First, don't forget to check out the entries in the Day of the Dead competition over on Area5BloodyPen. Voting is open until the 29th October.

Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites. Today's chapter is shorter, but punchier. Enjoy...


T-R-O-U-B-L-E


Steam scented with herbal shampoo filled the shower. I waited for the fingers of hot water to perform a miracle and wash away my exhaustion. Or my memory of last night. I would take either.

Needless to say, I waited in vain. I reckoned a second miracle was too tall an order for the universe. It had been nothing short of a damn miracle that I'd managed to resist Eric, master of seduction that he was. How in the heck I'd—

Right. Iowa.

The queen Eric was all-but betrothed to had popped into my head to provide a much needed mental bucket of ice-water, coming as it did while I was both frozen in shock and about to combust with lust. It was a timely reminder that I had no future with Eric, but I had one with Quinn that I'd be a fool to throw away. I meant every word I'd said to Eric last night, too. I was in the driver's seat, in control. Eric could only ever be a fling, and that wasn't what I wanted for myself.

Things had been decidedly awkward after that, although I'd fallen asleep on the plane easily enough. I guess because Eric sucked it up like a champ. Can't have been easy. I doubted the full Eric Northman treatment met with refusal more than once a century.

Trouble was, I liked Eric. Liked hanging out with him, liked laughing with him. And damn him if he hadn't flirted so subtly I'd lulled myself into pretending it wasn't happening. My body sure realised what was going on though. It was enough to make a girl forget her own name when he leaned in to kiss me, hand on my neck and those pretty blue eyes boring into mine, his lips parted—

I shivered under the hot water.

Thinking about Eric whilst I was naked and wet was asking for trouble. Sighing, I shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. Drying myself slowly, I forced my thoughts to what I'd learnt yesterday. Murder was a much safer topic.

If there was a connection between Scott and Gary's deaths, I wasn't seeing it. And something else didn't add up: Joseph, who supposedly wanted to do twoeys real harm, hadn't turn Scott over to the police. Why kill him? A warning to the others?

The Fellowship getting a-hold of Gary, however, fitted Joseph's alleged anti-twoey agenda to a T. My blood boiled briefly when I thought of that apple-pie spokeswoman scaring her own children to whip up some hatred. That had definitely furthered Joseph's plans. Nothing had set the twoey cause back more than Gary's 'attack'.

Well, not until Hector's killing spree went public.

And a second vamp, this Lance, was stirring that mud.

Grabbing the hair-dryer, I realised what was bugging me about Lance. Eric had retreated behind a mask of cool indifference after I'd rebuffed him, so I couldn't be sure, but my bullshit detector said he'd been economical with the truth there. What was he hiding?

I ran the dryer slowly over my hair. Eric might be a trailblazing real co-operation with the twoeys in Louisiana, but his information-sharing with Daisy left a lot to be desired. Stan's fatal difference of opinion with Joseph, for instance. Eric had been careful not to spell that out in front of the others, even if he was less cagey with me later.

From what I'd seen, Eric's motto was still vampires first. So if he was keeping something back, it was a vampire thing.

Lance and Joseph. Did it go deeper? Some grand vamp conspiracy, some anti-twoey faction? Perhaps. Eric sure had motives for playing that close to his chest with Daisy. Last thing anyone needed was an all-out conflict between vamps and twoeys, and she'd already proved herself a firebrand.

Then there was that third man, the one who met with Joseph and Lance. Human, Digger thought, but wasn't sure. In Digger's memory he wore an anonymous black trench-coat, and his face was obscured in a smoky corner, deep in shadow. He seemed familiar, and something about him suggested a uniform. A security guard? Maybe I'd seen him at the summit? I'd screened so many staff in Louisville I doubted I could recall them all.

Nope, I couldn't place him.

Sighing, I left the bathroom and went to the closet, sparing a glare for my cell phone. It had woken me an hour ago, after far too little sleep. Adding insult to injury, by the time I'd dragged myself from the depths to answer it, Quinn had hung up. A lucky escape for him, I'd been in no mood to be charitable.

Really, it was my fault he was calling so early. I'd meant to ring him when I got back at the butt-crack of dawn, but I'd been so tired I went straight to bed.

