by Amy Patrick
The guy stares at me a second, then turns and shows me his back, gesturing to his men. “Come on. We outta here,” he says.
Turning back toward the girl, I pick up my pace to catch up with her. Though I instructed her to keep walking, she’s not far from where I left her. I grab her upper arm and move quickly, pulling her along by my side.
“Let’s go before any of the Three Amigos’ friends get a look at you and start coming out of the woodwork. The sun will be setting soon—and you think this place is bad during the daytime, you do not want to see it at night.”
She nods and silently stumbles along beside me, clutching the kitten, clearly still in shock from her near miss. We reach my car, I pop the door locks, and open hers. She puts a hand on the door and lowers herself inside. I close the door and go around to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the car, not even waiting for the engine to warm before putting it in gear and driving straight past Moco’s and out of the neighborhood. South L.A. can live without its S fix for one night.
When we make it to the 110 onramp and merge into traffic I finally breathe normally. And then I let her have it.
“What were you thinking going there? Are you stupid? Are you blind? Anyone can see that’s no place for someone like you.”
Her little chin juts out as she stares straight ahead through the windshield, holding the kitten to her chest where it’s attempting to burrow into her. “I paid a lot of money for a taxi ride to take me there.”
My jaw drops. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was there searching for a fix after all. But why go there? She could score S in almost any nightclub in the city. I glance over at her curled up in my passenger seat. She doesn’t look like the typical S addict. Her skin is smooth and clear, her hair shines. She has all her teeth—white and strong. Her hands aren’t shaking and her eyes, though still a bit dazed looking, aren’t bloodshot or rimmed with dark shadows. In fact, they’re a beautiful clear brown with spokes of greenish-gold.
She’s not a junkie. Maybe she really is that naïve. “As you may have noticed from your encounter with the hood welcoming committee back there, that was not a good neighborhood. And when you saw those guys coming... you should have run.”
The chin tilts higher. “If it’s such a bad neighborhood, what were you doing there? Maybe you’re a bad guy. Maybe I should have run from you.”
Her sassy attitude is a surprise. I chuckle. “Without a doubt. I am a very bad guy indeed. But I’m also the guy who got your silly little arse out of danger, so I believe a thank you is in order.”
“Thank you,” she says. And that’s all she says.
“Well, now that we’ve established your undying gratitude for my saving your life,” I drawl, “tell me where you live—I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t have to do that—you can drop me off anywhere. I’ll catch a bus.”
“Don’t be daft. Look—I was sort of joking about that being a bad guy thing. Tell me where your apartment is. I promise not to stalk you. I won’t even try to walk you to the door—I’ll just slow down and you can jump out,” I joke.
There’s a long pause before she answers. “I don’t have an apartment.”
“Your hotel then, friend’s house—whatever.”
“I don’t have one of those either. I was planning to look for a place near the clinic. That’s why I went to South Los Angeles.”
“Excuse me?”
I pull the car off at the next exit simply so I can get a look at her face and see if she’s joking. Also, my hands have begun to shake. After steering the car into a convenience store lot and putting it in park, I turn in my seat to face her. The expression she wears is entirely serious. She’s not kidding. Which means she’s insane.
“You can’t mean the S clinic. The one next door to the drug den. Why in God’s name would you look for an apartment there? You’re not using are you?”
“No.” She laughs. “No, I’m going to work there—as a volunteer. I spoke to the director on the phone before coming out to Los Angeles. I don’t drive, so I need a place that’s nearby. I can’t afford to keep taking taxis.”
I don’t know why, but this girl’s insistence on putting her life at risk in that drug-infested neighborhood is driving me nuts. She’s clearly unfamiliar with the area. What is she doing out here all alone? Doesn’t anyone realize she’s far too naïve to even be in the good parts of this city? Where are her parents? Where are her friends?
My fingertips dig into the back of her seat. “Look at me please.”
At first she doesn’t move, but then she slowly turns her face toward me.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Laney.”
“Laney what?”
She opens her mouth but hesitates. Finally she says, “Just Laney. What’s yours?”
“Culley Rune. And where are you from, Just Laney?” Because I’m going to make it my personal mission to send you back there—today if possible.
She must be reading my mind because she gives me a vague answer. “The Midwest.”
“Where exactly?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a curious guy.” I wait for a more specific answer until it’s clear she’s not going to give one. “Okay fine. I’m taking you to a hotel in a safe area for tonight. Tomorrow, you’re going to get on a bus or a plane or a train or however the hell you got out here from wherever the hell you’re from, and you’re going back there where you belong before you get yourself hurt or worse.”
I expect anger, defiance, or maybe resignation if I’m lucky. But there’s none of that in her eyes. She gazes at me with the strangest expression.
Ah, I know what this is. I’m used to it by now. While some humans respond to my appearance with immediate lust or desire in their eyes, others are thrown off balance by all the sensory input. It’s an effect of my glamour.
But then... this one is different somehow. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“No thank you,” she says sweetly. “All the hotels out here are pretty expensive. You know what? Just drop me off at one of the beaches, and I’ll sleep there tonight. I like the feel of the sand, and with the sound of the ocean it’ll be like falling asleep to my sound machine in my room back home.”
“That—is ridiculous.” I don’t understand why, but I can feel my blood pressure rising. The temperature inside the car has increased by at least fifteen degrees in the last minute. I lower the windows, letting in some air and the sounds of traffic from the nearby street.
“You can’t sleep on the beach.” I jam my hand into my back pocket and draw out my wallet, ripping a couple of hundreds from it and jabbing them at her. “I’ll pay for the hotel.” Delving back in again, I pull out more bills. “In fact, here—have a plane ticket on me.”
