Blood Debt

seats .
    … and their young car thief was about to be in for one hell of a surprise.
    Watching the grimy back end of the stolen van disappear into the sunset down a secondary road, Celluci started to laugh. His only regret was that he wouldn't be there to see that punk's face when Vicki woke up. He was still laughing when the waitress met him at the door of the restaurant, a worried frown creasing the smooth curves of her face.
    "Wasn't that your van?"
    "It was." He grinned down at her, feeling better than he had in hours.

    "Would you like to use our phone to call the police?"
    "No, thank you. But I would like another piece of that delicious rhubarb pie."
    Completely confused, she followed him across the restaurant and watched wide-eyed as he dropped onto a counter stool. She shook her head as he looked at his watch and snickered. He'd seemed like such a nice man and although she was glad to see that whatever had been bothering him obviously wasn't bothering him any longer, she couldn't understand his attitude. "But what about your van?"
    The corners of Celluci's mouth curved up as he reached for a fork.
    "It'll be back."

    Something was wrong.
    Vicki lay in the darkness and sifted through sounds and scents and sensation.
    The van was still moving. Celluci had insisted, for safety's sake, they be parked at least half an hour before sunrise and sunset.
    Somehow, considering the completely unnecessary fuss he'd made over it, Vicki doubted he'd changed his mind. Either he'd lost his little book, he'd been unable to get off the highway, or he wasn't the driver.
    The smell of the engine—gas and oil and heated metal—laid over the lingering scent of Celluci clinging to the padding of the bed made an enhanced sense of smell next to useless. The three little pigs could be driving, and she wouldn't be able to sniff them out.
    Kneeling next to the plywood barrier, she filtered out the sounds of internal combustion and heard a stranger's heartbeat.
    She growled low in her throat. Resisting the urge to crash through the barrier and rip the stranger's heart out, Vicki silently pulled back the bolts. Anger wouldn't get her the answers she needed. Anger wouldn't discover what happened to Mike Celluci. First, I get some answers…
    To the young man behind the wheel, it seemed as though one moment the passenger seat was empty and the next there was a woman sitting in it, smiling at him. Her smile was terrifying.
    "Pull over," she said softly.
    More frightened than he'd ever been in his life, he braked and swerved onto the shoulder. By the time he fought the van to a standstill, his heart was pounding so violently, he could barely breathe.
    "Shut off the engine."
    He whimpered as he turned the key. He didn't know why, but he couldn't prevent the sound from escaping. When cool fingers grasped his chin and forced his head around, he whimpered again.

    "Where is the man who was driving this vehicle?"
    Her eyes were impossibly silver in the twilight. He didn't know what the rest of her looked like because all he could see were her eyes.
    "He's, he's at Ruby's Steak House. Maybe five miles b-b-back."
    "Has he been hurt?"
    Although not an imaginative young man, he had a sudden flash of what was likely to happen should he answer in the affirmative. His stomach spasmed, and his throat worked.
    "If you puke," she told him, "you'll eat it. Now answer my question."
    "He was f-f-fine. Really." When she seemed to be waiting for more, he added, "I looked b-b-back and he was laughing."
    "Laughing?"
    "Yes, ma'am."
    Frowning, Vicki released the young man's jaw. Why would Celluci be laughing? She'd never suspected that he considered grand theft auto to be amusing. Okay, he stopped for supper and someone stole the van. Why would he think that was funny? Then she looked up at the streaks of gold and rose lingering on the horizon. All of a sudden, she got the joke.
    If Ruby's Steak House was only five miles back, this poor sucker had driven off with a sleeping vampire moments before sunset.
    When she noticed him fumbling with the door latch, she grabbed his arm. "Not so fast," she murmured, the threat softened but still there. "What's your name?"
    "K-Kyle."
    He was really quite attractive in an unshaven, outlaw sort of way.
    Slender but with nice muscles. Pretty blue eyes. Her gaze locked on the pulse in his throat. "How old are you, Kyle?"
    "T-twenty-two."
    Old enough. She let the Hunger rise.
    Kyle saw her smile change. Almost understood it. Her