Club Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #3)(46)
Author: Charlaine Harris

Which would have helped if I’d had any idea where I was at the moment.

People making desperate escapes aren’t supposed to get lost.

I took a few deep breaths. I pulled back out into the road and drove on until I saw a busy gas station. Though the Lincoln’s tank was full (thank you, Eric) I pulled in and parked at one of the pumps. The car on the other side was a black Mercedes, and the woman pumping the gas was an intelligent-looking middle-aged woman dressed in casual, comfortable, nice clothes. As I got the windshield squeegee out of its vat of water, I said, "You wouldn’t happen to know how to get back to I-20 from here, would you?"

"Oh, sure," she said. She smiled. She was the kind of person who just loves to help other people, and I was thanking my lucky stars I’d spotted her. "This is Madison, and Jackson is south of here. I-55 is maybe a mile over that way." She pointed west. "You take I-55 south, and you’ll run right into I-20. Or, you could take …"

I was about to be overloaded with information. "Oh, that sounds perfect. Let me just do that, or I’ll lose track."

"Sure, glad I could help."

"Oh, you surely did."

We beamed at each other, just two nice women. I had to fight an impulse to say, "There’s a tortured vampire in my trunk," out of sheer giddiness. I had rescued Bill, and I was alive, and tonight we would be on our way back to Bon Temps. Life would be wonderfully trouble-free. Except, of course, for dealing with my unfaithful boyfriend, finding out if the werewolf’s body we’d disposed of in Bon Temps had been found, waiting to hear the same about the werewolf who’d been stuffed in Alcide’s closet, and waiting for the reaction of the queen of Louisiana to Bill’s indiscretion with Lorena. His verbal indiscretion: I didn’t think for one minute that she would care about his sexual activities.

Other than that, we were hunky-dory.

"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," I told myself. That had been Gran’s favorite Bible quotation. When I was about nine, I’d asked her to explain that to me, and she’d said, "Don’t go looking for trouble; it’s already looking for you."

Bearing that in mind, I cleared my mental decks. My next goal was simply to get back to Jackson and the shelter of the garage. I followed the instructions the kind woman had given me, and I had the relief of entering Jackson within a half hour.

I knew if I could find the state capitol, I could find Alcide’s apartment building. I hadn’t allowed for oneway streets, and I hadn’t been paying awful close attention to directions when Alcide gave me my little tour of downtown Jackson. But there aren’t that many five-story buildings in the whole state of Mississippi, even in the capital. After a tense period of cruising, I spotted it.

Now, I thought, all my troubles will be over. Isn’t it dumb to think that? Ever?

I pulled into the area by the little guard cubicle, where you had to wait to be recognized while the guy flipped the switch, or punched the button, or whatever made the barrier lift up. I was terrified he might deny me entrance because I didn’t have a special sticker, like Alcide did on his truck.

The man wasn’t there. The cubicle was empty. Surely that was wrong? I frowned, wondering what to do. But here the guard came, in his heavy brown uniform, trudging up the ramp. When he saw I was waiting, he looked stricken, and hurried up to the car. I sighed. I would have to talk to him after all. I pushed the button that would lower my window.

"I’m sorry I was away from my post," he said instantly. "I had to, ah … personal needs."

I had a little leverage here.

"I had to go borrow me a car," I said. "Can I get a temporary sticker?" I looked at him in a way that clued him in to my mindset. That look said, "Don’t hassle me about getting the sticker, and I won’t say a word about you leaving your post."

"Yes, ma’am. That’s apartment 504?"

"You have a wonderful memory," I said, and his seamed face flushed.

"Part of the job," he said nonchalantly, and handed me a laminated number that I stuck on the dashboard. "If you’ll just hand that in when you leave for good, please? Or if you plan on staying, you’ll have to fill out a form we can have on file, and we’ll give you a sticker. Actually," he said, stumbling a little, embarrassed, "Mr. Herveaux will have to fill it out, as the property owner."

"Sure," I said. "No problem." I gave him a cheery wave, and he retreated to the cubicle to raise the barrier.

I drove into the dark parking garage, feeling that rush of relief that follows clearing a major hurdle.

Reaction set in. I was shaking all over when I took the keys out of the ignition. I thought I saw Alcide’s pickup over a couple of rows, but I had parked as deeply in the garage as I could – in the darkest corner, away from all the other cars, as it happened. This was as far as I had planned. I had no idea what to do next. I hadn’t really believed I would get this far. I leaned back in the comfortable seat just for a minute, to relax and stop shaking before I got out. I’d had the heater on full blast during my drive from the mansion, so it was toasty warm inside the car.

When I woke up, I’d been asleep for hours.

The car was cold, and I was colder, despite the stolen quilted jacket. I got out of the driver’s seat stiffly, stretching and bending to relieve cramped joints.

Maybe I should check on Bill. He had gotten rolled around in the trunk, I was sure, and I needed to make sure he was covered.

Actually, I just wanted to see him again. My heart actually beat faster at the thought. I was a real idiot.

I checked my distance from the weak sunlight at the entrance; I was well away. And I had parked so the trunk opening was pointed away from that bit of sunlight.

Yielding to temptation, I stepped around to the back of the car. I turned the key in the lock, pulled it out and popped it in my jacket pocket, and watched as the lid rose.

In the dim garage, I couldn’t see too well, and it was hard to make out even the fuzzy yellow blanket. Bill appeared to be pretty well concealed. I bent over a little more, so I could arrange a fold further over his head. I had only a second’s warning, a scuff of a shoe against the concrete, and then I felt a forceful shove from behind.

I fell into the trunk on top of Bill.

An instant and extra shove brought my legs in, and the trunk slammed shut.

Now Bill and I were locked in the trunk of the Lincoln.

Chapter Twelve

Debbie. I figured it had been Debbie. After I got over my initial flood of panic, which lasted longer than I wanted to admit, I tried to relive the few seconds carefully. I’d caught a trace of brain pattern, enough to inform me that my attacker was a shifter. I figured it must have been Alcide’s former girlfriend – his not-so-former girlfriend, apparently, since she was hanging around his garage.