Human guards had already joined their vampire counterparts at the gate and Cyn remembered Raphael telling her—it seemed like a hundred years ago—that the closer it got to dawn, the more distracted and less reliable the vampire guards would be. She was counting on that distraction now and was relieved when the same vamp guard who'd admitted her before stepped out to block her way. She gave him a friendly smile, which he ignored, but he gave her only a cursory glance before stepping back to wave her through impatiently.

Cyn didn't draw a full breath until she hit the beltway. She'd taken time earlier to map her escape route, using the SUV's in-dash navigation system. She'd considered avoiding the highways altogether, sticking to the side roads, but in this case the most direct route was also the safest. Besides, being a California girl, she was most comfortable on a freeway and it was too early for the morning rush, so the route should be wide open. She checked her position and hit the gas, racing toward Ellington Field.

"You still with me, Mirabelle?” Cyn called back, glancing at the review mirror automatically, although there was nothing to be seen except the black cargo cover. She got a muffled groan in response, which worried her, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had to make that plane, had to get them off the ground and heading for California. But what if she didn't? What if she was too late? Jesus, what then? She thought hard. If she missed the plane, she'd have to keep going on the ground. Between the tinted windows and the cargo cover, Mirabelle would be safe enough from the sun. But how long it would take to reach the Arizona border and Raphael's territory? And how fast could Jabril find her in the meantime? He'd know where she was, even if her only logical destination hadn't been Arizona, he had a blood link to Mirabelle and could track them better than any GPS device made. And in the meantime, Cyn would be trapped in a gas guzzling SUV with what was probably going to be a crazed vampire once dark descended.

A pair of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror out of nowhere, coming up fast. Oh God, she thought. Was it him, had he gone looking for Mirabelle and found her gone? She drove frantically, her gaze dancing between the road and her mirror, watching doom approach in the form of a low-slung sedan. He rode right up on her tail, so close she couldn't see his headlights, so close she was convinced he meant to ram her, to drive her off the road. She jerked the SUV into the next lane, swerving dangerously, and watched in stunned disbelief as the other car raced past, its driver not even glancing her way.

She sucked in a deep breath and kept going, shivering with chill as the adrenaline drained out of her body.

When the airport came into view, she used her cell phone to call a prearranged number and the pilot of her chartered jet guided her to the hangar. This particular airline offered certain amenities to the vampire community; their ads were subtle but obvious if you knew what to look for. As Cyn pulled into the relative safety of the private hangar, the sunrise was already a promise—or a threat—on the horizon. By the time the doors began to close behind her, the thinnest ribbon of light was visible. Remembering what Duncan had said about Mirabelle's greater susceptibility to the sun's influence, Cyn skidded to a halt as close to the small jet as she could get, then threw herself from the truck and around the back. The airplane cabin was open, interior lights beaming a welcome above the short stairway. It was only a few stairs, but Cyn gave it an almost despairing glance as she ran by. The airline might invite vampires, but they'd made it clear that passengers had to board the aircraft under their own power.

"Please let Mirabelle be awake enough to walk.” She whispered the prayer to whatever gods protected vampires and their foolish human friends.

"Mirabelle,” she called as the hatch swung up silently. “You still awake in there?” She checked the area before releasing the cargo cover.

* * * *

Mirabelle curled herself into a tight ball, eyes closed. The sun was nearly up, her brain knew it; it was like hot lava lapping against her skull. She was nearly crazed with fear, bombarded by sensations she'd never felt before. She should be home in her closet by now, hidden beneath her comforting blankets, shielded by walls, curtains and doors. When the heavy back hatch suddenly flew upward, she screamed incoherently and stared terrified at the woman who stood framed in the artificial light of an unfamiliar building.

"Mirabelle?” the woman said. Mirabelle blinked, trying to concentrate on something besides the steadily diminishing beat of her own heart. “Mirabelle, you've got to move, hon. There's not much time."

"Move?” Mirabelle rasped. She stared at the strange woman, struggling to see, to distinguish details against the thick fog that had rolled in from somewhere, hiding everything behind a veil of gray. She remembered fog. Her parents had taken them to a beach once in winter, her and Elizabeth. The puffy, gray clouds had been sitting on the sand like a wall of dirty cotton balls. It had been strange to walk through them, to feel the clinging, damp fingers of mist on her skin and hair.

"...hurry ... find us ... I can't ... Elizabeth..."

