Daughters of Eve Collection (Books 1, 2 & 3)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  Sure enough, the SUV barreled into sight.

  “They're back the—”

  “I see it, Evelyn,” he said, the words brisk and clipped.

  Yanking the wounded Eclipse into a driveway, he swooped down into an underground garage, plunging them from broad daylight into the dark. Sparks flew up out the back when the exhaust banged against the concrete. Driving far too fast for the close confines, he sped around and around the levels.

  Evelyn thought he was crazy. Wouldn't this just trap them here? She didn't ask. The other thing she'd learned about Rhett, was that he usually had a plan.

  Near an elevator shaft, he pulled into a parking spot between two other cars and cut the engine. He didn't even bother to take the keys out of the ignition.

  “Let's move it.” He reached back to snag all three bags and opened the door to get out.

  Evelyn scrambled out her side, running around the back of the car while listening for the SUV elsewhere in the garage.

  She didn't hear any screeching wheels or roaring engine. Not yet.

  Rhett jammed his finger on the button to call the elevator, then glanced behind them and yanked open the stairwell door instead. “Go, go, go.”

  She ran in ahead of him and took the stairs as fast as she dared to without breaking her neck. Down, spiraling one level to another, breath short in her throat. The ends of her hair bounced on her back and sweat beaded her brow. Stress and tension tied her stomach into a painful knot.

  “What level are we going in on?” she asked.

  “All the way to the first floor,” he replied with a terse edge to the words. He didn't even sound out of breath.

  At the next landing, a door with a large number 1 opened under her hand. Breaking into a calmer, slower stride when she stepped into the hallway, she waited for Rhett to step out behind her.

  He walked quick despite not wanting to attract undue attention and she half walked, half trotted to keep up.

  The hotel, whose name she never saw due to the hectic pace, kept their establishment clean though the signs of age were present in the design and the slightly worn tread on the carpet leading past the doors of guest rooms.

  Rhett stopped at the juncture at the end of that corridor and turned right.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, getting her bearings.

  “The kitchen. Stay close.”

  The kitchen? Cooks and chefs and prep people were surely there working the lunch hour. He was going to draw all kinds of unwanted attention.

  After another two turns, Rhett shouldered in past a set of swinging doors like he owned the place, chin notched an inch with confidence.

  Eight or nine people stopped what they were doing when he barged through the doors, dressed in black with three bags hanging from his hands. They stared.

  Evelyn saw the frowns and looks of concern from just behind Rhett's arm.

  From a pocket, or somewhere, he flashed what looked to be a badge and made a loud announcement in flawless Greek in a tone that sent chills down Evelyn's spine.

  “There's a bomb in the building. Use the front exits. Now!”

  A collective clank of utensils and pots hitting counters and the floor came as the workers scattered for the same doors they just came through. Jabbering and shouting, they stampeded down the hallway toward the foyer and main entrance.

  Rhett stuffed the wallet with the shield away and ran through the kitchen for the back doors. The aggressive command in his voice and actions assured that none of the chefs or kitchen workers would disobey and follow them out.

  Evelyn stayed at his heels, making no eye contact with anyone they passed.

  Fleeing out into the daylight just as alarms sounded in the hotel, Rhett led her across a short parking lot and over a hip high, concrete wall. No hurdler by any extreme, she nevertheless planted a palm and vaulted it with little trouble. On the other side, she crouched down when he did. In his wake, she scuttled along the wall and turned into a narrow space between two neighboring buildings.

  In the distance, sirens broke the silence.

  Exiting the alley into another parking lot, Rhett marched between rows of parked cars until he came to a newer mini van.

  “Go around to the passenger side,” he instructed her while getting into one of the bags. Taking out a set of picks, he unlocked the door in less than thirty seconds.

  No alarm went off.

  Evelyn climbed inside as sirens grew even louder behind them, closer to the hotel.

  Rhett tossed the bags in the back after stashing the lock picks and reached under the dash to hotwire the van.

  “Was all this part of your training?” she asked, fastening the seat belt because god knew that they were likely to be in some other car chase or close call accident with Rhett driving. Evelyn found herself surprised that they'd managed to ditch the SUV—for now.

  “It pays to know how in times like these. Not the first car I've ever taken, won't be the last.” The engine turned over and he wasted no time speeding out of the parking lot onto the street.

  “It makes me wonder what else you can do.” She'd wondered often.

  Rhett slanted her a devilish grin that answered most, if not all, of her questions.

  Away from the other hotel, he changed lanes, cutting someone off. The driver laid on his horn. Rhett paid no attention.

  She remembered him telling her that once they'd been pinpointed, then a perimeter was set up according to how many miles they could or could not travel in all directions. The bastards would probably try and seal the city off. Evelyn wasn't even sure where they were, only that the town was moderately sized and to the north of the main interstate. Did these people have enough manpower to totally block every road in and out?

  Would they set up checkpoints like they'd done at the last one?

  Or would the fake bomb scare keep them busy enough that she and Rhett could slip through their net?

  Cutting through her thoughts was a sound that she couldn't at first place, but that made her blood run cold when she recognized it: helicopter blades.

