PALM CANYON IS A DESERT ANOMALY. AN OASIS tucked between canyon walls fed by an underground stream. When we pull into the parking lot, there are a half dozen cars lined up near the ranger station. Hikers, no doubt. There's no one on duty in the station on a Friday afternoon, though. State budget limitations have made it impossible to have full-time rangers.
Dan hasn't said a word. Wouldn't look at me or answer the question of where he went when he left his brother and me. I know how afraid he is for his daughter. I also know that kind of fear leads you to try stupid and desperate things. I'll have to keep an eye on him.
When we've parked and are out of the car, I stop him before he heads for the trail. He looks at me with the same blank expression.
"Let me take the lead," I tell him. "Alan doesn't know who I am. He does know you. If I go first, we may be able to surprise him."
He shakes his head. "You don't know what he looks like. You don't even know what Sylvie looks like."
"Dark hair, shoulder length, about five feet five inches tall, 120 pounds. She has her father's eyes."
He looks like I've just performed a magic trick.
"There was a picture on the table in the living room."
"You got all that from a picture?"
"It's what I do. Trust me. I'd ask you to stay here, but I know you wouldn't. All I am asking is that you don't try anything foolish and you don't get in my way."
His nod is wooden and not very convincing. But I understand. When my niece was in trouble, no force in the world could have stopped me from helping her.
We start into the canyon. It's after two in the afternoon and shadows are already lengthening. When we come to the first fork in the trail, Dan doesn't hesitate, but points to the right. We pass a group of hikers coming out.
I stop them. "We're looking for friends of ours. A couple. Did you pass anyone in the last half hour or so?"
A blonde wearing biker shorts and a tank top steps forward. She glances over my head. "We did pass someone. Your name isn't Dan, is it?"
Dan gives a startled jerk beside me. He steps in front. "Yes."
She frowns. "He said to tell you that they'd wait for you. That you would know where."
She looks to her companions with an expression that makes me suspect she wants to say more.
"Was there something else?" I prod.
She nods. "I may be reading too much into this, but I don't think the woman wanted to go with him. She was crying. I asked if she needed help, but she said no. The guy kept stroking her hair. He wouldn't let go of her arm. It was creepy. I was going to report it at the ranger station."
Dan doesn't wait to hear more. He starts down the trail at a run.
The blonde and her friends look like they might follow him. I touch her arm to get her attention. "There's no one at the ranger station. Call the police. Tell them which trail we took but warn them that it's a hostage situation."
The girl and her hiking buddies still look more excited than concerned. "Don't follow us," I snap at them. "This is not a game. There's a woman in danger, and you could get her killed. Get out of the canyon and call the police."
I can't wait to see if they'll do as I ask since Dan is out of sight. Once I make sure no one can see me, I race to catch up with him, vampire speed kicking in. I have no idea where we're going, but I do know I want to get there first. In seconds I've caught up with him. I drag him to a stop with a hand on his arm.
He whirls around, his face a mask of rage. "What do you think you're doing?"
But it's not the expression on his face or the anger in his voice that gives me pause. It's the gun. He's holding a gun. A Glock that's now pointed right at my chest.
I have to fight my first impulse, to wrench it out of his hand and hit him over the head with it. I understand now why he disappeared for a minute back at the house. He went to get this-a wicked-looking Glock.
I hold out my left hand, palm up, and increase the pressure on his arm with my right. I use my best calm voice to reason with him. "That gun isn't a good idea. You'd better give it to me."
He ignores my outstretched hand as completely as he ignores my reasonable voice. He tries to pull away, but I'm too strong. If he was thinking clearly, he'd probably wonder about that. Instead, he tries to fight me.
It's no contest. When I've got the gun and his face is contorted with the pain of my grasp, his expression crumbles. "What are you doing? We have to save Sylvie."
"We will. But we'll do it my way."
He stops fighting and I let go of his arm. To his credit, he doesn't grab his forearm and rub even though I know it must hurt like a son of a bitch.
I slip his gun into the waistband of my jeans, unclip my own. "How much farther?"
