"...hurry ... find us ... I can't ... Elizabeth..."
Mirabelle's attention sharpened. The woman was still talking. Elizabeth? What about Elizabeth? The woman wanted her to go with her somewhere. To see Elizabeth? Did Liz need her, was she hurt? Had Jabril taken her already? Mirabelle pushed herself up, awkward in the confined space. The woman gripped her hand to help. She was strong. Much stronger than Mirabelle. No, that couldn't be right. Mirabelle was Vampire. She should be stronger. She let the woman pull her to her feet, let her shuffle them along toward some stairs. Not too many stairs, only a few. Then they were inside. That was good. The sun was up; she had to get inside. It was dark here, safe. She tumbled into the darkness, felt something soft beneath her, and then nothing at all.
* * * *
Cyn staggered under the abruptly dead weight of the vampire, barely making it to the narrow bed chamber in the back of the plane before letting her fall. She did her best to straighten out Mirabelle's limbs, then covered her with a light blanket, checked the temperature controls and slipped back into the main cabin. She closed the door behind her and ran down the short aisle, taking the stairs two at a time as she raced back to the SUV and grabbed her backpack and suitcase. She left the keys on the seat. The rental company would pick it up tomorrow, and the hotel would show her still in residence for two more days if anyone checked. It was a faint deception, but it was all she had.
The pilot was waiting in the doorway. He had that almost stereotypical look that all pilots seemed to have—average height, slender, middle aged, casually good-looking, but nothing to turn heads. He greeted her by name, taking her suitcase and stowing it with an impersonal smile before pulling up the stairs and securing the hatch. Cyn collapsed into the nearest seat and buckled in, her hands gripping the armrests as she waited for the plane to begin its journey onto the runway.
Minutes later, they were lifting into the sky and Houston was dropping away behind them. Cyn sighed in relief as every muscle in her neck seemed to relax at once. Their flying time to Santa Monica was about three hours, every minute of it through blessedly bright sunshine. She yanked off her high-heeled boots and stood to retrieve her suitcase, marveling at the thick carpeting beneath her bare feet. The leather skirt and boots went into the suitcase, replaced by her faded denims and a pair of socks.
She helped herself to a glass of wine from the complimentary stock and sank into the soft, comfortable chair, pressing buttons until it was fully reclined. There were times, Cyn thought, when it was good to be her father's daughter. He might not have been around much when she was growing up, and God knew they had little in the way of a father-daughter relationship even now. But at times like this, when she needed a last minute charter on a private jet, she was very grateful for the Leighton name and the generous trust fund that came with it. She was already half asleep when the intercom buzzed.
"We're at our cruising altitude, Ms. Leighton. It looks like a smooth ride all the way to L.A."
She pressed the reply button. “Thank you. I'm probably going to sleep until we land, so don't worry about me."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll let you know before we begin our final approach."
"Sounds perfect. Thanks again.” She pulled up the blanket and fell asleep before she had time to wonder if she would dream.
Chapter Fifteen
Someone was screaming. Cyn shot to her feet, stumbled and reached out, unable to see even her own hand. It was pitch black, blacker than a moonless night on the beach, with not even the faint gleam of starlight. She blinked rapidly, hands raised to touch her own face, her open eyes. The screams grew louder, filled with pain. Her heart beat wildly as she fumbled in the direction of the sound, flailing hands finding nothing to hold onto—no walls, no furniture, nothing.
The screams stopped, chopped off in mid-breath, and Cyn froze, struggling to breathe, to slow her pounding heart, to hear. The space around her was vast, echoing in its emptiness. A delicate sound broke the silence, a woman's soft voice, pleading in words she couldn't understand. A man's cruel laughter hissed out and with a wail of terror, the woman's torment resumed, filling the thick darkness with the sound of fear. Cyn crouched close to the ground, arms wrapped around her head in a vain attempt to block the terrible noise, lips clenched against a whimper of her own.