Picking out jeans and a smart blouse, I dressed and then rang him. Straight to voicemail. Damn. He must be in a meeting, we'd be playing phone tag all day. I squashed a faint worry about Bardulf, waited for the tone, and made sure my voice was perky.

"Hey honey. Sorry I missed you earlier, I was sleeping. Everything's fine and dandy. Making progress, should be back soon. Hope things are good with you. Call you later."

Ugh. I hated doing that.

Someone rapped loudly on the door, and as I went to open it I recognised the snarly red mind. Digger. What was he doing here?

I wasn't the only one who'd had an interesting night.

Digger filled me in over in Daisy's room, and Daisy was riled. Not that you'd notice if you hadn't spent some time round her. She wasn't pacing or yelling; that wasn't her way. Instead, her hand kept going to that necklace of hers and clenching round it. I didn't need telepathy to read that.

Digger had gotten a tip-off from a trucker, a were-lynx. A friend of a friend of someone in another pack, that kinda deal. Now and again, this lynx made an interstate run from El Paso all the way to New Orleans and back. Didn't always stop in Houston, but he'd called in last night, and as Digger had put the feelers out, word had gotten round and caught up with him.

This lynx had seen Hector last summer, around the time Hector had disappeared from New Mexico. At a truck-stop out west, clear on the other side of San Antonio. That didn't sound too promising, but Digger had followed it up and spoken with him. The lynx could pin down the date as late July. It couldn't have been before then: he'd just gotten over a back injury that kept him on shorter runs for a couple months.

Now, we didn't know the exacted date Hector had off-ed that Chosen guy in Little Rock, but he'd left New Mexico well before that, on the sixth.

"He was on his way back to New Mexico," Daisy said, certain.

On his way back to her, she meant. I could see the hope in her eyes and I didn't want to rain on her parade, but I wasn't so sure. "Wouldn't he come back through Oklahoma? It's an awful long way to come down here."

"No," she insisted. "He'd come this way. Cover his tracks. Something must have changed his mind." She shook her head, that hope in her eyes fading. Her expression turned steely. "Whatever happened, it's worth checking out."

"Yeah, reckon so," Pete said. I could read his concern for her as he added, "Even if he stayed in Texas. Lot of places he could hide out along that interstate."

"Someone at the truck stop might have seen something," Digger said, nodding. "That's the place to start."

"Yes," Daisy agreed and looked at me. "You with us, mind-reader?"

We shared a woman-to-woman look. She was desperate to find Hector, the man she still loved if I was any judge of it, and she needed my help but she wouldn't beg. Not in words. Her eyes spoke for her.

I weighed up what she was asking, and nodded, my eyes making a promise: I'll help you find him. "Count me in."

"Good." She turned to Digger. "You bring your truck, like I asked?"

"It's downstairs."

Oh-oh. Something was up. "Why aren't we taking the hire car?" I asked.

"Don't want no vamps following us," Pete said gruffly. "Probably kill Hector on sight."

I doubted that, but their minds were made and whilst I had reason to trust Eric, they didn't. Arguing would only make them mistrust me, and I couldn't go back on the promise I'd just made. That just wasn't in my nature.

"'Course, we might have to kill Hector ourselves," Digger said, looking steadily at Daisy who nodded grimly. "But we'll hear him out first. I owe him that much. Liz is family, and he's more than avenged Scott's death." He eyed me. "Jack's waiting in my truck. You gonna have a problem with him tagging along?"

"I guess not," I said. From what I read from Pete just then, they'd arranged all this late last night, after they'd ditched Thalia. Looked like Eric wasn't the only one not sharing information. "Why Jack?"

He shrugged. "Hector was his friend."

"It's a long drive," Daisy said, picking up her coat. "We need to go."

"Let me grab a few things." I grumbled under my breath, "And we'd better be stopping for coffee."

Back in my room, I picked up my purse and paused. If we found Hector and his friends, they might not be so pleased to see us. Sure, Digger and Jack were tagging along, but this wasn't like going to Liz's house. The truck stop was hours away. However much Pete distrusted them, Eric and Thalia were more than useful in a fight, and if there was one thing the supe world had taught me, it was that it was always better to have more folks than the other side. I tapped the purse against my thigh thoughtfully.

