They could always sense when one was talking about the other, Ava and...him. It was a lot like amplified ESP. Another Karellian gift. Although, and she hated admitting it, his tracking ability was stronger than hers because he was full Karellian. She was only half; the rest of her was Mortal. He blamed her Mortal side for their differences.
That’s rich. She could’ve sworn the problem was his greed and thinly veiled ethics.
Mickey asked, “Is this another one of those places with a story you’re not talking about?”
A chuckle charged up Ava’s throat and she silently thanked him for the mental rescue. She didn’t like thinking about those days. The effort was fruitless.
Lingering aggravation from her past made her fling open the door harder than she’d meant. But it didn’t rattle her composure. She was too much of a control freak for that.
Mickey followed her into the near-empty tavern. “Is this where we’ll find Cole?” he asked, over the music pouring from the jukebox. ‘Take it Easy’ from The Eagles, one of Ava’s all-time favorite bands, flowed from the ancient machine.
“No, but we should run into someone who can lead us to him.” Ava held her breath on that one, not knowing the contact personally.
“Someone we can trust?”
Lying to Mickey wasn’t an option. “Not sure.” She shook her head and scanned the room, an inbred trait.
A couple, the only patrons occupying the row of booths to the left, weren’t the least bit interested in Ava and Mickey. The woman sat on one side; the guy on the other. Both were draped over the tabletop, hands and arms tangled so tightly it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began.
Red and gold hues swirled around the pair and cloaked them in a veil only Ava could see. The color combination showed their desire for red-hot sex.
Ava pulled her focus away from the couple. No point in exhausting her limited energy on the would-be lovers. They posed no danger.
An old man sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a half-empty glass. His scruffy, graying hair reminded Ava of Mickey’s—minus the gray. A mauve aura, the color of solitude, surrounded the old-timer. He needed no conversation, just the bottle. No threat there.
All the tables on the right were empty except for one near the bar. Two women, technically hookers, looked at Ava and Mickey, mostly Mickey, and giggled amid clandestine whispers. Those short skirts, tank tops and fishnet get-ups turned Mickey’s face red.
Tones of smoky-black and candy-apple red danced and shimmered around the women. They were lying in wait for their next victim, but Ava wasn't about to let that be Mickey.
“Come on, Skippy,” she said, dragging him by the arm. As they passed by the girls some vile-smelling perfume crawled up Ava’s nose and turned her stomach.
“Why do you call me that?” Mickey asked, exasperation shredding his voice.
Someday, she’d take him back to the 1980s and show him. He reminded her of that kid from Family Ties that was in love with Mallory. The one they called Skippy.
Ava chose the empty end of the bar and dragged a stool out with the heel of her boot. The chair’s legs screeched across the wooden floor.
“Ava. Long time no see.” Phillip, the bartender, greeted her with a lonesome smile that was locked in some dark area of his past. A lavender fog flowed around him. Her presence had summoned a flicker of amusement in his memories.
Don’t do it. Don’t say his name. Ava’s silent warning, she knew, would go unheeded. “What can I say, Phil,” she said. “I’m a busy girl.” Better to guide the barkeep as far away from him as possible. She settled onto the bar stool and hung the heels of her boots on the rails. “I’ll have the usual. My friend Mickey will have...” She knew what he was going to order before she turned to him, but sometimes it was fun to play these games.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Mickey said.
How original. And predictable. Mickey could’ve benefited from Lucien’s company back in the day. On second thought, that might’ve been like sending a mouse to train with an elephant.
Shit. Now she’d done it. She’d let his name rattle off her brain. How long before he showed up? Half hour? Forty-five minutes tops.
“How’s Lucien these days?” Phil asked, setting the frosted drafts in front of them.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ava said, hoping to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t seen him in years.” And she wished Phil would stop talking about him. Lucien would find her so much quicker if the conversation didn’t change, and fast.
The door creaked open and the hairs at the nape of her neck rose amid goose bumps. Some strange magic was at work.
