”
Yup, that sounded like a belt buckle. “Where’s Jack?”
“In the backyard.”
“And Astral?”
“Locked in Bergman’s room with orders not to slide beneath the crack.”
“Wow. You got rid of everybody.”
I tried to ignore the Inner Bimbo, who was chuckling and noting that elimination was kinda his job. The librarian was also waving for my attention. She wanted to tidy up the piles of unshelved experiences. Tabitha’s demise. Ruvin’s quiet exit. Cassandra’s Ufran-trance, during which she chose the new shaman. The call we’d made to Martha after. The tears we’d shed for Pete before agreeing to lay low until she could set up new deep cover offices. We hadn’t told her about the plan to find the Rocenz, or that we’d need to travel to Morocco to do it. Just let her know we’d do our best to be back for the funeral. But I wanted to leave all of that until the hot water ran cold. I figured I had ten minutes left. That was all I wanted. Ten minutes of—
“May I join you?” Silky request that sounded more like an invitation from the other side of the shower curtain.
“Yeah.”
I just stared at him for a while after he’d stepped into the tub. Already he’d taught me the pleasure of patience. Anticipation. I watched the water droplets trickle down his shoulders, nestle in the hair of his chest, emphasize the muscles of his thighs.
“You look amazing. If I were an artist, I would totally paint you.”
The sides of his lips quirked. “Perhaps I should purchase you a set of brushes.”
“But I can’t—”
“Ahhh, surely you could think of other uses for them?”
He pulled me into his arms, his hands, his skin warm against mine, his lips and tongue all working to remind me that crap was always lying around in a steaming pile. But I could sidestep it if I wanted. Get wet and soapy with a gorgeous vampire and remind myself why life could be good. If I decided it should be.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Gotta thank the hubby and kids, you know? Not because they’ll give me the silent treatment if I don’t (they’re talkers, the lot of them), but because they are the coolest people on earth. I can say that. I know them best.
Deep appreciation to Christina Tanuadji of Temptation the Romance bookstore in Perth, Western Australia, and April Barton, also of Australia. Both ladies helped me immensely with details of scenery and language that, I think, helped make Bite Marks a much better story. Bethan David, ranger at Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve, and Jean-Pierre Issaverdis, manager, Marketing and Business, at Tidbinbilla, also provided vital information regarding the behavior of kangaroos and the lay of the land for part of the book’s climactic scene. Thank you both so much for your help!
My groovy agent, Laurie McLean, deserves a round of applause (wahoo!) as do my editor, Devi Pillai, and the rest of my übercool Orbit team: Alex Lencicki, Katherine Molina, Jennifer Flax, and Penina Lopez. (I’d thank Tim Holman too, but since he’s technically my boss it seems a little too much like kissing up. Can I just say that he may seem like a mild-mannered Brit by day, but I’ve heard that by night he transforms into a crime-fighting superhero? Rumor also has it that he can fly. I’m just saying.) Special thanks, as well, to Orbit’s genius art department for cranking out the go-jus covers! If you liked this one, just wait until you see what’s coming next! And thanks also to my manuscript readers, Katie Rardin and Hope Dennis—you ladies rock!
Canberra Deep Space Communication Complex does exist, and to the sci-types who work there… I hope you’re not offended that I suggested you don’t have a marvelously intricate alarm system set up to counter an attack by fanatical gnomes. That would just be silly.
And no, I haven’t forgotten you, my reader. Of course I’m glad you’re here! So, yeah, thanks for hanging out with me and Jaz.
extras
meet the author
Cindy Pringle
JENNIFER RARDIN began writing at the age of twelve, mostly poems to amuse her classmates and short stories featuring her best friends as the heroines. She lives in an old farmhouse in Illinois with her husband and two children. Find out more about Jennifer Rardin at www.JenniferRardin.com..
introducing
If you enjoyed BITE MARKS, look out for
BITTEN IN TWO
Book 7 of the Jaz Parks series
by Jennifer Rardin
Holy crap, do you smell that?” I asked. I leaned away from the square, sun-bleached building and spat, but the creeping stench of death and rot had already made it down my throat.
Cole didn’t answer, just nodded and pulled the collar of his new gray T-shirt up over his nose. Vayl and I had presented it to him as we’d waited to board the endless flight from Australia to Morocco. He’d worn it over a fresh white tee every day since, making this the third night in a row I’d read the sharp red letters on the front that said, the other guy got the girl. On the back, a black widow perched on her web with her mate’s leg dangling out of her mouth while her rejected lover observed it all from under a striped beach umbrella as he sipped a fly-tai. The caption read: damn, that was close!
