The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

raised his beady eyes from what he was doing to check me out, his hand clenching and unclenching on the tyre iron.
    “I cook,” I answered. “By the way, my name’s Karen. Karen James. What’s yours?” He was busy tightening the lug nuts, and didn’t look up when he answered me.
    “Jack Baker,” he answered. Grunting, he finished tightening the last lug nut. “But make the cheque out to Baker Towing.”
    “Right.” I dug in my purse, pulling out a stack of papers and setting them, along with my chequebook, onto the hood of the car. I made out the cheque, tearing it out and dropping the book back into the bag. Turning to Mr Baker, I thrust both the cheque and paperwork into his hand.
    “What the hell?” He tried to shove the paperwork back at me, but I backed away.
    “Mr Baker, you’ve been served.”
    I climbed into the car, slamming and locking the door before he could react. It was just as well that I did, because when he actually got a glance at the papers I’d handed him, he lost it completely. He swung the tyre iron in a wicked arc, smashing it into the car window, which cracked in a spiderweb pattern. Meanwhile I’d started the vehicle and threw it in gear. I was taking off, gravel spitting from my tyres when the second blow fell with the clang of metal on metal.
    Crap. That had been close. Damn it anyway! My poor car. The clients were definitely getting the bill for this one.
    I drove west, towards the last rays of the setting sun that were nearly blinding me, checking my rearview mirror every few seconds to make sure Mr Baker hadn’t decided to follow. He might. He didn’t seem like the type to let things go. But luck was with me; there was no sign of a tow truck.
    My eyes were on the mirror when Daniel materialized on the seat beside me. I shrieked, and jerked, swerving across two lanes before I got the car back under control.
    “Don’t do that. Cripes! You scared me half to death.”
    “I scared you? What the hell are you doing out of your apartment? Damn it! Don’t you realize how much danger you’re in?” His handsome features twisted into a snarl. “And what is that smell?” He rolled down the window, letting fresh air into the car. I couldn’t say I blamed him. In an enclosed space the smell was a little overpowering.
    “Fresh cloves of garlic.”
    He sighed. “If you’re thinking it will hurt him, it won’t. Although the smell might just drive him off.” He leaned towards the window, breathing deeply. “Tell me you’re not wearing it in a necklace.”
    “No, but I’ve got some in my jacket pockets. The holy water is in a gun on the back seat.”
    He twisted around and peered over the top of the seat. I saw his eyebrows rise at the sight that greeted him. I’d gone to a toy store and bought the top-of-the-line squirt gun. It was made of neon plastic with no less than five tanks of assorted sizes, all of which I’d filled with holy water from the baptismal font at the Catholic cathedral, before having the gun itself blessed, along with a smaller one that was tucked in the inside pocket of my jacket. I was pretty sure the priest thought I was nuts. But he did as I asked.
    “Does holy water work?”
    “As a matter of fact, it does. So make sure you aim that thing carefully. Assuming, of course, you get a shot off.” Shifting his weight, he pulled the briefcase I’d had on the seat out from beneath him. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into staying home where you’re relatively safe while I deal with this.”
    “No. Not really. I’ve got a job, bills to pay — a life. I refuse to cower in the corner.”
    Actually I’d thought about doing just that, but decided that the stress of worrying would probably do me in just as effectively as the monster hunting me. And then there was the worrying about Daniel. Because I did. Yes, he was a big, strong vampire, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But I’d seen his expression in that fleeting instant when he’d realized I was up against Alexander. He’d been afraid.
    “You do realize how stupid that is.” He said it softly.
    “Yes. But it doesn’t matter.” I took the 120th street exit, heading for my next assignment. This should be an easy one: little suburban housewife getting divorce papers. She was even expecting them.
    “I could make you go home.”
    I thought about that for a moment. Maybe he could. I’d looked in his eyes last night, had felt the magic pulling me like an undertow. Could he