Anson didn’t back off Quinn but gave orders despite his bosses standing right there.
“Danner, get her.” He indicated Riley again. Instead of the older Danner, though, one of the young guys—the one with the scratched cheek—separated from his friends and walked warily to Riley. “Take her back in the other room. Strip her down. I don’t want to risk leaving a single sliver of metal on her.”
Sam growled and shifted forward, but Lilling went, “Ah-ah!” and cocked the pistol. Sam’s jaw clenched until it ached, and he wanted to flatten them all. But even if he had enough power for that, which he wasn’t sure he did, he definitely wouldn’t have the control to avoid hitting Riley and Quinn with it, too.
“Tie her up. Then you guys—” Anson glared over his shoulder. Sam felt a spike of alarm at the brightness of Anson’s eyes. They’d been dimmer than that earlier tonight. More normal. Was he leeching Quinn right now? How? Sam closed his eyes again and couldn’t detect any flow of power between Anson and Quinn. Maybe it was a trick of the light.
“The rest of you, go with him. Keep her quiet until I get there. You can handle that when she’s unconscious, can’t you?”
Anson’s scathing tone cut through Sam’s fear. The implication was that they couldn’t handle Riley when she was awake. Sam held back a smirk of pride. She must be responsible for all of their injuries.
That’s not a good thing. The smirk dropped. She was helpless now, and they’d want revenge. They were going to do their worst if Sam didn’t stop them.
Anson’s next words froze his blood. “If she wakes up, let her know she’s next.”
Sam didn’t move, but his expression must have changed because Lilling cleared his throat and shifted his body to block Sam from the group gathering Riley up and carrying her down the hallway.
Godammit, he couldn’t let them do this. Impotent fury warred with the knowledge that he couldn’t help her with a bullet in his chest, either. He braced himself to act, to lash out at Lilling and his gun in three…two…
But then, right in front of him, Anson tipped his head back and wrapped his hand around Quinn’s throat. The sudden surge of energy raised all the hairs on Sam’s body. Anson was doing the impossible. Somehow, some connection between them made him capable of taking power back from Quinn. Sam wanted the poison out of her, too, but not like that. And Anson wouldn’t stop there. He’d leech whatever natural ability Quinn had left, leaving her empty. Maybe killing her. Finishing the job the transfers had started.
And then he’d go for Riley.
Sam leaned forward scant inches. A sharp report echoed around the room, and he jerked back a few steps. He stared at Lilling, then at the bullet hole in the wall to his right. His reaction had been instinctive, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avoid a bullet. Not even when enhanced with residual power.
“Don’t. Move.” Lilling re-aimed at Sam’s chest. “Next time will be fatal.”
Fuck! Nick, where the hell are you?
Sam had no other options. This time, he didn’t bother closing his eyes. He gathered all the power inside him and fired a spear of it across the room. It sliced between Anson and Quinn, knocking the leech back. Everyone else froze at the motion. Gasping and choking, Anson bent with his hands at his neck. Sam closed his fist, imagining the energy closing around Anson, forcing itself down his throat. You want it? Eat it!
Lilling’s attention was off Sam for a few seconds in the ruckus. Long enough. In two big strides, Sam gripped Lilling’s wrist and shoved upward, twisting the gun out of his hand by the barrel. Thank God for protector training. He ejected the clip and the round in the chamber, stripped the weapon, and tossed the pieces in different directions.
He never stopped moving. All he could think about was getting to Riley. Danner Senior, apparently wiser than the others when it came to self-preservation, didn’t get in his way.
“Son of a bitch!”
Nick had arrived. Finally.
Sam didn’t look back. Nick and John knew what they were doing. They’d take care of Quinn. “I’m coming, Riley!” he bellowed, wanting her to hold on, to fight. But it was a tactical error because at his shout the hall filled with Anson’s minions. They weren’t any better at fighting than their bosses—fathers?—in the outer room, but they were far better at getting in the way.
