Runaway Vampire (3 page)

“There are two of them, a husband and wife. I think she said Jenner or something,” Mary muttered, trying to recall. She'd been in a bit of a state at the time.

“Jenson?” the other EMT asked as Mary paused at the RV door and started to open it.

“Yes, that might be it,” Mary admitted, then glanced around with surprise as the last of the four men from the restaurant came out the door she'd just opened and started down the steps.

She noted a mark and smear of blood on his throat, then glanced distractedly back to the ambulance driver when he said, “Your friend's lucky then. The Jensons are top notch,” he announced and then hurried up the steps as the exiting man got out of the way.

“He's right,” the second EMT assured her as he followed. He also closed the door behind him, making it obvious they didn't expect her to follow.

Mary let her breath out on a sigh, but didn't really mind being left outside again. There wasn't a lot of room in there, and despite the reassurances from the men who had left the RV, she really didn't think all that blood was just show. Besides, now that she was thinking about what she'd seen in her first glimpse of the man, she was quite sure there had been something odd about his chest. Aside from the muddy tire track across it, it had seemed a bit misshaped or flattened. And she thought one of his legs had been as well.

Muttering worriedly under her breath, Mary moved closer to where Bailey had curled up on the pavement and patted her head when the German shepherd promptly stood at attention beside her.

“It'll be fine,” she repeated the mantra reassuringly, and just wished she believed that.

Glancing toward the restaurant, she recalled her intention to eat while she was here, but no longer felt like it. Perhaps afterward . . . if she wasn't immediately arrested and dragged off to the hoosegow, Mary thought with a grimace. The possibility made her wonder where the police were. Surely they should be here by now, taking statements and starting their investigation?

The door opened behind her again and Mary glanced around to see the doctors coming out of the RV. There was blood on their clothes now, Mary noted and it suddenly occurred to her that what she'd thought was ketchup on the floor of the RV was probably blood as well.

“How is he?” Mary asked.

The man paused and turned to close the door behind them. Mary frowned as she noted the marks on his neck, but then glanced to the brunette as she said brightly, “He's fine. The EMTs are with him now.”

“But—” Mary paused and glanced toward the RV as the generator came on. They probably needed extra light, or to plug in their defibrillator or something, she thought and then realized they'd left everything but the stretcher and the orange bag out here when they'd gone in to assess the situation.

“What are they . . . ?” Her question trailed away as she swung back to see that while she'd been distracted, the Jensons had taken the opportunity to slip away and were now on the way back into the restaurant.

Letting her breath out on an exasperated hiss, Mary glanced back to the RV and had just started forward when the door suddenly opened and the EMTs started out. She could hear the sound of a shower from inside before the door closed and glanced to the two men with bewilderment as they moved to their rolling stretcher.

“Are you going to be able to get that inside?” she asked when one man moved to the head of the stretcher. “It's kind of tight in there.”

“No need,” the EMT said lightly, offering her a shiny smile. “He's fine.”

“He's not fine,” Mary argued quickly. “He was nearly dead. He—you aren't just
leaving
him?” she protested as the man began to drag the rolling stretcher back toward their vehicle. “He needs help.”

“He's fine. The blood was all show,” the second EMT, the driver, said reassuringly, following the stretcher back toward the ambulance.

“But—” Mary turned to peer at her RV with dismay, wondering what she was supposed to do with the man. Wait for him to come out seemed the most sensible answer. She found it hard to believe he was just fine as everyone kept saying, but if he was, she presently had a huge naked man in her RV. And in her shower from the sounds of it, she thought grimly She'd have to fill up the water tank, and empty the gray tank once she reached the campground, and—who was she kidding, she wasn't going anywhere until the man presently enjoying her shower got his butt out of her RV. Mary wasn't forgetting the shiver of trepidation she'd experienced when her gaze had met his. There had been something about his expression, the concentration, and the deep dark black eyes with silver flecks that almost seemed to glow . . .

No, she wasn't going inside until he came out. If he came out. What if he just drove off with her RV? She'd left her damned keys in there, Mary recalled. And her purse. The man could just drive off with her vehicle and have himself a relaxing holiday in her RV.

She should go in and get her keys while he was in the shower. Not that she was sure he was actually in the shower, she thought. Mary couldn't imagine he was in shape to manage such a task. But everyone kept saying he was just fine, she reminded herself and started to open the RV door, only to pause with it barely cracked as she realized the sound of rushing water was gone.

