with. "Take your vacation, Detective, but I want your butt back here in two weeks ready to work."
"Vicki, we will never make it to Vancouver in that.'''
"I know it doesn't look like much…" Hands on her hips, Vicki swept her gaze over the grimy blue van and decided not to mention that it'd probably look worse in daylight. It looked bad enough under the security light in Celluci's driveway. "… but it's mechanically sound."
"Since when do you know anything about mechanically sound?"
"I don't." She turned and grinned at him, meeting his eyes and allowing power to rise momentarily in hers. "But nobody lies to me anymore."
Because it had been used for deliveries, the van box had no windows to cover. Vicki'd had a partition with wide rubber gaskets installed behind the seats and another just inside the rear doors.
"You got it done fast enough, didn't you?" Celluci brushed at a dusting of sawdust at the base of the front barrier and frowned at the inner bolts that ensured there'd be no unwelcome visitors. "What happens if there's an accident and I have to get you out?"
"Wait until sunset and I'll get myself out."
"There's no ventilation, and it's likely to get hotter than hell in there."
She shrugged. "I doubt I'll notice."
"You doubt?" His voice started to rise, and he forced it back down, the dark windows in the surrounding houses reminding him that the neighbors were still asleep and very likely wanted to remain that way.
"You're not sure?"
"I'm sure that I won't feel it. Other than that…" There were a number of things about being a vampire she was having to discover as the situation came up. Henry had taught her how to feed without causing harm, how to gently change the memories of those who provided nourishment, and how to blend with the mortals who walked the day, but he'd never taught her that swimming was out of the question because increased bone density caused her to sink like a rock
—scaring the shit out of the lifeguard at the "Y." Nor had he mentioned what traveling all day in the back of an enclosed van might do. "The SPCV suggests leaving a rear window rolled down a bit and parking out of the sun."
Celluci stared at her in confusion. "The what?"
"The society for the prevention of cruelty to vampires. It was a joke." She patted his arm. "Never mind. What do you think of the bed?
"
He peered past her shoulder. The bed had padded sides ten inches high. "It looks like a coffin without a lid. I'm not using it."
"Suit yourself, but remember who's driving nights while you're sleeping." She mimed steering around a corner and did a fairly good impersonation of tires squealing against the road.
As Vicki's driving style hovered between kamikaze and Montreal cabbie, Celluci shuddered and checked his watch. Unfortunately, if they planned on leaving before daybreak, they didn't have time to fight about either the bed or Vicki's driving—and if he couldn't do anything about the latter, he certainly wasn't going to insist on removing the padding from the former. "Let's get going, then. It's four-twelve and sunrise is in less than forty-five minutes." When Vicki lifted both brows, he pulled a battered paperback out of his back pocket. "Farmer's Almanac. It's got sunrise and sunset for the whole year. I decided it might be best to be prepared."
"For what?" Vicki drew herself up to her full five-feet ten, her expression dangerous and purely human. This argument, or variations on the theme, long predated the change. "What's the matter, Mike?
You still think I can't take care of myself?"
"Not between sunrise and sunset," he reminded her mildly, refusing to be drawn.
Vicki deflated. Unfortunately, he was completely and absolutely and inarguably correct. She hated that—not so much that he was right, but that it left her no room for argument.
And he knew it. Eyes crinkling at the corners, he shoved the book back into his pocket.
Stepping forward, she brushed the overlong curl of dark brown hair back off
"Vicki, we will never make it to Vancouver in that.'''
"I know it doesn't look like much…" Hands on her hips, Vicki swept her gaze over the grimy blue van and decided not to mention that it'd probably look worse in daylight. It looked bad enough under the security light in Celluci's driveway. "… but it's mechanically sound."
"Since when do you know anything about mechanically sound?"
"I don't." She turned and grinned at him, meeting his eyes and allowing power to rise momentarily in hers. "But nobody lies to me anymore."
Because it had been used for deliveries, the van box had no windows to cover. Vicki'd had a partition with wide rubber gaskets installed behind the seats and another just inside the rear doors.
"You got it done fast enough, didn't you?" Celluci brushed at a dusting of sawdust at the base of the front barrier and frowned at the inner bolts that ensured there'd be no unwelcome visitors. "What happens if there's an accident and I have to get you out?"
"Wait until sunset and I'll get myself out."
"There's no ventilation, and it's likely to get hotter than hell in there."
She shrugged. "I doubt I'll notice."
"You doubt?" His voice started to rise, and he forced it back down, the dark windows in the surrounding houses reminding him that the neighbors were still asleep and very likely wanted to remain that way.
"You're not sure?"
"I'm sure that I won't feel it. Other than that…" There were a number of things about being a vampire she was having to discover as the situation came up. Henry had taught her how to feed without causing harm, how to gently change the memories of those who provided nourishment, and how to blend with the mortals who walked the day, but he'd never taught her that swimming was out of the question because increased bone density caused her to sink like a rock
—scaring the shit out of the lifeguard at the "Y." Nor had he mentioned what traveling all day in the back of an enclosed van might do. "The SPCV suggests leaving a rear window rolled down a bit and parking out of the sun."
Celluci stared at her in confusion. "The what?"
"The society for the prevention of cruelty to vampires. It was a joke." She patted his arm. "Never mind. What do you think of the bed?
"
He peered past her shoulder. The bed had padded sides ten inches high. "It looks like a coffin without a lid. I'm not using it."
"Suit yourself, but remember who's driving nights while you're sleeping." She mimed steering around a corner and did a fairly good impersonation of tires squealing against the road.
As Vicki's driving style hovered between kamikaze and Montreal cabbie, Celluci shuddered and checked his watch. Unfortunately, if they planned on leaving before daybreak, they didn't have time to fight about either the bed or Vicki's driving—and if he couldn't do anything about the latter, he certainly wasn't going to insist on removing the padding from the former. "Let's get going, then. It's four-twelve and sunrise is in less than forty-five minutes." When Vicki lifted both brows, he pulled a battered paperback out of his back pocket. "Farmer's Almanac. It's got sunrise and sunset for the whole year. I decided it might be best to be prepared."
"For what?" Vicki drew herself up to her full five-feet ten, her expression dangerous and purely human. This argument, or variations on the theme, long predated the change. "What's the matter, Mike?
You still think I can't take care of myself?"
"Not between sunrise and sunset," he reminded her mildly, refusing to be drawn.
Vicki deflated. Unfortunately, he was completely and absolutely and inarguably correct. She hated that—not so much that he was right, but that it left her no room for argument.
And he knew it. Eyes crinkling at the corners, he shoved the book back into his pocket.
Stepping forward, she brushed the overlong curl of dark brown hair back off
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