Runaway Vampire (4 page)

Dante pursed his lips, then took one hand from the wheel and picked up the phone. He pushed the button to turn it on and Mary almost groaned aloud when the damned thing lit up like a storefront at Christmas. She was such an idiot when it came to modern technology. Honestly, how could she be so stupid as to not even try to turn it on?

Dante smiled at her widely. “It is working.”

“I see that,” she said dryly.

“May I use it?” he asked.

Mary nodded and then watched as he began punching in numbers, his gaze shifting between the road and the phone.

“That's kind of dangerous,” she pointed out. “Why don't you let me put the number in for you?”

“Thank you,” Dante murmured, passing the phone over.

Mary took the phone and then glanced to him expectantly. “What's the number?”

“4 . . . 1 . . . 6,” he began, and then paused.

“Okay,” Mary said, thinking he was waiting to give her the chance to punch in the numbers, but they were still there from his attempt.

Dante frowned. “416 . . .” He released an impatient sound, and then admitted, “I need to be looking at the phone screen to remember.”

Mary smiled faintly, completely understanding. For some reason it was always easier for her to remember numbers with the number pad in front of her too.

“You must drive,” Dante announced now. “I have to call the Enforcer House.”

“Who?” she asked with confusion.

He waved away her question. “The authorities. Come, you must drive.”

Mary instinctively glanced to the rear camera view. The van was still tight on their tail. She shook her head. “They'll attack the minute you pull over for us to switch places.”

“
Si
. So we cannot stop. You sit in my lap and I will slip out and leave the seat to you,” he said as if that was the most reasonable suggestion in the world.

Mary pursed her lips and shook her head. “Sonny, I wouldn't sit in your lap even if you were wearing a Santa suit.”

Dante frowned with confusion. “Santa?”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “Don't you have Santa in Italy? A big bearded guy in a red suit? Comes down the chimney and fills kids' stockings with candies and toys?”

“Oh,” he smiled. “For us it is Befana.”

“Befana?” she echoed, trying to emulate his pronunciation.

“
Si.
” He smiled faintly. “She is the old woman who comes down the chimney and delivers gifts to the children of Italy who have been good that year. However, she comes on January fifth, Epiphany Eve, not Christmas Eve.”

“Hmm,” Mary murmured, her gaze sliding between the rear camera view and the steering wheel. She really did want to drive. It was her RV after all, and while Dante wasn't doing too bad a job, it was obvious he'd never driven an RV before. He kept trying to make the vehicle go faster than it was able too, causing the engine to whine. If he kept it up, they could blow the engine and she didn't want that. There was no way she was sitting in his naked lap though.

“What if I just hold the wheel while you get up, then slip onto the seat and take over?” she suggested. It shouldn't be too tricky a maneuver. She just had to keep the wheel straight as she sat down, and even if she moved it a little they should be all right. There were no cars directly beside or in front of them at the moment.

He shook his head. “We will slow down the minute I take my foot off the gas,” he pointed out. “And that might be all the encouragement they need to force us off the road, witnesses or no.”

Mary scowled at this argument and glanced toward the back of the RV, trying to think of some way to avoid his suggestion. There was a broom in one of the cupboards, as well as a mop. Perhaps she could push down on the gas pedal with that while he vacated the seat and . . . She stood up, intending to go fetch either the mop or broom, and then gasped in surprise when Dante suddenly reached out to snake one arm around her and drag her into his lap. She landed sideways with a squawk and immediately tried to struggle up off of him, then froze as the RV swerved slightly.

“Sit still,” Dante commanded firmly as if she hadn't already caught on to the fact that she would have to unless she wanted yet another accident that night. After straightening out the vehicle, Dante released a breath, then glanced to her face and offered a charming smile. “All is well. Just turn in my lap to face front and place your foot over mine on the gas pedal.”

“I don't think . . .” Mary began weakly, only to fall silent as he removed his left hand from the steering wheel to rub her back in what she supposed was meant to be a soothing manner, but really did not have a soothing effect on her.

“It is all right. We are halfway there,” he cooed, his voice coaxing. “Just turn to face forward for me, yes?”

Mary closed her eyes briefly, but then released a small sigh, firmed her mouth and carefully shifted in
his lap until she sat facing forward. She was immediately sorry she had. This new position left her completely enveloped by the man, his arms on either side of her, his body behind and beneath her and his clean, wholesome scent encasing her like a sausage in a bun.

