by T. G. Ayer
“Eyes still giving you trouble?” I asked, jerking my chin at the headphones.
Lily nodded and then smiled weakly. “It’s getting better, but I’m under strict orders not to overtire myself. Which includes too much reading. So audio it is.” She lay there, a stark reminder that the treatment she was receiving was far too similar to radiation therapy, and I wished more than anything that there could have been a less destructive way to achieve the release of Lily’s lynx.
I went to the bed and sat beside her, taking her hand in mine. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Holding the hands of ailing loved ones. If I wasn’t on a mission for Horner, I was here, keeping either Logan or Lily company.
“How are you otherwise?” I said softly, studying the tubes that led to the drip hanging from the stand beside the bed. The pouch was empty, and I nodded at it. “Today’s treatment over?”
She nodded. “Your Dad’s been reducing the dosage. He thinks the time is near for when he’ll attempt a controlled transition.”
“Yeah. He told me he thought you were ready.” I paused and studied her face. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I mean really sure?”
Lily smiled, the expression sad and joyful at the same time. “You know how much I’ve wanted this.” Then she blinked away tears. “I only wish Anjelo was here to see it.”
I didn’t want to remind Lily that she’d witnessed the horror of what Anjelo had gone through when Niko had injected him with the serum and forced him to shift. We’d been stuck inside a glass box, forced to watch the horror of Anjelo’s agony. I didn’t believe for one second that Anjelo would approve.
Lily let out a soft laugh. “He’s stopped talking to me you know?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” I knew exactly what she meant, because I’d been the reason he’d stopped talking to her. I’d warned him off, told him she needed to grieve and get over him, for her own sanity and wellbeing.
Lily’s lips twisted into a sad smile. “I don’t hear him anymore. At first, I thought it was because he didn’t want to talk to me. But now…now I think he’s passed into the next life. He’s at peace now.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I miss him, but I knew it would end. I knew he’d pass over eventually.”
I held her hand and said nothing. Anything I said now would be hypocritical because I’d told Anjelo to leave her alone. Because I myself was still talking to Anjelo, communicating with him while he remained in the Graylands.
He’d insisted on helping while he was in the dead plane. He’d convinced me that he could be our eyes and ears, feed us information that he came across while souls transitioned. Thinking about him reminded me that we had a meet coming up and I had a few questions for him that I was hoping he’d be able to answer.
“Hey?” Lily’s voice cut into my thoughts. “Where were you?” she asked with a soft laugh.
“Sorry,” I offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m a little on the exhausted side.”
“Yeah, I heard about your near-death experience,” she said with a smirk. “How many people can say they were buried in the catacombs of Rome and live to tell the tale?”
I laughed. “Funny.” Then the smile left my face. “It wasn’t so much fun when I thought I was going to die in a concrete box with no air and no way to free myself.”
“I can imagine.” Lily tipped her head and studied my face. “Nice shiner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that all I get? What happened to ‘I’m so glad you’re alive, Kai’?”
Lily snorted. “It’ll take far more than being buried alive in a box to kill you.”
I snorted in return. “You can say that again.”
Chapter 10
I’d been pacing the soft pile carpet of the living room for a few minutes when I finally let out a soft growl and gave up. Throwing my hands in the air, I spun on my heel and headed for the front door.
As I passed the kitchen, Stella looked up from the kitchen counter. She’d just wiped it down and was folding the damp cloth, her electric pink gloves a bright spot of color against her dull gray apron.
She waved and smiled, and I returned her wave as I headed for the door. I paused to grab my jacket, and as I swung it open, I thought about Stella Alvarez. Anjelo’s death had hit her hard, given that he was her only son.
She’d had an outburst of grief and anger during the early days, but over time she’d seemed to understand that Anjelo had meant a lot to all of us and that we were just as heartbroken.
She had blamed me, but I couldn’t believe that she was capable of selling us out to the Walker Council. She’d have to have moved past grief and anger right to bitterness and vengeance for that to happen. But Stella had always been a loving, generous and caring person. I just couldn’t see it.
I yelled out a goodbye and left the house, heading out across the drive, listening to the crunching of my heels on the gravel as I marched across toward the garage.
I flung the door open and stepped into the musty darkness, then stabbed the button for the automatic door. The metal door creaked and groaned as it began to roll up, and light flooded the inside of the large space.
Mom’s old Jeep was parked on the far end beside Dad’s truck, two vehicles that were barely used at the moment.
Beside them sat Grams’ motorbike which she’d left parked here while on her current case. My grandmother, Ivy Odel, was an agent for Sentinel, and took her job a little too seriously if you asked me.
How many people could claim that their grandmother was a platinum blonde, gun and dagger toting badass supernatural agent, and super-hot to boot? Grandmothers were meant to be plump, cuddly gray-haired old ladies who knitted you ugly jumpers for Christmas, and nagged you about skinning your knees or not eating all your veggies.
Ivy Odel, on the other hand, swooped in after a mission, regaled me with tales of espionage and near-death experiences, compared scars gained while on missions, plied me with steak and pizza and double chocolate fudge cake, dragged me to shooting practice, watched old movies with me and cuddled on the sofa.
