by DB Reynolds
Without warning, a big man rushed her from the side, throwing himself on her bodily, like a soldier covering a grenade. They hit the floor hard, Grace crushed under the man’s much greater weight, her back scraping the floor as her attacker writhed on top of her, struggling to get hold of her gun. He pounded her arm and shoulder, trying to force her to drop it, hampered by his need to stay close, to control her movements while they grabbed Kato. She could see them from the corner of her eye, bundling him up, taking his blades, tying his hands and gagging his mouth.
She fought her attacker, but he was so much bigger. She couldn’t move him, and didn’t have the leverage to toss him off. But she had that one bullet in her gun. One bullet. She had to make it count. But nothing would count if they got Kato downstairs and out the door while she was flattened like a bug under their giant buddy.
The gun was still in her hand, its grip tight against her palm, mashed against her attacker, buried in the soft flab of his abdomen. Squeezing the grip tighter, she shoved into his gut, and made just enough room for her finger to slide down and through the trigger guard. But it wasn’t enough. Not wanting to blow her own leg off, she pressed the weapon even deeper into the mushy fat of his stomach until the barrel stabbed hard into his gut. He grunted in pain and ground down harder, trying to force it away. But Grace was done. She remembered again what she’d been taught: don’t bother to pick up a gun if you don’t intend to use it.
She pulled the trigger once. Her attacker made an odd, high-pitched noise, and then his breath ran out and his full weight collapsed on her.
It was Grace’s turn to grunt as she struggled out from under the big man. She didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Wasn’t even sure where she’d shot him, and she didn’t care. Her only thought was to get downstairs. If they managed to load Kato into a vehicle and take off, she’d never find him. Grabbing one of the loaded magazines for the Glock, she raced for the stairs, clumsy as she tried to slap the mag into her weapon and run at the same time, nearly falling more than once on her way down. She had to shove the cell phone into the front pocket of her hoodie. It was one of Kato’s, she realized with a pang. It hung long on her much smaller frame, falling well past her thighs. Clutching the gun in one hand, holding onto the bannister with the other, she slipped on the slick hardwood step and grabbed for the bannister with both hands, crushing the fingers that held her gun. That long-ago bodyguard hadn’t included any training on how to hold a gun and run down stairs at the same time.
She made it to the first floor just in time to see the intruders carrying Kato along the walkway outside the open house door, heading for the curtain wall. A short detour took her through the kitchen, where she grabbed the butcher knife from the magnetic rack above the counter. Then, peering around the cupboard, she slipped through the open doorway and into the small front garden, tiptoeing down the flagstone path, even though her mind told her it wasn’t necessary. The assailants were making so much noise, it was a wonder no one had called the police on them. Their neighbors had to be out of town, or drunk asleep.
She stopped long enough to listen to the action beyond the curtain wall gate. Grunts and muttered curses told her they were loading Kato into a vehicle of some sort. A quick peek told her it was a white mid-sized sedan, the kind available by the thousands at car rental places. Add the ones privately owned, and there had to be a million of them on the road in California alone. It was going to be impossible for Nick and the others to track Kato’s location unless she could give them an edge. Inching forward, she stole another look, her hand going automatically to the cell phone in her pocket. If she could get a picture of the license plate. . . . She mouthed a silent curse. The angle was wrong. She consoled herself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t have done much good anyway. Even the dumbest criminal could obscure or swap out a license plate. No, she needed something more, something trackable. Her fingers stroked her cell phone absently. She looked down.
Well, shit.
She told herself she wasn’t a superhero. Not even a badass. But she was the only chance Kato had. And she loved him. That would have to be enough.
Her hands shook as she made sure the phone was secure in her front pocket, then ejected the mag, checked the load, and slapped it back into the Glock. She could do this.
