The Watcher

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 did last 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.