Something touched her in the darkness. It was the faintest brush against her bare arm, but it clung. Cold. Evil. Jabril Karim.
She ran. His laughter followed, delighting in her fear, reaching out to stroke her face, her back, random touches of greasy menace. She knew somehow he was toying with her; that he could pluck her from the dark and suck her under, drowning her in his oily miasma until her voice rose to join the chorus of hopelessness.
Arms came around her, holding her to a broad chest. She fought silently, refusing to give sound to her terror, kicking and punching.
"Softly, my Cyn.” She froze at the familiar voice, honey sweet and velvet soft, wrapping her in safety, shutting out the screams, shutting out everything but his touch. The arms tightened, his cool strength washing away her terror, his sensuous lips soaking up the tears she didn't know she'd shed. She sagged against him, her arms sliding around his slim waist, clinging to his strength. “Sleep for now, sweet Cyn."
* * * *
Los Angeles, California
Cyn jolted awake, her heart still hammering with terror. She fumbled with the unfamiliar seat controls, finally jerking the window shade open and letting daylight stream into the dark cabin. She closed her eyes in relief, feeling the nightmare fade away in the strength of that single beam of light.
The pilot's voice came over the intercom, soothingly normal as he announced their imminent arrival in the L.A. area. Cyn clicked on the small overhead light and finally found the right combination of buttons to bring the seat mostly upright. In deference to Mirabelle, she pulled the window shade back down, and then stood, stretching her arms to touch first the ceiling, then the floor. Someday soon she'd have to get a real night's sleep in a bed.
She made her way down the aisle to the small, dark room where Mirabelle slept. The young vampire was undisturbed, her blond hair a pale jumble in the faint light from the cabin. Cyn pulled the door closed again and stepped into the bathroom across the hall.
The seatbelt sign was flashing madly when she returned to the seating area. For variety's sake, she chose a different chair. Not that it mattered, they were all identical—big and comfortable and upholstered in soft, cream-colored leather. Designed to accommodate well-fed businessmen and women, she supposed. With a glance at the closed door in the back of the aircraft, she pulled up the window shade once again and watched the familiar sights of the L. A. basin rise up to meet her.
Cyn had landed at airports all over the world—some beautiful, some ugly, some green, some in the middle of the biggest cities on Earth—but there was a special feeling to landing at your home airport. It was knowing you would soon get in your own car and open your own front door, eat from your own refrigerator and take a shower in your own bathroom. And most blessedly of all, it was knowing you'd soon be sleeping in your own bed, beneath your own sheets. It was like no other feeling in the world. The plane came down with a gentle thump and she was home.
* * * *
Part of her deal with the charter company was use of the aircraft in the private hangar until after sunset. It was one of those vampire-friendly amenities, along with the windowless sleeping quarters now occupied by Mirabelle. It had sounded great at the time, precisely what she needed. But once on the ground, Cyn was faced with the reality of waiting several hours for Mirabelle to wake up. And it was not even noon.
Too wound up to sleep or even sit still, Cyn prowled down the aisle and checked once more on the sleeping vampire. She left the door to the bedroom open a crack, so if Mirabelle woke, she'd have at least a little light to see by. She'd seemed pretty out of it in Houston, and Cyn didn't want her to freak out when she woke up in a strange place.
Out in the hangar, Cyn could hear the steady buzz of small aircraft taking off and landing on the nearby runway, mixed with the occasional whine of a private jet. This airport handled only general aviation, so there was probably nothing bigger on the runways than her own chartered jet. The hangar itself was big enough for two, but the company had assured her the building would be empty except for her.
Cyn preferred to be certain, so she did a quick walk around of her own. There was a windowed office against one wall, with a couple of desks and the usual office paraphernalia, but the door was locked and the lights were off. A pair of restrooms and a maintenance room of some sort completed the grand tour. Once she'd checked the locks on all the exterior doors, she went back to the plane and sat on the stairs to rummage in her backpack for her cell phone.