Текст книги "The Watcher"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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CHAPTER 48

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO EXPECT SO I STAND BACK to watch. Marta's face undergoes the transition from anger to astonishment to utter vacuity. When I am sure she will no longer attempt to bite or gouge me, I step close to her and lower her to a seated position against the wall.

The blood is still flowing freely from her wrist, but it's not arterial blood. I can tell the difference. Whether by chance or on purpose, she did not cut deep enough. I tear at the hem of the sheet wrapped around me and bind her wrist. The cloth quickly soaks through. I tear another piece and fashion a tourniquet above her elbow. I don't care if she lives or dies, but she controls the pilot and those two downstairs. She is going to help me get Max out of this house.

The tourniquet seems to work. Blood no longer flows in a steady stream but rather drips from the cloth into a desultory pattern on the floor. Now that the immediate danger is past, the proximity of this much blood makes me tremble. It's all I can do to keep from lapping at it as it falls. But I don't. Instead, I move away to avoid temptation.

Marta's eyes follow me as I cross the room, but her body remains motionless. Her head lolls against the tiled wall as if too heavy for her slender neck. She opens and closes her mouth and I wonder if she's trying to tell me something. I don't intend to get close enough, though, to find out.

Max is my chief concern now. He hasn't moved since I've been in the room. He's breathing; I can see that. I bend over him and gently tap his cheeks with my fingertips. There is no response. I slap a little harder. His breath catches the tiniest bit, then settles back into the same deep, regular pattern. He could be asleep or comatose. But unless I can bring him around, getting us out of here is going to be a problem. I can carry Max or Marta, but not both.

Marta makes a small sobbing sound. When I turn around, she's on her hands and knees, trying to get her legs under her.

Okay. If she can walk out under her own steam, there will be only Max to worry about. It makes sense that the drug intended for me would not render me completely helpless. Foley was going to use it to get me on that chopper and I doubt he planned to carry me. He just wasn't in that kind of shape.

I grab Marta under her arms and haul her to her feet. She slumps against the wall but remains standing.

"Can you talk?"

She groans an unintelligible answer, but it's enough to make me realize she understood the question.

"Okay. Here's what's going to happen. We"—I gesture to Max and then to her and me—"are going to walk downstairs together. Is there anyone in the house besides the couple I saw earlier?"

She shakes her head.

"Will they give us trouble?"

Another abrupt shake of her head.

"Do I believe you?" This time, I shake my head. She looks at me in confusion, but I forge ahead. "When we get outside, we'll go directly to the hangar. Is the pilot still here?"

This time I get a nod.

"Does he know why Max and I were brought here?"

She waits a second too long to shake her head.

Great. That means I can expect no cooperation from him unless Marta makes it happen. How do I convince her to do that?

I take her bandaged wrist in my hand and squeeze. She whimpers in pain and winces away, her expression clouded and confused. She may understand a lot of whatis happening, but she doesn't seem to remember exactly why.Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

"You've had an accident, Marta. We'll need the pilot to fly us to a hospital. We're going to have to let him see that you are badly hurt and in need of urgent medical attention. Are you ready to do that?"

She gives me a nod but before she does, there is an instant when I see something flash in her eyes. Awareness. Craftiness. She's shaking off the effects of the drugs but she doesn't want me to know.

Too late.

It occurs to me that she may have one or two more of those magic syringes in the pockets of her skirt—or another knife. Since I'm sure she has no intention of letting Max or me go, I doubt I'll find anything to help him. But maybe something to use against her when the time comes.

I move quickly, before she "awakens" even more. I hold both her hands in one of mine. With my free hand, I pass it over the contours of her body, even lifting the hem of her skirt to skim her thighs and between her legs. I dip my hand into the pockets of her skirt and lift the curtain of hair that falls to the middle of her back. I find nothing. Her eyes follow my hand but she doesn't try to pull away. She's quiet and resigned.

It makes me very nervous.

I want to bind her hands. But if I did, how would that look to the pilot and her friends downstairs? The ruse is only going to work if they think Marta is in control.

It's now or never.

I pick Max up and turn away from the cot.

A sound like static over a telephone line interposes itself in my head.

I almost drop Max, I'm so startled.

I listen closely.

The sound comes again. Only this time, the static is a garbled message. Gibberish. As if someone is trying to say something but the connection between brain and speech has been disrupted.

Or severed.

My stomach churns.

I lay Max back down and take a step toward the cot where Martinez' body is resting. Martinez' eyes are open. His head, barely connected by strings of flesh to his body, is stirring.

