by Linda Grimes
“Hey, Molls,” I said—loudly—hoping like hell my words wouldn’t get sucked up by the wind, because I didn’t want to take my eyes off the road. Or the horse. Not that it was paying a lot of attention to anything I was doing, direction-wise. “Do you have a cell phone?” Maybe she could call Mark.
“No! Mom says I’m too young—bet she’ll be sorry now, huh?” she said, equally loud.
Crap. “Can you see behind us? Are they still coming?” I hollered.
“I think I see them—yeah, I do! They’re in the other carriage—their horse is speeding up. Faster, Ciel!”
Double crap. It wasn’t safe as it was, going the speed we already were.
“How close are they? Do we have time to stop and get away from the carriage?” Not that I was sure I could stop the damn thing. But it seemed prudent to try, both for our sake and the horse’s.
“I dunno. Maybe?”
Gaaah. I pulled up on the reins. Getting away from Monica-Devon and the Hulk wouldn’t mean squat if I killed us in the process. Surprisingly, the horse decided to cooperate with me, slowing first to a trot, then to a walk, and finally stopping altogether. I dropped the reins and jumped out. Molly hopped into my arms, and I swung her down to my side.
“Okay, let’s go.” I took hold of her hand and started to cross the road, toward the bright yellow police call box. Looked behind me and changed my mind—the second carriage was moving too fast. They’d get to us before I could lift the receiver.
Instead, I pulled Molly around to the other side of the carriage. We were going to have to make another run for it—on foot—and hope we could find somebody to help us. Or, better, a good hiding place. Because, really, what could anybody else do for us? Even if we were lucky enough to run into a cop, all Thelma’s driver had to do was run up behind us, show some fancy CIA credentials, and we’d be handed over without a blink.
Before we took off, I briefly morphed into the biggest aura I could within the constraints of my clothing—a female wrestler I’d once gotten out of a sticky love triangle—and, ignoring the pain where my jeans cut into me, waved my arms wildly, freaking the horse out. It took off running again. With a little luck, it would keep going for a while and lead the other carriage away from us.
I dropped the aura at once, praying I hadn’t done irreparable damage to my spleen. Molly stuck to my side as we ran to the trees. They wouldn’t offer much cover from anyone looking our direction, but I was hoping our pursuers would be keeping their eyes on our runaway carriage. I risked another peek over my shoulder to see if our horse was doing its job.
It had gone maybe fifty feet before it stopped cold, and was blithely taking a dump right there in the middle of the road. Geez, Ciel, you had to go and scare the shit out of it.
Molly and I kept moving, now dodging from tree to tree. Next peek I dared was even worse. The second carriage had stopped right behind ours. As soon as Monica—no, it was Devon again—and the Hulk saw we weren’t there, they turned our way and started running full out. Damn it!
We weren’t far from one of the park’s visitor centers—the Dairy. For lack of a better plan, I headed there. It wouldn’t be open, of course, but maybe we could find someplace to hide near the building.
The breezeway might have been charming and picturesque during the day, when there were plenty of people milling around, but at night, in the crazy thick fog, when we were being chased by two men (one of them a freaking giant), it was damned creepy.
But the lovely landscaping did include a low stone wall, and on the other side of it, bushes. Bushes were good. Molly and I hunkered down between the wall and the bushiest bush we could find, squeezed ourselves together (careful to make sure none of our appendages stuck out), and tried to control our breathing. Wasn’t easy, as winded as we were.
I closed my eyes and offered up a brief prayer that there were no spiders hiding with us. If there was one thing that could make this night worse, it would be spiders.
“Ciel?” Molly whispered.
“Shhh, sweetie. We have to be extra quiet now.”
I felt her nod. “This isn’t fun anymore,” she said. Maybe. I could barely hear her above my own heartbeat.
“I know.” I almost added that I was as scared as she was but figured she didn’t really need to know that. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll get out of this mess, I promise.”
I heard steps pounding along the breezeway.
“You try that way. I’ll check over here.” Crap. Devon’s voice, way too close for comfort. If we stayed here, he’d find us within minutes. If we ran again, he’d see us for sure. We were screwed either way.