Speaking of sausage, what the hell was that poking her in the bottom? Surely it wasn't—Good Lord, it was!

“This is good, yes?” Dante asked, his words a breathy whisper that stirred the hair by her ear and Mary swallowed against the response her body was having and gave her head a firm shake. This was not good. Although she didn't get the chance to say so before he added, “We are almost there.”

She nearly asked, almost
where
? But managed to bite back the question.

“Now. You put your foot on the gas pedal and I will slip my foot out from beneath yours.”

Relieved to have something to think about other than what she was quite sure was poking her in the bottom, and the fact that young men were such a horny mess of hormones they could be turned on by tired old women like her, Mary tried to put her foot on the gas pedal and found she couldn't. The boy had long legs and had pushed the seat back. She couldn't reach it.

“Scoot forward,” Dante instructed.

Mary didn't have to be told twice. She shifted forward on his lap so swiftly one would have been forgiven for thinking he'd lit a lighter under her butt. Once she was perched on the very tip of his knees with as little of her behind touching him as possible and the steering wheel digging into her belly, she was able to
reach the pedal. She pressed her foot down hard, half on his foot and half on the pedal itself and heard Dante suck in a quick pained breath behind her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, unable to infuse even the slightest bit of apology into her voice. Poke her in the bottom with his body parts, would he? Hmmph. Take that, horny boy.

“Now grasp the steering wheel,” Dante instructed.

Mary raised her hands and grasped the wheel above his hands, careful to avoid touching him.

“Good,” Dante praised. “Now, all you need do is concentrate on keeping your foot on the pedal and steering straight, I will do all the work.”

“That's what she said,” Mary heard her husband's old line in her head and smiled weakly, wishing something fierce that he was there right now. He would be the one sitting in Dante's lap if he was, or no one would be. Joe had been a brilliant man. He would have come up with a way to handle all of this without so much—

“Who said what?” Dante's confused question interrupted her thoughts and Mary glanced over her shoulder to see that he looked as confused as he sounded.

“What?” she asked uncertainly.

“You said, ‘That's what she said,'” he explained. “To whom were you referring? And what did she say?”

Mary's eyes widened as she realized she'd spoken the words aloud, and then she just shook her head and turned to face forward again. “Never mind. It was nothing. I was just muttering to myself.” Scowling at the stretch of highway ahead, she added, “I thought you were getting up to make your call?”

A moment of silence followed, as if he wanted to question her further, but then he agreed on a small sigh, “
Si
. Keep the RV going this speed and steering straight. I will be as quick and careful as I can.”

Mary merely nodded and waited. But when his hands released the steering wheel and suddenly dropped to her bottom, she stiffened and jerked the steering wheel again.

“Steady,” Dante admonished. “I am going to lift your bottom and slip out from under you.”

“I can probably—” She'd been about to say she could probably lift her own bottom by standing on the gas pedal, but swallowed the words as he slid his hands under her butt cheeks. It was probably done quickly, but to Mary what followed seemed to take forever as he lifted her up off his lap, his fingers squeezing her butt cheeks with more than necessary familiarity, and then his body seemed to slide forward before sliding sideways under hers, the pokey part rubbing across her bottom toward the right before it was out from under her.

“Steady,” Dante repeated by her ear and Mary shifted her attention back to the steering wheel that had somehow started to turn to the right as well. Straightening it out, she tried to ignore the fact that he seemed really slow about setting her down on the edge of the seat. Letting her breath out on relief, she glanced toward him and cursed. “You—”

“
Uno momento
,” Dante breathed, interrupting her complaint that he'd lost his afghan and was now completely naked again.

Mary almost swallowed her tongue then when he practically laid his head in her lap as he felt around under her seat for something. At first she thought it was the afghan he was trying to reclaim, but when she realized it was lying on the floor next to the seat, she snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to find the lever to adjust your seat,” Dante explained and then jerked upright just in time to avoid getting his head crushed by the steering wheel when she hit the button on her armrest to adjust the seat herself.

“It's automatic,” she said shortly.

“Ah. Good,” he murmured, and stood. Much to her relief, he recalled the afghan and arranged it around himself as he straightened. At least, Mary was relieved until she glanced to the side and saw that she'd been right about what she'd thought had been poking her in the bottom. The man had a boner, and it was presently poking through one of the holes in the spider-stitched afghan. He might as well not be wearing the damned thing at all. Good Lord!

