Under the Gun

by Hannah Jayne

  My cell phone chirped and I nudged it toward Alex as I held one arm up, using the other to poke around Nick’s abandoned medical box for a Band-Aid.

  Alex answered the phone and mouthed, Dixon.

  My chest tightened, my heart starting to thunder again. “I—I can’t,” I mumbled. Even after all that had happened, I couldn’t be the one to say the words. I couldn’t be the one to tell Dixon, couldn’t be the one responsible for Dixon giving the kill command.

  Alex nodded and stepped back, walking behind a squad car for privacy. I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to locate a Band-Aid.

  When my hand ran across something furry, I retracted it, disgusted.

  “Ugh!”

  What kind of injury requires something fuzzy in a first aid kit?

  I pushed my hand into the medical box again, my fingertips touching the soft material.

  “Fur?”

  Shorn pieces, pressed to the back of the kit.

  Long, brown—the kind that had been collected at the Sutro Point crime scene. I pulled out the piece and unfurled it, horrified, my eyes scanning the blood, the words.

  “Oh my God.”

  The paramedic was the contract holder? It didn’t seem right.

  I shut the plastic case, my saliva going sour. Carved into the nameplate was the name N. Torres. And everything suddenly became clear.

  “Nicco Torres,” I whispered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I launched myself off the tailgate of the ambulance, cradling my wounded arm in the other. “Alex, Alex!”

  He wasn’t far, but the distance between us seemed expansive as I ran in molasses-slow motion. The heat in the air was unnatural, stifling; the entire city seemed to have gone from buzzing and vibrating to stalled, silent, and breathless in that one small second.

  “You can’t! Don’t!” I screamed.

  Alex stepped out from behind the squad car and I watched in horror as he hung up the phone. I opened my mouth to explain, but my words were lost when the sky thundered and a flash of lightning cracked. All the emotion on Alex’s face was lit for a single split second before going dark again, before rain started to fall in heavy, hot sheets.

  I turned and Alex’s finger’s caught my wrist, his touch burning my skin. His eyes were pained. “Sophie,” he said, the words almost lost on the hiss of the rain.

  I stiffened. It was so rare that he called me by my first name and suddenly it felt too intimate, too close.

  “I know you don’t want it to be true.”

  The rain sizzled and steamed as it hit the pavement. I turned my face to the sky, feeling the rainwater on my forehead, on my cheeks.

  “It’s not.”

  Chaos ensued as the rain pounded the ground. I grabbed Alex. “The paramedic,” I screamed, pointing. “The paramedic is Nicco.”

  A raindrop zipped down Alex’s furrowed brow. “The dead werewolf?”

  I spun, looking through the rain and the mass of people ducking and reveling in the fresh rain. “That’s Nicco!”

  But he wasn’t there.

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing Alex’s arm. “We have to go!”

  The rain thundered against the hood of Alex’s SUV as we tore out of Chinatown, police lights flashing.

  “So, Nicco is alive?” Alex asked.

  I nodded, gripping the dashboard. “He’s the paramedic. His name was on the first aid kit. It was on his name badge.” I slapped my forehead. “How could I not have noticed that? He was at every crime scene.”

  Alex glanced at me sideways. “I’m sorry, Lawson, but that doesn’t really prove anything.”

  I unfurled the piece of hide and it shook in my trembling fingers. “This does.” Suddenly anger raged through me and I gripped the hide. “If I destroy it, it’s over.”

  Alex’s hand clasped over mine—hard.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked, trying to shake him off me.

  “What are you doing?” he roared back. “You can’t destroy the contract. Not yet.”

  “Why not? It’s what we’ve been trying to do the whole time.”

  “Not we,” Alex said, taking a corner hard. “You.”

  I watched the rain splash over the windshield and the tremble started again. But this time it wasn’t out of fear—it was rage.

  “Nicco and Sampson could be working together.”

  I gaped at Alex. “Or Nicco could be working against Sampson. Sampson said—”

  “Sampson has screwed you up at every turn. He sent you to Mort’s. He fed you the fake UDA files.”

