by Anne Hope
Regan’s lips tingled with a smile. “Love the new getup.”
He pinned her with a scalding stare, which only made her stifle a laugh. “Wait till you see the outfit I picked out for you.”
All her amusement vanished. “Was that really necessary?” She still had her backpack, where she’d tucked a few T-shirts and an extra pair of jeans.
“Only if you want to stay alive.”
She rinsed out a couple of plates in the sink as quickly as she could, then put them aside to dry. “How is a new look going to keep me breathing?”
Marcus eyed her incredulously. “You really don’t know a damn thing about how Cal works.” He shook his head in silent reprimand. “By now he’s sent out our descriptions to every human contact he’s got. The second someone spots us, that person will immediately report back to him. We need to change our appearances, blend in as best we can.” He bridged the distance between them and handed her a plastic bag, which she grudgingly accepted. “Knock yourself out.”
She peeked inside, and the sight that greeted her chilled her worse than the water gushing from the faucet. “Are you serious? A dress? You got me a goddamn dress?”
“I told you, we’ve got to change our appearances.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.” Especially this one. It was a bright cornflower blue, with big, fat flowers on it. Flowers, for God’s sake!
“Which is precisely the reason I picked it.”
“How on earth am I supposed to wield my blade in this?”
“I’m confident you’ll figure it out.”
She wanted to hit him. Badly. “Okay, hotshot, tell me this, where the hell am I going to put my weapon? In my bra?”
His gaze lowered to her breasts, and heat suffused her. She felt the warmth of his glance like a touch. “Look in the bag. There’s more.”
She channeled her vision, saw past the folds of the dress to the item that lay beneath it. “You gotta be kidding me.” Reaching into the bag, she retrieved a leather garter adorned with metal studs.
“Just loop your scabbard around it and you’re set to go.” The wide grin on his face told her he was enjoying this way too much.
“I hate you, you know that?”
“Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.” He gave her a sheepish smile that almost made her forget how angry she was at him. “So are you just going to stand here arguing with me, or are you going to get this over with so we can hit the road?”
With a final glare directed his way, she shoved past him toward the bathroom.
“And do something about your hair,” he tossed over his shoulder. “It’s very conspicuous.”
Biting back a retort, she left him standing in the kitchen, looking entirely too smug.
“I look like Mary Poppins.”
Marcus pivoted on his heels to find Regan standing on the threshold of the kitchen, her taut body wrapped in flowing blue fabric, her hair pinned neatly back. True, it wasn’t her usual spitfire look, but there was something sweet and wholesome about it. Something that spoke to the man he’d once been, back when girls actually favored dresses.
An image flashed through his mind—an image of Regan wearing a blue silk gown with a low-cut bodice, lace-trimmed sleeves and an ample skirt. It only lasted a second, but it had an unsettling effect.
“It’s only fitting since you’ve become Ben’s self-appointed nanny,” he said, admiring the way the bodice hugged her waist and outlined her cleavage. In perfect contrast, the skirt fell in loose waves to cover her hips and thighs, stopping right below her knees, unlike the dress he’d pictured seconds ago.
Regan’s expression bordered on murderous. “Stuff it.”
Marcus barked out a laugh. “How does the garter fit?” He was tempted to tunnel his vision and see for himself, but he resisted the urge.
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She swept past him, and her fresh scent permeated the air like spring. He breathed it in, held it in his lungs for a second longer than he should have.
Clearing his throat, he indicated a second bag sitting on the nearby table. “That one over there is for Ben.”
She started toward it, hesitated. “You didn’t get him a dress, too, did you?”
For the second time today, Marcus was assailed by the urge to laugh. The woman could be damn funny when she wanted to be. “No, I didn’t get him a dress, just some athletic wear and a cap. His hair’s nearly as bad as yours.”
Regan’s fingers sought out her curls, now tamed in a bun. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair. I like my hair.”
