Rachel Caine - Ill Wind

Also unfortunately mad as hell at me, at the moment.

"Outta the car," he said, and jerked a thumb at me.

I rolled down the window with the hand crank. "Not yet."

He glowered. "Why the fuck not? You don't trust me?"

"Check out the door," I said. The marks of the lightning strike had certainly not done wonders for Delilah's paint job. "C'mon, somebody tried to fry me in my Stuart Weitzmans the last time I got out. I'm not falling for it twice."

Some of Paul's anger melted as he looked at the evidence. But, being Paul, he didn't express any shock or sympathy or ask any touchy-feely questions, either. He said, "You're scared."

"No shit. You'd be scared, too."

"What? You don't think I could defuse a little lightning bolt?" he asked.

"Let's just say I'd rather you had four rubber tires between you and it when you give it a shot. C'mon, Paul, get in and we'll talk. Comfy vinyl seats—"

He grunted. "You know as well as I do that rubber tires won't do a damn thing against half a million amps."

"No, but my car has a steel body. It won't melt like that plastic POS you're driving over there." I jerked my chin at his late-model Porsche.

He looked wounded. "Don't badmouth Christine. She could give you a five-second start and still blow your doors off." He let the smile come out, finally, and I felt it warm me like a bonfire. I'd lost count of the times we'd debated cars, discussed the finer points of auto repair, trash-talked about who'd win the fantasy drag race. "Jeez, Jo, it's good to see you. In spite of every little damn thing. Listen, come inside. I promise you'll be safe."

"No offense, Paul, but I can't exactly trust you, can I? You're a little too far up in the food chain not to know the orders are to detain me for questioning."

"Sure, I got the memo," he said. "I'm willing to hear your side of it."

"You'd be the only one."

"Not the only one. You may think you're on your own, kid, but you don't have to be. You've got friends. Now's the time to count on them. Have a little faith in the system."

I wanted to—dear God I wanted to—and if it were just a matter of a death and some questions, that would be one thing. The Demon Mark was something else entirely.

"Okay, if Muhammad won't come to the mountain, whatever," he said. "Open up."

I popped open the passenger door. He walked around the car and got in; the springs shuddered at the addition of his weight. Paul, not a small guy, looked uncomfortable squeezed into the shotgun seat, and we fiddled with adjustments until he had circulation, if not leg room.

The smell that filled the car was warm, sexy, and familiar. I sniffed closer to him and raised my eyebrows. Paul's face reddened. "Oh, for Christ's sake, it's just a little aftershave, okay? I got a date for lunch."

"Lucky her," I said. "So who's trying to kill me?"

"Wish it were that simple," he said, and shifted uncomfortably. "Jesus, would it kill you to do a little reupholstering here? It's more springs than padding."

"Yeah, your big fat ass is just used to that luxurious German craftsmanship." But I knew that what was making him nervous wasn't the springs in the seat. "Come on, Paul, you have to have some idea."

"There's a lot of folks that loved Bad Bob. Personally, I thought he was a gigantic pain in the ass, but that's just me. No question, he was one hell of a Warden." Paul shrugged, looked down at his large, strong hands. "I know you two didn't get along."

There was a lot I could say about that—a lot I wanted, desperately, to say—but it wasn't the right time or place, and I wasn't sure Paul could ever really understand anyway. Things were simpler in Paul's world. I wish I lived in it.

"You need to tell me what happened that day," he said when I didn't start talking. "It's important. Unless you're planning on pleading guilty, you need to think about mounting some kind of defense. I can help you. I want to help you."

"I can't."

"Jo." He twisted in the seat with a creak of springs and looked directly at me. Nothing soft in his eyes now, nothing but direct, unmistakable warning. "You have to. I'm not saying this as your friend, I'm saying it as a Warden. You don't give yourself up and start telling your side of the story, you know they're coming after you. You can't run around loose like this. One of the most powerful guys in the world is dead."

"You're going to call the Power Rangers?" That was our own private joke…. Marion Bearheart's division of the Association had no official name, but they were the justice system of our screwed-up little world. Quietly took care of the problems. Calmly dispensed justice when required. No arrest, no jury, just the gentle, final judgment of the executioner.

He held my eyes. "I don't have to, and you know it. They'll find you. They're already on your trail."

I had a very cold, cold thought. "You think the lightning bolt—"

"I think it's a warning, Jo, whether it came from the Rangers or not. This is a serious thing you're into. You don't want to laugh it off. Not this time." He reached out and took my hand, and even in that gentle touch I knew he had enough physical strength to crush my hand like paper. If Paul wanted to restrain me, it wouldn't exactly be a challenge—unless I wanted to fight on the aetheric. Which made me think of Bad Bob, and I felt a wave of sickness break over me. It left me shaking.

"Stay," he said. Still a request.

"Thought you had a lunch date."

"It can wait." He was looking at me again, watching me in that half-lidded, intense way that carbonated my hormones. And worse, he knew it. If I stayed, I was going to get myself in trouble, one way or another. "I don't believe you did anything wrong. I think Bad Bob lived up to his reputation, things got out of hand—is that how it was?"

"I can't do this," I said, and pulled my hand free. Paul was staring at me with big, calculating brown eyes. His eyebrows pulled together. The smell of aftershave reminded me that I wanted to kiss him, and I sank farther back in my seat, trying not to give in to temptation, trying not to notice the way sunlight slid warm across his cheekbones and turned his skin to gold. God, I wanted comfort. I wanted someone to make everything… better.

I knew better than to believe I could find it anywhere except inside myself.

"You need my help to stabilize the system?" I asked him. The lightning bolt would have torn his careful manipulations to shreds, sending the weather into chaos even if it wasn't yet visible to the naked eye. He shook his head.

"I've got three people on it already. The less work you do in the aetheric, the better," he said. "And stay the fuck out of Oversight. Especially if you're determined to keep on with this. You glow like a heat lamp."

"I don't have a choice, Paul. I've got to keep on with it."

"I could stop you, you know."

"I know." I leaned forward and kissed him. Caught him by surprise. After a few seconds, those sensual full lips warmed under mine. The fantasy had been good; the reality was better. When I pulled back, he had a glazed look in his brown eyes, but he blinked and it cleared up. So much for my ability to cloud men's minds…

"Jesus," he breathed.

"It wasn't that good," I protested. But he wasn't kidding. He was looking at me with wider eyes, really staring now. Seeing.

"There's something wrong with you," he said. "I can't see it, but your aura's turned red. Blood colors, Jo. You know what it means—"

When I looked down at myself, I saw the black writhing form of the Demon's Mark on my chest, over my heart. It was working its way down. I focused hard and halted its progress, but I couldn't hold it for long. When I looked up, Paul was in Oversight, right in front of me—layers of green and gold and blue, perfect in their intensity. He'd see it. He had to see it in me.