Club Dead - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,86
the left wall. You were facing three long aisles running the width of the store, plus various special displays and stacks of insulated mugs and charcoal briquettes and birdseed. I was all the way at the back of the store and I could see the clerk (easily) and the crooks (just barely) over the top of the groceries. I had to get out of the store, preferably unseen. I spotted a splintered wooden door, marked “Employees Only” farther along the back wall. It was actually beyond the counter behind which the clerk stood. There was a gap between the end of the counter and the wall, and from the end of my aisle to the beginning of that counter, I’d be exposed.
Nothing would be gained by waiting.
I dropped to my hands and knees and began crawling. I moved slowly, so I could listen, too.
“You seen a blond come in here, about this tall?” the burlier of the two robbers was saying, and all of a sudden I felt faint.
Which blond? Me, or Eric? Or the peroxide blond? Of course, I couldn’t see the height indication. Were they looking for a male vampire or a female telepath? Or . . . after all, I wasn’t the only woman in the world who could get into trouble, I reminded myself.
“Blond woman come in here five minutes ago, bought some cigarettes,” the boy said sullenly. Good for you, fella!
“Naw, that one done drove off. We want the one who was with the vampire.”
Yep, that would be me.
“I didn’t see no other woman,” the boy said. I glanced up a little and saw the reflection off a mirror mounted up in the corner of the store. It was a security mirror so the clerk could detect shoplifters. I thought,He can see me crouching here. He knows I’m here .
God bless him. He was doing his best for me. I had to do my best for him. At the same time, if we could avoid getting shot, that would be a very good thing. And where the hell was Eric?
Blessing my borrowed sweatpants and slippers for being soft and silent, I crept deliberately toward the stained wooden “Employees Only” door. I wondered if it creaked. The two robbers were still talking to the clerk, but I blocked out their voices so I could concentrate on reaching the door.
I’d been scared before, plenty of times, but this was right up there with the scariest events of my life. My dad had hunted, and Jason and his buddies hunted, and I’d watched a massacre in Dallas. I knew what bullets could do. Now that I’d reached the end of the aisle, I’d come to the end of my cover.
I peered around the display counter’s end. I had to cross about four feet of open floor to reach the partial shelter of the long counter that ran in front of the cash register. I would be lower and well hidden from the robbers’ perspective, once I crossed that empty space.
“Car pulling in,” the clerk said, and the two robbers automatically looked out the plate glass window to see. If I hadn’t known what he was doing telepathically, I might have hesitated too long. I scuttled across the exposed linoleum faster than I would have believed possible.
“I don’t see no car,” said the less bulky man.
The clerk said, “I thought I heard the bell ring, the one that goes when a car drives across it.”
I reached up and turned the knob on the door. It opened quietly.
“It rings sometimes when there ain’t nobody there,” the boy continued, and I realized he was trying to make noise and hold their attention so I could get out the door. God bless him, all over again.
I pushed the door a little wider, and duck-walked through. I was in a narrow passage. There was another door at the end of it, a door that presumably led to the area behind the convenience store. In the door was a set of keys. They wisely kept the back door locked. From one of a row of nails by the back door hung a heavy camo jacket. I poked my hand down in the pocket on the right and came up with the boy’s keys. That was just a lucky guess. It happens. Clutching them to prevent their jingling, I opened the back door and stepped outside.
There was nothing out here but a battered pickup and a reeking Dumpster. The lighting was poor, but at least