Twilight's Possession - Burning Hunger Part 11

Still not ready to give up, she dropped on hands and knees-lost-treasure hunting was not for the vain or easily embarra.s.sed-and searched the floor with her hands. Was there a loose floorboard? A trap door? "I can't believe it isn't in here. It must've fallen in a crack or rolled further back," she explained, as she ran her hands over every inch of the floor. "I'm so sorry. Am I keeping you from something important?" She forced a tear to her eye before looking over her shoulder. A little sympathy could come in handy.

He twisted his mouth into a semi-snarl. "If you'll kindly close the door when you're through, I'll come back later to lock it."

Yes! That was exactly what she'd hoped he do. Didn't want to look too happy though. Her eyes stinging as she forced more tears, she nodded, "Absolutely. Thank you."

As soon as she was alone, she set about searching every inch of the closet's walls, floor and sloping ceiling.

Nothing. Shoot!

Was she at the wrong place? The wrong room? The wrong building? Thankfully, the museum wasn't hosting any school groups and the solar system room, being at the very top of the building, was empty except for her. It gave her plenty of time to search the room.

Over an hour later, defeated and frustrated, she left.

Where to next? Back to the house? Back to her place? The clue playing through her head like a stuck song, she walked back to the car. The multi-storied, concrete and steel garage was quiet and dark, save the murky yellow light oozing from the fixtures dotting the cement walls at regular intervals, and the occasional distant squeal of tires or blast of a horn from the nearby road. Her senses alert, she hurried down the narrow alley toward the stairs, housed in a closed section in one corner. She clambered up the metal staircase then pushed through the door marked with a huge three. Third level above ground.

She never felt safe in these garages. They were creepy. Dark. She was alone. Surrounded by thick concrete walls and thousands of empty cars. How easy would it be for someone to knock her in the head and have their way with her?

Jittery and chilled from both nerves and the cool, damp air, she rushed toward the van. Had to be parked on the far end, opposite the stairs, of course.

She had a funny tingly feeling between her shoulder blades. Was someone following her? She whipped around and listened, figuring if someone were following she'd either see or hear them try to duck behind a car.

Nothing. Okay, she was just being paranoid.

A little less petrified, she continued walking. A heavy sigh of relief slipped through her lips when she reached the van and hooked her fingers under the door's handle.

Something flew past her ear, something tiny and fast. She ducked out of instinct. An instant later, when a hole the size of a bullet punched through the winds.h.i.+eld, she knew what that something had been.

Someone was shooting a gun? At her? Why?

In full panic mode, she dragged open the door and hurried into the vehicle. Staying low, and praying like she had never prayed before, she fumbled with the keys, stuffing them into the ignition. The pa.s.senger side window exploded, the pebbled safety gla.s.s showering down on her. Another bullet whirred through the air and hit the winds.h.i.+eld from the rear, creating a second ring of shattered gla.s.s next to the first.

She couldn't move.

She couldn't breathe.

It was over. She was dead meat.

Was this how it was going to end for her? Had she spent all those years hiding in her apartment to be shot and killed in a parking garage?

h.e.l.l no!

Her chest on the pa.s.senger seat, she scooted toward the driver's side, working her legs down under the dash. The second she found the pedals, she hit the gas and jammed the vehicle into reverse. The vehicle jolted backward, striking something hard that went thump.

Ha! Had she hit the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h? Knocked him out? She hoped so! She changed positions, allowing herself to sit up so she could steer as she continued backing out of the parking spot. Using the driver's side mirror as a guide, she cranked the wheel to the left, turning the vehicle to the right and punched the gas. The right side of the van raised then fell, first the rear then the front. b.u.mp, b.u.mp.

Her insides surged up her throat. She stomped on the brakes. The van wasn't traveling fast, so it lurched to a sudden stop. "Please tell me I didn't just run over a human being." Sure, she hadn't been sorry for knocking the would-be killer out, but killing them...oh no. She was not a killer.

