funny and, well,perfect back then.
The thirty-year-old version was a total mess.
She followed him out of the alley anyhow. She'd stay back and let him do what he had to do, but she wasn't letting him out of her sight. Not this time.
Suddenly she froze in her tracks as a breath caught in her chest. She spun around and ran back to snatch the map off the ground from beside the still-unconscious Malcolm.
She'd been so concerned with Quinn that she'd almost left it behind. God, what was wrong with her?
She shoved the map into her pocket and silently chastised herself for allowing herself to lose focus.
Every few steps, Quinn would stumble. He had his arms wrapped around himself. He looked like a drunk, or a vagrant, or somebody most normal people would stay well clear of. Definitely a good idea at the moment.
She touched the fang marks at her neck and flashed back to how it felt when that monster had bitten her.
She'd thought she was going to die. One misstep, one big mistake, and that's all it took. If you didn't watch your back at all times, some scary thing was going to sneak up behind you and tear you to pieces.
The scary thing she was currently surveying ducked down another alleyway. She slipped into the shadows and watched as he approached a red metal door lit by a street-lamp. He pounded on it, then waited a moment, bracing one hand against the side. He pounded again. And again.
And then he kicked it. Kind of a pathetic weak kick.
Then he swore and slid down to the ground.
She approached and noticed he was now sweating. His face was ashen.
He looked up at her after a moment. His eyes were still black.
"I think they're closed," he said, and then laughed quietly and hopelessly.
"We're going back to the motel."
"Didn't I tell you not to follow me?"
"I don't think you're quite getting the whole 'I don't listen to you' thing."
"I'm learning."
She offered him a hand. "Come on."
He shook his head and stared at her with black eyes. "Don't touch me."
"I'll have you know I'm a lot stronger than I look. I can carry you if I have to."
He snorted at that. "That's hot."
"Stop being a child, and let's go."
He went very still. "If you come near me, I will bite you. I can't control myself right now. I need blood."
"We'll deal with that."
"You are the most stubborn person I've ever met."
"Right back at you. On your feet."
She wasn't sure for a moment if he would or not. But then, very slowly, he rose to stand. She looked up at him warily.
"I don't feel very good," he admitted.
"It's called death throes. Seriously, Quinn, why are you starving yourself? I thought you'd be smarter than that."
He gave a weak shrug, then grimaced as if it hurt.
His face was so pale, even in the darkness, and coated with a fine sheen of perspiration. His chest moved in and out with labored breathing. And his eyes were fully black—no whites at all.
She shook her head. "Come on."
She hustled down the street back to the bar. She left the car she'd hotwired there. The police would probably pick it up in the morning and return it to whomever she'd borrowed it from. No harm done.
"Keys?" She motioned impatiently to Quinn.
He pulled the keys to the other borrowed vehicle out of his pocket and threw them to her. His hand was shaking.
"Go back to the motel," he said. "I'll meet you there. Seriously, Janie, it's not a good idea for me to ride with you. Not the way I'm feeling."
"Yeah. Way ahead of you, handsome."
He gave a small snort at her choice of words. "Smart girl. Just leave me here."
"No, that's not what I meant." She eyed the truck. "You're riding in the back. Try to keep your head down, or you'll get bugs caught in your fangs."
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived back at the motel. Janie parked the truck and got out quickly. Not quickly enough, though. Quinn jumped off the back and, without a word, ran to his motel room, slamming and locking the door behind him.
What the hell was she supposed to do with a starving vampire who wouldn't eat anything? This wasn't exactly her area of expertise. She was used to staking troublesome vamps, not becoming their personal dietician. There wasn't any time for an intervention. No time to head to the hospital and get a bag of blood. No time to get animal blood. And forget about the synthetic variety—at Quinn's stage of the game, he needed the real stuff and he needed it soon.
Or he was going to die.
A small voice in the back of Janie's mind whispered that it didn't matter if he died. After all, the only thing she needed him for in the first place was safely tucked away in her pocket. She was now wasting time looking after somebody who didn't even want her help.
If she walked away now she'd have that much more time to follow the map to the Eye and get to her
Boss tomorrow in Vegas. Not much time, but enough.
Keeping an eye on the closed door to Quinn's room, she fished into her handbag to grab her cell phone.
"Lenny," she said when he picked up after the eighth ring. "You better have a good explanation why your phone was on voice mail before."