by Kim Harrison
Why in hell is he acting like this? My eyes widened, and I jerked my arms up, gun pointed at the form rising up behind Trent. The faint moonlight caught a glint of light. Turn take it--gun!
“Down!” I shouted.
Trent dove to the right and into the scrub. There was a flash of light and a pop of a silencer. My heart pounded, and a spike of satisfaction went through me even as Trent’s muffled cry came from the nearby ditch. He’d listened to me. The stupid billionaire had finally listened to me. I think it had just saved him a ton of hurt if not his life.
Stance firm, I stood in the middle of the road. The puff of air from my splat gun iced through me. But he was just out of my weapon’s range, and the splat ball hit and bounced off. It had the desired reaction, though, and the man ran into the woods.
Crap on toast, I was a sitting duck out here. “Trent!” I shouted so he wouldn’t hit me with anything nasty. “You okay?” Frantic, I slid into the ditch and out of the sniper’s sights. Hard rocks pinched the soles of my shoes, and I put a hand out to slow my slide. Stones bit into my knuckles as I slid down, but I refused to let go of my gun. Above came the sound of someone shooting the tires out. It wasn’t a Glock, but that didn’t negate the possibility of Amos being responsible for this. But why kill the golden goose keeping your kid alive? Unless there is a bigger nasty holding a knife to your throat.
My heart caught as I found Trent sitting at the bottom of the ditch. His eyes were pinched and he was holding his shoulder. Shit, what if I got him killed? “My God, are you okay?” I rushed as I crawled to him, trying to stay below the edge of the road. I jerked at the zing thud of another bullet imbedding itself into the dirt.
“I’m fine,” he said sourly, letting go of his shoulder to show me it was unmarked. “I landed wrong is all.”
Not believing him, I reached for his shoulder only to jerk back when a jump of energy flashed between us. My eyes darted to his, and I tightened my control. It hadn’t felt like our energies balancing, and my thoughts darted back to that static shock at the gate.
Oh, shit. Feeling as if I’d been kicked, I sat back, stones jabbing into my butt. That hadn’t been a static shock from the keypad. Someone had tagged him. Not only had someone tagged him, but Trent knew it. That’s why this stupid, windy road. He had been trying to outrun them and get in a public place where they couldn’t act.
Trent grabbed my wrist, jerking my attention to him. “I’m fine,” he demanded, unaware I’d figured it out, but then he hesitated at my horrified expression. “What?
The pop of gunfire brought us both up. He was tagged all right. Every shot was going to the same patch of dirt, guided by whatever he picked up at the keypad. If we hadn’t been in a ditch, Trent would be dead.
“Stay down,” I said tightly. This was exactly why I didn’t do illegal stuff. Not being able to call on the I.S. or FIB for help sucked. “I thought you said you had some driving courses. Why in hell did you get out of the car!”
“Because there’s no roof and it stalled?” Trent said, refreshingly sarcastic. Crouching, he made a motion to look up out of the ditch. “Let go of the ley line. No magic.”
I looked at my splat gun. What did he want me to do? Talk them to death? “Beg pardon?”
The moonlight shown on his face, and he winced. “No magic. I can’t risk being placed here with Amos. The man I talked to tonight?”
“Are you kidding me?” I blurted, thinking back to the camera at the gatehouse. But knowing Trent, he’d already arranged to destroy the tapes if the camera had even been working at the time. “Damn it, Trent!” I shouted as another bullet buried itself in the dirt, the angle a little higher. “This is exactly why I don’t do illegal stuff!”
Irate, he looked out over the road. “I said I was sorry. I said it would never happen again. Can we talk about this later?”
I reluctantly tucked my splat gun away. If he didn’t want to be place here, I didn’t want to be placed here, and spells could unfortunately be traced back to their maker. “Stop looking up there,” I muttered, pulling him back. “And stay below the level of the dirt. You’ve been tagged.”
“I know.”
Shocked, I turned to him, reading his self-anger in the dim light. Satisfied he would stay put, I peeked over the edge. The man was rummaging around in the car. Most assassins worked in pairs. Where’s the other guy?
Breath held, I eased back into the ditch. I had to get my splat ball back. Minimize the damage. “That car isn’t registered to you, is it?”
“No, not really.”
I peered over the edge. The man was gone or waiting for us to poke our heads out. “Good, because it’s full of holes now.” The vehicle had probably been taken right off the line and put in his garage, completely untraceable thanks to money. “I work best when I know what’s going on.”
“There’s nothing to know. I think we should just leave.”
There was the bare brush of presence beside me, and I turned to find him gone. Frustration edged out my anger. “Trent!” I whispered, stumbling as I followed him into the steep woods. “Assassins travel in pairs. Will you stop wandering off! I can’t do my job if you’re too far ahead!”
My splat ball was still out there somewhere. Everyone knew I used them. Hesitating, I turned back to the road, weighing the chance it might be missed against me running into the assassin.
A soft grunt and scuffle spun me around. In the scrub just off the road, two figures grappled.