Her fingers extend toward mine, passing over the money, seeking and finding my skin. She squeezes my hand briefly then lets it go.
“Thank you. Really. But I’m fine. I don’t need your money or your pity. I can take care of myself.” She pauses and smiles. “You know, I believe I will call a cab after all. You’ve been so kind, and I don’t want to trouble you any further.”
I’m being dismissed. She doesn’t want my help. She doesn’t want my money. Hell, she doesn’t even want a ride from me. Who is this girl?
The sound of my phone’s ringer startles me, making me realize I’ve been staring at her face. That’s a first—I’m usually the recipient of human stares, not the other way around. I pick up my phone and check the screen. It’s my father. Damn it.
“I have to answer this. Hold on.” I hold up a finger to her to signal that our conversation is not over yet.
Ignoring the gesture, Laney puts one hand on the door handle, preparing to get out of the car. She turns back to me. “Thank you for what you did today.” Then she leans close for a conspiratorial whisper. “You might not think you’re one of the good guys, Culley Rune—but you’re wrong.”
Then she brush
es my cheek with a soft kiss and opens the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk and taking the kitten with her. Blinking against a feeling of sudden disorientation, I answer the phone.
“Yes, Father?” My eyes follow Laney to the end of the block where she stops at the corner. I lift my hand and scratch the place her lips touched my face, attempting to erase the lingering sensation they left behind. It’s a strange tingling, an annoying warm tickle like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“You missed your drop.” Audun’s every word is imbued with a menace that would no doubt make the rest of his underlings tremble. Luckily, I’ve been inoculated with small doses my entire life, so it has a lesser effect on me.
“Yes Father.”
“Well? What happened? Our associate waited as long as he was comfortable, and then he got nervous and left. That is unacceptable. What is your explanation?”
Through the windshield I watch Laney step up to the crossing sign pole and slide her hand down its side until she reaches the signal button, apparently intending to cross the street. To where? I thought she was calling a cab. Where is she going? Does she even know where she is?
“Culley?”
“I... got busy. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
He snorts. “I should hope not. The last thing you need is another failure.”
I roll my eyes at his reference to Ava and our bonding-that-never-happened. Naturally I can’t let on that I lied about it without his realizing it. It’s the one card I have in my pocket with him. It’s better for me if he doesn’t figure out I’m immune to his lie detecting glamour. So I told him Ava had used her glamour on me to make me believe we had bonded, when we actually had not. And then she had disappeared into thin air after our engagement ring commercial shoot.
He was infuriated by my “weakness” of course and ordered me to find her. I told him she must have removed most of my memories of her as well because I had no idea where to even begin looking.
“I’ll make the delivery first thing tomorrow,” I promise him.
The walk signal starts flashing in the pedestrian walkway sign, accompanied by a piercing beep for the visually impaired. Laney begins to step out into the crosswalk.
“Listen, I need to go. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”
I hang up, already opening my car door and leaping out. Because I’ve figured out why Laney wasn’t properly afraid of that godforsaken neighborhood, and why she never looked those thugs in the eye, and why when she looked at me, she wasn’t glamoured like everyone else.
She couldn’t see me.
She couldn’t see any of it.
Laney is blind.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is such an amazing thing for me to be closing out the fifth book in the Hidden Saga. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your love for this series and all the encouragement I get from my readers. Thank you for giving my books a chance to entertain you and touch your heart. I hope you will continue to love living in the Hidden world as much as I do!
Huge thanks go to my lovely editor Judy Roth for her wonderful work as always and to Cover Your Dreams for another brilliant cover.
I am forever grateful for my amazing critique partner, McCall, for her words of wisdom and huge heart. I’d be nowhere without my brilliant and hilarious Savvy Seven sisters, and I count so much on my Darling Dreamweavers and my Lucky 13 sisters for their support, good advice, virtual Prosecco, cupcakes, and cabana boys. #teamworddomination. I’m so proud of you all!
I’m blessed to be “doing life” with some amazing friends. Love to Bethany, Chelle, Margie, and the real housewives of Westmoreland Farm. Special thanks to Mary for the walks and talks and pots of tea.
To my first family for your unconditional love and the gift of roots and wings. And finally to the guys who make it all worthwhile—my husband and sons. And thank you to the rest of my friends and family for your support and for just making life good.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Patrick grew up in Mississippi (with a few years in Texas thrown in for spicy flavor) and has lived in six states, including Rhode Island, where she now lives with her husband and two sons.
She’s been a professional singer, a DJ, a voiceover artist, and always a storyteller, whether it was directing her younger siblings during hours of “pretend” or inventing characters and dialogue while hot-rollering her hair before middle school every day. For many years she was a writer of true crime, medical anomalies, and mayhem, working as a news anchor and health reporter for six different television stations. Then she retired to make up her own stories. Hers have a lot more kissing.
I love to hear from my readers. Feel free to contact me on Instagram, Twitter and my Facebook page. And be sure to sign up for my newsletter here and be the first to hear the latest news from the Hidden world as well as other new books I have in the works!
The Hidden Saga
Hidden Deep
Hidden Heart
Hidden Hope
The Sway, A Hidden Saga Companion Novella
Hidden Darkness
Hidden Danger
HIDDEN DESIRE- coming in Sept 2016
Copyright © 2016 by Amy Patrick
All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. All trademarks are the property of their respective companies.
HIDDEN DANGER is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Oxford South Press/May 2016
Cover design by Cover Your Dreams