  I swallowed, my mouth going dry. “He didn’t feed me the files. Dixon did.”

  “God, it’s like people can’t drive when it rains.”

  “And the contract was in his medical box, but so were a bunch of loose strands of fur.” I shook the contract, growing more and more disgusted. “This fur.”

  “So?” Alex said, eyes focused on the road ahead. “Shedding?”

  “He was framing Sampson.”

  “What?”

  “Nicco was framing Sampson! God, Alex, I left Sampson chained up in my basement. Nicco heard us talking about it. We have to get there before he does.”

  “Or before Dixon does.”

  Alex took another hard corner and I dialed Nina, commanding her to answer the phone: nothing. I tried Vlad and prayed to Count Chocula’s ghost that he would answer. Nothing.

  A car cut in front of us, causing every other car on the block to honk and stop short. “Let me out. I can get there faster from here.”

  “Lawson—”

  “Don’t!” I exploded.

  Alex closed his mouth and slapped open the glove box, his pistol nestled there. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I snatched the gun from the glove box and went tearing into the street. My lungs were burning by the time I reached my apartment building, my scissored leg screaming in protest. I snatched open the door, screaming and huffing.

  “Sampson! Sampson! Can you hear me?”

  There was no answer and I slid across the slick vestibule floor, clawing for the door to the stairwell.

  “Oh, God.”

  The door was busted open, whatever hit it powerful enough to crush the steel and nearly fold the door in on itself. “Sampson?” I yelled.

  I choked on a sob. The chains I had used to bind Sampson were destroyed, broken as if the heavy chain was nothing but string. Blood and hunks of fur littered the floor, and a steady stream of rainwater trickled in from the broken window near the ceiling.

  “Lawson, come on!” Alex called from upstairs. “They got into a car in front of me. Let’s go!”

  I shoved Alex’s gun into my waistband and ran outside, throwing myself into the car. “We’re never going to find them,” I said miserably.

  “Yeah we are,” Alex said, putting his hand on my knee. “If there’s one thing you can count on on a rainy day, it’s traffic. Sampson got in that car.” He gestured with his chin to a Suburban with blacked-out windows just a few car lengths ahead of us.

  “Oh my God—someone answered my prayers.”

  “Romero did. I called it in and he set up a roadblock.”

  “Remind me to thank him when this is over.”

  “Better not. He’s still pissed that you took off with his cuffs.”

  I held up my arm, the open cuff flopping around. “I’m beginning to like the look. It’s dangerous.” I clawed the dashboard. “Look! They’re moving.”

  The car that held Sampson edged its way through traffic, side-swiping cars until two wheels were on the sidewalk. Then the driver must have pushed the gas pedal to the floor, because the car took off like a shot, disappearing around another apartment building.

  “We have to stop them!”

  Alex shrugged, slammed the gas down, and took the same route the Suburban did.

  “No wonder our cities are going bankrupt,” I said.

  “Do you want to catch this guy or not?”

  I g
rabbed the sides of my seat and held on for dear life. “Punch it, Chewy!”

  Alex zipped around the city like a pro while I concentrated on keeping my lunch down and figuring out what to do next.

  “Are you putting on makeup?” Alex asked incredulously when I began rifling through my purse.

  “Do me a favor and hold the car steady for a half-sec, will ya?”

  Alex groaned until I found what I was looking for: Feng’s silver bullet. I slipped it into the chamber and glanced at Alex in profile. His eyes flashed over me.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “I have to be.”

  “Lawson!” I heard Alex’s voice at the same time I heard the screech of tires. The seat belt tightened around me, and I gasped, the gun sliding from my hands and slamming into the dashboard. I threw my arms up as my body lurched forward, slowing the trajectory of my skull and stopping just short of going through the windshield. Smoke rose from the car’s crumbled hood and the back of the Suburban was wedged securely into the front of Alex’s SUV. Alex was pinned behind his air bag, dust swirling in the air.

  “Alex!” I tried to paw away the air bag. “Are you okay?”

  Alex’s head lolled toward me, his eyes still a brilliant blue even as a rivulet of blood worked its way down his eyebrow. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Go get Sampson.”

