John had Jess's mattress wedged partway out the back door when he heard a noise that caused him to stop and listen. He waited a second or two, but it didn't come again.
Unable to ease his worry—and looking for an excuse to be with Jessica again—he shoved the mattress aside and went to the front of the house to find her. He arrived just in time to see a van disappearing down the driveway.
Knowing instantly that Jess was in that van, he raced for his rental car, grateful his keys, wallet, and cell phone were still in his jeans. Within seconds, he was
barreling
down the gravel drive.
When he reached the road, he stopped, wondering which way they'd gone. It took only a second to notice the traces of dust hanging in the air. John turned into the dust and accelerated, hoping he wasn't too far behind the vehicle because if they turned off the road before he caught up, he'd never know it. He'd never see Jess again—at least, not alive.
It seemed as if he drove for hours, but ten minutes up the road, he caught sight of a van a short distance ahead. He kept his speed constant, wanting to get close enough to get a better look at it, but not wanting to alert the driver.
He saw the floral company logo and phone number on the windowless back door and pulled out his cell phone. Letting the van gain a short lead, he
dialed
the number of the floral company.
His conversation with the woman on the phone was short and to the point. Yes, they had a van with the license plate number that John recited to her. She was reluctant to give him any more information until he identified himself as a cop. Then she became a fount of information.
The flowers had been purchased with cash the night before, to be delivered to Jessica Winslow. The woman on the phone remembered the transaction because she'd handled it herself. The man who'd paid for the flowers had been blond and good-looking; classy, like he came from money, but there'd been something odd about him. She had a nose for that kind of thing, she explained to him. She couldn't tell him much about the driver of the van. He was new and she'd never worked with him before.
John thanked her and hung up the phone. The blond could only have been Brody, and John kicked himself for underestimating Brody's resourcefulness.
For nearly an hour, John followed the van around
New Orleans
. In his solitary focus on Jess and her safety, he'd forgotten that the Mardi
Gras
celebrations were in full swing. Many of the streets were blocked off for this evening's parade and festivities, but the van seemed to know where it was going and John was able to keep it in sight.
Finally, they reached the French Quarter just as the sun began to set. John watched the van turn down a back alley and, not wanting to be too obvious about following it, drove slowly past the alley's entrance. When he did, he saw the men in the van getting out. There were no open parking spots ahead, so he double-parked his car and got out.
Hurrying back to the alley on foot, he looked around the corner and saw that it was empty except for the van. He slowly rounded the corner and headed toward it, approaching from the side. He made sure to stay hidden from the mirrors, just in case anyone had stayed inside.
Hearing no sounds, he moved closer. Thoughts of Jess, bound and gagged—or worse, unconscious and bleeding to death—spurred him to hurry.
Still there was no sound from inside the van. Bracing himself, he reached out and grabbed the door handle, pulling up on it. To his surprise, it was unlocked and at his tug, the van door swung open.
John ducked out of the way, expecting gunfire, but there was nothing. After a second of no sound or movement, he risked a look in the back.
The van was empty.
He conducted a quick visual search, looking for any clue as to where they'd taken her. They couldn't have gone far. John surveyed the buildings around him and noticed that the ones on either side were standing derelict and empty. He listened, hoping to hear something, anything, to help him. From a few blocks away, the sound of music and
revelers
could be heard. Here in the dark alley, though, it was hard to imagine the party taking place elsewhere.
The sun was a large, sinking orange ball in the sky, but it was dark enough now that John no longer needed his sunglasses. He pulled them off and shoved them into his pocket, then used his cell phone to dial Harris's number. The vampire had not yet risen and John got his voice mail.
"I think they have Jess," he said and quickly explained what had happened and where he was. He hung up, trusting Harris would check his messages at his first opportunity.
Putting his phone away, he picked the building closest to the van as the one to search, reasoning that since the driver didn't know he was being followed, he would logically park close to his final destination. After all, Jess had been taken in broad daylight, which meant her abductors were human. They wouldn't be likely to carry an unconscious victim very far if it wasn't necessary.
John studied the building. In its day, about seventy years ago, he guessed, it had no doubt been the place to live. He could imagine the hustle of busy lives that took place within its walls. The only things there now were the ghosts from the past.
There was a back door to the building less than three feet from the van and when John tried the handle, it opened easily. He went inside and though it was
pitch
black, he had no trouble seeing.
He stared at the floor, hoping to see footprints on an otherwise dusty and unused floor. No such luck. There had been enough traffic through this door recently that there was no dust to disturb, but that, in itself, was a good sign.
Continuing down the hall, his ears strained to hear every sound, hoping to catch Jess's voice.
There was no basement in this building, like there might have been in a similar building up north, so John started on the ground floor and systematically went into each room.
When he found the stairs, he took them up to the second floor. There, he stopped before he reached the top so he could listen, but heard nothing. He stepped into the corridor and began his search, staying alert for any sign of danger.
He found Jess in the second to last room on the right, lying off to the side, her hands and feet bound with rope and a gag in her mouth. Seeing her like that infuriated him, but what really frightened him was how still she lay. He didn't know if she was alive or dead.
Looking around, he saw that the room was otherwise empty, so he hurried to her side and knelt. Placing two fingers against her neck, he felt for a pulse and breathed a little easier when he noticed the rise and fall of her chest. She was alive—and her pulse was rapid, but strong.