I think I'm going to be sick.

I look at Marta. She is watching, too, with another of those appalling smiles on her face. And I know. Her son did ingest enough of my blood to become vampire.

Marta lied.

CHAPTER 49

I DON'T THINK I'VE EVER FELT SUCH DISGUST FOR any creature, human or otherwise. Martinez either diddrink at Marta's urging, or there was blood transference through our injuries. With such devastating injuries, though, she could not have been sure that it would work. That's why she tried to make me turn her.

In any case, I can't leave him like this. Vampires have great powers of healing, but a nearly severed head reunited with a body ? And what kind of vampire would an infamous drug lord make? I have to kill him—really kill him– before it gets any worse.

I rub my hands over my face in an effort to clear my head. I've killed rogues. But up until now, they have had at least a fighting chance. This will be like murdering a baby.

Almost instantly, cold, hard reality chases that thought out of my head. Martinez is not a baby. He was a killer in life. He will be a killer in death, too. Worse, because should he survive with vampire powers, he would be practically indestructible.

I feel Marta's eyes on me. She is watching to see what I will do. I have no doubt she will try to stop me if she regains greater mobility. I have to do this now.

This room is furnished only with the metal cots. The room across the hall held nothing more, either. What can I use to inflict the second death? There is no wood to use for a stake.

My eyes fall on Marta's knife.

As soon as I bend to pick it up, she begins moaning. She tries to take a step toward me, but her legs aren't quite strong enough. She stumbles and falls to her hands and knees.

Should I push her out of the room? She's as despicable as her son, but forcing her to watch as his body disintegrates into dust seems harsh even to me.

I don't give her a chance to make any other attempts to communicate. I drop the knife, pick her up and carry her through the door to the room on the other side. She squirms in my arms like an angry child. I deposit her on the cot, and tear another strip off the piece of sheet I'd left there. I tie her good hand to the leg of the cot. I doubt she can untie it with her wounded arm and she certainly isn't strong enough to pull the cot through the door.

Her guttural moans follow me as I step back into the hall and pull the door shut.

I have to steel myself to go back to Martinez. If I could call up the animal, this would be easier. But it's a human decision I'm making and the human Anna has to handle it.

My hand shakes as I turn the doorknob. The knife is where I dropped it when I took Marta out of the room. I pick it up and approach Martinez, praying that he does not realize what I'm about to do. I remember that Avery, the vampire doctor who treated me when I was first attacked, seemed to be able to read my thoughts from the very first. I know I must do this, but inflicting terror first seems unnecessarily cruel.

Martinez' eyes are still open. They are focused on a point to my left Quickly, before I lose my nerve, I move behind his cot, raise the knife and sever the tendrils of skin that hold his head on his shoulders. The head separates from the body, his eyes roll back. He projects a sigh that remains in my head long after the body has disintegrated into dust.

"Anna."

This time the voice is definitely outside my head.

I whirl toward the sound.

Max has raised himself up on his elbows. He is awake, suddenly, completely. His face is contorted with confusion and something else.

Fear.

His eyes are on the cot that until seconds ago, held Martinez' body. They shift away finally, to catch and hold mine.

"God, Anna," he whispers, voice raw and choked with undisguised horror. "What did you do? What have you become?"

CHAPTER 50

MY FIRST IMPULSE, TO THROW MY ARMS around Max in relief, is stifled by the expression on his face. He's afraid. I see it, I smell it. I don't know how to alleviate that fear so I do what I always do when cornered.

I crack wise.

"What did I do? I think I saved your ass."

There's no smile. The lines around his mouth harden, shift from being afraid of me to something worse, revulsion.

"What are you?" he asks again.

I think he knows the answer, or suspects it. He's spent enough time at Beso de la Muerte. When I don't reply, he lets his head drop back onto the cot. "I don't believe this," he says.

His voice breaks and with it, something deep inside me shifts. I know my relationship with Max is over. Vanished into dust with that stroke of the knife as utterly as Martinez' body.

Why do I feel such despair? Haven't I known all along there was no other possible outcome? Wasn't I prepared to break it off with him as soon as I could? I know now that even if I had told Max at the beginning, his reaction today has shown me that he wouldn't have accepted what I am. How could he?

There's a shuffling sound from across the hall. It snaps my attention back. There'll be plenty of time to wallow in misery when we're safe.

"Can you stand up?"

Max heard the noise, too. He's looking at the door and for an instant, the old Max is back. He looks like a cop again. He draws himself into a sitting position, stretching limbs, testing. When he tries to straighten his right leg, the pain hits.

