by L Ann
Salman was on his feet when they returned. He threw a bravado-filled look Taz’s way and waited until Morgan stood in front of him before he resumed talking.
“Okay, I don’t know how much you know about the Cherry Hill district, but there’s a lotta that… hookers, I mean, in that area. Used to be a lot worse a few years ago, before they supposedly cleaned it up – prostitution, massage parlours, sex shops, drugs – the whole nine years.” He looked at Taz again, gauging his margin of safety, then continued. “The prostitute aspect never left. That’s why I was there, though not in that area.”
When he didn’t resume after a minute, Morgan spoke. “Did you get a tip to go to the park that night?” she prompted.
“Tip?” He looked confused for a second. “No. I mean, I dunno. Maybe… kinda-sorta.”
“Which is it?” Taz broke in before he could catch himself.
“Well, there’s this club down town that a lot of us from the Academy kinda hang out in. It’s called Ikons. Kind of a combination retro-pub, Goth, ravers, and there’s this girl,” he gave them both a sheepish look. “She’s there almost every night. Comes in around midnight. Her name’s Raven. Raven Topaz. Probably an alias –“
“Ya think?” Taz muttered under his breath.
Salman ignored him and went on. “Or a professional name. I think she’s a performance artist. Man, she is gorgeous. Smoothest skin, like cream, and those deep black eyes, and when she talks to you… you just wanna...” Salman caught himself, clearing his throat. “Anyway, the night before the thing in the park she finally walks up and talks to me. I told her about myself and what I do and… yeah, she was the one who suggested I might get some great footage in the park. She suggested the night, the time, even the general area.”
“You’re doing great, Malcolm,” Morgan praised him, earning a look of derision from Taz which she ignored. “So, you took her up on the suggestion and headed out to the park because great footage is what you were missing, wasn’t it? That one scene, the one that stands out from all the rest?” She waited for his nod before continuing. “Okay. I have one last question. After seeing what you did, why do you think you got away alive?”
When he didn’t respond right away, Taz spoke. “Ignoring most of the crap you read and see in movies about my kind, a few things are dead-on truth. For example, I can pinpoint the particular brand of cologne one of your friends out there,” he jerked his head toward the bedroom door, “is wearing, and hear all their heartbeats from in here. Further away, if I needed to. The older and more experienced a vampire is, the more acute the ability. Even the youngsters you saw probably knew you were there. So why do you think you got away clean?”
Salman, again, looked back and forth between them, eyes widening as the gravity of the matter dawned on him.
“A set up?”
“I’m afraid so. Someone wanted you to get that incident on film. What we don’t know is whether it was supposed to come to our attention or go public. Do you think your lady friend would be at that club now?” Morgan replied.
“I don’t see why not? It’s kinda like a ritual, or a tradition, or whatever, for everyone who goes there.”
“Thank you, Malcolm. You’ve been very helpful.” Morgan glanced over at Taz. “I would suggest you take a vacation from Seattle for a couple of months.”
Salman’s gaze turned to Taz, who nodded confirmation. “Like I said, we’ll keep our end of the bargain as long as you keep yours. But the one who orchestrated what you saw last night; let’s say he’s from another department.”
They left Salman packing a bag and trying to get all his guests to leave and walked back down to the car. As they approached it, Morgan pulled the keys out of her pocket and tossed them to Taz. “You drive.”
“Good,” Taz flashed a toothy grin as they slid inside. “Let’s take the scenic route. I’ve been itching to get this out on the highway.”
Chapter 5
Taz didn’t see it – them… the gaggle of Rroma thugs in the tricked out yellow Taxi Cab – until they were almost on top of the Aston. He’d glanced at the cab in the rear-view mirror once or twice, but saw it as just that. Which, to be honest, was pure bullshit! Had he been more alert, instead of pumped full of adrenalin from the speed and smooth handling of Hamish’s Aston Martin, he would have noticed the way the taxi kept pace behind them by at least two car lengths. How it matched their pace – sped up and/or slowed down when he did. Anyone in his line of work – who did what he did for the House of Nikaris, let alone a Pureblood Prince – should have seen it coming a mile away.
