Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I just like to play with the characters.

My thanks to my wonderful beta, EdwardsMate4Ever, and to Jaspersdoll, for her title and other suggestions on this story.

This is a Jasper-Bella fiction. It takes place in current time. Vampires are in hiding, but have a more structured society. They take human "pets" for food, and some humans are held in captivity to be bled for vampires. They bottle this blood much like humans bottle beer, and it is sold in the underground vampire clubs and bars. There are a number of "designer" blood labels, some of which are very popular. Bella's blood has been featured in a blend called "LaGuerra" and is the most popular designer bottled blood on the vampire black market.

Humans who have been claimed by vampires have a small tattoo on their wrists to mark them as vampire property. The marks are usually a series of dots forming a small triangle or rectangle. The colors and pattern identify both the Vampire Territory and individual owner claiming the human.

Chapter 9 - The Find –

(Bella's POV)

I looked out of the café with a tired smile. Another rain shower was on the way, so there were a few clouds overhead.

I loved living in Florida. My new I.D. had gotten me a job at this little café within a week of our return from Anaheim. I knew that Crazy thought we had stayed too long, as we had been here five months already. She wanted to move to Phoenix, our next sunny spot.

Sometimes I missed Isaiah. That one meeting with him had made an impact on me. Crazy told me later that he had offered to take care of me, but I would be restricted to his ranch. I wondered if things might not be easier if I just took him up on his offer of protection. Crazy warned me that she had the feeling his offer would come with a price. He would take over the thorny issue of ownership, and I would probably have to give up my blood regularly, but he would let me live normally in other respects. Some days it was very tempting.

Of course, one big potential drawback of that living situation was the possibility of encountering Jasper Whitlock, Isaiah's creator. Crazy had explained that most vampires had to follow the orders of their creator. If Whitlock really wanted me specifically, which he seemed to have since he posted those flyers for me everywhere, Isaiah could be ordered to give me up, and there would be little he could do to stop his creator.

Crazy had told me that if Jasper Whitlock challenged Isaiah, Isaiah would have the choice of fighting for me-a fight to the death. But I felt I would lose in any scenario: Crazy had explained that I might have grown up at an illegal operation, but if I was found, the Cullens might want to bury me inside of a legal operation for security purposes. Assuming that they didn't kill me outright. Why else would Jasper Whitlock be searching for me?

After meeting Isaiah, I was especially careful to stay in sunlit areas or in places with a steady flow of people when I was inside at work. After all, I had been almost alone in that store when Isaiah had walked in. Crazy had warned me that the trackers knew to search for us in the sunlit places, and that if they found us, they would simply wait and make their approach at night. Still, any extra time I managed to be free was good, even if it was just a half day longer. So I worked day shifts only, which meant the money wasn't as good. Dinner and happy hour were the shifts where the money could be made. The owner of the café could not understand why I kept turning down these lucrative shifts.

I told her I made enough money during the days I worked, and wanted my nights free to pursue my studies. She always seemed confused by this answer, but she let me keep working my lunch shifts.

I liked this little café where I worked. Most of the waterfront cafes featured fish or crustaceans, such as lobsters or crabs, as their themes, or had large fish tanks as part of the decor. The family who owned the Blue Parrot had decided to take a different approach, and it had set their restaurant apart. While they had filled their restaurant with potted plants, like most others, they had a large bird cage along one wall, and perches strategically placed throughout the restaurant with colorful parrots and other birds on them. I don't know how the café passed the health department inspections, but their "A" rating was proudly posted in the front window. Right by the most colorful parrot.

The locals all knew the birds by name, and knew which one was the rascal. As they came in each day, they would ask us what the cockatoo, Whitie, that generally caused the trouble had been up to. The calls from the songbirds in the large cages along the north wall gave a peaceful feeling to the café, and set it apart from the others.

Today the lunch crowd was in the process of thinning out, and I was thinking that I might start setting up the tables for the next shift. I heard the bell over the front door tinkle, and a guy came in, slowly removing his motorcycle helmet. As he walked past me, I saw a shaggy head of blond hair appear as he took the helmet off. He was lean, built. I almost licked my lips. Probably taken, probably carrying a disease, I told myself. He took a corner booth.

I noticed that the restaurant suddenly went quiet. I was puzzled for a second, then realized that it was because the birds had stopped making noise. One of the cockatoos had climbed off of its perch and was trying to inch down the pole.

I walked over to give the new arrival a menu. Just as I reached his table, the bell over the entrance jingled again. I glanced back at the door and suddenly felt something ice-cold grasping my wrist. One finger was slipping up the St. Jude bracelet I wore over my tattoo, exposing it.

