Keri Arthur - Fireborn

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because if he came after you, they might also be going after anyone else who had any contact with Baltimore.” He rested his hand lightly against my spine, guiding me toward the exit. “And that could be a reason for her disappearing act.”

“You said she was only sick.”

“Doesn’t mean she actually is.”

True. I studied the sunlit street as we walked toward his pickup. For the first time that morning, there was no immediate sensation of being watched and, for some reason, concern stirred. My watcher had been nearby when I’d entered the institute less than an hour ago, so where was he now? And more important, where the hell was Sam? Why wasn’t he answering my phone call? Frowning, I added, “What about Professor Wilson? Did he have similar liaisons?”

“Wilson was married.”

“If a man is inclined to stray, being married certainly won’t stop him,” I said dryly.

“True. And to be honest, it never occurred to me to check. I’ve focused more on Baltimore and you, simply because that’s where all the leads seem to be.”

Not to mention the sex, I thought with amusement. “Meaning you haven’t talked to the wife?”

“I have, but she was in a rather distraught state, and I couldn’t get anything useful out of her. But if Wilson was having an affair, I don’t think she’d know about it. She seemed pretty clueless about what he did for a living.”

“She may have been clueless about his job, but if he was having an affair, or was otherwise in trouble, she would have had some sense of it—even if she didn’t want to confront or admit the situation.”

“Maybe.” His expression suggested he didn’t agree.

I shrugged. “Then we need to talk to his friends. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my many lifetimes, it’s that men boast.”

He grinned. “Well, when it comes to a tasty bit of ass, can you blame us?”

“When you’re married, yes.”

“I’m not married, and never will be.”

“But if you were, I’d have to punch your lights out.”

His grin grew. “Fae don’t marry. We don’t even do serious commitment.”

“Which is a very good thing for both of us. But I merely meant that I don’t believe in fooling around with a married man.”

“You’re perfectly safe with me, I assure you.”

“Somehow, I’m doubting that.”

My voice was wry, and he chuckled softly as I got into the car. “You could be right in that.”

Once I was seated, he jogged around to the driver’s side and got in. As he pulled out into the flow of traffic, I flipped down the sun visor and adjusted the vanity mirror to look behind us.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked.

“Just wondering where my official follower is. I’ve never really spotted him, but I’ve generally sensed his presence. I didn’t when we left the bar, and it just strikes me as odd.”

“Maybe they’ve been pulled off your tail since events at the Crown.”

“Surely they’d only do that if they’d solved the case, and the vampire at the institute suggests this case is far from solved.”

“True.” He contemplated the rearview mirror for several seconds, then shrugged. “The only way to know for sure is to ring the cop.”

“Tried that. No immediate response.” I grimaced, then thrust the worry from my mind. There was nothing I could do about it, after all. “Where are we headed?”

“Braybrook. Michelle apparently rents a small house not far from the Braybrook Plaza.”

Which didn’t mean a whole lot to me as I really didn’t know the area. We cruised on in comfortable silence, and it wasn’t long before he was slowing in front of a small double-fronted house whose facade had been “beautified” by a wash of white concrete that made it stand apart from its orange-bricked neighbors. Two green rubbish bins stood on the lawn next to the concrete path that led up to the front veranda, and a white station wagon sat in the shared driveway.

“All the curtains are drawn,” I commented, peering past him. “But the wire screen door is open.”

“And the front door is slightly ajar.” He studied the house a bit longer, then parked several doors up. “She might be getting ready to leave.”

“Could be.”

We climbed out of the car and walked back. But as we neared the front gate, something shattered inside the house; then the screaming started. It was a woman.

“Back door,” Jackson said as he bolted for the front door. I ran down the driveway, my sneakered feet making little sound on the concrete. A large metal gate divided the front yard from the back, but I leapt up, gripped the top, and hauled myself over.

Behind me came the sound of a door crashing back against a wall. Jackson, inside the house already. The screaming stopped abruptly but not the noise. Whoever was inside was on the move—toward me.

I bent and ran past a window, then stopped just to the side of the back door. The footsteps came closer—two men, not one.

I flexed my fingers, and fireflies danced across my fingertips. Timing was everything.

The door was flung open. I stuck a foot out as the first man appeared, tripping him and sending him stumbling; then I lunged around the doorway, grabbed the second man before he could realize what had happened, and sent him flying into the first man. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, their heads smashing against each other, knocking each other out cold. They fell in a heap, one pinned beneath the other.

More steps approached. I tensed, the fireflies becoming flames inches high, then caught the warm, sunshiny scent and relaxed.

Jackson appeared a heartbeat later, his gaze sweeping me, then moving to the two men. “Good work,” he said, then nodded back toward the house. “Call the cops and an ambulance. I’m afraid they made a bit of a mess of the woman.”

“Then don’t be gentle with them,” I said as I stepped inside the house.

“Oh, I won’t be.”

His voice was grim, and I realized why a moment later. A dark-haired woman lay sprawled unconscious across the sofa in the living room. Her lip was split, her face bruised and bloody, and her dress was shucked up around her armpits. I doubted they’d had the time to rape her, but that had certainly been their intention.

I resisted the urge to march outside and punch the shit out of the two men and moved closer to the woman, carefully checking her pulse. It was fast but strong, and she didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing.

I stepped back and called the cops, telling them what we’d found and requesting medical assistance. Then I spun around and went looking for a blanket. I couldn’t move her or tidy her clothes without the risk of disturbing any DNA evidence that might be present, but I couldn’t bear to see her sprawled out like that, either.

I found a closet in the small hallway and opened it up. Blankets, sheets, and towels sat in neat little stacks inside. I reached for one of the blankets, but as I did, something stung the side of my neck.

I swiped at it irritably, but a hand caught mine and something cool and sharp pressed against the side of my head.

“Make a sound,” a soft voice whispered, “and you die.”

Fire howled through me, thick and angry, but I couldn’t focus and everything seemed fuzzy. The fire dancing around my fingertips seemed to be fading, and the roaring in my head was getting louder and louder, but it wasn’t flame.

My knees buckled, but before I could slump to the floor, someone grabbed me. They ripped my purse from my shoulder, but everything after that became hazy. I wasn’t knocked out, not entirely, but what I heard and saw seemed to be coming from a very great distance and didn’t have a whole lot of impact.