Hopefully, my distress wasn’t obvious to either of them when I looked Byron in the eye and said, “No. I’m not looking for anything.”

“Anybody?” he mouthed, then looked over his shoulder at the biker, who shifted in his seat.

He knows something is up. Don’t say another word, I pleaded inwardly. I had to disentangle myself from this conversation before I revealed too much, or he did. Luckily, the lightening sky gave me the perfect out.

I drained my mug and stood. “Well, I’ve got to be getting to shelter. What are you guys doing?”

“Painted Pony Motor Lodge. It’s on the other side of the highway, but my friend here lives dangerously.” Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Byron took a long drag on his sickly sweet cigarette. “How about you?”

“Still haven’t found a place.” I certainly didn’t want them knocking on my door at sundown, or worse, torching the van with me in it. “I’ll probably head up to the next exit.”

“You might not make it.” Byron pulled a pen from his pocket and swiped my napkin. “If you’re still alive at sunset, here’s my cell number. Maybe we could get together in a more intimate setting.”

He scribbled hastily on the paper and pushed it back to me. Below his number, where he should have written his name, were the words St. Anne’s.

I looked up sharply, and he gave me a warning glance. I waved at the biker, who lifted two fingers in greeting. “Well, I’ll see you gentlemen down the road.”

Later, cramped in the hot, confining prison of the van, I groggily punched Byron’s number into my cell.

He answered like a man waking after a three-day bender. “What?”

“Are you alone?” I had a fleeting mental image of his hairy traveling companion curled up next to him in bed à la Planes, Trains & Automobiles, but it wasn’t nearly as funny as it should have been.

“Yes, thank God.” There was a long pause, then a noise of disgust. “Did you just call to chat?”

“Why did you write this on the napkin?” I tried, unsuccessfully, to make myself more comfortable on my pallet of sleeping bags.

He gave a lazy yawn. “What? My number? I have no idea. If I’d known you would call in the middle of the day—”

“The other thing. St. Anne’s?” I took a deep breath. “What do you know?”

“I know we’re going there, and I know any vampire in her right mind wouldn’t be traveling through the desert in a van that could break down just for fun. You’re looking for someone. I would place a sizable wager on your intended target and my companion’s being the same person.”

“Are you going to get in my way?” Out of habit, I reached for the ax and stakes tucked beneath my bedding.