“I did. He’s my only child.”
“So he has to like you? But you said Enrique was your Sire and you hate him.”
“Guess I’m a better Sire than Enrique,” he said distractedly, his attention on a mileage indicator to the right side of the road. “I think we’re nearly there. Check the GPS.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, snapping a salute.
“Please.”
Lana smiled as she pulled up the immediate data on the GPS. “Ten miles,” she said. “Nearly there. You want to stop on the outskirts or go on in?”
“We’ll do a drive through and decide.”
Thirty minutes later, Vincent was holding a flimsy door open so Lana could walk into their room for the night.
“Don’t tell me,” she said, staring at the ugly comforter on the lone king-sized bed. “They only had one room available.”
“Not exactly,” Vincent said, pushing his way past her to dump his duffel on a dresser that looked as if it might collapse under the weight. “But they didn’t have any adjoining rooms, and you’re supposed to be my bodyguard.”
“We’re partners, Vincent. Temporary partners. The bodyguard thing was just a story you made up for Marisol, so she wouldn’t think you’d lost your magic touch with women.”
“Ouch! So, you don’t care if some bandit who’s jealous because his girlfriend talked to me in the cantina sneaks into my room while I’m helpless and stabs me in the heart?”
“Maybe you should just avoid speaking to any strange women,” she suggested sweetly.
“But the only woman I know in this town is you. Are you offering?”
She scowled at him. “Fine, I’ll watch you sleep.”
He gave her a devastating smile. He might think she was immune to his charms—in fact, she really hoped he thought that—but when he smiled like that? Her stomach fluttered, her mouth went dry and parts south shivered with desire. She managed to keep all of that out of her expression, however.
She balled up the comforter and threw it in a corner, then dropped her own duffel on the bed. “Can we get something to eat now?”
“Sure thing. That place between here and the gas station looked like it was getting ready to go all night long.”
“I’m surprised there’s anyplace open this late.”
“Vampires aren’t the only creatures who do their best work at night, querida. Especially in Mexico.”
The bar Vincent had noticed was only a block away from the motel, but they drove anyway. In Lana’s experience, it was always better to have your own wheels close at hand. The parking lot was mostly filled with aging American sedans. Their SUV stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.
“Do you have good security on this thing?” she asked as they climbed out and headed across the lot.
“Pretty damn good. The windows are close to unbreakable, the locks are solely electronic and there are three separate alarms. The final one shuts down the engine until the proper code is entered.”
She nodded and repeated, “Pretty damn good.”
“I take my security seriously. That’s why I need a personal bodyguard.”
“That’s getting old, Vincent.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Not you, apparently.”
They rounded the building just as a band started playing something that sounded like a cross between American country and Mexican traditional. Lana was sure the style of music had a name, but she didn’t know what it was. She didn’t usually travel this deep into Mexico. Skips on the run from the U.S. justice system tended to stick close to either the border or the Pacific coast where there were more people, and where English was spoken almost as frequently as Spanish.
She and Vincent passed the first of two big, open windows fronting the bar. There was no glass in the openings, just shutters that had been thrown back and locked in place. From inside came the sounds of people having a good time and imbibing a lot of liquor, but the rest of the street seemed to be deserted. It made her uncomfortable. If Vincent was right and there was the kind of business being conducted in this town that worked better in the dead of night, then this bar was likely to contain a whole lot of people she’d rather not meet. She reminded herself that despite his blatant charms and playboy ways, Vincent was probably the most deadly person in the bar. But still . . .