He flicked a glance at their driver. His brows furrowed. It couldn’t be . . .
“That’s Dalton,” Taylor confirmed, once again seeming to read his mind. She gave a little shrug. “He’s on our side for the moment.”
The man in question cast a hard look over his shoulder at Taylor. His silver eyes were ringed with blue. Tinker mods.
“Our side?” Gregg asked, picking his gun back up and holding it ready in his lap, his gaze fixed on the man in front of him. Dalton’s hair was long and black and bound in an elastic at the base of his neck. His neck was darker brown, revealing what Gregg imagined was likely Native American heritage.
“The side of the angels,” she said with an ironic glance. “What else?”
He eyed the back of Dalton’s head. The bastard worked for Taylor’s and Riley’s father, who was an enigma all on his own. Gregg had dug hard into the man’s background and come up with next to nothing. Sam Hollis was a ghost. Except that he was very much alive and he held Dalton’s leash, making the latter man supremely dangerous. His motives were unknown, except the last time Gregg had seen him, the man had been in the process of kidnapping Riley.
He sucked in a thin breath between his teeth. Was she alive? Was Clay alive? Was he free? He wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer. He wasn’t sure he was ready. So long as he didn’t know for certain, Clay could be okay. And if he were okay, wouldn’t he be here instead of Taylor and her treacherous companion?
The thought sent saw blades ripping through his gut. He swallowed, clenching his teeth. He refused to lose his shit. Not now. Not with Savannah to deal with. Not with witnesses to his pain.
Deciding he didn’t want to reveal anything in front of Dalton, Gregg ignored Taylor’s question. “Where are you taking me?”
“Safe house, unless you’ve a mind to do your thing and travel off somewhere.”
“Can’t. I’m nulled.”
“Where is Riley when you need her?” Taylor murmured.
Present tense. Did that mean—Gregg could no longer hold back the question any longer “Is she okay? And Clay?”
Taylor shrugged. “As well as can be expected, all things considered.”
Gregg drew a shaky breath and let it out, rubbing a hand over his face. Relief flooded through him. He closed his eyes against the burn of tears. Alive.
He looked at Taylor again. “What happened?”
“Long story,” she said. “But your brother found his talent. Or maybe it found him.”
He didn’t know how to react to that. Her tone said it wasn’t a particularly good thing Clay had come into his talent. “What is it?”
“Wind. Air. He does things with it.” She waved her fingers.
“What kind of things?”
“Big.” It was all she was willing to say, and from the look on her face, the memories weren’t pretty.
Gregg bit back the rest of his questions. Distraction was a bad idea right now. All three needed their wits about them to keep from being discovered and tracked. Unless Dalton was driving them right into enemy hands, which Gregg wouldn’t put past him.
“How do you know you can trust him?” he asked, jerking his chin at the man in question.
Taylor looked at Dalton, who kept his eyes fixed on the road. She didn’t answer for a long minute. Gregg didn’t know if she was considering her words or scrabbling to find an answer.
Finally, she spoke. “I’m not sure I do.”
From his seat against the door, Gregg could see Dalton’s knuckles whitening on the wheel. The Tahoe sped up fractionally. Not the answer Dalton had been wanting. But his reaction was interesting. He was emotionally invested in Taylor, whatever game he was playing. That he was playing one, Gregg was certain. The bastard worked for her father, who had set mental blocks in Riley’s head to kill her if she tried to reveal certain of her secrets. The man nearly succeeded in killing her. Whatever Sam Hollis was up to, it was a deep game, and as one of his trusted soldiers, Dalton was hip deep in it.
“Should get that off him before we head back,” Dalton said suddenly, his voice a low, rocky growl. “Might be a tracker inside.”
“Almost definitely a tracker inside,” Gregg amended.
“Who’s got seriously tight security and will let us in?” Taylor asked.
“Hotels,” Dalton replied. “Security binders and nulls would suck the juice out of that little thing.” He made a turn and hit Marconi Avenue, leading down to one of the tunnels from the Rim into Uptown.
“How about the Pavilion? It’s close,” Taylor suggested.
“We won’t get close in this bag of bolts,” Gregg said. “Walking up won’t help either. They’d take one look at us and throw us off the property. We’d never make the first security circle.”
“Got another suggestion?”
Taylor’s look was challenging and none too friendly. She’d never been his biggest fan. She blamed him for the kidnapping and torture of her former fiancé. She had some cause, Gregg had to admit. He hadn’t kidnapped or tortured Josh, but he had stolen him from the real culprits, intending to keep Josh prisoner until he gave up the information he had on the Kensington artifacts. The same artifacts Savannah had her panties in a wad for.
He’d also barged into her hangar and home, beefing up security when it was clear her relationship to Clay, Riley, and himself made her a target. She’d been none too thrilled about that.
Gregg closed his eyes and swallowed, his head starting to feel thick and cottony. Blood loss, he supposed. Maybe shock. The chill was wearing off, and his skin flared with fiery heat. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and focused. “A bank could work. Wouldn’t need to be open. In fact, better if it’s not.”
Taylor scowled at him. “Are you going to pass out?”
