Текст книги "The Watcher"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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CHAPTER 16

IF SOMEONE HAD TOLD ME EARLIER WHAT HAVOC this day would wreak on my life, I would have come home from Beso de la Muerte this morning and gone straight to bed. I wouldn't have gone to see Williams, wouldn't have answered David's telephone call, and certainly wouldn't have gone back to Mexico. If I had stayed home, I would have known it was Max in my bed. I would have avoided Gloria at all costs. I might even have told David to bring someone else in on Guzman's capture just to avoid that last conversation.

If I had known.

What good is it to be immortal if you can't see the future? A serious design flaw.

"Another drink, miss?"

At first glance, the bartender doesn't look old enough to be working in a saloon. His skin is blotchy, his hair bleached, his pants baggy. His eyes, though, are not young. They reflect what he's been exposed to—cynicism, remorse, regret. Like breathing second-hand cigarette smoke, exposure to pathetic creatures like me must be a hazard of the job.

Or maybe it's what I'm projecting through a haze of scotch.

I nod. "Yes. Please."

He nods, too, and upends the Glenlivet bottle. Single malt, eighteen year Glenlivet. At the rate I'm drinking, I'll go through Guzman's bounty before sunrise.

I don't much care.

The guy at my right elbow eyes me. He's been watching me for the last hour, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to speak. He thinks if I'm drunk enough, I won't notice the bad skin, thinning hair and shiny spots on the elbows of his jacket. He thinks if I'm drunk enough he may get lucky.

I turn toward him and smile.

He may be right.

"ANNA. HEY, WAKE UP."

I pull the covers over my head.

"Come on. We have to get out of here."

Dragging myself to consciousness is painful. Like cold on a sensitive tooth. My head throbs, my limbs are heavy as lead, even my hair prickles on my scalp. It takes me a minute to realize I don't recognize the voice speaking in my ear. Worse, I don't know where I am. And I'm naked.

When I peek out from the covers, all I see is the lower back of a naked male torso bent over at the waist. He's dressed, at least half of him, in a pair of Levi's. He's perched on the other side of the bed. I shift to sit up, and a bottle rolls out from under the covers and hits the floor with a thud.

The back straightens and turns around. The face is vaguely familiar. It splits into a grin. "So you finally came to. It's about time. Come on. Checkout time is ten. We've got about fifteen minutes."

I don't want to embarrass myself by asking the obvious—who the hell are you?—so I gather a sheet around my chest and sit up.

The guy is bent over again and I see now that he's tying his shoes. I look around the room. A motel room. Nondescript. A table and two chairs in the corner, one of which is piled with my clothes. Bed, chest of drawers, armoire that I assume houses the television. The double doors are closed. Obviously, we did not watch television last night.

So, what did we do?

As soon as I try to move, I know.

Jesus. I’m so sore, a gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it.

The guy turns around again. "Are you still in bed? Come on, we've got a long trip ahead of us. We have to get to El Centro by noon."

"El Centro?"

He frowns. "Don't tell me you forgot. You promised to help me. My daughter, remember?"

No. I start to say it out loud, but his face is so full of hopeful anticipation, I swallow hard and say nothing. Instead I rub at my eyes. "I'm not quite awake yet." I look up at him. "And to be honest, I'm a little confused. Did we meet at the bar last night?"

He laughs and reaches out a hand to smooth my hair. "I guess I should be insulted," he says. "But you did have a lot to drink. No, we didn't meet at the bar. You and my brother met at the bar. He told you about me and you agreed to help. He brought you here, to my room. We were talking and—well, one thing led to another."

I guess so. The ache between my legs begins to throb. We must have had some night. But it's daylight now and I haven't a clue where we are or what I agreed to do for this guy. I missed my appointment with Williams in the park, the first time in weeks. I wanted to ask him about the witch and what happened at Beso de la Muerte. I don't know if Max has tried to get in touch with me, or David.

The guy has crossed to the chair. He picks up a T-shirt and slips it over his head. His arms and torso are well muscled, his waist and hips slender. He has calloused fingers, strong hands. A carpenter maybe? He's probably in his early forties. He has short, sandy hair, thick, well cut. His face looks familiar, not quite handsome but rugged and appealing. The shadow of his beard adds an unpretentious air of strength. When he turns once more to face me, I realize what it is that's familiar.

The guy last night, sitting next to me at the bar. This is the polished version of that guy. I see the similarities now. Brothers. God, did I screw them both?

