Anna Strong - The Becoming Part 15

I don't want to stop.

You have to. You can't kill him.

Why not?

Because it's wrong.Not good enough.

Then think about what happens to David if you kill him. He says he may know who has him.

He's probably lying.

Can you take that chance?

Reluctantly, I ease up.No.

I roll off him and lay staring into a cold, dark sky. I feel him beside me, gathering strength. When I'm sure he's recovered enough to answer my question, I yank him into a sitting position.

This is your last chance. Who has David?

But before he can answer, there is a whine, like the whir of an insect. Donaldson jerks under my hands. He looks down at his chest in disbelief.

I follow his gaze. The point of an arrow protrudes through his s.h.i.+rt. His mouth opens and closes, like a fish struggling to breathe air.

I look on in disbelief as he crumbles under my grip, falling in on himself, dissolving finally in a cloud of ash that gusts away as a breath of air blows over us.

It happens just that quickly, and then he's gone.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

It takes a second to grasp what happened. But in that second I become aware of a stirring somewhere in front of me, deep in the shadows. I hear the click of a crossbow as it is c.o.c.ked and know I have only an instant to respond before that humming translates into an arrow honing in on my chest.

I dive for cover, the only cover available, a small clump of rocks. I hunker down, trying to make myself small. The humming comes closer and an arrow whizzes over my head.

Fear clutches at my throat. I send out a probe to see if I can pick up on anything, identify the attacker. But nothing comes back. I can't even tell if my attacker is human or vamp, male or female.

Not that it makes any difference. A wooden arrow through the heart is fatal no matter who's holding the crossbow.

The bow is c.o.c.ked again. Acute hearing isn't always a blessing. I brace myself, burrowing into the dirt like a mole. Again the buzzing and the silent breath of air as the arrow whistles past. How long is he going to keep trying?

The question is answered a heartbeat later when another arrow flies toward me. This time, though, the aim has improved. I cry out as the arrow buries itself in the calf of my left leg. I've been concentrating on protecting my upper body. My hiding place left my legs exposed. Obviously, something that didn't go unnoticed.

Red-hot pain radiates upward until it centers somewhere in my chest. It's not a fatal shot, but it's definitely going to slow me down when and if I can make a break for it.

I reach down and yank. I have first hand experience about how quickly we vampires heal but it still hurts like a son of a b.i.t.c.h when that arrow tears through. Tears of pain and anger burn my cheeks. I hold on to the arrow, thinking it will make a good weapon if whoever's out there is a vampire and comes closer for the kill shot.

I hope he does. Besides the arrow, I slip my gun out of the holster. I'm ready for anything now.

But nothing happens. No more arrows. No sound of footsteps. The only thing I hear is the music from the cantina behind me, obliterated from my consciousness until now by the intensity of my concentration on the attacker. I'm pretty sure he's gone. My vamp warning system has gone inert, no more DEFCON sirens blaring in my head.

With a groan of relief, I lay back on the sand, ma.s.saging torn calf muscles. There's the warm, viscous feel of blood on my fingers.

Curious, I raise the hand to my lips and taste.

Then the complete grossness of what I just did, hits. I can't believe I just tasted my own blood.

Still.

The fingers dip for another sample.

It's not too bad.

Anna, get a grip.

My little voice is back. And with it, a wave of sorrow that shakes my very core.

David.

I'm no closer to finding him. Donaldson was my only hope. The only thing I've learned from this fiasco is that I'm pretty certain he was telling me the truth. He didn't kidnap David.

But he thought he knew who did.

Or so he said.

Jesus.

Cautiously, I pull myself into a sitting position. When I scan the area, I pick up nothing but desert. Nothing living except things that scamper, skitter, or slither. It makes even my dead skin crawl.

I consider corralling one of Donaldson's vamp pals to corroborate his story. In this place, having a kidnap victim would be currency, like money in the bank. Maybe he bragged about it, even let on where he was holding the guy.

But it doesn't ring true. Donaldson was completely vulnerable to my little mind f.u.c.k and he gave nothing away. And he was really scared at the end. He knew I wanted to kill him.

