Such charm and charisma. I could totally see why this woman had been voted Lonely Fork Homecoming Queen.
“So what do you want, Bones? I ain’t got all frig-gin’ night.”
I gave her the spiel about looking for the son of the high school sweetheart. “I heard you were acquainted with his father. Mordred Lucius?”
“Mordred?” She let loose a low whistle, followed by a few grunts. “Now, there was a hot-looking man.”
“So you went out with him?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it going out. But we sure as shootin’ hooked up a time or two.” She chuckled. “Or three.”
“What can you tell me about him? What did he like to do? Where did he like to go?”
“All the way.” The comment came from the doorway behind me. I turned just as the door swung open and another woman pushed inside. Same pink muumuu. Same black hair. Ditto on the caked-on makeup.
Wait just a friggin’ second.
I did a double take. My gaze locked with the woman’s and I knew in an instant that she was the real Tara Hanover.
Now Tara Mackenzie. She’d been widowed for twenty years and living in Golden Acres for the past five. She had one daughter and seven grandchildren, and she rarely saw any of them because they were busy with their own lives. Which was why she’d moved in here. Between shopping and Bridge and arguing with her sister, she didn’t have time to miss her family.
She’d had a mad bad crush on Mordred Lucius back in the day. She’d given him her virginity in the backseat of his Chevy Impala. She’d meant to give him her heart, too, but he’d disappeared the next day. She’d blamed her father for running him off, but when he didn’t come back or make any attempt to contact her, she’d realized that he’d just been using her for sex.
Much the same way her twin sister, Dara, had been using him for sex.
Twins.
The realization hit as Tara barreled past me.
“Jesus,” she huffed as she wedged herself into the second stall. “Haven’t you ever heard of a Krispy Kreme?”
It wasn’t enough I had to deal with one hater. No, I get double the fun.
“I’m not skinny,” I heard myself say. “It’s called svelte.”
“If you say so.” Fabric rustled and the toilet groaned as Tara collapsed on top. “Why don’t you tell her the truth?” she said to the stall next to her.
“About how Mordred was a hell of a lot more attracted to me than he was to you?”
“About how you jumped his bones every chance you could get. The poor fella didn’t stand a chance.”
“You’re just mad because he kissed me more that night than he did you.”
“He did not. You kept jumping in front of me.”
Wait a second. “The two of you went out with him at the same time?”
“I wouldn’t call it going out.” Dara chuckled. “He definitely went in.”
“You’re shameless,” Tara told her sister. “What would Daddy say?”
“What he always said—that you were the good one and I was the bad one. But I think you proved him wrong that night. Horndog.”
Tara inhaled sharply. “You know good and well that I didn’t go there for that.”
“Sure you didn’t. Nobody in their right mind went to Miller’s Creek unless they were looking to get lucky.”
“Miller’s Creek?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“Only the most romantic spot in town. The water, the moonlight.” Tara sighed. “It was breathtaking. Magical.”
“It was the local Lover’s Lane,” Dara added. “Tara showed up one Saturday night when I was there with Mordred.”
“I wanted to make sure that she didn’t hurt him,” Tara offered. “He was a good man.”
“He was a sex fanatic and the only reason you showed up was to see why he was so over-the-moon for me. You were jealous and you wanted to see what I had that you didn’t.”
“You’re crazy. We’re identical.”
“On the outside maybe. But inside, I’m Pamela Anderson and you’re Oprah.”
“I am not Oprah.”
“Yes you are. Though I have to admit you shed the Oprah for a few minutes that night. I swear, I never knew you had it in you.”
I got a sharp visual of Tara and Dara, minus the muumuus, crammed into the backseat of Mordred’s car.
My stomach heaved and I almost bolted for the nearest sink.
“You didn’t …” I searched for the words. “I mean, you’re sisters, right?”
“We did him,” Dara told me, “not each other.”
“Would you stop talking like that?” Tara screeched.
“Just telling it like it is.”
“No, you’re not. You’re making it sound filthy and trashy.”