Sam punched, jabbed, dodged, but each Numina loser he took down blocked his path, tripped him up. He hauled some behind him and plowed through the melee. If he’d had any power left, he could have gotten through much more easily, but the little bit still glowing in him wouldn’t obey him.
His last opponent stood in front of the door to the room where Riley was, a knife in his right hand. Sam lurched to a stop, eyes flicking from the blade to the guy’s arm across the doorway to the dark room beyond. He strained for any sound and thought he heard a sob.
“If you hurt her,” Sam growled.
“Yeah, you can’t do anything about it.” The guy handled the knife well, unlike most thugs. Sam might have a foot on him in height, greater reach, and superior strength, but none of that would stop him from being gutted if the guy knew what he was doing.
“What do you think you’re getting out of all this?” Sam asked. “You got daddy issues you’re trying to resolve? You think if you help him get back on top, he’ll be proud of you or something?”
Knife Boy sneered. “Don’t bother with the amateur psychology crap. My father has nothing to do with this. He died a long time ago. All I’m in this for is power. They have it, I want it. So I’ll take it. That’s the way it’s been for thousands of years.”
Sam nodded. “Sure. I get it. Much easier to steal something from someone else than to work hard to achieve your own goals. Lazier, but easier.”
“If you say so.”
“So how are you going to steal it? Anson tell you the secret yet?”
He didn’t answer, but the sudden lack of expression told Sam that Anson hadn’t let them in on anything. He’d probably strung them all along with promises he couldn’t—or simply wouldn’t—fulfill.
“You are one dumb fuck,” Sam said amiably. He relaxed his stance and grinned as if they shared a joke. The kid’s face darkened, and his hand tightened on the knife. Sam eased onto the balls of his feet and watched the kid’s eyes, because they’d telegraph his movement.
And then those eyes rolled up into the guy’s head, and he slumped to the floor. Riley stood behind him, her hand still raised where she’d done…something to the kid. Her lower lip was split, and a three-inch bruise bloomed above her left eye. Her chest showed scratches where the bastards had torn at her shirt.
“You were taking too long,” she said. “I got bored.”
Sam engulfed her, unable to get her close enough even though his arms could have wrapped around her twice. “You scared me,” he murmured against her hair. His turmoil eased further with each moment of contact. Craving replaced it, a need to bury himself in her—physically, emotionally, forever. The terror he’d felt outside the apartment spiked for a second and then slid away, no match for the richer, stronger emotion that welled up after it.
“Are you okay?” he managed to ask.
She pulled out of the embrace and gave a half-hearted nod. “Okay enough.”
Sam pulled himself together and concentrated on the here and now. “What the hell did you do to him, the Vulcan nerve pinch?”
That got a smile out of her, though it immediately became a frown when she spotted the crowd on the floor. A couple of the boys were trying to extricate themselves.
“Something like that, I guess. I just applied energy to a particular spot and willed him unconscious.”
Sam stared at her. “You are incredible.” She didn’t look at him, and he was afraid she read the wrong thing in his voice. “Seriously, Riley. Look at me.” He pinched her chin and tilted it until she had to look at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner. But you are amazing.”
It didn’t help. Darkness clouded her eyes
. Guilt, maybe, or an echo of his earlier fear.
A shout came from the front room. Sam tried to hold Riley back, but she shook him off. Whatever had knocked her out before didn’t seem to be affecting her now. She leaped across the pile of Numina kids—landing on some of them as she went—and dashed down the hall. Sam followed but froze when he reached her side at the end of the hall.
The room was almost completely empty. The three Numina men and the protégées who hadn’t been in the hall were gone, and so was John, if he’d ever arrived after Nick did. Marley crouched next to where Nick was on one knee, supporting her sister. Quinn opened her eyes, and Sam went icy cold at how pale they’d become. She’d been leeched—not completely, but anything was too much.
“God, no.”
Nick looked up. “Anson. The shit got away.”