"Your ankle looks broken." I step close and put out a hand to roll up his pant leg.

He starts to cringe away. I know it's not from fear that I'll hurt the wound on his leg. He doesn't want me to touch him.

"Damn it, Max. We've got to get out of here. That bitch Marta is going to give us trouble if we don't move fast. She's drugged now, but she's coming out of it. We don't have time to waste."

In an instant, he's weighed and accepted the validity of what I've said. "We need to make a splint." He looks around the room. "The legs of one of these cots. Can you break one off?"

Easily. The cot comes apart in my hands as if it were made of papier-mâché. Ripping the canvas into shreds to make a binding acts as a welcome release to the pent-up emotions surging in my gut.

I wish it worked as well on Max. He watches the display of strength and the cloud of disbelief descends once again.

"Will you let me help you with the splint?"

He nods but his expression is wary.

I approach the cot. He rolls up his pant leg. The ankle is swollen and bent. "I'll need to straighten your ankle. It's going to hurt."

For the second time, a little of the old Max, my Max, surfaces. "You couldn't have thought to do this while I was out?"

It brings a smile to my lips. "I was a little preoccupied."

And before the words have dissipated between us, I've placed my hands on both sides of the injury and snapped the ankle back into place. No sense in giving him warning.

He gasps and cries out, his body convulsing with the pain. Sweat beads his forehead but this time, when I reach out to smooth his hair, he doesn't pull back.

"Good job," he rasps. "Glad I didn't see it coming."

The way he's looking at me, I'm not sure whether he's referring to what I just did, or something else.

I use three of the metal legs of the cot and canvas strips to fasten a splint. The fourth leg I hand him to use as a makeshift crutch. It's too short to be of much help, really, but in a pinch, it could serve as an effective weapon.

He hefts it, understanding my thought process without my having to say a word.

And he isn't even a vampire.

"Can you stand?"

He shifts his body to the edge of the cot and gingerly swings his legs to the floor. Sweat drips again from his face when he tries to place weight on both feet. But he is able to stand and hobble slowly on his own.

"What kind of welcoming party can we expect?" he asks.

I tell him what Marta told me. Then ask, "Are there really only those two downstairs and a pilot in this compound?"

He nods. "I don't doubt it. Martinez built this place as a safe house. Even his most trusted confederates don't know about it. You saw that from the air, it's practically invisible. He was arrogant enough to think he and his family could hide out here for months, maybe years, and surface later to reclaim his empire. Might have worked, too, if his family hadn't been killed."

There's a yell from across the hall. Marta. She's found her voice.

I hitch an arm under Max's shoulder. "Let's get her before they hear her downstairs. Don't know about you, but I'm ready to get the hell out of here."

CHAPTER 51

MARTA IS STANDING BY THE DOOR WHEN WE push it open. She remains tethered to the cot, but she has regained enough strength to pull it to the door with her.

"What have you done?"

She is whispering, but her eyes are clear and she's standing upright and under her own power. I imagine she'd been trying to get free of the cloth binding and would have if she'd had more time.

She looks from Max to me. "What have you done to my son, vampire?" she asks again.

I feel Max flinch at my side. If he'd been unsure before, Marta's words confirm what he'd witnessed. To his credit, though, he croaks an incredulous laugh and says, "You're even crazier than your son. Come on, Marta. Let's get you help before somebody throws your ass in a padded cell and tosses away the key."

Marta begins to shake with rage. She rips at the bandage covering her wrist. "We'll see who is crazy. When she smells the blood, she will turn. Your only hope is to help me. Cut me loose and together, we can kill her. She is an animal. She murdered my son."

I grab her injured wrist and stop her frenzied attempt to free herself. "Max was awake when I attacked Martinez, remember? He knows what happened. I stopped your son from killing him."

She grows still, keeping her eyes downcast. When she speaks again, it's in a hoarse whisper. "What will you do now?"

I release my grip and stand back. "That's a good girl. The way I see it, you can walk Max and me downstairs and out to the hangar, tell the pilot to fly us back to San Diego, or to the border if he doesn't have clearance, and we'll be out of your hair just like that. He'll come back for you and you can do whatever you want. I think I'd lay low for a while, though. I imagine there's going to be a fierce battle over who takes over your son's operation. What's left of it, that is."

She looks up at Max. "You did this to us. You should be made to pay."

"Now that's the attitude that could get you in trouble, Marta," I snap back before Max can. "You are not exactly in a position to bargain."