“Molly,” I said super softly. “How good are you at climbing trees?”
“Not very,” Molly whispered back. “It’s hard to reach the branches. Billy says I’ll get better at it when I’m bigger.”
The footsteps in the breezeway were getting closer.
Shit. Think, Ciel. Think! “Look, honey, we can’t keep outrunning them. They’re too fast. And”—I swallowed—“one of them is about to find us. Our only chance is to get someplace they can’t reach us. Like up that big tree over there. You see it?”
She was shaking. “Y-yeah.”
I hugged her tighter. “We have to try, okay, sweetie?” Because if they catch us, I have an awful feeling we’ll be lost in the system for good. “And here’s the deal, banana peel…” She huffed a little whisper-giggle at that; good. “If I can’t make it up that tree behind you”—she clutched me, and I patted her back—“if I can’t, then you have to keep going. Later, when the coast is clear, you have to get a message to Mark. Don’t go home—they’ll have somebody watching your house. Go to one of your friends’ houses.”
“Not Jordy’s, right?” she asked.
Monica’s brother. “No, not Jordy’s. Anybody else’s. Even a nonadaptor. In fact, that may be better. And then call Mark and tell him what happened, okay?”
The footsteps were fading—Devon was walking to the other end of the breezeway. This might be the only chance we had. I hung my small purse—really more of a wallet on a strap—over her neck. “Here’s money for a taxi. Or the bus. Now, follow me,” I said, crawling out of the bushes. I stayed low, keeping to the darker spots where the light from the breezeway didn’t penetrate the fog as brightly. Molly did likewise.
I’d chosen a tree in the middle distance. It was slightly riskier staying out in the open that much longer, but being farther away meant there was less chance we’d be spotted as we climbed. We situated ourselves on the side opposite the breezeway, for all the good it did us. The tree trunk wasn’t huge, but maybe the fog would help. At least I could easily tilt my head and keep track of Devon.
Linking my fingers together to make a step for Molly, I said, “Come on, kiddo. You were climbing like gangbusters just a few days ago. Just remember what you did then, and go for it.”
She laughed nervously, and put her foot in my hands. “Too bad I’m not still an orangutan, huh? This would be a lot easier.”
I smiled in agreement, trying to keep things light as I cautiously lifted her higher. Anything to distract her from the fear that would only sabotage her effort. She was one solid little girl—my fingers were straining under her weight.
“Okay, now,” I said, once I’d boosted her as far as possible, “can you grab on to that limb?”
She reached for it, wobbly-kneed and quaking. “I—I don’t think so.” She gave up and hugged the tree. I leaned to one side to check on Devon’s progress. Crap. He was over the low stone wall and kicking his way through the bushes where we’d been minutes before.
“Molly, we have to hurry now. Let’s try it again, okay? Remember, I’m right behind you.” I morphed into the lady wrestler again, to gain some added height and strength, pushing her as far as I could. The riveted button on the waistband of my jeans popped, and the zipper crawled open.
Molly stretched, and bounced in my hands, kicking off. She fell short of the limb, tumbling to
the ground with a cry. I pulled her back behind the tree quickly, resuming my own aura as I did, but not before Devon’s attention had been caught by the sound. He scanned the foggy grounds, running from side to side, checking everywhere between him and us. He’d be here in less than a minute at this rate.
Damn it. There was no way I was going to escape now, but Molly still had one shot. If she would take it. I leaned over and spoke softly—voices carry—into her ear.
Her eyes got big. “But what if I get stu—”
“It’s a risk, Molls,” I acknowledged, cutting her off. We didn’t have time to weigh the pros and cons. But getting caught by Devon is way more dangerous, I thought but didn’t say. If she couldn’t, she couldn’t, and I didn’t want to panic her any more than necessary.
The Doyle determination molded her features. She nodded once, took a deep breath … and sprouted fur.