He liked it, too. A hell of a lot. Half the time he couldn’t stop himself from touching it. Even now he fought the compulsion to free it from its elastic band and let it tumble over his hands, to bury his fingers in the rich curls and feel them cling to his skin like a web of spun silk. He pictured that hair spread out on a white pillow, burning like a flame.
Prying his gaze away, he dug into his pocket for the car keys. “I’m going to start loading the Jeep. Why don’t you and Ben meet me outside?”
“Sure.” She tugged on the dress, then ran her palms over her hips to smooth out the fabric. His gaze followed the slow glide of her hands down the length of her body. Forbidden hungers erupted within him, and the keys nearly slipped from his grasp.
Marcus swallowed an oath, tightening his grip on the key ring. He could’ve sworn the walls were suddenly closing in on him, the cabin itself shrinking. The need for fresh air buffeted him, so he tore out into the stark day. A day that was now painfully bright, cleaved by a soft breeze that still carried the lingering scent of rain.
The Jeep was thankfully equipped with a DVD system, which kept Ben busy on the long ride to Portland. Marcus had decided that a big city was their best bet, and Regan hadn’t bothered to contradict him. No one understood the business of tracking better than he did. If Marcus said they needed a highly populated area to conceal them, then she believed him.
Right now, they drove on an open road, seemingly all alone in a world that never failed to remind them they were outcasts. In the distance, the street narrowed, a singular point on the endless horizon, beyond which the sun glowed a blinding white. An icy chill ran down Regan’s spine as Ben’s words returned to haunt her.
“Then there’s this flash and everything goes bright. So bright I can’t see anything.”
She pictured a huge blast, a nuclear explosion, an electric storm powerful enough to wipe out an entire planet. Angling a glance over her shoulder, she studied Ben, who was engrossed in a lively episode of Looney Tunes.
She hadn’t told Marcus about the dream, hadn’t wanted to reinforce Cal’s prediction that this small boy would somehow trigger Armageddon. But a tiny seed of apprehension had nonetheless taken root within her.
“You’re awfully quiet.” The winding road cut a swath through a group of hemlocks, with their scaly trunks and long, tilted crowns.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she quipped.
Another swell of silence followed, until she felt compelled to shatter it. The last thing she wanted was for Marcus to grow suspicious and start questioning her. “So where’d you get the Jeep?” she asked.
“At a campground near Sand Lake. I convinced this good Samaritan to let me borrow it, along with his wallet and credit cards.”
“Convinced, huh?”
He gave her a cocky grin. “You know how persuasive I can be when I set my mind to it.”
If Marcus had been so inclined, he could’ve willed the poor guy to dance naked around the campfire while howling at a watery moon. It was precisely this skill that allowed their rivals to corrupt mankind and spread chaos as easily as they breathed, and why it was so important that they be kept in check.
“What if he reports it stolen?”
“He won’t. I made sure of it. But just in case, I switched the plates.”
Farther down the road, sporadic patches of dogwoods in full bloom scattered petals across the road like a group of eager f
lower girls.
“Why the wallet and credit cards?”
He shot her another disapproving glance. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
Regan tamped down a prickle of indignation. “Kinda comes with the territory when you’re sworn to a life of secrecy and seclusion.”
“We’re going to need a place to stay,” he told her, ignoring the caustic note in her voice. “Most decent hotels ask for a credit card as security. I could addle the clerk’s brain and have him make an exception in our case, but that’s exactly the kind of thing that could raise a red flag. Every time we use our special abilities, we strengthen the trail of energy we leave behind. I probably shouldn’t have used my powers at the campground, but I had no choice. From now on, I want us to look as normal as possible—just your everyday, run-of-the-mill family on a road trip.”
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. “That’s us, all right.” Two soulless immortals with a human time bomb in the backseat hardly qualified as normal in her book. “And how long are we going to act like the happy couple? A week, a month, ten years?”
