To get me here, asshole. To finish what you started in that parking lot.
What sense does that make? You're no threat to me. Look at us. Who's on top right now?
It rings true. Yet I don't want to believe him. If he doesn't have David, who does?
I think I know.
What?
I think I know who may have your friend.
I lean back a little to see his face. If this is just bullshit, Donaldson—
No. Get off me and I'll tell you.
I don't think so. I think you'll tell me now.
My elbow is back at his throat. I lean into it. His head swims. I detect little pinpoints of exploding light. It's just like watching fireworks. Interesting. I press a little harder.
Donaldson's eyes are wide, the alarm reflected in his head “tastes” like a potent cocktail, part adrenaline, part fear. I savor it, letting it roll over my own thoughts, become part of my own consciousness. It's a great feeling. Powerful. Sexy. I understand the connection between power and sex now. The realization that I can snuff out a life—even one as worthless as Donaldson's—is heady stuff.
Anna, enough.
The same voice that came to me at Avery's is back. My own voice. I respond the same way.
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 shirt. 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 cocked 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 cocked 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 bitch 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, massaging 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 fuck 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 of Beso 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 snatch 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 bloody 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.