Then she was off again, gone for days and sometimes weeks. She never told me exactly where she was going or what her missions entailed at the time, but I knew she eventually would. When I’d moved in with Grams, I’d expected to be nagged to death. Little had I realized I’d be BFF’d to death.
The only thing in the least bit granny-like was her love of a good cup of tea. One thing I could hold onto.
Now I shook my head as I stared at Grams’ motorcycle. Two words normal people hardly ever used in one sentence: Grams and motorcycle.
I bypassed Grams’ mean machine and hurried over to Logan’s motorbike. We’d had it brought over to our garage a few weeks back, knowing there was a good chance it would go missing in his extended absence.
I’d already moved all of Logan’s personal items out of his Omega-provided lodgings. Omega was still under investigation, more intensive now than a few weeks ago. Many of their holdings had been taken over and liquidated, leaving hundreds of agents jobless and homeless.
It was not a happy situation, and Sentinel and the Elite had taken on a few ex-Omega agents, but it hadn’t helped that everyone was openly suspicious of Omega’s people in the first place.
With Logan’s motorcycle available, I’d taken to using it whenever I needed to head into the city. Right now, I needed air, and a change of scenery. A home full of ill people could get a little claustrophobic at times.
Plus, I needed to check on Tara’s place. Despite being closed for business, she’d still been getting deliveries from suppliers in other realms who hadn’t received her messages regarding her shutting her business down. I’d picked up a good many of her parcels and had handled the transfer and sale of many of those items to Tara’s clients who were waiting for the orders.
The last thing I wanted was for Tara to lose her clientele—in the event that she ever wished to return to Chicago, I wanted to ensure she had a business to come home to
.
I threw a leg over the bike seat and grabbed the helmet, sliding it onto my head. I sat there for a moment and inhaled the smell of Logan, which seemed to have infused itself into the very leather of the helmet. Memories of our relationship filtered through my mind.
That very first day when he’d entered my office at the rehab center, with his charming smile and sexy spiked hair. How I’d clenched my teeth while bleeding from a bullet wound all while he’d introduced himself and questioned me as part of a murder investigation.
How my further involvement in the case had brought me one step closer to Logan with each turn it took. How I’d been so very reluctant to further our relationship, to admit to myself how I felt about him.
I sighed, thinking how unfair it all was that the moment I’d decided I’d happily settle down and spend the rest of my life with Logan, things went to hell.
The sun was high in a clear blue sky as I skimmed the quiet roads toward the city, and I enjoyed the throb of the engine beneath me. I headed across the edge of the abandoned sector of the city and turned onto Tara’s street. I slowed and pulled up in front of her weapons shop, and removed my helmet. Shaking my hair out, I swung my leg over the seat and headed for the door.
As I did so, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Over my left shoulder, I could make out someone who’d turned the corner, then hurried back, hiding on the other side of the wall while keeping an eye on me.
The glass windows of the shop were darkened, my idea to ensure any nosy foot traffic would have a hard time studying the items that remained on Tara’s shelves. That darkness turned the windows into mirrors, and my stalker’s existence was confirmed as he stared at me, unruly red hair topping off a pair of thick-framed glasses.
He even had a pair of binoculars in his hands. So much for remaining unseen. He was clearly inexperienced. Which meant he could be a curious kid, a debt collector or even a journalist new on the beat and without stalking experience.
Or it could just be a misunderstanding, and I was just too damned jumpy. Being abducted and nearly killed could do that to a girl.
Keeping an eye on my stalker, I rolled my shoulders and entered the shop, closing the outer door securely before clearing the mail strewn all over the floor. A few were cards left by the courier delivery companies, and I stuffed them into my back pocket, intending to pick them up later.
I dusted the shelves and freshened up the kitchen a little. I used the place from time to time and I much rather preferred not to walk around on a layer of dust.
Done with my chores, I headed back outside and locked up, surreptitiously searching for my stalker in the reflection of the glass.
There he was, still waiting at the corner, his body hidden, only his nose and glasses visible. I shook my head and climbed onto the bike, gunning the engine hard before heading past him toward O’Hagan’s bar.
I wanted to see if my stalker would follow me, but as I put distance between us, I let out a sigh of relief. Unless he was a jumper, there was little chance that he’d be able to follow me on foot while I sped along the streets on a motorcycle as powerful as Logan’s.
I pulled up outside of O’Hagan’s and entered the darkened interior, only taking off my helmet when I was inside the bar. The place was quiet, as expected for the middle of the day, and I headed to the back booths, waving my fingers at Fynn, who stood behind the bar, polishing whiskey glasses.
He knew my order, and I settled in to wait for its arrival while I checked my phone for messages. Horner had sent a non-update on the Rome case: no change, Cassie wanted to meet to have a chat—to which I replied Happy to, just say when—and Mel had a favor to ask me.