“Just as long as it takes to leave the country. Cal’s reach stretches far and wide, but there are places we could go where it’ll be harder for him to track us—South Africa or the Middle East, for instance.”
Centuries ago, two powerful Ancients had set up their bases there, and these areas were rich in Kleptopsych activity. Ancients were first generation Nephilim. Having survived the Great Flood, they were both feared and revered among the Kleptopsychs. Because of the influence these Ancients wielded, Cal had had a hard time stopping the violence and chaos that eternally plagued Middle Eastern countries and several regions of Africa.
“And you’re all right with that—leaving everything behind, constantly looking over your shoulder, never seeing Cal or the Watchers again?”
His jaw hardened, and a flicker of something flashed in his eyes. Something that reminded her of the sad acceptance often seen on the faces of mourners surrounding the grave of a loved one. “Does it matter? It’s not like I have much of a choice.”
“Sure you do.” She ignored the clutch of disappointment in her belly. “You can return to the complex, beg Cal for forgiveness. You’re his favorite. He’ll take it easy on you. I’m certain of it.”
His gaze touched hers just for a moment before he redirected his attention to the road, but in that brief instant she saw a gleam of surprise, lit by the underlying embers of respect.
“You make a great Watcher, Marcus, but you’d make a lousy fugitive.” She knew where he belonged, and it wasn’t with her. Why then was it so hard to tell him to go? Swallowing a mouthful of bitter regret, she said, “You need to be out there saving the world with Cal, not playing bodyguard to Ben and me.”
His features remained as smooth and unyielding as polished stone. “If I do what you say, and assuming Cal does let my little lapse in judgment slide, he’ll order me to track you. And when he does, I’ll have no choice but to comply.”
She knew he was right, and with Marcus on her trail, she didn’t stand a chance. Still, she had to believe there was a way. “Just give me a head start, a couple of days. That’s all I ask.”
His fingers tensed around the steering wheel. “I’m good at what I do, Regan. A couple of days won’t save you. Sooner or later, I’ll find you.”
“Even if I’m somewhere in the Congo?”
Swords of light carved yellow slits through the trees to striate the windshield. “It may take a while, but one day you’ll wake up, and I’ll be there.”
“Am I supposed to be afraid?”
His lips twitched at the corners. “You should be.”
The abrupt rumble that gripped the road reminded her of thunder, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Not anymore. The day hummed with electric brightness, the sky a clear shade of blue that perfectly matched the ridiculous dress she had on.
Three black SUVs peeled across the blacktop behind them, each emitting a dark energy she recognized all too well. “Shit. The Watchers.”
Chapter Twelve
Marcus floored the gas pedal in an attempt to stay ahead of their pursuers. The Watchers swiftly surrounded them, boxing them in from all sides but the one straight ahead. If Marcus fell behind in speed, all escape routes would effectively be cut off.
Regan’s heartbeat went into overdrive. “How the hell did they find us so fast?”
“Guess Thomas is a better tracker than I thought. Must’ve picked up my trail at the campground.”
Marcus gained an advantage, zipping between the lanes in an effort to keep the others from passing them. A black Escalade rear-ended them, and Marcus cursed. “That better not be my set of wheels he’s driving.”
Along with everything else, he’d left his Escalade behind when he’d decided to champion her cause, a vehicle Thomas had apparently commandeered in order to improve his chances of finding them. In the business of tracking, a physical object belonging to the person being sought was a definite asset.
Another bump, followed by another curse.
The two SUVs on either side began gaining on them, vaulting across the road to hem them in again. Metal screeched as the drivers simultaneously rammed into the Jeep in an attempt to slow them down. Marcus pushed the motor to the limit, and the Jeep issued a disturbing groan.
The Explorer on their left shot ahead of them, then veered at cutthroat speed to cut them off, while the other SUV remained at their right side, a faithful shadow keeping them from avoiding the collision.