Wait…

The phone Eric gave me. Daisy hadn't said anything about leaving it behind. If everybody else was keeping secrets, I could do the same.

Besides, it was just plain rude to leave without a word.

South Texas was a desolate place, from the little I saw of it. Digger's truck had a double cab, and I spent a fair bit of the six hour journey dozing on the back seat.

The truck stop was in the back of beyond. Just a gas station and a diner, trucks and semis parked at one end of the dusty lot, cars and pickups huddled at the other. Not a tree in sight, scrub stretching all round as far as I could see. Nothing like sweet home Louisiana. I missed the green.

Armed with a picture of Hector, Digger and Jack took the gas station and we hit the diner, spinning a story about a missing brother. The waitresses were sympathetic, but none of them remembered Hector. Digger and Jack came up empty too — the guy manning the gas station was new. Both establishments only kept their security tapes for six months, so we were fresh out of luck there. But the waitresses didn't mind us hanging around, as long as we were buying their cheap nasty coffee. We stuck it out for the dinner rush, but it was a bust.

"Waste of time," Jack muttered as we went outside, voicing the weariness and despondency we all felt.

"We're not done yet," Daisy said. "Few more folk we can ask over there."

She nodded across the lot, at the semis. The sun had set, and some of the cabs were lit. A coyote yipped and howled in the distance, and I pulled my coat tighter. It was a clear night, and the air was biting.

Digger and Jack went to the far end of the parked trucks. We started with the nearest. Pete said I should be the one to knock on the cabs, seeing as I was prettiest.

It was dark in the gaps between the trucks, the rigs blocking out the floodlighting. I climbed down from the third cab, shaking my head to tell Daisy the driver didn't know a thing. Except how to behave: he'd been real polite and hadn't thought about my chest once. Not like the previous guy, whose thoughts had made me want to shower.

In the faint glow from the cab above us I could make out Daisy grimace as she turned away. Pete, leaning against the truck side and scuffing up dust with the toe of his boot, looked up and scowled as she passed him, his mind full of worry for her. I opened my mouth to say something encouraging.

Sookie! … here! Look out!

I whipped round. Coloured with anger and fear, the mental shout had come from clear across the lot. I'd only caught it because it was directed right at me and my shields were still wide open from listening to the trucker.

"Something's wrong," I hissed, grabbing Pete's shoulder. We caught up to Daisy, waiting by the tailgate.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Digger," I said shortly, staring across the lot, mind stretching forward, hunting for him and Jack. The call hadn't come from where Digger and Jack were supposed to be, and it had been too brief to get a good fix.

Someone was coming along the line of trucks, but I ignored that beyond noting they were human and wishing for a stiff drink and a quiet meal. Pete and Daisy stiffened as the guy, an overweight trucker with a lit cigarette in his hand, walked up. He slowed as he passed us and turned to ask, "Y'all with some dudes asking 'bout a Hector?"

We looked at each other as he took a drag of his cigarette. "Yeah," Pete admitted. "What about them?"

"Couple undercover ATF agents real interested in 'em."

"ATF?" Pete asked. "What for?"

"Said something 'bout tobacco." He dropped his butt-end and crushed it contemptuously into the ground, imagining every ATF man who'd delayed him at a checkpoint for no good reason. He gave us a level look. "Y'all smuggling cigarettes, best skedaddle."

Pete frowned after him as he walked away. Daisy asked quietly, "He telling the truth, Sookie?"

"Yeah," I said. "Two guys with badges. Said they found something in Digger's truck, and threatened to tie that guy up in red tape if he stuck his nose in."

Pete swore softly, and set off towards the back of the lot where Digger had parked, well away from other vehicles. Shoot. The floodlights were out over that whole area. I had a bad feeling about this.

Daisy followed her brother. I looked longingly at the gas station and the diner, all lit up like Christmas, and trailed after them.

Halfway across the lot, my Sookie-senses were tingling real good. I slowed, willing my eyes to adapt faster to the dark. Daisy stopped, waving impatiently for me to catch up. When I reached her she asked urgently, "Is Digger talking his way out of it?"

"Dunno. Can't hear him."

Pete was loping ahead. As she called him back, I stretched my telepathy out again, searching more carefully. Shit. No wonder it had been so hard to latch on to his mind. "Digger's out cold."