"But you are?" The fire is back in her eyes. "Pedro and Lila downstairs will kill you both if I but give the word. And my pilot– mypilot—would sooner kill himself than do something contrary to my orders. I can keep you both here until we all die of old age."

"Or boredom," I cut in. "I don't think you want to test your theory, Marta. I don't think you want to die in this shit hole, even if it is a nice shit hole. And look at it this way, if you let us out of here now, you and your witch friend can have another go at me. Otherwise, you know fucking well I'll outlive the lot of you and one way or the other, I'll get out. Vampires are crafty that way."

"Witch friend?" Max asks. "There's a witch involved, too?" His tone implies incredulity coupled with the shock of recognition that if vampires exist, witches probably do, too.

"Long story," I reply. "I can fill you in later." I turn my attention back to Marta. "So, what's it going to be?"

She takes a moment to consider. She's sunk into a sitting position on the cot, her hair a dark curtain shielding her face. I don't like that. I can't see her eyes.

I take her chin in my hand and turn her face not too gently toward mine. "Don't think too hard. You really only have one choice."

She wants to bite my hand, I see it reflected in the rage behind her eyes. I step back, mindful that she may yet try to orchestrate a mingling of our blood. The fact that I stepped out of reach makes her smile.

"You are not so brave as you let on. But you make a good point. Burke will be able to find you. She is much more powerful than you know. Together she and I will bring you to your knees."

"Blah, blah, blah. This is getting tiresome. Are we going now or what?"

Marta's decision shows first on her face, a grim smile of acceptance. She rises from the cot and gestures to the sheet binding her. I step around, keeping the cot between us, rip loose the tie, and use it to secure both her hands behind her back.

"Can you navigate the stairs on your own?" I ask Max.

He nods and I keep a firm grip on Marta's wrists as we start into the hall.

Marta stops outside the closed door facing us. "I want to see my son," she says quietly.

Just as quietly, I reply, "Dust to dust, Marta."

A single tear rolls down her cheek. She opens her mouth and I expect another round of recriminations and threats. Instead, she draws a deep breath, squares her shoulders and leads us without a word toward the stairs.

CHAPTER 52

MAX STOPS ME BEFORE I OPEN THE DOOR TO the stairs. "Where's the trip to the detonator?" he asks.

I'd forgotten about that little black box. It's no longer on this side of the door. When I look to Marta, she seems disappointed that Max remembered. I guess after all that posturing, she planned to blow us up anyway.

"Good try. Where is it?"

Her mouth draws into a thin line. She looks like a child being force-fed spinach. I take the cot leg from Max's hand and whack her across the back. Not too hard. Just enough to get her attention.

Her breath releases in a little huff. Her legs buckle but she remains on her feet. The second time I hit her, it's with a little more force. This time, she actually does fall to her knees.

"All right," she spits the words like venom. "The box is downstairs, in the kitchen. Lila has orders to open the door only at my instruction."

It's a good plan. If Max and I made it out alone, we'd be blown to smithereens when we tried to get out downstairs. "How are you to contact them?"

"An intercom at the bottom of the stairs."

"Then how about I open this door and you go out first?"

She sniffs as though I've given her another example of my cowardice. Like I care. I have no intention of letting Max or myself fall into another of her traps. I twist open the doorknob gently and step away, at the same time, pushing Marta into the doorway.

She stumbles out, but nothing blows up and nobody starts shooting at us from the bottom of the stairs.

Hooray. One for the good guys.

I follow her, keeping a grip on her hands. It's slow going with Max. He has to hop down each stair on his one good leg and the jarring of that motion on his broken ankle makes him bite his lips to keep from crying out with pain. I offer him my shoulder to lean on, but he waves me off. He knows we can't risk Marta getting away from us.

At last we make it to the bottom. The intercom is to the left. I yank her hands to get Marta's attention. "You have one chance to do this. You're going through the door first. So if you want to live to torture me another day, you'd best not fuck this up."

She must find that good enough motivation because she says simply. "Press one-oh-two on the pad."

I reach up and do it. I hear a buzz on the other side, then a female voice in Spanish says, "Quien es?"

Marta replies. "Senora Martinez. Lila, abra lapuerta."

I look over at Max. He looks wary. "Open the door, that's it?"

Marta sniffs. "What did you expect? A secret password? You Americans watch too much television."

Max shrugs but to be on the safe side, I gesture that he should join me as I step as far out of the doorway as I can. It's not much protection, there's only about six inches on each side. But in a moment, the mechanism that controls the cabinets whirls to life and the opening appears before us. I tense, waiting for an attack.

