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Then the sadness was gone and he took another sip of beer before adding, in a voice that was edgy and sharp,
"And I've discovered the hard way that lies and entrapments fall from the prettiest tongue as easily as the ugliest."
"Well, I hope I fall into the former group rather than the latter," I said, a little alarmed by the sudden fierceness in his tone. Something was very off, but I wasn't sure what. Then my gaze flicked to his arm. Maybe his fierceness was understandable. With scars like those, survival must have been touch and go, even for a dragon who could heal far better than any human.
"Do it," he said, "or I walk out of here now and you'll never get your answers."
I looked around the room, seeing no one looking our way or showing any undue interest. That might change given what I was about to do, but there wasn't much I could do about that. Not if I wanted my answers.
If this guy could provide answers and wasn't just yanking my chain.
I mean, the voice on the phone that had given us this lead had been oddly familiar, and that alone had raised questions. But Rainey had convinced me that we needed to take the chance if we were ever to get some answers. And now Rainey was dead and I was here talking to a stranger who might not only be connected to her death, but who might well be here to trap me - the one who had escaped from their little "accident."
And while Leith and his people were doing the background check on Angus, I simply didn't have the time to sit back and wait for the answers. Hence the reason I was here, taking this godawful chance.
I had no other choice if I wanted to save Rainey.
I pushed the Coke back then held up a hand, keeping it close to my chest so that there was less likelihood of everyone else noticing.
Then I reached deep down into that place in my soul where the dragon resided. She came roaring forward in answer, heating my skin and making it tingle. But she was all flame and no substance, as usual. I focused on the energy burning through my body, controlling and restricting it, until it was little more than flickers of fire that danced joyfully across my fingertips.
Few dragons could do that with their fire. Most had full flame or nothing.
I met Angus's gaze. "Satisfied?"
He nodded, but oddly he didn't seem to relax. In fact, the tension that was knotting his shoulders and arms seemed worse than ever.
"So tell me," I added, "what you know about the cleansings."
He laced his fingers together, then leaned forward. "I know where the bodies are."
>Only I doubt he'd ever been near a boat in his life. Sea dragons had no need for that mode of transport. Not according to Leith - a friend who was currently running a background check on Dougall. And he should know, because he was a sea dragon himself.
Angus came back with a beer in his hand and sat down. His gaze swept my face, lingering on the half-healed wound that snuck out from my hair to create a jagged line across half my forehead. Once it was fully healed, it would be barely visible, but right now it was fucking ugly.
Which was a small price to pay, considering the other option. Tears touched my eyes and I blinked them away rapidly. Now was not the time to grieve. I had far too much to do before I could give in to the pain and hurt and loss.
Angus took a sip of his beer then said, "I wasn't actually expecting you to make it today. I thought you'd been in an accident?"
Fear prickled my spine. I took a drink to ease the sudden dryness in my throat and wondered if he'd been behind the wheel of that truck. Wondered just how safe I was in this bar, even with the dozen or so strangers around us.
"I was."
"You look okay."
"I am." My fingers tightened around the glass. "Who told you about the accident?"
Certainly I hadn't mentioned it when I'd finally received my possessions from the mangled car and had given him another call. In fact, I hadn't told anyone - although that hadn't stopped Leith from ringing the hospital frantically to see if I was all right. But then, he had other methods of finding these things out.
Angus shrugged. "I saw it mentioned in the Chronicle."
If the Chronicle had run an article on the accident, why hadn't they contacted me? I was, after all, one of their reporters. But I could sense no lie in his words or in his expression, and reading a newspaper had been the last thing on my mind when I'd awoken in hospital. For all I knew, he was telling the truth. Yet there was a strange tension emanating from him, and that made me uneasy. I eased my grip a little on the glass and took a sip.
"I was also told you're draman," he continued.
Meaning someone had been checking up on me. And given the accident, that couldn't be a good thing -
especially considering I wasn't exactly popular at home. I knew for a fact that many in my clique hoarded a grudge as avidly as they collected all things shiny - which was the reason behind my original move to San Francisco.