I widened my search, hunting for Jack. "I can't —"

Minds came into range then. Red tangled minds, rushing at us from two sides.

Weres. Three big bad wolves. We hadn't found them, they'd found us.

Pete heard them coming, because he skidded to a halt, whirling round even as I yelled out. Too late: a figure flew out of the night and tackled him, both of them thudding to the ground. The hulking attacker slapped something against Pete's neck with a flat-handed motion I recognised.

I didn't have time to place it. Two more Weres loomed out of the darkness, one homing in on me like a nightmare.

Forewarned, I used reactions I'd forgotten I had and shot sideways. A hand caught at my coat, and my sneakers skidded on lose grit as I twisted, wrenching free. The owner of the hand snarled in frustration behind me. Daisy barked out some guttural words, tore at her neck, and flung a handful of stones, now glowing orange, at her opponent.

Trapped between my attacker and Daisy, I spun to face him. Something sizzled, and a male voice cursed loudly as I dodged another grab. My Were was wiry, but determined. I kept my eyes on him as acrid fumes hit the back of my throat and Daisy, off to the left now, taunted someone.

Wiry circled me, his mouth pulled back in a taut, teeth-baring smile. Easy to mistake him for Jack at a distance: same dark hair, but wider set eyes and flatter features. I kept beyond his reach, balanced on the balls of my feet, edging towards open space and ready to bolt.

A cry of pain rang out, and my head turned instinctively towards it.

In a flash I took in: Daisy's opponent reeling back, stumbling and clutching at his thigh; the hulk coming up behind Daisy, unseen; and Pete, on the ground, not moving.

"Behind you!" I yelled out. If Daisy got the warning in time I didn't know, because Wiry chose that moment to launch himself at me.

Grappling for my arms, he bowled me clean over. My hip and shoulder slammed hard into the ground. Paying no mind to the bursts of pain, I bucked and kicked wildly, clawing at his eyes when I got an arm free.

Were-strong, he barely raised a sweat pinning me down, his weight sitting solidly on my thighs and vice-like hands squeezing my wrists. He snarled down at me, mouth in a rictus grin, and I spat at him, taking some satisfaction from the raised welts I could just make out on his cheek, already beading with blood turned black by the lack of light.

He let go of my left wrist and, too fast for me to block it, a vicious slap set my cheek aflame and snapped my head to the side. Dazed, I saw Daisy, backing away from the other two Weres, flicking her hand in the same stiff-fingered gesture she'd use to call up smoke in Pete's bar.

A swirling dust cloud blew up out of nowhere, whipping at my face. Wiry hunched over, cussing. With both his hands on my wrists again, he couldn't shield his eyes. I screwed mine shut, prayed he was distracted enough, and jerked my wrists sharply.

No good. His grip stayed firm.

Out of ideas and outmatched, I hoped Daisy had some more tricks up her sleeve. The dust concealed her, but not the shouts and grunts and thuds I could hear. Still struggling fitfully with my captor, I homed in on the fight with my mind. The hulk was keeping Daisy busy while the guy she'd char-grilled was…

He was chanting! Oh no. He was like Hallow, Were and witch.

The dust settled abruptly.

Daisy was on the ground. They'd taken us down in less time than it takes to scramble eggs.

The grip on my wrists was beginning to hurt. I cursed bitterly at the ache, and at myself. Why did I let myself get dragged into these things? It wasn't like I could hold my own in the supe league. I couldn't overpower one Were in a straight fight, let alone three.

"Everything okay there?" called a voice. The fight had attracted attention.

With a rush of hope, I sucked in a breath to holler real loud. Wiry shifted his weight as fast as a whip and a bony knee landed in my gut like a pile-driver. A lungful of air whooshed out of my mouth carrying that hope off into the dark, with no yell attached.

"ATF business, sir," Char-grilled called back to the concerned citizen. "Stay back, please."

Gasping like a landed fish, I had no way to call out or resist when I was grabbed by the shoulders, rolled and planted unceremoniously face down in the dirt. My cheek, still on fire from the slap, scrapped against grit as that damn knee pressed hard into the small of my back. With quick movements that seemed oiled by practise, my arms were twisted and cold metal snapped round my wrists. A hand covered my mouth before I could make another attempt to yell. Eyes watering with pain, I reached out mentally.

