"Wow, a Jag!" The kid couldn't have been more than nineteen, I thought, as he leaned down and peered appreciatively at the interior of Winkler's Jaguar. "Man, what happened to you?" He'd gotten a good look at me, his eyes finally adjusting to the dim interior of the car.
"Fell in the mud," I said. "Back in one of those wheat fields. You want a ride or not?" It never occurred to me at that moment why the boy might be hitchhiking after dark. My hunger was ruling my brain as well as my good sense. If I had any, that is.
"Yeah, I do," the kid hopped in and slammed the door. Loud noises hurt my ears nowadays. I disliked the kid already.
"Where to?" I asked. "I warn you, I'm not going past Oklahoma City."
"That's good enough," he said as I started to pull onto the deserted road. "Yeah, that's good enough," he repeated, yanking a knife from his jeans pocket and stabbing me in the ribs with it. The Jaguar screeched to a halt when I hit the brakes as hard as I could.
"All right, that's not really nice." My hand was over the kid's and jerking the knife out of my flesh in no time. His eyes were wide and frightened as I squeezed his hand, breaking bones. He released his grip on the knife while writhing and whining in his seat. Lowering my window, I flung the knife into the field on the opposite side of the road before turning back to the youth.
"I'm not even going to be gentle about this," I growled, jerking him toward me and sinking my fangs into his throat to drink. He was whimpering and had wet himself when I shoved him away from me. "Now," I said, angry compulsion in my voice, "you're not going to remember me or anything else about this. Get out and go home. And give up your life of crime while you're at it. You suck as a criminal."
The boy lurched out of the car, witlessly wandering away and leaving the passenger-side door open. "Fuck," I muttered, reaching over to close it. The wound in my side tugged and ached with the effort. The drive to Oklahoma City was almost calm and uneventful after that. I thought to check the knife wound while I sat at a traffic light later, but it looked to be closing up already. You should have seen the committee waiting on me, though, when I drove through the gate.
"Where the hell have you been?" Davis jerked the car door open and almost dragged me out of the car. I had to unbuckle the seat belt first before he had any success at it.
"Rolling around in the muck, what does it look like?" I was almost shouting at him. "That security guard we fired was in on this. They shot him and buried him right on top of the box they stuck Winkler in. I shoved him back into that hole and covered him up before working on getting the Jaguar out of the ditch."
"Why didn't you answer your cell?" that was Glen and he sounded really mad.
"I don't know." I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket. It was covered in muck just as I was, in addition to being completely dead. I handed it off to Glen so he could see for himself.
"Do we need to go out there?" Davis asked.
"Only if you want to show the police where the body is buried." I examined the driver's seat of the Jaguar; it was covered in mud. Gavin was there within seconds, examining it with me. Suddenly, gripping my arm in his hand, he hauled me toward the guesthouse.
"What the hell are you doing?" I was trying my best to pull away from him without exerting too much energy. It would certainly stir up unwanted interest if I threw him across the yard like I wanted.
"Tossing you in the shower," he said through clenched teeth.
"Good. Why didn't you tell me that? I can walk, you know. You don't have to drag me."
"Oh, I intend to help," he said.
"No you're not."
"I've seen everything you have before."
"I beg to differ. Unless you've sneaked in while I was sleeping." A horrible thought flitted across my brain. Had he? That made me pull harder against his hold. Gavin just found a better grip and forged on.
"I was speaking in female generalities."
"Well, you're still not helping," I informed him tartly.
"Do not be obstinate about this," he growled, hauling me up the stairs.
"I will be obstinate about it," I told him angrily, still struggling against his grip.
"Do not," he propelled me down the hallway toward my bedroom, "attempt to thwart me in this." He kicked open my bedroom door and pulled me inside. I tried to dig my heels in but my mud-caked shoes slid traitorously across the carpet. My shoulder met the tiled wall of the walk-in shower. Gavin was already turning on the taps and then reaching for my shirt. I should have just let him have his way. We ended up tussling in the shower instead and somehow my shirt and jeans got ripped until I let him have the shreds of each. They were pulled away and he was examining the thin cut that remained from my stab wound.
"What the hell happened?" Gavin asked, kneeling down to get a better look at my gash. The warm water poured down on both of us, soaking him (and me) in very little time.
"I picked up a hitchhiker," I mumbled as he poked the wound. "He stabbed me."
"No kidding." Gavin pulled the edges of the wound apart.
"Hey, that hurts!" I slapped him on the head. I guess vampires could feel pain—it hurt when the kid stabbed me and now Gavin's assistance didn't feel all that great either.
"What happened to the kid?" Gavin grabbed the soap and began cleaning the wound.
"I took his knife and threw it out the window, then told him to go home and give up his life of crime because he sucked at it."
"You don't say," Gavin was thoroughly washing the gash, now.
"I did say. You heard me, didn't you?" I wanted to slap his head again; he wasn't the gentlest nurse I'd ever had.
"How did you figure out where Winkler was?" Gavin was now cleaning my arms with a mesh sponge and body wash.
"Con. What Glen and Phil heard when they called Winkler's back-up cell. I took a wild guess and made a stab at Yukon. It was really lucky, too. I suck at Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, both."
"Yukon. You-con." Gavin tried it out for himself.
"Yeah. Lucky guess."
Gavin washed my hair, even, but let me do my br**sts and between my legs, thank goodness. When he didn't try anything funny, I gave up and let it go. After years of visits to the gynecologist, I no longer needed that little paper sheet they let you drape over your lap. Why use it? They're just going to look anyway.
"Winkler wants to see Lissa!" Davis was pounding on what was left of my bedroom door. I was drying off while Gavin leaned against the vanity, his arms crossed over his chest, watching while I toweled myself dry. He'd knocked quite a bit off the bottom of my bedroom door, kicking it in earlier.