Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

“I wouldn’t,” Heather warned. “Hand out. Slow.”

Lyons turned his head and looked at her, then focused on the gun she aimed at him through the glass. He eased his hand from inside his hoodie. “Hell, Heather,” he said, his words clear, but faint. “You scared the crap outta me.”

Lyons seemed a little too alert for a man abruptly awakened, especially for one who’d been sleeping in what she assumed wasn’t his normal napping spot. Heather’s thoughts shifted to Annie, and Dante’s words rolled through her mind: Maybe faking…

Heather motioned with her .38. “Roll down your window and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Lyons did as she asked. Warm air smelling of cigarettes, sweat, and Drakkar Noir wafted out of the truck. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said, offering her a sheepish smile. “If you’d let me—”

“Keep your hands on the steering wheel.” Heather leaned in through the window and reached inside his gray hoodie. Her fingertips brushed against his body-heat-warmed leather shoulder holster.

“I’m usually a third-date kinda guy,” Lyons murmured. “But, for you…”

“Lucky me,” Heather said, unsnapping the holster guard and slipping his gun, a Smith & Wesson M&P .40, from its holster. She straightened and met Lyons’s sea-green gaze. His smile faded at whatever he saw in her eyes.

“Who ordered surveillance? Rodriguez?” she asked, tucking the S&W into the back of her jeans.

“No one ordered surveillance.”

“That’s a good thing, because you suck at it.” Heather lowered her .38 to her side. “Your truck is probably visible from space.”

“Ouch.” Lyons winced. “To be honest, I was keeping watch—well, I was, until I dozed off. Christ.”

Warning tingles prickled along Heather’s spine. Her fingers tightened on the grip of her gun. “Care to explain that? Watching for what?”

“Apparently, your father can’t keep secrets. He spilled the beans about Prejean healing you,” Lyons said. “A team’s coming to bring you in.”

Heather stiffened, her gaze locked onto Lyons’s. “You know this how?”

A dark SUV turned onto the street, and Lyons stiffened, studying its progress with narrowed eyes, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. When the SUV cruised past behind Heather, he said, “Could we talk about this inside?”

Heather glanced up the now empty street. Was Lyons telling the truth? She had a feeling he was parceling it out, but even so, it might be information she needed and soon. Returning her gaze to Lyons, she saw genuine weariness on his beard-stubbled face. Portland to Seattle took four hours, less if you floored it and burned up I-5.

“Wouldn’t a phone call’ve been easier?” she asked.

Lyons shook his head. “This is stuff you need to hear face-to-face.”

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk inside.”

PALMS PRESSED AGAINST THE living room wall, legs spread, Alex kept his gaze on the cream-colored carpet beneath his feet. He felt the drummer with the mane of red braids—Jack—standing beside him, and was pretty damned sure he was still aiming a gun at him.

“Keep any and all smart-ass comments to yourself,” Heather Wallace said as she patted him down, sliding her hands along his jeans-clad legs.

“Hell,” Alex muttered. “Talk about killing the mood.”

Heather’s hands moved sure and quick, with an expert’s thoroughness. She retrieved the iPod, his smokes, car keys, cell phone, USB drive, and lighter from his hoodie pockets. He heard clinking and soft thuds as she tossed everything onto the sofa.

“Okay. Turn around,” she said.

Alex swiveled around. Shifting her weight onto one hip, Heather studied him, her lovely face all business. Even dressed down in faded boot-cut jeans and a tight cobalt-blue turtleneck, she was sexy. The turtleneck showcased her creamy complexion, vivid blue eyes, and the deep red hair tumbling past her shoulders like a jeweler’s velvet cloth.

Behind her on the sofa, the other two members of Prejean’s band watched Alex intently, their dark faces somber. To his right was Jack and his gun, to his left the recliner with its throw-shrouded vampire.

“Take off your hoodie,” Heather said.

“Why? You already patted me down,” Alex said, his fingers hesitating above the zipper. “I’m kinda chilly.”

“You can have it back, don’t worry.”

Not having much of a choice, Alex sighed and nodded. He unzipped the hoodie, pulled it off, and handed it to her.

Brows knitted, Heather stared at his chest, at the INFERNO logo emblazoned on the black T-shirt he wore. She straightened and lifted her gaze to his. Her face was cold, but anger scorched the color of her eyes almost black.

“You were at the show last night.”

Sexy and pissed. “I know you think that I’m playing you—”

A dark smile touched Heather’s lips. “Are you trying to pretend that you aren’t? You followed us here from Vespers,” she said. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” Alex allowed. On his right, Jack stepped closer. Alex held up a hand, palm out. “I told you the truth. They’re coming for you.”

“So when were you planning on warning me?” Heather asked. “Before or after they dragged me away?”

“Who’s dragging who away?”

Alex glanced to the right. Heather’s sister stood in the hallway’s mouth, blue-purple-black hair tousled, and wearing only a purple tank top and black bikini-cut panties. She gave him the once-over, curiosity in her blue eyes.

“Morning, Annie,” Heather said. “Get a robe on.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Use mine.”

“Fine.”

But Annie didn’t move. Instead, she leaned against the wall, hands behind her back, hips out, and watched.

“Eyes front and center, Lyons.”

Alex looked at Heather. Fire still burned in her eyes. She tossed his hoodie back to him. “Now’s the time. Spill. Tell me everything.”

Alex shrugged the hoodie on, then trailed a hand through his curls. He felt Jack shift beside him. “They got word that Dante Prejean—”

“Baptiste,” Heather murmured. “His name’s Baptiste. And who’s ‘they’?”

“The SB.”

Heather lifted an eyebrow and folded her arms under her breasts. Alex could just imagine what she was thinking: No such thing . Or, This guy’s full of shit .

“The Shadow Branch exists and some of its projects intersect with the Bureau’s.”

“Bad Seed,” Heather said, skepticism fading from her face.

Alex nodded. “Exactly. Your dad contacted a member of the SB and told this person that Dante Baptiste saved your life without using his blood. So the SB decided to bring you in for tests to determine what he did to you. And how.”

Heather glanced toward the hall. “Annie,” she said softly. “Go get my robe.”

Face stricken, Heather’s sister padded down the dark hall. When Alex returned his attention to Heather, she was rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“What do they have planned for Dante?” she said, dropping her hand. “Are they gonna try to pick him up too?”

“I need to talk to Dante,” Alex said. “What I have to say is for him alone.”

The dark smile returned to Heather’s lips. “Why am I not surprised?”