Adrenaline slammed into me. Springing forward, I pulled on the ley line until the tips of my hair began to float. With a soft cry, Trent spun, hitting the man’s wrist perfectly. Swearing, the man dropped the gun, only to wind his arm around Trent’s neck instead. It was a hold to contain, not kill, and I slid to a halt, not helpless, but if I hit the man with a ley line, Trent would take it, too. He isn’t trying to kill him. Then why the tag? The thought niggled, but I couldn’t give it any attention. Trent was in the man’s grip, fighting to breathe.
I ran forward, dancing back when Trent tried to lever his attacker over his head, but the man was twice his weight and the hill was working against him. Struggling, Trent slammed his elbow into the man’s middle, and still he held on.
“Some help here?” Trent wheezed.
Frowning, I made fists of my hands. “Don’t move.”
“Urgh . . . Rachel!” Trent sputtered as I found my balance. I was wearing these dumb shoes. This was going to hurt.
“Haaaaaeah!” I screamed, putting everything I had behind a crescent kick. It hit the man’s temple perfectly, a spike of pain radiating up my foot as I connected. Breathless, I stood with my weight all on my left foot, right foot throbbing. “Wait for it,” I said as Trent desperately dug at the man’s grip, still tight around his neck.
With a soft sigh, the man fell backward, dragging Trent down with him. They hit with a thud. For an instant, Trent blinked up at me, then he shoved the man’s arm off him.
Scrambling to his feet, Trent tugged his suit straight. “That was a little close, wasn’t it?” he rasped as he felt his neck.
I was still riding the adrenaline high of having saved Trent, and I crouched to feel for the man’s pulse. This wasn’t Mr. Glock. My foot hurt, and I kept my weight off it as I rose. “You’d rather I use my fist and have to explain to Ivy why she has to cut my steak?” Trent was silent, and I stood on one foot and rubbed the other. We needed to go. We’d find nothing if I searched the man. “He’s out. Let’s go. I can get that tag off you, but I need some time.”
“You want to just leave him here?”
“He’s not going to go to the I.S. and file assault charges. He failed. He’ll be lucky if his employer lets him live.” It wasn’t as if we could kill him. Hesitating, I thought about his arm wrapped around Trent’s neck. No. We couldn’t kill him, even if I wanted to.
“Perhaps you’re right.” With a surprising amount
of grace, he climbed the steep ditch and scrambled out onto the road. He didn’t seem to be worried about the tag. Maybe he’d neutralized it himself.
Depressed, I looked for an easier way up. “Damn it, Trent, who did you piss off now?” I complained as I found a way to the top.
Trent was coming back from the car, his head down. “I’m sorry,” he said as he handed me my unbroken splat ball. “I don’t know what’s going on. I think there’s a restaurant half a mile up. We can get a cab. I’d feel better with people around us.”
Oddly enough, I would too. Whoever had targeted him wanted it to be in a dark alley, not where there were witnesses.
Without another word, he left the car behind and began hoofing it up the steep, winding road. I hastened to follow, dropping the splat ball he’d given me in my bag where it wouldn’t spell me if it broke. “Trent, who’s been most active with the death threats lately?”
His posture was bent as he labored up the hill. “Nothing sticks out.”
“Nothing sticks out?” I came even with him, pulse fast. “Look, there’s someone else out here. Assassins always travel in pairs.”
He looked sideways at me. “Why do you think I abandoned the car?”
Why do you think I abandoned the car? I mocked in my thoughts, then quashed it. “Let me call Ivy,” I prompted. “She can pick us up. Who knew you’d be at the marina tonight? Who knows the number you’d hit on the keypad?”
He was silent. The crickets had resumed their chorus, and I heard a boat hoot on the river. “Quen? Ellasbeth?”
His pace bobbled, and I pounced on it.
“You told Ellasbeth?” I said, aghast. “For God’s sake, why?”
“She wanted to see the boat, but this isn’t her. I don’t know who it is, but it isn’t her.”
He was lying. The question was if he was lying to me, or himself. The faint moonlight glinted on a webbing across the road, and we drew up short when we found the chain-link fence. It was stretched right across the road. Thirty feet above, a paved road ran perpendicular to it. Seeing the cut someone had made in the links, I pulled it aside so Trent could go through. “It’s not like you to be this blind,” I said softly.
“She’s the mother of my child.”
But he didn’t seem to be happy when he said it, and I looked at him, the fence between us. “Exactly. ” How could something as wonderful as Lucy stem from someone as nasty as Ellasbeth? “She’s going to fight for full custody, even if it means taking you out.”
Grimacing, Trent bent the fence inward for me. “As long as I’m single, she has a chance to have it all. Killing me now would serve no purpose.”
I slipped through, my eyes on the nearby roadway. Thirty feet, and we’d be back in civilization. “Car,” I said, seeing the light on the trees before hearing the engine. “You want me to flag them down?”
Eyes up on the road, Trent pulled me behind a tree. My heart pounded at his sudden grip, and the encroaching light and sound brought back the twined feelings of terror and excitement I’d felt playing hide and seek as a girl. “Ellasbeth isn’t trying to kill me,” he whispered, and I flushed when he noticed me shiver.