"Jess, honey, can you hear me?" He shook her, wondering what they'd used to knock her out. She stirred slightly at his touch, but didn't open her eyes. He untied the gag and then undid the knots tying her hands and feet together. By the time he finished, she was starting to wake up.
When she finally opened her eyes and looked around, she seemed to have a hard time focusing.
"Jess?"
At the sound of his voice, she jumped and pushed herself away from him, fear clearly written across her face.
"Jess, honey,
it's
okay. It's me, John."
"John?" Her speech was slurred and she looked all around her. "John, I can't see you. I can't see anything."
At first, he was alarmed, but then he realized the problem. "The room's dark, Jess, that's why you can't see anything. Take my hand." He reached out and took her hand in his. "Come on. We need to get out of here."
He pulled her to her feet, but she had a hard time standing and he had to hold her to keep her from falling.
"I don't feel very good," she mumbled. "I'm so dizzy." She leaned to the side and he had to force her upright, his concern growing.
"Do you remember anything?"
"There was a…" Her voice trailed off and she was silent for so long that John wondered if she'd forgotten her train of thought. "A van," she finally said.
"That's right," he prodded her.
"A flower van."
She giggled.
"No, silly.
It wasn't made of flowers."
She sounded almost drunk, and he hoped the drugs they'd used would wear off soon. "Jess, do you remember who was driving the van?"
"A bad man.
Three bad men."
She sounded like a pouting child. "They hurt me.
Stuck me with something."
"Come on," he told her. "We're getting out of here."
He half carried her to the door and then paused briefly to listen before moving out into the hallway.
"Stop," Jess moaned. "I think I'm going to be—"
John turned her away from him and wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her while he used the other to grab a mass of her hair to keep it out of the way as she bent forward and threw up. When she was finished, he pulled her back away from the mess and waited as she rested her head against his chest. She raised a shaky hand to her head and rubbed her forehead, taking deep, steadying breaths. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding more like
herself
.
"Do you think you can walk?"
"I don't know. Everything is still spinning for me." She kept one hand pressed against the wall as she held herself upright and took a tentative step. While John wouldn't have said she was exactly steady on her feet, she was better. When they reached the steps, he more or less carried her.
Down at the bottom, about to head out the same way he'd come in, John stopped. He'd caught the distinct sound of voices coming from that direction. He put his finger to her lips and waited until she nodded her understanding, then he pulled her quickly down the hall in the other direction.
He located the front door of the building just as a shout and running footsteps told him that they'd been discovered.
Hurrying toward it, he saw as they got closer that it was boarded up from the outside. He let go of Jess's hand and ran full out. Right before he reached the door, he launched himself into the air, flying
feetfirst
and broke through it with a loud crashing noise.
He looked back and saw Jess standing awkwardly where he'd left her. He hoped the drugs in her system had already hit their peak effectiveness. If not, the amount of running they were about to do would have them pumping through her system in no time, amplifying their effect.
Fortunately, the streets and sidewalks were filled with
revelers
and the noise of the festivities filled the night. John pulled Jess forward, wanting to get lost in the moving crowd of costumed partiers. A jazz band was playing as its members walked down the street. They were followed by a succession of decorated floats.
John pushed Jess ahead of him as he fought through the crowds, occasionally looking behind him. Aside from the rising level of noise, he was aware of a buzzing in his head and the overwhelming sense of danger closing in on him.
They'd just reached a particularly large group of
revelers
when John felt the bite of a mosquito on his neck. He swatted at it, annoyed, and didn't give it another thought until his vision started to narrow and cloud over.
He stared ahead of him, at Jess, struggling to push her way through the crowd. He reached out to grab her shoulder, but his hand moved in slow motion and he watched her disappear into the swirling mass of
colors
.
The ringing in his ears grew louder as his vision faded to black and the noise around him drifted into silence.
Jess fought to keep calm. She didn't know what drugs she'd been given, but they distorted her vision and balance enough that she had a hard time functioning. It was like she was inebriated, which was possibly why no one seemed to notice. She was just one drunk among thousands.
She pushed past someone, feeling the need to hurry, to get away. Her memory was starting to come back, but the images were distorted and confusing. She remembered a van and a huge flower spraying something in her face.
A man ran into her, causing her to stumble. She reached out, trying to grab John's hand for support, only to find
herself
fanning open air. She looked back. John wasn't there. In fact, he wasn't anywhere.
Panic hit as she looked all around and realized she was alone in a crowd of strangers. Her vision was still fuzzy and she strained to focus on the faces around her because she knew that John wouldn't just leave her. He wouldn't.
She turned around several times, the effort making her dizzy. She stumbled and would have
fallen,
only there was no room to fall. There were too many people surrounding her. When the costumed merrymakers surged forward, she was carried along with them.
Then, the flash of a face in the crowd caught her attention. She searched again to find it, replaying the image in her mind—glowing red eyes, fangs peeking out from beneath parted lips. A vampire!
She twisted around, searching all the faces. There were too many innocent lives at risk. She had to find it—and kill it.
Then she saw the man in black, walking not too far from her. Something about him seemed wrong and she waited for him to turn her way. When he did, their gazes locked. He smiled and she saw the fangs.