Books by Maggie Shayne (218 page)

"T-Tommy?
 
Why?
 
God, why?"
 
She tried to get to her feet, stumbled, but managed to get upright.
 
She managed two staggering steps towards Michael's Jag, and then he had her by the hair, pulling her backward as the blade plunged into her back.

A cry was driven from her lungs.

"You should have checked in with the police today, Mary.
 
They finished the autopsy—found out that the body they found in my bed wasn't even mine."

Pain racked her, and she fell to her knees again.

"They had to wait for the autopsy or they would have told you that sooner.
 
But it doesn't matter.
 
I'll be in a new town, using a new name, by this time tomorrow."

He came around to stand in front of her, his knife, dripping wit blood, still in his hand.
 
She forced her eyes upward, away from the blade, to his face.
 
Beyond his head, she saw the full moon rising ever higher in the sky.
 
"Why Tommy?
 
Just tell me why?"

"You mean your precious vampire lover hasn't told you by now?
 
About the vampire hunters?
 
People who dedicate their lives to eradicating his kind from the planet?
 
No?"

"But... but I'm not... not a vampire."

He smiled.
 
"And you never will be.
 
See, that's the beauty of doing it my way.
 
I take your kind out before you can ever become like them.
 
It's way more efficient."

'It's murder."

"To hell it is.
 
You aren't going to live much longer anyway.
 
Most of you never live to see thirty."
 
She frowned, shaking her head in confusion.
 
"What, he didn't tell you that, either?
 
It's a handy little side effect of having the kind of blood you have, Mary.
 
You get weak, you get sick and, unless they transform you, you die."

She closed her eyes.
 
He crammed the knife into her shoulder, and her eyes flew open wide again with her scream.

"I'll admit, you probably had a few more years in you.
 
But what the hell, now or later, it doesn't make any difference.
 
All that matters is that I prevent any more of
them
from being made.
 
You oughtta thank me, Mary.
 
I'm about to save your soul."

She was fading fast.
 
He eyes fell closed again, and she thought of Michael, wished to God she had let him tell her his story instead rushing off to find out for herself.
 
She loved him, and yet she'd given in to her need to know all.
 
What hadn't she trusted her heart?

She knew what was coming next.
 
She had read the autopsy reports on this man's other victims.
 
He would stab her repeatedly, and then he would hang her by her feet and slit her throat while she was still alive, so that everyone one of blood would drain from her body.

"Why do you hate them so?" she managed.

"Why?
 
Because they could have saved my sister," he told her.
 
"But they didn't.
 
Not one of them came around to help her when she needed it.
 
If she couldn't live, then I'm gonna make damn sure none of you do."

He stabbed her again, in the side this time.
 
She barely felt the pain, though.
 
She was already losing consciousness, and she whispered a prayer of thanks for that.

Maxine pointed when she saw the two vehicles on the roadside.
 
"There!
 
Over there!"

Lou swung the car off the road behind the other cars, and was out and running forward, his gun in his hand, almost before Max got the words out.
 
She was right behind him, and she saw what their headlights illuminated.
 
A young man, spattered in blood, leaning over a woman who was soaked in it, typing a rope around her ankles.
 
As she ran, she saw the other end of the room was looped over the low-hanging branch of a nearby tree.

"Freeze, buddy, or you're history!"
 
Lou, when he was in cop mode, had a voice that carried as if helped along by a bullhorn.
 
"Back away from the lady."

The man, the killer, straightened.
 
He had a knife in his hand as he took two steps backward; then he dropped it, turned and raced into the woods.

"Take care of Mary," Lou barked, and he raced off after him.

"God, I hate when he does that."
 
Max knelt beside Mary McLean.
 
"Ah, hell, look at this," she muttered, as she tore at the woman's blouse, trying to decide which hole to plug first.
 
She'd already lost a great deal of blood.
 
Max knew too well that there would probably be no donor close enough to help her.
 
She ran to the car for the emergency first-aid kit she and Lou kept there.
 
God knew they'd had to stop profuse bleeding enough tie to know what to do.
 
Pressure bandages plenty of gauze.
 
She punched 911 into her cell phone then cradled it between her shoulder and ear, so she could use her hands to keep working on Mary as she spoke.
 
Stormy had phoned to tell her that Dunst and Michael Gray
 
were on the way taking alternative routs.
 
So Max told the 911 operator to let Officer Dunst know by radio what had happened and where.
 