“It was filthy and trashy, and I loved every minute of it. So did he.”
“He did not.”
“Have either of you seen Mordred lately?” I blurted, eager to shift the topic to something that didn’t make me want to OD on the nearest package of Tums.
“Not since that night down by the creek. It started out as a date and ended in a threesome on account of Tara showed up. Mordred told her how much he loved her and, bam, a Hanover sandwich.”
“He did love me.”
“He left the next day.”
“He left you, too.”
“I didn’t love him.”
“You’re heartless.”
“And you wear your heart on your sleeve.”
“Bitch.”
“Pushover.”
O-kay. I backed my way out of the bathroom and then turned to bolt before the shit hit the fan. Literally.
My nose wrinkled as I headed down the hall, followed by a steady pop pop pop and a very loud splattt!
A few seconds later, I was winging it back to Lonely Fork. I replayed the conversation with the twins and tried to discern what I’d learned tonight.
They’d had a threesome. He’d had a Chevy Impala. They’d had a threesome. Tara was the good twin. They’d had a threesome. Dara was the bad twin. They’d had a threesome. Both women liked Bridge. They’d had a threesome.
This was so not getting me anywhere.
I needed to change tactics. To think outside the box. To think like a murdering sorcerer hungry for eternal life.
Where would I go if I were this close to slicing and dicing a poor vampire?
A fortified hideout with a ten-foot electric fence and lots of angry Dobermen pinschers. That’s the conclusion I came to as I headed to the Quick Pick to buy toiletries for Nina.
If I were about to commit a felony, I would stay deep in hiding until the deed was done. No cruising around town. Or visiting the local library to check out books. Or stopping off at the diner for coffee. Or dropping by the Quick Pick for cigarettes.
My gaze fixed on the man who stood at the counter with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and a forty in the other. He wore starched khakis, a blue button-down shirt and white running shoes.
No. Way.
No. Friggin’. Way.
He must have felt my stare because he turned. My disbelief quickly faded in a rush of I told you so. The search was now officially over. I’d found Mordred.
I have to admit, I’d spent so much time thinking about finding Mordred that I hadn’t actually thought about what I would do when I caught up to him. Sure, I’d envisioned swooping in, opening up a can of whoop ass and saving Esther. But I’d never broken the scenario down into a step-by-step plan.
Go here. Do this. Kick this. Save that.
Nada.
Hence the great big bolt of Holy shit that rushed through me and jacked up my adrenaline until I felt as if my veins would explode.
Do something! That’s what my brain screamed. Wipe the floor with his lying, kidnapping, meet-and-greet-crashing hide.
But that wouldn’t help Esther. She would still be out there. Locked up somewhere. Alone and dying.
The realization had me ducking down behind a S
lushee machine while Mordred forked over a twenty and waited for his change. The Slushee machine whirred. The scent of sticky sweet blue bubblegum surrounded me. And I thought smelling like cotton candy was bad? Seconds ticked by, and finally the register gave a loud dinggg and spit out several coins into the change dispenser. Man-made soles slapped the tile floor and the bell on the entrance gave a jingle.
I counted to five, swore never to look at a piece of blue bubblegum and then headed for the door.
“Wait a sec,” the clerk yelled, and I realized I still clutched a toothbrush in my hand.
“Ssshhhh. I’m gonna pay for it.” Just not at that particular moment. I grabbed the door handle. The bell jingled.
“Come back here, punk!”
“I’ll be back. I swear.” When he reached for his shotgun, I added a mental You don’t want to shoot me because I’m a) trying to save my friend’s life and will come back ASAP and pay for the stupid thing and b) a bona fide hottie that you would seriously like to get with.
Here’s the thing about men and hot women … even if a guy knows his chances are zilch, he’ll still do everything in his power to bend over backward for an impressive pair of boobs. It’s a law of nature or something.
Sure enough, his eyes went glassy and the shotgun lowered a few inches.
“Come again,” he called after me.