His eyes start to clear. "About half a mile. There's a wading pool at the end of this trail. At this time of year, there won't be anyone around. The water is too cold."
I nod. "Are you going to be all right?"
"When we get my daughter back." His voice is thick with worry.
"Then let's go."
We walk quickly and quietly along a dirt path that cushions our footfalls. The path winds through thick vegetation, screening our approach as effectively as it hides the location of our quarry. When I hear the spill of water into the rock basin, I know we're close.
I put a finger to my lips and whisper, "Where?"
Dan points ahead and to the right.
But before I can react, a taunting voice from that direction calls out. "Dan? Is that you? Come out, come out wherever you are. Sylvie needs you."
There's a whimper and a short cry, as if he's yanked Sylvie's hair or pinched her so that she'd do just that.
He called for Dan. No mention of anyone else. I pull Dan's head down so that I can whisper in his ear. "Go out. I'll be right behind you. Keep him talking."
Dan nods. His face has lost the sharpness of his anger. The only emotion stamped there now is concern.
"We'll get Sylvie out safely."
I'm not sure he hears me. He walks away, calling out, "Sylvie, honey, it's Dad. Where are you, baby?"
A small voice answers from about one hundred feet ahead. "Here. By the pool."
Her words are cut short and in their place, the male voice snaps out in contempt, "Yeah, Daddy. By the pool. Come join us. We wouldn't think of starting this party without you."
Dan gets several steps ahead before I veer off the path and let his voice guide me. My plan is to go around the pool, get behind Sylvie and her abductor and spring myself on him before he realizes I'm there. I allow the animal to take control of the human. I make no noise at all as I move toward them.
Dan's voice is plaintive. "Why are you doing this, Alan? You love Sylvie, I know you do. Why would you want to hurt her?"
"I do love her. But you've spoiled it. You've made her think I'm not good enough. Well, it worked. I'm not good enough. But no one would be. I'm going to spare her the pain of finding that out."
"Please. Think about what you're doing." Dan's voice is abruptly silent. Then, "Sylvie. I'm so sorry. What has he done to you?"
He must be with them now. And I gauge that I'm only a few yards from the target. I push closer.
Sylvie is crying. "Dad. I'm sorry. I begged Alan not to bring you here. I agreed to go with him-anywhere-if he'd promise not to hurt you or Uncle Burt." Her voice breaks. "I think he killed him."
"No. Don't worry about Uncle Burt. He's going to be just fine. We got to him in time."
I realize Dan's mistake the same instant Sylvie's captor does. "We?" His voice ratchets from contempt to suspicion with that one word. "Who is 'we,' Dan? Did you bring someone with you?"
I can see them now, the three of them. Sylvie and her ex-husband have their backs to me, Dan is in my line of sight. I know Dan doesn't do it on purpose, but his eyes shift to me and away, and in that instant, Alan reacts. He whirls around, his grip on Sylvie's throat forcing her to move with him. He can't see me, I've already ducked out of sight, but he yells in my direction.
"Who's there? Tell me. I've got a knife and I'll cut her throat if you don't show yourself."
I gather myself to spring. Dan moves first. I hear the scuffle as I launch myself up. Alan pushes Sylvie at Dan. He raises the knife to plunge it into her back but I stay his hand with a growl. He spins to face me, but confusion slows his reflexes. He expects to see a human face, not a two-legged animal.
The shock lasts only an instant. He twists his hand and lashes out with the knife. The blade cuts through my jeans, opening a gash high on my left thigh. Blood follows the path of the knife in a crimson arc.
The smell of my own blood triggers an uncontrollable urge to spill his. The change is complete. The vampire takes over. I hear the gasps as Dan and Sylvie see what most mortals never will. I let my gun drop to the ground and prepare to attack the way an animal would, with open jaws and snapping teeth.
Alan starts to scream. I don't care. He's cowering behind upturned fists, trying to back away. I close in on him. He raises the knife and I let him. I'll give him that last flicker of hope before I rip out his throat.
