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Did she have a brother?
Had the kill on General Hunt been deliberate, or an accident? Were the two hits even connected?
His mind couldn't give me the answers. He only knew what he'd been contracted to do.
I glanced up as the wailing sirens came to a halt on the street below. Time to go. I raided the killer's mind again, this time making him believe he had a broken leg. Even if he woke before the cops got here, he wouldn't go anywhere. I rose, patted him down for other weapons, shoved him onto his side so he wouldn't choke to death on his own blood - though if he was a vampire, that was highly unlikely - then kicked the rifle well out of his reach.
Move, Riley. Quinn's voice was edged with concern. The cops will be up on that roof soon.
I'm aware of that. I headed for the stairs. How'd you do?
He'd disappeared by the time I got up there.
I went down the stairs even faster than I'd come up, and a whole different set of muscles woke to protest. No clues as to how?
He left some feathers and the weapon behind.
So the second shooter was a shifter - not that that gave any clue as to identity. My filler had been contracted to hit me, not Hunt.
Hunt was a deliberate shot, not an accident.
I pushed my way out of the stairwell. The guard spun and opened his mouth to speak, but I took control of his mind and made him look past me and see nothing. So, we were both targets simply because we were both at the one spot. The question is, why did they want Hunt dead?
And how did they know you were here, let alone that it was you under that disguise?
I don't know. I just don't know.
The front doors swished open. Lights flashed across the darkness, streaking it with blue and red. Men in white and blue stood around the taxi and Mrs. Hunt, while a gathering crowd looked on in horror.
Awareness prickled across my skin, then Quinn was beside me, a shadow who suddenly found substance. He wrapped his hand around my arm and guided me to the right.
Where are we going?
'You re going to the airport. I'm going to follow Mrs. Hunt.
Jack, won't be happy.
Jack is not my boss, and we need to know what the hell is going on. If Mrs. Hunt is a replacement, she'll know something. Or somebody. I intend to find out which it is.
Be careful.
In these matters, I always am.
He stopped by the car and opened the door. Then he pulled me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that was wild, erotic, and a very unapologetic affirmation of what he wanted. And what he intended to do when we had more time.
I opened my eyes, stared into his. Saw the desire. Saw the determination, burning bright.
This vampire would not give up, would not go away. No matter what I did or said. He was playing for keeps. For real.
Which meant he still wasn't understanding that I was a wolf, with a wolf's needs, and that we could never be what he wanted us to be, no matter what might lay between us.
"Quinn - "
"Mrs. Hunt is leaving," he cut in harshly, making me wonder if he'd read my mind and was simply delaying the moment of truth. "We'll talk another time."
He kissed me again, no less fiercely than before, then pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut. By the time I'd twisted around to look at him, he was gone. The Rocker was filled with teenagers half my age, all of them bopping to music that was painful to my cars. I could see why the Rocker's traditional weekend crowd had fled - the crap they were playing now was nothing like the good old-fashioned rock and roll this club had built its reputation on. But then, I guess they had to do something to attract the next generation of wolves through the door.
Misha sat on a stool at the far end of the chrome and red lacquer bar. He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt, and both accentuated the whiteness of his lean body. As I stood there staring at him, the urge to turn and run hit me. I didn't want to do this. I really didn't.