She'd just wait for him to come out, Mary decided, easing the door closed again as she heard movement inside. The hum of the generator stopped and she shifted nervously, wondering what she should say when he did come out. If he came out. Surely he would come out?

Bailey whined beside her and nosed at the door, suggesting she thought Mary should go in, but Mary shook her head. “We'll wait,” she said quietly, turning her back to the door, and watching idly as a speeding black van slowed abruptly on the highway and put on its blinker, indicating its intention to turn into the lot. It would have a bit of a wait, she noted. The oncoming traffic was pretty thick, perhaps from the ramp onto the I-10 just up the road. Then she whirled toward the RV door again with horror as she heard the engine start up.

“Oh, no freaking way,” Mary muttered, and dragged the door open to rush in. She had just stepped off the automatically descending metal steps and onto the wooden ones inside when she was nearly knocked off her feet by Bailey as the shepherd raced past her to get inside first.

Grabbing for the counter on her left and the passenger seat on her right to steady herself, Mary scowled
at the dog, who had settled in her customary position between the driver's and passenger's seats. The dumb dog didn't seem to realize that the man at the wheel shouldn't be there. In fact, Bailey was staring up at him with something like worship, her tail thumping the floor and tongue hanging out.

She'd have to have a talk with the dog later, Mary decided as she moved away from the door and stepped up onto the RV floor to scowl at the young man in the driver's seat.

Mary's scowl was replaced by shock as she noted the change in him. Gone was the pallid, blood-soaked victim struggling for breath that she'd first spotted in her bedroom. This man was flush with color, his long dark hair wet from the shower and slicked back from his face. He was no longer dragging in raspy, labored breaths, but breathing just fine. He also didn't have a drop of blood on him . . .
any
where. Mary knew that for certain because the one thing that hadn't changed was that he was still buck naked, and his bare ass was presently in her driver's seat.

“W
hat the hell do you think you're doing?” Mary snapped, moving forward to loom threateningly over the young man. She would do him some serious harm if she had to, but no one was taking her RV from her. “Get your bloody arse out of my seat!”

“I showered the blood off. Sit down.” Even as he spoke the calm response, the RV jerked forward, nearly sending her tumbling to the floor. Catching the edge of the dinette table, Mary steadied herself and then grabbed the back of the driver's seat to hold on as she scowled down at the seated man.

“I realize you showered,” she said with irritation. “I wasn't being literal. Just get out of my—crap!” she muttered as he jerked the steering wheel right and she lost her hold on the driver's chair and stumbled sideways, her hip hitting the side of the table. Then he swerved back again and she tumbled to the right this
time, toward the steps. He reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her from a nasty tumble, and then steered her toward the passenger chair. Mary dropped into the seat for safety's sake, but immediately turned to scowl at the young man.

“Look,” she began, finding it difficult to be stern after he'd just saved her from possible broken bones.

“I apologize for commandeering your vehicle,” the man interrupted and Mary narrowed her eyes as she noted his accent. Italian, she thought, as he continued, “I would have just slipped out of the RV and taken flight on foot when I saw that my kidnappers had tracked us. However, I feared they might do you harm in an effort to find out where I had gone. I couldn't just leave you to their less than tender mercies, so until we lose them, I must stay with you.”

Mary blinked as his words sank through her brain. He would have fled on foot but had stayed to ensure her safety? Well, that was somewhat reassuring. It made it less likely that she was in any danger from him . . . if it was true.

“Kidnappers?” she asked finally, vaguely aware that he was steering them out of the truck stop.

“The black van behind us,” he said grimly.

Mary glanced at the screen showing the rear camera view to see that there was indeed a black van moving up behind them. She was quite sure it was the vehicle that had been waiting to pull into the truck stop when she'd heard the RV start up. Now it was following them out of the truck stop.

“I saw them waiting to turn into the truck stop
through the window when I got out of the shower,” her naked guest said quietly as he straightened out on the highway and put his foot down on the gas. The engine revved and then began to whine in complaint as it was forced to a speed it wasn't used to or even really meant to travel at. He eased up slightly on the gas as he explained, “The men in that van kidnapped my twin brother and myself the night before last. I managed to escape and was fleeing them when you ran me over.”

Mary winced at the comment. She
had
run over him. She could still recall the way the RV had bumped over something in the road. And he'd had tire tracks on his chest. Yet now he was sitting here, steering her RV around as if he'd suffered little more than a minor bump or bang.

