Keri Arthur - Fireborn

She lowered the sun visor and slid open the vanity mirror. “White Ford?”

“Yes. How did you guess?”

“I noticed it parked down the street and remembered the plates.” Her smile held very little in the way of humor. “You tend to notice details in my line of work.”

I bet you did. “Do you still want to head for the airport?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Once I’m through screening, I can acquire someone’s ticket, get out of the state, then disappear overseas.”

A statement that just made me want to stop the car and toss her out. “Then let’s see if we can lose them.”

I didn’t immediately alter my speed, just kept cruising down Spencer Street until we hit a set of lights that were changing. I slowed, as if to stop, then, at the last possible moment, hit the accelerator and shot through the intersection. Car horns blared and I had to swerve around the pedestrian who’d already started crossing, but we got through unscathed.

A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the white Ford pulling out onto the wrong side of the road with the obvious intent of repeating our actions. If another truck or a car didn’t take them out, we had—at best—a couple of minutes. And I wasn’t sure that was going to be enough time given Jackson’s truck was bright red and orange and rather easy to spot among the more mundanely colored vehicles.

I swung onto a side street. The tires screamed and the truck swerved dangerously. I fought for control, then hit the accelerator again. At the end of the street, I made a sharp left and belted down a narrow lane.

Up ahead, someone flung open the door of a parked car.

“Fuck!” Amanda slapped her hands against the dash to brace herself. “Watch out!”

I hit the horn and kept my foot planted. I had a brief glimpse of the driver’s rear end as he dove back inside the car; then I hit the door. The force of the impact wrenched the door free and flung it up and over the truck’s roof. Thankfully, it didn’t appear to touch Jackson’s shiny paintwork, but rather hit the road behind us and bounced into another parked car. I swung right onto another road and didn’t slow as I made my way through the maze of side streets, all the time heading toward the airport.

I eased up only once we turned left onto Mount Alexandria Road. Amanda released a long breath and said, “I’m guessing we lost them?”

I studied the cars behind us. No white Ford, but—given who we were dealing with—that was no guarantee that we were safe. Especially given Jackson’s truck had been parked in front of Amanda’s place for quite a while.

“Maybe.” My voice was grim. “It just depends who was actually following us and whether they placed a tracker on the truck at either your place or at the parking garage.”

Her gaze widened. “Do you think that’s likely?”

I shrugged. “As I said, it depends who we’re dealing with.”

She swore. “You might want to keep breaking speed limits.”

I snorted. “Not on Mount Alexandria Road, I’m not. The last thing we need is to be pulled over by the cops, and they tend to be a little thick on the ground in these parts.”

She swore again and flexed her fingers, making me wonder if she was intending to punch me out and take the truck.

We made it down Mount Alexandria without incident, and I could almost feel the tension slither from Amanda’s body as we swung onto the Tullamarine Freeway. Which was stupid, because we weren’t exactly home free yet. There was still a ten-minute drive before we got to the airport. Maybe I was being fatalistic, but anything could happen.

As it turned out, I wasn’t being fatalistic.

Just as we’d crossed the Mickleham Road overpass, a big black van came out of nowhere and smashed into the rear side of Jackson’s truck, sending us into an uncontrolled spin. I pulled my foot off the accelerator and fought the wheel, trying to drive out of the spin, only to be hit a second time. Amanda screamed, the sound almost lost to the roaring of the engine, the squealing of the tires, and my own cursing.

I saw the tree coming, but there was nothing I could do to stop us from hitting it.

The air bags exploded on impact, and Amanda’s scream abruptly died. For several seconds, there was no sound other than an odd ringing in my head. Then I became aware of creaking metal, the hiss of water, the sound of an engine roaring. Of warm liquid pouring down the side of my face.

I looked up, saw the black van stop and two blurry figures get out. Wondered whether they were coming for Amanda or me.

The information, some still-aware part of my brain whispered. They can’t get Amanda’s information.

Somehow, as the world started going black around me, I dragged the USBs from my pocket and slid them under the seat.

Then everything did go black, and I knew no more.

Waking was a slow and agonizing process. As I climbed toward full awareness, various bruised and battered bits of my body came to life, and they all seemed overly determined to make consciousness a living hell.

I tried to shift position and ease some of the pain, but quickly discovered I couldn’t move. It took several minutes to realize why—my hands and my feet were tied so tightly that red-hot lances of agony were shooting up my limbs. To make matters worse, a herd of people wearing hobnail boots were stomping about inside my head.

Waking, I decided, just wasn’t worth it. But try as I might, I couldn’t slip back into the peaceful bliss of unconsciousness. I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath and forced my eyelids open. To be greeted by nothing but black.

But one thing was obvious immediately—wherever the hell I was, it was no longer in Jackson’s truck. I had no idea how much time had passed, but surely I hadn’t been unconscious long enough that day had turned into night. And even if it had , night wasn’t usually this dark.

Thinking maybe there was something wrong with my vision, I blinked. It didn’t help. Everything was still black.

But it was a blackness that was not uninhabited. Out there in the darkness, someone was watching. I couldn’t hear him, I couldn’t smell him, but I was nevertheless aware of him. The energy of his presence skittered across my senses, powerful and yet oddly repelling.

“I know you’re there.” The words came out little more than a husky whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Show yourself.”

For several minutes, there was no response. Tension crawled through me, and it was tempting—very tempting—to reach for whatever fire remained within and let it loose. But it was never a good move to reveal your trump card too soon—especially when that card wasn’t up to scratch. The first thing I was going to do once I got out of this place— if I got out of this place—was reenergize with Rory so I could shift shape and burn the remnants of the drug from my system. I couldn’t afford to be powerless—not when our investigations kept taking such nasty turns.

I flexed my fingers, desperate to get some life into them as much as trying to uncover what I’d been tied with. It didn’t feel like rope. It was cool and smooth against my skin rather than rough, and there was odd warmth to it.

Silver, I realized. They’d tied me with silver. Which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have been much of a problem, as silver didn’t actually restrain or hinder those of us who were spirits.

But the fact that my captors had tied me with silver suggested they suspected I was a nonhuman, even if they didn’t exactly know what.

“Look, whatever it is you want, just get on with it.” Though I kept my voice low, it nevertheless spurred the hobnailed idiots in my head into greater action. Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. “I really haven’t got the time to be playing games.”