I went dead inside, fighting down the adrenaline rush. Don't let him feel your fear, I told myself. With as much courage as I could muster, I lifted my head up. Slavery was no longer legal in the United States. They could not make me a slave. I felt myself being pulled around to the front of the corner booth where I prepared to look at the fiend holding my wrist.

I found myself gazing into the steadily darkening eyes of Major Jasper Whitlock. I immediately recognized him from Crazy's sketch. This was the vampire I had been sending insulting texts to, the one Crazy described as the most dangerous vampire in our part of the world. Fear ran through my body, making me nauseated as it sent me back to the feelings of hopelessness and terror I had experienced during all those years living in the barrack with my mother. He was going to take me back there.

His eyes narrowed, watching me. Somehow I felt as if he were feeling my emotions.

Did he recognize me? How had he found me? Or was this just luck on his part? Looking at his stony face, I straightened my shoulders and fought back my feelings. I refused to show him that I was afraid.

"What will it be, then?" I asked, my words initially coming out slowly, as my mouth had been dried out from my terror. I was determined to act just as if he were any other customer. "The crab cakes are good today."

No one could see us in this corner booth, so he leaned forward and sniffed up my wrist, holding my eyes with his as he held me in his iron grip. So he was going to play vampire to intimidate me, showing his animal side right here in the café? I broke his gaze when I heard the bell over the door jingle again, announcing more customers entering the restaurant.

I decided to play it cool, as two police officers walked up to the counter where they had full sight of the café, including that corner table. This was good, as it meant there were more witnesses. Crazy had told me that the vampire world's main law was to keep their existence unknown. Unless he intended to kill everyone currently in the restaurant, including the cops, I had a chance at escape. Assuming I could keep my cool. So, pretending that he had answered, I confirmed an order. "Crab cakes, then. And a peach iced tea? Coming right up," I said as I pulled myself away.

Walking unsteadily from my barely contained fear, I somehow made it to the counter where the two officers were waiting. "Corrine?" I called out to the other waitress, as I walked behind the counter. "We're out of lemons." I dumped the full container of lemons into the sudsy dish water, just out of her sight. The cops looked puzzled, but shrugged and went back to studying the menus I handed them.

"Already?" She sighed.

"Don't worry; I'll cut some up real quick. Cover for me here? The corner booth would like peach tea and crab cakes." I gave Corrine the sign we had for when a real looker came in. She got the hint, and right on cue, undid the top button of her uniform and moved over to the booth. I knew she would hang over him, fussing over his bread basket and tea. Unless he wanted to make a scene, I could slip into the back.

Once in the kitchen, I frantically signed to Jose, the cook. The owner was pretty loose about some things, and generally paid us cash. I had long suspected that Jose didn't have all the necessary forms to work legally. I mouthed to him, "Trouble," and he froze. "For me," I added quickly. "Cover for me? I'm pretending to chop lemons." He looked puzzled, and I added, "Old boyfriend. Don't want to talk to him."

He visibly relaxed, nodded, and took the knife from me, keeping the slow, steady pace I had started. Any real chef, or short-order cook such as Jose, would have made quick work of the fruit.

Our storeroom connected to the neighboring trinket shop that also rented jet skis and other equipment by the hour. This second shop was on the waterfront, and the café was only separated from it by a narrow alley. I had covered their desk often when they were busy and the café wasn't, as the two stores were both owned by the same family. Rich, the brother who ran the waterfront shop, was working the counter. I mouthed, "Need a favor. Jet ski?"

Rich jerked his head towards a jet ski that was being brought in. I grabbed a jacket and cap from the counter and walked out to Ron, the employee who was checking the jet ski back in. I gestured back to Rich, and said as casually I was able, "He said it was OK. It's slow in the café; I just need a quick break." He glanced over my shoulder, and must have received a confirming nod from Rich, because he handed over the jet ski to me. I jumped on and took off as fast as I could. As I zoomed out onto the water, I resisted glancing back, in case Jasper Whitlock had figured out my ruse and made it out to the wharf. At this point, I was just one of many jet-skiers enjoying the beautiful day out on the ocean.

I had left with almost nothing. Only my little fanny pack that I always carried, with another set of I.D.'s, a credit card, and disposable cell phone. I dialed Crazy's number but got her voicemail. She was en route to Toronto, something about seeing an old friend. I only hoped I could reach her in time, if only to say good-bye. I sent her a text as I took off for the other end of the bay, praying the water would cover my tracks.

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Whoo-hoo! She gave him the slip! Well, for the time being, at least. Unexpected… Let me know what you think!