Sarah McCarty by Slade Page B

pain. You need medical help.”
    “Nothing I can’t bear. It’s certainly not enough to send me running with my tail tucked between my legs.”
    No one would feel compelled to obey that rasp of sound. But she did. On a level she couldn’t explain. Pushing the urge aside, Jane put the car in park. “I’m calling the shots right now.”
    “Says who?”
    “Says me.”
    “What gives you the authority to be barking orders?”
    She looked around, seeing nothing but weeds, trash, and woods. “The fact that I can walk in the sun.”
    The next grunt was weaker. Jane looked over her shoulder. Slade was lying on his back on the seat, hands over his face. Blisters populated the red, angry flesh of his skin. All that from the few weak rays of the sun that permeated the tinted interior? Damn!
    He slid his hands away from his face. “Caleb is going love you.”
    “Who is Caleb?”
    “My brother.” His voice was barely audible.
    Opening the glove compartment, she saw a flashlight, but no gun. She really would have preferred the gun. Unfortunately, her survival instincts weren’t what they should be. She’d left it at the lab when Slade had grabbed her. Damn it. She snatched up the flashlight and eased the front door open, using her body to block the light, doing her best to shield him from the insidious rays of the sun. It spilled around her as if she were no barrier to anything at all. Damn, she hated feeling helpless.
    “Good to know, in the unlikely event we ever meet.”
    “You’ll meet. I’m insisting on it.”
    “Is he also a vampire?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then don’t count on it.”
    She closed the front door. He said something she couldn’t make out. She stopped, just in time, from opening the back door and asking, “What?” Placing her hand against the window, wishing she could see through the dark glass, she asked, “Just how hurt are you?”
    “I’ll be fine if I get some rest.”
    He needed rest. Protection from the sun. Jane couldn’t take her hand from the window. Couldn’t break the fragile connection. Another bit of vampire lore that had an anchor in reality. That no woman could resist them. “Playing the hero takes a lot out of you, huh?”
    “It can be hard work.”
    She bet. “Do you do it often?”
    No response.
    “Slade?”
    Damn. Had he passed out? Another glance around showed no sign of movement in the early morning light. Hopefully, it would take forever for the werewolves to find them, and hopefully, she’d be long dead from old age by the time that particular bit of folklore became part of her reality.
    She headed for the barn doors. The chain was not a good sign. Though heavily rusted, it still looked strong enough to fend off her efforts. Her only hope was that the lock wasn’t very strong. A tug proved it was stronger than the muscles in her hands and arms. Which was not saying much. When she went to the gym, she pretty much did the treadmill and ignored everything else. She yanked the lock again. Maybe she should have worked more with the weight machines. Then again, muscle wasn’t everything. She grabbed a piece of metal pipe from the pile of brush and trash at the side of the building. Innovation could often make up the difference.
    Swinging the pipe, she banged on the lock. Once. Twice. The force resonated around her. So loud. She looked down the road. There were no other houses in sight, but who knew what was beyond the trees. Or for that matter, in the trees. This was not a situation to give a body a warm fuzzy. She needed to get them hidden, and fast. Taking a firmer grip on the pipe, she stabbed downward. Metal clanked. And there might have been just a bit of give in the mechanism. Give would be good about now. She’d had enough problems in the last few hours.
    Four more tries, each blow ringing like a warning shot through the early dawn, and the lock gave. Hallelujah! She dropped the pipe on the ground, grabbed the lock, and untangled it from the rusty chain, staining