I rest my case.
I flew out the door and hooked a left in the direction I’d seen Mordred take. A plan crystallized as I slid across the concrete toward the side parking lot. Let him lead me to Esther. Then beat the crap out of him.
I peered around the corner of the building in time to see him climb into a small compact car. A blue Kia with tan interior and one of those weird ignition locks that were all the rage with car rental companies. He sat there with the door open and the interior light on while he stuffed his cigarettes on top of the folded visor and put his drink in the cup holder. A sharp, musty scent spiraled through the air and crossed the gravel toward me. My nostrils flared and my heart dropped to my toes.
I zeroed in on the passenger side and the dark stain that covered the seat back. Hunger twisted at my gut. Rewind to a quick mental of Esther slumped in the seat, her afterlife seeping all over the fabric upholstery, and a growl bubbled up my throat.
Okay, so maybe I’d beat the crap out of him first and then force him to lead me to Esther.
With the ripe scent of blood teasing my senses and the dread poking at my stomach, it seemed like one hell of an idea. My vision went red and my thoughts centered solely on the murdering a-hole in front of me. I launched forward.
I made it three steps before a hand gripped my ponytail and yanked me backward. I hit the pavement with a loud thwack. Pain blurred my vision and my eyes watered. Through the fog, I caught a quick glimpse of a man’s face looming over me.
I blinked and tried to focus. No, make that two men.
Another blink. Three?
My survival instincts fired to life and my alter ego—big, bad vamp—took the lead, but it was too late. I instantly realized why the SOBs—mere humans, all of them—were able to take out vamps the world over on a regular basis.
A distracted vamp meant a vulnerable one.
“Wait—” I started, only to have a wet rag shoved over my face.
Don’t breathe. The command echoed through my brain, but my mouth was already open. The overpowering scent of garlic spiraled inside, burning and twisting down into my lungs. My stomach convulsed. Pain ripped through me, followed by a rush of paralysis that seeped through every muscle.
And then everything went blessedly black.
Forget blacking out.
I’d bitten the dust and gone straight to H-E-L-L, and the proof was right in front of me.
Faded. Brown. Scuffed.
They were the cheapest loafers I’d ever seen.
My watery gaze shifted to the right and a pair that looked even worse than the first. Faded. Brown. Scuffed. And they had a hole in the toe. I caught a glimpse of a dingy white sock and the unmistakable scent of Fritos.
Okay, so these were the cheapest loafers I’d ever seen, and I’d definitely hopped a train six feet under. The view was for shit. My head hurt. My body ached. The high-pitched sound of wailing demons filled my ears.
“… she doing hanging upside down?” The familiar British accent pushed past the wailing demons (aka the distinct ringing caused by the fact that I was hanging upside friggin’ down and the blood was rushing to my head) and pulled me back to reality.
“Standard procedure to subdue a vampire suspect,” another voice replied. “We followed the textbook on this one, boss. Just like you said. Garlic to subdue her. A shot of sedative. And then we trussed her up and put her into an inverted holding position.”
“That’s textbook for a were possum,” the British voice replied. “And you don’t use garlic, it’s ether. Textbook for vampires is garlic, sedative and then a continuous chorus of ‘Kumbaya.’ The overdose of warm fuzzies turns their predator brains to mush. At least while in captivity.”
“Dammit, Carl. You said we were doing the right thing,” a voice said.
“What do I know? I barely passed Captivity 101.”
“Just get her down and sit her on the sofa,” said the British accent.
Hands pulled and tugged at me. A few seconds later, I was sitting upright on a burgundy sofa. The blood drained from my head and slowly I started to focus on my surroundings. Impossible at first with a floodlight trained on my face.
“What the—”
“Reposition the light,” the British accent snapped. “We don’t want her going blind right in front of us.”
“Vampires can do that?”
“Dammit, Carl, don’t you remember anything from the academy?”