Lucien? No. Not Lucien, but somebody equally as dangerous. Could Ava’s contact be a vampire?
Uh oh.
She fought the urge to look at the figure claiming a seat at the bar, leaving an empty stool between them. An overwhelming scent trickled over her and drew her in with the ease of a fishing lure. Definitely male, and possibly vamp.
The desire to look at him needled at her, but it wasn’t a good idea even though she wanted to in the worst way. Was he a vampire, or wasn’t he?
Ava didn’t like messing with vamps. Still, he had another thing coming if he thought she’d give up her bounty.
She glanced in the mirror behind the bar and wrestled with the urge to preen her hair. The chestnut color looked browner than usual and she prayed it didn't look as drab as her reflection portrayed in the subdued lighting.
Pathetic. Either Ava was pitiful or this guy was a vampire with superpowers. She hadn’t even looked at him but he’d already wielded an intoxicating influence over her.
His image in the mirror resided just outside her peripheral vision—whoever said vamps don’t have reflections was probably a vampire poking fun at some Mortal.
Ava tried to look at him in the mirror in an offhanded way. His dark eyes caught and tangled her in a mixture of turmoil and curiosity, even though he wasn’t looking at her. A wave of lust washed over her, followed by a powerful need to move to the empty stool separating them. She wanted this guy. She wanted him in the worst way. This desire she was feeling was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced—even the attraction she used to feel for Lucien.
Damn it. She was a goner.
The magnetic stranger was talking to the guy sitting on the other side of him, and paying no attention to Ava whatsoever. She lowered her head and inched it to the left until she had a good view of—his boots.
Typical footwear of twentieth century bikers. It was hard to say if it was his normal attire or a trite disguise. Seasoned Levi’s clothed his long, lanky legs and dragged her attention up to his athletic torso covered by a black, skintight T-shirt. Bronzed muscular arms rested against the bar. Long, slender fingers loosely encircled the beer bottle Phil had placed in front of him. Ebony-black hair had been tied into a pony-tail and hung down his back nearly to his waist. Several inches longer than her own, Ava marveled at the perseverance it took to grow it to such lengths. His face, chiseled and clean-shaven, was as bronze as his compelling arms that were capable of....
Geez, he was good to look at. And most definitely a vamp. Who else could bewitch her like this? Hell, he hadn’t even looked at her yet and she was already under his spell.
Finally, he turned toward her. Self-preservation urged Ava to look away before their eyes met, but she couldn't. His deep coffee-brown eyes latched onto her gaze and held it with some infinite, indefinable power.
She’d been hoping against hope that her talent for reading emotions would confirm or deny her suspicions. Was he or wasn’t he? He could hide among the shadows of the night and cast as many spells over her as he could conjure, but his vampire attributes would still be there, camouflaged.
She gave reading him a go and drew a blank. If she couldn’t read him that was verification within itself. Wasn’t it? A deep sigh did little to settle the troubling outcome.
“How’s it going?” he said, and then had the gall to
wink. He continued looking at her, as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he said, “It’s a nice night for a walk in the park.”
A sinking feeling dragged her fears down into her gut and tangled them in knots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much trouble projecting a calm front. Was he her contact, or just a vampire invading her thoughts? Or was he both? “It’s better down by the river. South side.” She spoke the code, fearful of his answer.
“Maybe tomorrow night.”
Damn. All his responses were correct. Still, dread washed over her. Ava tried, but couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to lead to trouble.
“Do you have a lock on Cole’s location?” she asked.
“As we speak.” He tipped the beer bottle to his mouth and drained nearly half its contents. “You have the jewels?”
“You’ll get your payment when I get Cole.”
Bridled laughter preceded his response. “Fair enough.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” She still had reservations about him, but she doubted it had anything to do with his ability to lead her to Cole.
“You got a ride?” He raised the bottle to his lips and chugged the remainder of his beer.
