The Becoming

Chapter Twenty-Three

It takes a second to grasp what happened. But in that second I become aware of a stirring somewhere in front of me, deep in the shadows. I hear the click of a crossbow as it is cocked and know I have only an instant to respond before that humming translates into an arrow honing in on my chest.
I dive for cover, the only cover available, a small clump of rocks. I hunker down, trying to make myself small. The humming comes closer and an arrow whizzes over my head.
Fear clutches at my throat. I send out a probe to see if I can pick up on anything, identify the attacker. But nothing comes back. I can't even tell if my attacker is human or vamp, male or female.
Not that it makes any difference. A wooden arrow through the heart is fatal no matter who's holding the crossbow.
The bow is cocked again. Acute hearing isn't always a blessing. I brace myself, burrowing into the dirt like a mole. Again the buzzing and the silent breath of air as the arrow whistles past. How long is he going to keep trying?
The question is answered a heartbeat later when another arrow flies toward me. This time, though, the aim has improved. I cry out as the arrow buries itself in the calf of my left leg. I've been concentrating on protecting my upper body. My hiding place left my legs exposed. Obviously, something that didn't go unnoticed.
Red-hot pain radiates upward until it centers somewhere in my chest. It's not a fatal shot, but it's definitely going to slow me down when and if I can make a break for it.
I reach down and yank. I have first hand experience about how quickly we vampires heal but it still hurts like a son of a bitch when that arrow tears through. Tears of pain and anger burn my cheeks. I hold on to the arrow, thinking it will make a good weapon if whoever's out there is a vampire and comes closer for the kill shot.
I hope he does. Besides the arrow, I slip my gun out of the holster. I'm ready for anything now.
But nothing happens. No more arrows. No sound of footsteps. The only thing I hear is the music from the cantina behind me, obliterated from my consciousness until now by the intensity of my concentration on the attacker. I'm pretty sure he's gone. My vamp warning system has gone inert, no more DEFCON sirens blaring in my head.
With a groan of relief, I lay back on the sand, massaging torn calf muscles. There's the warm, viscous feel of blood on my fingers.
Curious, I raise the hand to my lips and taste.
Then the complete grossness of what I just did, hits. I can't believe I just tasted my own blood.
Still.
The fingers dip for another sample.
It's not too bad.
Anna, get a grip.
My little voice is back. And with it, a wave of sorrow that shakes my very core.
David.
I'm no closer to finding him. Donaldson was my only hope. The only thing I've learned from this fiasco is that I'm pretty certain he was telling me the truth. He didn't kidnap David.
But he thought he knew who did.
Or so he said.
Jesus.
Cautiously, I pull myself into a sitting position. When I scan the area, I pick up nothing but desert. Nothing living except things that scamper, skitter, or slither. It makes even my dead skin crawl.
I consider corralling one of Donaldson's vamp pals to corroborate his story. In this place, having a kidnap victim would be currency, like money in the bank. Maybe he bragged about it, even let on where he was holding the guy.
But it doesn't ring true. Donaldson was completely vulnerable to my little mind fuck and he gave nothing away. And he was really scared at the end. He knew I wanted to kill him.
There's nothing more for me to do here. With another groan, I pick myself up. My right leg gives a little when I try to put weight on it, but it holds. I know I won't be jogging back to the car, but I can walk.
Still clutching the arrow in one hand and the gun in the other, I limp out of Beso de la Muerte .
It takes me a lot longer to get back to the car than it did to reach Donaldson's hideout. Even with vampire healing, the pain limits me to a sedate hobble. I snatch up a dead branch to use as a crutch, but it's not much help. All I get for my effort is a hand full of slivers.
Forty-five long minutes later, I reach the Explorer. Thankfully, it's still where I left it. I don't think I could have walked all the way to Tijuana. This time, I shrug off the holster and lock up my gun and the handcuffs in the glove compartment. I don't know how I'll explain my bloody leg if I'm stopped at the border, but I don't want to complicate matters by getting caught with a gun. I don't have a clue what happened to the Taser. I suppose it's lying somewhere in the dirt in back of the saloon. It wasn't much help anyway.
Now all I want to do is go home.
Go home.
And where exactly is home?
A pall settles over me as I get back on the road. I still have no clue where David is or how he is. I'd figured Donaldson was the only one who had motive to take him. Now I'm back at square one. Worse than square one. Who else hates me enough to do this?
David and I brought in a lot of fugitives in the last couple of years, but we're relatively new in the business. All of our collars who were convicted are still cooling their heels in prisons around the country. Of course, it could be the relatives of someone we turned in. But what would be the point of that? Especially since no one came forward to take credit. Doesn't make sense.
The border crossing approaches and I glance down to see how bad my leg looks. I'm glad it's my left leg, the one closest to the door, because it's dark and in the shadows, it's not possible to detect the torn pants or dark smears of blood. It's very late, too, almost three in the morning, and the bored guard asks the perfunctory questions of place of birth and if I have anything to declare.
I force a smile and say, "San Diego, California, and no, nothing to declare."
When he waves me through, I'm tempted to add, "Except for the fact that I've just spent the night looking for my kidnapped friend in one of Mexico's lesser known tourist spots, where I was shot with an arrow and almost dusted. On top of all that, I'm no closer to finding my friend because the vampire who I thought kidnapped him said he didn't know anything about it, and now he's dead so I'll never know for sure. I'm so tired, I can hardly keep my eyes open. It'll be a miracle if I even make it back to Avery's. And, oh yeah, there's one more thing. I hope to God I never have to come back here. Ever."
But, of course, getting hysterical in front of a Mexican border guard wouldn't be in my best interest, so those declarations I keep to myself.