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Take care, Sentinel, he said silently.
We rotated, flipped, soaring through the air like a luxury projectile. The world spun, dark sky now our floor, the pavement our sky . . . and then we landed with a jolt I felt in every bone, muscle, and tendon. We bounced once, then again, before skidding to a stop.
Sound and pain and smell returned with a roar like an ocean wave cresting over our heads. I tasted blood, felt a stabbing pain in my side.
I’d knocked my head against the seat back, and I blinked until the world stopped spinning. When the carousel slowed, I glanced over, the movement wrenching something in my neck.
Ethan sat beside me, utterly still, eyes closed, head bleeding from a visibly nasty gash in his forehead. Smoke began to fill the car from the crumpled hood.
I cursed, unhooked my seat belt, kicked the car door until it opened, and climbed out. I staggered on my feet and grabbed the side of the car because the world had started to spin again.
“Do not pass out,” I ordered myself, my knuckles white as I fought to stay upright while darkness circled around my vision. I clung to consciousness, taking one step at a time, my ribs screaming, both hands on the car for balance, moving around it to Ethan’s side of the car.
His door was dented, but I wrenched it open.
“Ethan!” I slapped him, got no response, tried our psychic connection. Ethan.
The silence was deafening. I put a hand to his throat, felt a low and steady pulse. The car was filling with smoke; I was going to have to move him.
I unbuckled the seat belt, leaned him forward, reached around his chest, pulled him out of the car. It wasn’t easy hauling one hundred and eighty pounds of undead weight with what I’d diagnosed as a broken rib and probably a concussion, but I managed it, and got him to the curb when sirens began to scream in the distance. I laid him on the sidewalk, tore a strip from my T-shirt, pressed it to the unpleasant-looking wound in his forehead.
ssed Reed hadn’t just called the CPD.
“Trouble, Sentinel?”
“Reed tattled. That was a very unhappy message from my father.”
I watched Ethan’s gaze dart from windshield to rearview mirror to side mirror, then back again. Magic began to lift, slowly but steadily, raising goose bumps on my arms.
“What’s wrong?”
Ethan’s gaze tracked the sequence again. “Someone is following us. White sedan, dark windows, three cars back.”
I glanced at the side mirror, and when the car immediately behind us turned onto a side street, I caught a sliver of white.
“One of Reed’s men?”
“Unless your father’s hired a hit man. Send Luc a message. Tell him Reed may be pissed, and to lock down the House. Same message to Scott and Morgan.”
I typed the messages as Ethan turned a sharp corner, tried to lose the car behind us. The movement wasn’t good for accuracy.
“I might have just told Helen to lock down the House.”
“Close enough,” Ethan said, his gaze darting between the windshield and rearview mirror. We were flying down a residential street. The Ferrari had no problem with that, but Chicago traffic was hairy on the best of nights.
The street opened, became two lanes in each direction. The white car used the opportunity to go around the remaining car and slipped back in behind us. It was an Audi, and I caught a glimpse of red hair when he drove beneath a streetlight.
“It’s Maguire,” I said. “And he’s moving faster.”
Ethan nodded. “He knows he’s been spotted and doesn’t want to lose us.”
“He doesn’t have to worry about that. He knows where we live.”
“That’s only true if he wants us to arrive safely. I don’t believe that’s the case, Sentinel.”
There was a flash, a bang, as gunshots ricocheted around the car. There was a thwack behind me as a bullet made contact with a back panel.
Ethan jerked the Ferrari to the left, the right, avoiding another spray of bullets. Maguire had upgraded his arsenal.
