Halfway to the Grave A Night Huntress Novel 1 - Jeaniene Frost, ebook
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To my mother,
who always believed in me,
even when I didnÓt.
ONE
I STIFFENED AT THE red and blue lights flashing behind me, because there was no
way I could explain what was in the back of my truck. I pulled over, holding my breath as
the sheriff came to my window.
ÐHi. Something wrong?Ñ My tone was all innocence while I prayed there was nothing
unusual about my eyes. Control yourself. You know what happens when you get upset.
ÐYeah, youÓve got a busted taillight. License and registration, please.Ñ
Crap. That must have happened when I was loading up the truck bed. Speed had been of
the essence then, not daintiness.
I handed him my real license, not the fake one. He shone his flashlight back and forth
between the identification and my face.
ÐCatherine Crawfield. YouÓre Justina CrawfieldÓs girl, arenÓt you? From the Crawfield
Cherry Orchard?Ñ
ÐYes, sir.Ñ Politely and blandly, as if I didnÓt have a care in the world.
ÐWell, Catherine, itÓs nearly four a.m. Why are you out this late?Ñ
I could tell him the truth about my activities, except I didnÓt want to sign on for hard
time. Or an extended stay in a padded cell.
ÐI couldnÓt sleep, so I decided IÓd drive around.Ñ
To my dismay, he ambled to the bed of the truck and shone his light in it.
ÐWhatcha got back there?Ñ
Oh, nothing unusual. A dead body under some bags and an ax.
ÐBags of cherries from my grandparentsÓ orchard.Ñ If my heartbeat were any louder, it
would deafen him.
ÐReally?Ñ With his flashlight he poked at a plastic lump. ÐOne of Óem is leaking.Ñ
ÐDonÓt worry.Ñ My voice was almost a squeak. ÐThey always leak. ThatÓs why I carry
them in this old truck. TheyÓve stained the bottom of it red.Ñ
Relief crashed through me when he ceased his explorations and returned to my window.
ÐAnd youÓre driving around this late because you couldnÓt sleep?Ñ There was a knowing
curl to his mouth. His gaze took in my tight top and disheveled hair. ÐYou think IÓm
going to believe that?Ñ
The innuendo was blatant and I almost lost my cool. He thought IÓd been out sleeping
around. An unspoken accusation hung between us, nearly twenty-three years in the
making. Just like your mother, arenÓt you? It wasnÓt easy being illegitimate in a town so
small, people still held that against you. In todayÓs society, you wouldnÓt think it
mattered, but Licking Falls, Ohio, had its own set of standards. They were archaic at best.
With great effort I restrained my anger. My humanity tended to shed like a disposable
skin when I got angry.
ÐCould we just keep this between us, Sheriff?Ñ Back to the guileless blinking of my eyes.
It had worked on the dead guy, anyway. ÐPromise I wonÓt do it again.Ñ
He fingered his belt as he considered me. His large belly strained against the fabric of his
shirt, but I refrained from comments about his girth or the fact that he smelled like beer.
Finally he smiled, exposing a crooked front tooth.
ÐGo home, Catherine Crawfield, and get that taillight fixed.Ñ
ÐYes, sir!Ñ
Giddy with my reprieve, I revved up the truck and drove off. That had been close. IÓd
have to be more careful next time.
People complained about having deadbeat fathers or skeletons in their familyÓs closets.
For me, both were really true. Oh, donÓt get me wrong, I hadnÓt always known what I
was. My mother, the only other person in on the secret, didnÓt tell me until I was sixteen.
I grew up with abilities other children didnÓt have, but when I asked her about them,
sheÓd get angry and tell me not to talk about it. I learned to keep things to myself and hide
my differences. To everyone else, I was just weird. Friendless. Liked to wander around at
strange hours and had odd pale skin. Even my grandparents didnÓt know what was in me,
but then again, neither did those I hunted.
There was a pattern to my weekends now. I went to any of the clubs within a three-hour
drive to look for some action. Not the kind the good sheriff thought I was into, but
another brand. IÓd drink like a fish and wait to be picked up by that special someone. One
I hoped I could end up planting in the backyard, if I didnÓt get killed first. IÓd been doing
this for six years now. Maybe I had a death wish. Funny, really, since technically I was
half dead.
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