“Good.” Gabriel nodded back at me, then turned around, opened the door, and stepped outside.
I watched through the windows as he crossed the parking lot and got into the front passenger seat of a waiting black Escalade. The vehicle cruised away like a shark swimming across the pavement and disappeared from sight.
I looked over at the back corner booth. Desmond was staring at me, a thoughtful and vaguely guilty expression on his face. More anger spiked through me, and I spun away from him. Even though I had already cleaned off the counter, I wiped it down again with harsh, jerky motions.
I wasn’t quite sure why I was so upset. Gabriel was the one who’d blabbed about my troubles, so I should be pissed at him, not Desmond. Still, I didn’t like the way the cleaner was looking at me, almost as if he was seeing me as a person for the very first time, instead of just as the lowly analyst he’d manipulated into doing his bidding.
I didn’t want Desmond Percy to see me as a person. But even more important, I didn’t want to view him as one either. That sort of thing led to unwanted feelings, conflicting loyalties, and twisted agendas that were almost certainly a one-way ticket to death for everyone involved.
Especially me.
* * *
The rest of my shift passed by quietly. Customers came and went, Pablo cooked in the kitchen, Zeeta gave me a sour look whenever I walked by, and Desmond sat in the corner booth, sipping a mug of hot green tea and reviewing files. Every once in a while, I would go refill his water and glance at the photos, documents, and blueprints, which were all related to the Halstead Hotel and the upcoming Redburn mission. Well, at least he was taking it seriously. That was a point in his favor. Maybe, just maybe, I would live through this after all.
At fifteen minutes before midnight, Desmond gathered up his things and grabbed his briefcase. He jerked his head to the side, indicating he would wait for me out front. I reluctantly nodded back. Like it or not, he was right. I couldn’t return to my apartment where more cleaners might be lying in wait, so heading to his place was the best, safest option.
Desmond was the only customer left, and as soon as he paid up and stepped outside, Zeeta locked the front door and flipped the sign over to Closed. We went through our usual shutdown routine. I grabbed my bags of clothes, then headed into the kitchen, where Pablo handed me a white plastic bag.
I glanced inside to find a white paper box with a clear top. “A whole cherry pie? What’s this for?”
“You and your friend.” Pablo winked at me. “You both look like you could use a little sweetness tonight.”
I barked out a laugh. If only he knew how true his words really were. “Thanks, Pablo.”
He grinned. “No problem.”
Zeeta shooed us outside and locked the back door, then she and Pablo left. I glanced around, but I didn’t see anyone lurking behind the Dumpsters that lined the back of the diner. I also reached out with my synesthesia, scanning the midnight shadows, as well as the few scraggly trees in the distance, but my inner voice remained quiet. Everything was as it should be, so I drew in a breath, steeling myself, and headed around to the front of the diner.
Desmond was leaning up against the diner, his briefcase dangling from his hand, scanning the empty parking lot. The glow from the nearby streetlights added a gilded, golden sheen to his hair and made his eyes glitter like silver-blue stars in his handsome face. Despite the midnight hour, his suit was still impeccable, his tie was perfectly straight and centered, and he looked like a model waiting for some late-night photo shoot to begin.
Me? Well, several strands of my auburn hair had slipped out of its ponytail, my cheeks were still flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and grease, ketchup, and coffee stains covered my waitress uniform like blood spatter at a crime scene. The only modeling I could do right now would be for some public service announcement. Stay in school, and get an education, kids.
Desmond pushed away from the side of the diner and straightened up with that easy, enviable, elegant grace. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
He gestured with his hand, and we fell in step together as we left the parking lot and headed over to the sidewalk.
“My place isn’t too far away,” he said. “I’d rather walk than take a car.”
Getting a car would leave an electronic record somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of going to his safe house. I had tracked more than one bad guy because they’d been stupid enough to use a ride-share app.
I nodded. “Fine with me.”
Desmond nodded back, and we strode along the sidewalk in silence, heading in the opposite direction from my apartment. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t say anything about his conversation with Gabriel. Maybe he wouldn’t mention it. I hoped not. I had no desire to talk about my father and how I was still paying—literally—for his mistakes.
“While you were working, I read through your reports on Henrika Hyde,” Desmond said.
His choice of topic surprised me. “And?”
“And Graham was right. You are a very good, very thorough analyst.” His mouth curved a little, but his smile was more sad than not.
Thanks to my snooping through the Section databases, I’d known that Graham had read my reports, but I was surprised that Desmond had done the same. Most cleaners didn’t bother with such things. Section pointed them at a target, and they eliminated it, no questions asked.
I hesitated, wondering if he was just making awkward conversation, or if he was truly interested in my work. But I was stuck with him, so I might as well find out. “If you read my reports, then you know that Henrika Hyde is truly evil.”
“That was never a doubt in my mind,” he replied. “But you really did a deep dive and broke down all her businesses, associates, even that flashy jewelry she likes to show off on her social media accounts. I couldn’t follow a lot of what you were saying, especially the financial stuff, but I could see how good you are at your job. Your reports were impressive, Charlotte. Truly.”
