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Little by little, I’d given up so much of myself, and the painfully embarrassing thing was that Jason hadn’t even asked me to. I’d done it willingly, because I thought it was what he wanted. It turned out, of course, that what he wanted was Lisa. After all of that, he still didn’t want me. The life I thought we would share didn’t mean anything to him. If it had, he would have been honest with me. He wouldn’t have been able to tell another woman that he loved her.
Jason was torn—and not in the way I wanted him to be. When he realized that I was going to call off the wedding because of what he insisted was just an emotional affair, he promised me that it was over. The wedding plans had scared him, he insisted, and he’d panicked. That was something I could understand. Mom’s daily quizzes on napkin colors and floral preferences nearly drove me to the brink, and I was supposed to be interested in that stuff. I felt terrible, listening to his voice, that I hadn’t noticed how stressed he was. Maybe if I’d picked up on it, we could have avoided this whole mess.
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to forgive him. I wasn’t ready to give up what I thought we’d had together or my parents’ tacit approval. But my anger kept getting the better of me. Every once in a while, I would be overwhelmed with the urge to punch Jason in the throat. I couldn’t seem to stop checking his texts whenever he left the room. I wanted to trust him, but after reading the sweet, loving messages he’d sent his supposedly platonic best friend, I felt this weird need to assure myself of his fidelity. I was starting to feel like that crazy girl you saw on episodes of Cheaters, and I hated every moment of it, so I broke it off with him. And even though part of me still loved him, I canceled all of the reservations and wedding plans. The ring relay cycle began. I gave it back. He returned it. I gave it back. He returned it.
On our scheduled wedding day, when Jason said he had something to ask me, I said I had something to tell him. He went first and proposed all over again. I responded that I would be leaving in two days to take a vampire-transport job from Iris and needed the time to think about whether I’d ever be ready to trust him again. I was determined to make a final decision on the road. When I got back, I told him, I was either going to commit to Jason or give back his ring permanently.
I was pretty sure he wished that I’d gone first.
These were heavy thoughts, unwelcome distractions, as I made my way across an empty parking lot, also known as the lonely serial killer’s playground. As I crossed the battered concrete partition that separated the motel lot from the restaurant, I heard the faint plinks of gravel skittering across blacktop behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled up. I was being watched. I could feel eyes sliding over my skin like some icky radar system. I squared my shoulders and listened attentively as I moved.
I was about thirty paces from the motel office, twice that to my room. I could break out at a run, but that could provoke the nasty “chase” instinct common in parking-lot predators. And there was a good chance that I could trip and smash my face on a speed bump.
When I’d worked at Bite, a vampire bar just outside Chicago, the bouncer trained the waitresses on basic self-defense. The owner didn’t want us walking to our cars after closing without some idea of how to take care of ourselves. I actually did pretty well in my sparring matches, despite the fact that Tino the bouncer was roughly the size of a compact car. Tino speculated that my unique ability to find trouble meant that I spent more quality time in panic mode than the average person. Being accustomed to the fight-or-flight response, I was able to channel all of my adrenaline into hurting someone besides myself. After I called Tino a number of colorful names, I thanked him for his helpful insight.
My ability to defend myself in rough situations—along with a brief but memorable stint as a taxi driver in Cleveland—turned into quite the selling point for my boss, Iris, during the hiring process. I could parallel-park and adjust my radio while flipping a rude gesture at another driver, all the while calculating a 20-percent tip in my head. I demonstrated my skills to Iris when she hired me. She asked me never to do it again.
I slowed my steps, unwilling to stop completely and look around. I popped my thumbs, shaking the blood into my fingers, still hoping that I could make it to my room without confronting Mr. Parking Lot Creeper. It had been a very long time since my last sparring match with Tino, and I stood a pretty good chance of pulling something. Driving long hours the next day with a wrenched hamstring would suck.
Seriously, where is half-naked, oil-covered Jason Statham when you need him? I wondered, thinking of The Transporter and how he would handle this situation.
The crunch of gravel moved closer, maybe five paces behind me.
Stand and fight it was, then.
Just as I was about to turn and yell at whoever it was to leave me the hell alone, I heard a shout and the sound of feet dragging across pavement. Two mismatched truckers in full plaid regalia had Mr. Sutherland pinned against a car, wrapping a thick chain around his middle. My client seemed more embarrassed than angry, his fangs in full play as he spoke in that rapid, clipped accent. “Get your hands off of me, you cretins!”
“We caught you, asshole! You don’t sneak up on ladies like that!” the heavier of the two truckers shouted in a heavy Texas accent, giving Mr. Sutherland a violent shake. His arms, bared by ripped sleeves, were as thick as tree trunks and twice as gnarly. His partner had more of a straw-blown build, dirty-blond hair, and a lazy eye that seemed to follow me as I stormed over to them.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Let him go!”
“Get back!” the lankier trucker yelled. “Go to your room, honey. Just get out of here. Let us take care of this.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded as he looped the chain around Mr. Sutherland’s arms, pinning them to his waist. His skin sizzled and smoked where the chain came into contact with his wrists. These idiots must have sprayed the chain down with colloidal silver, a common trick among bar brawlers who were unsure of whether their opponents were living or undead. For vampires, touching it resulted in burning, itching, weakened muscles and, eventually, a wish for death. And Mr. Sutherland was sort of emo, anyway.
I surged forward, making a grab for him, but Lanky caught my arm and dragged me away to a “safe distance.” My hand clamped over my purse strap, and I yanked free, using Lanky’s body momentum to shove him a good arm’s length away.
“Saw this foreign jackwagon following you from the diner, all stealthy-like,” said Heavy-Set, his bewhiskered jowls aquiver. “We figured he wanted to make you his midnight snack or worse. Girlie, don’t you know better than to wander at night when there are vampires running around? We saved your life!”
I turned on Mr. Sutherland. “You were following me? Really?”
Mr. Sutherland huffed indignantly but didn’t comment, what with the silver cutting into his flesh and slowly poisoning him.
“The way we look at it, you owe us a little reward,” Lanky said, posturing and leering at me.
“Look, I appreciate the thought … and the inappropriate, ultimately doomed flirting,” I said, approaching them slowly with my hands up.
Weakened by silver, Mr. Sutherland sagged against the car. Heavy-Set was leaning on him, counting on his bulk and the silver to keep my vampire client in place. But the trucker’s feet were set too close together, and his center of gravity was too low. One hard push, and Mr. Sutherland could get loose.
Lanky was circling a bit too close to me for my comfort, arms down at his sides, because I was no threat, in his mind.
I smiled sweetly and added, “And I understand the urge to hurt him. Hell, I’ve only known him for a couple of hours, and I would gladly punch him in the junk for you. The problem with that is that the grumpy, slightly creepy guy you’re wrangling is my responsibility. I’ve got to deliver him halfway across the country in three days. I get paid less if he’s banged up and silver-scarred.”
“You work for them?” Lanky demanded, thoroughly disgusted. “For vampires?”
“I know it’s cliché, but the dental plan is amazing,” I deadpanned. “So what I need you to do is step away from the vampire and move along.”
Heavy-Set shook his head, twisting the chain a bit tighter around Mr. Sutherland and dragging him toward the bed of their truck. “Nope, I can’t let that happen. You need to be protected from yourself, honey. And that means we teach Mr. Dead here that you don’t stalk ladies in parking lots.”