While guilt was trying to lay claim to her for running the man down, bewilderment was quickly nudging it aside. “How can you be okay now?” she asked. “I ran
over
you. You were covered with blood and appeared badly injured. Yet now . . .”

“The blood was mostly show. I'm fine,” he assured her and Mary's eyes narrowed. It was exactly what everyone else had said, which seemed somehow suspicious to her. However, he did look fine so she could hardly argue the point. Besides, there were other questions she needed answered.

“All right. So you and your twin brother were kidnapped,” she said slowly, trying to imagine two of these young, strapping, gorgeous male specimens in the world. Good Lord, he was huge. It was hard to imagine two of them existed, she thought, her gaze
sliding over his big brawny shoulders and barrel chest. Her eyes tried to drop lower, but she forced them back to his face. She didn't need to look further; she'd already seen more than she wanted to and knew the man was big everywhere. “Who are these men and why did they kidnap you?”

He didn't answer right away, his attention focused on the road as he took the ramp to the I-10. She also suspected he was taking the opportunity to try to come up with a way to avoid answering her question, but once he'd merged onto the 10 he said, “Several young . . . men and women have gone missing in the San Antonio area over the past year. Tomasso and I were helping out a task force trying to discover who was taking them and for what purpose.”

“Tomasso is your twin?” she asked before he could continue and thinking that the task force would probably be a federal one, maybe FBI if kidnapping was involved. Great, she'd run over a fed. That couldn't be good.

“Yes.”

It took Mary a moment to realize he was agreeing that Tomasso was his twin. Sighing, she asked, “And you are?”

His eyes widened slightly and then he offered her a smile of chagrin. “I am Dante Notte. And who are you?”

“Mary Winslow,” she said quietly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mary Winslow,” he said solemnly.

She nodded, and then stood, stepped over Bailey and
moved carefully back along the aisle until she could reach the folded afghan that had somehow managed to remain on the couch while everything else had gone tumbling to the floor. Snatching it up, she made her way back to her seat. As she climbed back over Bailey, she dropped the afghan in his lap and then plopped back into the passenger seat. If she was going to talk to the young man, she would do so with at least some small semblance of propriety. He was naked, for God's sake.

“Oh . . . er . . . thank you,” Dante muttered, and removed one hand from the wheel to quickly spread the blanket over his lap and legs. It was a spider stitch pattern, a very loose spider stitch—which meant it had large holes. It would have been fine had he left it as is, but when he spread it out . . . well, she might as well have saved herself the walk to get it. His legs and groin were now playing peek-a-boo. Not that Dante seemed to notice. He appeared perfectly satisfied that he was now decently covered. But then it hadn't seemed to bother him to be sitting there naked either, so what did she know?

Mary averted her eyes again with a little sigh. “You were saying you and your brother were assisting a task force in discovering how and why people were going missing in San Antonio?”

Dante nodded with a grunt. “Several of us were sent to bars where the missing people had last been seen. Tomasso and I were sent to the same bar, and were taken together as we left at the end of the night.”

“How?” Mary asked with a frown. It was hard to imagine this large, muscular young man being forced
to go anywhere he didn't want to, but two of him? If his twin was the same size, taking them on must have been like taking on a small army.

“We were shot with drugged darts in the parking lot,” he said grimly. “I thought it was a bullet until I glanced down and saw the dart in my chest. I pulled it out, but it was too late. I was already losing consciousness.”

“Sunday night?” she asked with a frown, working it out in her head.

Dante glanced to her uncertainly and then back to the road before saying, “I do not understand. What about Sunday?”

“You said you were taken the night before last. That would be Sunday,” she explained, and noted the frown that immediately claimed his expression.

“No. It was Friday we were taken,” he said and muttered, “I lost more time than I thought. They must have continuously drugged us. Perhaps intravenously,” he added and removed his left hand from the steering wheel to turn it over and peer at the unblemished skin as if he was recalling something.

“You would have a mark, possibly even a bruise if they'd put an intravenous in you,” she said gently. When he remained silent and merely returned his hand to the steering wheel and his attention to the road, she asked, “How did you get away?”

“I woke up some hours ago, naked and in a cage. Tomasso was in a cage next to mine, also naked.”

Mary sat back slightly at this news. Obviously the man had been wearing something when he'd gone to, and left, the bar. So his captors had stripped him. She
couldn't imagine waking up one day to find herself naked in a cage. It sounded like a nightmare to her and she was glad when he distracted her from the thought of it and continued his story.

