"Good," I muttered. "I don't like sharing my socks."
My trip on Winkler's private jet was probably going to come to mind every time I had to take a commercial flight from then on. The seats were wide and comfortable and nobody was crowded. No layover in Dallas, either—we'd flown straight to the Corpus Christi airport. Two security guards were there waiting on us with two of Winkler Security's ever-present SUVs. Winkler had left the add-on guards in Oklahoma City, hoping that continued activity there would indicate he was still in residence. If anybody left alive knew he'd been there, that is.
"You going out with us Tuesday night?" our security guard driver asked. Gavin, Davis and I had climbed into the same vehicle, but the driver was talking to Davis and not to us. Gavin had a few words with him and the other guard when we got off the plane but that was it. They could have been old friends, for all I knew.
"Yeah. Winkler already talked to Shirley." Davis was grinning at the guard. I had no idea who Shirley was and I found myself wondering if she was an old girlfriend or the proprietor of the local brothel. Those two choices seemed to encompass Winkler's relationships with women. Present company excepted, of course.
I also had a brand new envelope tucked away in my luggage, only this one held twenty-five thousand in cash. Winkler's reward to me for bringing in the three who'd tried to kill him. It felt like blood money to me, but it was money—ready cash in case I had to go on the run. The other thing he'd handed me (which shocked me completely), was a credit card with my name on it. It was an American Express employee card, through Winkler Security. Well, la-de-dah.
"So Davis doesn't have to keep giving you cash when you run errands for us." Winkler grinned as he said it, so I stopped myself from smacking him.
There was no condo waiting on us as the guard (whose name I learned was Todd) drove us out to Mustang Island. Oh, no. There was a beach house to end all beach houses. It had to be at least six thousand square feet with a detached garage and the inevitable guesthouse on top of that. Yeah, Gavin and I got that. "Come inside the house when you drop off your bags," Winkler ordered after we parked inside the spacious garage. "Sis is already here and I want you to meet her."
Gavin and I dutifully dropped our bags off in the large sitting area of the guesthouse, and he claimed the bedroom nearest the door, just like last time. It was larger than the one I was left with, but I wasn't about to argue. My bedroom had two twin beds in it; his had the queen. He was bigger than I was, I reasoned. I checked my windows plus the blinds and drapes that covered the windows. All appeared sufficient to block the light. My bedroom faced west, too, while Gavin had the east side. At least we had our own shower, just like last time.
Gavin was waiting for me at the bottom of the guesthouse steps after we'd settled in. Together we walked to the French doors at the back of the house. A wide, cedar plank deck that overlooked the waters of the gulf fronted those doors. The salt air on the barrier island was thick and almost tangible around us. Somehow, I knew there would be fog in the morning but I couldn't have said how I knew it. Gavin opened the door and motioned for me to go ahead of him. Winkler was there, a drink in his hand already, his sister peeking around his tall, muscular body.
"Lissa, this is my baby sis," Winkler said, pulling her around to introduce us. Her name was Whitney. Whitney Wynne Winkler. His name was William Wayne Winkler. And I thought my dad had a horrible sense of humor. Whitney took my hand and shook while I smiled at her. That warmed things up a little, I think. She was pretty, with the same shade of dark hair that Winkler had and stood about a foot shorter than her brother. Only Gavin was taller than Winkler, who topped six-three. That put Whitney just a little taller than I was and Davis, Phil, Glen and the two guards treated her like royalty.
Davis offered drinks and snacks to Gavin and me as we took seats inside the spacious family room. The others were engrossed in a Mavericks basketball game playing on the giant flat screen television mounted on the wall. Gavin asked for scotch and soda; I settled for a glass of wine. Alcohol has no effect on a vampire if they drink it straight. Mine had to be laced with blood and come directly from the source. In my limited experience, anyway. Gavin also had a quiet conversation with Whitney and she was smiling and laughing with him in no time. Go figure.
"Whitney wants to go shopping tomorrow evening at the mall in Corpus," Winkler informed me later. "I want you to go with her and Sam." Sam was the second guard that met us at the airport.
"All right," I nodded. Winkler and the rest of them went to bed around three; Gavin and I began our guard duty then. I enjoyed walking that perimeter—the ocean was beautiful and the sound of the water quite soothing.
The fog hung around all day and the weather was cooler than it normally was at this time of year. It served to hide me quite nicely when I rose the following evening and found a tourist to feed from. The young man tried to hug me as I drank from him. He even smelled nice—not covered up with suntan lotion or anything else—the scent was all him. I thanked him before telling him to forget me, sending him on his way down the beach.
That night was when I chose to wear the second outfit that Davis had brought to me in Dallas. I wore the short-sleeved plum top, along with the charcoal slacks and kitten heels. Winkler was appreciative of the clothing when I showed up inside the house a bit later. I'd passed Gavin on my way out the guesthouse door and noticed he was wearing a deep frown on his face, his arms crossed over his chest in obvious disapproval. Well, I was willing to let him take Whitney shopping while I stayed there and watched the house and the ocean.
Sam drove us in one of the SUVs. He and Whitney both sat in the front and kept up a teasing conversation during the entire drive into Corpus Christi. Sam was young, I thought, in his early twenties and quite a handsome kid. The blackest hair with eyes to match, coupled with a wolfish grin that came easily plus a great sense of humor. Whitney relaxed around him but always seemed a little tense around Phil, Glen and Davis. Maybe she was just sick of Winkler's bodyguards. I don't think it hurt any that Sam smelled three quarters human and one quarter warm puppy. Perhaps Whitney was responding to that, too. Phil always smelled like a wet dog to me. Could be his aftershave—how was I to know?
Padre Staples Mall is right off South Padre Island Drive and easy to find. We parked by Dillards and walked inside the mall, where I discovered quickly that Whitney was a shopaholic. Sam had to walk away while she rummaged through the lingerie section inside Dillards, talking about this bra as opposed to that one and loading the sales clerk down with underwear. "What do you think?" she held up a leopard-print bra in front of her small br**sts, asking for my opinion.