Hunter didn’t say anything, but he gave her another look, as if to say, I’m not an idiot.
She didn’t like all these looks. They were keeping her off balance.
She didn’t like being off balance.
“You act like you’re so experienced all of a sudden,” she scoffed. “What’s your plan, then?”
He turned, put a finger to his lips, and shushed her.
Shushed her!
She wanted to cut him to his knees, but Hunter shifted on the bench, straightened a little.
Kate knew exactly who he’d spotted, because as soon as the dark-haired kid laid eyes on Hunter, he bolted.
Then Hunter bolted after him.
Kate swore and took up the chase.
The boy had an advantage. He’d been coming out of the door, so he was able to run along the school wall, while she and Hunter had to fight through a swarm of students to follow him.
The kid was fast, too, lean and lanky with a stride that ate up the grass and gave him early distance. They made it to the soccer fields behind the school, a long stretch of turf that offered no cover. For a terrifying moment, Kate wondered if this boy had cursed himself, because Silver was surely waiting somewhere, watching this whole episode, and he’d already proven he wasn’t afraid to shoot first and ask questions later.
Then she felt power and knew Hunter was pulling energy from the air, from the misting rain, from the ground under their feet. For an instant, jealousy snaked through her mind—she didn’t have anywhere near enough control to borrow so much at once—but then Hunter was surging forward to tackle the kid and bring him to the ground.
They rolled in the grass, but Hunter had him pinned by the time she got to them.
The boy was fighting like hell.
Her senses were wide open, and his fear assaulted Kate, his panic, his rage that they’d caught him so easily. It hit her so fiercely that she almost grabbed Hunter’s arm to drag him off the boy.
She knew better. She’d learned about that the hard way.
“Let me go,” the kid cried. “Let me go. They’ll know you did this. They know—”
“Stop!” said Hunter. “I just want to talk to you—”
The boy spit in his face.
Hunter swore and ducked his head to wipe his cheek on his shoulder. “Seriously?”
“You can’t stop us. There are too many, and we know where to hide.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Hunter. “You know what happened to Calla.”
“I know Calla is going to destroy you.”
Hunter froze. His shock was almost palpable. “What did you just say?”
The boy spit at him again. “Calla is going to kill you all.”
“Calla’s alive?” Kate couldn’t figure out the emotion in Hunter’s voice, as if relief and dismay were fighting to come out on top.
She knew one thing for sure: Silver was going to shit a brick. And he was probably going to blame her.
The boy was shaking, but his eyes were full of fury. “Do it. Kill me. If I disappear, you’ll just make it worse for everyone.”
“What does that mean?” said Hunter.
“The carnival was nothing. You wait. We’ll show the Guides what we can really do.”
“How many of you are there?” said Kate.
“Where’s Calla?” demanded Hunter.
“Like I’d tell you. What’s the worst you can do—kill me?”
“Break his arm,” she said to Hunter.
She meant it as a threat, as something to throw a little fear into the boy. But Hunter made a movement with his wrist, sharp and quick, and then there was a snap and the kid was screaming bloody murder.
Holy crap.
Kate couldn’t breathe. She must have lost time from the shock of it all, because now the kid was quiet. He’d passed out.
She wouldn’t mind doing the same thing. Hunter had—he’d—it was—
Then people were yelling, just there, coming across the soccer field.
A teacher was grabbing Hunter’s arm and dragging him away from the boy on the ground.
And another one grabbed her, too.
CHAPTER 22
Kate glared at the edge of the guidance counselor’s desk and wondered if she’d get in more trouble if she just pulled the knife out of her boot and stabbed Hunter right now. What a jerk.
He was glaring at Ms. Vickers, his expression somewhat exasperated. “I didn’t even hurt him.”
Ms. Vickers was glaring back at him. “He said he thought you were trying to break his arm.”
Hunter snorted. “It was a joke. I popped the joint. He passed out.” His tone clearly said, wuss.
Kate couldn’t blame the kid. She’d almost passed out herself.
Wuss.
The guidance counselor was still studying Hunter. “He said it was a joke, too.”
“Good. So I can go?”
“Not so fast.” The woman turned toward Kate. “Where do you come into play?”
Kate wasn’t sure what to say—this hadn’t exactly been part of the plan. She had a phone number in her file, but it was Silver’s cell phone number, and what if they asked him to come in and pick her up?
Before she could say anything, Hunter said, “She didn’t have anything to do with it. She didn’t realize we were just goofing off. She was trying to stop me.”
His voice was lazy, almost blasé. Kate shut her mouth and tried to look innocent.
Ms. Vickers glared at Hunter across the desk. “Hunter, we’ve had a discussion about physical altercations twice now. If this continues, I’m going to be forced to suspend you—”
“Great.” He stood and turned for the door.
“We aren’t finished here.”
Hunter paused. “He said it was a joke, right? So I’m not in trouble?”
Ms. Vickers’s mouth tightened into a line. “Don’t think I won’t be watching you more carefully regarding this young man, Hunter. I’m not entirely convinced of this joke.”