Mary turned her eyes quickly forward again, wishing she could burn the sight she'd just seen from her memory. But she couldn't even remove it from her gaze, the damned thing seemed burned into her retina and there was now a big dancing penis bouncing around in the middle of her view of the road ahead.

“So not cool,” Mary muttered to herself.

“What was that? Did you say you are cold?” Dante asked with apparent concern and Mary instinctively started to turn to him to answer, caught a glimpse of
his penis poking out of the colorful afghan, and jerked her head forward again.

“No,” she said firmly. “Go make your call.”

Dante hesitated, but then said, “I will be quick,” and finally snatched up the phone, ripped off the top paper from the memo pad, and moved away.

“Take your time,” Mary muttered under her breath, and meant it. She needed a little breathing space from the man. He wasn't her type—too big, too young, and just too damned sexy—but he hadn't been the only one affected by the past few minutes. If women could have boners, she'd be sporting one too and that was just pitiful. Dante was young enough to be her son . . . maybe even her grandson. She had no business responding to him at all.

And she wasn't, Mary assured herself. She was just reacting to the night's excitement: the accident, and then the danger and excitement of finding herself with a man whose kidnappers were now hunting them. No doubt she was experiencing an adrenaline rush and was simply mistaking that for a response to the man—the only man—with her. She'd heard, or perhaps read somewhere, that high-risk adventures could lead to swift bonding and sexual attraction and that's all this was, Mary assured herself. She just needed to keep her head on straight until this was all over and everything would be fine.

D
ante moved to the back of the RV and sat on the edge of the bed to punch in the number to the Enforcer House. Something cold and wet pressing against his leg drew his attention to the fact that the dog had followed him, and now sat on the floor at his feet, her head on his knee. Petting the beast absently, Dante glanced toward the woman in the driver's seat. As he listened to the phone ring at the other end of the line, his mind was chasing itself around inside his skull like a dog chasing its tail. He needed to keep Mary safe from their pursuers, needed to save Tomasso, needed to pass on the information they'd learned, needed to . . . claim his life mate.

Christ, who would have thought he'd find her now in the middle of all of this madness? It hadn't even occurred to Dante that Mary might be his life mate when he first hadn't been able to read her. He'd just assumed
it was a result of his injuries and lack of blood. But he'd had no problem at all slipping into the thoughts of the doctors and the others and taking control of them. In fact, he'd controlled several of them at a time and with ease, and yet when she'd stormed back into the RV after he'd fed and got his strength back, he still hadn't been able to even peek into her thoughts, let alone control her.

His body's reaction to her nearness was another rather telling point that suggested she was his life mate. Those brief moments when he'd held her on his lap, her intoxicating scent wafting into his nose and her warmth imprinting on his groin . . . He still had a damned erection from the encounter, and he was quite sure she'd felt something too. He'd heard her heartbeat accelerate and her swift, shallow breathing. Oh yes, he was quite certain Mary Winslow was his life mate. He just didn't know what, if anything, he should do about it at the moment. There were so many things that needed tending just now.

“Yes.”

Dante glanced down at the phone in his hands with surprise at that abrupt word. It wasn't the usual way Lucian answered his calls to him. Usually he answered with “Speak, Dante.” But then, Dante usually called from his own phone. This was Mary's phone and Lucian wouldn't recognize this number, he realized and cleared his throat.

“It's Dante.”

“Thank Christ,” Lucian growled. “Where the hell have you been? And where is Tomasso? When the two of you went missing—”

“We were taken from the bar you sent us to,” Dante interrupted. “Both Tomasso and I were kidnapped. They used drugged darts. I was apparently out for two days and nights,” he added grimly, and wasn't surprised by the silence that followed his announcement. No doubt, Lucian was as taken aback at this news, as Dante had been when he'd realized what had happened. Mortal drugs did not work on their kind. They were flushed from the system too quickly to do more than make them woozy or a little faint. They'd had to develop their own drugs to use on rogue immortals and even those only worked temporarily and had to be re-administered too quickly to be viable as more than a temporary stop-gap measure to get the rogue bound up. Yet he'd apparently been unconscious for two days. It suggested that an immortal was behind the kidnappings, or a mortal with information about them that they should not have . . . as well as access to their specialized drugs.

“You got away, obviously,” Lucian said finally. “Are you both all right?”

“They still have Tomasso,” Dante said quietly, and quickly related how he'd got free and why Tomasso hadn't, finishing with, “We have to get him back.”