“Good girl,” I said, watching her shrink. Her shorts and cropped T-shirt were suddenly a lot bigger on her, but they stayed put, as did my wallet-purse. “Now, up as high as you can go, and wait until the coast is clear to come back down. You know what to do.”
Reaching the previously impossible limb with ridiculous ease, she was halfway up the tree in seconds, and going strong. I rezipped (the brass button was a goner) and took off in the direction of the Fifth Avenue skyline, being as obvious as I could. I had to buy Molly time to climb high enough not only to be out of reach but also hidden. If they couldn’t see her, they couldn’t catch her.
It was still just Devon after me—the Hulk must have been on the other side of the building—and now that he’d seen me he was closing fast. It was possible I’d make it out of the park before he caught me (yeah, and pigs could fly), but I wouldn’t lay odds on it.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Shit. Devon’s voice was too close. I stopped.
“Seriously, Devon? ‘Stop or I’ll shoot’?” I wheezed, leaning over to rest my hands on my knees. Sucked to be caught, but at least I got to stop running before my lungs burst. “Exactly how much bad TV did you watch as a kid?”
“Turn around.” He didn’t sound amused.
I complied, straightening myself into what I hoped was an assertive stance. Seeing the gun made it tougher. “So,” I said.
The corners of that sultry mouth lifted. “So.”
“Well, Dev, I must say I’m disappointed. I was really rooting for you with James. Can’t see you explaining away this one, though.”
“Oh, I think I’ll manage. He’ll need someone to comfort him, after all. Losing a sister is hard. Especially to another senseless mugging in Central Park.”
My stomach tightened convulsively. Stall. Keep him talking. “How did you know where to meet me? That was Billy on the job with me, not you.”
“You said ’Pretty Boy’ on the phone. Perhaps I’m egotistical, but I assumed you meant me. It wasn’t difficult to figure out Billy must have worked as me on the job I missed.”
Well, crap. Guess I wasn’t as clever as I thought.
He’d been walking closer as he talked, keeping the gun aimed steadily at my chest. When it connected, just above my left breast, he said, “Now, where did you leave Molly?”
“Geez, Devon, how stupid are you? You already said you’re going to kill me. Why should I tell you anything? I’m dead either way.”
His lovely eyes widened a notch (Liz Taylor at her dewiest). Then they narrowed. He moved the gun to the fleshy part of my shoulder … and fired. Not much sound was the first thing that registered with me. Must have a silencer. And then the pain hit, like Thor’s fucking hammer, and I looked down to see the bloody groove that had been gouged through my skin.
I sucked in a breath, and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me by my other arm, twisting viciously. “Because I can make it hurt an awful lot before I kill you, that’s why.”
“Nice try,” I gasped. “But—” I bit my lip for a fraction of a second to steady my voice. I’d broken my arm once, back in elementary school. At the time, I’d been certain that was the worst pain I’d ever feel. Turned out I was wrong. This felt like every nerve ending in my shoulder had been exposed, doused with gasoline, and set on fire. “But … no … dice.”
He lowered the gun to my thigh. “You sure about that?”
No! I thought, but swallowed it, stiffening and waiting for another burst of pain.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Never thought I’d be so happy to see the Hulk. He knocked the gun away from my leg and removed me from Devon’s grasp.
Devon pouted. “I wasn’t going to kill her. I was just convincing her to tell me where Molly is.”
The Hulk took the gun, maintaining a grip on my good arm. I leaned against him and passed out.
Chapter 28
I came to in the Hulk’s arms. He was cradling me close to his chest, careful of my injured arm as he trekked back along the path I’d taken. Perhaps he wasn’t a total asshole, even if he was employed by the wicked witch of the CIA. Just another working stiff doing his job.
He deposited me in the backseat of the black SUV I’d seen earlier. My arm was still screaming in the background. Maybe the pain would go away if I ignored it. The witch was already there, patiently working a crossword puzzle in the comfort of the customized interior. Thelma not-Parker, mild-mannered lover of word games. Yeah, right.
Devon crawled in and seated himself beside her, across from me. They faced forward; I faced the rear, so I’d be traveling backward. (There was probably something symbolic there, but I didn’t want to think about it.)