The gunshot is so loud, it makes me jump, clapping my hands to my ears. A spray of blood and tissue settles like a crimson veil on my face and clothes. For a moment, I'm not even sure who's been hit. The painful sound continues to resonate like the toll of a bell long after understanding reaches the brain. Alan crumples slowly to the ground, his face gone.
I drop on all fours. I don't know who shot Alan, but I don't want to take the chance that whoever it is isn't through firing yet. Bullets hurt.
It gets quiet in the clearing. Too quiet. Sylvie moves first, coming close to stare down at Alan's body. Dan grabs her and pulls her back. She reacts as though slapped, jumping away from her father with a small cry. Then she collapses against him and starts to sob.
Neither looks in my direction. I'm back to the human Anna, but I have an image of me growling and gnashing my teeth at Alan's throat a moment before. I imagine they do, too, and that may have something to do with the fact that they aren't rushing over to see if I'm all right.
But there's a bigger puzzle.
Neither Dan nor Sylvie is holding a gun.
I look down at Alan's body. The shot took out the back of his head, exiting through a gaping hole just below the bridge of his nose. The shot could only have come from behind. From the bushes. And from a high-powered rifle.
My eyes probe the dense brush. Nothing.
Until all hell breaks loose.
The echo of the gunshot has barely faded before uniforms surround us. State police, local police, detectives, even a couple of rangers appear out of the shadows like a swarm of gnats. Evidently they were close on our tail and the sound of the shot was like the discharge from a starter's pistol. It brought them at a run, guns drawn. Between Burt and that group of hikers, no stone was left unturned.
When commanded to place our hands on our heads, we do and the cops approach.
Our guns are secured. We're separated to tell our stories. I have no doubt they'll be remarkably alike. Dan and I came to save Sylvie from an abusive ex-husband. She has fresh bruises on her cheeks and her father and injured uncle to back up her story that she feared for her life. The question of who shot Alan, though, is the big mystery. The fact that none of us were in a position to pull off the shot, or had a rifle, pretty much lets us off the hook, at least for now.
During his interrogation, Dan hardly glances my way. I keep waiting for him to say something about the ferocity of my attack on Alan, but maybe he's too busy feeling grateful that I didn't do the same to him last night. I have a feeling it will be a long time before Dan beds a strange woman.
Darkness has fallen. Lights are set up so that the ME can finish his work. When it's finally my turn to tell the story, I'm handed off to a uniform from El Centro PD. Not considered important enough, I guess, to warrant either of the detectives who questioned Dan and Sylvie. The cop is short and built like a box, square shoulders, square jaw, squat little legs. He's abrupt and listens only perfunctorily to my answers. He's heard the story from Sylvie and Dan and I'm hardly more than a bystander in the drama. The fact that I was fighting Alan at the time he was shot and could very well have been killed, too, is pretty much ignored. In fact, the only detail I'm asked to clarify is my occupation and if I have a license for the gun. I tell the cop yes, that it's in my purse back in the car. He passes that information to the detective who tells the cop to escort me back to the parking lot and verify the license. Noticing the blood on my thigh, the cop does ask if I want a doctor to look at it. It's long since stopped bleeding, I can feel the skin repairing itself. I tell him it's just a scratch and he doesn't push.
Then he says that once he verifies the information on my carry permit, I'll be free to go.
Go where?
But I don't have time to dwell on that detail. About the same time I'm being excused, the press shows up. With lights and cameras and microphones. How they got wind of what happened out here so quickly, I can't even guess. Maybe the hikers. In any case, the detective in charge turns livid with anger. He circles the troops and orders them out. My cop friend and I get rounded up with them and herded back toward the trailhead.
Halfway to the ranger station, someone from the press notices the ragged tear in my jeans, the blood stains. All of a sudden, I'm a target for questions and cameras. The officer with me manages to deflect most of the attention. He directs me to sit in the back of Dan's car while he secures the area. I watch as the media people, still protesting, are loaded into their vans, wondering who I can call now for a ride home.
I power up my cell phone. It chirps that I'm getting a text message. Puzzled, I flip it open. There's just enough battery left for the message to come through.
"Feeling lucky? You should be. I could have killed you, too, but this is much more fun. Say thank you, Anna."
