Anna Strong.
Retribution.
by Jeanne C. Stein.
PROLOGUE.
IT WAS TOO DARK.
She couldn"t see.
Her nose wrinkled. Something smelled bad. Smelled of urine and vomit and . . .
Death. She recognized it, though she shouldn"t have been able to. She wouldn"t have been able to twenty-four hours ago.
She was afraid. He was supposed to be here. He promised to be here.
She stepped closer to the wall, away from the door. The dark clutched at her with icy fingers. She was too new. She felt vulnerable, exposed. Her blood, his blood, ran through her veins, but it offered no protection. Where was the strength he promised? The freedom from fear?
She began to shake. She was so hungry. She needed to feed. He said he"d be here to help her. To show her what to do.
A sound, the scrabbling of claws on concrete, made her jump. Her skin tightened at the base of her spine. There were rats in here. Rats. He didn"t expect her to eat rats, did he? No, he"d have to let her feed from him again if that"s what he had planned.
She would not eat vermin. No matter how hungry she was.
She felt a thrill of excitement. She had done it. She had become vampire, one of the strong, one of the immortal. It wasn"t exactly what she expected-the becoming. But she"d crossed the threshold and come out the other side. She was vampire.
So, why was she cringing here in the dark like a child just because he was late? Hadn"t he said instinct would kick in when the time came to take her first human?
Maybe he had more faith in her abilities than she did.
Maybe he had decided to let her hunt on her own because he knew what she was capable of.
Maybe he was right outside the door, waiting for her to- To what?
She peered into the darkness. There wasn"t anyone here. There were no humans in the building, of that she was certain. She didn"t smell anything except the putrid odor of decay. She didn"t hear any hearts beating, nothing breathing or snorting or coughing.
She was alone.
With the rats.
She pressed a dial on her watch. The face glowed. She"d been here thirty minutes. She would wait five more.
She worked her way back along the wall to the door. There was no moonlight to break the gloom or cast a shadow through the broken windows. Irritation quickened her step. Why had he told her to meet him here? Was this some stupid initiation prank? If it was, she didn"t find it funny. He"d know that soon enough.
She pushed at the door.
It creaked open.
He was waiting for her outside, his features pale in the dim light.
"Where have you been?"
He smiled and raised his arm.
A shiver of uncertainty ran up her spine. "What is that?"
He took one step closer and fired. The dart from the crossbow caught her just under her left breast. A p.r.i.c.k.
Warmth.
Then . . .
I SIT STRAIGHT UP IN BED-HEART POUNDING.
Christ.
What a weird dream.
CHAPTER 1.
THERE ARE SOME THINGS ABOUT BEING A VAMPIRE that come in handy in my line of work.
Tonight is a perfect example.
I"m a bounty hunter. The human I"m after is sitting at a bar ten feet away from me getting s.h.i.t -faced on cheap beer and bad whiskey.
She"s leaning on the shoulder of her loser boyfriend, whose name is Hank. I know this because I smell the booze, see the drunken haze clouding her eyes, hear every word they"re saying. Where they plan to go when they leave, who they"re planning to meet, how much money they expect to have after they rob the neighborhood 7-Eleven.
She has no idea that anyone is listening. How could she? The noise in this dive is at jet engine decibels. But I hear. Everything.
She pushes herself off the bar stool and staggers to her feet. Her name is Hilda. She"s wanted for three counts of aggravated a.s.sault. The boyfriend she"s drinking with is one of the complainants. Seems they "ve made up. She"s about five feet four inches, two hundred fifty pounds. She"s dressed in low-cut jeans and a tight T-shirt.
Not a pretty picture.
Hilda gathers up what"s left of a twenty-a fiver and some coin. The barkeep laid the change down five minutes ago with a smile after she"d called for the tab.
The barkeep"s expression now reflects disappointment; he thought she might forget.
Hilda"s expression says fat chance.
Hilda pushes the coins toward him but drops the bill down the front of her shirt and grins. "Want a bigger tip? Come get it."
Hank grabs her arm. "What are you talking about, b.i.t.c.h?"
The bartender takes a step back and moves away. The boyfriend is bigger than Hilda and mean-looking. I can see by the frown on his face that the barkeep thinks no five-dollar tip is worth the aggravation. He moves to the other side of the bar.
Hilda and her boyfriend argue all the way to the door. I slip out right after them. I already know where they "ve parked their car and while they lurch toward it, I take off ahead of them. By the time they get to me, I "m leaning against the driver"s side door, twirling a pair of handcuffs.
"What the f.u.c.k?" Hank says.
"Yeah, what the f.u.c.k?" Hilda echoes.
"Hilda, Hilda. I got a call from your daughter this afternoon. She"s upset. Do you know why?"
Hilda"s eyes scrunch. "No. Why?"
"You must have forgotten that you had a court date this week. You didn"t show up. Now if I don"t get you to jail tonight, your daughter is going to lose her house. You really wouldn"t want that to happen, would you?"
