Adrian Phoenix - 02 In the Blood by Adrian Phoenix

Author:Adrian Phoenix
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-07-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS

Damascus, OR

March 23

“ABOUT TIME,” BECK SAID, climbing to his feet as Caterina hiked up the hill. “I was beginning to worry. What took so fucking long?”

“Sorry,” Caterina said. “The daughter was still up. I waited.”

“I was thinking I should do Wallace and make you wait in the dark and the dirt for a change. See how you like it. But we don’t need to worry about her since the orders just changed.” Beck bent and gathered up the blanket. “You got off easy, Ms. Bad Ass.”

Caterina looked at him. “Changed? How?”

“They want her bagged and brought in, so they’ve sent Norwich and Shep.”

“Brought in? Why?”

Beck straightened, the blanket draped over his arm, and looked at her for a long silent moment. “How the hell would I know?” he finally said. “When did you start asking why?”

“Right now,” Caterina said.

“Well, knock it off and let’s hit the fucking road,” Beck said. “I’m hungry and I’m tired and I have a zillion bug bites.” He started down the other side of the hill toward their rented Mazda.

Caterina drew in a deep breath of pine scented air and lifted the Glock. “Beck.”

Beck turned around and his eyes widened. The blanket fluttered to the ground. His fingers locked around the grip of the Colt in his shoulder holster. She aimed. The moment stretched, time suddenly elastic and streamlined. Their eyes met.

Beck yanked the Colt free of its holster. Caterina squeezed the Glock’s trigger. The bullet hit Beck between the eyes, and he was dead before his body crumpled to the ground and rolled down the hill.

Lowering the gun, heart triple timing, Caterina closed her eyes and stepped off the tightrope.

THE VAMPIRE NOMAD STRODE out from behind the curtain and onto the stage, joining the Inferno members already tearing down and packing up their equipment. Sheridan moved, climbing up the side steps and sidling along the curtain’s faded edge. He slipped behind it. Then froze.

Dante Prejean was stretched out on a well worn sofa, unconscious, black hair half hiding his pale face. Perched on the sofa’s arm, a beautiful red haired woman lifted a gun in a steady two handed grip and aimed.

“Turn around and walk away,” Heather Wallace said quietly.

Sheridan had no doubt that she’d pull the trigger if he didn’t comply. His mind raced almost as fast as his pulse. Wallace is guarding a fucking vampire.

For one heart pounding, crystal clear moment, Sheridan envisioned shooting Wallace, then Prejean, but knew he’d never have time to kill the bastard properly before someone the nomad, one of the mortal band members, a groupie wandered backstage.

Forcing a smile, Sheridan lifted a conciliatory hand, showed the digital camera in his other hand. “I’m with Spin magazine,” he said. “Just hoping for some candids.”

Wallace didn’t return the smile. Didn’t lower the gun. Didn’t say squat. Sheridan backed away, hand still lifted, then slipped past the curtain. He didn’t breathe easy again until he was outside.

He crossed the parking lot, sidestepping the puddles and ignoring the cold rain trickling down his face.

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