Stiles ignored the pain of the Uzi’s recoil in his hands and fingers and fired again, this time sweeping from side to side. The first pass cut a dotted line along the creature’s throat but didn’t slow him; the second enlarged the perforation and made Stiles’s intentions obvious. Decapitation. “NO!” Danner croaked, mostly through the rent in his throat, as he turned and threw himself through the picture window in a rain of glass.

The Uzi had hit empty but Stiles kept it ready nonetheless, at least until the footsteps outside staggered away and faded from his ears. The vampire was gone again, but for how long? He was getting stronger, Stiles could feel it. It was just a matter of time.

He struggled with the ropes at his ankles, cursing them and his aching hands, and finally freed himself completely. But he collapsed like a stringless puppet as soon as he left the bed. He looked to the specter still lingering in the shadows. Even Alex looked haggard and spent—what Chris could see of him—and he was already fading. But he managed to smile anyway. “How’re you doing, Hoss?”

Stiles nodded. “Pretty shitty, but I’ll manage. How about you?”

Alex faded a little more. “I guess my Casper act . . . took a little more out of me than I expected.”

“But why? Why’d you come back to help? You never did that before.”

The specter tried to shrug. “I guess you never really needed me until now.” He was little more than an afterimage now. “I’m used up, Hoss. I won’t be back for a while. So it looks like you’re on your own.”

“I’m used to it,” Chris replied. “And Alex . . . thanks. You know?” But by that time the shadow man was gone. Chris couldn’t tell if his brother had heard him or not.

13

Chapter Thirteen

Billie lay wide awake in the cocoon of her comforter and stared a hole in her bedroom ceiling, waiting for sleep that was already three hours late. She wasn’t asking for much, just a brief respite, a chance to elude the worries that, since earlier in the evening, had begun to gather like bloated specters at the edge of her imagination. She was exhausted, and desperately needed the rest. But the arms of slumber would not comfort her. Chris Stiles just wouldn’t allow it.

He had taken up residence in her mind and she could not force him out, no matter what his incarnation. First the rugged stranger with the easy manner and the quick smile, then the quiet loner on her porch swing, fumbling with his solitude and wanting, needing to reach out to someone. To her. That was the man she was quickly learning to care for, learning to . . .

To like a lot, she was quick to finish. I just liked him a lot. Past tense.