I throw back the covers and pad naked into the bathroom. No need for coyness. I can hardly walk.

I lock the door behind me. Can't risk my fuck buddy walking in and noticing no reflection in the mirrors that line three of the walls. There are a couple of wet towels on the rim of the tub. He's evidently already performed his morning ablutions. I turn on the shower and step inside. I splash water on my face, duck my head under the stream and finger comb the knots out of my hair. I wash the smell and residual vestiges of sex off my skin. There seems to be a lot of it. I wonder if I fed from him while we had sex. I don't feel the rush that accompanies feeding, but I've never been dead drunk with a stranger before, either.

Dead. Drunk.

I'd smile if my face didn't hurt so much.

When I come back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, he's laid my clothes out neatly on the bed.

Jeans. Sweater.

And my gun.

I look around for my panties. They're probably around here somewhere, but it's too awkward to ask about them. Kind of a flashback to yesterday morning with Max and my bra.

Max.

Jesus.

Can't blame this one on the hunger.

I ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and go through the motions of getting dressed—slip the sweater over my head, pull on my jeans, clip the gun to the waistband.

I've stalled as long as I can. I turn around.

"This is really embarrassing, but I don't remember much about last night. Can you kind of refresh my memory?"

The guy has been gathering up his wallet and keys and shoving them into his pockets. He pauses, concern flitting across his face. "What don't you remember?"

"Well. Truthfully, I don't remember anything."

The concern settles in. Color rises in his cheeks. "Anything?"

I shake my head. "No. Sorry. You said I agreed to help you. Help you with what?"

If I'd kicked him, I don't think I would have gotten a more startled reaction. He stares at me, a terrible awareness springing into his eyes. "Are you even a bounty hunter?" he asks quietly. "Because that's what you told my brother you are."

I nod, relieved at least that I hadn't made up some fantastic tale about being a model—or a vampire. "Yes. I am a bounty hunter. Is that what you needed help with? Fugitive apprehension? Because I can do that. I just need a few facts."

Relief replaces some of the alarm on his face. "It's my ex-son-in-law. He's harassing my daughter. We've gotten a restraining order, but he's avoided being served. You said you could do it for us. That you could make him agree to stay away. You seemed pretty confident…"

His voice trails off as if maybe he's not so sure I can pull it off.

"Hey—" I stop, realizing I don't know his name. Another humiliation to add to the list. "Piece of cake. But I have to make a phone call first." Williams will be wondering about me by now. David, too, maybe, unless he's already packing for the move to L.A.

I look around for my purse. It's half-hidden under the Windbreaker on the chair. I retrieve my cell phone but realize when I flip it open that the battery is just about dead. There's a phone in the room, but I don't want to leave a call record in case I've been followed here. Williams will just have to wonder.

I snap the phone shut and turn it off to conserve what little juice is left. "No battery. Oh well—this shouldn't take very long. I can be back here by late afternoon, right?"

The guy nods. "No problem. My brother left this morning to tell Sylvie that we are on our way. You can ride back with him."

I take it that "Sylvie" is the daughter. He asks me then if I want breakfast. When I shake my head, he grins.

"It's no wonder. I've never seen a woman throw them back the way you did. But you can hold your liquor, I'll give you that. And it certainly didn't affect your performance, if you get my drift." His right hand drifts to his crotch in a cupping gesture that's both self-conscious and protective. "Ouch. You wore me out, lady."

Too much information. At least he's smiling. And I don't see bite marks on the guy's neck. If we had more than sex, I seemed to have cleaned up after myself.

He slips into a jacket and looks around the room. "I guess that does it. Are you ready?"

I smile and nod. No use telling him I wish to hell I could remember what it is I'm supposed to be ready for.

CHAPTER 17

BEFORE WE GET ON THE HIGHWAY, WE STOP FOR gas at a filling station. It's the first indication of where I ended up last night. We're in Santee, in East County. If you asked me when or how I got here from a bar in San Diego, I couldn't tell you. We're in a late-model Ford pickup. One of the big ones with a bed liner and toolbox. Clean. He uses a credit card to pay at the pump, then leans in to ask me if I want coffee. When I nod, he goes inside giving me a chance to open the glove box and look for a registration or insurance card—anything to help me put a name to the body I evidently spent last night enthusiastically fucking.

Dan Simmons. Local address, El Centro.

I snap the glove box closed just as he reappears in the door, two jumbo cups in hand. He hands them in to me, climbs in, takes his back, and we're off.

