Part 1 (2/2)

I'll be eighteen in two weeks. That's when it will happen. If it happens. I'm pretty sure it will. I see my body, how it's changing, growing, and I know. I feel different inside, too. Hungrier. That's the only way I can describe it. It scares me. If it happens, I have to leave Mom and Aria behind. Now that I know what I am... why and from whom we're running, I'm not sure that's a great idea. Zane says it is. He says it's the only thing I can do to keep them safe. I can't imagine leaving them unprotected, especially Aria. She's just a kid. And she has no idea who what we are.

I didn't realize he'd kept a diary. It wasn't like him. He'd been a jock, captain of the football team. Keeping a diary was about as far from the Bryan Hale I'd grown up with as possible.

But then again, if there was one thing I'd learned over the last six years, it was that people kept secrets and you could never really know what was inside someone's head. Thinking you knew someone at all was a stupid mistake.

Tears blurred my vision. I took care none fell on the single sheet I held. It was too precious. It was the last memento I had of Bryan. Putting it back into its envelope and sliding it into the glove compartment, I took the switchblade out. That had been Bryan's, too.

I killed the engine and tucked the little knife into the seam I'd sewn into my boot, the cool metal reminding me to steel myself. I was searching for a killer, and if I ever hoped to avenge the murders of my family, I needed to stay focused. I'd cried enough already. Too much, in fact. The time for tears was past.

I rolled up my window and stepped out, tugging my jacket closer. Fall nights were cold in Colorado, even if the days were still warm. In the distance, the howl of a wolf made me shudder, forcing me to stop, to glance over my shoulder. Another cry came, this one sounding a little closer. My heartbeat quickened, and I walked faster toward the bar, not quite sure it was a safe haven against the animals making the sounds. In fact, when I opened the door and glimpsed the people inside, I was certain it was not.

Music played, hard '90s rock drowning out every other noise. I scanned the place, wondering how Zane would react when he saw me. Would he even recognize me? It had been six years. Would I recognize him? He'd be twenty-four or twenty-five now. There was a time when I'd fantasized I'd marry him one day, but I shook my head at that now. I'd been a stupid kid.

People were beginning to look in my direction. I stood taller, forcing myself to meet their gazes head on, pus.h.i.+ng away thoughts that I was an imposter, a fake who didn't belong here. I had business with Zane Von. I had as much right as they to be here. Maybe more, considering.

Heading to the bar, I stopped before the bartender, a man who was probably in his mid-thirties, built like a brick house with thick, dark hair slicked back from his face and an unkempt beard barely hiding the deep scar that spanned his jaw and part of his right cheek. His features were sharp, everything about him hard, everything but his eyes. They were an intense blue seeming too old, too tortured to belong to him.

He leaned back, his body language relaxed, and folded his arms across his chest, the boredom in his expression telling me he'd taken stock of me and remained unimpressed.

”What can I do for you?”

”I'd like a beer, please.” My voice sounded creaky and I cleared my throat, repeating my request.

He snorted while his mouth curved up on one side. For a moment, he didn't move, at least his body didn't. He scanned me from my head to my chest, pausing there for a long moment before moving his focus back up to my face.

”Sure, pretty girl,” he said, sliding a mug under the tap and pouring, his eyes still on me. ”Two bucks.”

From my back pocket, I pulled out a twenty and set it down. I was running low on cash. My allowance had stopped coming since I'd left school. Since I'd walked out and left no forwarding address. My benefactor - aka my grandfather - a man who couldn't be bothered to once show up and meet me in person, who couldn't take the time to turn up at my family's funeral, had been paying for me to attend a very exclusive, very expensive, and very remote private school. He'd sent money monthly, a small allowance, and when I'd graduated, the check had been a little bigger. That was the day I'd left. The day the search for my family's killer had begun.

I didn't care about my grandfather. I had never met him, and he was nothing to me. The fact that he was family didn't mean much. I wasn't even sure I believed he was, except that he paid for everything, and that private school wasn't cheap. But what I'd needed when my mom and Bryan had been ripped from me hadn't been cash. I'd needed him. It would have been nice not to have been left on my own. To have had someone. My mom had never talked about him. I guess I figured out why over the two years he locked me away at that school, not once visiting.