The Jeep hit the Explorer, bounced back but kept going. The Explorer lurched forward and engaged the brakes, forcing Marcus to swerve to the left to avoid a head-on crash.
“Hang on,” he called to Regan, violently spinning the steering wheel in an attempt to get around the roadblock.
The Jeep picked up speed, rode the shoulder until it steered clear of the Explorer ahead and pitched into the open road. But the other driver was not easily dissuaded. His vehicle roared and flew across the blacktop. When he caught up with them, he slammed into them again, pushing them into the shoulder, then onto a rocky patch of dirt and grass. The Jeep kept rolling as Marcus fought to regain control. The interlaced network of hemlocks and dogwoods suddenly appeared bigger and more menacing, a live barrier, ensnaring them with their brambles of thorn-like branches and scattered blooms.
There was nowhere to go. No escape route. No naked patch of grass or gray sliver of road. The Jeep slowed to a crawl. One by one, their pursuers came to a shrieking halt. The sunlight took on a silver, blade-like quality as doors flew open and the Watchers poured out of their vehicles.
Regan’s pulse raged out of control. She looked at Marcus, thought of everything he’d sacrificed for her, thought of all the years they’d stood side by side, taking on the world together. She gazed upon Ben, who glanced about in confusion, his small brows furrowed, an unvoiced question dangling from his parted lips. He didn’t deserve to be executed in cold blood. He was just a little boy who hadn’t asked to be different any more than she had, any more than Marcus or Jace had. A little boy who’d never stood a chance in an intolerant universe hell-bent on eradicating anything that didn’t fit into a neat little category.
The Watchers advanced on them, a steady parade of blank-faced soldiers she’d once considered her brothers. She knew without a doubt that they wouldn’t hesitate to cut them down if they put up a fight. But Regan was no more ready to surrender Ben today than she’d been yesterday. Everything within her rebelled at the thought, swelled like a balloon to choke her.
Up ahead, where the street met the horizon, something flickered. The shape of a man appeared, haloed by the pulsing sun. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but his clothing stood out in stark detail against the whitewashed sky. He wore a dark suit beneath a black trench coat and carried himself with a sense of dignity befitting nobility. Convinced she was hallucinating, Regan blinked. When she opened her eyes, the apparition was gone, but this manifestation—whether rea
l or imagined—had chased away her panic long enough to focus her mind. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
Turning sideways, she gripped Ben’s fingers with one hand and Marcus’s with the other. Gathering her strength, she dug deep and channeled all her energy into this one moment. She drew strength from them, found solace in the thrumming heat of their palms against hers. For one glorious instant, she experienced something she’d never experienced before—wholeness, completeness, an absolute certainty that there was a tiny corner in the world where she actually belonged.
The road shivered. The sky above them fluttered like a waterfall. Sunlight cut a swath through the vehicle, seconds before darkness swept in to swallow them.
When the Watchers finally surrounded the Jeep, it was empty.
Marcus withdrew his dagger and thrashed at the unexpected network of trees that sprang up to enclose him. One second he was sitting in the Jeep, clutching Regan’s hand, readying himself for battle, and the next he found himself alone in the neighboring woods.
What the hell had happened? And where were Regan and Ben? He scanned the untamed forest and tried to situate himself. Clusters of spindly hemlocks and towering Douglas firs blocked the sky, shielding the sun from his view. A soft haze hovered in the air, giving the place a surreal glow.
“Regan?” He chopped away at the branches, cut a rough path through the interlaced trees. A few errant beams of light trembled up ahead, and he assumed he was walking east. “Answer me, damn it. Where are you?”
Twigs cracked beneath the thick soles of his construction boots as damp shadows gathered around him. How had he gotten here? What had happened to the road, to the assembly of vehicles idling upon it? Where had all the Watchers gone?
A moan resonated from the distant trees, made loud by the surrounding stillness. Marcus doubled his efforts, desperately hacking away at branches and twigs, carving a ragged trail toward the sound.