“Good for you.” Then he was through the door.
Ms. Vickers swung her head around to look at Kate. “Your transcript from St. Mary’s is impeccable. Were you genuinely trying to help the young man?”
Kate was sure her forged transcript read like a bestseller. She tried to get it together. “I—yes—I saw Hunter run after—”
“Fine. Go.” Ms. Vickers flicked a finger toward the door. She was already dialing a phone with the other hand.
Hunter had made it to the parking lot by the time Kate caught up to him. The sun had burned off the clouds, and she felt heat prick at her neck. She grabbed Hunter by the arm.
“Are you insane?” she hissed. “I thought you really broke that kid’s arm. What was the point of all—”
“Now he’s afraid of me. I need them to be afraid of me.”
She wished Hunter would just stop and talk to her. “Why?”
“Because Calla always had the upper hand, and that meant people got hurt. I need time to figure out what else they’re planning.” He shoved a key into the door of his jeep. “To figure out where she might be hiding.”
“Damn it, Hunter, if you’re going to work with me, then you need to work with me. You need to tell me what you’re doing. We don’t work like—”
He turned and caught her arms. She tensed to retaliate—but then she realized she didn’t need to fight him off.
Because he was kissing her.
She lost a moment to sheer surprise. His hands were strong and gentle at the same time, sliding under her jacket to trap her waist—not that there was any danger of her going anywhere right this second. She couldn’t read him at all today. First, she’d thought he hated her, then he was brutalizing that kid, and now . . . now . . .
Her back hit the side of his jeep before she even realized he’d turned her. The heat of the sunlight became a living thing, tracing power down her skin to match the sparks from his lips against hers. He was pressed against her, almost full length, his hands
creeping up her sides to send heat through her body in a way that had nothing to do with sunlight or power. Silver could have had a gun trained on her right that instant, and she wouldn’t have cared.
Hunter tasted like cinnamon and smelled like the woods, pine and bark and something very male. His mouth was so sure, and when his tongue brushed hers, a sound escaped her lips. He did it again, letting his thumbs trace over her breasts so lightly that she found herself arching into him. Suddenly she wished they were somewhere else, somewhere private, with curtains and less clothing and—
Hunter broke the kiss. Her breathing was quick, loud and desperate in the space between them.
He closed his hands on her waist again, and turned her away from his car.
Her brain was spinning its wheels, trying to find traction.
Hunter leaned close. “Just to be clear: I’d know exactly what to do if you threw yourself at me.”
Then he was in his car, starting the ignition, leaving her in the parking lot, nothing more than a melted puddle of hot, bothered, and seriously pissed off.
Hunter waited at the end of the cul-de-sac and watched the two-story house from the cover of a maple tree. Someone around here was having a Friday-night party; his car blended with a dozen others without any trouble. A basketball hoop hung over the garage door of the house he watched, and someone needed to attack the yard with a lawn mower. A tricycle with pink streamers sat in the driveway, next to about sixteen different chalk-drawn rainbows. It was too dark to see the rainbows now, of course, but Hunter had watched the sun trace shadows across the lawn until darkness crept over the neighborhood, and he knew the layout of the yard so well that he could make a diorama.
The house next door had been destroyed by a fire and was now surrounded by construction fencing.
The first house Calla had burned to the ground.
According to the file, Noah Dean, that kid with the dark hair, the one with the not-broken arm, lived in the house with the rainbowed driveway.
Hunter was waiting for everyone to go to bed so he could break in and continue the interrogation.
He was waiting here, instead of somewhere else, in case Noah decided to leave.
Hunter’s cell phone buzzed, and he sighed.
So far, he’d ignored five text messages.
Two from Becca.
And three from Michael.
He hadn’t read any of them.
He glanced at his phone now, just out of idle curiosity. Another from Michael.
Where are you?
Hunter rolled his eyes and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Like Michael gave a crap. He probably wanted to know when Hunter was going to get his stuff out of the house so they could move on to the next city. Hunter had only one reason to go back to the Merrick house tonight: Casper.
Lights in the Dean house were slowly ticking off. Only a matter of time now.
But then the front door opened, and Hunter straightened.
Moonlight reflected on dark hair, a trash bag crinkled, and Hunter recognized his mark. He was out of the car in a heartbeat, creeping along the sidewalk.
Be a shadow, Hunter. Can you be a shadow?
It was one of the first things he’d learned from his father. He’d been six.
Noah Dean never saw him coming. Hunter had him on the ground between the houses before the kid could draw enough breath to scream.
He was fighting now, though, and his flailing foot caught a trash can.
Hunter bit back a curse and braced an arm against Noah’s neck, using enough pressure that the boy whimpered and froze.
“That’s better,” Hunter said.
Noah’s breathing was shaking. “My parents will know something is up. I was just taking out the trash.”
“You and your friends have been killing people. You think I give a crap about your parents?”