Sucking in a breath for courage, she raced for the car, aiming and shooting on the fly at whoever came into her sights. She didn’t care whom she hit, or how badly. She had no illusions about her ability to take down the enemy, but that wasn’t her goal. What she wanted was to sow confusion, to get them looking in all the wrong places while she covered the fifteen feet that stood between her and the open trunk with Kato inside.
She nearly made it.
Five feet to go, maybe less. She could see Kato’s face, twisted into a grimace of pain, despite his unconscious state. Her step faltered. What had they done to him? But with the next breath, she redoubled her effort. If she failed, the question wouldn’t be what they’d already done, but what horrible things they might do yet.
She reached for the edge of the trunk, her heart soaring with success. . . . Her hand fell inches short when pain tore through her right calf. She screamed as she fell forward, determined to reach her goal. Hands grabbed her. She fought with everything she had, using the gun as a bludgeon, ammo exhausted, biting, scratching, until they slammed her face-first against the open trunk, her cheek catching the side edge. She barely felt the pain, but she cried out anyway, struggling against the pigs who were holding her down, grabbing for the gun in her right hand, distracting them from what her left hand was doing.
The phone slipped out of her pocket, falling somewhere between Kato’s body and the wall of the open trunk.
“Deal with her,” a man snapped. Some part of her brain registered that she knew that voice. But a moment later, she was flying through the air as she was lifted bodily and thrown across the courtyard. She hit the ground with another cry of pain, this one very real. Gravel dug into her bare skin as she lay there, too stunned to move.
“Christ,” that same voice growled. “Not like that. She’ll just bring the others.”
“You want me to kill her?”
“Oh, right, because we want every cop in the state looking for us. Do you have any idea who her parents are?” There was a crunch of footsteps as someone approached, and then the voice was right over her head. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself. You get that car out of here before someone calls the cops, if they haven’t already,” he added in a low mutter.
She blinked, seeing nothing but dirt, trying to force her rattled brain to work. That damn voice. It was the context that was screwing her up. She was used to hearing it . . . differently. Friendly, polite. Oh! The truth clicked, but before she could formulate the name in her thoughts . . . everything went black.
GRACE WOKE TO the sound of waves rolling in below the open window. The air in the room was cold and damp. Too cold. She frowned, wondering how they’d managed to leave the window open, and then remembered Kato. He was the one who liked the fresh air all night, but he made up for it with body heat, so she couldn’t complain. Especially not given the body, and the kind of heat it generated.
Hers was the smile of a sexually satisfied woman when she reached out for her lover . . . and found him gone.
She rolled over, eyes open. His side of the bed was empty, and her stomach clenched below her aching heart as she recalled their last conversation. He was grateful, he’d said, for everything she’d done for him, but it was time to move on. His world was not her world, his people not her people. He was going back to Florida with . . . Nicodemus. She frowned. That wasn’t right, was it? Nicodemus? She mouthed the name silently, then whispered it aloud to the room. Her head spun. Not Nicodemus. Nico. Nick. Right. Her thoughts cleared. That was the name. And who cared anyway? What mattered was that Kato was gone.
Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, stinging skin raw from crying. She rubbed away the tears, momentarily distracted by the scra
ped skin feel of her face. Had she cried that much? She scowled, angry at herself as much as at Kato. She was stronger than this. So, he was gone. They’d had a good time together, as short as it had been. And spectacular sex.
That’s what she needed to focus on. She’d used him, too. They’d used each other, fucking like bunnies, a debauched weekend in her otherwise conventional life. And now it was time to get back to what mattered, to her work at the museum.
But it was the middle of the night.
She frowned briefly, then threw back the covers and stepped out of bed, nearly falling when her foot twisted on . . . something that shouldn’t have been there. She turned on the light and looked down. One of her old shoeboxes was sitting on the floor. She stared at it, absently sliding her hand into the pocket of the hoodie she’d worn to bed. It was one of Kato’s, warm and smelling just like him. Bending over, she picked up the shoebox and walked around to her closet, trying not to look at Kato’s side of the bed, not wanting to see the imprint of his head on the pillow, the blankets twisted and disheveled. She snuck a quick glance, her eyes moving almost of their own volition. His pillow was on the floor, the lampshade askew, and his sword . . . she stared.