“Promise me you’ll wash that tomorrow,” I whispered as I peered down the narrow cobblestone street. Nothing moved to stir the layer of grime on the windowsills of the red ochre buildings that lined it, their adjoining walls melding like coffin lids. Every door remained shut, locking poverty and misery inside, but each displayed its own unique inlaid design that shoved even this neglected neighborhood into the category of Ancient Beauty. I had bigger distractions than the work of long-dead artisans, however. Where’d you sneak off to, asshole?
“Washing seems like a waste of time,” Cole mumbled, his voice muffled by one hundred percent cotton. “I’m just going to wear it again because, you know, it’s only the best shirt ever. I’m not saying you look like a spider, but if you were to cannibalize Vayl, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the picture the tabloids would end up printing.”
“Holy crap, Cole, just throw some suds on the thing!” To soften the blow I added, “Make it my birthday present.”
“Tomorrow’s your birthday?”
“Nope.”
“Tonight?”
I nodded. And her
e I stand under the rickety metal awning of a building so old I can practically hear the ghosts screaming from behind these stucco walls. I should be lolling on some beach with my half-naked lover—make him all naked; I don’t have time to waste on foreplay. But no. I’m stalking a vampire through the back alleys of freaking Marrakesh, sniffing what has to be the city’s cesspool, with a guy who has apparently invested in a company that only sells red high-tops.
Moving quicker than I’d have given him credit for, Cole pulled me in for a hug that made me glad I’d left Grief back at the riad. Otherwise I’d have spent the rest of the night running around with the imprint of my modified Walther PPK outlined on my left boob.
“Happy birthday!” he said. “You’re twenty-six on May twenty-sixth. How cool is that? Especially since I didn’t miss it. I thought it was earlier this month.”
“Why?”
“That’s what your file—uh, I mean—”
“You read my file?” I balled his shirt into my fist, forcing his collar past his nose to reveal his gaping mouth. The scent of cherry-flavored bubble gum wafted past, giving my churning stomach a break. Then it was gone and my nose hairs recurled.
“Vayl: read it too,” Cole reminded me.
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
Cole plucked his shirt out of my hand and repositioned it as he asked, “Why don’t you want anyone to know the real date you were born?”
“Because I hate surprise parties. And I’m not interested in sharing my best secrets with snoops like you.” I tapped the thin plastic receiver sitting inside my ear, just above the lobe, activating my connection to: “Bergman? He’s slipped our tail. Have you got a read on him?”
“Gimme a sec, someone’s at the door.”
Our technical consultant’s clear reply confirmed my suspicion that we were still within two miles of him and the Riad Almoravid, where we’d set up temporary headquarters. We’d only left the town square, which locals called the Djemaa el Fna, twenty minutes before. And since the fountain in our riad’s courtyard could probably shoot a few sprinkles onto the square’s crowds of merchants, performers, and shoppers on a windy day, I’d figured we were within the limits of Bergman’s communications gizmo, which Cole had named the party line. Nice to be right about that, at least.
Now, instead of using his own transmitter, Cole leaned forward and spoke into the glamorous brown mole I’d stuck just to the left of my upper lip. “Bergman, today is Jaz’s birthday. We need cake!”
“Ignore him, Miles. Just find—” I stopped when the swearing began.
Cole nodded wisely. “See what happens when people hang around you? Poor Miles probably didn’t even know what those words meant before you lived with him.”
“Nobody should be blamed for the language they teach their roommates in college.”
“Your potty-mouth is gonna get you in trouble someday.” Cole turned his head, like Bergman was skulking in the shadows next to us. “Right dude?”
Bergman growled, “Goddammit, that girl’s back! I thought maids only worked in the morning!” We heard the door open. “I have plenty of towels—”
“Hello, Mr. Bergman, sir.” It was the chirpy voice of the riad’s go-to gal, who’d barely conquered her teens, but oozed the confidence of a woman twice her age. Though Riad Almoravid belonged to a Frenchman named Franck Landry, our girl did it all, from laundry to breakfast. She said, “I finished the book you loaned me. May I borrow another?”
“I’m kind of busy here, Shada. Besides, shouldn’t you be home by now? Your family—”
“My father is happy that I have made many American friends. He likes me to learn new things. What is all that electronics about?” Though Shada had the long dark hair and natural beauty of a native Moroccan, she spoke with a British accent, which made me wonder where she’d gone to school. If I knew, I’d call up the headmaster and let him know that her English teacher had aced second language instruction, but the curriculum hadn’t taught Shada crap about minding her own business.
“We’re doing a study on climate change,” Bergman muttered. “Stay right here. I’ll go get the book.”
Shada called after him, “Should you not be at one of the poles? I read that much information can be gleaned from the ice—”
“Climate’s everywhere,” Bergman replied irritably. “Plus we’re close to the Western Sahara. What better place to monitor heat increases than a desert?” For once Shada had no answer. Bergman said, “Here’s another book I bought for the plane trip over here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work—”
“Did you read it? Shall we discuss it when I am finished?”