Luckily, Dan does not feel the need to keep up a constant stream of chatter as we hit the highway. It's a long, boring ride to El Centro through some very unremarkable country. I lay my head back and close my eyes, pretending to sleep so I can properly berate myself for being so careless. I can't believe I did what I did last night. The last time I had indiscriminate sex I was a kid in college. Even then, I never got so drunk that I lost control. And I always took precautions. After what I saw in the shower, I'm pretty sure there were no precautions. If I weren't a vampire, I'd be beside myself with concern.

I'm still beside myself with concern. What if this guy had turned out to be a Revenger? He could have as easily staked me as fucked me. I could be a pile of dust right now. Dan is human, and that's fraught with its own consequences. Up until now, I've excused my extra-relationship dalliances on the basis that it was of necessity. I needed to feed. I'm pretty sure I didn't feed last night. Last night was all about being pissed off, getting drunk and getting laid.

Shit.

Well, now I know. Vampires can get shit faced and stupid just like humans. What I don't know is how it affects my physiology in the long run. I no longer have a functioning digestive system. Like intravenous feeding, liquids are absorbed directly into my bloodstream. Obviously, liquor is absorbed as quickly as blood. Will I gradually get last night back? Don't think it's a question I should ask Williams. Physical injuries are quick to heal. Even the soreness I experienced earlier is gone. Which makes me wonder what we didlast night. This guy must be hung like…

What am I thinking?

What is wrong with me?

An inkling of understanding blossoms in my brain. This is why Williams and Culebra harp about avoiding or at least limiting human involvement to one dependable host. It's safer. Disillusionment leads to reckless behavior in vamps as well as humans.

It's warm in the car and before I realize it, I actually have drifted off to sleep. I know it because I'm awakened by the grip of a hand on my arm. The sensation brings me to consciousness with a snap and a growl.

Dan pulls his hand back. "Anna? Wow. That must have been some dream." He gestures to the road ahead. "We're almost there. Do you have any questions before I take you to meet Sylvie?"

I rub my eyes and sit up. I have a lot of questions. "Tell me again about Sylvie's ex."

Dan pauses a moment before speaking. He keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "His name is Alan Rothman. He's a construction worker. He and I did some jobs together a few years back. He seemed a nice enough guy. Good at his job, friendly. Sylvie had just graduated from college and gotten a job at a local bank. She didn't have many friends here so I introduced them."

His breath catches. He stops and collects himself. "I introduced them. That's the hell of it. They dated awhile, got married. Everything was fine at first. Then he started getting jealous—of Sylvie's work, of her friends, of me, for Christ's sake. We used to go to lunch once a week. One day, she didn't show up. When I called the bank, they said she hadn't been in for two days. I went to the house."

Another pause, another sharp intake of breath. I remain quiet. When he can continue, he does. "I found her. So badly beaten she could hardly speak. I took her to the hospital. That's when I found out it wasn't her first visit. I knew one of the nurses. She told me Sylvie had been to the ER twice in the last month. A sprained wrist, cracked ribs. She hid it all from me."

His sorrow is so acute it infects me, too. In a different way. A quiet rage begins to build. "When did this happen?"

Dan drags a hand across his eyes. "A month ago. When she was well enough to be released from the hospital, I took her home with me. She filed charges. He got out on bail. She filed for divorce. But he won't give up. He follows her everywhere, leaves threatening messages on her cell phone."

"You contacted the police?"

He nods. "They took the threats seriously, but they couldn't follow her twenty-four hours a day. We took out a restraining order. He's avoided being served. He moved out of their apartment in the middle of the night. The landlord doesn't have a forwarding address. He quit his job. Emptied their bank accounts. All the time the calls continue. It's getting worse. He says he'll kill her and I believe him."

We're on the outskirts of El Centra now, and Dan turns into a housing development. Middle-class, stucco ranch-style homes with tile roofs, landscaped lots. The desert is held at bay by a wide swatch of grass that surrounds the perimeter. Sprinklers send plumes of water cascading into the air, capturing and reflecting rainbows against the blue of the sky. Palm trees rise here and there like slender sentinels against the encroaching sand.

We pull into a driveway already occupied by a big SUV. At the front curb, a vintage Chevy Impala is parked, the convertible top down. Dan gestures to the car. "That's Burt's."

The brother I assume. I don't want to embarrass myself further by asking. I had the impression as Dan relayed his story that he told me all this before. He's gracious enough not to say it.