“No,” Sam repeated, louder. He whirled toward the front door, hands in fists, fury pulsing in every muscle. As long as Anson was out there, free, he could do this. Not just to Quinn, with whom he had a unique connection, but now that he’d gotten some power back, he could do this to anyone. To Riley.
Nick’s voice stopped him. “Sam. It’s too late. And we have to take care of Quinn.”
Sam hauled back on his rage, his driving need to chase down the enemy and stop him for good. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know.” Nick’s voice shook. “I’ve never seen her so weak.”
“Water,” Quinn croaked.
Marley jumped up. “I’ve got it.”
Riley limped over to them. “I think I can help.” She knelt to put her hand on Quinn’s and raised her eyebrows in question. Quinn nodded and closed her eyes.
Sam couldn’t tell what happened, but a few moments later, he caught Riley as she swayed back. Quinn sat up.
“That’s better.” She sounded a little stronger. “Thank you, Riley, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Riley tried to stand, but Sam held her down.
“Give yourself a minute.”
Cupboard doors banged in the kitchen several feet away. “There’s nothing here!” Marley cried.
“In my pack.” Nick indicated his bag on the floor inside the door. “There’s a flask in there. Empty.” He helped Quinn sit up and, when she shifted to stand, locked his hand around her wrist to gently pull her upright. “What do you think?”
She nodded. “I can get to the car.”
“Downstairs. I’ll bring the car to you.”
“No time.” She took the flask Marley handed her and drank deeply, nodding her thanks. “We have to get out of here before John comes back with the cops.”
Sam and Riley stood. He kept his arm around her as they all moved toward the door. “That’s where he went?”
“He called the cops from the elevator when Marley told us what was going on,” Nick explained. “If we’re lucky, they intercepted the Numina fuckers on their way out. They hauled ass when John and I came in here. We’ll deal with all of that later.” He lifted Quinn into his arms. “This is faster,” he bit out to cut off her attempt to argue. Marley grabbed Nick’s bag and followed them out the door, Sam and Riley taking up the rear.
“Where are we going to go?” Riley asked once they were in the elevator. She pressed the button for the lobby while Sam positioned himself in front of the doors. “Portland,” Quinn said without lifting her head from Nick’s shoulder. “Tanda’s next.” She coughed and closed her eyes.
Sam checked behind him in the reflection on the elevator’s highly polished doors. Nick stared at the numbers flashing above, as if willing them to move faster. Sam thought he might shatter if he loosened up even a fraction. Marley had moved close to her sister and kept making reassuring touches to her hair, her shoulder, her hand. Quinn rested her head on Nick’s shoulder and smiled at Marley.
Still without looking, Sam reached over and threaded his fingers through Riley’s. He shouldn’t give in to the clawing need. Shouldn’t take them closer to something that could devastate them both in the end. But the comfort and stability that came with touching her was worth it. For now.
No matter what happened next, he’d do everything in his power to make it all right.
For everyone.
Chapter Twenty
Failure is never defeat, but simply a reminder to see alternate paths to your destination. Sometimes, failure actually indicates that you are on the wrong path altogether. Recognition of this can lead to enlightenment, and even peace.
—Millinger.com
Rain clattered against the apartment window. Normally a comforting sound, today it grated on Sam’s nerves. He shifted on the hard wooden chair and sighed before plugging another database into the browser. His finger came down harder on the “enter” button than he’d intended.
“Nothing yet, huh?” Riley dug her thumbs and fingers into Sam’s shoulders.
“No sign of him.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. She was trying to soothe him, to help ease his tension, but need seeped into him with every stroke of her hands. He’d tried everything he knew to track Anson, to no avail. “Nick call?”
“Not yet.”
“Fuck.” He scoured both hands over his face and left them there, for a few seconds not fighting the comfort and pleasure she gave him. Not giving over to the guilt that permeated everything. Riley felt him give in and sighed, digging deeper, leaning into him so her body pressed against his. And Sam let her, for far longer than he should have.
