Agony tore through her.

Her legs buckled.

In the darkness she saw the floor rushing up at her and now could only hope that somewhere, someone had heard the shot.

Bam! Her head cracked against the new hardwood.

She nearly passed out from the pain.

He fell atop her and shifted his hands. Before she could scream his fingers were on her throat pressing harder and harder as he straddled her. Alarmed by the red eyes glinting with malice, she fought back, her hands flailing at him, scraping at the leather on his body. If he was going to kill her, by God, she wasn’t going to make it easy.

But her lungs were burning, shrieking for air, and the hands on her throat were tightening so that her eyes felt as if they might pop right out of her head.

She kicked and writhed frantically.

Her lungs were bursting with the pressure.

Blackness seeped into the edges of her vision.

No! No! No!

She tried to scream and failed, couldn’t even drag in a breath.

Oh, God, oh…God…

Her legs stopped moving.

Her arms were leaden.

The burning in her lungs was pure agony.

Let me die, God, please. End this torture!

He leaned down and in the fog that was overcoming her she saw his fangs. White. Shining. Needle-sharp.

She knew what was to come.

A quick puncture. A quick sharp nip of pain as his hands relaxed and she dragged air into her windpipe in a wet hiss.

But it was too late.

She knew she was going to die.

CHAPTER 14

“I f you want to keep them for the full day, they’re due back tomorrow at”—the clerk in the camouflage T and dusty jeans looked at the clock hanging over the door of the Rent-It-All store—“nine-thirty-six, but I’ll give y’all till ten.” Winking at Kristi, he offered her a gap-toothed smile that showed flecks of tobacco. She tried not to notice.

“Kind of you,” she said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He was, after all, just a kid.

About eighteen years old, “Randy” as the name pinned to his shirt claimed, was gangly and fighting a case of raging acne, but still tried to flirt with her. Kristi smiled back. At least he’d helped her locate the right kind of bolt cutters she needed in this dusty warehouse full of equipment and would be do-it-yourselfers. “That’ll be thirty bucks.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am. Them things ain’t cheap.”

Talk about highway robbery. Sure they were the expensive ones, but really, how much could they cost brand new? “Great,” she said with an undertone of sarcasm.

“So what did ya do?” Randy asked, adjusting his trucker’s hat and trying a little too hard to be friendly. “Forget your locker combination?”