Two men and a woman, human. They'd been too far away to see much of the fight. Char-grilled was with them, pulling a badge out of his coat and feeding them a line of bull that they were just eating up: "…undercover ATF operation … dangerous arrest … smuggling … tax dollars at work …"

ATF, my sweet ass. Spitting mad, I bit down hard. My teeth sank into leather, not the skin they sought.

"Uh-uh, sweetheart," Wiry said. "You don't want to do that."

His voice was soft, gentle even. It sent chills through me, chills colder than the ground that was steadily leeching heat from my thighs and stomach. Gloved fingers stroked at my wrist, and it was more than cold that held me frozen as images of torsos and blood and knives leaked from his mind into mine. I shuddered, recognising the darkness in him.

Rene Lenier. Serial killer.

His fingers stroked higher, up my forearm. In his mind, he conjured a knife, felt it slice into my skin, felt the greater resistance as it parted my muscles, felt the way it scraped against the bone. My stomach churned and I froze, a rabbit in a hawk's shadow, prey caught in the predator's gaze.

A pair of shoes filled my vision, and the scent of burning filled my nose.

"Chico," Char-grilled growled warningly. The hand left my arm. "Get her to the van. Now."

I didn't struggle.

Chico kept a painful grip on my arm and a hand over my mouth all the way. The others caught up with us as we reached the vehicle. Black, anonymous, tinted windows, back doors facing scrub where there were no witnesses except night critters. My mind thawing after its brush with Chico's, I memorised the plate.

For later.

Yes, later. I had to act like there would be a later, or I would freak out. Next, I checked out the other two Weres. With some relief, I found they were sane.

Char-grilled (I compiled a description for the cops who would interview me later: tall, thin, late thirties, short dark hair, moustache) had a gun pressed into Daisy's side, and was angry but focused. If he could sense my telepathy like Hallow and Daisy could, he showed no sign of it when I brushed tentatively against his mind. That could be distraction. He was limping heavily, and ugly red burns on his chest and thigh showed through his charred clothing. Daisy was cuffed and he'd taped her mouth at some point. Her eyes looked murderous.

The hulk (tall and wide, early thirties, buzzcut, probably blond but hard to tell, eyes like buttons and a thick neck) was completely calm, almost content. He had Pete slung over his shoulder, still limp.

Tranquiliser dart. That was what he'd slapped against Pete's neck, like the one that felled Sam.

They were all wearing gloves too. Well-equipped, co-ordinated, focused — they were ex-military, or I'd eat my hat. Least we got that right.

"Harp, get the doors," Char-grilled ordered. He seemed to be the leader. The hulk, a.k.a. Harp, dropped Pete and opened the van. I could just make out Digger and Jack laid out inside.

There was a reason I hadn't sensed Jack's mind. He was dead.

Nancy was gonna be pissed.

I swallowed hysteria. It came back like bile as a hand wandered over my butt and that soft voice said, too close to my ear and far too eager, "Better search 'em, Grouch."

I had a flashback to being groped by those Weres in New Orleans, and shuddered with revulsion. And real fear: Eric's phone was in my coat. It was our only hope for rescue and a slim one at that. We were a long way from Houston.

Char-grilled, aka Grouch, said sharply, "Chico, put her with this bitch. Search the men first."

A shove sent me stumbling over to Daisy. Chico clambered inside the van and Harp heaved Pete up to him. Daisy flinched as Pete's head hit the floor with a crack. Yeah, that was gonna bruise.

"Don't do anything stupid, ladies," Grouch said, his gun swinging between us, steady and slow. He glared at Daisy and gestured at his leg with his free hand. "I've already got reason to be pissed."

He wouldn't hesitate, I got that from him.

Staring down a barrel might have been a vast improvement on Chico's company, but I'd have been a lot happier if I was the one holding the gun. I'd left the one Pam had given me back in Memphis. Too difficult to take on a plane.

Chico searched the bodies, unconscious and dead, with ruthless efficiency. Wallets and phones and pocketknives were tossed out of the darkness into a pile by the van doors. Harp flicked through the wallets, pocketing IDs and putting the rest in a canvas bag. Then he took a phone — Digger's, I thought — and removed the battery. There. No-one can track it. He dropped it into the bag too.