Truth, my inner voice whispered. Desmond really did mean what he said, and he’d just shown me more respect than Gregory Jensen ever had in all the years I’d worked for him at Section. A warm, unexpected rush of feeling flooded my body, and some of my anger cooled. Perhaps this partnership wouldn’t be as horrible as I’d thought.
We reached the end of the block. Once again, we both glanced around, but the area was utterly deserted. No one was trudging along the sidewalks, going home after a long shift, and no cars cruised by on the street, not so much as a single taxi in search of one more fare.
“Does this seem right to you?” Desmond asked in a low voice.
“No. There should be some foot and car traffic. Not this…emptiness.”
He nodded, agreeing with my assessment. “Let’s get out of here.”
Desmond unbuttoned his suit jacket, probably so he could grab his pocket watch and its deadly, attached chain. I tightened my grip on the bags of clothes, pie, and more I was carrying in my left hand, then slid my right hand down inside my shoulder bag, my fingers curling around the gun still hidden inside.
We crossed the street to the next block and kept walking at a steady pace. Not running, but not dawdling either, and both of us still scanning our surroundings. This block was also devoid of people, although an anonymous sedan was parked at the corner. Farther up the street, an old junker car was pulled up haphazardly to the curb, as though its driver had drunkenly parked it there and then abandoned it.
We walked past the sedan. Desmond and I both glanced inside, but it was empty, so we kept going, heading toward the junker. The closer we got to it, the more something about both vehicles nagged at me.
I frowned. Wait. Why were two cars parked here? Wasn’t this street a tow-away zone—
DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!
My synesthesia blared to life like a siren wailing in my mind, and a red haze enveloped the old junker car in front of us. For a moment, I thought the vehicle was actually on fi
re, but then I realized it was just my magic, warning me away.
“Stop!” I dropped the canvas bags in my left hand, reached out, and grabbed Desmond’s arm. “Get back!”
I hadn’t even finished speaking when Desmond whirled around, putting his back to the car, almost as if he sensed the same danger that I did. Then he surged forward, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me up against his body, almost as if he were trying to shield me from whatever horrible thing he knew was going to happen next—
The car exploded with a fiery roar.
Chapter Twelve
Desmond
I dimly heard Charlotte shout a warning, and her hand clamped around my forearm, almost as if she was going to pull me away from whatever danger she sensed. But I was focused on the old car parked by the curb in the middle of the block.
No one was sitting inside the vehicle. No driver meant no engine running, and the car should have been completely cold, still, and silent, with no energy of any sort pulsing through or around it. But a faint, constant, electrical hum emanated from the vehicle, and a telltale series of beep-beep-beeps sounded, too soft for mortal ears to hear. Even I might have missed the hum and the beeps, if not for my galvanism. But I’d heard both sounds plenty of times in my nightmares, so I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
I immediately dropped my briefcase, whirled around, and wrapped my arms around Charlotte. She gasped, and her purse tumbled off her shoulder, but I ignored her surprise and churned my legs, forcing her back, back, back—
The car exploded. Hot, concussive waves of energy slammed into my body and tossed me forward, along with Charlotte.
I tried to stop it, tried to reach out with my magic and pull as much of that raw, brutal energy inside myself as possible, but there was simply too much of it, and some of the power surged through me and zinged into Charlotte, like we had both been struck by lightning. She screamed. At least, I thought she screamed. Hard to tell above the roaring buzz in my own ears.
That all happened in an instant. In the next one, I was lifted off my feet, and Charlotte along with me, and we were both thrown backward toward the sedan parked at the corner. This hard, unyielding impact would be even worse than the force of the explosion, so I seized on the waves of energy still pulsing through me and used them to flip us around so my body would hit the sedan first.
My back slammed into the car hood hard enough to leave a dent, like I was a cartoon character. This time, I was the one who screamed. Charlotte’s body rammed into my own, and she grunted, although I couldn’t tell how badly she was injured.
More energy zipped through me, joining what was already raging through my body. The heat from the explosion and then the impact of hitting the sedan formed a wicked one-two combo, like I’d been sucker-punched by two giant, red-hot fists. My head spun around, and I gasped for air. Once again, I tried to contain the waves of power, tried to channel them, but there was simply too much energy, too much raw force, for my galvanism to handle…
I must have blacked out.
One second, I was holding Charlotte and getting slammed into the car hood. The next, I was flat on my back on the sidewalk beside the sedan, wondering how I had gotten there.
Those waves of energy kept burning and crackling like liquid fire through my veins, once again making my head spin and stealing my breath. My eyes were twitching, my arms and legs were shaking, and sweat dripped down my forehead, but I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, even though all I wanted to do was slump back down to the cool, still pavement until the intense energy faded away. But I had to move. Whoever had triggered that explosion would come and make sure the job was done and we were dead.
“Charlotte?” I called out, my voice a choked rasp. “Charlotte!”
My gaze darted around, but I didn’t see her lying on the sidewalk. Had someone already snatched her? If so, why had they left me behind? Did they mistakenly think I was dead?
Boots thumped on the pavement, and a shadow dropped over my body, blocking out the fire, heat, and light from the still-burning car. My head snapped up.