Every time he closed his eyes, his senses ignited—with the power residue inside him, making itself at home instead of making him sick. With Riley’s power, a beauty that made him ache with longing and more. And with the awful mess of Quinn, asleep in Tanda’s guest room, where she’d been for most of the last three days.
Tanda’s elegant living room told the tale of those days. The cushions of the plum-colored love seat and plush chairs were all askew, half of them covered with old papers and books. The cherry wood coffee table was barely visible under dirty dishes and their pizza box left over from lunch. More books and papers littered the card table where Sam worked, surrounding the laptop that now beeped in annoyance when he tried to enter information into the database search box. The table was set up next to the wide windows and sliding doors that opened to her concrete balcony, which was now saturated with the rain that hadn’t stopped since they arrived.
With rain, Tanda’s source, the conditions for transferring her power back to her couldn’t be more perfect.
Tanda had taken them in without question, and without caring that they couldn’t make her whole again. Yet, Quinn had said. Many times. Except the more time that passed, the more it looked like “yet” meant “never.”
John turning the Numina gang over to the police had been a bold, confusing move. The police had held everyone except Danner and Lilling, experts at self-preservation. They’d thrown the kids under the bus and disappeared. John’s story and the condition of the apartment had meshed, so they’d held the kids while they tried to figure out what had happened. But since Riley and Quinn hadn’t stayed, the stall tactic expired about a day and a half ago.
Quinn hadn’t been fully leeched. In fact, Anson hadn’t taken much at all—Sam and Riley had both confirmed that. But it was enough to leave Quinn too weak to initiate the transfer. Marley had spent the previous three days caring for her sister, and Riley infused Quinn with strength several times a day. Otherwise, Sam was afraid she’d have died under the strain…and taken Nick with her. Sam had never seen the guy like this. He’d always been one to hold everything inside, to keep his most personal emotions locked in a lead box. Now, Sam wasn’t sure at any given moment if Nick would snap at them, blow up, or burst into tears.
Okay, probably not the tears.
But the worst part was Anson. Sam had heeded Nick’s plea not to go after him, and it turned out they needed the asshole anyway. The power he’d taken had included Quinn’s and Marley’s and Tanda’s in one entangled mass. Even though he hadn’t gotten
it all, Quinn wouldn’t be able to do a clean transfer until it was all restored. And they couldn’t find him. He’d gone completely off the grid. The Society had their entire security team looking for him, too, and John had shuffled protectors to the closest and most vulnerable goddesses in case Anson went straight for a new source.
Riley stayed by Sam’s side as she’d promised she would, her very presence maintaining his equilibrium, even without much physical contact. But the limbo applied to them, too. His feelings for Riley had become relentless. Everything he’d worried about when he first met her, first started to fall for her, had been rendered insignificant. His real feelings entwined with his energy need until he clung to control with his fingertips. Every night he lay on the floor in the living room, staring at the ceiling, dying to go into the guest room she shared with the other women and lie with her, propriety be damned. But he didn’t want to hurt her, and there were so many ways he could.
“Sam, take a break.” Her soft hands pried his gently off his face, and she sat in the folding chair next to the table. “You haven’t slept in days.”
“No one has.” He pulled his hands away and blinked hard, staring at the computer screen. With a few keystrokes, he set the site back to the initial entry and got it working. Searching… flashed on the monitor. “It’s all right. I just need more coffee.”
“We’re out. Tanda went to get some—and groceries—so we can have a real meal. Marley went with her.” Riley frowned at Sam. “I talked to Quinn about the transfer this morning.”
“Yeah?” The search results filled the screen. Sam skimmed over them. Here’s a promising one. A credit card charge in California. He highlighted, copied, and pasted the data into another search engine.
“Giving Tanda back her ability isn’t going to be enough,” Riley said.
“Yeah, I know… Crap.” Dead end. “I think Anson might have been in Sacramento yesterday, but I can’t find anything to back it up.”
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