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Whoever was following them was hidden in the bushes along the wall. Hope couldn't see him, but his vibes blared loud as a siren. Fear. Anxiety. Misgivings. She caught the emotions and a jumble of thoughts, too muddled to distinguish whole words. As she drank in the chaos, the demon perked up.
See? He's afraid. No danger here. No need to wait for Karl. The daughter of Lucifer doesn't need a werewolf to protect her. Show him what you can -
Hope gagged the demon and kept walking.
Their pursuer moved with her, the bushes rustling loud enough for Hope to track his progress even without the chaos siren.
See? He's an amateur. Easy prey. Just -
She veered from the wall so she wouldn't make him any more nervous. The demon withdrew, sulking.
As Hope neared a place where a large tree overhung the wall, she caught a vision flash of Karl crouched at the top of the wall, hidden in the tree's shadow, waiting to pounce. The vision was oddly distorted, like looking through old glass, and she stopped short, confused.
The bushes erupted. As Hope wheeled, a figure leapt out, gun raised. She opened her mouth to warn Karl, but chaos blasted off the figure - absolute terror, so strong she reeled back, her shout a strangled squeak.
Karl's dark form was already in midjump. He twisted out of the way, but the figure didn't fire, just lifted the gun, then spun and ran.
Hope recovered in time to see a flash of a boy's face, freckled with red hair, not more than sixteen. The shock of that stunned her just long enough for the boy to streak past.
She tore after him. Karl's footsteps pounded behind them. Hope kept her lead but as quick as she was, the boy was faster. He made it through the propped-open rear exit and slammed it shut before she got there.
Hope yanked on the door handle. Locked. She was fumbling with Robyn's keys when Karl caught her hand.
He whispered, "Let him go," but his vibes screamed a very different message, the wolf gnashing its teeth as its prey escaped.
Karl's gaze moved to the parking lot, reminding her - and himself - of the police stakeout. They couldn't afford to be seen hanging around, much less be caught racing after the boy.
"We scared the crap out of him," she whispered. "He won't be coming back."
Karl nodded. Whether he believed that or not, it got them away from that door. One last lingering look, and they headed for the car.
* * *
COLM
Colm huddled under the stairs, shaking so hard he thought he was going to throw up.
He'd been so busy watching the woman he'd forgotten all about the man. It had only been a fluke - or survival instinct - that sent him a vision flash of the man crouched on the wa
ll. He could still see him jumping, his face hard and eyes gleaming, lips pulled back. Even in memory that look made Colm's bladder twitch. In real life, it had made him turn tail and run.
He'd seen the man twist in midflight, yet still hit the ground running. An eight-foot wall and he'd jumped down effortlessly. No hesitation, no bracing for a fall.
He wasn't human. That look on his face hadn't been human.
He remembered the woman in the hall, turning. The man had asked if she'd sensed something.
Sensed how? Magic? Was she a witch? The man some kind of half-demon?
But why would supernaturals be in Robyn Peltier's apartment?
Maybe because they were looking for the same thing he was: Robyn Peltier. Or the photograph.
What if that photo wasn't an accident? Irving Nast had tricked Adele into that meeting. Maybe he'd had Portia Kane take the picture to blackmail Adele into working for the Cabal. Before Nast could get the photo, Adele had stolen the cell phone. So now these two supernaturals had to retrieve a copy from Robyn Peltier.
So Portia Kane had been a supernatural secret agent? That sounded crazy. But what if the Cabals knew about the kumpania and what they did for a living? Wouldn't a celebrity supernatural be the perfect lure to draw them out?
The Cabals were devious and endlessly resourceful. They'd created an interracial council, supposedly to protect supernaturals, but if you ran to them, you'd be turned right back over to the Cabals. They set up one of their own Cabal sons - Lucas Cortez - as a so-called crusader, but if you ran to him, again, you'd end up back in the hands of the Cabal. You could never underestimate them, never be too paranoid. That's the lesson the phuri had drilled into Colm's head from birth.