“Whoever had been in my cage before me had obviously made some effort to escape. One of the bars had been loosened. Tomasso's cage was close enough he could help, and together we were able to get the first bar out, and bend another enough to pull it out as well. I managed to squeeze out of my cage and tried to open his, but before I could accomplish the task, we heard our captors coming and he insisted I get away while I could and get help.”

Dante paused briefly, and Mary noted the muscles of his throat working, but then he continued, his voice almost flat. “It was a basement with high windows. I climbed out onto dirt and grass and saw the woods surrounding the building we had been held in. I started to run. I had no idea where I was, or if I was headed in the right direction to find help. All I could see were woods and more woods. I had not gone far when I became aware of someone running behind me. Afraid they would shoot me with their dart again, I put on a burst of speed and then the trees were suddenly gone and I was charging toward the road . . . and the side of this RV.” He patted the steering wheel with a grimace. “I tried to stop myself, but . . .” He shook his head, and then glanced to her and said, “The truth is you did not run over me, so much as I ran into, or under, your vehicle.”

Mary stared at him silently. She was glad she wasn't at fault for the accident. The knowledge relieved a good
deal of the guilt that had apparently been clouding her good sense, because now she was thinking more clearly. Voice firm, she said, “You need to turn around and head back to the truck stop.”

He glanced at her with surprise, then turned his gaze forward again and shook his head. “We have to lose our pursuers to ensure your safety when I leave you.”

“You're not going to do that in an RV,” she said dryly. “These things are like me, built for comfort, not speed. That van—” she glanced to the vehicle revealed in the rear camera view to see that it was still stuck on their tail like a burr on Bailey's butt “—is not going to lose us. And if what you say is true, the minute we stop, the men in that van will attack. But the waitress at the truck stop called 911. By now the police should be there. If they aren't there yet, at least there are others there to help. Right now we're on our own. Those men could force us off the road and take you again at any minute. In fact, I'm surprised they haven't tried already.”

“They have not tried because the highway is busy and they do not want witnesses. So long as we stay on it we should be safe,” he said solemnly. “And if we lead them back to the truck stop, someone there could get hurt. It is important to avoid that. It is why I led them away to begin with,” he argued.

“I thought it was to keep me safe?” she reminded him tightly.

“Yes. That too,” he agreed. “I wish to avoid any mort—innocents coming to harm.”

“Any more innocents?” she questioned with a frown. “You mean besides your brother?”

“
Si
,” he agreed quickly, but kept his gaze on the road ahead.

Mary frowned, suspecting he hadn't meant that at all, but unsure why she thought so. Leaving it for now, she asked, “Well then, what's your plan? Are you intending to lead them to the police station in Kerrville in the hopes they can catch these men and go rescue your brother?” She paused and frowned, wondering if it wouldn't actually be the sheriff's office. In Canada and some of the northern states it was the police, but it seemed to her it might be sheriff here. She wasn't sure though. She'd never had cause to call the authorities here before. Realizing that didn't matter, she waved a hand and said; “Anyway, I seriously doubt your friends will hold off on stopping us until we reach the police station or sheriff's department. Once we're off the highway, there's no guarantee there won't be a stretch of road without anyone to stop them driving us off the road.”

Dante scowled, apparently not pleased by what she'd said. “I need to find out where they were holding us so I can send help for Tomasso.”

“It's written on that notepad next to my phone,” she informed him quietly. “At least the spot where I hit you is. Surely you couldn't have run that far before getting there?”

Dante glanced sharply to the tiny memo pad attached to the clipboard on the dash, and then turned questioning eyes to her. “This is where I ran into you? You wrote it down?”

“Yes.” She grimaced and admitted. “I knew I'd hit
something, but I got spooked out there and drove off without making a proper search. I wrote down the distance it was from the first stop sign I came to, intending to send the police there when I got to the truck stop.”

A slow relieved smile lit up his face and he said, “Mary Winslow, if I was not driving I would kiss you. You are brilliant.”

Mary smiled faintly and just shook her head. He had a very nice smile and she was happy to help the fellow.

“May I use your phone?”

She glanced to the phone in its holder and shook her head. “I'm sorry. It fell out of its holder and broke when I hit you. That's why I stopped at the truck stop, to use their phone.”

His smile slipped at once and he glanced to the item in question, asking, “Are you sure it is broken?”

“Well, the glass face is smashed and it had gone dead,” she said. “That seems broke enough to me.”

He nodded, but asked, “Did you try turning it on?”

“Well, no. But I never turned it off,” she pointed out, glancing at the phone now as well.