There's nothing more for me to do here. With another groan, I pick myself up. My right leg gives a little when I try to put weight on it, but it holds. I know I won't be jogging back to the car, but I can walk.

Still clutching the arrow in one hand and the gun in the other, I limp out ofBeso de la Muerte .

It takes me a lot longer to get back to the car than it did to reach Donaldson's hideout. Even with vampire healing, the pain limits me to a sedate hobble. I s.n.a.t.c.h up a dead branch to use as a crutch, but it's not much help. All I get for my effort is a hand full of slivers.

Forty-five long minutes later, I reach the Explorer. Thankfully, it's still where I left it. I don't think I could have walked all the way to Tijuana. This time, I shrug off the holster and lock up my gun and the handcuffs in the glove compartment. I don't know how I'll explain my b.l.o.o.d.y leg if I'm stopped at the border, but I don't want to complicate matters by getting caught with a gun. I don't have a clue what happened to the Taser. I suppose it's lying somewhere in the dirt in back of the saloon. It wasn't much help anyway.

Now all I want to do is go home.

Go home.

And where exactly is home?

A pall settles over me as I get back on the road. I still have no clue where David is or how he is. I'd figured Donaldson was the only one who had motive to take him. Now I'm back at square one. Worse than square one. Who else hates me enough to do this?

David and I brought in a lot of fugitives in the last couple of years, but we're relatively new in the business. All of our collars who were convicted are still cooling their heels in prisons around the country. Of course, it could be the relatives of someone we turned in. But what would be the point of that? Especially since no one came forward to take credit. Doesn't make sense.

The border crossing approaches and I glance down to see how bad my leg looks. I'm glad it's my left leg, the one closest to the door, because it's dark and in the shadows, it's not possible to detect the torn pants or dark smears of blood. It's very late, too, almost three in the morning, and the bored guard asks the perfunctory questions of place of birth and if I have anything to declare.

I force a smile and say, "San Diego, California, and no, nothing to declare."

When he waves me through, I'm tempted to add, "Except for the fact that I've just spent the night looking for my kidnapped friend in one of Mexico's lesser known tourist spots, where I was shot with an arrow and almost dusted. On top of all that, I'm no closer to finding my friend because the vampire who I thought kidnapped him said he didn't know anything about it, and now he's dead so I'll never know for sure. I'm so tired, I can hardly keep my eyes open. It'll be a miracle if I even make it back to Avery's. And, oh yeah, there's one more thing. I hope to G.o.d I never have to come back here. Ever."

But, of course, getting hysterical in front of a Mexican border guard wouldn't be in my best interest, so those declarations I keep to myself.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

I head for Avery's. I don't know where else to go. I have no home. I can't bear the thought of being at David's without him. Avery was right about where to find Donaldson. Maybe he can help me figure out what to do next.

Tomorrow morning I will go back to David's to see if I've missed something-anything to indicate what might have happened to him. I will bring in the police, too. I can't let any more time go by without asking for help.

My leg throbs. The pain is a good traveling companion, though. It keeps me awake. I realize it's been two full days since I've gotten any real sleep. The night I spent with Avery, we didn't get much rest.

Which brings my thoughts to Max. Seeing him inBeso de la Muerte fills me with questions. Could he know about the existence of vampires? Or is he only aware that his boss uses the place as a hideout for his henchman? It would open up a world of possibilities if Max is accepting of vampires.

But my saner voice knows it unlikely he would be. Especially if the only vampires he has contact with are the ones in that G.o.dforsaken place.

And besides, when he learns what I've done with Avery- I don't want to even think about it.

Instead, I go on autopilot, concentrating on the drive up Soledad Mountain Road. I've made this trip so many times in the last forty- eight hours, I don't even have to think about it. I hope Avery is awake and doesn't mind my cras.h.i.+ng at his home tonight. In that big house, he's bound to have a guestroom. I seem to be making this a habit, appearing at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

But I don't even get as far as the front door. Avery appears at the car the minute I pull up. He must have been waiting for me because he's dressed in jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt, the sleeves rolled past his elbows. His face is full of anxious concern when he sees my leg.

"What happened?" he asks, sweeping me into his arms as if I were a doll.