But nothing happens. In fact, Lila has stepped away, as if she'safraid of the same thing. When she sees her mistress, though, she rushes to her with a torrent of rapid-fire Spanish that sounds laden with concern.

I let Max take care of interpreting. He knows my Spanish is limited. If there's cause for alarm, he'll let me know.

I look around the kitchen. Pedro is not in sight. Marta is focused on calming Lila. No one is paying attention to me. I cross to the gun cabinet quickly and quietly, and pull it open. There's an arsenal in here, ranging from automatic rifles to a little silver-plated Derringer. That's the gun I pick. Easily concealed and we won't be engaging in anything but close combat. I snatch up a box of ammunition, too.

Marta and Lila are still deep in conversation. I slip the gun and ammo to Max and he puts it into a pocket in his slacks. Then I gather up the other guns, throw them into a heap behind the cabinets, and tug the canister. When the door is secured, I snap the thing off and toss it away. To check for a second control, I sweep the other canisters off the counter with the back of my hand. They scatter and fall to the floor with a shower of coffee, sugar and flour. There are other guns around here, I'm sure, but at least these are out of commission.

All the while, Max listens, his head cocked, to catch the harried conversation between Marta and her servant. Lila has untied Marta's hands and is examining her wound with an anxious frown. She leads Marta to the sink and gently holds her wrist under cold running water. She reaches above the sink for a bottle and bandages. Before she goes any further, I stop her with a sharp voice.

"Lila, you can tend to her later. After we're gone, right, Marta?"

Lila doesn't understand what I've said so Max repeats it in Spanish. She starts to protest but Marta waves her off and, wrapping a towel around her wrist, turns to us.

"By all means, let's get this over with. The sooner you've gone, the sooner I can contact Belinda. Get all the rest you can, vampire, because as soon as my pilot comes back, we'll be after you."

Thanks for the warning. But I'm still not sure we won't walk out of this house and into a trap. "Max, ask Lila where Pedro is."

He does and repeats her answer. "He's with the pilot, in the hangar."

"Are they waiting for us?"

This time, Marta answers before Max can relay the question. "He's helping the pilot. They're doing maintenance on the helicopter. Wouldn't want you to have an accident, now would we?"

"Is it ready to fly?" I ask.

She starts for a telephone but I'm beside her before she walks the two steps that take her to the instrument. "Don't try anything."

She sniffs and brushes my hand off her arm. She lifts the receiver, speaks into it.

When I look at Max, he nods. "She's asking if the copter is ready."

There's a pause while she listens, then she replaces the receiver and turns to us. "It's ready."

I gesture to Marta and Lila. "Then let's go."

At first, Lila acts like she's not going to come with us. But I'm not leaving her alone in this kitchen. She might take it upon herself to call Pedro and say something to upset our plan.

When I give her a shove, Marta says, "Leave her alone." She turns to the woman, "Lila, venga con nosotros."

Head down, Lila falls into step behind her mistress.

Max and I let them lead the way outside. The fresh air and sunshine come as a welcome relief after being cooped up in that hellhole for the last—what? I've lost track of time. When I turn my face to the sun, Max looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a myth," I explain. “The sun thing."

He nods as if I've just explained what makes grass green or the sky blue. Like it's a perfectly normal answer to a perfectly normal question.

Maybe there's hope for us yet.

It's painful to watch Max wobble along. I keep an arm on his elbow, both for support and to be able to snatch that little gun out of his pocket if the need arises. Marta's done nothing to indicate that she knows we have it, so at least we have one small element of surprise.

The door to the hangar is open. As we approach, Marta calls out and the pilot appears. He looks shocked to see Max and me. Marta says something that must put him at ease because the anxious look is replaced with a curious frown. Max listens and nods to me. "She's instructing the pilot to fly us to Tijuana. She says he's to come back immediately."

So far, so good. The pilot returns to the hangar and in a moment, he and Pedro roll the helicopter onto the pad. The pilot dons his flight helmet and sunglasses. He climbs aboard and fires up the engine. Marta and Lila stand quietly behind us while we wait for the copter to warm up.

The hair on the back of my neck is stirring. This is too easy. I turn to warn Max that something doesn't feel right and I catch a flash out of the corner of my eye.

Lila has stepped close to Max. From somewhere in the folds of her voluminous skirt, she has drawn a gun, the twin, it looks like, to the one I slipped Max.

She presses it into his back and says something that's lost to me in the roar of the helicopter engine. When I look over at Marta, she is signaling the pilot. The helicopter abruptly grows silent.

For once, I wish my instincts had been wrong.