And it all came rushing back.
“Fuck!” She grabbed up his sword without thinking, almost dropping it when she abruptly remembered its more deadly qualities. But, apparently, the scabbard was safe and protected her from the blade’s touch. She sighed with relief, then gripped it tightly and ran back around the bed to search the bedside table for her cell phone. It was gone. Wait. Of course it was gone. She’d made sure of it before . . .
“Fuck!” she swore again, louder, angrier, as she raced downstairs, her thoughts going a mile a minute. She had to call Nick, but how? She didn’t know his number or where he was staying. It had been programmed into her cell phone, but her cell phone was with Kato, and who the hell knew where that was by now? She didn’t even know how much time had passed. Well, she’d know both of those things soon enough, but first she needed to alert the troops. Because Kato was going to need all the help she could muster, and she’d seen the way Nick looked at his warriors. That man would take on hell itself to save Kato. And if she was right about who’d taken him, then that might be exactly what they’d be facing. But how to get in touch with him?
She forced herself to think. She was good at this, at viewing a problem logically and setting order to chaos. She was also good at multitasking, which is what she did now, opening her laptop on the kitchen counter and pulling up the “Find My Phone” app, while simultaneously searching the countertops and tables, looking for. . . . Hah! There it was. The cell phone that she’d bought Kato at the mall, because everyone needed a cell phone these days. He didn’t know that yet, and so he didn’t carry the thing with him everywhere he went. Which was why it was sitting on the counter near the toaster.
Her laptop went to work, looking for the phone she’d tossed into the trunk, as she opened the contacts list on Kato’s phone. Empty. She gave herself a mental head slap. Of course, it was. The list would mean nothing to him, since he couldn’t read. So how to find Nick and the others . . .
“Casey,” she said out loud, then corrected herself. “No, Cassandra Lewis.” She started punching numbers. She might not know where Nick was staying, but Cassandra had said that she and Damian were staying at Shutters. And they worked with Nick all the time. They’d know how to reach him. She got through to the hotel quickly and rang Cassandra’s room. Thank God they’d registered under Cassandra’s last name, not Damian’s, because she wasn’t even sure he had a last name, much less what it was.
While she waited, she loaded the “Find My Phone” app into Kato’s cell, and began tracking her phone, verifying that the two displays—her laptop and his cell phone—showed the same information.
Cassandra’s room phone rang once, twice, three times before she heard the fumbling, shuffling sound of someone picking up the receiver while still asleep. How early was it? Grace hadn’t even glanced at the clock. She did that now, checking the digital readout over the microwave. Barely three a.m. Grace shrugged. In her experience, bad news rarely waited for a convenient time.
“This better be good.” Cassandra’s voice was deep and rough with sleep.
“They’ve taken Kato,” she said simply. “I need to reach Nick.”
“What? Who?” Nick’s hunter went from half-asleep to wide awake in an instant.
“I’m not sure, but my cell phone’s in the car with him, and it’s on. I’m tracking it now.” As she talked, she raced up the stairs, and back to her room, putting the phone on speaker while she got dressed in warm, sturdy clothes—black cargo pants, T-shirt and sweater, hiking boots and thick socks. It took a little longer to lace up the boots, but she was preparing for the worst.
“Wait for us,” Cassandra was saying urgently, but Grace was shaking her head. No way in hell she was going to wait.
“Can’t do that,” Grace said simply. “I’ll be on the road in five minutes. You meet up with Nick and follow. I’m sure you have the tech to track a cell phone. Text me your cell number—” she rattled off the number to Kato’s cell phone, “—and I’ll send you the number of the phone that’s with Kato. Call me when you get close.”