She sat very still, eyes straight ahead, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly her hands were numb. She listened, not sure whether she wanted to hear someone moving outside or not. For sure, she didn't want to hear any more gunfire.

What to do? Drive away, saving her hide but possibly leaving a human being lying near death on the ground? Or check and see if she'd indeed run over someone?

G.o.d, she didn't want to get out. Either way, she figured she wasn't going to like what she saw. If she were watching this scene on television right now, she'd be screaming at the stupid heroine, calling her too stupid to live for even thinking about getting out of the vehicle. In the movies, the chick who did that got the ax. Quite literally.

But in real life, it was different. She wasn't an animal. If she hurt someone, the human being in her demanded she at least call for help.

She took a few deep breaths and twisted around in her seat, sneaking a glance at the pa.s.senger-side mirror. She saw nothing but the reflected image of a bank of parked cars and a concrete wall. No crazy murderer with a hockey mask and a weapon in each hand.

She inched higher, trying to see a few more inches of the ground in the mirror. Nothing. She lifted her foot off the brake, s.h.i.+fted into drive and let the vehicle roll forward a few feet, her gaze bouncing back and forth between the view out the shot-out winds.h.i.+eld and the reflection in the mirror.

There was something on the ground. Something dark. That looked a lot like a person.

Oh G.o.d.

She turned around in her seat, adjusted the angle of the mirror, and while staring at the form lying sprawled on the ground, hit the horn. It, he, whatever, didn't move. Didn't twitch. Didn't jump. No human being was that good at playing dead.

She fumbled for the phone in her pocket, checked to make sure it was powered up. She even dialed 9-1-1, although she didn't put the call through yet. She wanted to make sure she hadn't just run over a bag of clothes or something first. She s.h.i.+fted the vehicle into park.

The phone at ready, she inched open the driver's side door, stepped out onto the running board and dropped her head, looking under the vehicle for feet.

It appeared no one was hiding around the back of the van. She placed one foot then the other on the ground and slowly, cautiously, left the safety of the vehicle.

"I-I have a gun," she lied, knowing it was probably pointless. "Don't move or I'll shoot." She took one, two, three steps forward and stopped.

It was a woman.

Still holding the gun. Sort of.

Her face was ashen.

Her eyes were staring straight ahead. Sightless. One pupil huge, the other a pinpoint.

Dead.

The air thinned. The world whirled around her head, making her feel like she was on a runaway carnival ride. For some reason, all she could think to do was snap a picture of the dead killer with the phone's digital camera. Then, sitting in the van, she called the police, "h.e.l.lo, I'd like to report an accident," she told the dispatcher with a shaking voice. "I h-hit someone. I think she's dead."

Chapter Nine.

"It can't be her." Marek stared blindly at the wall, the phone resting in his palm. "W-Why?"

"Who is it?" Dayne asked, first looking at Marek and then at Brea when he didn't respond.

Brea shrugged. "I don't know. The police wouldn't tell me anything. They just asked me the same questions over and over, and left me sitting there for ages, wondering if they were going to arrest me for vehicular manslaughter or something. All I know is that she is dead. I ran her over, but thankfully the authorities decided it wasn't intentional. I've never had an accident before. I've never killed someone before either." She placed her hand on Marek's arm. He was still looking dazed. Confused. "Marek?"

Staring straight ahead, he slowly shook his head and extended his arm toward Dayne. "It makes no sense."

Dayne took the phone and lifted it to view the photograph captured on the tiny screen. "Ohhhh..."

"What makes no sense? Who is she?" Brea urged. "She shot at me. No one has ever shot at me before. She almost killed me. Why?"

Her words seemed to finally jolt Marek out of the spell he'd fallen under. His expression cleared, the confusion lifting. "My brother's fiancee Lena. Our future queen."

"Queen?" Brea repeated. There were no queens in the United States. Were her Chippendales legal citizens of some other country? "Queen of what?"

"Sons of the Twilight," Dayne explained, handing the phone back to Marek. "I agree. This makes no sense-"

"Sons of what?"

"The Twilight," Marek repeated, nodding to Dayne. "Must be some mistake. Maybe she picked up the gun when the real shooter dropped it."