I responded to Mel with Hit me with it, smiling at my responses which indicated a personality that was bubbly and happy to help. Happy to help my friends, yes, but I didn’t think I was all that bubbly.
And oddly enough, Agent—or Consultant—Asher was requesting a meeting to discuss something he’d rather not talk about on the phone. I lifted my brows and glared at the device.
“You look like you want to give that poor phone a telling off,” said Fynn as he set my burger and fries on the table. When I glanced up, he held my milkshake in front of my face, forcing me to take it.
I grabbed the tall glass and set it beside the burger. “Well, now that you’re here, I don’t have to tell the phone off. I can give you the yelling and screaming.”
He held his hands up in defense. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He looked around as if expecting someone. “Where’s Westin and Saleem?” He seemed expectant, as if looking forward to seeing them.
And I hated that I had to lie. “On a mission, as far as I know. I’m here all on my lonesome.” I pouted, and Fynn let out a laugh.
“From what I know you like your own company better.”
“You know me too well.” I grinned and watched as he headed back to the bar, good-naturedly swatting a customer’s hands off the gleaming surface. Fynn’s customers adored him, which was easy to understand. Great food, great drinks, great company. What more could a patron ask for?
I ate my burger, wondering what Cassie and Mel and Asher all wanted. At last, I sat back, wiping my mouth with the napkin then dropping it onto the empty plate. As I turned to slide out of the booth, I caught sight of my red-headed stalker hurrying out of the bar.
Now, how had I missed his entrance?
My heart thudded as I considered what this meant.
This was more than a mere stalker.
And it could mean a danger I hadn’t even been prepared for.
Chapter 11
Seems my stalker did possess some skills.
Either that or Fynn had blocked my view of the front door allowing the guy to enter the bar without me seeing him.
I surged to my feet, eyes on his bright hair as he exited the front door and disappeared into the street. I was so intent on keeping a bead on my stalker that I didn’t register the man striding toward me.
Tall, with platinum dreadlocks and pale skin, the man exuded strength and danger. His biker leather and shitkickers completed the look of danger.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion, as if I had no control of the destined impact. Dreadlocks was talking to Fynn over his shoulder, his eyes on the bar and he didn’t see me until too late. He slammed into me so hard that I lost my balance and began to tip backward, unable to save myself unless I shifted to access my feline agility.
The guy’s eyes widened with shock, he reached out with one hand and grabbed my hand, his fingers encircling wrist firmly. He saved me from falling on my ass, and pulled gently while I used the force to pull myself back to my feet.
He grinned, giving me a once-over which wasn’t at all lascivious. Refreshing. “That was close. Sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
I waved away the apology. “Neither was I. Thanks for the save.”
“No worries, ma’am. You have a nice day now.” He tipped an invisible cap and moved to walk on.
I stepped aside and turned to hurry toward the entrance. Grabbing the inner door, I tugged hard and stepped into the small doorway and then out onto the street. Sunlight blinded me, and I found myself blinking against a myriad colored dots that seemed to have overtaken my sight.
Standing on the busy sidewalk, I scanned left and right, but saw no sign of the redhead among the many heads bobbing along the streets. It was middle of the day rush hour, with the lunch crowd running to and fro, causing mayhem on the road.
Frustration rushed through me, making my head heat up, only aggravating the warmth of the sun as it baked the top of my skull. In turn, my panther awakened, rising to the surface, called by my emotions.
She butted against my rein on her, urging me to let her go. I’d been doing just that for weeks now, feeling so much more at ease and relaxed with my inner feline. I’d rebelled against my identity for so many years that it sometimes felt new to me when I found myself thinking affectionately of my panther.
I
let out a soft breath and swiped my hair out of my eyes with my free hand. The other held onto my helmet, which in the rush to find the stalker, I’d grabbed from the seat automatically.
I scanned the street again one more time, certain now that he was gone and that staring around would do nothing to help me find him. I had to get serious about this.
I nodded to myself and headed back toward the bar, and allowed my panther to enhance my hearing and my sense of smell even though I had no scent to follow.
Yet.
What I did have was a trail that I could pick up. I reached the entrance to O’Hagan’s and paused to stare up at the sign. Nobody had entered the bar since me—I knew because I’d kept an eye on the street at all times. But even if anyone had entered though, it didn’t matter so much. My stalker may have been fast, but he’d left a trail anyway.
I pushed the bar door open and peered inside. A group of people stood in front of the bar, hiding my entrance from Fynn as I allowed the door to shut and turned back to study the handle. My stalker would have held onto the brass handle in order to pull the door open.
I smiled as my nostrils flared and I tested the odors hanging around the door. I wasn’t about to lean over and give the metal a sniff. That wasn’t how tracking a scent worked, at least not with feline walkers.
Of all the odors floating around the doorway, the strongest ones remained around the handle. The freshest, strongest scent would belong to my stalker. And it didn’t take me long to identify it.
Scent identified and committed to memory, I hurried back outside into the sunshine and made for my bike. Hooking the helmet over my arm, I threw a leg over the saddle. I gunned the engine and took off into the street, driving at no more than walking speed.