And this is where I struggle. Fang had proven time and again, to have my best interests at heart. That he was obsessed with vampires was another thing entirely. Another thing that I chose to ignore. In fact, I chose to see only his good side, a side that had been touching and human and endlessly informative.
Therein lies my quandary.
I had grown close to him over the years—very close. It wasn’t until six years had passed that the truth came out. I should have been pissed. I should have felt violated. To be sure, I had flirted with both emotions. Mostly, in the end, I saw him as a deeply troubled man.
Not to mention, we had a psychic connection that I couldn’t quite place my finger on. No doubt the connection was rooted in our close friendship. Indeed, the closer I got to people, the more I could read their minds. The interesting thing about Fang was this: he could also read my mind.
I hadn’t been ready for that.
He liked to remind me that we are both flawed. That we had both killed. That we are both victims of circumstance. He liked to remind me that he never intended to kill his girlfriend. It had been an accident. Two people had gone too far in the throes of lovemaking. And one of them had ended up dead.
Yes, Fang and I were friends. Yes, he had wanted much more, but I had questioned his motives. It seemed to me that he loved me for my gifts. Like a star-crossed fan. I questioned his motives, especially when he asked me to turn him into a vampire.
No, I hadn’t turned him, but we remained friends, even while I continued to date Kingsley.
So, when we left the bar on this quiet evening, with Fang and I having made small talk both audibly and inaudibly, I saw something that surprised the hell out of me. Something made me turn back and pause, and as I did so, I spotted CS Dipstick working his way through the bar. I stood there with my sister and tried not to stare as the older baker worked his way out of the bar, passed us, and headed outside. A strong plume of vaporous alcohol trailed behind him.
The man certainly didn’t look like an adulterer. He looked tired, worn down, and at his wits’ end.
Maybe because of all the extramarital sex, I thought. The thought really didn’t stick. Frowning after him, I excused myself from my sister and followed him out.
Chapter Five
CS Numbnuts was walking down a fairly busy sidewalk.
I trailed behind him a dozen feet, keeping my head down and my hands in my pockets. I passed a half dozen well-dressed couples, ranging from old to young. Some of the younger couples veered off into Hero’s. I slid behind an older couple who were laughing and walking while holding hands. Little did they know they were being used as my cover. Or that an honest-to-God vampire was just steps behind them.
If so, I doubted the woman would have nonchalantly reached down and squeezed the older guy’s buns. Or what passed as buns, since there was nothing really there. Still, he laughed uproariously, and I was beginning to suspect that someone was going to pop a little blue pill tonight.
The older couple moved at a much slower pace than I would have liked, especially now that the woman had found her man’s non-ass, and as they strolled and squeezed and laughed, the baker made a right turn through some buildings and disappeared into the shadows.
Shadows weren’t a problem for me. Hell, I specialized in shadows. With my target out of sight, I quickly slipped past the horny old couple. But before I did, I squeezed the man’s ass to see what the fuss was all about. At least I think I squeezed it. I might have hit all bone. Either way, he yelped and jumped about two feet and the woman shot me a furious look.
“Sorry,” I said, speaking over my shoulder. “I thought you were someone else.”
Although technically a parking lot, this was really nothing more than a glorified alley, overflow for the bar. At the far end, a pair of brake lights flashed. I ducked between two cars and crouched, watching as a beat-up van backed out slowly and carefully. I caught the profile of the baker as he worked the gear shift in the darkened alley. His profile came sharply into view, alight with the glowing particles that someone like me can somehow see. He was an old, tired man. Too tired for an affair, if you ask me.
So, what the hell was going on?
Shortly, he must have found the drive gear, because now he was rolling forward and quickly picking up speed, moving opposite me to the far end of the alley. I briefly debated what to do, since he was now heading in the opposite direction of my parked minivan, which was in the bar’s main parking lot a half block away.
I could run to my minivan, but I risked losing him.
Or I could run after him...and risk looking like a freak.
I thought about this, chewing my lower lip, and as he reached the far end of the alley—and actually turned on his blinker—I made a decision.
As he hung a right and headed up Amerige Street, I dashed after him.
Let the freak show begin...
Chapter Six
I quickly covered the space between the alley and the street.
I slowed when I came up to Amerige Street. I rarely spoke of or utilized this particular talent, one that I had discovered years ago: the ability to move fast. I had the ability to cover ground so quickly that at times I thought I was flying.
I mean, how often did one need to dash down a street? I wasn’t a superhero. I wasn’t a cop. I didn’t chase down bad guys. And I wasn’t in an Adam Sandler movie, where I would use my speed to win track races and collect babes. It was just something I could do, something I could tap into when needed.
And tonight, caught between an alley and blocks away from my minivan—and not knowing where CS Adulterer was headed—well, I had little other choice.
I was wearing my Nike running shoes, a cute pair with a yellow swoosh that matched the yellow ribbon in my hair. I doubted the Nike designers ever conducted a field test like this before.
Amerige is a quiet street that runs north and south, paralleling Harbor Boulevard, itself running through the heart of downtown Fullerton.
A car was coming from my left, and there was a couple walking toward me a half block down. I ducked my head and hung a right, spying the van’s taillights in the far distance. CS Asshole was easily three blocks ahead of me, having clearly caught a few green lights.
I jogged at first, my legs feeling strong and mechanical, two pistons attached to a five-foot, three-inch frame. I stepped off the sidewalk and jogged along the street next to a row of parked cars. I picked up speed gradually, keeping the van in sight.
The couple whipped past me, a blur really. I saw the man’s head snap around, following. Or trying to follow me. No doubt his jaw had dropped open, too.