The boyfriend snarls and takes what I"m sure he imagines to be a menacing step toward me.
The fact that his eyes are crossed and drool spindles from the corner of his mouth takes the sting out of the threat. I hold my ground and snarl right back. Literally.
His eyes widen, but he places his hands on swaying hips and says, "Those are bulls.h.i.t charges. You"d better get away from my car, little lady, or I"m going to have to take you over my knee." He grins at Hilda. "That"s pretty good, huh? We"ll give this b.i.t.c.h a spanking she"ll never forget."
Hilda grins back. For a minute, I think they"ve forgotten I"m here. Then they both turn around.
And start to run.
In opposite directions.
Hank picks the better route-toward the street. With surprising dexterity, he leapfrogs into the back of a moving pickup and peeks up over the gate. The driver doesn"t realize he"s picked up a pa.s.senger and continues on his way down the road.
Hank has no bounty on his a.s.s, so I don"t care. I take off after Hilda. She has a head start. Still, it"s no contest. She"s two hundred and fifty pounds of couch potato. I don"t need to tap into vampire strength or speed. I"m on her before she makes it to the end of the parking lot.
I push her to the ground and jump on her broad back. She bucks under me like a bull. I yank both of her hands behind her and snap on the cuffs. It happens so fast, she doesn"t realize she"s trussed until she tries to push herself up.
She starts to yell. For Hank.
"Save your breath, sweetie," I whisper in her ear. "The last glimpse I had of Hank, he was hopping in the back of a pickup. He"s long gone."
I reach down and haul her to her feet. I use one hand, as if she weighs twenty-five pounds instead of two-fifty. "Looks like it"s just you and me."
Hilda is looking at me bleary-eyed with confusion and alcohol. "How did you-? What did you-? Where did you-?"
I pat her head and push her toward my own car. "Don"t try to figure it out, Hilda. You"ll hurt yourself."
She stumbles forward. I"ve got one hand on the cuffs and one on the small of her back. We"re just about at the car when my cell phone rings.
I dig it out of my pocket and flip it open.
It"s my partner, David, on vacation in the Bahamas.
"Hey, Anna," he says. "How"s it going?"
"Just peachy." I open the rear car door and shove Hilda down onto the seat. "Are you having fun?"
He laughs. "I"m laying on a beach drinking mojitos out of coconut sh.e.l.ls. How about you?"
Hilda looks up at me and spits. Only trouble is, she"s got the coordination of a drunk and the spittle dribbles down her own chin and settles somewhere in the vicinity of that five-dollar bill she"d shoved down her blouse.
I slam the door and take my place behind the wheel. "Actually, yes," I tell David. "I am having fun."
CHAPTER 2.
I DEPOSIT HILDA IN CITY LOCKUP AND HEAD TO the office David and I share on Pacific Coast Highway. It"s just past midnight on a Sat.u.r.day night and the restaurants in Seaport Village, our a neighbor to the south, have already shuttered for the night. I take a beer out of the fridge, gather the day"s mail from the desktop and step out onto the wooden deck that spans the rear of the building.
It"s a cool, moonless, late April evening. Too cool for a human to enjoy sitting out on the deck the way I am now. For a vampire, temperature is irrelevant. Ninety degrees or fifty, makes no difference. However, the feel of a soft ocean breeze blowing off the water, the cool iciness of the beer bottle in my hand, the play of light on the water from Coronado across the bay, are human sensibilities I can still enjoy.
The beast is quiet within me. It"s nice.
I place the bottle on the deck and sort through the mail. A couple of bills, a couple of checks. A postcard.
From France. The Eiffel Tower.
I flip it over, smiling because I know it will be from my niece. Trish "s precise, graceful script fills the back. Her friend Ryan and his parents are visiting for spring break. They"ve traveled from my family"s home in Avignon to Paris and her words sparkle with wonder and excitement. Her fourteenth birthday is next week and they plan to celebrate with fireworks at the chateau. Could I possibly fly over, too? Oh, Trish, I wish I could.
She is having such a good time, learning so much. I can"t remember ever feeling as optimistic or hopeful about the future as she does. It"s a gift. I wish I could share it with her. If I were human, I might be able to.
As a vampire, I"m afraid that all I can bring to her life is the threat of danger. She and my parents are better off with distance between us.
It"s the reason they are now living on a winery in France and I"m chasing lowlifes like Hilda in San Diego.
I gather the mail and the now-empty beer bottle and go back inside. For the first time, I notice the message light blinking on the telephone. I lift the receiver and punch in the code for voice mail.
"Anna. It"s Williams. This is the fifth message I"ve left. I need to talk to you, d.a.m.n it. It"s important."
I delete this message just as I have the other four. He doesn"t seem to get it. I don"t want to talk to him.
I slip the checks into a drawer to be deposited tomorrow, place the bills on the desk blotter and prop the postcard against my computer monitor. I"ll call Trish on her birthday. I can do that. Talk to her. Let her know I love her.