The Watcher
CHAPTER 51

MARTA IS STANDING BY THE DOOR WHEN WE push it open. She remains tethered to the cot, but she has regained enough strength to pull it to the door with her.
"What have you done?"
She is whispering, but her eyes are clear and she's standing upright and under her own power. I imagine she'd been trying to get free of the cloth binding and would have if she'd had more time.
She looks from Max to me. "What have you done to my son, vampire?" she asks again.
I feel Max flinch at my side. If he'd been unsure before, Marta's words confirm what he'd witnessed. To his credit, though, he croaks an incredulous laugh and says, "You're even crazier than your son. Come on, Marta. Let's get you help before somebody throws your ass in a padded cell and tosses away the key."
Marta begins to shake with rage. She rips at the bandage covering her wrist. "We'll see who is crazy. When she smells the blood, she will turn. Your only hope is to help me. Cut me loose and together, we can kill her. She is an animal. She murdered my son."
I grab her injured wrist and stop her frenzied attempt to free herself. "Max was awake when I attacked Martinez, remember? He knows what happened. I stopped your son from killing him."
She grows still, keeping her eyes downcast. When she speaks again, it's in a hoarse whisper. "What will you do now?"
I release my grip and stand back. "That's a good girl. The way I see it, you can walk Max and me downstairs and out to the hangar, tell the pilot to fly us back to San Diego, or to the border if he doesn't have clearance, and we'll be out of your hair just like that. He'll come back for you and you can do whatever you want. I think I'd lay low for a while, though. I imagine there's going to be a fierce battle over who takes over your son's operation. What's left of it, that is."
She looks up at Max. "You did this to us. You should be made to pay."
"Now that's the attitude that could get you in trouble, Marta," I snap back before Max can. "You are not exactly in a position to bargain."
"But you are?" The fire is back in her eyes. "Pedro and Lila downstairs will kill you both if I but give the word. And my pilot-my pilot-would sooner kill himself than do something contrary to my orders. I can keep you both here until we all die of old age."
"Or boredom," I cut in. "I don't think you want to test your theory, Marta. I don't think you want to die in this shit hole, even if it is a nice shit hole. And look at it this way, if you let us out of here now, you and your witch friend can have another go at me. Otherwise, you know fucking well I'll outlive the lot of you and one way or the other, I'll get out. Vampires are crafty that way."
"Witch friend?" Max asks. "There's a witch involved, too?" His tone implies incredulity coupled with the shock of recognition that if vampires exist, witches probably do, too.
"Long story," I reply. "I can fill you in later." I turn my attention back to Marta. "So, what's it going to be?"
She takes a moment to consider. She's sunk into a sitting position on the cot, her hair a dark curtain shielding her face. I don't like that. I can't see her eyes.
I take her chin in my hand and turn her face not too gently toward mine. "Don't think too hard. You really only have one choice."
She wants to bite my hand, I see it reflected in the rage behind her eyes. I step back, mindful that she may yet try to orchestrate a mingling of our blood. The fact that I stepped out of reach makes her smile.
"You are not so brave as you let on. But you make a good point. Burke will be able to find you. She is much more powerful than you know. Together she and I will bring you to your knees."
"Blah, blah, blah. This is getting tiresome. Are we going now or what?"
Marta's decision shows first on her face, a grim smile of acceptance. She rises from the cot and gestures to the sheet binding her. I step around, keeping the cot between us, rip loose the tie, and use it to secure both her hands behind her back.
"Can you navigate the stairs on your own?" I ask Max.
He nods and I keep a firm grip on Marta's wrists as we start into the hall.
Marta stops outside the closed door facing us. "I want to see my son," she says quietly.
Just as quietly, I reply, "Dust to dust, Marta."
A single tear rolls down her cheek. She opens her mouth and I expect another round of recriminations and threats. Instead, she draws a deep breath, squares her shoulders and leads us without a word toward the stairs.