Not even when she heard the shuffle of footsteps heading toward them. When she heard the cocking of a rifle, it was Cain who turned to face the new attack, not her.
“What the hell are you doin’ to that girl?” a fierce voice demanded.
Eve knew the voice had to belong to the old man, the one who’d been sleeping in the motel’s office.
“Nothing she doesn’t want done,” Cain murmured back.
I’d definitely wanted it. She still did. The threat of a rifle wasn’t cooling her lust.
“Either get a room and pay me,” the guy snapped, “or get off my property.”
Eve caught Cain’s hand. “We’re leaving.” They were so close to Beaumont. They’d be safe only after they took down Wyatt, after they ended the twisted manhunt that he had launched on them.
The man, hands trembling a bit, lowered his rifle. As Eve and Cain walked by him, his gaze swept over them. Seemed to linger a bit on her face.
It’s dark. He won’t see much.
“You—you sure you don’t want a room?”
Eve frowned. The guy was trying to get them to stay?
“Just forget you ever saw us,” Cain advised him, opening the passenger door for Eve and ushering her inside their borrowed ride. “It’ll be better that way for you.”
When they pulled away from that little motel, Eve glanced back. The old man was still standing in the middle of the parking lot, watching them.
James Andrews didn’t move until the red taillights had disappeared. But as soon as that car vanished, he sucked in a deep breath.
That man’s eyes had glowed with fire.
James pulled his phone from his pocket. Dialed the number he’d called a dozen times before . . . ever since he’d started working with Doctor Richard Wyatt.
His motel didn’t get a lot of business. Too old. Too hidden. But the supernaturals, hell, they loved to stop by his motel.
Maybe because it was hidden. Maybe they thought they’d be safe, nestled in the little rooms that were surrounded by mountains.
They thought wrong.
On the third ring, his call was answered. The person didn’t speak to him, but James knew the drill. “A man and a woman were just at my place, ” he said, “and the guy . . . his eyes were on fire.” The damnedest thing he’d ever seen.
James heard the swift inhalation of air on the other end of the line.
“Why didn’t you keep them there?” Wyatt demanded. “You know what you’re supposed to do when the paranormals come to you.”
James was supposed to do the usual routine. The one that brought him cash, and made the freaks disappear. Normally, he gave them one of the special rooms. When they slept, he pumped the place full of gas—some brew Wyatt had made. The supernaturals didn’t wake up, not even when Wyatt’s men came to haul them away.
And James got a nice bit of money for his trouble.
It was the perfect deal for him. Hell, he hadn’t even needed to install the vents in the rooms. Wyatt’s men had taken care of everything. Set up the ventilation system, got the drugs all in place for him.
All I have to do is give the supernaturals the right room key.
It was a perfect deal for him.
“They wouldn’t take a room.” His mistake. He’d come off too aggressive. At first, he’d thought he was dealing with humans. He’d heard their voices as they argued, though, and he knew . . . “But they’re coming your way. I heard ’em mention Beaumont.”
He didn’t want to know how those two had found out about Beaumont. He sure as hell would never go there. If he did, James knew he’d find too many supernaturals gunning for him.
“Thanks for the tip.” A brief pause. “You’ll be getting your payment soon.”
James smiled. He was getting close to retirement. A few more grand, and he’d kiss these mountains good-bye.
The call ended. James took his rifle and his phone and headed back toward the motel. Dead leaves crunched beneath his feet.
“Bad mistake . . .” The words seemed to drift on the wind.
James spun around. But no one was there.
“I remember you . . .” That voice again. Dark. Angry.
James dropped his phone and clutched his rifle tighter. He started to back up, heading toward the office.
He backed right into something. Someone.
James spun around, lifting his gun.
The gun was snatched from him. Tossed away.
A man stood before him. No, not a man. The bastard before him had fangs. “Do you remember me?” the vampire asked.