“No.” She doubted it would help to explain that her ‘ride’ was in the twenty-ninth century, and she didn’t need one here. Once she got Cole, she planned to lay out her Sun Stones and take him back where he’d run from.
Ava’s contact stood, shoving the barstool back with his foot. “You can go with me. Your boyfriend can ride with Skeet.” He moved away from the bar and headed toward the door. He didn’t wait or look over his shoulder to see if she was following.
Ava quickened her pace, catching up to him. Two could play this game. “You got a name? Or should I just call you, hey?”
“Stone.”
It was all she could do to keep from laughing. “Stone?” What the hell kind of name was that? It sounded like a product of the twentieth century, something a pair of stoners would name their kid.
“Yeah, Stone. You got a problem with that?” He turned away, pretty much dismissing her as he shoved his hand against the wooden door. It swung open with the force of his frustration.
“No. No problem at all.” She laced her hands behind her back and snickered as she followed him outside. “You’re the one who’s got to live with it.”
Mickey was hot on Ava’s tail. “Are you sure about this?” he said, just above a whisper. Which was pointless. He could take both these guys at once. She’d seen him in action. He was a black belt in Karate. Mickey could definitely kick some ass. A trait that came in handy for time-traveling bounty hunters.
Ava remained silent, and gave Mickey a quick nod to follow her lead. One thing she was sure of—this guy was going to take them to Cole.
Stone slipped a set of keys from his front pocket and began unfastening a small chain securing two helmets to an old Indian—old, even by the current time period’s standards.
She’d pegged him right. He was the biker type. She gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for her skilled insight.
“Here.” He shoved a helmet toward her. “Put this on.”
Ava took the gear and slipped it over her head, fastening the strap. “Thanks.” Snootiness overtook her tone; she didn’t care if he found her offensive.
But he didn’t. He paid her no mind, grabbed a handlebar and straddled the massive machine. Okay, Ava had to admit the motorcycle was kind of cool with its black frame, chrome forks, valanced fenders and that rich, blood-red color gleaming against the streetlights’ glow. It was breathtaking, and so was he.
A grin spread across his face as he turned to her and rested his hands on his thighs. “You coming or what?”
She moved toward him at a snail’s pace, knowing what was coming once she mounted his bike. In her peripheral vision, Mickey didn’t look happy behind Skeet.
Ava laid her hand on Stone's shoulder and climbed behind him, leaving as much space between them as possible without sitting on the rear fender.
“You’d better come closer if you don’t want to fall off.” His tone held a mixture of amusement and arrogance. She didn’t like it. “I’m sure your boyfriend will understand.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” As much as she didn’t want to, she scooted closer to Stone. “He’s my associate,” she added of Mickey.
Stone turned the key on the bike and it roared to life. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” His laughter droned through Ava, keeping time with the bike’s growl.
She leaned toward his ear. “Be a smart ass if you want, but Mickey is my brother.” It wasn’t a total lie. That’s how she saw Mickey.
He turned to look at her. “Brother, huh?” His expression hardened.
“Yes.” She nodded. As long as she felt it, it was so.
He dragged up the kickstand. “Well, all right.” The engine revved and the bike charged off, yanking her backward. Ava locked her arms around his waist to keep from falling off.
Humiliation charred her cheeks, but soon her shame gave way to annoyance. She cleared her throat, wanting to cast out the disagreement, anxiety, and doubt.
Loosening her rigid hold on him, she trailed her fingertips to his sides and laid her hands freely against his fine, firm body. Her face flushed hot again, but not from shame, resentment, or irritation.
Skeet and Mickey cruised up beside them and Stone let off the gas, slowing.
“Dex, 4th or Auburn?” Stone’s companion said over the roar of the motorcycles.
Dex? What the hell?
“Let’s go 4th,” Stone replied.
Ava leaned in, pressing her breasts against his back. He laid a hand on her thigh and tugged at her leg, as if coaxing her closer. She ignored the gesture.
