Night Shift
Page 51

Lemuel lost his temper. “You worthless bitch,” he whispered. He’d taken Christine out to feed, given her guidelines, afforded her an opportunity to get away from Joseph forever . . . and she had repaid him with this trespass. His fangs ran out with the outrage. He was going to damage her for this. The only question was how severely.
Then Lemuel heard a sound that snapped him out of his anger . . . a revving engine.
Lemuel whirled to see the Honda coming right at him, Christine at the wheel.
He leaped straight up in the air, his feet barely clearing the car roof. Christine dented the truck at the spot where Lemuel had been standing. He managed to land on top of the car, knees bent, but his balance was off, and he tumbled to the ground. Just as Christine put the car in reverse, he rolled under the dented truck, and she missed him. He had his cell phone in his pocket, and he pulled it out and hit a button.
“Hello, sweetie,” said Olivia. “On your way back?”
“Report your car stolen,” he said, and hung up.
Lemuel scrambled to his feet on the other side of the truck. His first impulse was to let Christine go for now. He could hightail it into the cover of town, laying low until she’d given up and driven the car away. But then he thought of the blow his name would take, even if he tracked down Christine afterward.
The rare and feared vampire Lemuel Bridger had been bested by a weak bloodsucker younger than himself, other vampires would say, and they would challenge his territory . . . unless he solved this problem on the spot.
For a second, Lemuel regretted calling Olivia. She should have contacted the police by now. They’d be watching for her car. If the police stopped Olivia’s car while the vampire was driving it, Christine would do her best to kill them. On the other hand, it was vital that Olivia be kept out of the trouble her vehicle had already caused.
It flashed across Lemuel’s mind to call Joseph, who would be obliged to track Christine down and kill her for her rebellion since she was one of his nest.
But Lemuel discarded that idea immediately. Joseph would never let Lemuel forget it. Lemuel was left with the appealing prospect of hunting Christine down and killing her himself, which he much preferred to do.
It was worth buying Olivia a new car.
Christine was cruising through the parking lot now, looking for him. While he’d been thinking, Lemuel had managed to keep out of Christine’s sight by adroit ducks and dodges. He had to stop her from leaving, and quickly. He was surprised that the collision hadn’t already alarmed the patrons of the bar. The noise level inside the Cartoon Saloon must be incredible.
Lemuel flitted from one row of cars to the next, trying to be seen. Christine spotted him and roared around the end, accelerating with every foot. Another leap put Lemuel on top of a Mustang, and then a Dodge Ram.
He and Christine played tag for a few more seconds. Even with his great strength, Lemuel was beginning to tire. Christine had gotten used to his leaping by now and was trying to time lunging the car at him to hit him where he would be.
Time to shake things up and end this.
Lemuel waited, waited, and then instead of jumping to the top of one of the next row of cars, he jumped on the hood of Olivia’s car, plunging his hand through the windshield and grabbing Christine by the throat while she was still gaping at him through the glass. In her struggle, her foot left the accelerator. She thrashed and fought and scratched wildly.
Lemuel was not unscathed in this fracas. But he managed to gouge out a handful of her throat so she could not speak if she wanted to. He had to make sure she died before she could heal. He had to hurry. She was freshly fed, while he was getting weaker.
At least the car was no longer moving, but was lodged (again) against the still-running truck with its two silent passengers.
Lemuel, both arms through the windshield now that he didn’t have to hold on to the car, was tearing at Christine with his fingers hooked. His head, mashed against the edge of the windshield, forced his eyes to turn to the huge cutout of Yosemite Sam with lettering in his talkbubble that read, “Park here, podnuh!” Lemuel made an effort to reach even farther through the broken glass, even deeper. He snapped Christine’s spine.
Even a vampire had to stop fighting with a broken spine. She went limp, but he didn’t trust her, and drove a finger through her eye to her brain.
“Lights out,” he whispered, and came very close to losing consciousness. He thought he was dreaming when he saw Olivia appear beside the car with a stake in one hand, a gun in the other. He was so weak and addled that he opened his mouth to tell her he loved her, to beg her not to kill him. Instead, Olivia pulled open the car door and drove the stake into Christine’s chest.
“You ruined my fucking car,” she snarled. She pulled the stake out and sank it in again. “Asshole!”
“She’s very dead,” Lemuel said, feeling much more optimistic. “Olivia, can you give me a hand? And not one of Christine’s, please.”
Olivia turned to look at him for the first time. “Oh my God,” she said. “Lemuel!” She eased him off the hood of the car and held him up while he wrapped his right arm around her neck. They staggered over to Lemuel’s sports car.
“Go back,” he said. “Open the doors of the truck and turn it off. Cover your fingers. No prints.”
She ran back to the truck, which was still running, and did those things. “The woman is dead,” she said. “The man is still breathing.”
“Time for us to skedaddle,” he said, and they climbed into Lemuel’s sports car and eased carefully out of the back of the Cartoon Saloon parking lot, onto a side street where all the businesses were closed.
Olivia drove like a dream, never exceeding the speed limit and braking with such gentleness that it seemed surprising when the car actually stopped. She was trying to prevent jolting Lemuel.
“You followed me,” he said, and closed his eyes to concentrate on his healing.
“Not quickly enough. But aren’t you glad I did? I was almost to Marthasville when you called.” He could hear the muscles in her neck as her head turned. He had never been so attuned to someone before.
“Why?”
“Why’d I follow you? I sat behind the counter for five minutes, and every minute I sat I grew more worried. I didn’t trust that bitch. She looked at you with snake eyes. She was too resentful and too hungry.”
“You should have . . .” But Lemuel couldn’t finish the sentence. Sharp stabs of pain accompanied the healing, and his body jerked in response.