Then came the first jarring jolt. They rammed the Aston from behind. Obviously, the plan was to wait until Taz hit the brakes to compensate, then swing around and slam into them on the driver’s side, forcing the Aston off the road. But instinct, and skill, kicked in and Taz hit the accelerator – a move that worked for all of two minutes.
“What the fu-!” Taz cursed as the cab caught up with him again, less than six inches from his left-rear tire and gaining. A moment later they were jolted again, this time causing the Aston to fishtail.
“Morgan! ANNA! Heads up!” he shouted.
The urgency in Taz’s voice had Morgan drawing her gun before she even opened her eyes to see what was happening. When her eyes opened seconds later, she was greeted by the world spinning before her. It took a further few seconds for her to recognise what she was seeing – it was the car spinning and not the world.
“I’Ane?” The way she spoke his name was loaded with questions, as she raised her hand to the roof to brace her position in the seat. When he didn’t respond, she turned her head toward him. Both hands were gripping the steering wheel, battling to regain control of the car. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Rroma,” Taz replied shortly. “Hang on to something. We’re about to go down a river bank.” Before he finished speaking, the car lurched sideways, and the spin became a roll as the Aston spiralled down the incline.
A combination of instinct, training, and the vampire’s inherent sense of balance came into play. Taz released the wheel as the Aston rolled left over right and opened the driver’s side door. Within seconds he was propelled outward, head over heels. He let his momentum carry him for a few seconds, brought both his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, tucked his chin into his chest and waited for the inevitable.
He hit the ground on his right shoulder and side, bounced and rolled for several feet before sliding in the soft-stone-strewn and mucky earth of the Puget Sound shore. Then came unconsciousness.
Up… Up… UP… UP… UP… UP… the voice in the haze, the voice between the knock-knock-knocking, the voice… or at least he thought it was a voice…
… in his head.
Up? What the fuck is this… UP shit?...
moveMoveMOve! GET UP Dammit!
“…amn you, I’Ane. Get up!” The voice – Morgan’s voice – registered the second his eyes opened. And it all came rushing back – car… Rroma… slam-jolt-losin’ control.
“Morgan?” He called out. “ANNA?”
“Finally!” Her voice sounded tight. “I’m stuck. Seatbelt is jammed.”
Taz was on his back and, for an instant, feeling as though he were melded with the wet earth beneath him. Two things, however, spurred him into action. One was the undeniable scent of gasoline. The other was the distinct pop and delayed ping in the air above them.
The bastards were shooting. Trying to ignite the gas tank.
“I’Ane!” The urgency in Morgan’s voice propelled Taz to his feet, and he moved toward the now stationary car, a little unsteadily. He dropped to his knees at the passenger side and wrestled with the door, almost wrenching it off its hinges as he forced it open, and crawled through to where Morgan was hanging suspended by the seat belt.
“Hurry,” she urged when he reached for the seat belt clip. “Damn thing is jammed.”
A pair of dull metallic thunks placed bullets in the dashboard and the seat’s headrest above
Morgan’s head.
“Fuck!” Taz growled. “I’m going to have fuckin’ fun pulling that son of a bitch’s liver out through his neck!”
One swift yank snapped the seatbelt like a kite string and Taz eased her down. They both put as much distance between themselves and the Aston as they could, keeping as low as possible.
“There!” Morgan nodded toward a small clump of overgrowth at the edge of the river and veered left, Taz close behind her; slipping and sliding along the water’s edge. They ducked down and took a minute to catch their breath. In the next instant their little corner lit up like Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve as the Aston went up in flames, showering them with hot metallic debris.
