Page 29 of Fire Dancer
She looked at her watch. “Well, we’d better get started. I have an hour and a half, tops.”
A fib, and I knew it. Pippa calculated time by the sun, not by a clock. But she was right. This was about business, and I had a schedule to keep too.
Still, my wolf did a happy dance as I motioned to the vehicle. “Well, then. We’d better go.”
She hopped into my Jeep, and I followed suit.
“What exactly did you want to see?” she asked, all businesslike.
My wolf nearly made me blurt a totally inappropriate answer. Something like,you, asleep, with your arms around me.
Pippa was a beautiful sleeper. Well, a beautiful everything, but beautiful sleeper was high on the list.
But I doubted that was what she meant.
“I’ve been to all the main vortexes.” I pointed toward the stunning rocky outcrops around town. “Cathedral Rock, Airport Mesa, Bell Rock, and Boynton Canyon. I didn’t feel a thing, but I’ve been there.”
Pippa chuckled. “Not everyone can feel them.”
Well, a bunch of New Age types I’d found beating drums at Bell Rock had insisted they could. I was skeptical, though. Most humans couldn’t tell a vampire from a turnip. Were the vortexes they claimed to sense wishful thinking or the real thing?
I fired up the Jeep and headed for the parking lot exit, watching Pippa out of the corner of my eye. “Can you feel them?”
Her eyes got a cagey look I’d rarely seen.
“Sometimes. When they’re going, at least. They seem to slumber more than they fire off, though.” She tilted her head. “Do you want to check one now?”
“No. I want to get out around the back roads. Not the ones they follow.” I pointed to a passing Jeep tour. “Quiet back roads that might be used by someone looking to keep a low profile.”
She gave me one of those looks that said,There you go again, suspecting everyone. “You mean, the kind locals use to keep away from tourists?”
I nodded. “And maybe a couple of overlook points, so I get a sense of how things fit together around here.”
The light turned green, and I waited, looking at Pippa. Her nose wrinkled a little as she thought — one of her many irresistible quirks. Then she pointed left. “Okay, turn here, then go right at the Y.”
Lots ofleftsandrightsfollowed over the next few miles, which brought us to a fancy development calledCactus Point Manor.
Not a cactus in sight — we were at way too high-altitude — and definitely no manor, just a bunch of faux-adobe McMansions.
“Um…” I started.
“Be patient,” she assured me. “Not far now.”
She reached back, resting her arms on the back of the seat, roughly where her foot would have been that time we’d had sex in the back of a similar vehicle, almost a decade ago.
My foot went a little heavy on the gas, and the engine revved.
“Whoa, boy,” Pippa chuckled.
Which only made my jeans feel tighter. Same joke as back then,totallydifferent context.
I gulped, shifting in my seat.
Seconds later, she pointed. “We’re coming to the turnoff. Right…about…here.” She indicated a narrow, overgrown trail.
I hit the brakes. “That’s private property.”
She shook her head. “The folks who live around here do their best to give that impression, but it’s a public right of way. It was grandfathered in to protect access to Dead Man’s Creek. Go ahead.”