  I opened my mouth, torn, but Alex pushed me with a shaking hand. “Go,” he said.

  I grabbed the gun and ran toward the Suburban.

  It was empty.

  I stumbled backward, dumbfounded. Our chase had taken us through the city; our crash had left us in an industrial area at the edge of town. The battered ground was littered with shipping containers and rusted-out warehouses. “Sampson?” I yelled.

  The buildings tossed my call back to me in an endless echo. I took a careful step, trying to make out any sound over the rush of rain.

  Then I saw the flash.

  The pop came next.

  I took off running, my thighs pumping, vaulting me forward as the rain soaked my T-shirt, weighed down my jeans.

  “Dixon!”

  He spun, then grabbed my arm. “He’s in here.”

  I followed Dixon into one of the buildings. He went to loosen his grip on me, but something happened, and my back was pressed up against his front, one arm clamped around my waist, the other around my throat.

  “Dixon?”

  “You’re such a good friend, Sophie. But not a very good employee.”

  “What?”

  I had barely blinked by the time Dixon wound my legs with duct tape and did the same with my arms. “You shouldn’t go through company files, Ms. Lawson.”

  He gave me a hard shove and I flopped into a folding chair, struggling against the tape. My eyes swept the empty warehouse for a weapon. There was heap of broken pallets, a length of twine, and then I felt like I had been punched in the chest. “Mr. Sampson?”

  He was chained to the wall across from me, face forward on the cement, blood pooling at the edge of his mouth. There was a bullet hole just above his waist. It was fresh, but the blood was already starting to congeal.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No! Not yet.”

  “Wh—where’s Nicco?”

  Dixon cocked an eyebrow. “Out getting me a snack.”

  As if on cue, the warehouse door shoved open and Nicco—still dressed in his paramedic garb—pushed in. He was gripping Alex in front of him, the cut above his eye now bleeding profusely. A piece of duct tape was covering Alex’s mouth and his shoulder slumped forward at an impossible angle. His hands were wound with a length of tape.

  “Oh, God. Alex, are you okay?”

  “Go ahead, tell her, Alex,” Dixon said, a wicked smile crossing his face. “Are you doing okay?”

  Alex nodded slightly and I felt my heart speed up again.

  “I don’t understand,” I said breathlessly. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  Dixon blinked, his eyes going wide and sympathetic. “Don’t you? Your friend Sampson came back to San Francisco to get revenge on those pesky Du sisters. If he could just find out who it was who hired them, he could at least buy some time.”

  I licked my lips. “But it was you who hired them. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Dixon nodded bashfully as if I had just accused him of a terrific performance.

  “Guilty. But you know how werewolves are—volatile. You’ve seen the files.”

  “You doctored them,” I said, finally understanding. “You wanted me to find them.”

  “And you didn’t surprise me.” Dixon produced a flashlight from his pocket, twirling it in his hands until the white sticker was visible, the name ‘Sophie Lawson’ printed on it. “Such a good girl.”

  He smiled, baring his teeth. His smile dropped. “Don’t worry, Ms. Lawson. Even if you weren’t so predictable—it wouldn’t matter. People were dying because wolfy boy couldn’t keep his jaws to himself.”

  “But Nicco’s a wolf.” My eyes cut to the accused. “You know that, right? Nicco was the one who wanted revenge.”

  “And why he couldn’t kill Sampson in Alaska like I asked remains to be heard, doesn’t it, Nicco?” Dixon’s eyes flicked over Nicco, who stood tall, still with a heavy grip on Alex.

  “You were working together?”

  Nicco cocked an eyebrow, flashed a disgusting grin. “You were fun to play with, sweetie. Sorry about the dog park though.”

  Dixon rolled his eyes. “Hard to get these beasts to keep their hands to themselves.”

  Nicco let out a low growl, his eyes cutting to Dixon, who ignored him.

  “Anyway”—Dixon grinned, his ultra-sharp fangs pressed against his bottom lip—“Nicco had something I wanted. I had something he wanted. So we made a deal.”

  “What could you want with him?” I asked Nicco.

  “I wanted him.” He jutted his chin toward Sampson. “Dead.”