"Sons of the Twilight," Brea echoed over the guys' conversation. "Is that some kind of secret society? Like the Masons?"

"Kind of," Marek said.

"Not really," Dayne said, nodding. "Yes. Now that makes sense. She must have picked up the gun after the shooter ran. And of course, Brea wouldn't know that since she was ducking low to avoid being shot."

"Yeah," Marek agreed distantly. He picked up the phone again and studied the grainy photograph. "Maybe if we printed a copy, we could see the detail a little better."

"Doubt it. These old phones don't take the best quality pictures. They're less than one megapixel."

"d.a.m.n. I'd like to know for sure. I should tell Kaden about this."

Suddenly feeling like a third wheel, Brea watched the guys talk about the photograph, the woman, what they should do next.

"Are you sure you weren't hurt?" Marek asked, his gaze sweeping up and down her body. "You shouldn't have left by yourself. You have no idea how dangerous that was."

"I tried to wake you two up but you wouldn't budge. It was late. Broad daylight. And you two were dead to the world. What are you? Nocturnal or something?"

The two guys swapped sidelong glances.

"What?"

They both shook their heads.

"I was starving but neither of you could be bothered with getting me some food." She continued, her rant gaining momentum, "What did you expect? And why the h.e.l.l don't you have anything to eat in this place?"

Frowning, Dayne crossed his arms over his chest. "I told you to order some carry-out-"

"Correction," she interrupted. "You said you'd order carry-out. Besides, I'm tired of that place. That's all I've had since you brought me here. A girl likes a little variety, you know. And while you two were getting some beauty sleep, I thought I'd solve the clue. I didn't expect anyone to chase after me with guns blazing."

Marek sighed. "We should've told her everything sooner," he said to Dayne.

Dayne shrugged his shoulders and murmured, "I think you're making a mistake."

"Everything? What everything?"

"It's a little complicated." Marek looked down at the phone in his hand then set it on the table and stood.

"Complicated? Imagine that. So what's the big secret? There's something really strange going on here. I'm not stupid." She poked an index finger at Dayne. "You never eat." Then she pointed her other index finger at Marek. "You sleep during the day. You both are obviously hiding things from me. People are chasing me. Are you two government agents or something?"

"No," Dayne answered, positioning himself beside Marek. "We're...vampires."

She started to laugh but the guys' serious-as-death expressions made her guffaw lodge itself in her throat. However, her constricting windpipe didn't stop a chuckle from escaping her lips. "Vampires?"

They both nodded.

"Real-life, blood-sucking vampires?"

They nodded again.

"Can't-go-out-in-the-sunlight vampires?"

They nodded a third time.

"Ha! I got you there. You kidnapped me in the middle of the afternoon. Explain that one to me."

"We are given a special pill once a year," Marek reasoned coolly, "to enable us to go out in the sunlight. It only lasts for a few hours though."

"A pill? Uh..." Wow, what's a girl to say when her lovers drop a bomb like that on her? "Are you two trying to scare me off with this crazy story? 'Cause I'll gladly leave on my own. I'm not in love with you or anything." Not in love, but up until now, she'd been mighty close to falling in serious like with her Chippendales. "I mean, you guys kidnapped me. Not the other way around."

Marek stepped forward. "We needed you. We still do."

"Why? For the Triad?"

Marek's gaze s.h.i.+fted to Dayne.

"That's it? You kidnapped me to help you find the Triad? You weren't going to help me? I was right all along?"

To think she'd started to believe they were working together. The three musketeers.

How stupid was she?

A million emotions blasted through her all at one time. Anger and hurt were the biggest. She felt used. Worthless. Manipulated. Once again, she'd trusted the wrong male-males.

"I'm so out of here." She rushed to the door but Marek caught her arm. "Let me go, dammit. I'm not going to help you."

"We still need you."

"f.u.c.k off and die."

This time it was Dayne who spoke, "If you leave before sunset tomorrow night, that's exactly what will happen. To both of us."