  Chapter Seven

  “Here, let me take a look.” Alexandra took the initiative and jumped out of the truck.

  “You know about engines?” he asked, getting out anyway.

  “A little bit.” Alexandra understated her ability because she always did. Even with computers or electronics anything like that. Finding the latch, she popped the hood. It creaked when she lifted it and hooked the metal arm into the slot to hold it up.

  “Just full of surprises, aren't you?” Dracht played lookout while she fiddled with wires and tried to see deeper into the engine for possible problems.

  Alex cut a grin no one could see since her head was bent forward. “Jealous?”

  He laughed. “Why would I be jealous of a slip of a thing like you? Now if you could best me in arm wrestling, or--”

  “Hey, just name the time and place and we'll throw down.” She hadn't earned the name of heathen from Evelyn for no reason.

  “I just might.”

  “Here's the problem. Just a loose wire. Man, they all need to be replaced in the worst way.” Fingers greasy and black, she leaned out of the hood and slammed it closed. Alex wiped her hands on her jeans and hopped back into the truck.

  “All we need is for this piece to get us to the docks. Not far now.” Dracht scanned the road both ways before he got in and tried the engine.

  It turned over after a stutter and pop.

  “You're handy in a tight spot.” After checking the rearview mirror, he swerved them onto the blacktop.

  “Maybe one day you can teach me that neat hotwire trick.” Grinning, she reached behind the seat to search for one of the towels she'd seen earlier. Unlucky for her, there was no hand cleaner back there with the rest of the junk. With deft motions, she smeared the muck off her fingers.

  “Don't hold your breath.” Dracht snorted, sticking to the outskirts of the city. The truck sounded like an angry, injured bear, but it to
ok them where they wanted to go.

  “Hey look, a deli. Why don't we stop quick. Never know when we'll get to load up like this again.” Alexandra's stomach snarled and complained about lack of sustenance. And who was she kidding? The food in Eden, mostly fruit and vegetables because she wouldn't kill animals to eat them, was outstanding, but it wasn't like there were delis on every corner with hoagies to sink your teeth into. Done with the towel, she tossed it negligently behind the seat.

  “Might want to put a hat on before you go in. Order for us both and I'll keep watch out here.” Dracht saw the renovated shop and parked a few yards from the door against the curb.

  Alexandra rooted around his bag for the hat and put it on her head when she found it. Red and gold with SF embroidered on the front. A wallet sat atop a few folded clothes and she got into it without asking. She didn't have any money of her own—it was all in a bank she couldn't access any longer.

  “There's cash in the—I see you found it.” Dracht chuckled, though he never stopped scanning their surroundings. Ahead, behind, side to side. Always attentive.

  “Of course I did. What do you want?”

  “Anything with turkey on it. Get two.” He put the truck into park and let the engine idle.

  “Be right back. Don't go anywhere.” She shut the door just as he snorted and shot an amused look sideways.

  Alex kept her face tilted down on her way to the deli doors and used the side of her body to push in. Four people sat at tables, two couples with food already in front of them, and two more stood at the counter deciding what to eat. It was the kind of in-and-out deli meant to encourage people to take the food with them and go, rather than eat in. The tables were small and spare, lined up against walls whose only decoration were fake plants in baskets.

  Stepping up behind the customers at the counter, she eyeballed the menu and toyed with the bills in her hand. Tucked into the left corner, high above the counter, a television ran through the upcoming weather and a few ads for shows. Laughter ran low in the background, mingling with the usual sounds of a working delicatessen.

  “Well, if I order the pastrami, can I have half of it on rye and the other on sourdough?” the girl in line asked.

  “That counts as two separate sandwiches.”

  “I don't see why you can't just charge me for the one, because it's the same thing, just on two different types of bread,” the girl argued.

  Alexandra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making snarky comments. She understood Greek as well as her sisters. Understood all languages for that matter.

  “I'm not paying for two when I'm only ordering one.” Stubborn, the chick drew a line in the proverbial sand.

  The man behind her and in front of Alex sighed.

  Two workers, also behind the counter, looked uncertain and wary about the unfolding situation. Alex smiled at one who made eye contact with her, proving she had no intentions of giving the cashier a hard time when it was her turn to order.

  The worker stared, then frowned.

  Alex wondered if she had a grease streak on her face. She knew she had it on her jeans and there was more in the creases of her knuckles, under her short nails. Just about to ask him why he was looking at her like that, he glanced up at the TV.

  She followed suit. There on the screen was a still shot of her face, not quite straight on but from a slight angle. The vivid blue color of her eyes was hard to mistake coupled with her black hair, straight nose and bow shaped mouth. A ticker tape caption said she was a wanted, dangerous criminal with terrorist connections and to call a particular number if spotted. She could just bet that it wouldn't go to the local authorities at all. It would go straight to the bastards hunting them down.

  Alex darted a look back at the worker, who was staring at her again. Maybe he couldn't decide if it was really her. Should she wait around and find out? If she left suddenly, that would only increase his suspicion. Moving her gaze away from him, she stared at the back of the customer's head in front of her.

