by Jaime Rush
That blink spiked into her heart. She could hear the for now tacked onto the end of that sentence.
He stood and dropped a twenty on the table. His gaze scanned the restaurant. “You walk out first. In case the Extractor has found me, I do not want him to know we are linked in any way.” His voice got lower. “You will need to be even more careful when we meet next.”
She blinked as an image flashed in her mind.
“That is where we’ll meet,” he said. “Speak not of it to Cheveyo. Just bring him to the location.”
She nodded, knowing where it was. “This is starting to sound scary again.” Scary, but her heart was thrumming with adrenaline. Good God, she couldn’t actually miss the danger, could she? That would be sick. And not sick in the good way, either.
Yurek watched a tall woman exit the restaurant where he’d tracked Pope. She headed to the right, unraveling her straight hair from its braid and shaking it out. The blond strands shimmered in the sunlight, falling to the middle of her back. Pope emerged a few seconds later, watching the woman for a moment. She looked back, and in that glance he saw a connection between them. He was close enough to pick up on the woman’s emotions: an odd mix of excitement and trepidation. But he also picked up something from Pope. Was it concern that came from him? Yes, he cared about the girl. Interesting. They weren’t supposed to have those feelings.
He picked up something even more interesting: the Geo Wave, an almost electric sense their kind got from each other. It shouldn’t be coming from the human girl.
Intrigued, he followed her, making sure he wasn’t picking up Pope’s Wave. She looked as though she’d stepped out of one of the many advertisements that bombarded society here: tall, but not emaciated as many of the female models. Her body filled in her black pants and pink, knit tank top with luscious curves. Even though he saw humans as the lesser species, he found some of them attractive in their own way. Like this girl.
People streamed past them, many paying more attention to what was in the shop windows than where they were going. Some looked at him, at the handsome visage he had chosen for his visit here. Callorians, his species, took on a human guise when they visited this dimension. He could take that ability one step further.
The woman stopped at an intersecting road, and he bumped into her. She turned and looked at him without malice, and he apologized. She gave him a forgiving smile and turned forward again.
Yes, a beautiful woman . . . who was part Callorian. Then the pieces clicked together. Pope had been coming here for many years on various assignments. He had been an Elgin, a highly placed Shine, before he went Scarlett. He obviously broke the rules and had an assignation with a human. This lovely creature was the result. It explained why Pope cared about her.
The crowd surged forward again. Now that he worked for the Collaborate—the C, as it was referred to from within—his duties included eradicating anything troublesome in this dimension. This woman was troublesome, just by her very existence. It would disturb Pope if his daughter was killed, and that would distract him and further weaken his Essence. Yurek’s smile wasn’t all for show. The idea of bringing down the last vestiges of the once-powerful Pope was as luscious as the woman only inches in front of him.
Chapter 2
Petra walked down the sidewalk, her stomach churning with both excitement and annoyance. A sea breeze washed down Annapolis’s main street, sending strands of her hair to tickle her face. The boutiques, restaurants, and novelty stores catered to tourists. She paused in front of a window full of baby items. With a sigh, she stepped inside, breathing in sweet smells, taking in all the soft squishy and squeaky things that would make a baby giggle. Not that she wanted a baby just yet.
She gasped at the sight of a Wizard of Oz crib set. The bumper depicted Dorothy and gang along the yellow brick road. She plucked out her iPhone and punched a speed dial number.
Amy answered. “Hey, Petra. What’s up?”
“How about a Wizard of Oz crib set? It would work for a boy or girl, and it’s soooo adorable!” They were waiting until birth before finding out the gender, which was so not fair for the rest of them. “No witch or scary monkeys in sight.”
There was a—dare she think it?—pregnant pause before Amy said, “I appreciate the thought, but Oz is your thing, not ours. Besides, we’re already set on a jungle theme.”
She pivoted to the right. “They have a huge giraffe—”
“You’ve bought enough stuff for the baby to fill the extra room already.”
