Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(62)

When she heard the preacher's voice, and felt Rider stand, she pulled herself up. She watched them shake hands, and feigned a smile.

"Y'all need a lift to your bike?"

"Yeah. It's about two and a half miles from here, and I don't think she can make it until the aspirin kicks in," Rider said. "We appreciate everything you've done. Your hospitality's been a blessing." There was no fraud in his words as he looked at this older couple. He made his mind up right there and then to tolerate the initial misgivings Tara's family might have about him. If he had to run the gauntlet, so be it. His own father had called him worse names than anything they could dish out.

"That's what we's supposed to do—help each other," the wife said.

"Ain't too much trouble to he'p some young folks on they way," the preacher agreed.

"If everybody felt like that, the world would be a better place, mister." Rider threaded his arm around Tara's waist. That was the truth, if ever he'd said it. He just hoped that the old couple would take what he said as an apology, too, for all those who hadn't helped them along their way.

"Reverend Jones, son," the preacher said. "You ever come through dese parts, you come stop at my door, hear? Tell folks you wit Bible Tabernacle. Yous with Josephus and Idell's people—that'll give ya a temporary grace pass."

Rider nodded.

"Since you travelin' wit her, I'ma tell you some safe places to go, hear? Places dat you proba'ly don't know about. Some peoples might not understand, 'specially when you cross over into North Texas. Now, you heed my words, young fella. 'Less you in a major city, you best act accordingly. Don't take her into no small town when you gits supplies, and on this side of the county line, there's only one diner and one motel that's refuge. You listen to what I'm saying, hear?"

Rider extended his hand in friendship, understanding completely. "Much obliged, Reverend Jones."



The man at the motel front desk looked them up and down and pushed his girth off the stool, setting his newspaper on the counter with care. He frowned so deeply that the wrinkles in his ebony face made his white eyebrows touch. He gave Tara a look that lacerated both her and Rider. "You want it for how many hours?"

The question pissed Rider off so badly that he slid his hands into his jeans. "For the night," he said between clenched teeth.

The old man took his time, muttering something Rider was sure he didn't want to hear as he got a key, accepted the wad of bills, and thrust a register in front of him. "Mr. and Mrs. who?"

"Jones," Rider said, snatching the key off the counter.

"From Reverend Jones's church—Bible Tabernacle. We Josephus and Well's clan."

The man shook his head. "Well… if Rev sent you, my name's Bennett and I ain't In-it."



Rider shut the door behind them, then walked over to the window and pulled the drapes as Tara flopped on the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, feeling much improved as soon as the sun had been sealed out of the room. "Just don't turn on the lights, yet. The headache…"

"All right," he said. "Listen, why don't you take a shower, rest, and I'll go into town and get some supplies? When I come back, I'll knock three times, so you'll know it's me."

She smiled. It meant the world that he was trying his best to be a respectful gentleman. It meant the world that he had gotten a taste of her reality, and was dealing with it. It meant the world that he thought she was worth it. "Okay, but just be safe."

"I think we might be all right," he said, but his tone was unsure. "News should have hit by now. There wasn't anything in the newspaper that put the motel clerk on red alert, and the preacher and his wife didn't seem to know anything, either."

"Yeah," she said quietly, knowing full well that if bodies hadn't been discovered by now, they never would be. The things that hunted them were very efficient and had probably removed all traces of their presence. That was their way: to keep the humans in the dark. Ignorance was bliss.

"You want anything while I'm out? Anything specific?"

"Just some toothpaste and a toothbrush."

He nodded. "Cool. You got it."

She stood and walked to the bathroom, and closed the door.

The incident with the dog nagged at Rider's brain, but he had more important things on his agenda. Ammo. He'd find the local hardware store and go get hollow-point explosive rounds. Since she'd been dead aim on target about everything thus far, maybe he would pack some bullets with that dirt she'd collected and load his gun.

Hollow points made a small hole going in, but blew a hole the size of a barn coming out. Explosive rounds flattened when they went into something soft and sprayed the insides with whatever shrapnel material was packed in the shell. If he ever encountered what they'd seen again… shit, if she wanted him to make silver bullets, he'd do that, too. Kits were easy to buy, and he'd seen enough. That small precaution was worth it, just like she was.

She had lied for him; had thought fast on her feet. Had clung to him for support and protection, if there was ever a time in the world for her to make a break for it and save herself, it would have been back at the church with the old couple. They were her people… But she'd come to him, stayed with him, vouched for him, stood up for him. No one had ever done that with so much riding in the balance—and she seemed to know him even better than the woman who'd given birth to him.