A hand latched onto her shoulder. “Hey—”
She came around swinging out of reflex, her mind a rush of red fury. No one would ever hurt her again.
He blocked her right cross. She shoved her knee up. He used another hand to deflect her slam to his groin. That gave her an opening to throw an uppercut with her left fist, clipping the edge of his chin.
“Ow, dammit. Stop!”
He spun her like a top on a string.
Vertigo won at that point. And she figured out who she fought.
“You stop or I’ll throw up on you,” she warned, sure that would be enough to make Storm shove her away.
“You don’t transport well, huh?”
Was he laughing? She could break his hold even though he had her back pinned to his chest, but her legs were so weak she’d probably land facedown on the sidewalk. She hated to ever feel weak, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. “We call it teleporting in VIPER. You make me sound like fresh fruit that gets damaged in shipment.”
He did laugh this time, a warm, throaty sound. His grip changed from one of containment to one of comfort.
She tried to make herself push away from him, from being held, but her body refused to help. His fingers wrapped her abdomen and moved slightly, cupping her waist. He breathed deeply, a motion that gave her an up close and personal idea of just how wide his chest was.
The air changed from one of joking to awareness.
Not the fight-or-flight mode she usually experienced this close to a man.
She was torn between wanting to stay in this moment a few seconds more and shoving away from someone who was helping Sen.
“You better now?” Storm’s voice was next to her ear and sounded as though he didn’t want to hear yes, but that was the answer she gave him. “Okay. If I let you go, will you promise not to hit me or throw up on me?”
“For now.”
When his arms fell away she experienced a quiver of disappointment. And surprise at not feeling the bone-deep fear of being held and hurt in his grasp.
Would she ever want a man to touch her … to really touch her?
She stepped away, recognizing the street and buildings as she turned and located her bike in the same spot she’d left it. Satisfied nothing had happened to her baby, she faced Storm. “What time is it?”
“Right around five. Be daylight in a half hour.”
Crud. She’d lost almost five hours even though the Tribunal meeting had seemed to pass in less than an hour. Isak had to be ticked off about her blowing a second meeting. One problem at a time. She cut her eyes at Storm. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you to show up. Again.” He canted his head in the direction of the bike. “I found your gixxer after you left. Figured I’d hang around and keep an eye on it.”
“Why?”
Storm had a way of looking at her that made her think she’d missed something in the conversation, as though she shouldn’t need to ask that question. “Bad enough to get yanked off your feet by Sen, but it would be worse to come back and find your ride gone.”
It was nice of him to look after it, since he had no idea no one could take her bike. His kindness touched her a lot more than she wanted it to. “What about looking for the Ngak Stone?”
“Sen came back not long after you left. I told him I’d just finished my shift in the park and if he expected me to work with you, then you had to be here for that to happen.”
Why would Storm purposefully bait Sen? Especially about her? Was he telling her the truth or trying to manipulate her into thinking they were on the same side? She kept her curiosity hidden. “We’ve got to find that stone.”
“VIPER agents have been in the park and the surrounding areas all night, so it’s not like the mission was entirely abandoned. Besides, I can’t see any of us finding that rock until it chooses its woman.”
He made it sound like some horny teenager. “What agents have been here since I left?”
“Casper came by for a while, then Tzader was here. Another guy joined him—”
“Quinn?”
“Yeah, he showed up. They both left a little while ago.”
But Storm had stayed. She wished she knew how to feel about that, but she’d only slept a handful of hours in three days and was too tired to think at this point. “I’m going home. Thanks for keeping an eye on my bike.”
“No problem. What time do you want to team up again?”
Wow, he’d finally figured out that demanding she meet him at a specific time wouldn’t work.
But what to tell Storm? She’d stood up Isak—again—and still had no way to find him. Isak might know why the Birrn demon had been looking for an Alterant, information that could be useful with the Tribunal, but she doubted he’d share a thing with her after this.
Heck, she’d be lucky if he didn’t turn that big cannon he toted on her.
Storm waited patiently for her answer, his eyes full of quiet understanding she really wished she could trust.
“I’ll see you at the same gate at nine tonight.” She considered the conversation over and headed to her bike before she did something foolish such as offer to grab coffee with him.
“That’ll work. I’ve got to catch some sleep then follow up on a couple leads.”
Evalle was halfway to her bike when his words stopped her. “What leads?”
“On the Birrn killing.” Storm walked over and stood in front of her. “You could help by answering some questions.”
That’s right. He’d picked up a mint scent.
Hers.
“Why would you think that?”
“One of the two male witches I found said you’d been there and helped them escape the Birrn. Want to elaborate?”
Not really.
Had he asked her that before the Tribunal meeting, she’d have had to fight a rush of panic. Now she had much more to worry about than Sen’s agenda. She was sick to her stomach from being dizzy and had no energy left to verbally fence with Storm. “Yes, I was there. Yes, I helped the twins get away from the Birrn. And, yes, I could have told you that this morning and saved you from working so hard today to give Sen the information he needs to put me on suspension. Sorry I didn’t want to help you put a collar on me.”