She hugged a stuffed Toto to her chest. “But I like buying the baby stuff.”
Or did she like torturing herself? That Amy and Lucas were expecting a baby was stunning. Bittersweet. No, she wasn’t jealous . . . exactly. She was thrilled that they’d found happiness. Amy had confided that the thought of having a baby was scarier than anything they’d gone through, but Petra knew they’d be great parents.
“No more, hon. You know what we’d rather have? You over for dinner. Every time we invite you, you have some excuse for not coming.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Next time you invite me, I’ll come. Promise.”
“I’m holding you to it. Hey, you could buy something for Eric and Fonda’s housewarming next month.”
“Trying to distract me by throwing a different bone? Won’t work. He’s cut me off.” They had a fully stocked apartment, and the barista machine was quite enough, thank you.
“How about something for Rand and Zoe’s elopement?”
“Already bought them a gazillion things.”
“Okay, then Nicholas and Olivia’s wedding?”
Petra sighed. “The other half of my guest bedroom is filled with silver and white wrapped boxes.”
“You know,” Amy said, a teasing lilt in her voice, “they say that shopaholics are substituting for something that’s lacking in their lives.”
“Like hip-grinding, sweaty sex,” she said, catching the clerk’s disdainful attention. Well, how did she think there came a need for all this stuff? Sheesh. Petra held up Toto. “Maybe you’re right. I have a date tonight, but it’s only a first date. Still, it could lead to . . .” Another glance at the clerk, whose petite nose was still wrinkled in disgust. “ . . . crazy, screaming monkey sex.”
The clerk hmphed and turned away.
Petra stroked the blue-checked ruffle on the mobile. “Are you sure about the Oz stuff?”
“Sorry.”
“All right, I’ll let you go.” No need to tell them about Pope. They had their own lives now.
She walked up to the counter and bought Toto, ignoring the clerk’s derisive I’m only smiling at you because it’s in my job description smile.
Maybe it was the fear of Cheveyo’s rejection, but an eerie feeling chilled her on the way back to the garage where she parked her car. She looked around. Only a few people in the area, and none were paying attention to her. I don’t like this feeling. It wasn’t like the pricklies she got when she was being psychically spied on during those six weeks of Hell, but it still raised a slew of chill bumps on her arms.
She felt some relief when she was locked in her car. She fished out the little foil-wrapped Dove chocolates she kept in her purse and tossed one in her mouth as she backed out of the spot. Back at the Center, she parked in the lot but remained in her car.
“You’d better not pretend you’re not there,” she muttered, closing her eyes and reaching out to Cheveyo. He had come to her, but she’d never gone to him. If they shared a connection, she should be able to talk to him, too.
She thought of his face, surprised at how easily she could conjure it in full detail, his thick, arched eyebrows, the curve of his mouth, his blue-gray eyes ablaze with a fierce protectiveness that squeezed her chest. Her heartbeat stepped up, a heavy, sensuous thudding that seemed to pump honey through her veins.
Cheveyo . . .
The connection was like two train cars locking onto each other. She felt him first. Then scenes flashed into her mind: a b
oy with blue-gray eyes and thick eyelashes staring pensively into the night sky; a dark alley, something moving in the shadows, and the flash of light on metal. The smell of blood. That same boy screaming in fear. Her body shuddered at those images.
The images went dark, and she saw him as he might appear in a dream, hazy and in a void. “Petra?”
She could hardly breathe. “Our connection goes both ways. I can reach you, too.”
He didn’t look particularly thrilled by that. “I heard you . . . felt you calling me.”
“I need to see you. Not in a ‘need to see you’ way. I mean . . . I’m in trouble.”
“What’s going on? I haven’t gotten any visions.”
“I don’t mean to sound all conspiracyish, but I have to tell you in person. And as soon as possible.”
“Petra, unless this is life and death, now is not a good time.”
She gripped the bottom of her steering wheel, quelling her irritation and the hurt that he would put her off. Was he with someone? Was she not important to him after all? “It’s life and death. I wouldn’t bother you otherwise.” Okay, that had come out just a tiny bit snippy.
