Jeanne Stein - Chosen

He relaxes at that, gathers his papers and that stupid book and rustles them back into the briefcase. “I’ll come over early,” he says. “Well before dark so we have time.”

Culebra is not so easily fooled. He is eyeing me the way a spider eyes a fly buzzing around a web. He sees the subtlety in my gesture, reads the intention behind the words. He guesses once we leave, the probability that Frey is going to get the chance to finish his tutorial is about as good as a fly’s chance to escape if it touches that web.

I let him. I let him know he’s right.

He cloaks his thoughts so Frey doesn’t intercept. Be careful, Anna. You are venturing into deep water. Don’t make the mistake of thinking because you want something to be so, it will be. There are some things in this world over which you have no control.

I meet his gaze, say nothing. So far as I can tell, since becoming vampire, I haven’t had control over anything that’s been done to me.

That stops.

Now.

I push every single word of this afternoon’s conversation out of my head on the drive home. I concentrate only on the mechanics of driving, on my weariness, on the bed I’m going to fall into the moment I get to the cottage. I’ve been up eighteen hours. A few hours’ sleep and I’ll be ready to face the only obstacle I intend to tonight. Judith Williams.

The cottage is cool and quiet, a haven from the bright, sand-reflected beach sun. I make sure the doors are locked, the drapes pulled, and let my head sink gratefully onto the pillow.

His smell hits me like a physical blow. It’s in the bedclothes. Floats on the air. Floods my thoughts like a rising tide.

Damn you, Lance.

I toss the pillow across the room, snatch sheets and blankets and tear them off the bed.

I won’t let him do this to me.

But the bare mattress still retains the scent of us . Of sex and blood and passion.

My hands curl into fists. I’ll haul it down to the Dumpster tomorrow. After I have David back.

Right before I track the bastard down.

It’s only six when I awaken from a nap that did little to remedy a bad case of sleep deprivation. Vivid dreams of the cave in Biarritz were interspersed with equally vivid dreams of Lance—sexual images that my body responded to even as I slept.

When I open my eyes, my face is wet with tears and my body aching with loneliness.

I stumble into the bathroom, strip and force myself to step into a cold shower. The shock of the water is reviving. Sluggishness gives way to a sense of purpose, gloominess to renewed energy. I can’t let despair make me forget what tonight is all about. Finding David.

I dress for a night operation. Black jeans, black long-sleeved T-shirt, black tennis shoes. As I prepare, my mind circles around one thought like a buzzard around a carcass. I’m assuming an awful lot. I’m assuming Mrs. Williams took David. I’m assuming she’s taken him to Avery’s. I’m assuming that she’ll be expecting me. Valid assumptions from my perspective. She and her husband were friends with Avery. She knows our history as well as anyone.

If I’m wrong, then what?

I start over.

Once dressed, I’m antsy to get going. I wish now I hadn’t asked Frey along. My thought that he’d have a better chance to prowl the ground unnoticed as a panther made sense at the time I suggested it. Now all I can think of is the baggage that goes along with his participation.

I’ll have to listen to more of his bullshit about what he read in that stupid book.

It’s just before seven when the doorbell rings. I grab keys and my handbag, and run down the stairs to the front door.

I’m expecting Frey.

I’m not expecting the frowning, angry woman who pushes her way into my home the minute I open the door.

Tracey Banker projects her fury like a bullet seeking a target. And right now, I’m the bull’s-eye. She doesn’t give me a chance to say anything before firing the shot.

“I know you weren’t happy when David brought me on board. I don’t expect us to become best buddies. But you have no right to lie to me. David is in trouble, and you better damn well let me help or I swear I’ll go to the cops and tell them you knew about it all along.”

She’s yelling and waving a piece of paper in my face. I pry it out of her hands. The first thing I notice is that it’s a copy of an email. An email addressed to me.

To me.

The second thing I notice is who it’s from: Judith Williams.

What the hell?

I turn it around and shove it toward her. “You always read other people’s mail?”

“Fucking good thing that I did.” She’s still yelling. “You had some guy call and tell me that you and David had gone out of town on a job. Wouldn’t be back until Tuesday. That’s not what this says. If I hadn’t opened it, by Tuesday it would be all over. David would be dead.”

There’s no way I can explain that I wanted her out of harm’s way. Or, more important, that this is none of her business. She’s in no mood to listen. Instead, I turn my back on her and concentrate on the paper in my hand.

Anna. You and I have a date with destiny. David is along for the ride. Whether or not he survives is entirely up to you. I know if he hasn’t already, your friend Daniel Frey will tell you what is expected of you. I also know your first impulse will be to find a way out. It’s why I took David. I suggest you spend less energy trying to avoid what will happen on Tuesday and more on learning from the Grimoire. Who knows? You may yet find an escape clause in the teachings. It’s the reason I arranged for Mr. Frey to find the book. I have no desire to hurt your partner. He seems like a good man. A little confused right now. I had no idea he was unaware of your true nature. Trust me when I say he is being well cared for. That can change, though. It’s up to you. Until Tuesday morning then—

Judith Williams

Behind me I sense Tracey pacing like a caged lioness. As soon as she sees my hand lower the page, she pounces.

“Who is she? What does she mean you two have a date with destiny? Why is she holding David hostage? What’s that crap about your true nature?”

She grabs my arm and spins me toward her.

I let her. As long as she’s venting, I can try to figure a way out of this mess. She doesn’t recognize Judith Williams’ name, which is a plus. But Tracey was a cop who worked for Chief Williams. It won’t be long before something triggers a spark of recognition and she puts it together.

Crap. The only thing I can think to do is tie Tracey up and stick her in a closet. For three days? Not very practical.

Tracey still has her hand on my arm. She’s staring at me. “Your skin is cold.” She narrows her eyes. “The note said something about your true nature? What are you?”

The question catches me off guard. As does Tracey’s reaction. She jumps back and away. The fight drains out of her. Her eyes no longer blaze anger, they blaze fear. I smell it on her, mingling with the stink of that perfume she seems to bathe in. Sickly sweet. “What are you?” she asks again.

I try for menacing. “What do you think I am?”

Her expression morphs from terror to confusion. “But is David—?” Her voice drops off before she completes the question.

This may be the opening I need. “Is David like me? No. I’m vampire. He’s worse.” Then I laugh. “Are you serious? You think this is for real? This is a game we play. Like Dungeons and Dragons. You weren’t supposed to know about it. People tend to think it’s a little strange when adults play role-playing games. But it’s harmless. A way to blow off steam.”