A cleaner loomed over me.
He was wearing a black suit and tie and holding a gun down by his side. Black hair, brown eyes, ruddy skin, square jaw. His name escaped me, but I’d seen him before, and he was definitely from Section.
“You should have died on that beach in Australia with your partner,” the cleaner sneered. “But Adrian Anatoly sends his regards on your delayed death.”
He lifted his gun and aimed it at my head. I raised my own hand, trying to focus through the waves of power still cascading through me, trying to find the electrical charge that made his heart beat and stop it cold—
A low wolf whistle sounded. Startled, the cleaner turned in that direction, and a figure darted around the front of the sedan.
Charlotte.
She hurried forward, closing the distance between herself and the cleaner. He cursed and lifted his gun to shoot her, but she was faster. With one hand, she grabbed his gun and shoved it to the side, away from her body. Then she growled, snapped up her other hand, and jabbed her fingers into his throat.
The cleaner wheezed and staggered away, but she followed him, ripping the gun out of his hand. The weapon skittered across the pavement, and Charlotte dove after it. The cleaner cursed again, leaned down, and stretched out his hand, like he was going to grab her short ponytail and yank her back toward him, but I crab-walked forward and kicked out with my foot.
The awkward, jerking motion made my head spin yet again, but I managed to drive the point of my wing tip into the cleaner’s ankle, and he hissed, staggered forward, and crashed down onto his hands and knees. Charlotte scooped up the gun from the sidewalk, scrambled to her feet, and whirled back around to face the cleaner.
I thought she might hesitate, but she aimed the gun at the cleaner’s head, and pulled the trigger as quickly, coldly, and calmly as I would have.
Thanks to the gun’s suppressor, the shot was barely audible to my still-ringing ears. The cleaner’s head snapped back, and he dropped to the sidewalk dead. Blood sprayed everywhere, and a few drops stung my cheek, the coppery warmth soaking into my skin and mixing with all the other energy still pounding through my veins.
I grimaced, but I spotted two more cleaners hurrying along the sidewalk, racing in our direction, both with guns clutched in their hands. “Behind you—”
Before I could finish rasping out my warning, Charlotte whipped around, as if she had somehow sensed the cleaners on her own. Once again, she didn’t hesitate.
She fired six more shots in rapid succession, and the other two cleaners dropped to the ground, dead from the bullets in their chests. Where had she learned how to shoot like that?
Charlotte kept her gun up and pivoted back and forth, scanning the sidewalk, along with the street and the rest of the block.
By this point, the energy crashing through my body had died down to smaller, more manageable ripples, and I forced myself to stagger up and onto my feet. I took a step toward Charlotte, but my legs buckled, and I would have fallen on my face, if I hadn’t reached out and latched onto the sedan’s door handle.
Charlotte whipped around to me. “Desmond! Are you okay?”
Eyes wide in her pale face, Charlotte’s aura pulsed a dark, worried blue, but her gun arm was rock-steady, and her finger curled around the trigger, ready to fire at anyone else who threatened her.
“I’m fine,” I said. “We need to get out of here.”
She nodded and slid the gun into her jacket pocket. Somehow, her purse had ended up at my feet, along with the canvas bags of her clothes, shoes, and toiletries, so I leaned down and scooped them all up, even though the motion made my head spin again. I also staggered over and grabbed my briefcase from where it had landed on the sidewalk.
Charlotte darted forward, wrapped her arm around my waist, and tucked her shoulder under mine. Together, we hurried down the sidewalk, moving away from the three dead clea
ners and the still-burning car as quickly as we could.
* * *
Charlotte steered me to the first alley we reached. In the distance, police sirens started to wail, and red and blue lights swirled ominously in our direction.
“Hurry!” she urged. “Hurry! Hurry!”
I forced myself to ignore the many aches and pains in my body, especially those in my head and back, and move faster. We limped into the alley just as the first police car sped by us.
“This way! This way!” Charlotte hissed.
She helped me through that alley and out the far side. I pointed to the right.
“Touchstone Building,” I rasped. “Safe house. Six blocks that way.”
Charlotte nodded, put her shoulder under mine again, and guided me in that direction.
We kept to the alleys, staying off the main streets as much as possible. We passed a few people, mostly homeless folks wrapped in plastic trash bags and curled up in cardboard boxes, but no one gave us a second look. Everyone knew to mind their own business this late at night.
Our quick pace helped to burn off some of the excess energy coursing through my body. With every step, my head cleared, and the buzzing in my ears slowly faded. By the time we reached the block where the Touchstone Building was, I was feeling much more like myself. Up ahead, the building’s bright lights illuminated the street, along with the security guard stationed at a desk behind the glass doors.
I started in that direction, but Charlotte tugged me back.
“Wait,” she said.
“What?”
“You have blood on your face.” She reached up and swiped her thumb across my cheek.
Her skin was soft and warm as it glided across my own. Her hand curled around my chin, and she vigorously stroked the stubble on my jaw. Even though she was scrubbing the blood away, her touch made me want to purr and lean into her like a tomcat getting its jowls scratched.
A Sense of Danger Page 15