“Where is he?” Lucian asked at once.

“Do you have a pen?” Dante asked, glancing down at the piece of paper in his hand. Mary had lovely handwriting, he noted. When Lucian said he was ready, Dante read off the instructions Mary had written down. Once Lucian read it back to him, he added, “That is where I came out of the woods onto the road. The
house was perhaps a five minute run east from there through the trees.”

Lucian grunted and then asked, “Where are you now?”

“In an RV, heading northwest on Interstate 10. The kidnappers are following us. I am hoping that means Tomasso is safe for now. But you need to get someone to him as quickly as possible. I can't guarantee the kidnappers will continue to just follow us, and with the drugged darts they have—”

“Who is this
us
?” Lucian interrupted. “You took control of a family traveling in an RV to help with your escape?”

“No.” Dante glanced toward Mary, and then cleared his throat and said, “I had a little accident with an RV when I was escaping. The woman who was driving it is now helping me.”

“A lone woman in an RV?” Lucian asked sounding suspicious.

“She has a dog with her,” Dante said with amusement, peering down at Bailey as he petted her again. The shepherd immediately twisted her head to give his hand a swipe with her tongue.

“Still, women do not generally travel in RVs by themselves, even with dogs,” Lucian said thoughtfully. “Are you sure she is not one of them and letting you think you are escaping while she delivers you back into the hands of your captors?”

“I'm sure,” Dante said at once, his voice firm, but his gaze was now on the back of Mary's head as he tried to slip into her thoughts once more.

“No, of course she's not one of them,” Lucian muttered. “You would have read that from her mind were it the case.”

Dante grimaced and gave up on trying to read Mary. It was impossible for him to do so. He didn't, however, tell Lucian that, but simply allowed him to think what he would.

“If they have drugged darts that are that effective on us, it would be dangerous for you to try to take on your kidnappers on your own,” Lucian muttered.

“Yes,” Dante agreed wryly. He'd said, or started to say that just moments ago. It was why he'd done as Tomasso had insisted and fled when they'd heard their captors clattering down the hall outside the room where their cages were. His first instinct had been to stand and fight, but that would have done them little good when their adversaries had the drugged darts. He would have ended up unconscious and back in a cage, probably one that had no loose bars too, and then they simply would have been two more immortals who had gone missing from the bar scene in San Antonio. Escaping to get help had been more sensible. Still, it had been a terrible wrench to leave his brother behind.

“Can you keep ahead of your hunters for a while? Long enough for me to send men to find Tomasso and arrange a trap to catch your kidnappers?”

“I can try,” Dante said determinedly.

“Good. Stay on your present course. I'll call you back,” Lucian announced and then the phone went silent.

Dante lowered it to peer at its face. Through the
cracked glass he saw that the call had been ended. Breathing out a little sigh, he stood and caught at the edges of his afghan as it tried to slip away to the floor. His gaze then moved over the mess he'd traipsed through to get to the bed. Plastic dishes, utensils, and foodstuffs littered the floor, obviously escapees from the open doors and drawers throughout the RV.

He considered the mess, and then his gaze settled on a bag of chips and his stomach rumbled with interest, reminding him that it had been four days since he'd fed it. Glancing to the back of Mary's head, he asked, “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

S
hifting her gaze from the rear camera view to the road ahead, Mary frowned at that question from Dante. She hadn't gotten her supper at the truck stop and was hungry, but that wasn't why she was frowning. His question made her realize that, if he'd been unconscious since Friday, Dante couldn't have eaten since some time that day. The poor man must be starved, she realized and quickly reviewed what she had available to feed him. She'd shopped yesterday to stock up for the trip home. She'd picked up hamburgers and sausages to grill, but she'd also bought fresh bread, wraps, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and lunchmeats for sandwiches, as well as chips and pop.

“There is stuff in the fridge to make sandwiches if you like,” she said now. “And bread in a Rubbermaid container in the cupboard over the television. Chips,
too, should be up there. Go ahead and make yourself some sandwiches if you like.”

Her attention divided between the slowly thinning traffic on the highway and the rear camera view of the van following them, Mary listened idly to the activity behind her as Dante presumably made himself a sandwich. Doors and drawers opened and closed, accompanied by a lot of crinkling and rustling sounds.

“The coffee machine does not work,” Dante announced after several moments had passed. “What do you want instead of coffee?”