Taz lunged forward, throwing himself over Morgan’s reclining body, one hand cupping the back of her head and pressing her face into his chest to protect it from the heat and molten metal.
Morgan inhaled, taking in a lungful of his scent and froze. When she felt him flinch as stray debris hit him like small hot missiles, she pressed her hands against his chest and shoved. “Stop trying to be a hero.”
Taz shook his head, braced his hands into the mud and pushed himself upright into a crouch. “Can’t win with you, can I? Bet if I’d let that shit hit you, you’d have bitched about that too.”
“Not true. I don’t need you treating me like some weak-ass female.” While she spoke, she inspected her gun for damage.
“Actually, I was treating you like a partner,” he told her. “How wrong was I there? The great Morgan doesn’t need one of those, right?”
“You got it. Especially one as unpredictable as you.”
“Jesus! I don’t need this crap,” he whispered, inching away from her to peer over the embankment and up toward the road. The taxi was nowhere to be seen, which didn’t mean it wasn’t still around. “We need to get moving,” he said. “The police and emergency service crews will be here in a few minutes and we don’t need that shit.”
“Wait –“ As the word left her lips, an explosion rocked the waterside and they both dove to the ground.
After what felt like hours but was more likely less than a minute, the rain of debris had slowed enough for Morgan to roll back over and uncover her face. She sat up, looked around for Taz and found him, still face down, a few feet away.
“I’Ane?” She inched across the slippery mud to him and reached out a hand to shake his shoulder. “Taz?” Another shake and still no response. “Shit!” she cursed beneath her breath, dug her hands beneath him and rolled him over. Blood smeared his forehead from an inch-wide gash and she swore again.
Morgan glanced around as she attempted to get her bearings, but nothing was recognisable other than the river to her. She hated Seattle, she thought. Reaching into her back pocket she fished out her phone, tapped the screen and sighed when she saw the damage it had taken. She looked down at Taz’s still form and mulled over her options.
“I could leave him to be recovered by the police,” she murmured to herself, as she rose to her feet and nudged him with one booted toe. Who was she trying to fool? She crouched behind his head and slipped her hands under his armpits and dragged him along the embankment until they were out of sight of the road.
“Right,” she told his inert form. “Don’t move until I get back.”
Within fifteen minutes of setting off, she had found a deserted shack. After breaking in, she had a quick look around – it looked like it had been owned by fishermen in the past to store equipment, but judging by the dirt and dust it hadn’t been used in years – and judged it to be viable as a place to hole up until Taz healed enough to get back into town. She hoped Taz would be awake by the time she returned but she should have known she wouldn’t be that lucky.
The fifteen-minute walk took almost forty-five with Taz in tow and having to avoid being seen by the emergency crews who had surrounded the car; and the only satisfaction Morgan could take out of the struggle was that Taz’s jeans were filthy and torn by the time she dragged him through the door and into the building. Once done, she gazed down at him. A few months ago, she would have paid someone to put Taz in this position and wouldn’t have thought twice about putting him out of her misery – her lips twitched into a smile.
Stop it! She sat down beside Taz, checked on his head wound. Lucky for him, infection wasn’t a concern – so long as he could rest for a while and then feed, he would heal quickly. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
~*~
“Uh, Man! No wire hangers, ever!” Taz murmured and felt himself return to consciousness. Flat on his back, arms outstretched, hands palm down, his skin felt the grit and dust particles of a linoleum-covered floor. His right hand slid over, upwards from the dust-covered baseboard to a pitted wall. His left hand founded a booted foot. Doc Martins?
“Morgan?”
“Well, it ain’t Joan Crawford,” she answered, nudging his hand away with the tip of her boot.
He tried sitting up. His head voted against it, so he rolled onto his side – which made his head throb just as much. A concussion, most likely. And, if the pain he felt was any indication if he were Human, the impact that had caused it would have killed him.