“All right. I’ll meet you in an hour.”
She gave him a location near the warehouse Pope had put in her mind. “See you soon.”
She pulled out, feeling the loss of the connection tingle through her. Take a deep breath. It was only Cheveyo. No big deal. She called the number Pope had given her. “We’re on, in an hour.”
She went into the Center and spent twenty minutes hunting for makeup deals on eBay. Sometimes she could find brand-name product for a great price. Only Cheveyo could distract her from the joy of bargain hunting. She put in two bids and logged out of her account. A few minutes later she walked out to the parking lot.
As she reached for her door handle, a man standing by his car two spaces away caught her eye. She’d seen him earlier that day in downtown Annapolis. A normal person might think it was a coincidence and nothing more, given that he was nice looking, dressed in business attire. But after everything she’d been through, she’d developed a healthy respect for her sixth sense, and it was telling her something wasn’t right. Their gazes met, and she held his for a moment, letting him know that if he had any devious thoughts, she was onto him.
He gave her a nod before getting into his car. She dropped into her seat and locked the doors, but waited until he backed out of his spot and left the lot.
Paranoid? Maybe, but deservedly so. She took the rear entrance out of the lot.
She pulled into the gas station and waited in her car for Cheveyo. She had a full five minutes before he was due. “Breathe.” Her nerves felt like an army of ants marching inside her stomach. “Look, there’s no point in getting excited or anything,” she said aloud. “He only came because you fudged the truth. So seeing him means . . . nothing.”
Still, she couldn’t help but braid her hair, loosen it, and braid it again. The silky strands sliding around her fingers were comforting, even more so than cracking her knuckles had been. And she didn’t have to see people grimace or hear lectures about developing arthritis later in life.
She glanced in the mirror, using her nail to scrape away a slight overlap in her lipstick. The only reason she’d taken the time to pretty up was because she wanted him to see what he was missing. Not that she went anywhere, even to the store, without going through her routine.
“So there, buddy. Too late now. I’ve got a date with a nice, normal guy tonight, to go along with my nice, normal life, which I love. Besides, who needs a guy that turns into a cat? Probably get cat hairs all over the furniture—”
A shadow fell across her lap and she jumped. Cheveyo leaned sideways in front of her windshield, his hand braced on the hood. Her heart jumped, too, because that’s what looking into his eyes did to her. How had she missed hearing him ride up?
She pushed the door open and got out, cringing at the breathless quality of her voice when she said “Hi.” Not helping at all were the high heels she was wobbling on.
Really not helping was how damned gorgeous he looked, his wavy dark hair tied back with a leather strap that matched the black bomber jacket he wore. It was unzipped, and beneath, a dark red shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal a sprinkling of dark hair and a silver charm on a chain at his neck. Oh, jeez, she hoped she didn’t look gooey and dewy.
He glanced in her car, his eyebrow arched. “Who were you talking to?”
“Uh . . . no one. The car. I was muttering to my car. It’s temperamental sometimes.”
He looked tense, his gaze shifting to his surroundings before returning to her. She’d seen that particular type of awareness before, when they were being hunted. Or maybe he suspected she was going to spring the Rogues on him, as adamant as he was that they not meet. Or spring herself on him. Fat chance.
His gaze softened as it swept over her, but it sharpened again, all business. “What’s going on?”
She nodded toward the warehouses half a block away. The transportation company that had used these waterfront metal buildings had gone out of business, leaving the area abandoned. A sign had been promising an upscale shopping revitalization, but the economy probably put that on hold.
“Follow me over there.”
He arched his eyebrow again, this time aiming his puzzled look at her. Then he shrugged and walked over to his black Harley. He had a smooth, powerful gait, efficient but not hurried. She was reminded of those wildlife shows where a lion walks his territory. In one move he got onto the bike and started it. When he looked at her, she realized she’d been too busy looking at him and not getting her car started.
