betsy short 02 - ureliable Page 3

  You can’t party like a twenty year-old forever.

  Seriously, Blake. Shut. Up.

  His inner voice, which sounded exactly like his tight-ass twin, obligingly shut up, something the real Blake hardly ever did.

  He managed to lurch to his feet and staggered toward a doorway leading to a sparkling clean bathroom—okay, mystery solved, he was in a hotel room. Bland white walls, bland tan carpet. De rigueur nightstand, two-drawer dresser, television. Shiny clean fixtures and various helpful signs his head hurt too much to even look at, much less interpret, but at least he had a vague idea of where he was.

  He turned the tap on full and tried to kill himself: suicide by sink, glug, glug, ahhhhh. When he realized drowning would take too long, he cupped his hands under the cool flow and drank and drank and drank, then washed his face, ran his head under the tap again—thank God for roomy hotel sinks!—and slowly stood as he raked his fingers through his hair and slicked it back from his eyes.

  He nearly screamed: he’d rarely looked so fucked up. Even his inner Blake voice

  (Kill it at once, and with fire!)

  was horrified.

  “Okay,” he said, and winced. His deep voice reverberated around the small shiny white bathroom, which is how he found out it hurt to talk. “Okay,” he whispered to his hideous, red-rimmed, ghastly reflection. Normally dark blond, his hair was now dirty blond. And his eyes, God, his eyes! Like the zombies in 28 Days Later or, worse, 28 Weeks Later. “Get out of the room. Don’t think about the scary hotel room from 1408. Figure out where you are, then get something in your stomach—no, you have to.” His reflection was shaking his head and looking horrified; time to get stern. “You know you’ll feel better with something in your stomach.” Mirror-Rake cringed, but Actual Rake was relentless. “You’ve got a day of crackers and ginger ale to look forward to, you horrible-looking shithead, and only yourself to blame.”

  Probably. He hadn’t ruled out kidnapping yet; this might be someone else’s fault. He’d been hung-over before, though not as often as Blake assumed. He never did anything with the frequency Blake assumed, as a matter of pride if nothing else. But he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten to—to wherever he was. And the mystery wouldn’t be solved from the bathroom. Had any mystery ever been solved from a bathroom? How often did Sherlock Holmes take a dump? The books never said.

  He left the bathroom and managed to inch across the room to the shorts, gingerly stepped into them, pulled them on. These, at least, did belong to him, though they needed a trip through a washing machine. He felt the comforting bump of his phone in his side pocket as he zipped up, and the beat-up loafers at the end of the bed were also his. He figured he must have checked in (somehow—how did he manage to walk, much less communicate with a hotel clerk?), kicked off his shorts (but left his shoes on?), collapsed face-down on the bed, his absurdly long legs dangling over the end, and the shoes had fallen off in his sleep. Stupor. Coma. What-have-you.

  After a few tries, he found the door to the hallway. The water had helped; he knew most of the pain of a hangover came from dehydration. That, and knowing he’d done it to himself and had no one else to blame. Fine. He’d get some fresh air, take stock of his surroundings, start Plan Ginger Ale + Crackers = Might Not Die.

  Somehow he made it to the lobby, though for a minute he thought he was going to hurl tap water in the elevator. He closed his eyes against the killing glare of the fluorescents and focused on his breathing, then staggered out of the elevator with a real sense of accomplishment: no barf left behind!

  He ignored the guest babble in the lobby, though normally he liked talking to strangers, especially female strangers. Not today. If he had to focus on anything besides falling down he would fall down. I’ll give everyone in the hotel a thousand bucks if they just don’t talk to me. Money well spent. He made it through the revolving doors once...

  “Agh! Mistake, mistake! Stop the ride, I wanna get off!”

  ...then twice around. The doors spat him out onto the sidewalk, where the sun immediately set about frying him like a T-bone.

  Aaaggghhhh my retinas! Who knew the sun was so huge and hot? In early spring, no less!

  Eyes squinched to slits, he shuffled forward, breathing in the, um, fresh air—hmm. There was an odd smell; not bad, but distinct. Familiar. Wherever he was, he’d been there before. That alone was enough to cheer him up, and he squared his shoulders and took a few jaunty steps to his destiny while ignoring the people who were shouting behind him. Back off, strangers! It’s my time to shine! Or at least gobble some crackers.

  Then he fell. Not far, thank goodness, but ack cold cold cold! The river/lake/ocean/whatever-the-hell he’d plunged into was beyond bracing and well into hypothermia-inducing. He popped to the surface like a furious cork and wiped the water out of his eyes. So that’s what they were yelling about. Now would be a good time to start paying attention to my surroundings. Also, ninety seconds ago would have been a good time.

  At first he thought the strangers were going to bludgeon him with paddles until he went down and stayed down, the perfect end to a horrific morning. Then he realized they were all extending poles and paddles and

  (why????)

  bottles of water.