My heart sank. I had to distract them, make them miss the phone in my pocket somehow. No-one had thought to tape my mouth yet.

Picking the first thing that came to mind I said, "Harp, Chico and Grouch. Seriously?" Daisy elbowed me, but I was too desperate to stop, my voice cracking with more than disbelief. "Real bunch of comedians you are."

"Sure," Grouch said sarcastically. "Don't you recognise us? I'm the clever one, Harp here don't talk much, and Chico, he's the ladies man."

I swallowed. Yeah, Chico was a ladies man alright. The kind who left them dead.

Grouch narrowed his eyes at me, and then at Chico as he jumped down out of the van. Best get him away from her. He has that look in his eyes tonight. "Harp," he called, "you found the keys for their vehicle?"

Harp grunted a yes and held them up.

"Chico, you sweep it," Grouch ordered. "You know the drill. Gather IDs, disable any phones. Then drive it back to base."

They were definitely ex-military.

"Sure, boss." Chico treated Daisy and me to an eerie smile. "Ain't it real convenient, these fools driving right into our back yard. Saved us a lot of hassle." He gave us a mocking bow. "Mighty obliged, ladies."

Tucking that away for my future debrief with the cops, I was relieved to see him go. The relief was short-lived.

"You take the witch," Grouch said. "I'll search this one."

Daisy struggled, but Harp pulled her away effortlessly. Grouch pinned me against the van door, the metal cold on my bruised cheek. He pointed his gun at Daisy, as he considered her the greater threat. "Take that fucking necklace off her."

Harp didn't hesitate, snapping the frayed leather cord and removing what was left of it. Some of the stones were missing. I didn't understand how Daisy had taken them off, but then I also didn't understand how they'd burnt Grouch. I just wished that had been enough to win the fight.

As Harp dropped it into the bag, Grouch shoved the gun into my kidneys. Time was running out. Harp had thoughts as rare as his words, but Grouch was the strategist here, his mind seeing possibilities and jumping all over. Distracting him was my best shot.

"The Marx brothers?" I sneered desperately. "Whose stupid idea was that?"

"You're a mouthy one, aren't you?" he said cheerfully, fondly remembering the Colonel who'd named them. Marksmen; Marx brothers. It just fitted.

Annoyingly he didn't think of their real names at all, and worse, he began to pat me down with his free hand.

"We know all about your killing spree," I said and got what I wanted. He stopped, hand hovering dangerously near my pocket.

"Yeah? That right?" Grouch sounded supremely bored, but he was alert and real eager to know what I knew.

"Yeah. Thought you'd take over from Tooth 'n Claw, right?" I rushed out, talking fast. "Slaughtering those preachers. What's next, women and children? You think you're fighting back, but you're not. You're making things worse for twoeys. You and Hector will—"

He chuckled cynically behind me. Doesn't know anything.

I gasped at what I heard him think after that. They were out to cause trouble for twoeys, deliberately so, and Hector had nothing to do with it because—

My eyes sought Daisy out, but Harp was already shoving her inside the van.

"Enough talk," Grouch said harshly, out of patience. His gun pressed into me, a cold stab of fear, and I watched helplessly as he found Eric's phone and took it out of my coat.

He tossed it to Harp, who broke it open and hurled the battery out into the scrub. My last hope broken too, the phone went into the bag with everything else.

Can't let her see where we going. Grouch reached into his pocket, and I could see what was coming, for all the good that did. Tape slapped over my mouth, and a needle jabbed into my neck.

Grouch took the bag to the front of the van, and Harp heaved me into the back. Landing awkwardly on my knees, I saw at once the van was swept clean. These guys were pros. No fast food wrappers, no tools lying conveniently on the floor. Harp secured my cuffs to a hook in the floor with a short and sturdy chain.

Daisy, chained opposite, stared at me. Her eyes, dark and apologetic, said: Didn't mean to get you into this.

I shrugged sluggishly at her, the sedative already working. The door slammed shut.

In the darkness, I wanted to curse and yell. But more than that, I wanted, desperately wanted my telepathy to work both ways so I could tell Daisy what I'd just heard about Hector.