Breath held, I watched the car go by. His length was pressed up against mine, hands gripping my shoulders. The scent of wine and cinnamon cascaded over me, and I closed my eyes at the feeling of denied passion. “They’re gone,” I whispered, and his hands slipped away.
Steps silent, he retreated. My back felt cold where he’d been, and I looked at him standing in the shadows, feeling a loss I had no right to feel. “Do you have signal?” he finally said.
My head dropped, and I pulled my phone from a back pocket. Flipping it up, I squinted in the sudden light. “Yes.”
“Good. Call Ivy.”
His tone was short. Pensive, he turned to look the way we’d come up.
I scrolled to find her number, thinking it was unusual that he’d agree to bring Ivy in this. Ivy had kept me alive more times than I had spell books in my kitchen, but to have that trust extend to him was unusual. “Thanks,” I whispered as I put the phone to my ear.
A snap so soft it could have been a moth’s wing zinged through me. My head came up. I could see nothing, my night vision ruined by the phone’s screen. They traveled in pairs.
“No!” Trent exclaimed, voice low but intent, and I gasped when he plowed into me. Breath held, I felt the ground slam into my shoulder and thigh. Trent’s weight landed on me half a second later, knocking the wind out of me. My head hit the dirt, and stars exploded. I. Could. Not. Breathe.
Trent’s weight vanished. Struggling, I managed to get up on an elbow. I got a slip of air, gasping as I staggered to my feet, hunched and hurting. Not five feet away, Trent fought with a man slimmer than him, faster. Vampire? But vampires generally didn’t do assassin work. The moonlight glinted on a knife, and not in Trent’s hand.
Seeing me up, the second assassin feigned a thrust, then turned and ran at me.
A growl came from Trent, low and primitive, shaking me to my core. He launched himself at him, landing on his back and forcing him to the ground inches away. My ankle gave way, and I was down again. I tossed my hair from my eyes. Trent made three quick, decisive moves—and I heard the sickening snap of bone and the man’s muffled cry of pain. The knife was suddenly in Trent’s hand, held at the man’s neck.
“Trent! No!” I cried out, and the two stopped.
Panting, Trent froze. It would be easy for him to prick his neck and bleed him out in five seconds. But he didn’t. Thoughts Trent wouldn’t share spun behind his eyes, his expression wild, and unpredictable.
“Please. There has to be another way,” I said, not knowing why I cared if he killed him, other than I knew this wasn’t who Trent wanted to be.
The man jerked when Trent pulled the knife from him, scuttling back out of his reach when Trent backed off. “Tell your sender that I will not tolerate another attack like this again,” Trent said. “Next time, I kill you twice. Understand?”
The man nodded, clearly shocked Trent let him live, much less bested him. He turned to go, and I stiffened when Trent pulled heavily on the ley line.
Wincing, I did nothing when Trent muttered a phrase that wasn’t quite Latin. His hands glowed, lighting the anger in his expression. Face twisted in anger, he said a final word.
I didn’t even see the charm, but the fleeing man cried out, stumbling into the fence where he fell, groaning. There’d be magical residue, but I doubt very much anyone would bother to come out and try to link it to anyone, much less Trent—not if it was a professional hit sanctioned by one of the masters.
But that’s not why my heart pounded. The assassins hadn’t been going for Trent. They had been going for me. Vampires don’t do assassination work. Shit. Cormel. That’s why Trent wanted me to call Ivy. My God. This was my fault. All of it.
Trent was a hunched shadow in the moonlight, and as I watched, he stooped to pick up my phone. Above us, a car drove past. “Let’s go,” he said, handing it to me “I have to get back to my office.”
His hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped, pliant with a sudden realization. I was the one who was supposed to have been driving. The tag should have hit me, not Trent. Cormel was tired of waiting for his soul and had upped the pressure from talk to action. But why? I wasn’t seeing anyone. Unless Cormel thought that Trent and I were, ah . . .
Hand on my stomach, I slid a look over to Trent. He was angry, preoccupied with his thoughts as he helped me forward up the last of the incline. Trent? Trent and I lovers?
Oh God. Trent was a big no-no. It was not happening.
But I’d never seen him this angry before.
“You okay?”
His words jerked through me, and I looked hard at his extended hand, thinking twice about it before taking it so he could help me up the last lurch to the road. His fingers were fi
rm in mine, and I stifled a thought of him running them over my body. That grace between my sheets . . . that strength mine to enjoy. . . .
“I’m fine,” I said, stumbling as he drew me up. But I wasn’t. Trent had been ready to kill that man to protect me. I had seen it in his eyes. I was damn sure I wasn’t comfortable with that—not when I knew how badly he wanted to differentiate himself from his father.
“Good.”
But it wasn’t good. This was bad. Very bad. “Thank you,” I whispered as I hid my hand behind my back and looked down the road to place were we were.
His hand touched the small of my back, and we started down the road to Cincinnati. “Anytime.”
But that was exactly what I was afraid of.
Copyright
TROUBLE ON RESERVE. Copyright © 2012 by Kim Harrison. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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