Then she hung up, despite the operator's insistent "stay on the line," and tossed the phone aside.

Even as she worked, plugging one knife wound after another, Max was painfully aware that while she might stop the bleeding, she could do nothing about any internal injuries, much less replace the blood the woman had already lost.
 
She kept looking up, search the dark woods for some signs of Lou and the killer.
 
She didn't want her stubborn partner to be the bastard's next victim.

Then the sound of a motor drew her head up.
 
A single headlight accompanied the sound, and by the time the motorcycle was close enough for her to make it out clearly, it was already skidding to a stop, crashing to its side as the rider leaped off and ran forward.

"I hope to God you're Michael Gray," Maxine said as he ran forward.

He proved he was by falling to his knees and shouting, "My God, no!
 
Mary!"

Max gripped his shoulders hard, gave him a firm shake.
 
"She's lost a lot of blood, Michael.
 
He didn't cut her throat, but there are a lot of stab wounds and we're miles from a hospital.
 
I've called an ambulance, but they're half an hour out.
 
I've done everything I can.'

He stare into Max's eyes for a dozen heartbeats, and she thought he read her meaning perfectly well.
 
Then he pulled free of her hands and gathered Mary to his chest, bending over her stroking her hair.

"My partner's gone after Tommy.
 
I've gotta go back him up," Max said.
 
"This... this is up to you now.
 
Do what you think is right."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Michael held Mary close to him, an he could feel the life ebbing slowly from her body.
 
God, he didn't want to lose her.

"Michael..."

Her whisper came warm against his neck.
 
He eased her back a little, enough so he could see her face.
 
God forbid she should be even more frightened at a time like this.
 
But she might be afraid—of him.
 
She'd felt from him, after all.

"It's all right.
 
I won't hurt you, Mary.
 
I could never hurt you."

"I know that."
 
Weakly she lifted her hand to his cheek.
 
"It doesn't hurt anymore," she whispered.
 
"I think I'm dying, Michael."

"Hold on.
 
We've called an ambulance.
 
Help is on the way."
 
God, once again his revelation of what he was had driven a woman he loved to her death.
 
He couldn't bare it.

Mary's eyelids fell closed, but she popped them open again.
 
"I have to tell you... to explain..."

"It's all right.
 
Save your strength.
 
You don't have to explain to me.
 
I understand why you ran away."

She moved her head left, then right, and it seemed to take extreme effort.
 
"No.
 
I wasn't... running away.
 
I just... I had to know."

He frowned, not understanding.

"I had to understand... what you are.
 
What it means."
 
She paused seemed to force herself to breathe.

"So you went to... those investigators?"
 
It hurt that she hadn't brought her questions to him.
 
"You could have asked me, Mary.
 
I'd have told you anything.
 
Anything you wanted to know."

'And I'd have believed anything you told me."
 
She was battling to keep her eyes open, clinging to consciousness with sheer will.
 
"I had to talk to someone... someone I didn't love."

He closed his eyes in sheer anguish at her words.
 
She loved him.
 
My God, she loved him.

"I lost track of time.
 
But I was coming back to you, Michael.
 
I was coming back..."

Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision, as he leaned closer, pressing his lips to hers.
 
When he lifted his head away, he whispered "I want to tell you that I love you, Mary.
 
But those words don't begin to describe what I feel for you.
 
It's beyond love—at least beyond what I thought love could be.
 
It's a force more powerful than heaven and earth combined."

"I know," she said.
 
Her voice was weaker now.
 
So weak he had to bend closer to hear her words.
 
"I feel it, too."
 
She stopped there, breathing hard, as if even the mere whispered words were taking every bit of strength in her.
 
"The ambulance... won't get here in time, will it, Michael?"

He could barely speak past the lump in his throat.
 
"No."
 
And then he forced himself to go on.
 
"But I'm here.
 
And, God help me, I don't want to let you go, Mary."

She stared into his eyes, her own fierce and determined, and with what had to be the last of her strength, she raised her head and forced out tow final words in the strongest voice she could manage.
 
"Then
don't.”
 
Then her head fell back again, and her eyes closed.

Did she mean...?
 
Oh, God, he couldn't be sure.
 
Had the investigators explained this part to her?
 
How could he commit this act without knowing for sure?

He was out of time.
 
Mary was dying.
 
Her heartbeat, which he could feel as if it were his own, began to skip and stutter.
 
Her breathing stopped entirely.

He wasn't even certain he could save her at this point.