  The irate girl at the counter finally got her way; the cashier agreed to make a special deal for her. Just today.

  In periphery, Alex saw the other employee murmur to his partner and slink off toward the back of the deli. Damn. That couldn't be good.

  Pivoting, Alex headed for the door, bumping into someone else coming in on her way out. She made eye contact with Dracht through the windshield and was impressed how fast, just with a look, that he took in the whole situation.

  Barely in the truck, he bolted away from the curb, cutting another car off. Tires bit against pavement and a horn blared.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “They've got me on the TV already! Can you believe that? I think it was at the stronghold. Probably Christian snapped me when I wasn't paying attention.” Alex took off the cap and threw it on the seat. The side mirror had a crack in it but worked well enough to show her that so far, no suspect cars had picked up their tail.

  “They're desperate to keep us in the country because they know we'll be like needles in a haystack if we slip past the borders.” He snarled displeasure, wheeling into a right turn, pushing the truck to its limits.

  “If that kid calls that number, they're gonna know we were here--”

  “And that we're probably heading for the docks. Shit.” He spat a curse. “Which also means that they'll be stopping every vessel leaving this part of the coastline.”

  “Can we get someone to lie for us? How much money do you have?”

  “We can't risk it. Money doesn't mean anything against a threat with guns and search warrants.” He pulled onto another street and gunned the engine; it backfired and died.

  Alexandra, for the first time, felt the suffocating sensation of an invisible noose around her neck. Tightening. Cutting off her air. She kicked the floorboard of the truck in frustration while Dracht pulled it over to the curb.

  Throwing it into park, he didn't waste time; snatching the bags and the cap, he jerked his head toward her door to indicate he wanted her to get out and got out himself.

  Climbing down to the sidewalk, she slammed the door and fell in at his side. He handed her the cap back he'd rescued off the seat and she put it on.

  Taking the first alley between a laundromat and a used bookstore, he led her away from the truck and the deli. Cutting through a parking lot and around a line of dumpsters, he aimed for the back of a hotel. Located in an old, white washed building, the establishment could have used some repair and a little paint.

  Alexandra hid her surprise when he used a back access door after someone else exited, playing off like he was a customer and had every right to be there. Dracht ushered her in and Alex found herself standing at the end of a long hallway with doors branching off left and right. There were stairs both directions and Dracht turned her toward them.

  “Up to the third floor.” Without waiting, he took the stairs by twos.

  Alexandra jogged up them at his side. The interior had an old world feel she attributed to the age of the building rather than the paint or décor.

  “I don't hear any sirens yet,” she said as they crested the third floor and stepped out into the hallway. Rust red carpet stretched down the corridor, the center where most people walked thin and faded.

  “And you might not. They know sirens will tell us where they are, and when they've arrived on the scene. If they were smart, they'd come in silent.” He stalked to a door that didn't have a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on it and knocked in a crisp, businesslike manner.

  Whatever else Alex might have said about sirens and silence fell under the pressing weight of a new question. “...what are you doing?”

  “Yes?” someone answered on the other side of the door without opening it.

  “Wrong room, apologies,” Dracht said. He found another some distance down and knocked again. “We're going to hide out here until the initial wave of interest has passed. They'll be expecting us to flee the city—so we do what they don't expect and sit under t
heir noses.”

  No one answered on the other side of the new door. He set down the bags and took out something small, rectangular and thin. It fit between the frame and the lock and in another few seconds, the door swung inward. Dracht picked up the bags and entered with caution. He swiveled looks left and right through the room, obviously looking for occupants who had been asleep or distracted.

  It was empty.

  “Put the sign on the door for me, will you?” he asked, setting the bags on a single queen with sage green and rust red covers.

  A small room by hotel standards, it had one dresser, an older television, a view of a parking lot beyond heavy hanging rust red drapes and a tiny bathroom that needed updating.

  Alexandra would be the last to complain; it was a place to stay for the moment out of direct line of fire. She put the sign on the door and closed it, affixing the chain so a maid couldn't barge in on them. Walking across the room, she parted the curtain to look out into the parking lot. No police cars, no government looking vehicles. Yet.

  “What do we do if they discover we're stayin' here?” she asked, letting the curtain slide back into place. A sliver of mid-day light slanted into the room, curtailing the need to snap on lamplight. She glanced at Dracht.

  At a few inches over six feet, he seemed to fill the room with his size and presence.

  “If it's the maids, we pretend we have the wrong room and find another empty one. If they contact the manager, then we'll have to find another hotel. The smaller, less known the better. I think we'll be all right for today though. The parking lot here is less than half full and there are probably a handful of more up to date businesses close by. It'll be dumb luck if they rent this room for tonight.” He packed away the blank, dark card he'd used to get in and stood up.

  “We leaving in the morning?” she asked.

  “Depends. We'll see if there's anything more on the news, check the morning paper. Staying out of sight right now works in our favor.”

  “I'm going to go stir crazy in here with no computer.” She couldn't even tell if the place had wi-fi. Maybe a computer wouldn't work even if she could get her hands on one.