I raised an eyebrow at Thelma. “Gee, government work must pay better than I thought.”
She smiled warmly. “Not really. But the perks are nice.”
Okay, so poking her was no fun. I turned to Devon. “Don’t pout, Pretty Boy. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Better. If he’d still had the gun, I’d already be dead. Speaking of which … I went ahead and looked at my shoulder, since ignoring it wasn’t working. Swallowed hard, and bit the inside of my cheek to stifle the pain. Somebody had wrapped it—tightly—with a strip of white jersey. Wonder who sacrificed his T-shirt for me? I glanced at the Hulk, who was now up front behind the wheel. Must have been him. Wasn’t likely Devon would have made the gesture.
“Are you quite all right, Ciel?” Thelma inquired as the vehicle started to move. There was so much tender solicitude in her voice it made me want to barf.
“Well, now that you mention it, my arm hurts like a son of a bitch. Thanks for asking.” I showed her my teeth. (What? It was almost a smile.)
“We’ll give you something for the pain as soon as we get to where we’re going—”
“And where would that be?” I asked.
She ignored my interruption. “But for now, if you would be so kind as to tell us where Molly is, I would appreciate it greatly.”
“You’re kidding, right? Listen, lady, if I didn’t tell what’s-his-fuck there after he shot me, what makes you think I’ll tell you?” She didn’t answer, only smiled that annoyingly warm smile.
“I can have fifty of my people scouring the area within fifteen minutes. That might frighten a little girl. It would be so much easier on her if we just picked her up now. She could be with you. I’m sure she’d rather do that than be grabbed and hauled in like some sort of criminal, don’t you think?”
I stared her down. “Nope,” I said, leaving it at that.
Her crepey-lidded, grandmotherly eyes iced over. “Fine, dear. If that’s the way it has to be.” She pulled out her cell and shot off a text.
Crap. I hoped like hell Molly got herself out of the park before Thelma’s “people” got there. And that she could, you know, manage to turn herself back into a human being again.
I looked at Devon. Anything to take my eyes off my erstwhile client’s face. “Who the hell are you really?”
He turned to Thelma. “Is it all right to drop this aura for a while? This stupid penis hurts like hell, and I think
the stuff is wearing off anyway.”
“Of course, my dear. Ciel won’t be sharing your little secret with anyone.”
Well, that didn’t sound promising. But fear of my impending death stopped abruptly when I saw who was beneath Devon’s aura. It almost made me stop thinking about my arm.
“Monica? But you’re not an adaptor.” It had been Monica, not Devon, all along? Then it hit me. “Holy crap. You got hold of James’s adaptor juice, didn’t you? How’d you manage that?”
She smiled, looking exotic and beautiful and totally insane. “It’s more like a perfume. Just breathe in that lovely spray, and before long your birthright is unleashed. Sure, you catch a cold along with it—at first—but what are a few sneezes compared to being able to do what we can do?”
“But how did you … James would never give it to you. He told us he argued with you about it—that you wanted to be a test subject, but he wouldn’t let you.”
“No, he wouldn’t. Pure and noble James. He knew how much I wanted to be an adaptor. Knew it, and still he wouldn’t help. But only because he was too worried about me. So I had to take it while he was distracted with Molly. It’s too bad Molly played with it before I got to it—think of the worry I could have spared you all.”
“Yeah, right. Shame about that,” I said. Of course, then we would have never figured out what was going on with you, I thought. “So, how long have you been impersonating Devon? Are you the one who wrote Devon’s number on James’s arm?” And swabbed my tonsils when I was him, while you were at it.
She smiled brightly. “He told you about that? Yes, that was me.”
“Um, you didn’t happen to stop by James’s apartment when I was there, did you?” With Billy. In bed. Naked.
Her pretty brow wrinkled. “No. Why, did Devon show up? Damn it, he’s supposed to be gone.”
Whew. (Maybe. Not sure if it was better that the real Devon had seen my lady parts or not, but I was glad the guy I’d had a talk with afterward was authentic, anyway. For James’s sake.)