As if it were his fault. “Maybe.”
She grimaced and looked behind the seat again. Gregg heard a zipper and some rustling. When she sat back in her seat, she held a piss-yellow bottle of Gatorade. Taylor twisted off the cap and handed it to him. “Drink it all.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He swigged it. Warm and way too sweet. But he needed the fluids and electrolytes, so he guzzled the rest.
Dalton swerved down an alley as they came up on a line of backed-up traffic. Drivers and passengers stood in the road and on the sidewalks as they gazed toward a fire that was maybe three miles away at most.
Which explosion was it? The elementary school? The recital? There was no way to know. Gregg ground his teeth together. Somehow he had to stop Savannah. Without letting her have the artifacts. Whether he gave them to her or not, a bloodbath was inevitable. No, there had to be a way to handle her without giving access to yet another weapon.
What did she care about? Not her husband, Whit. At least not enough to give up her ambitions for his safety. She had no children. She had a brother somewhere, but had never shown an interest in him. He could hit her in the wallet, but she had money coming out her ass. It would take a lot to bring her to her knees that way, more than he had time for, maybe more than he might be capable of. That left physical harm. That was his best hope, but she had incredible security. Getting to her would take a war he might not win, and if he did, it wouldn’t be before she leveled the city. He’d been trying for months to kill her with no success. Now he had all of thirty-six hours to get it done.
Once again he ran a hand over his mouth, scowling.
“What?” Taylor asked.
He twisted to face her. “What?” he echoed.
Her mouth tightened in impatience. “What’s that look on your face about?”
Gregg cut a glance at Dalton. “Considering the future,” he said.
“And it’s not so bright?”
He gave a grim smile. “What do you think?”
“These explosi
ons tonight have something to do with you, don’t they?” Dalton asked from the front.
Gregg scraped his teeth over his lower lip. He wanted nothing more than to punch the other man in the back of the head and toss him out of the Tahoe. The man was trouble. Gregg had had Dalton imprisoned in a set of cells impossible to escape from, and Dalton had done just that, along with Percy Caldwell, the man who’d tortured Riley and who was responsible for the Sparkle Dust trade in Diamond City. The drug was instantly addictive and turned its users into wraiths—literally. They slowly faded from the skin inward until there was nothing left of them. Gregg still had no idea how the two men had escaped, and he dearly wanted to know.
Both Taylor and Dalton waited on his answer. “It was a message, yes.”
“Which was?” Taylor prompted.
“Do what Savannah says or she’ll level the city.”
Taylor stared at him, her mouth open. Dalton eyed him in the rearview.
“She’s serious?” Taylor asked finally.
“What do you think?” Gregg said, bitterness filling his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to spit. The Tahoe’s windows were manual, otherwise he’d have rolled his down and done just that.
“She’s insane,” Taylor murmured, slumping back against her seat.
“She’s a sociopath,” Dalton corrected from the front seat.
Gregg bit his tongue before he could tell the silver-eyed bastard to go fuck himself. Not that he was wrong. Savannah was a sociopath.
“What does she want you to do?” Taylor asked, her voice thin but unwavering.
Gregg eyed her appreciatively. Beautiful, smart, and brave. She was sturdier stuff than he’d thought. He pulled himself away from thinking about her. Taylor was off-limits. They were practically related, for one. She despised him, for two, and for three, he wasn’t interested in anything more than a quick fuck. Those reasons neatly put Taylor on his “Don’t Touch” list. Didn’t mean he couldn’t admire the scenery, though.
He flicked a meaningful look at Dalton and then back to Taylor. He gave a firm shake of his head. He wasn’t going to reveal Savannah’s demands to the bastard. Gregg wasn’t even sure he wanted Taylor to know.
She let out an annoyed breath and turned away. “Where are we going?” she asked Dalton.
“Mercury on the south side. Should be able to get there. It’s far enough from the explosions.”
Gregg nodded approval of the choice. He had accounts at the bank. The Uptown south branch would have excellent security and be very visible, to pacify any fears of the wealthy clientele they served. Their security web started a good five yards beyond the building. They had multiple rings of binders and nulls to suck the energy out of any active spells. That made it difficult for some clients who either had to deactivate all spells they carried or worry about them being destroyed. But a bank would be negligent not to protect itself from hostile magic. Since you couldn’t predict what a thief might use in a robbery, it was better to lock down everything. Besides, a bank without certain levels of protection wouldn’t get deposit insurance, which meant they wouldn’t get customers.
The rest of the ride was silent. Gregg suppressed the urge to ask about Clay and how they’d broken him out of federal custody. He’d wait until he had Taylor alone, or better yet, talk to Clay himself. He damned well wasn’t going to say anything in front of the bastard in the front seat.
Dalton pulled up next to the bank parking lot. An iron fence surrounded the grounds. A guard shack stood within the closed gate, a flickering light inside indicating a guard was watching TV.
“There,” Taylor said, pointing as they rolled around the corner at the back of the bank.
Dalton pulled over and shut off the engine and lights. He thrust open the door. “Let’s make this quick.”