The bartender changed my twenty and finally went to serve a round elsewhere. I leaned my back against the bar, exhaling, glad not to be the subject of his intense gaze. I scanned the surroundings, the dark wood paneling along the walls, the few windows with shutters closed, smoke hanging in the air. Battered tables and chairs that should have been retired a decade ago furnished the place, rings and dents marring the tables, the chairs too worn out to be comfortable anymore, and, even though every other place in and around Denver was smoke-free, here it was almost as though they pumped the stuff into the air. I sipped my beer, taking stock of the clientele, the majority of whom were men. Most held a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, and women seemed to hang over them. It was a different place than I'd imagined Zane having. At least the Zane I remembered. But then again, maybe I hadn't known him at all.

”So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

My friendly bartender was back. I turned, rolling my eyes at the lame question, taking the last sip of my drink before setting it down on the counter to order another.

He raised his eyebrows. ”You sure?”

”Are you my dad?”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head, making me want to punch the grin off his face, but he took another gla.s.s and poured, sliding it toward me.

”I'm looking for someone, actually.”

”And who would that be?”

”Zane Von.”

He stilled, narrowing his eyes almost imperceptibly.

”Who's asking?” He took my money and leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest, scrutinizing me.

”An old friend,” I said, determined not to be weak. Who was he to cross-examine me?

”Cute. You don't seem his type though.”

”His type? I'm not...”

”Look around you, honey. You don't exactly fit in here. Drink your beer and go back home to Mommy and Daddy.”

f.u.c.k. You.

”You don't know anything about me.” I brought my gla.s.s to my mouth, willing my hand to stop shaking as I did. ”Is he here?” Blood pumped faster through my veins, anger growing with each beat of my heart.

”Nope,” he said casually, snapping his lips together and making a popping sound out of the P.

He was lying. I could see it. And he seemed to enjoy my frustration because he grinned again and walked toward the other end of the bar to join in the conversation there. I inhaled a deep breath, tucked my change into my pocket, and walked around, noting the cameras in every corner of the room. People eyed me, obviously aware of the stranger among them, although no one approached or spoke to me. But more than once, the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kled, making me shudder and glance back, the feeling of being watched creepy.

He wasn't here, though. At least not out here in the bar. Was he sitting in an office somewhere following me on those cameras? I suddenly felt at a disadvantage. If I'd had the upper hand with the element of surprise when I got here, I'd surely lost it now. The bartender still kept an eye on me even while engaging with others. I thought about what he'd said about me not being Zane's type and looked at the women here, at their tight-fitting clothes, each of them wearing more leather than I owned in my entire wardrobe, most of the women looking a little worse for wear. Well, the bartender was right, if this was now Zane's ”type.” I stuck out like a sore thumb in this place.

Finis.h.i.+ng my beer, I set the empty on the counter, and, staring straight ahead, walked out the door. I'd wait in my car. If he was in the building, he'd have to go home sometime. I could wait. And my car would be more welcoming than this place.

The chill outside reminded me winter was fast approaching, but after the smoky bar, I gratefully sucked in the fresh, cool air. Cigarette smoke clung to me as I made my way around the corner toward my car.

”Hey,” someone said behind me.

Startled, I turned, glancing at the guy who leaned against the wall of the bar watching me. He took a long drag of his cigarette and flipped it away before taking a step closer. The way he scanned my body made me pick up the pace toward my car.

”Heard you were looking for Zane.”

I stopped, turning, smelling the alcohol on him even from this distance.

”Who are you?” I asked.

He grinned, and I would have walked on, but, if he had any information on Zane, then I needed to hear him out. I could handle one sorry drunken slob. I'd done it before.

”I'm Jake,” he said, tripping over the next step he took, forcing me backward one to avoid having to catch him if he fell. I was close enough to my car now I could lean against it but didn't. I intended to stand my ground and would show no weakness.

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