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different levels and overhead. As much as she wanted to strip down and sink down in the pool, she reached into the shower and turned on the water. The sooner she was out of here, the better.
    Fifteen minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom. The aches and pains had lessened to the point where she didn’t limp. And if need be, and it would have to be a big fucking need, she could defend herself. Her hair, always a pain most times, had cooperated and was now pulled back into a tight French braid that hung damp past her hips. The woman, as promised, was still waiting for her.
    “I need to leave. While I appreciate your hospitality, I will be going.” Bailey began gathering her things up and setting them on the chair next to the big bed.
    There wasn’t a bag, but her pants gave her enough places to stash things so she wasn’t overly concerned. Clips went into various pockets, the blades clipped to her belt, as did two of the OC spray canisters. The rest of her gear fit into hidden pockets here and there throughout her clothing. The woman, Abby, she’d called herself, hadn’t said a word.
    The woman had to see that Bailey was neither nice nor human. She was defiant and strong, incredibly so. Bailey also knew she should have been out for another couple of days at least, but here she was, a mere twenty-four hours after having been thrown from a third story balcony, making demands and expected them to be granted.
    “This Tristan person, do you think he’ll let me get my stuff later? I have things to do today and I don’t have time to wait on him while he drains some unsuspecting woman. Or man if he’s into all that.” Bailey knew enough about vamps to know they liked sex with their dinner. Sort of like a meal and a show, she supposed.
    “Have a seat, please. I believe you and I have some things to discuss. I don’t have your guns, as I’ve said, so you’d have to wait for Tristan to return to get those anyway, so you might as well relax for a while.” Abby indicated the chair across from her before she smiled and continued. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
    “No, I didn’t. Sorry, lady, but I don’t do social. Night.” With a flick of power, Abby St.
    James slumped in her chair.
    Bailey found her things laid out in very neat piles on the table in the room. Everything was clean and folded in pristine order, stacked, and smelling fresh. Her shirts, all black and all tshirts, were lying on top of her jeans, also all black. Her socks, which she had never mated together, the only reason why she always bought the same kind, were not only folded by pairs but stacked end to end. Her panties and bras, the only real things she spent any money on, were spread out, not rolled up, as if the person who put them there was trying to see how they would look on someone. W hatever , she thought with a mental shrug. Her other items, toiletries, passports, all seven of them, were put into pile of use, bathroom stuff all together, purse stuff, if she bothered to carry one, together. She simply reached out, grabbed one of the biggest bags she carried, and scooped it all into it without a thought to how messy it would be again. Stuff was stuff, and who cared what it looked like so long as it covered what it needed to and was clean?
    It took her about twenty minutes to navigate the sub levels. She discovered why there was a pool; they were below ground a good ways and deep into a cavelike structure. After she had had to back track twice, she finally made her way to a set of narrow stairs and up to the main floor.
    She reached into this level and felt that there wasn’t anyone about in this part of the house. And from what she could feel, the house was massive.
    She managed to leave the house and the grounds without anyone seeing her. She knew that the outside security cameras would pick her up, but there was little to nothing she could do about that without more time. She was able to disengage the gate, and then rearmed it. She