He fell in behind her as she pulled through the tall fence that was opened just enough to let a car pass through. Otherwise, NO TRESPASSING signs made anyone think twice about entering. The artist’s rendering for the future shopping area had faded beneath the graffiti.
She parked, and he pulled up beside her and dismounted. His black boots scraped on the faded asphalt as he walked beside her toward the door of the building she remembered. He smelled of fresh air and a smoky fragrance that wasn’t tobacco. She remembered the images of the boy she’d seen, but the most vivid memories where when he’d held her in his arms and coaxed her back from death, whispering “Babe” in her ears, emotion in his voice when he—
“Why don’t you look like you’re in a life and death situation?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“What do you mean? Oh, because I’m not freaking out?” He knew her well, which drove her crazy. Babe, I know a lot, he’d told her once, a ghost of a smile on his face.
“Yeah.”
She took a breath at the door, not quite meeting his eyes. “Come in, and I’ll explain everything.”
She opened the door and stepped inside. His gaze scanned the interior of the large, empty building. Empty. Great, where was Pope?
She turned to Cheveyo. “Because it’s not exactly my life and death.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “You tricked me into meeting you?”
“No. Well, sort of. It’s—”
At a sound behind her, he moved so fast he was a blur. He pushed her behind him, she saw a flash of metal, and before she could gain her footing, Cheveyo held a dagger at Pope’s neck.
“What are you doing here, Otherling?” Cheveyo growled, his fingers gripping the blue handle so hard his knuckles were white. The knife was exotic, with a curved blade on one end and a hole for his thumb on the other.
Pope looked calm, his hands at his sides. His gaze flicked to her. “I gather you haven’t had a chance to explain?”
She shook herself out of her shock, ran over and clamped her hands on Cheveyo’s arm. “Stop! He’s a friend.”
His expression was fierce, transformed not into a panther but a warrior. His eyes were nearly black, and in their depths she saw death and destruction. He didn’t even seem to see her. A cold feeling gripped her, but she didn’t dare back down.
Cheveyo flic
ked a glance at her. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“He saved my life, all of the Rogues’ lives. Pull the knife back, Cheveyo. Now.”
The knife was beautiful, the metal on the handle engraved with cat eyes, the blade reminding her of the tooth of a very large, vicious animal. She was close enough to see the details, including the deadly tip and blade edges sharp enough to shred the air. It was made to fit his hand, with grooves for his fingers.
She kept her grip on his arm, his muscles rock hard beneath her fingers. “Please put the knife down,” she whispered, feeling as though she might be swallowed up in those dark eyes. Not the man who’d held her the day he saved her life. Not a man she knew at all.
By degrees he allowed her to pull his arm down. He kept those eyes on Pope, pinning him with a suspicious glare. Even when his arm was down, she kept hold of him, watching his eyes slowly lighten.
She could breathe again. “If you’d bothered to see me after we were almost killed down in the bomb shelter, you’d know about Pope.”
Cheveyo’s gaze hardened and he stared just past her. “I tried to go to you that day. I couldn’t.” He looked at Pope, then her. “By the time I could get away, it was over. You were all fine.”
“Never mind. Pope risked his life to save us that day, and now he needs our help. Your help.”
Cheveyo seemed to assess the situation. He looked at Pope. “Who are you, and why would you save them?”
Pope stepped closer. “The Offspring are family. My father’s aircraft slipped through a crack between our dimension and this one. He died on impact. It was his Essence that was given to the parents of the Offspring, which they inherited. I’ve been watching over them while on missions here. I have sensed you during those missions, too, but you have always been elusive. I knew your father, what he was doing here. And I believe you have taken up his cause. An agent has been assigned to take me back to my dimension. I want to hire you to kill him. I’ll pay you well.”
So Pope thought—or knew—Cheveyo could kill this assassin. Having seen how quickly Cheveyo had that wicked knife against Pope’s throat, she knew he could, too. He’d called Pope an Otherling.