Mirabelle's attention sharpened. The woman was still talking. Elizabeth? What about Elizabeth? The woman wanted her to go with her somewhere. To see Elizabeth? Did Liz need her, was she hurt? Had Jabril taken her already? Mirabelle pushed herself up, awkward in the confined space. The woman gripped her hand to help. She was strong. Much stronger than Mirabelle. No, that couldn't be right. Mirabelle was Vampire. She should be stronger. She let the woman pull her to her feet, let her shuffle them along toward some stairs. Not too many stairs, only a few. Then they were inside. That was good. The sun was up; she had to get inside. It was dark here, safe. She tumbled into the darkness, felt something soft beneath her, and then nothing at all.

* * * *

Cyn staggered under the abruptly dead weight of the vampire, barely making it to the narrow bed chamber in the back of the plane before letting her fall. She did her best to straighten out Mirabelle's limbs, then covered her with a light blanket, checked the temperature controls and slipped back into the main cabin. She closed the door behind her and ran down the short aisle, taking the stairs two at a time as she raced back to the SUV and grabbed her backpack and suitcase. She left the keys on the seat. The rental company would pick it up tomorrow, and the hotel would show her still in residence for two more days if anyone checked. It was a faint deception, but it was all she had.

The pilot was waiting in the doorway. He had that almost stereotypical look that all pilots seemed to have—average height, slender, middle aged, casually good-looking, but nothing to turn heads. He greeted her by name, taking her suitcase and stowing it with an impersonal smile before pulling up the stairs and securing the hatch. Cyn collapsed into the nearest seat and buckled in, her hands gripping the armrests as she waited for the plane to begin its journey onto the runway.

Minutes later, they were lifting into the sky and Houston was dropping away behind them. Cyn sighed in relief as every muscle in her neck seemed to relax at once. Their flying time to Santa Monica was about three hours, every minute of it through blessedly bright sunshine. She yanked off her high-heeled boots and stood to retrieve her suitcase, marveling at the thick carpeting beneath her bare feet. The leather skirt and boots went into the suitcase, replaced by her faded denims and a pair of socks.

She helped herself to a glass of wine from the complimentary stock and sank into the soft, comfortable chair, pressing buttons until it was fully reclined. There were times, Cyn thought, when it was good to be her father's daughter. He might not have been around much when she was growing up, and God knew they had little in the way of a father-daughter relationship even now. But at times like this, when she needed a last minute charter on a private jet, she was very grateful for the Leighton name and the generous trust fund that came with it. She was already half asleep when the intercom buzzed.

"We're at our cruising altitude, Ms. Leighton. It looks like a smooth ride all the way to L.A."

She pressed the reply button. “Thank you. I'm probably going to sleep until we land, so don't worry about me."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll let you know before we begin our final approach."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks again.” She pulled up the blanket and fell asleep before she had time to wonder if she would dream.

Chapter Fifteen

Someone was screaming. Cyn shot to her feet, stumbled and reached out, unable to see even her own hand. It was pitch black, blacker than a moonless night on the beach, with not even the faint gleam of starlight. She blinked rapidly, hands raised to touch her own face, her open eyes. The screams grew louder, filled with pain. Her heart beat wildly as she fumbled in the direction of the sound, flailing hands finding nothing to hold onto—no walls, no furniture, nothing.

The screams stopped, chopped off in mid-breath, and Cyn froze, struggling to breathe, to slow her pounding heart, to hear. The space around her was vast, echoing in its emptiness. A delicate sound broke the silence, a woman's soft voice, pleading in words she couldn't understand. A man's cruel laughter hissed out and with a wail of terror, the woman's torment resumed, filling the thick darkness with the sound of fear. Cyn crouched close to the ground, arms wrapped around her head in a vain attempt to block the terrible noise, lips clenched against a whimper of her own.

Something touched her in the darkness. It was the faintest brush against her bare arm, but it clung. Cold. Evil. Jabril Karim.

She ran. His laughter followed, delighting in her fear, reaching out to stroke her face, her back, random touches of greasy menace. She knew somehow he was toying with her; that he could pluck her from the dark and suck her under, drowning her in his oily miasma until her voice rose to join the chorus of hopelessness.

Arms came around her, holding her to a broad chest. She fought silently, refusing to give sound to her terror, kicking and punching.

"Softly, my Cyn.” She froze at the familiar voice, honey sweet and velvet soft, wrapping her in safety, shutting out the screams, shutting out everything but his touch. The arms tightened, his cool strength washing away her terror, his sensuous lips soaking up the tears she didn't know she'd shed. She sagged against him, her arms sliding around his slim waist, clinging to his strength. “Sleep for now, sweet Cyn."