  Then he saw the gondolas and vaporetti.

  “Venice?” he sputtered, spitting a stream of foul water back into the larger stream of foul water that was the Grand Canal. “I’m in fucking Venice?”

  USA Dead Ahead will be available in late 2018 The first book, Danger Sweetheart, is available now!

  MaryJanice Davidson is the best-selling author of several novels, including the UNDEAD series and the BOFFO trilogy, and is published across multiple genres. Her books have been published in over a dozen languages and have been on best-seller lists all over the world, including USA Today and the New York Times. She has published books, novellas, articles, short stories, recipes, reviews, and rants, and writes a column for USA Today (http://happyeverafter.usatoday.com/author/maryjanice-davidson/). A former model and medical test subject, she lives in St. Paul, MN, with her husband, children, and dogs.

  You can reach her at contactmjd@comcast.net, follow her on Twitter (@MaryJaniceD) and Instagram, find her on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/maryjanicedavidson), and check out her blog at http://maryjanicedavidson.blogspot.com/.

  Like a book autographed, or personalized as a gift for a loved one? Well, too bad, what do you think she’s running here? She doesn’t have time for that crap. You probably don’t, either. Have some self-respect, dammit!

  Kidding! Send it to MaryJanice Davidson, P.O. Box 193, Hastings, MN 55033. Autograph’s free; snark is extra.

  Titles by MaryJanice Davidson

  The Undead Series:

  Undead and Unwed

  Undead and Unemployed

  Undead and Unappreciated

  Undead and Unreturnable

  Undead and Unpopular

  Undead and Uneasy

  Undead and Unworthy

  Undead and Unwelcome

  Undead and Unfinished

  Undead and Undermined

  Undead and Unstable

  Undead and Unsure

  Undead and Unwary

  Undead and Unforgiven

  Undead and Done

  The Sweetheart Series

  Danger, Sweetheart

  The BOFFO/FBI Trilogy

  Me, Myself and Why

  Yours, Mine, and Ours

  You and I; Me and You

  The Wyndham Werewolves

  Love’s Prisoner (Secrets, Vol. 6)

  Jared’s Wolf (Secrets, Vol. 8)

  Derik’s Bane

  Wolf at the Door

  The Undersea Folk (mermaids)

  Sleeping With the Fishes

  Swimming Without a Net

  Fish Out of Water

  The Déjà Series (reincarnation)

  Déjà Who

  Déjà New

  The Alaskan Royals Trilogy

  The Royal Tre
atment

  The Royal Pain

  The Royal Mess

  The Gorgeous Books

  Hello, Gorgeous!

  Drop Dead, Gorgeous!

  Doing It Right

  Really Unusual Bad Boys

  Under Cover

  The Anthologies

  Wicked Women Whodunit

  (with Amy Garvey, Nancy J. Cohen)

  Bad Boys With Expensive Toys

  (with Nancy Warren, Karen Kelley)

  Merry Christmas, Baby

  (with Donna Kauffman, Nancy Warren, Erin McCarthy, Lucy Monroe, Susanna Carr)

  Dying for You

  Cravings

  (with Laurell K. Hamilton, Rebecca York, Eileen Wilks)

  Bite

  (with Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor)

  Faeries Gone Wild

  (with Lois Greiman, Michele Hauf, Leandra Logan

  No Rest for the Witches

  (with Lori Handeland, Cheyenne McCray, Christine Warren)

  Kick Ass

  (with Maggie Shayne, Angela Knight, Jacey Ford)

  Men at Work

  (with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)

  Dead and Loving It

  (with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)

  Surf’s up

  (with Janelle Denison, Nina Bangs)

  Mysteria

  (with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)

  Mysteria Lane

  (with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)

  Mysteria Nights

  (with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)

  Over the Moon

  (with Angela Knight, Virginia Kantra, Sunny)

  Demon’s Delight

  (with Emma Holly, Vickie Taylor, Catherine Spangler)

  Dead Over Heels

  (with P. C. Cast, Gena Showalter, Susan Grant)

  Perfect for the Beach

  (with Lori Foster, Kayla Perrin, Janelle Denison, Erin McCarthy)

  How To Be A Wicked Woman

  (with Susanna Carr, Jamie Denton)

  Charming The Snake

  (with Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder)

  The Shorts

  Dead But Not Forgotten: Short Stories From The World of Sookie Stackhouse

  My Angel, My Devil

  Unwavering

  Medical Miracle

  Monster Love

  Titles by MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi

  The Jennifer Scales series

  Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace

  Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light

  The Silver Moon Elm

  Seraph of Sorrow

  Rise of the Poison Moon

  Evangelina

  Table of Contents

  UNRELIABLE

  INTRODUCTION

  THE END

  PROLOGUE