Allegiance (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (31 page)

Gillian’s temper finally overrode her fear and, probably, her common sense. “Look, Tex. Here’s a reality pill for you to swallow. First, that whole story about my ancestor and the Templars’ cross? It’s a family tall tale I remember hearing as a kid. There’s no proof it’s true. It’s probably been exaggerated and embellished so many times over the generations that any bit of truth in it has been lost.

“Second, even if it were true, Duncan Campbell was lost in a freaking shipwreck in the sixteenth century.

“Third, even if I knew where the ship went down, how the hell would I go about finding something that’s been on the bottom of the ocean for four hundred years?”

Her outburst was met with a long silence. Good. She’d made her point.

“That’s why you have thirty days,” the man finally said. “So I suggest you take a leave of absence from those alligators of yours and get busy.”

Yeah, she’d get busy all right, with the police department and the phone company. “Here’s what I suggest, both for you and whoever you work for: go fuck yourselves. And you can quote me on that.”

“That’s what you want me to tell that sweet little Holly Bryant?”

Gillian froze, and a layer of gauze seemed to pad the space between her and the world around her. The laughter of the teenagers in the parking lot grew tinny and muffled. Colors faded and dulled. Her own voice came out reedy and thin. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me. Surely after what happened five years ago, you don’t want to be responsible for the death of another little kid, do you? Your niece is what, three years old now? Sweet little thing, too. One of my associates saw her down in Lauderdale today—sent me a photo, in fact, from the Rainbow Road Preschool.”

“You wouldn’t.” No one could be fanatical enough to hurt a child, especially over something this stupid. She wanted to scream, to rant, to cry out at the heavens, but her mouth had grown so dry she could barely swallow. Only one strained syllable came out. “Please.”

“Good. Finally, I think we understand each other. I’ll call in the morning with instructions.” Tex’s voice became obscenely cheerful. “This phone can’t be traced, so don’t bother. Talk to the police, and you’ll find our retribution fast and ugly.

“And if you talk to that little niece of yours, you tell her the pink dress she wore to day care today—the one with the kittens on the front? That was real, real cute.”

  
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  

A
s always, I owe a great big “thank-you” to agent Marlene Stringer, who gives new meaning to the phrase “works tirelessly.” Thanks to JoVon Sotak and the awesome team at Montlake Romance for the faith and the hard work—you guys are the best! Special thanks to alpha reader Dianne, who dispenses good advice in a gentle way (even though she still doesn’t read paranormals); Debbie, who is always asking, “Got anything new for me to read?”; and my friends in the Auburn Writers Circle—Julia, Larry, Mike, Pete, Robin, and Shawn—who are not only fine writers but also can always make me laugh.

  
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  

Studio 16, 2013

S
usannah Sandlin is a native of Winfield, Alabama, and has worked as a writer and editor in educational publishing in Alabama, Illinois, Texas, California, and Louisiana. She currently lives in Auburn, Alabama, with two rescue dogs named after professional wrestlers (it was a phase). She has a no-longer-secret passion for Cajun and French-Canadian music and reality TV, and is on the hunt for a long-haul ice road trucker who also saves nuisance gators. Susannah is also the author of the award-winning Penton Legacy paranormal romance series:
Redemption
,
Absolution
, and
Omega
; the spinoff paranormal romance,
Storm Force
; and The Collectors, a romantic suspense series beginning with
Lovey, Dark, and Deep
. As Suzanne Johnson, she writes the Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series.