"What were you doing in San Diego last night?" I ask.

Dan is leading the way up a brick path to the front door. "My brother needed some finishing work done on his house. Sylvie agreed to stay at a friend's for a couple of days so I could help him. He was waiting for me at that bar when he met you."

He gives me a sideways glance, which I quickly avert. I can't even imagine what kind of conversation we had that led me to that motel room.

Dan has his keys in his hand. He's a step or two in front of me. Suddenly, he stops so abruptly I almost bounce off his back. "The door," he says.

I look up. The path is flanked by tall bushes and at first, I don't see anything. But when I move around Dan, I do. The front door is open, the frame splintered in several places. It looks like someone kicked it open.

Dan starts to yell for Burt, for Sylvie.

I grab his arm and stop him from bursting inside. I pull him behind me and motion for him to stay where he is. I doubt he will, but at least I'll go in first. I let my senses do a quick initial reconnoitering. I don't feel or hear anyone inside.

Dan whispers urgently in my ear. "Your gun. You may need it."

I doubt it, but the panic in his eyes lessens a little when I unclip the gun from my waistband and hold it at the ready.

I slide around to the side of the doorway, flatten myself against the wall, peek in. It's quiet. I crouch low and move inside. My toe comes in contact with something soft and yielding. I know without looking. A body. When I glance down, the body stirs. It's a man. A man I recognize from last night. Dan's brother.

Dan is right at my heels. He gives a little cry and kneels down. "Burt. What happened?"

The man groans and tries to sit up. The effort brings a wave of retching. He has a nasty cut on his scalp. He grabs at his head and moans, blood oozing between his fingers.

I squat down beside him. The scent and the sight of his blood makes it hard for me to keep from touching my own fingers to his wound. Instead, I rock back on my heels and ask softly, "Is he still here?"

He shakes his head, slowly and carefully. When he meets Dan's eyes, there are tears in his own. "Alan got her. He has Sylvie."

He says it apologetically as though it's his fault she's gone. Dan puts his arms around his brother. "Did he say anything? Do you know where he was taking her?" His voice is calm, controlled.

Only I see the fury burning in his eyes.

Burt struggles again to sit up. "He said something about 'getting it back.' Sylvie fought him but he was too strong. He was going to kill me if she didn't agree to go with him. She did, and he hit me anyway. God, Dan, I am so sorry."

I stand and place a hand on Dan's shoulder. "Do you know what he meant by 'getting it back'?"

When he looks up at me, resolve hardens his features. "Their first date. He asked me for suggestions. I said take Sylvie hiking in Palm Canyon. She loves it there. Later, he told me he fell in love with her that day. That's where he's taking her. I know it."

"Can you show me?"

He nods.

Burt is moaning again, his eyes glazing. He may have a concussion.

"Call an ambulance for your brother. Then we'll go."

Dan moves stiffly, pushing himself to his feet, walking with measured steps to a cordless phone on a side table a few feet away.

There's a photograph on the table. Dan and a young woman. I memorize what she looks like while he speaks softly into the receiver. I have a feeling, glancing back at Burt, that serving her ex-husband with a restraining order is not going to solve their problems.

Dan brings the phone to his brother.

"They want you to keep talking to them until the ambulance comes. Can you do that?"

Burt takes the phone. "Go," he says. "Find Sylvie."

Dan turns but instead of starting for the front door, he disappears through an interior doorway. He's back in a second. His studiously vacant expression triggers a spasm of suspicion in my brain.

"Dan, where did you go?"

He ignores my question, and heads outside.

I follow, too, but pause once, to turn at the doorway. “Tell the police where we've gone."

Burt nods. I breathe the scent of his blood one more time before hurrying to catch up with his brother.

CHAPTER 18

PALM CANYON IS A DESERT ANOMALY. AN OASIS tucked between canyon walls fed by an underground stream. When we pull into the parking lot, there are a half dozen cars lined up near the ranger station. Hikers, no doubt. There's no one on duty in the station on a Friday afternoon, though. State budget limitations have made it impossible to have full-time rangers.

Dan hasn't said a word. Wouldn't look at me or answer the question of where he went when he left his brother and me. I know how afraid he is for his daughter. I also know that kind of fear leads you to try stupid and desperate things. I'll have to keep an eye on him.

When we've parked and are out of the car, I stop him before he heads for the trail. He looks at me with the same blank expression.

"Let me take the lead," I tell him. "Alan doesn't know who I am. He does know you. If I go first, we may be able to surprise him."

