"Lissa, I'm sorry we put you through that. But Weldon Harper is still alive, thanks to you."
"Yeah, how about that," I said. "It's not every day I carry naked men up and down tall pines, just so we can avoid a pack of rabid Wolves."
"Is that what you did?" Winkler laughed.
"Yeah. When I carried him down to get him home, I told him he was obligated to tell his grandchildren how he was rescued from a tree by a cookie baking vampire."
"You know, most vampires I've met are secretive and reserved and I've yet to meet one with a sense of humor, except for you. Maybe it's good that you're rogue, Lissa. They didn't spoil you."
"Yeah. That's me all right. Lissa Hood, the outlaw vampire."
"Are you still mad at me?" he asked, more seriously.
"A little. Maybe more than a little. Too many people knew things and they weren't sharing. I've made this up as I went along. If I'd known what werewolf saliva would do to me, I might not have fought so hard to stay alive. That was worse than burning in the sun after I dug you out of that field."
"Lissa, I'm sorry," Winkler took my hand that covered his and kissed it.
"Don't be sorry. I think I've been sorry enough for both of us. Self-pity is now a regular destination," I said, taking my hand back.
"I don't expect you to go back to work until you feel like it," Winkler said, lifting his arms over his head and stretching a little. "Leon's helping Gavin at night and James is holding the fort in Oklahoma City, still. Both are werewolves, in case you didn't know."
"I figured it out," I shrugged. "I think I'd like to go into Corpus Christi tomorrow evening. I need more books," I said. "And I'd like to go by myself. Don't worry; your little puppet should be safe."
"Lissa, I wish you'd stop calling yourself that."
"What else should I call myself? Willing captive? Voluntary suicide? The stupid twit who's waiting for the Vampire Council to catch up with her?"
"You're not stupid, Lissa. Don't say that to me again."
"You and Gavin. 'Don't walk into the sun, Lissa. Don't call yourself stupid, Lissa'." I mimicked both of them as I walked out the French doors.
* * *
I had a pile of books on the café table inside Barnes and Noble, sipping hot tea and flipping through some of the hardcovers to make sure I really wanted to buy them. The weather was a little stormy outside, too. It was the eleventh of April, prime time for unstable conditions. The Cadillac was sitting in the parking lot so I hoped it wouldn't hail and dent it up. Spring weather in tornado alley is always unpredictable—it's just a fact of life.
"Mind if I sit?" A man walked up with a stack of books in his arms. All the other tables were taken so I slid my books out of the way to give him space. "Thanks. I'll be right back, I need coffee," he said and went off to stand in line at the counter. He was back in less than five minutes, sitting down and doing the same thing I was doing—flipping through his books to see if he wanted them. I sipped my tea while I kept going through my books, reading beginnings as well as the flaps in some cases. Money deserts me swiftly inside a bookstore if I'm not careful.
"I read that one," the man pointed at the front of my book. "It was so good I read it twice."
"Wow. That's a recommendation," I said. "Do you read this author?"
"No, not normally," he told me. "I think I've read one other by her. I liked it, too."
"I'll give it a try," I said, putting it in the keep pile.
"Do you live here?" he asked.
"I'm a temporary resident," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to get sucked into a conversation with this guy, even though he was attractive. He was also young—looked to be around thirty-five or so and that wasn't a plus in my book.
"I'm just here for vacation," he said. "I took a whole six weeks. Actually, my boss made me use some of my time since I had too much vacation built up."
"Yeah? What do you do?" I asked.
"I work for the government," he said. "My boss thinks I'm about to get burned out so he sent me out the door and told me not to come back for six weeks."
"And what did you think about that?" I couldn't help it; I was beginning to like this man.
"I think I called him a name," he said as he sipped his coffee with a smile.
"Oops."
"Yeah. So here I am. Forced vacation."
"Poor thing."
"Am I whining?"
"I think I like it," I said, smiling for the first time in days.
"You're welcome to whine back if you feel like it," he said. "Any chance I might run into you on the beach sometime in the next few weeks?"
"Probably not. I work nights and sleep days," I said.
"A night job?"
"Security," I said. "You know—the kind that carries flashlights." He laughed.
"Tony Hancock," he held out his hand.
"Lissa Haddon," I took his hand and shook.
"Lissa? For real?"
"Yeah. Everybody thinks its Melissa, but it's not. I blame my parents."
"Mine almost named me John Hancock instead of Tony Hancock." He had dimples. I love dimples. He also had black hair and grey eyes. I usually didn't see that combination outside of Irish actors.
"Having John Hancock for a name might be unconstitutional," I said, grinning helplessly at Tony.
"Nah, I think they made an amendment," he replied.
"You know, it's nice when the entire country goes out of its way for you."
"You know it. And my boss didn't even fire me, when I called him a dick."
"And his name's not Richard, is it?"
"No. It isn't."
"He must like you," I said. I was smiling again. The most I'd smiled in a long time. His eyes were almost dancing with humor.
"He says he doesn't, but then I don't get fired, so what do you make of that?" he said.
"I think he likes you, or your work, or both," I said. "And he's a liar on top of that."
Tony laughed out loud. "Come on. Let's pay for our books and then go find a drink somewhere."
"You're kidding?"
"Not. Come on." He had my arm in his hand, almost dragging me toward the register. He'd picked up my books, too.
"Your car or mine?" he asked after we'd paid.
"The last time I picked up a male, he stabbed me," I said. "So you drive. That way I can slap a knot on your head if you get out of hand."