“A ques—“ he halted as the volume of his voice sent a pair of gigantic boulders on a head-on collision behind his eyes. Voice checked, he began again. “A question, if you don’t mind? You checked to make sure no one followed us here, didn’t you?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Would that be before or after I dragged your sorry ass a mile over hills, dirt, goat shit and whatever else is out here so we didn’t become another statistic in the list of unsolved crimes of the SPD?” She rose to her feet and stalked to the door, still talking. “Fine – you want the area cleared of bogeymen, that’s what you’ll get. Your wish, my lord and master!”
“Look, I didn’t mean –“ he tried. His words were drowned out by the slamming door. Oh, way to go I’Ane. What was it about him when it came to her, he wondered. It was impossible, it seemed, for him to do or say anything without screwing up.
Morgan was halfway back to the car before she realised how heavy it was raining. She cursed Taz as she slipped down the hill, sheer stubbornness stopping her from turning around and returning to cover. By the time she reached the crash-site, her hair was plastered to her head, and rainwater was dripping down her face.
He made her so angry! She swung a foot, kicking one of the half-melted tires in frustration before turning her attention the mess of mangled metal that used to be her father’s favourite car. She could see that the police had been here – police tape, markers, masses of boot prints left behind in the sodden ground. She would have to contact Clean-Up services once they were back at Shadowfall and have them contact their people inside of the police department to ensure nothing was traced back to them.
As she wandered and mused, her eyes caught on a flash of red to the left and she squatted down beside a still smouldering tyre and worked at removing the small object that had caught her eye. She lost her footing once or twice, which sent her sprawling into the mud – which did nothing for her temper – and by the time she had gouged out the small tracking device (Taz was going to be unbearably smug) she was not only drenched but also covered in mud.
She took a minute to disarm the tracker, made one last circuit of the area and then set off back to the shack where she shouldered open the door, kicked it shut with her foot and dropped the tracker on the floor in front of Taz.
“There! Happy now?”
He considered apologising for a minute but decided against it – for the moment at least.
“So, the question now is was this planted back at Shadowfall, or while we were at Salman’s?” The last part of her sentence was muffled, bringing Taz’s head up in time to stop the wet t-shirt she threw in his direction from hitting him in the head.
“It’s unlikely to have happened at Shadowfall. My guess is they planted it on the car while we were inside talking to Salman. Of course, I could be wrong.”
/>
“You wrong? Is that even possible?” Her jeans followed the same trajectory as the t-shirt and Taz caught them, pulling a face at how wet they were.
“Unlikely, but possible,” he replied, wringing the water out of the fabric. “What did you do out there? Go for a swim?”
“Might as well have.”
His response was forestalled by the third item of clothing she threw at him. His eyes zeroed in on the lacy bra dangling from his fingertips and he changed direction of his gaze. Morgan was kneeling clad in nothing -more than a pair of pale lilac panties, her back to him, less than four feet away, back bent forward as she wrung water out of her hair.
“You know,” his eyes traced over her curves as he spoke. “As stripteases go, this one could use some work.”
“It isn’t so much a striptease as a need to get out of wet clothes before I die of pneumonia,” she removed, her shoulders moving up into a shrug. “Not that I have anything to change into. So, wring them out and throw them back.” She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder and now he was focused on her, he could see the slight blue tinge to her lips and the way her whole body was shivering. “Necuno are strong, but we can’t shrug things off quite as fast as you Pures.”
“Come here,” Taz beckoned with knitted fingers.
“Why?” The suspicion in her voice was clear.
“Because I’m the only source of warmth in here.” He motioned with his fingers again. “Come here,” he repeated.
She heaved a sigh because she knew he was right. Morgan took the few steps required to reach him, then crouched down beside him. While she did so, Taz shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “A little dirt won’t hurt, but at least it’s dry and warm,” He chuckled when she stiffened. “If you don’t like that, then you will hate this.” And saying so, he grasped her waist in both hands and lifted her to sit across his legs. “Lean back against me,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her more snugly against him.