“They’ll call the cops—”
“Then maybe I should work faster, huh?” Hunter added another few pounds of pressure, until the boy’s eyes squeezed shut.
“What?” he cried. “What do you want?”
“I want to know where Calla is hiding. What you’re planning.”
“I don’t—I can’t—” The boy choked and gasped and squirmed under Hunter’s grip.
Hunter held him there for another minute, until the fear in the air was potent.
“If you think I won’t hurt you,” said Hunter, “you’re wrong.”
“Fuck you.” The boy squeaked out the words. “You’re just proving our point.”
“And what point is that?”
“The Guides are the ones who should be destroyed.” Noah squirmed again, trying to ease some of the pressure on his throat. “Your talents don’t make you better than the other Elementals. They make you worse. Just look what you’re doing right now.”
His rage practically hit Hunter in the face.
The guilt that followed was his own. But he couldn’t let this kid go. This was so much bigger than just the two of them.
“What are you planning?” said Hunter. “What’s Calla planning?”
Noah choked and squirmed. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be around here on Monday.”
A door creaked around the front of the house, then a female voice called out, almost wavering. “Noah? Are you okay?”
Hunter looked down at the boy he had pinned to the ground and knew he had about three seconds to figure out what to do.
“Tell me where Calla is or I’ll shoot your mother.”
He must have sounded pretty convincing, because the boy’s breathing shook. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t know about this. My mom’s not an Elemental.”
Hunter had told Kate that he needed these kids to be afraid of him.
Now that Noah was, it felt horrible.
“Tell me,” Hunter hissed.
“Noah?” Mrs. Dean was coming closer. She sounded worried.
Hunter drew his weapon and cocked the hammer. He added weight to Noah’s throat.
“Tunnels,” gasped Noah.
“Tunnels? What tunnels?”
“The—the tunnels—”
The woman’s flip-flops smacked the driveway. Hunter was either going to have to shoot this woman or let Noah go.
If he couldn’t shoot Calla, he sure as hell couldn’t shoot an unarmed non-Elemental who was looking for her son. He let the kid go and slipped into the shadows.
The boy hadn’t made it to his feet by the time his mother came around the side of the house, but he was sitting up, rubbing his throat.
She was at his side in a heartbeat, touching his face, asking if he was all right, assuring him he could take a few days off from school if that mean older boy wouldn’t leave him alone. Then a hug and a promise of chocolate chip cookies.
Hunter felt his fists clench. It took a while to figure out this emotion.
Jealousy.
He had to shove thoughts of his mother out of his head.
Thoughts of Kate were quick to replace them. Not the feel of her body in the parking lot, the way she’d yielded to his kiss and practically melted under his hands. Instead, he thought of that moment in the woods, when she’d breathed power on his neck to heal the knife wound there.
The way she’d put a hand on his wrist that morning when he’d told her what happened with his grandfather.
The way she’d acted like she cared.
He wished, for just an instant, that one moment of it could be real.
CHAPTER 23
Hunter got to the top of the driveway and sighed.
Michael was waiting on the front porch.
It was almost midnight, and the brothers’ car was in the driveway already, so Michael had to be waiting for him.
Casper was on the porch next to him, but the dog bolted to Hunter’s side when he climbed out of the jeep. Hunter rubbed his muzzle absently, wondering how it was possible his dog could take to this new home so readily while Hunter felt more like an outsider now than ever.
He still had no idea where Calla was hiding.
He had no idea why her friends were drawing Guides here.
He had no idea what else they might be planning.
And here he had a whole weekend where he’d be trapped in the Merrick house.
Michael had a mug beside him on the step, and he was leaning back against the bannister. He didn’t move when Hunter approached. “Forget something?”
Hunter frowned. “No.”
“Do you remember me promising your grandfather three hundred bucks? Remember saying you’d help with jobs until it was paid off?”
Hunter flushed and looked away. He had forgotten.
It was starting to feel like he owed everyone a piece of himself.
He steeled his shoulders and looked back at Michael. What did the debt matter when they might not be around long enough for him to work it off?
“Sorry,” he said.
His voice was flat, and Michael studied him for a minute. Hunter watched him back, looking for any indication that Michael was going to get into it.
But Michael remained still. “You want to sit down for a minute?”
“No.”
“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?”
Hunter offered the only thing he figured Michael wouldn’t question. “I went by the house. Tried to work things out with my mom.”
“You know I’ve got three younger brothers, right?”
Hunter frowned. “What?”
“It means I’ve got a pretty finely tuned bullshit detector.”
Hunter turned away, his fingers forming a fist around the keys in his pocket. Michael shifted on the step, and Hunter hoped that this was it, that Michael would come after him, that he could rage and fight and come out on top, just once.
But the only thing that came after him was Michael’s voice. “Hunter.”
He kept walking.
“Hunter, come back here. Right now.”
The command in Michael’s tone stopped him, more effectively than a fist or a grip on the arm would have. Something about it felt reassuring and immeasurably painful at the same time, because it reminded him so much of his father.
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