  “What? How could you?”

  “How could I want the man who domesticated our entire race dead? That’s your question?”

  I turned away from Nicco, from the raw hatred in his cold eyes. “And what did you want, Dixon?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted Sampson dead, too. I wanted the UDA to be mine—to be run properly. Maybe a little mayhem in the interim. By the way, Ms. Lawson, there’s really no need for you to come in on Monday. As of today, the Underworld Detection Agency runs on an all-vampire staff.”

  “But Sampson was gone. He wasn’t a threat to you.”

  Dixon crossed over to Sampson. I could see his chest rise and fall gently, but other than that, there was no sign of life. “Well, he isn’t a threat right now. Either way, it was a win-win for Nicco and I to do business together. He gets to chew a few breathers—no offense, Ms. Lawson—and plant a few hairs, and I get to watch the show.”

  “Octavia?” I asked.

  Dixon shrugged. “A little funsie for me to throw you off the trail. She got on my nerves, anyway.” He stuck a thumbnail between two teeth. “And she stuck in my teeth.”

  “So now what? You’re just going to kill Mr. Sampson?”

  Dixon cocked his head, his smile still huge. “No, Ms. Lawson.” He took his precious time dipping into his pocket, then displayed a silver bullet between forefinger and thumb. “You are.”

  Dixon leaned forward and snatched me off the ground, standing me upright.

  I shook my head. “You’re crazy. I would never hurt Sampson. And I would never, ever do anything for you.”

  He looked genuinely hurt. “It’s not like you won’t get anything for it.” Dixon’s eyes were on me. They were hard and laser focused, and seemed to roll into me, to pool around me and suck me in. But magic doesn’t affect me—not ever.

  Only right now, I was drawn. I couldn’t look away.

  “What are you going to give me?” My voice was breathy and low, and I almost didn’t recognize it as my own.

  Dixon was so close now that I shivered at the icy chil
l that wafted from his body. He leaned into me, his lips brushing over my cheek, leaving a frozen trail.

  “Eternal life,” he whispered.

  My heart throbbed, and the blood rushing through my veins sounded unnaturally loud. Dixon licked his lips, his eyes still on me, but hooded now, relaxed. He walked slowly around me, as if examining every inch of me.

  “No.” It was a weak croak, but the effort of pushing the tiny word out past my teeth was immense.

  “Aw,” he whispered, “don’t be afraid.”

  I tried to shake my head, imagined myself spitting in his face. But I was rooted, and his words were so very melodic.

  I felt Dixon’s fingertips as they walked up my spine, the cold and pain biting to the bone as he gripped. “You know, Ms. Lawson,” he said, his breath a throaty whisper, “I’m really going to miss having you around the office.” Another sly grin. “Until you come back, of course.”

  He slid a long, slender hand from my forehead to the back of my head, smoothing my hair and putting gentle pressure at the base of my neck. I felt his grip as he slowly gathered my hair and pulled on it. I arched backward and he grinned, his eyes traveling up the length of my exposed throat. I felt my own heart race, could hear my own blood pulsing; my muscles tensed and my insides dropped to liquid as Dixon’s eyes latched on to the vein throbbing in my neck.

  “Don’t,” I managed.

  Dixon smoothed an errant hair from the tight ponytail he was making, then used his fingertip to frame my face. The gesture was so intimate that it dirtied me down to my soul, and I knew that if I survived this, no amount of washing would ever make me feel clean again.

  “You really are very lovely,” he said, his dark eyes staring into mine.

  I blinked up and saw the ink in them; saw a mesmerizing starburst of gold and copper. It spun and moved and riveted me.

  The glamours . . .

  My eyelids started to feel unusually heavy. The heat that was searing me was now a gentle warmth, and the blood that was pulsing was now a low, melodic hum . . . like a lullaby.

  I watched a red triangle of Dixon’s tongue poke out and moisten his lips. “I’m glad we get to have this final meal together.” He twisted my hair and pulled me lower, then used his other hand to smooth the skin on my neck. The cool of his hand was nice and I licked my own lips, suddenly overcome with thirst.