Trying to outmaneuver Storm was like playing dodgeball with an octopus. She could only do it so long without losing.
“I know all that, and that you fought the Birrn and that you were present when the Birrn was destroyed.”
She had her arms crossed and her hands fisted, ready to tell him just what she thought of anyone who was Sen’s go-to man for information, but Storm didn’t let her.
“Get some sleep and cool off some. My questions will keep.” Storm used the back of his finger to wipe a layer of sweat off her brow, the motion wiping away her anger just as easily. “Regardless of what you think, I didn’t agree to transfer to Atlanta for the sole purpose of handing you to Sen on a platter. You want me to be straight? Fine. He does think you’re hiding something from him, and when he told me he specifically wanted to know if someone was putting the VIPER coalition at risk, I knew he was talking about you. That doesn’t mean I think you’re a risk. When Sen asked about the Birrn earlier, I told him I was tracking the person who killed it, which I am. But you didn’t kill it, did you?”
She didn’t dare tell Storm about Isak for fear of his running to Sen with the information—which would definitely not work in her best interest. Also, she still had to find out what Isak knew about the Birrn.
That is, if he’d ever speak to her again after she’d left him double hanging.
“No. I didn’t kill it.”
“Then you better run along.” His tone was fierce.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll turn into a toasty Alterant if you don’t,” he teased.
She allowed a smile. “Why didn’t you tell Sen about me being at the site where the Birrn was killed?”
Storm could turn a minute into the longest
stretch of time with one look into his searing eyes. “Because I’m not Sen’s hit man. I decide for myself who the good guys are.” He turned his hand over to brush his palm through her hair, letting his fingers rest at her shoulder for a brief moment before he stepped back. His eyes were darker than before. Whatever he was thinking disappeared in his shuttered gaze. “Now head out before something even more evil than a Birrn comes along tonight and decides to eat you.”
She would have questioned him more, but every instinct she possessed told her to get out of here as quickly as possible. Because if she didn’t, something wicked just might devour her. Not that it would really matter. At the rate she was going, she’d be dead in three days anyway.
Or would she be able to find the miracle that could keep her free and save the world from those who wanted to destroy it?
EIGHTEEN
Monday predawn traffic poured into the parking lots Evalle rode past. She slowed to scan the area around each one.
No trolls working the pay booths. No demons lurking in the shadows.
She kept an eye on three parking garages in downtown Atlanta for Quinn, who probably owned more real estate than some small countries did. If he wanted to consider a nightly ride to keep an eye on his businesses a part-time job, who was she to argue? Especially since Quinn gave her a reduced rent in trade for surveillance.
All missions completed for the evening.
She turned her gixxer toward home.
When are you going home, Evalle? Quinn asked in her mind.
How did he know she wasn’t there yet? Was the man psychic on top of his other gifts?
She glanced up at the sky threatening to unleash sunshine in another ten minutes. I’m a mile from my elevator.
Z and I’ll meet you there.
Not much for chatting, that Quinn.
She cut down Marietta Boulevard and turned on a side road that deposited her below Atlanta’s traffic level. The rutted street her narrow tires bounced over ran along the railroad tracks that once fed into the original Underground Atlanta, where civies came in groups for safety. Today’s Underground Atlanta was a thriving tourist attraction safe enough for the kiddos.
She preferred the spooky early morning darkness down here in Atlanta’s underbelly, where dock workers sweated out an honest living, to the pristine world full of suits … a world full of doctors who … Don’t go there.
Parking in front of the overhead door to her personal elevator, which could carry a full-sized vehicle, she pressed the remote opener clipped to her tank-bag and climbed off.
Footsteps approached, crunching gravel layered over the pavement. She pushed her bike into the dark elevator stall, turning it to where she could face her guests. “How’s tricks, boys?”
“Must you always cut it so close to daylight?” Quinn asked.
She grinned at him. “Gotta make hay when the sun don’t shine and all that. Besides, Sen ran me late.”
“What’d he want now?” Tzader entered last, sounding whipped. Had he rested at all since yesterday?
“He snatched me in for a Tribunal meet—,” she started explaining.
“Without contacting me first?” Anger boiled off Tzader.
Evalle supported the bike against her hip and lifted a hand, hesitating to say much out here. “It wasn’t a suspension hearing that would have required due process.”
No happier than Z, Quinn picked up on her reluctance to expound. “Let’s get inside her apartment where no one can hear us.”
She keyed the remote, shutting the door, and turned her attention to where a panel of six toggle switches was mounted behind bulletproof glass.
Getting inside the elevator would be simple for an intruder.
Breaking the bulletproof glass over the switches would set off alarms in her living quarters down below. But even if someone made it this far, they’d have to know the correct sequence for flipping the toggles. That changed daily, and only the three people inside this elevator car knew those codes.
Tzader and Quinn could flip the toggles kinetically, which one of the two did before she could, because the elevator started moving.
“You got any food down here?” Tzader got downright surly when he was hungry on top of being tired.
She thought about it. “Sure, I got a new recipe for—”
Tzader and Quinn both said, “No.”