But he had to try.

The murderer's blade lay on the pavement near Mary's feet.
 
Michael reached for it, took it, and made his decision.
 
Using the tip, he pierced his own throat.
 
And then he gathered Mary closer and pressed her lips to the tiny font.
 
Closing his eyes, he willed her to swallow.

And finally, after what seemed an endless moment she did.

Her body went rigid in his arms, and her teeth clamped down on his kin in reaction to the jolt of power she tasted.
 
And then she relaxed, and she drank.

Suddenly she pulled her head away, her eyes open wide.
 
"Oh, God, oh God, it
hurts!
 
Michael it
hurts!"

He held her against him.
 
"I know.
 
I’m sorry, my love, I'm sorry.
 
We feel everything so much more than mortals do.
 
Including pain."

She cried out, her head arching backwards, the veins in her neck standing out.
 
"H-how long?"

"Until dawn.
 
Only until dawn.
 
Then you'll sleep, and you'll heal."

The woman, Maxine, and the man he assumed was her partner emerged from the forest while Mary writhed and whimpered in agony.
 
The man held Tommy in a firm grip.
 
Maxine hurried forward knelt beside Michael, her gaze going from him to Mary, who was grating her teeth against the pain.

"Michael, we can help you.
 
Both of you.
 
Get the medical kit and bring it here."

Michael looked where she pointed, spotted the large white box on the pavement on the other side of Mary and fetched it as quickly as he could.
 
"I don't know what you can do for her," he said as he set the box beside Maxine.
 
"I... she..."

"She's one of you now.
 
I can see that, Michael."
 
She thrust a square bandage into his hand.
 
"Put that on the cut in your neck.
 
It's still bleeding.'

He took it, did as she suggested and watched Maxine work.
 
She pulled a cellophane-wrapped hypodermic needle fro the ox, tore off the wrapper and then pulled out a vial and inserted the needle into its end.

"What is that?
 
What are you doing?"

She was intent on her work, tipping the bottle upside down, drawing the fluid into it.
 
"You ever heard of DPI, Michael?"

He nodded.
 
"They used to hunt us," he said.

"They also used you as guinea pigs.
 
I got hold of some of their files several years ago.
 
Their research has turned out to be damn useful.
 
This stuff, for example."
 
She pulled the needle from the vial, snapping her fingers against it a few times.
 
"It's a tranquilizer they developed to keep their prisoners sedated—the only one in existence that works on vampires.
 
I'm going to give her a small dose.
 
She'll rest easy until sunrise comes."

Michael looked from the woman to the man.
 
Could he trust them?

Mary cried out, and he knew her pain was beyond endurance.
 
"All right," he said.
 
"Do it."

Maxine nodded and leaned over Mary, injecting her quickly and expertly.
 
Immediately Mary's face eased.
 
She relaxed her body, breathed a heavy sigh.
 
"Oh, thank you.
 
Thank you," she whispered.

Maxine smiled as she stuck a Band-Aid over the injection site.
 
"You're going to sleep in a minutes.
 
The next time you wake, you'll be fine.
 
I promise.
 
Okay?"

"Yes."

Max turned to Michael.
 
"Get her somewhere safe.
 
Watch those wounds until morning.
 
If they start bleeding again, we could still loose her."

"I won't leave her for a minute."

"We'll take the bike back to our place," she went on.
 
"You can pick it up tomorrow night.
 
Mary knows where we are."

He nodded, more grateful than he could imagine.
 
Then he glanced at the prisoner.
 
"What about Tommy?"

"Tommy's going to prison," Lou said.
 
"Or maybe the mental hospital.
 
Either way he'll never see daylight again.
 
Mary's a missing person now, and the police are on their way as we speak.
 
Even without a body there's enough of Mary's blood here to convince them that she couldn't be alive.
 
A lot of it is on Tommy-boy.
 
It's not our fault if he refuses to tell us what he did with the body.
 
He was stalking her, faked his own death.
 
I've got no doubt further investigation will link him to the other murders, as well.

"You can't do this," Tommy muttered.
 
"They can't live."

"Yes, they can, pal," Maxine said.
 
"Happily ever after, if you ask me."
 
She packed her med kit and loaded it into the car as Lou put Tommy into the back seat.
 
Then she went back to the motorcycle stood it upright and climbed aboard.
 
Lou pulled away with the car and the prisoner, and Max followed on the bike, riding it as if she knew how.