“I thought you said your name was Stone?” She asked over the bike’s thunder.
“It is. My name is Dexter Stone. But you can call me Stone.” He slowed, approaching a red traffic light. Dropping his feet to the ground, he glanced over his shoulder. “And what should I call you?”
“Ava,” she said, resting her hands, palms down, on her thighs. “My name is Ava Valentine.”
“Well, Ava Valentine, we’re going to make a little stop before I take you to Cole.”
What? Agitation pumped faster through her veins and pounded her heart against her chest. This guy was supposed to be trustworthy. She was going to kill Lorenzo Leighton, the dipshit that hooked her up with Dexter Stone—if she made it out of this alive.
“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, trying to conceal her anxiety.
“I just want to confirm that your payment is genuine.” He must have sensed her body tighten, because he laid a hand on her thigh again and caressed it as if they’d already been intimate. “Don’t worry, sweetheart...as long as the jewels are real, you’re safe with me.”
His touch heated her blood, flushing it hot against her skin. She wanted to be safe with him, just as much as she wanted to feel indifferent. Stalled somewhere in the middle, she couldn’t quite make either mark.
The light turned green. “Hold on.”
Appreciating the warning, she slid her hands around his midriff and his rippling muscles ensnared her. They soared in front of Skeet and Mickey with the wind chilling her cheeks. The farther they traveled down 4th Street, the more deserted and dangerous the neighborhood became. She didn’t like it, but she had no choice. Not if she wanted her bounty.
Amongst the stone shoulders of the city, a few lights streamed by in the darkness. The stench of decaying refuse mingled with the more pungent aromas of the river a few blocks away. It smelled like fish. The near-deserted streets conveyed a lost, lonely feeling—one that loomed with imminent danger.
They slowed to a stop in front of a pawn shop. Ava scrutinized the immediate area, sensing nothing threatening. She glanced at Stone, tried to read him again and got nothing. But Skeet had this brassy glow around him. He didn’t care for whoever t
hey’d come to see.
Uneasiness crowded her confidence. Her niggling attraction for Stone, and the fact that he may or may not be a vampire was messing with her head.
A sense of urgency commandeered her judgment and she followed Stone around the corner to a side door. Raw desire cajoled her to wrap her arm around his, to run her fingers down the length of his bare arm, but she refrained and counted off three steps instead.
A twisted vamp spell was behind this affliction. It had to be. Confusing it with anything else was risky, not to mention stupid. Ava needed to push it aside, and she’d start by putting a little distance between herself and Dexter Stone. She had to overpower this impediment, and fast.
Stone paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. He turned his palm up and waved his fingers at her, flashing one of those hurry-up-you’re-wasting-my-time looks.
“What?” Ava threw her frustration out with that one word.
“Come on.” He waggled his fingers. “Cough ‘em up.”
Mickey stopped beside Ava and leaned against the building. I don’t like this. His voice invaded her head, even though he hadn’t said a word out loud.
Me either, Mickey. Me either. She glimpsed into Mickey’s eyes. Maybe you’d better wait out here.
Just yell if you need me.
That’s one of the things Ava liked about Mickey—his absolute trust in her direction.
Stone nudged her shoulder. “Time’s wasting.”
Ava latched onto Stone’s arm and used him as a prop. Electrified desire pulsed through her. She tried to pull away, but it was like she was magnetized to him. He didn’t move while she stuffed her finger and thumb inside her boot and fished out the small leather pouch. “Here,” she said, handing him the cache. “I expect you to keep your end of the bargain,” she said, thankful she still had her wits about her, even if she couldn’t control her desires.
“Or what?” He winked and raked his hand against hers, taking the jewels.
Ava masked the awkwardness by feigning boredom. “Let’s just get on with it. I’m in a hurry.”
“Uh huh.” Stone’s tone matched the doubt crinkling his brow. He turned away and opened the door to a dimly lit room.
Broken Wings Page 17