To Catch a Vampire Read Online Free PDF

her tongue clean off. My jelly-shoe-wearing self would run away crying.
    This will never work, not in a billion years. Nobody will ever believe I belong in the vampire world. I mean, I’ve only ever met one, and if he’s any indication, I’ll stick out like a redhead in Asia. I’m not sophisticated, I’m sure as heck not sexy, even in costume. Especially in this costume. I’m cute, and on a good day pretty, but there hasn’t been a single millisecond of my life on this Earth that I’ve been sexy. I’m a child playing dress up as a mother’s worst nightmare.
    Oh goody, we’ve begun our descent onto a private airstrip just outside Dallas. Maybe, if I ask, the pilot will fly me home to San Diego instead. I wouldn’t mind this assignment as much if it was anywhere but Dallas. Bad memories. The last time I was here, I was that six-year-old in jelly shoes. Mom was working as a waitress/singer at a bar and shacking up with some guy named Chuck or Buck or something equally fitting for a man she met at the bar and moved us in with a week later. We were in his trailer one night and Mom didn’t have dinner ready on time. He smacked her so hard she almost lost a tooth. A plate flew across the room, smashing into his head and knocking him unconscious. I was on the other side of the room from it, but I knew I threw it. That’s the first time I can remember using my power. Not a happy memory.
    The plane touches down onto the tarmac with no problems. Like most airstrips we land on, this one is small and desolate with maybe two runways and one hanger. We can’t fly commercial because we usually bring flamethrowers and machetes with us. Not to mention it might draw attention if we pick up a coffin at baggage claim. Of course, our pick-up at the strips are pre-arranged with local FBI, so I just climb into a car and go to our destination. Here, I have no idea what to expect. Having an FBI escort would compromise our cover. I just hope I don’t have to sneak Oliver’s coffin into the hotel myself.
    The plane jerks to a complete stop, and I manage to stand up. Four inch heels, three inches more than I like. Crud, I have to concentrate just to walk, how am I going to fight? God, I hope I don’t have to fight—or run, as I’m more apt to do surrounded by scary monsters. Ugh. This entire situation has disaster written all over it. The plane door unfolds from the outside, and I hobble down the steps.
    “Mrs. Smythe?” a man asks the moment I step outside. Lord, it is hot! I feel the perspiration on my forehead already. There goes my makeup. At least the sun is setting, so it’ll be eighty-nine degrees instead of ninety in a few hours. I shield the sun with my free hand. “You Mrs. Smythe?” the man asks again.
    I gaze from the sun down to the burly man in a pit-stained wife beater waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Behind him, a white truck with “Damon’s Plumbing” idles. Oliver would hire a plumber to greet me. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
    “Look lady, I don’t have all day. I’m sweating like a pig. Are you Beatrice Smythe or not? I’m here to pick up Beatrice and Oliver Smythe.”
    We’re married? “I’m her.” I think.
    “Good. Is he in the cargo?”Clearly he knows the vampire thing.
    “Yes.”
    The man—Damon, I guess—backs up the van to the plane and jumps out again. He opens the back of the van and the cargo hold on the plane, pulling a ramp up to the plane. The gorilla tosses my bags to the ground, getting them all dirty from the dust covering this whole state. Only two of the bags are mine, so the other two must be Oliver’s. Louis Vuitton: definitely his. When the final one, a black duffel, hits the ground, the unmistakable sound of metal on metal escapes it. A gun might as well have gone off. The man glances at the bag, then me. My body tenses. That has to be the weapons bag. Does he know I’m a fraud? Was our cover blown already? What—
    “You gonna get those?” he asks. “I ain’t a