Taylor jumped out, slinging the strap of the Uzi over her shoulder. Dalton held another. Gregg opened his door and eased out on his good leg, staggering a little as he stood up. He left the Glock on the seat. He didn’t trust Dalton not to put a bullet in his back, but he couldn’t do what was needed with his hands full.
Fire roared up his leg as he took his first step. His knee started to buckle. He locked it, issuing a string of profanity in a low voice.
“Quiet!” Taylor ordered in a harsh whisper against his ear. She smelled of gasoline, smoky cinnamon, and something spicy, like cardamom. She hooked her hand in his armpit and pulled him forward. Dalton walked just to the side to have a clear line of fire behind and ahead.
They went around the front of the car, feet crunching on the snow and ice. On the other side, a berm of snow rose three-quarters of the way up on the other side of the fence. It had drifted through the bars so that the hill on the near side was just as tall. Getting close enough to the protection spells to take off the null would be a matter of stepping over the three or four feet of iron fence protruding from the top. The hardest part would be avoiding the close-together spikes on top.
“Keep an eye out for security,” Taylor told Dalton in a low voice. If the bank guard looked up from whatever show he was streaming and checked the camera feeds, he’d be sure to come running, along with all his security friends.
Dalton took up a position on the sidewalk with a clear line of fire toward the corners of the building and the street.
“Are you going to manage this?” Taylor asked Gregg, pressing close so he could hear.
“No choice,” he said, trying not to lean on her as they stepped up on the bank of snow.
He sank about a foot before hitting an ice crust. Those would be layered beneath like frosting on stacked cakes. It was the nature of winter in Diamond City. Snow followed by sunshine and melting followed by freezes. Rinse and repeat.
Taylor kept her hand under his arm, steadying him when his leg refused to hold him. Gregg gritted his teeth, willing strength back into it. When they reached the fence, she slung her gun behind her.
“You ever been lifted up onto a horse?” she asked.
He scowled at her. “No. Why?”
“Bend your knee at a right angle with your foot behind you. Like that.” She gripped the calf of his bent leg. “You jump and I’ll lift. Trust me. This works.”
He didn’t have much choice. Turning to the fence, he grasped the top bar just below the spikes. Those were wicked, with rapier points and four razor edges on each flared flange. Set in rows of three, they meant business. He had to clear them or be gutted.
“Ready?” Taylor didn’t wait for his reply. “Jump.”
He thrust himself upward. Taylor’s jackknife lift gave him surprising loft. He went over head first, kicking his feet up as he cleared the spikes. Almost cleared. Searing pain swiped down his wounded shin.
Gregg sprawled facedown on the other side of fence. His mouthful of snow helped suppress the loud expletives crowding his tongue. Not wasting time, he forced himself upright, staggering toward the building.
He didn’t feel security web. Riley would have. At the thought of her, relief that she was alive cascaded through him. She and Clay. Riley was the key to the puzzle of the Kensington weapon. He just had to convince her to help him. His jaw knotted as he remembered Savannah and his deadline. A darkly pragmatic part of him wondered if it would have been better if Riley had died. Savannah wouldn’t have the tracer she needed to find Kensington’s long lost workshop and the instructions on putting the weapon together and using it. Then again, Savannah was awfully sure she could use them, and he didn’t think she was counting on Riley. Just as well. It would devastate Clay to lose Riley, and Gregg wasn’t about to do that to his brother.
“Done?” Taylor called in a low voice.
Gregg staggered backward nearly to the fence and reached for his power. It filled him like a dog seeing its master for the first time in a month. He let it go, and nodded.
�
��Done.” He eyed the fence. He wasn’t getting over without help. But then, he didn’t have to.
He opened himself to the dream plain. Colors swirled among shapes that stretched and collapsed then split into a thousand tatters and melded with something else. This was creation, or as close to it as anybody on earth would ever get. It stretched out in every direction, as big as the universe, as big as life itself.
Gregg dove in, focusing on the patch of sidewalk next to the Tahoe. Around him, the scene formed. With a twist of his mind, he stepped out. Fell out, really. His leg collapsed. He’d have crashed to the ground if he hadn’t caught himself on the door of the battered SUV.
Taylor whirled, then joined him, bounding over the snow like a deer. She wrapped her arm around his waist and yanked open the door. With a helpful shove, she pushed him onto the seat and followed after. By that time, Dalton was back behind the wheel and dropping into gear.
Gregg leaned back against the seat. His leg throbbed and burned. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He didn’t have time for pain. He had work to do.
He sat up just as Taylor leaned over and dropped a necklace over his head. She slipped the pendant under his collar next to his skin.
“That should take care of you,” she said, then reached behind the seat for a towel that had seen better days. She wrapped it around his leg.
He eyed her with raised brows.
“Don’t need you getting blood everywhere,” she said, and something in her voice made it sound like it was his fault he’d been shot and had cut his leg to ribbons.
Gregg said nothing. Worms of healing magic rooted through him, finding any damage and fixing it. It was a noxious feeling, but better than bleeding to death. He leaned back and shut his eyes, waiting for the heal-all to finish its work.
Shades of Memory Page 6