“You misjudge him, you know,” he said without preface.
She glanced at the usually non-talkative vampire. “I don’t judge him at all,” she said, knowing they were discussing Vincent.
Jerry’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve spent the last two years in a place where my life depended on accurately guessing what the humans around me were thinking, anticipating their wants and needs before even they knew what they were. I know people, Lana. Vincent could have killed every one of Camarillo’s men, but he chose not to.”
“He killed Camarillo. And besides, the only reason he didn’t kill the others was because we were in a hurry.”
Jerry smiled as if she was being foolish. “He could have littered that compound with bodies, left it a ghost town, and strolled out the front gate. Instead, he didn’t even kill José.”
“José was harmless,” she insisted, ignoring the soft voice of doubt that was whispering in the back of her brain.
He shook his head. “I’ve seen José quite cheerfully cut the hands off a man for stealing drugs. Vincent is an honorable man, Lana.”
“How can you know that?” she demanded, clinging to her argument. “You just met him, and besides, you call him master. How is that any different than what Camarillo was to you?”
His smile became almost pitying. “It’s true that Vincent is my master, but I am not his slave. Yes, I owe him my loyalty, but it is freely given. And in return, I am his to protect. Surely you can see the difference? In time, I will fight for him, not because he demands it, but because he is someone I will willingly follow, someone I am honored to protect.” He turned and met her eyes directly. “He will rule this territory someday, and I will stand proudly in the ranks of his warriors.”
“How do you know all of this?”
He shrugged. “He’s told me some things, but mostly . . . I just know.”
Vincent emerged from the office at that point, flipping a key fob between his fingers.
“Good news, kids,” he announced. “They have rooms!”
Lana rolled her eyes. He might be Lord of Mexico someday, but right now, he was just a big pain in her ass.
“Upstairs or downstairs?” she asked, still worried about the whole collapsed building scenario.
“Upstairs. I’d rather ride the rubble down than be trapped beneath it.”
She gave him a sharp look. He’d told her he couldn’t read her thoughts. Did that mean they thought alike? Crap. That was even scarier than thinking he could read her mind.
Following Jerry around to the back of the SUV, she pulled her duffel out and the three of them formed a little parade up a set of stairs that was every bit as rickety as they looked. They proceeded down the mezzanine until Vincent stopped at one of the few doors with a working light over it. He inserted the key with a twist and stepped into the dark room, then went directly to the bedside lamp and clicked it on, obviously for her benefit
“Oh, look, we have cable,” Vincent said snidely. He was giving her a look from across the room, one eyebrow arched upward as if commenting on the shabby state of the motel that she’d sent them to.
Lana avoided his gaze, though privately she agreed. “Interesting design,” she commented, taking in the faded, but once colorful, bedspread, studying the lone, oddly-placed window high up on the back wall and thinking they’d have to cover it somehow.
“The walls are fairly thick, and the absence of windows probably keeps the room cooler,” Jerry offered as explanation.
Lana nodded absently. Her attention was riveted on the single bed. Dead to the world or not, surely Vincent didn’t expect all three of them to—
“You’ll sleep in there, Jerry,” Vincent said, again seeming to sense her thoughts. She turned to see what he meant, and realized the motel room was actually a suite, with a nearly identical room on the other side of a cheap wooden door that Vincent had opened on the interior wall.
Jerry nodded and walked on through without comment, while Lana frowned at Vincent.
“Is there a door to the outside from that room?” she asked.
“No, no window either. I doubt Jerry will mind, however, since he’s used to far worse. And he does have his own bathroom with a window if he wants some air.”
“You should both sleep in there, then. I’ll stay out here in case anyone comes snooping around.”
Vincent snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m not sleeping with Jerry.”
“Well, then I can—”
“And neither are you,” he growled, guessing her next suggestion, even though she’d have meant it facetiously. The only thing that made sense was for both of the vamps to sleep in the bedroom with no window while she slept out here. So why was he being so difficult about it?