“Then give us the keys and let us do it ourselves,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Oh, no. Clyde would kill me if I let you two run off somewhere without someone to keep an eye on you.
“Then take us. Your choice. You can take us, give us the keys, or we’ll call a cab. We have a job to do, and I’m not going to let your cowardice stop us.”
That made Trinity’s eyes gleam with irritation. “If you had even the slightest idea what you were getting into—”
“How do you know we don’t? Look, make your choice before I make it for you. I’ll be happy to tell Clyde you’re preventing us from following up on a lead—”
She growled, a deep, threatening sound that never should have come from a human throat. With a sharp gesture, she indicated we should follow her.
What a great way to start the night. Expelling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, I picked up the letter and package and fell into step behind the vampire, taking Sara’s hand when I felt her groping at my wrist.
I kept forgetting that she wasn’t used to dealing with the bluster the monsters dished out. And I needed to remember that I no longer had the belt to give me tips and an extra physical boost if it came down to a fight. Whatever might happen, whether Trinity or some other monster took it into his or her head to beat the crap out of me or turn me into dinner, I would need to be a little more careful. There was no one here to save me if I bit off more than I could chew, and I had no superhuman strength or speed to help me. Hell, I didn’t even have my guns or stakes or anything else to protect myself if I ended up in a fight.
The car ride was tense and silent, no one interested in talking about where we were going or what we would do once we got there.
Once Trinity pulled off the freeway, she took us down some side streets and beyond a number of apartment buildings and small shops until we were in what I suppose could be considered suburbia. The houses were a lot like the ones around my parents’ house on Long Island, albeit with a lot more cacti and palm trees.
When we pulled onto Gavin’s street, Trinity parked the car at least four or five blocks from the address we were looking for.
“Go do whatever the hell it is you came here to do. I’ll wait. If you’re not back in time for me to get to shelter by sunrise, you can stay here and rot.”
I shook my head and slid out of the car, not bothering to dignify her snarky comment with an answer. Sara followed my lead. With any luck, I’d drop off the box and be out of this part of town within the hour.
I tucked it under my arm and stalked down the street. Though Sara was taller than me, with much longer legs, she had to lengthen her stride to keep up with me.
“So,” she said, arms swinging at her sides, “when this is over, are you writing a new and improved version of How to Win Friends and Influence People?”
My lips quirked. Sara always knew the right thing to say to defuse my anger. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I know I haven’t been doing a good job of managing my temper.”
“It’s not me you need to apologize to. Though I can’t say that she wasn’t asking for it. . . .”
“Okay, I’ll say something when we get back to the car. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”
She nodded. I kept an eye on the numbers on the houses. It didn’t take very long to find the house; it had some plastic toys on the postage stamp-sized lawn and a light on over the front door. Paint was chipped and peeling in places, but it was clean, and the lights were all on. A carefully tended flower bed ran along the front of the house. Even from the street, I could hear the sound of cartoons coming from inside.
Sara stayed a few steps behind me while I went up to the door and knocked.
Then knocked again. Louder.
After the third time, my fist was stinging, and a little kid who couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old opened the door, blinking up at me with wide blue eyes from under a fan of shaggy, dirty-blond tendrils.
“Hi,” I said. “Is Gavin—”
“Gavin! Someone for you!”
Man, that little boy had a set of lungs on him. He turned around and raced off in bare feet, disappearing around a corner.
I stood in the open door, shuffling my weight from foot to foot. When I looked over my shoulder at Sara, her expression betrayed just as much confusion as I felt. So I turned my attention back to the hallway with child-height crayon scrawl all over the walls and waited.
Then the Viking came into view.
I don’t toss out that word lightly. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist—oh, my—and every last inch of what was visible was covered in hard, ropy muscle. His blond hair was even more of a shaggy mess than the kid’s, wild and untamed, framing a chiseled face that had the ghost of a beard emphasizing a sharp jawline and killer cheekbones.
Then his blue eyes flashed gold, and his mouth was full of fangs as he stalked forward.
If there is one reaction I have perfected these last few months, it’s not to freeze when danger rears its head. Instead, I dropped the box, scrambling back to the street and grabbing at Sara to drag her with me as he stopped in the doorway, fingernails that had grown into talons biting into the wood.
“Vampire’s whore! What are you doing here? Get off my property!”
Sara and I both started babbling and pointing at the box. I don’t think either of us made any sense, and to this day, I’m not even sure what came out of my mouth. Something along the lines of “oh-my-God-please-don’t-hurt-me-the-box-the-box-the-box,” I think.
His growl was thunderously loud, and it was at that moment that I realized all other sounds on the street had ceased.
Oh, there might have been traffic from a few blocks away, but all of the TVs had turned off, no dishes clanked, and no murmur of voices could be heard. Even the kid’s cartoons were off. Like the whole block was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen.
He kept his eyes on us as he crouched down, touching the top of the box. I wasn’t about to tell him that he was flashing us, and most likely the neighbors across the street could see, too, considering his impressive . . . um. You get the picture.
His talon-tipped fingers found and slightly tore the letter on top. He picked it up, raising it near eye-level, and started to read it, every once in a while his eyes flicking back to us.
Then I think he must have realized it was from Analie. He stopped looking at us and hunched over the paper, clutching it in both hands, his gaze devouring her scrawl. I thought I might have detected tears at the corners of his gold-colored eyes, but I couldn’t be sure.
Still holding the letter, he used one of those claws to slice open the tape holding the top of the box together. The kid—I hadn’t even heard him creep up behind the guy—leaned around Gavin’s impressively muscled arm to peer at the box. “What’s that, Gavin? Are those cookies?”
“Yeah—yes. Analie sent them for us. Go back inside, Jo-Jo. I’ll bring them to you in a minute.”
The kid clapped his hands and bounced back, saying Analie’s name in singsong as he rushed back into the house, racing some invisible opponent.
The Viking lifted his head and stared at Sara and me with wet eyes, taking a moment to focus as if he had just recalled we were there. The gold color faded into an icy, pale blue, his fangs retracting and—you know, I can’t be sure, but I would swear that his hair stopped bristling quite so much around his face, too.
“You brought this all the way from New York? For me?”
Sara and I both nodded. We were still clutching at each other, and I wasn’t sorry for that at all.
“From Analie.”
It was a statement, not a question, but we nodded again.