leg tended to.'
She regarded him silently. He could see from her thoughts that her distrust was a habit, and he wondered what had happened in her life that now made her suspect the motives of everyone around her.
'Don't suppose you can suggest a good motel around here somewhere?'
She looked away. 'No, I don't think I can.'
He wasn't entirely sure whether she was talking about trusting him or suggesting a motel. 'Then let's travel along this road and see what we find, okay?'
She didn't answer, but the lightning was beginning to flicker across her fingers again. 'Kirby,' he said gently. 'I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to assault you. I have no intention of doing anything more than tending to your wound and guarding your butt from future attacks.'
'I only have your word on that.'
If her tone of voice was anything to go by, his word wasn't worth a dime.
'Then believe this—whatever or whoever sent those manarei after you is going to be pretty pissed at their deaths. And they will come after you again.'
She shivered and rubbed her arms. 'I know.' She glanced at him, eyes rich with suspicion. 'And that's why I can't trust you. This whole thing may just be a ruse to gain my trust.'
Killing two manarei was a hell of a dangerous way to gain her trust. Doyle shook his head in disbelief.
'Look, you've got a pretty damn potent weapon at your disposal. I've seen it in action, and I know it can kill. You think I want to risk that?'
She bit her lip. Droplets of water ran down her face, shimmering silver in the warm wash of the streetlights. They looked like tears. Maybe they were.
'You make one wrong move, and I will use it,' she said after a moment.
'Fair enough.' He spotted an illuminated sign ahead and slowed the car. 'This motel okay?'
She shrugged. 'Do you really care anyway?'
'I guess not.' He stopped at motel's office and opened the car door. Then he hesitated and glanced at her. 'Wait for me. Don't go anywhere.'
She shrugged. It could have meant anything. He frowned. 'Promise?'
She snorted. 'Bit old for that sort of foolishness, aren't you?'
He raised an eyebrow and stared at her. After a moment, she looked away, muttering, 'Yeah, I promise.'
He nodded, and headed inside. The motel's manager gave him a room, some advice on where to get the windshield replaced, a bottle of antiseptic and several bandages, both of which he cheerfully added to the bill.
By the time Doyle got back to the car, she was gone.
Chapter Five
Kirby leaned against a lamppost and battled to catch her breath. The night around her spun drunkenly, and she wrapped an arm around the pole, hanging on for grim death. She'd pushed too hard tonight, and now she was beginning to pay for it. But the night wasn't over yet. She had to get out of this rain. Had to find somewhere safe.
She remembered Doyle's warning and shivered. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was nowhere left for her that was safe. Maybe she'd run as far as she could, and now fate was going to force her to make a stand. If only Helen was here… She bit her lip.
No amount of wishing could ever bring Helen back. She'd better get used to life alone. Tilting her head back, she let the rain wash the heat from her eyes until her face felt as numb with cold as the rest of her.
Then, resolutely, she pushed away from the pole and continued on.
In the distance, a bell dinged, a cheerful sound that seemed at odds with the stormy night. A brightly-lit tram swayed along its tracks, rattling towards her. She dug into her pockets, then realized she'd dropped her purse beside the box of chicken in the doorway at home. She grimaced. She'd have to go back.
Without cash or credit, she wasn't going to get very far.
She splashed on through the night, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Doyle had probably discovered her absence by now, and she had no doubt that he'd come looking for her. It had been no accident that he'd found her on Grice Street, no matter what he said. And she wasn't inclined to trust someone so conveniently placed in a position to help her. Especially when that someone used a gun so well.
An image of the creature's bubbling, dissolving flesh flashed through her mind, and her stomach turned.
Why had that happened? Why would a mere bullet make skin and bones liquefy like that? She thrust the thought from her mind. Right now, the why behind the melting wasn't so important. Getting out of this rain and tending to her aching leg were. Maybe then she could start concentrating on finding answers. Find out why Helen had been murdered.
She hurried down a side street. The wind slapped against her, thrusting cold fingers of air past her sodden clothing, chilling her flesh. She shoved her hands into her jacket pocket and wished she'd grabbed her long woolen coat when she'd had the chance. It might not have provided any more protection from the rain, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than the padded nylon raincoat she currently had on.
A car rounded the corner ahead, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She hesitated, but she knew she couldn't take the chance that it wasn't Doyle. She ducked into a driveway and hid behind a car. A dog barked furiously, and inside the house, someone yelled at the mutt to shut up.
She waited, aching with cold and the sudden need to get moving. The lights drew close. She bit her lip and watched the car cruise slowly past. It wasn't Doyle's car or Doyle, but whoever it was, they were obviously looking for someone. Maybe even for her. Why else would they be going so slowly?
And that, she thought grimly, was surely paranoid thinking. Why wouldn't the driver be going slowly, when the wind was driving the rain so hard that visibility was down to practically nothing?
She rose and moved back to the footpath. The car had parked up near the top of the street. Its lights were out, and the driver was nowhere to be seen. See? Kirby told herself. He'd been going slowly
Yet the creeping sense of danger increased. She hurried down the street, away from the car. The sooner she got home, the better.
She crossed the railroad tracks and headed toward her street. Something scraped behind her. She spun, fists clenched and her heart in her mouth. There was nothing behind her. She scanned the night, her stomach churning. Something was there, even if she couldn't see it. Its presence rushed heat across her skin. It was a warning of danger—of evil.
She turned to run, but her leg buckled. She went down, hitting the pavement hard enough to see stars.
Cursing softly, she twisted around, looking behind her again. The shadows seemed to part, disclosing a tall man with gaunt features and matted looking hair. He looked like someone spaced out on drugs—there was an odd sort of neediness, maybe even desperation, in his eyes. Then he smiled. His canines were long and white—the sort of canines you saw on Hollywood vampires. He was crazy—or was she? Had the crack on her head sent her imagination tripping?
Evil washed across the night, burning her skin. This was no dream, she thought, horror rising. The stranger snarled and leapt towards her. She screamed and scrambled backwards.
From out of nowhere came a growling black mass, all sinew and power. Panther, she thought, and rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was tripping. Only the creature reminded her of the cat she'd seen when she'd first touched Doyle. He and the animal were connected, of that she was sure.
The cat hit the vampire hard, and the two went down in a fighting tangle of claws and arms. The shadows seemed to close around them, momentarily hiding them from sight. When they parted, it was Doyle fighting the vampire—Doyle wrapping an arm around the stranger's neck and twisting hard. There was an audible snap, and the man with the vampire teeth went limp. He didn't move—wasn't even breathing.
