She pulled the remote from her pocket, hit the button and the doors unlocked almost silently. Lana strode over, opened the driver’s side and folded herself onto the seat without even taking time to unload the contents of her pockets. That could wait until they were safely away.
She’d just started the engine when Vincent loomed in the open driver’s door. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her expectantly.
Lana shot him a sideways glance, her focus on programming the nav system for a quick exit. “What?” she asked absently.
“I’m driving.”
Lana threw him a dismissive look. “I don’t think so. You were nearly dead just a few hours ago. I’ll drive. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going.”
“Isn’t that a navigation system you’re programming there?”
“I’m programming our trip out of town, not to Reyes’s house. So there.”
Vincent, damn him, grinned. “So there?” he repeated.
She leaned and grabbed the door handle, looking up at him with an aggravated glare. “It may have escaped your notice, oh powerful one, but we’re running for our lives. Now, move.”
He stepped out of the way, but not before taking advantage of her compromised position to deposit a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. Lana blinked in surprise, and her heart double-timed a few beats. Danger, Will—Oh, what the fuck. That wasn’t working. She shouldn’t be attracted to him at all. He was arrogant and bossy and a killer to boot. She didn’t fall for killers, she slapped cuffs on them and brought them back to stand trial. So, why did she find Vincent so damn irresistible?
No, not irresistible. She could resist him. She would resist him. One more day and they’d hit Pénjamo. They’d find this Xuan Ignacio fellow, deliver Raphael’s message, and that would be it. Vincent would go back to his life and Lana would go back to hers, their paths never to cross again.
So why the hell did that make him harder to resist, instead of less? The image flashed in her mind of Vincent as he’d leaned over her in that hot box of a prison, his eyes glowing a coppery gold, fangs slowly descending as he’d lowered his mouth to her neck. She could still feel the press of his hard body against hers, and she shivered in remembered pleasure of the most intense orgasm of her life. If he could do that with a single bite, imagine what he could do if he was actually making love to her. Her eyes drifted closed . . . and then flashed open as she intentionally called to mind the image of Vincent as he’d ripped Camarillo’s throat out, dripping blood and fangs bared. But even that didn’t work. Camarillo had been a monster, a purveyor of death and misery, one who no doubt had killed more than his share of innocents on his way up the ladder of success.
The passenger door opened and Vincent slid onto the seat, filling up the vehicle with his bulk, his sheer presence. Lana felt a blush heat her cheeks. She turned away quickly and busied herself with adjusting the mirrors, then putting the SUV in gear.
“Are you sure you want to—”
He didn’t even let her finish.
“I’m sure,” he interrupted, correctly assuming she’d been about to question if he really wanted to take the time to go by Reyes’s place.
“Fine,” she snapped. “It’s your funeral. You ready back there, Jerry?” she asked, eyeing the other vampire in her rearview mirror.
“Yes.”
A man of few words. She liked that. She paused to scan the horizon carefully, looking for dust clouds or any indication that Camarillo’s troops were on the move. Seeing nothing, she pressed on the gas pedal and retraced her path, heading for the road that would take them into town.
It was only a few minutes later that they entered Reyes’s neighborhood. It was darker than it had been the last time she’d been here, the middle of the night instead of nearly dawn. And there were no streetlights in this part of town. The only illumination came from whatever leaked out from inside the small and scattered houses, the pale flickering of a TV screen from those with satellite dishes on the roof.
Lana avoided the short driveway at Reyes’s house, choosing instead to park on the street in case a quick getaway became necessary. Vincent was out of the car before she’d even turned off the ignition.
When she finally hurried around the front of the SUV to stand next to him, he was eyeing the house unhappily.
“Problem?” she asked.
“No one’s in there.”
Lana scanned the front of the small house. The windows were dark, but a porch light was on. She remembered it still being on the other morning, too, and figured it was probably on a timer. Reyes lived alone. Maybe she didn’t like coming home to a dark house after a long night of trying to kill vampires. The bitch.
“Maybe she’s dead,” Lana commented and found she didn’t care either way. “She was in pretty bad shape when I left here.”
“Let me rephrase,” Vincent said dryly. “No one alive or dead is in there.”
“We can smell dead bodies,” Jerry supplied helpfully, having climbed out of the backseat to stand next to them.
“Huh,” Lana said, wondering where her life had taken such a wrong turn that this knowledge didn’t even faze her. “She probably took my advice and left town.”
Vincent shot her an unfriendly glance. Apparently he was still holding a grudge about that.