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From there he had two directions to choose from. One would've brought him straight into our arms.
He hit the sidewalk and ran in the other direction, heading north again.
Still jogging, I glanced over my shoulder at Jeremy. He hesitated, gaze meeting mine, and I was sure he was going to call me back. After a moment, he motioned for us to keep going, in silent pursuit, and head the man off someplace safe.
Parked
WE REACHED THE AUTO REPAIR SHOP ON THE CORNER JUST as the man crossed the road. He paused and stared up at the replica gaslight streetlamps, then squinted down the street. Clay glanced at me, but I shook my head. Too public.
Seconds later, the man took off again, darting down a narrow road between two yellow brick houses. Before we could sprint across, a short line of cars, released from the stoplight, reached the corner. I bounced on the balls of my feet, leaning and ducking, trying to track the man's figure as he disappeared down the dark road. The moment the last car passed, we dashed off the curb and to the other side.
He was gone. As Clay raced down the narrow road, I slowed and took a deep breath, getting the scent. Then I followed. When I hit an alley between two tall buildings, the trail ended. I whistled, and veered without waiting to make sure Clay understood. He would.
The alley was clogged with garbage bags, stinking in the summer heat. I skirted around them, and the rows of gray and blue recycling bins, and came out on the east side of Sherbourne. As I paused to find the man's scent under the stench of the busy street and the garbage, Clay tapped my back, grunted "there," pointed across the road and strode past me. At this hour, the four-lane road was quiet, and we crossed easily, earning only one polite warning honk from an oncoming driver.
On the other side was a block-sized park surrounding the square-domed Allan Gardens Conservatory. That's where our target was heading, straight down the rose-lined walkway to the glass building.
Clay glanced at me for instructions. That was how we worked, and it had nothing to do with dominance or power. Put Clay with a werewolf of roughly the same hierarchical position, whose judgment he trusted, and he preferred to follow orders...which was fine because I preferred to give them.
The choice now was: split up or stay together. Still moving, I scoped out the park and our target's path, and made my decision. I signaled the plan. There was no reason why I couldn't talk--we were far enough away that the man wouldn't overhear--but when I switched to hunt mode, my brain switched to nonverbal.
Clay nodded, and we broke into a slow jog. In the dark, our outfits looked sufficiently joggerlike to get away with that. The biggest danger we faced was alerting our target, but if he hadn't looked over his shoulder yet, he probably wasn't going to. He had other things on his mind. As for what...well, I had my suspicions, but this wasn't the time to consider them.
We ran along the gauntlet of trees, old-fashioned benches and lampposts that lined the main path. As we neared the conservatory, we slowed, and I motioned Clay into the shadows with me. The man had stopped in front of the historic site marker. His lips moved as he read it, brows furrowing in confusion.
I glanced at Clay. He stood motionless, tensed and waiting, blue eyes glittering as he watched his prey. Without looking away from the man, he leaned sideways toward me, his hand brushing my hip, lips curving. Our eyes met. He grinned, and I could read that grin as clearly as if he'd spoken. Even better than a city run, huh? I grinned back.
The man finished reading the plaque and walked to the window. As he stared at the huge tropical trees inside, I nodded and Clay slipped away, looping around to the other side. I crept to the stairs. I made it halfway up before the man turned. He saw me. I kept climbing, gaze fixed on a spot to his side, just another nighttime visitor, a pregnant woman, nonthreatening and--
He bolted.
He ran for the north staircase. I raced up mine as Clay flew from the south. A look my way. I waved him back and he nodded, wheeling to head around the building and cut the man off. While I scrambled down the north steps, the man raced between the garden beds and toward the greenhouse. I ran after him. I rounded the corner and nearly bowled over two police officers.
A mental "Oh, shit!" Then I checked my pace to a jog, flashed a tight smile and prayed they wouldn't try to stop me. I made it three strides.
"Miss!"
Play dumb. No, deaf. Just keep--
"Miss!"
A hand touched my arm as one of the officers ran up behind me. Couldn't ignore that.
I forced myself to stop, turn and smile, trying hard not to bare my teeth. My heart pounded, adrenaline racing, reminding me that my prey was getting away.
"Are you all right?" the first officer, a beefy graying man, asked.
"Sure, I was just--" I stopped before I said "jogging." My outfit might pass from a distance, but not this close. I caught sight of a terrier across the park, and remembered this was an off-leash area.
"Walking my dog," I said. "Chasing him, actually. He took off on me and--"
"It looked like someone was chasing you."
"Me?"
"There was a man running behind you. We noticed from the other side of--"
"There you are," said a voice to my right.
