“You said the same thing about your ex,” she pointed out.
I was on my way to the stairs, so I called over my shoulder, “Hence the ‘ex’ part.”
Our two bedrooms were up one level; the bilevel flat had the sitting room, kitchen, and half bath downstairs. Upstairs, we had two bedrooms and a bath, with balconies off each room. The split design made the place seem spacious, and when one of us had company, we could give the other privacy.
Though she’d been here only a few months, Shannon had more visitors than I did. I resisted any neighborly attempts to get to know me. It didn’t take a shrink to figure out why.
Two guys claimed to care about me, yet neither was here. They both wanted me to give up the life I’d built and come live somewhere else. With Jesse Saldana, it would be Laredo, Texas. As he’d pointed out, I could open a pawnshop there, but he couldn’t be a cop in Mexico, and he had a large family he didn’t want to leave behind. I couldn’t blame him. Chance, on the other hand, had business interests in Florida, where his mother lived. He was a dutiful son and he wanted to take care of her, a feeling that got stronger when he almost lost her.
Regardless of whether it was a reasonable hope, I wanted someone who didn’t expect me to give up everything, a guy willing to do whatever it took to be with me. I’d spent my whole life settling, trying not to attract attention, and generally doing whatever it took to keep other people happy. I didn’t want to do that again. I wouldn’t. Not when I was comfortable in my own skin at last.
Sure, there were certain challenges, like a drug lord who wanted me dead, and the fact that I owed a demon a debt that he could call due at any moment. But everybody’s got problems, right?
Within a few more moments, I packed our bags. Shannon’s was a parti-colored black backpack with feminine skulls on it. Mine was less interesting, just a simple gray duffel that had wheels if you unzipped the bottom compartment. As we hurried around, Butch whined; I think he recognized signs of impending travel.
“Don’t worry,” I told the dog. “I won’t forget your stuff.”
He did not look particularly reassured. While he leaned against my legs, I plugged in Shannon’s laptop and went online. Because I didn’t check as often as Shannon, I had messages waiting. The first was from Yi Min-Chin. Things are going well at the store. Came up with a new cream, and I’d love to see how it works on you. Love, Min. P.S. Chance misses you.
Yeah, right. I wrote back quickly, asking about the cream. I ignored the mention of her son. She had been hinting, none too subtly, for months that I needed to come to Tampa for a visit. Much as I loved her, that wasn’t happening.
I read on. I could hear Jesse Saldana’s drawl as I skimmed the words.
Hi, sugar. Worked late tonight and I was thinking about you just before bed. I tried to call, but I got voice mail. I sure am missing you. Just as soon as I can swing it, I’ll take some vacation time and come see you. I have a bit saved up, even with that trip to Georgia. I figure I need to check out your shop. My mom’s birthday is coming up. I bet you could help me find the perfect thing for her. That’s if I’m welcome. Anyway, I’ll call again soon. Love, Jesse.
I also had a quick note from Booke, the magickal expert I’d met online while trying to find Chance’s mom. He was a proper mystery; I knew him only by his voice, as he appeared to be trapped somehow in Stoke. I’d give a lot to unravel his secrets, but this wasn’t the time. I skimmed his message detailing his latest project. Since we’d perfected lucid dreaming and then moved on to the next level, object translocation, he wanted my help in testing a new theory. For now, the idea would have to keep, but I was game once things settled down.
The rest of my mail didn’t amount to much. I deleted and then started typing. I couldn’t say anything specific without risking giving too much away, but I didn’t want Jesse or Booke to worry. I let them both know I was taking an unscheduled trip, showing Shannon some of the sights, and that I’d be sorry to miss our regular chats. Knowing he was lonely, I talked to Booke weekly on IM and about once a month on the phone. Jesse, I spoke to more often, since we were “dating,” though not exclusively. We’d agreed a monogamous long-distance relationship couldn’t work, but we should get to know each other better in case one of us—meaning me—wanted to relocate. Before a few months ago, I’d never heard of virtual dating, but it was better than nothing. I did miss him.
When Kel returned, he stopped in the shadows and said softly, “I recommend you avert your eyes.”
We both squeezed our eyes shut, and I felt the breeze of his passing. I smelled the sweet, coppery tang of blood, and a shiver worked through me. In the bathroom, the water ran for a good five minutes; I imagined the crimson diffusing in the sink, swirling down my drain. Pretty soon I felt a little woozy.
“Is this how it begins?” she asked.
“What?”
“One of the adventures you told me about.”
I wasn’t sure I’d call anything that’d happened to me an adventure, but I could see how a not-quite-nineteen-year-old girl might view it that way. She was young enough to find all of this exciting as well as terrifying and disturbing. If nothing else, I’d have some crazy stories to tell my grandkids—assuming I lived to see them.
“Pretty much. See what you can find out about hotels in Catemaco.” After she nodded and sat down with her laptop, I went down the hall to the half bath and knocked. “You ready for me?”
“Almost,” came his low response.