Mary's brows knit briefly at the news about the coffee machine, but then she realized what the problem was and said, “Flick the switch on the side of the lower cupboard it's sitting on. The switch is for an inverter.”

“Inverter?” he echoed with interest.

“The coffee machine works on one hundred twenty volts, and the RV battery only gives twelve volts or something.” She explained, then frowned. “I don't know if I'm getting this right. Joe explained it to me at the time, but . . .” She shrugged. “Basically to use the coffee machine either the generator has to be on when we're stopped, or you turn on the inverter while we're driving. Just remember to turn it off after you're done.”

“Okay,” he muttered and then she heard the click of the switch being thrown.

Sighing, she concentrated on her breathing and the road ahead, refusing to allow the image of him to rise up in her mind again. Also refusing to glance around
for another peek at him. You're much older than him, she reminded herself firmly. It is inappropriate to be drooling over such a young man. Behave.

“How do you take your coffee?”

Mary almost glanced around at the question, but caught herself and said, “Black, please.”

The words had barely left her lips when he appeared at her side to set a travel mug in the cup holder next to her empty phone holder.

“Thank you,” Mary murmured, catching a glimpse of the colorful afghan out of the corner of her eye before he was gone. Several more minutes passed with sounds coming from the back. It was long enough that Mary began to think he'd sat down at the table to eat, but then he suddenly appeared next to her and settled in the passenger seat. Bailey followed and immediately settled in her usual spot between the two seats. It was only then that Mary realized the dog had abandoned her in favor of their guest. She didn't know whether to be insulted, or be glad Bailey approved of the man. Bailey didn't like many people. If Bailey thought Dante was okay, then Mary's own judgment was being supported. It was nice to have that backup.

“I made you a sandwich too,” Dante announced, and then glanced from her to the road and asked, “Do you want me to feed you?”

Mary's eyes widened at the offer, but she quickly shook her head, shaking away the images that question brought to mind: Dante kneeling on the floor beside her, holding a sandwich in front of her mouth for her to
bite from. Good Lord, how could that seem erotic? she wondered with dismay.

“No. I can manage,” she said and then paused to clear her throat when she heard how croaky she sounded. Good Lord.

Dante set a plate with a sandwich and chips on the dashboard next to the GPS, then settled in his own seat properly and set his own plate on his lap as he did up his seat belt.

Mary chanced a glance at her plate, her eyes widening incredulously at the size of the sandwich. Dear God, the man had stacked it so full of meat and vegetables that she'd have to have an expanding jaw like a snake to eat the darned thing. She switched her gaze to him to say as much, only to pause and stare wide-eyed at the four sandwiches he'd made himself, all even bigger than her own. Dante had one hell of an appetite.

“Eyes on the road,” he said and Mary automatically turned forward, but had to wonder how he'd known she was looking. Dante had been concentrating on his plate as he lifted one of the sandwiches to his mouth and couldn't have seen her looking.

Leaving the sandwich for now, she picked up her coffee instead and took a cautious sip. As expected, it was hot, but it was also darned good and exactly what she needed just then.

“Why are you traveling alone?”

Mary glanced to him with surprise, but quickly turned her gaze back to the road. She was slow to
answer the question, however, and after a moment, asked, “What do you mean?”

“Most women would not travel alone in an RV, yet you are,” he pointed out and then asked simply, “Why?”

Mary sighed and set her coffee back in its holder, before saying dryly, “Good question. That's one I've asked myself several times this trip.”

“I do not understand,” Dante said and she could hear the frown in his voice.

Grimacing, she switched mental gears and pointed out, “I'm not completely alone. I have Bailey. Besides, there are lots of women who travel alone in their RVs.”

Mary wasn't sure if that was true, but she'd met one or two women traveling alone on this trip and had been assured that there were many more than you'd expect. Personally, Mary wasn't sure that was true. She didn't see the attraction herself. This trip had been terribly depressing for her and had pretty much convinced her that she should sell the RV when she got home. But perhaps that was just because of the memories it stirred to life in her. She had found herself constantly reminded of past trips with her dear departed husband during this outing, and missing him horribly. She'd even left early because of it, heading home a week earlier than planned just to bring it to an end.

“How long have you been doing this?” Dante asked curiously.

Mary was silent for a minute and then said, “My husband and I have been driving south for the winter ever since he retired six years ago.” She frowned and added,
“Well, I guess we both retired then. At least I stopped seeing clients. Although I still sit on several boards that I am involved with. I attend the meetings when home and skype with members while travelling.”