The light shifted. The glare refocused in the vicinity of my knees, and I blinked. This time, I didn’t just see white polka dots. Instead, I picked up on my surroundings. Small sitting area tastefully decorated in burgundy and brown. A down comforter covered a king-sized bed to my right. A mini-bar sat against the far wall next to a flat-screen TV.
“W-where are we?” I croaked, my lips cracked and dry. My mouth tasted like old gym socks and garlic bread.
“The Holiday Inn,” replied the smooth British accent.
I instantly perked up. “There’s a Holiday Inn in Lonely Fork?”
“It’s about forty-five minutes on the opposite side of town, on the way to Fredericksburg,” Merlin replied. “We don’t have to actually stay in town while we wait Mordred out. We just have to be there at the end.”
My gaze found him just in time for the end (after I’d picked my hope off the floor and resigned myself to plastic furniture and polka dot wallpaper). He wore a purple shirt and slacks. Black loafers with tassels. He still looked like Santa Claus with his rosy cheeks and snow white beard, but a more pimped-out version. “Starting your own rap label?”
Despite his self-professed sense of humor (if he belted out a knock-knock joke I was going to start bleeding from my ears), he didn’t look the least bit amused. His eyes glittered like hard chips and my entire body went ice cold.
“What is this?” My gaze zeroed in on the video camera that sat near the blinding light. “The confession booth on Big Brother?”
“Training visual. My men watch the tapes so they can focus in on their weak areas and perfect their apprehension techniques.” His gaze darkened and his pupils flashed like bolts of lightning. “I told you not to interfere.”
“I didn’t interfere. I was buying a toothbrush.”
“You were following Mordred.”
I went for my best laugh. “Says you. You’ve got no proof that I was following anyone.”
“We saw her, boss.” The comment came from one of the men standing off to the side, near the video cam. He had brown hair and was dressed classic cop—white button-up shirt, dress slacks, powdered sugar on his collar.
“Yeah,” the other man—blond hair, same outfit
but with sprinkles instead of sugar—added. “She was out for blood.”
“That shows how much you guys know. Blood makes me squeamish.”
“But you’re a vampire,” Merlin pointed out, looking surprised for the very first time since I’d met him.
“Yeah, well, we all have our flaws.” I tugged and pulled at the ropes binding my hands, but oddly enough they didn’t snap.
“They’re reinforced with silver thread, soaked in garlic and fortified with my own binding spell.”
Which totally explained why my fingers and toes felt numb.
A sliver of fear worked its way through me. While I knew it was doubtful that Merlin would off me right here and now (I was a born vamp, after all, and I seriously doubted he wanted to start a civil war between BVs and sorcerers), he did look royally pissed.
On top of that, his backup (Cheap and Cheaper) didn’t look like the brightest bulbs in the tanning bed. Anger and ignorance didn’t make for good judgment, so I wasn’t placing any bets on getting out of this situation in one piece.
Still, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I pasted on my most intimidating expression and sent a silent You want to untie me right now to the brunette. My gaze collided with his, but I didn’t pick up so much as a name.
I blinked and focused, but … nothing. “What did you do to me?”
“My men are protected by a privacy spell that keeps them from being susceptible to the vast number of Others who might want to influence their thoughts. You can’t crawl into their heads, vampire. They’re immune to you.”
“My name is Lil, thank you very much, and if you untie me now, I won’t call Ash and have him report you.” If I couldn’t glam my way out, I’d have to try bullshitting.
Merlin chuckled. “Is that so?”
“Take it to the bank.”
“I should be scared right now, eh?”
“If getting your ass fired scares you, then yeah, I’d be a little squeamish if I were you.”
He chuckled again. “I’m not getting fired, my dear. See, I’ve broken no super-natural law.” He spared a glance at the video camera. “I’m on record with a textbook apprehension.”
“For a were possum,” I reminded him. I pleaded with the video cam. “This is no way to treat a born vampire. I have rights, you know.” Okay, so I didn’t have rights so much as I had a zillion relatives who would be out for blood if Merlin harmed one hair on my ultra-fab head.
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