She hung up then. More conversation at this point was a waste of energy. Going to her closet, she gathered all the ammo she had for the Glock, filling her empty mag and tucking the second, full mag in her thigh pocket. Two more boxes of bullets went into a small duffel, along with some clothes for Kato. They’d both been sleeping naked, and she doubted his kidnappers were worrying about keeping him warm. And finally . . . his sword. That was their mistake. Kato would never have left his sword behind. And once she put the blade back in his hand, they’d find out just how much of a mistake it had been.
Her phone pinged with an incoming message. It was Cassandra, telling her she’d spoken to Nick, ordering her to wait.
“Pfft.” Grace blew out a dismissive breath. She didn’t take orders from Nick. She dashed off a quick response, her cell phone number so they could track it, nothing else. She’d already said everything that needed to be said.
She zipped the duffle and slung it over her shoulder. Kato’s blade was too long for the bag, so she made sure it was secure in its sheath, and picked it up with her left hand. The fully-loaded Glock was in her right. She wasn’t going to be caught flatfooted against their enemies again.
Turning off the lights, she made a point of setting the alarm, then locked the doors behind her. She bypassed her socially acceptable hybrid sedan and went directly to the detached garage. Using a key, she raised the automatic garage door and eyed her dad’s SUV. It was big and beautiful, full of the latest electronic gadgets and conveniences. But, more importantly, it was powerful and fast, and, in testament to her dad’s paranoia, it had reinforced doors and bulletproof glass. It wasn’t the presidential limo, but it was far better than almost every other car on the road. And she had a key to it.
She threw her duffle onto the passenger seat and laid Kato’s blade on the floor behind her seat, then climbed in and hit the start button. She smiled to herself at the very satisfying roar of the engine, then pressed the opener for the gate and was on her way.
Nick and the others would have to hurry if they hoped to keep up.
Chapter Twelve
WHY THE HELL was his cell phone ringing? Nick didn’t need to check the clock to know it was way too early for a ringing phone to be anything but bad news. But he just couldn’t wrap his mind around where the bad news could be coming from.
“That’s yours,” a light, feminine voice said, betraying the same irritation he was feeling.
He rolled over, scowling at the tousle of blond hair that was the only thing he could see of last night’s companion. Frankly, the only thing he could remember, as in, he couldn’t remember her name. He really missed Cyn at times like this. She’d been his favorite fuck buddy before that damn vampire had stolen her away.
The phone rang again. Still. Whatever.
Rolling out of bed, he dug the phone out of his jacket pocket and checked the screen. If this was some fucking telemarketer . . .
“Shit,” he whispered. “Cassandra,” he answered tightly while grabbing his duffle and going directly to the shower. He didn’t have to hear her next words to know that disaster had struck.
“It’s Kato, boss. Someone’s taken him.”
Nick dropped his duffle to the floor, too consumed by emotion to move, to talk, to do anything. His first response was an icy rage. Kato was his and vulnerable in ways most people didn’t understand. They saw the fierce fighter, the dark magic user. But they didn’t see the price he paid, or the ties that still bound him to his bitch of a mother. The Dark Witch was long dead, but her poison lived on. Sotiris’s most recent games with the scrolls were proof of that.
Sotiris. Nick would bet his left nut that their enemy was involved in this somehow.
“Grace?” he asked, as he got moving again, turning on the hot water in the shower, digging into his duffle for clothes.
“She’s gone after him. Says her cell phone is with him, because she—”
“Get that info to Lili. I want him tracked yesterday.”
“Already done. Damian’s just spoken to her.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re packing up, ten minutes away from leaving the hotel. Should we pick you up?”
“No. I want my car for this in case it comes down to a chase. Tell Grace—”
“I can’t tell Grace anything. She’s not listening.”
“Do we have her phone linked in, too?” He stepped into the shower, setting the phone on a shelf next to the shampoo, and putting it on speaker while he washed off evidence of the night’s sexual entertainment. The fucking phone case was supposed to be waterproof. It damn well better be.