“I read them all. It was a long flight.”
“Oh, wonderful!” I heard the patter of clapping hands. “I would like to ask you about the story I just finished, okay? I have many questions, such as why any sane man would believe that a bear could talk—”
“Okay, we’ll do that. But later. Because I have to work now. The weather waits for no one.”
“All right then, I will see you tomorrow!” I barely heard the last bit, because it came after the door had clicked shut.
“What a pain in the ass,” Bergman muttered. “She’s like a helpful infection. You want to get rid of her, but she’s so nice. I’ll bet her face hurts at the end of the day from smiling so much.”
“Do you want me to take care of her for you?” asked Cole.
“No!” Realizing he’d jumped in too fast and way too loud, Bergman added quickly, “Have you seen her brother meet her for the walk home? He’s bigger than a dump truck. Make a move on her and he’ll crush you like an old metal garbage can.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” said Cole, grinning at me as he drew a heart in the air with his forefingers.
“Uh,” Bergman cleared his throat.… “Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”
I sighed. “Muchly, so get busy, will ya?”
I imagined him checking his satellite maps and hacked surveillance video, not to mention the tracker he’d attached to our target’s right boot heel. While we waited for his pronouncement, Cole reached behind his back and pulled a tranquilizer gun out from under the light jacket he wore. It was a lean, black weapon that blended so perfectly with his jeans that it disappeared when he dropped his hands to his sides.
“That looks… lethal.” Could be, too, if we got the dosage wrong. Which we didn’t, because I double-checked it myself. Maybe we won’t need it, though. Maybe he’ll cooperate. I cleared my throat. “Was it stuck in your belt?” I asked.
“Yeah. But don’t worry, the safety was on.” He lifted the barrel slightly. “Hey, imagine what would’ve happened if I’d shot myself in the butt. My cheeks would’ve been numb for a week!”
I took off down the sidewalk. I kept to the shadows, avoiding puddles of brown liquid that I knew weren’t water because according to Franck Landry, who’d been ecstatic to rent all five of his riad’s rooms to us, it hadn’t rained in the past two weeks.
Cole jogged after me. “Jaz, where are you going? We don’t even know—”
“I’d rather walk aimlessly than discuss your ass, all right?”
“Yeah, but this isn’t just my ass. This is my numb ass. Do you think my legs would stop working too?”
I was getting ready to grab the gun and perform an experiment that would satisfy both his curiosity and my irritation when Bergman said, “Got him. Two blocks northeast of you. He’s not moving.”
We turned the corner, moving so quickly we nearly plowed into two men who’d just exited a diamond-painted door. Just before it closed I saw a lantern hanging above a mirror at the end of a tiled hall with four arches along its length leading off into darkness. Cole mumbled an apology in French and pulled me around the men, who wore light shirts, long pants, and baseball hats, all of which were blotched with mustard-colored stains. And damn, did they stink! They must work at the dump we’d been smelling.
One of the men, a black-must
ached thirtysomething with a scar under his left eye, spoke to Cole, who replied sharply, his hand tightening on my arm. Already I was used to natives offering to guide us anywhere we wanted to go, but these guys didn’t have the look of dirham-hungry street hustlers. I looked up at Cole. His face had gone blank, a bad sign in a guy who assassinates his country’s enemies for a living.
The .38 strapped to my right leg weighed a little heavier, as did the knife in my pocket, reminding me of my offensive options. But I didn’t want to spill blood knowing a vamp was prowling nearby. “What do they want?” I asked.
“The dude with the scar is demanding a toll for the use of his road, and extra payment for nearly running him and his friend over.”
“What’s his name?”
Cole asked, and while the man replied I checked out his companion. He was maybe fifteen, a brown-eyed boy with lashes so long they looked fake. He couldn’t even meet my eyes.
Cole said, “His name is Yousef. The kid’s name is Kamal.”
“Tell Yousef I’ll pay.”
“What?”
“Tell him.”
Cole began to talk. I swished forward, making sure my skirt swirled around my knees as I moved. I looked up at Yousef like he was the cutest teddy bear I’d ever hoped to squeeze. Even though he couldn’t understand the words, I figured he’d get the tone as I reached down the V-neck of my dress with my left hand and said, “Just gimme a second, okay? I keep my money in here so I don’t have to worry about pickpockets. I understand they can be something of a problem in Marrakesh. Am I right?”
By now I’d come within an arm’s length of the reeking man, who was staring at my hand like he wished it were his. He never saw the base of my right palm shoot up. Just grunted with shock as it jammed into his jaw and knocked his head backward. He staggered. Cole aimed the tranq gun at Kamal to make sure he stayed peaceful as I followed Yousef down the sidewalk, throwing a side kick that landed on his chest with the thump of a bongo drum. He landed flat on his back in the street.
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