He shakes his head. "You don't know what he looks like. You don't even know what Sylvie looks like."

"Dark hair, shoulder length, about five feet five inches tall, 120 pounds. She has her father's eyes."

He looks like I've just performed a magic trick.

"There was a picture on the table in the living room."

"You got all that from a picture?"

"It's what I do. Trust me. I'd ask you to stay here, but I know you wouldn't. All I am asking is that you don't try anything foolish and you don't get in my way."

His nod is wooden and not very convincing. But I understand. When my niece was in trouble, no force in the world could have stopped me from helping her.

We start into the canyon. It's after two in the afternoon and shadows are already lengthening. When we come to the first fork in the trail, Dan doesn't hesitate, but points to the right. We pass a group of hikers coming out.

I stop them. "We're looking for friends of ours. A couple. Did you pass anyone in the last half hour or so?"

A blonde wearing biker shorts and a tank top steps forward. She glances over my head. "We did pass someone. Your name isn't Dan, is it?"

Dan gives a startled jerk beside me. He steps in front. "Yes."

She frowns. "He said to tell you that they'd wait for you. That you would know where."

She looks to her companions with an expression that makes me suspect she wants to say more.

"Was there something else?" I prod.

She nods. "I may be reading too much into this, but I don't think the woman wanted to go with him. She was crying. I asked if she needed help, but she said no. The guy kept stroking her hair. He wouldn't let go of her arm. It was creepy. I was going to report it at the ranger station."

Dan doesn't wait to hear more. He starts down the trail at a run.

The blonde and her friends look like they might follow him. I touch her arm to get her attention. "There's no one at the ranger station. Call the police. Tell them which trail we took but warn them that it's a hostage situation."

The girl and her hiking buddies still look more excited than concerned. "Don't follow us," I snap at them. "This is not a game. There's a woman in danger, and you could get her killed. Get out of the canyon and call the police."

I can't wait to see if they'll do as I ask since Dan is out of sight. Once I make sure no one can see me, I race to catch up with him, vampire speed kicking in. I have no idea where we're going, but I do know I want to get there first. In seconds I've caught up with him. I drag him to a stop with a hand on his arm.

He whirls around, his face a mask of rage. "What do you think you're doing?"

But it's not the expression on his face or the anger in his voice that gives me pause. It's the gun. He's holding a gun. A Glock that's now pointed right at my chest.

I have to fight my first impulse, to wrench it out of his hand and hit him over the head with it. I understand now why he disappeared for a minute back at the house. He went to get this—a wicked-looking Glock.

I hold out my left hand, palm up, and increase the pressure on his arm with my right. I use my best calm voice to reason with him. “That gun isn't a good idea. You'd better give it to me."

He ignores my outstretched hand as completely as he ignores my reasonable voice. He tries to pull away, but I'm too strong. If he was thinking clearly, he'd probably wonder about that. Instead, he tries to fight me.

It's no contest. When I've got the gun and his face is contorted with the pain of my grasp, his expression crumbles. "What are you doing? We have to save Sylvie."

"We will. But we'll do it my way."

He stops fighting and I let go of his arm. To his credit, he doesn't grab his forearm and rub even though I know it must hurt like a son of a bitch.

I slip his gun into the waistband of my jeans, unclip my own. "How much farther?"

His eyes start to clear. "About half a mile. There's a wading pool at the end of this trail. At this time of year, there won't be anyone around. The water is too cold."

I nod. "Are you going to be all right?"

"When we get my daughter back." His voice is thick with worry.

"Then let's go."

We walk quickly and quietly along a dirt path that cushions our footfalls. The path winds through thick vegetation, screening our approach as effectively as it hides the location of our quarry. When I hear the spill of water into the rock basin, I know we're close.

I put a finger to my lips and whisper, "Where?"

Dan points ahead and to the right.

But before I can react, a taunting voice from that direction calls out. "Dan? Is that you? Come out, come out wherever you are. Sylvie needs you."

There's a whimper and a short cry, as if he's yanked Sylvie's hair or pinched her so that she'd do just that.

He called for Dan. No mention of anyone else. I pull Dan's head down so that I can whisper in his ear. "Go out. I'll be right behind you. Keep him talking."

Dan nods. His face has lost the sharpness of his anger. The only emotion stamped there now is concern.

"We'll get Sylvie out safely."

I'm not sure he hears me. He walks away, calling out, "Sylvie, honey, it's Dad. Where are you, baby?"

