Chosen by Jeanne C. Stein Page A

him. “I went out that door. Why didn’t I trip it?”
    “You didn’t close the door,” Lance replies. “You left it open. Probably didn’t even realize it. I came out after you were already gone, and I did close the door. Ten seconds later, the garage blew. The fire investigators say it was a gas leak from a water heater. Fueled by a spark when the garage door was raised. They’re writing it off as an accident. And I’m going to let them.”
    He looks over at Frey, then back to me. “But that was a new water heater, and you had raised the garage door minutes, not seconds, before. Someone poured propane on the floor of the garage to make sure there would be fire. Lots of it. And set a device to go off when the back door closed.”
    “So we were both targets?”
    Frey and Lance exchange looks.
    “What?” Irritation is bunching my shoulders even tighter. “Stop fucking around. Tell me.”
    Lance says, “We think it was a test.”
    “A test of what?”
    As soon as I ask it, the answer pops into my head. I stare at Lance. “Someone wanted to see if I could survive fire.” Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who that someone is. Especially knowing that he and Williams were working together. “Julian Underwood.”
    I’m right. I see confirmation in the eyes looking back at me. That Julian Underwood would risk Lance’s life, the life of someone he has known for decades, sparks such rage that I find only one way to express it. I hurl the glass in my hand across the patio with such force it shatters against the far wall, pulverizes, rains bits of glass on the flagstone.
    My hands are shaking. I interlock my fingers. When I can at least control the anger in my voice, I raise my eyes to Lance. “He thought you and I would walk out that back door together. The fire would ignite. Either we’d both be dead, or only you’d be. Either way, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he killed you. He only wanted to see if he could kill me.”
    Frey leans forward. “And now he knows,” he says. “He knows what Williams has been saying is true. You are indestructible. The Chosen One.”
    That stupid expression brings simmering anger boiling again to the surface. “Why does everyone always throw that at me? The Chosen One. Sounds like bad Buffy. There’s nothing special about me. I’d know if there were.”
    “Then think .” Frey’s voice is hard, insistent. “How do you explain what you did? How do you explain pulling Lance out of those flames? Vampires can’t do that. Williams couldn’t do that. From the beginning, he recognized it.”
    “Recognized what?” The volume of my voice escalates with frustration. “He’s done nothing but fuck with me. If he’s trying to win me over to some great cause, he sure as hell has a strange way of doing it.”
    Lance looks at Frey. His expression makes me think they’ve spent the last two days discussing me. It’s pissing me off. “Okay. Will you stop acting like conspirators in a spy movie? What is it you’re not telling me?”
    This time, Lance takes point. “I told Daniel about what happened in San Diego. How you were attacked. We think there’s a connection between that attack and the fire.”
    “What connection? Williams wouldn’t be dumb enough to send a vamp to attack me unless he was damned sure that vamp was strong enough to kill me. He didn’t. And after I killed it, how could Williams know I’d bury it in the desert and come here with Lance? He couldn’t. No one knew. We made the decision on the spot.”
    Lance’s gaze slides away. A wave of guilt emanates from him making me realize the reason for his remorse and regret. “I can’t be sure that Julian didn’t know. We have a powerful connection. Remember, Adele said he called the afternoon we arrived. That he was in town, too. It’s a pretty big coincidence.”
    “No.” A vehement shake of my head. “I don’t believe it.”
    “Well, there could be a simpler explanation.” Frey lifts a