"Wow," I say, so surprised by being picked up that way I actually let him carry me. "Youmust have been worried. This is quite a reaction. You're actuallyspeaking to me-with your voice."

He brings me into the living room and settles me on a couch facing the fireplace.

"How did you know I'd be back tonight?"

He's kneeling at my side, worrying at the cuffs of my jeans until he rips the seam open to expose the wound. He answers without looking up. "You mean because I'm dressed? I didn't. I just got back from the hospital." His full attention is on the wound, turning my leg this way and that until he seems satisfied about something. Then he sits back on his heels and faces me. "The arrow went clean through."

I feel the hair stir on the back of my neck. I raise myself onto my elbows. "How did you know it was an arrow?"

He gives me another of those slow-student looks. "I've been in this business for two hundred years, give or take. I know what an arrow wound looks like. You shouldn't have pulled it out, you know. It would have been a lot less painful if you'd left it for me to remove."

"Oh," I sink back into the cus.h.i.+ons. "Right. And how do I explain an arrow sticking out of my leg to the border guards? Ran into a little trouble with the natives?"He ignores my remark and bends his head to my leg. He places his mouth over the torn skin and sucks gently.

"Wow. This is kinky."

He ignores that, too, his tongue tracing the edges of the injury until I feel a tingle that starts deep in my calf muscle and radiates outward. He continues to probe the wound, and the sensation is so pleasurable that I stop fighting it and let my head drop back onto the cus.h.i.+on. He starts singing me a little lullaby in his head-alullaby of all things-and before I can comment on it, I'm fast asleep.

The next thing I know, I'm being awakened by a gentle touch on my arm. I drag myself from sleep reluctantly, thinking for a minute that I'm in my own home, in my own bed, and that it's Max nudging me awake.

"No, Anna. It's not Max." Avery is speaking in a soft voice, smoothing my hair back off my forehead. "Sorry."

I open my eyes and give Avery a rueful smile and struggle into a sitting position. I'm still on the couch, an afghan so soft it must be made of cashmere thrown over me. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Thanks for taking me in last night."

He holds out a cup of coffee. When I take it, he asks,How does your leg feel?

I take a sip of the coffee and hand him back the cup so that I can push the afghan out of the way. When I look down at my calf, I can hardly believe my eyes. There's not even a bruise to mark where the arrow had penetrated.

"Too bad you can't do this with mortal patients. It's quite a trick."

He laughs.Well, you had something to do with it, too. You are remarkably strong.

He pauses a moment, letting me readjust myself on the couch before he asks.What happened? I can only a.s.sume you didn't find David.

No.I let him pick the memory out of my head, sadness descending again, coloring my thoughts with a despair I don't try to disguise.

Avery reads my feelings, tries to offer what comfort he can.What will you do now?

Go back to David's. Look around some more. See if I've missed anything. If not-I shrug. "I guess I'll have to call the police."

He nods.I'll give you Chief Williams' s private number. I've told him what we know, but so far, he's learned nothing from his contacts. David seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth.

It's not exactly what I want to hear. I push off the couch.I think I left my bag here yesterday, didn't I?

Avery motions towards the stairs.I took the liberty of putting your things in a bedroom upstairs. I hope you don't mind.

I stand on tiptoe and give him a kiss on the cheek.You've been a good friend.

A good friend?He puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses me back, hard, on the lips.Is that all?

But this isn't the time and my thoughts are too conflicted to give him a proper answer. He reads the signals, lets his hands drop and takes a step back. He does smile, though, and points again to the stairs.

First door to the left-across from my bedroom. By the time you've showered, I'll have breakfast waiting.

I trudge up the stairs wondering how I'll ever repay him for all the help he's given me.His voice follows me.We'll think of something .

The guestroom is large, the walls painted a pale yellow. Delicate lace curtains move in the breeze of an open window. Bright morning sun is reflected in the gleam of polished mahogany and off the gla.s.s in frames of wonderful old oil paintings that look vaguely familiar. Old masters, I'm betting, and originals, not copies. Avery even unpacked my bag. I find my clothes folded neatly in an armoire. I had no toiletries with me, but the adjoining bathroom is well stocked.