A small voice answers from about one hundred feet ahead. "Here. By the pool."

Her words are cut short and in their place, the male voice snaps out in contempt, "Yeah, Daddy. By the pool. Come join us. We wouldn't think of starting this party without you."

Dan gets several steps ahead before I veer off the path and let his voice guide me. My plan is to go around the pool, get behind Sylvie and her abductor and spring myself on him before he realizes I'm there. I allow the animal to take control of the human. I make no noise at all as I move toward them.

Dan's voice is plaintive. "Why are you doing this, Alan? You love Sylvie, I know you do. Why would you want to hurt her?"

"I do love her. But you've spoiled it. You've made her think I'm not good enough. Well, it worked. I'm not good enough. But no one would be. I'm going to spare her the pain of finding that out."

"Please. Think about what you're doing." Dan's voice is abruptly silent. Then, "Sylvie. I'm so sorry. What has he done to you?"

He must be with them now. And I gauge that I'm only a few yards from the target. I push closer.

Sylvie is crying. "Dad. I'm sorry. I begged Alan not to bring you here. I agreed to go with him—anywhere—if he'd promise not to hurt you or Uncle Burt." Her voice breaks. "I think he killed him."

"No. Don't worry about Uncle Burt. He's going to be just fine. We got to him in time."

I realize Dan's mistake the same instant Sylvie's captor does. "We?"His voice ratchets from contempt to suspicion with that one word. "Who is 'we,' Dan? Did you bring someone with you?"

I can see them now, the three of them. Sylvie and her ex-husband have their backs to me, Dan is in my line of sight. I know Dan doesn't do it on purpose, but his eyes shift to me and away, and in that instant, Alan reacts. He whirls around, his grip on Sylvie's throat forcing her to move with him. He can't see me, I've already ducked out of sight, but he yells in my direction.

"Who's there? Tell me. I've got a knife and I'll cut her throat if you don't show yourself."

I gather myself to spring. Dan moves first. I hear the scuffle as I launch myself up. Alan pushes Sylvie at Dan. He raises the knife to plunge it into her back but I stay his hand with a growl. He spins to face me, but confusion slows his reflexes. He expects to see a human face, not a two-legged animal.

The shock lasts only an instant. He twists his hand and lashes out with the knife. The blade cuts through my jeans, opening a gash high on my left thigh. Blood follows the path of the knife in a crimson arc.

The smell of my own blood triggers an uncontrollable urge to spill his. The change is complete. The vampire takes over. I hear the gasps as Dan and Sylvie see what most mortals never will. I let my gun drop to the ground and prepare to attack the way an animal would, with open jaws and snapping teeth.

Alan starts to scream. I don't care. He's cowering behind upturned fists, trying to back away. I close in on him. He raises the knife and I let him. I'll give him that last flicker of hope before I rip out his throat.

The gunshot is so loud, it makes me jump, clapping my hands to my ears. A spray of blood and tissue settles like a crimson veil on my face and clothes. For a moment, I'm not even sure who's been hit. The painful sound continues to resonate like the toll of a bell long after understanding reaches the brain. Alan crumples slowly to the ground, his face gone.

I drop on all fours. I don't know who shot Alan, but I don't want to take the chance that whoever it is isn't through firing yet. Bullets hurt.

It gets quiet in the clearing. Too quiet. Sylvie moves first, coming close to stare down at Alan's body. Dan grabs her and pulls her back. She reacts as though slapped, jumping away from her father with a small cry. Then she collapses against him and starts to sob.

Neither looks in my direction. I'm back to the human Anna, but I have an image of me growling and gnashing my teeth at Alan's throat a moment before. I imagine they do, too, and that may have something to do with the fact that they aren't rushing over to see if I'm all right.

But there's a bigger puzzle.

Neither Dan nor Sylvie is holding a gun.

I look down at Alan's body. The shot took out the back of his head, exiting through a gaping hole just below the bridge of his nose. The shot could only have come from behind. From the bushes. And from a high-powered rifle.

My eyes probe the dense brush. Nothing.

Until all hell breaks loose.

The echo of the gunshot has barely faded before uniforms surround us. State police, local police, detectives, even a couple of rangers appear out of the shadows like a swarm of gnats. Evidently they were close on our tail and the sound of the shot was like the discharge from a starter's pistol. It brought them at a run, guns drawn. Between Burt and that group of hikers, no stone was left unturned.