Hexed

quiet, contemplative. His interest seems genuine enough. “Okay. Where would you like me to start?”
    I expect him to say with my turning, but he surprises me. “Tell me about yourself. Before you became vampire. Has it been a long time?”
    “No. I’ve only been a vampire for a year. And yes. It’s been a lifetime.”
    He smiles at me again, waving his knife. “See? I knew it would be a good story.”
    I can’t help but return the smile. “You sure you want to spend what may be your last moments hearing the story of my life?”
    The smile becomes a grin, eyes twinkling. He places his knife and fork down on his plate and takes my hand. “You have a better idea?”
    Wow. He works faster than I do. His expression makes my blood quicken.
    “Maybe. But I’d rather save that until you hear the story. You may not feel the same way after.”
    “Okay.” He takes up the utensils and resumes eating. “You have my full attention. Tell me your story, Anna Strong.”

ELEVEN
     

     
    I FEEL STEPHEN’S EYES ON ME AS I COLLECT myself to begin. I’m wondering if I should back off, laugh the offer away as a joke. I’ve never done this before—spill my guts to a complete stranger. Is it because he’s a reporter? Does he work some kind of mojo to get subjects to open up? To want to open up?
    Or is it because if something happens to me and he survives, there will be someone who can bear witness to my existence?
    God. This place is making me sappy.
    Stephen reaches out, touching my hand. “Tell me.”
    His hand is warm. His interest seems genuine enough. What do I have to lose?
    I tell the story simply, unfold it in the order that makes the most sense. Start at the beginning.
    Typical childhood. Raised in a loving family—two parents, both working professionals, an older brother. I was a tomboy, preferring my brother’s friends and their games of flag football and basketball to more girly pursuits.
    Stephen smiles at that.
    “What?”
    “I can see it. You racing across a field with a football tucked under your arm or on the court in a game of horse. I bet you won more than you lost, too.”
    “Damn straight.”
    But I feel the smile fade from my face. I know what comes next.
    Stephen sees it, too. He says, “Go on,” in a quiet voice.
    “Everything changed when I was seventeen. My brother was killed in a hit-and-run accident.”
    Stephen pushes his plate aside and leans toward me. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
    I believe he means it. I acknowledge his words with a nod and go on.
    “My parents never fully recovered. I doubt any parent ever does. They became overprotective of me, and because I understood what they were going through, I put aside my own career aspirations, to become a cop, maybe, or a private detective, and chose a safe career—teaching—to please them.
    “It was a safe choice, not the right one. It only took a couple of tedious years in a classroom for me to realize it.”
    “You didn’t like teaching?”
    “It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. Teaching is not a career for one who has no interest in her students. When I realized I was probably doing them more harm than good, I took a hard look at my life—and my brother’s death. He played it safe and a drunken driver killed him. Something completely out of his control. I thought again about becoming a cop. But when my brother’s killer was finally caught and arrested, he spent only a year in prison. I couldn’t see myself part of a system that served more to protect the rights of the criminals than secure justice for the victims.”
    I realize how bitter I sound. “You sure you want me to continue ? You probably never expected the rant.”
    “But I think you’re getting to the good part, right? How you became a bounty hunter?”
    I nod. “That’s when I met David.”
    “The big guy? He’s your partner?”
    “Yes. We met in a kickboxing class. He was a former football player and one day, he mentioned what he did. I’d never met a bounty hunter before. I suppose at first I was attracted to the romantic idea—bringing lawbreakers back to face their day in court. I invited him to coffee and peppered him with questions. When he said that business was so good he needed to take on a partner, I pestered him until he agreed to give me a shot. I proved I could handle myself. I loved the action. It was a perfect fit.”
    “The action. Yeah. I saw you in action last night.” There’s just the briefest of