"Elrod, P N - Jack Fleming - The Vampire Files 01 - Bloodlist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

Distraction. I needed distraction. Where was I?

East of us were tall buildings in the distance. I was still more or less
in Chicago. The last thing I recalled was some phone call launching me
out of the hotel I'd just checked into. I'd left at midafternoon to do
something and ended up that night soaking wet on a deserted patch of
Lake Michigan shoreline with some crazy trying to kill me. Wonderful.

I felt my head for lumps, found a swelling behind one ear, and smiled
with relief. A concussion of some kind; that would account for the
initial disorientation, the memory loss, maybe even make my eyes overly
sensitive. I'd only imagined the gunshot and had taken care of Sanderson
on adrenaline alone.

Almost as an afterthought I checked my wallet and was surprised to find
it in place and intact. I thought I'd been mugged. The papers were out
of order and damp, but everything was there, including the money and
change left over from the precious twenty I'd used to pay for the hotel
room. It was when I returned the wallet to its inside pocket that I
noticed my shirt front. A big burn hole was in it just over my heart,
surrounded by water-diluted red stains. There was a smaller hole lower
down, next to my belt buckle.

I tore the shin open and found an ugly round scar just left of the
breastbone. It was large, but looked freshly healed.

The lapping of water on the shore sounded loudly in my ears. Far out on
the silver lake, the streamlined shape of a rich man's yacht glided
slowly east and disappeared behind an intervening point of land. My left
hand twitched and clenched. I made it open again. The palm had more than
a dozen puckered red circles on it. More scars, and I couldn't think of
how I'd acquired them or what might have caused them. At least they
didn't hurt. My right hand was also damaged with a narrow pink welt like
a nearly healed cut just above the knuckles. It, too, was painless.
Cautiously I spread a hand over my heart. It should have been banging
away like a trapped bird, but there was nothing, nothing but the scar
and still night-cool flesh.

I rebuttoned the shirt, not wanting to look or speculate anymore and
stared helplessly at the lake. It gave no answers or comfort so I opened
the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. I rubbed my face and was
surprised at the heaviness of the beard there. Reaching over, I swiveled
the rearview mirror around and stared with an icy shock of comprehension
at the empty glass.

No.

Please, God, no.

Death had come to me that night, unexpected and unfair. Death had