“That’s cold. You haven’t tried anything I’ve cooked since that first time.” When the elevator stopped twenty feet belowground, she mentally flipped the toggles in reverse and pushed her bike into the twenty-by-thirty-foot garage area of her private world. She rolled the gixxer onto the hydraulic motorcycle lift she used to service her baby and tightened the wheel chock to lock the bike in place. White upper and lower cabinets lined one side of the room, but she was the only one who could see all that right now.
A string of fluorescent lights overhead flickered on.
Quinn’s doing, since he had no patience for being in the dark.
“I got the door,” Tzader said and the elevator closed behind them.
With one quick glance to ensure everything was as she’d left it, Evalle led the way through a series of unlit tunnels toward her apartment.
The tension in her shoulders eased the closer she got to her home. Quinn would have let her live here rent-free.
No way. She’d sleep in a public bathroom—and had—before she’d owe anyone for something as basic as a place to live. He’d set a fair price, and she earned her way between working at the morgue and receiving pay from the Beladors’ fund as an agent to the coalition.
VIPER negotiated payment arrangements with all their agents except Beladors, who chose not to accept money from the coalition. She guessed Brina and Macha didn’t want to be dependent on VIPER any more than Evalle wanted to be dependent on anyone.
Quinn was on the board of Belador financial barons, who invested funds accumulated over generations. They took care of their own.
“What happened to the lights in this hallway?” Quinn groused.
“Saving on your power bill.” As she approached the steel door that had no handles or locks evident, she channeled energy to open it.
Quinn growled something low. “I’m not a bloody slumlord. All my properties are green efficient and you know it. Not like your eyes can’t take a little lighting.”
“You got better places to spend money.”
He could be overbearing some days, especially when it came to what he considered her well-being, but he respected her need for independence.
She stepped into her abode, where wall sconces and tiny overhead puck lights strung along a wire brightened the simple room. Quinn maintained she needed enough light for guests to move around safely.
She didn’t have guests as a rule, but even a blind person could navigate around the few pieces of furniture she’d accumulated.
This was home and hers. She came and went at will. Her one indulgence was plants, especially flowering ones that she had to trick into blooming with artificial lighting.
Tzader dropped down on her lumpy sofa, let out a groan born of deep exhaustion then kicked off his boots. He leaned back, stretching out his jean-covered legs and crossing his arms over the sleeveless black T-shirt, so completely different from Quinn’s pewter gray collared shirt with a golf logo on the chest and creased slacks.
“I see you’ve decorated since I was last here.” Quinn sent a reproachful frown at the oversize orange beanbag in the middle of the room. “Having a time deciding on the most advantageous location for that?”
“Too bad there’s no snob police, Quinn. They’d make a fortune writing you up.”
He sighed with strained patience.
She loved tweaking his aristocratic nose.
A noise from the back of the apartment snapped her into action. She hurried over to stand by the offensive beanbag.
Growling rumbled from down the hallway that led to her bedroom.
Footsteps slapped the hard concrete floor
, heading toward the living room, picking up speed, running full bore until the pounding echoed like bomb blasts.
“Evalle?” Tzader issued the sharp warning and came to his feet. The knives hanging at his hips snapped and hissed. He took a step toward her.
“Oh, good Goddess,” Quinn muttered.
She ordered both of them, “Stand back. I got this.” Keeping her attention on the hallway, she prepared for the attack that flew out of the darkness at her.
The two-foot-tall gargoyle went airborne, wings flapping, like a cannonball with mouth open to expose sharp teeth. All that heading for her chest.
“Dammit, Evalle!” Tzader reached for her arm and missed when she jumped aside at the last second.
The gargoyle landed on the beanbag, his momentum sliding him with the bag all the way across the room until he smacked the solid wall.
She laughed out loud, enjoying the best sound that had traveled up her throat all day. “Nice one, Feenix. Come here, baby.”
Feenix made a noise that sounded part growl and part snort when he was happy. His mouth spread wide, showing off sharp incisors that were as deadly as they looked. He clutched his little potbelly and tucked his batlike wings close when he rolled off the bag, still chortling over his NASCAR-worthy slide. They were both fans of American car racing.
“That thing doesn’t know his strength,” Tzader growled, but his knives had settled down. A sign he was at ease. “He’s going to hurt you one day.”
“No, he won’t.” She squatted down as Feenix waddled to her, wings flapping happily. His huge eyes were two orange orbs that glowed bright as a Halloween pumpkin against his dark-green-and-brown scale-covered body.
“I could have acquired you a dog—something adequately trained that wouldn’t kill you.” Quinn stepped aside, moving his expensive pants out of snag range from the sharp points on Feenix’s wings.
“A dog or a cat would want to go outside in the daylight and need more care than I could give it. Feenix likes the dark and he’s self-sufficient and he loves me. He’s perfect.” She opened her arms and he walked into her embrace, tucking his wings so she could hug him. It was like holding a soft alligator that was as cold as a dark cave and smelled like freshly tanned leather. The skin covering his wings was the smoothest part of him. “I finally settled on the perfect name. Feenix.”
Blood Trinity Page 19