The noises from within indicated he was still washing up. Damn, what did he do, bathe in the shooter’s blood? I was sure I didn’t want to know the answer.
Eventually, he opened the door and I stepped inside. His shirt was off and it was wet where he’d scrubbed it. To his credit, there wasn’t a speck of blood anywhere in the place. After all, it wasn’t his first time cleaning up after himself.
In the hall, Shannon’s soft tread said she was coming down the hall to watch, so I closed the door. Outside, she muttered in annoyance, and I heard her retreating. Given Kel’s broad chest, powerful shoulders, artful tats, and incredible delts—along with a mass of old scars from fighting evil, or so he claimed—that seemed like a bad idea. I didn’t want her romanticizing him. As long as I remembered how scary I’d found him in that orange prison jumpsuit, my hormones wouldn’t overwhelm me, making me forget that he was, no matter how you spun it, first and foremost a killer.
He’d assembled the supplies on the edge of the sink, everything I needed to dig a bullet out of him. The knife was bigger than I felt comfortable using; nonetheless I picked it up, and my hands were steady. I took a few deep breaths to prepare myself for the coming ordeal. There was a reason I didn’t go into health care, after all.
“Brace yourself, Bridget.” He didn’t tense or otherwise react, so I went in.
Shit. His skin had already started to seal over the wound. No wonder he’d given me the big knife; I had to cut him. Dammit. I don’t know if I can—
“I’ll be fine,” he said with a touch of impatience. “Just do it.”
“How much will it hurt?”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I feel no pain?”
God, could that be true? Maybe you could blast him down to bone and he’d never know the difference, just continue with his assigned task until the flesh repaired itself.
“Yeah.”
“Pity I can’t claim that, then.”
Yes, it certainly was. I wished he’d lied. But that wasn’t going to happen. God’s Hand was nothing if not scrupulously honest, even when the truth was weird, unwelcome, and terrifying.
The tattoos didn’t extend to his back, so there was no fear of the scars marring the designs. He had angelic script on his chest, arms, shoulders, and head. For a fleeting instant, I wondered what the writing said. Eva had said he had angel names on his skull, but she hadn’t seen the rest of him.
This isn’t helping. Each second I stand here, the wound heals a little more.
Another deep breath, and I sank the knife into his back. The blade was sharp and silvered; his flesh gave way with sickening ease. Rich red blood spilled from the wound, darker against his scarred skin. He braced an arm on the sink, muscles bunched. The other he wrapped around his midriff in a protective gesture. When I glanced around him, I saw agony on his tense features reflected in the mirror.
Hurry. You don’t want to make him mad.
By the time I finished, I felt nauseated and shaky, but I dropped a twisted lead pellet in the trash beside the toilet. Mechanically, I blotted away the blood and started to tape a bandage over it, but by the time I got the gauze and tape ready, the injury had already scabbed over. I stared at that for a moment, unblinking.
This was indisputable truth, as I’d first glimpsed in Laredo. He might be crazy, but he had unnatural powers. I didn’t want to contemplate where those abilities might come from. At least he possessed none of the aromatic tells to suggest he’d made some infernal pact.
“You’re all set,” I said quietly. “Feel any better?”
In answer, he rotated his shoulders, testing. “Yes. Thank you.”
He turned then, and I saw why he’d been covering his abdomen. There was an angry red scar there, a new one. While Shannon and I stood outside, wondering what he was doing, he had literally been holding his guts in and mopping up his own blood.
Sickened, I stared at the evidence of my own cruelty. Neither of us had wondered if he’d been hurt. We’d been confident he could handle whomever Montoya had sent to kill me—and so he had, but not without cost.
“Why didn’t you let me help you?”
He reacted as if I had proposed something shocking and inappropriate; his whole body stiffened, and he took a step back. “Because I could handle it myself. I cannot dig a bullet out of my back.”
“So you accept aid only if you can’t perform the task yourself?”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
I didn’t understand him at all, and now the bathroom seemed too small. I took a step back and flung the door open. “Then I’ll let you finish up in here. Shannon and I are ready to go anytime.”
Out in the living room, I made a call. This time Señor Alvarez didn’t seem surprised that I needed him to watch my shop for a while, but he sounded more resigned than pleased. In fact, I had to offer him a higher commission on daily sales to get him to agree.
By the time Kel came out, Shannon and I had our stuff lined up at the door, along with my purse, which contained a slightly unsettled Chihuahua. Shannon carried our dinner in one hand and a laptop bag in the other. Since her arrival, I’d sprung for wireless Internet—growing up in Kilmer had left her starved for the normal accoutrements of modern life.
“We can eat in the car,” she said. “And I washed up the dishes so we don’t get bugs. I also found a place for us to stay once we get there. I wrote down the address.”
She was a good kid. I knew better than to put it that way, however, because I could still see residual interest in him simmering in her eyes, no matter what she’d said about him not being her type. Kel was fascinating, whether I liked it or not.
