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After several more grunts, silence fell, silence that seemed to stretch on and on, sawing at my nerves.
Then the bush moved and I jumped, half turning to run before I realized it was Damon. His shirt was in shreds and he was covered in dirt and smears of blood, but he was still on his feet and his skin had a warmer glow than before. But heat wasn’t all he’d stolen from the guard. He’d also taken his coat and sweater.
He held the sweater out to me. “You need to keep warm.”
I hesitated, then somewhat reluctantly took it. It smelled of musk and sweat, and had my nose wrinkling in distaste. But with my internal fires barely even embers, the sweater would at least keep the night’s chill at bay.
“You took your time taking care of that guard,” I said, as I pulled the sweater on. “I would have thought Death would be a little more efficient.”
He raised an eyebrow as he dragged on the coat, his expression an odd mix of amusement and disdain. “It’s better to take your time and do something properly than rush and end up with a half-assed job.”
I was tempted to point out that a half-assed job was better than remaining here any longer than necessary, but I resisted. “Just because you can’t sense any other guards out there doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”
His dark eyes glinted dangerously. “Trust me; I’m trained to know these things. There’s no one else nearby, and the guard beyond that bush is currently fighting hibernation.”
He held out his hand. I hesitated, then placed my fingers in his, noticing that not only was his skin far warmer, but the underlying tremor that had been evident the last time he’d stolen heat was absent.
It made me wonder just how much he’d stolen and whether hibernation was the worst of the guard’s problems right now—made me wonder just what the man called Death was really capable of.
But if these men had been involved in Rainey’s death, they certainly deserved whatever Damon had dished out to them. And even if they hadn’t, I very much do
ubted whether compassion or kindness was what they’d planned for me tomorrow. The welts on Damon’s body were evidence enough of that.
We walked on through the garden until an archway covered by some sort of vine loomed. Damon led me though the green gateway then turned left, following the footpath with long, sure strides. Trees lined either side of the street, their leafy tops lost to the ever-moving fog. The houses were little more than large, somewhat vague, outlines, but even so, I recognized where we were. I’d done a write-up on one of the homes in this area last year.
“We’re in the St. Francis Wood area, near Terrace Park,” I said softly. I’d been right—Angus hadn’t driven very far at all. We hadn’t even left San Francisco.
“Have you got somewhere safe to go?” Damon asked. “You can’t go home. That’s the first place they’ll look.”
Fear twisted through me. I hadn’t gotten as far as thinking what I would do now that I was free. Hadn’t gotten as far as thinking what they might do.
“Do you really think they’ll come after me?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. I had firsthand experience of how far they were willing to go. But I was hoping he’d deny the truth, give me false hope, if only for a moment or two.
I should have known a trained assassin would never do something like that.
“They kidnapped you for a reason. I doubt they’re going to just give up.”
My gaze flicked around, searching the foggy shadows for assailants I knew weren’t there. Not yet, anyway.
“But I don’t know anything.” That probably wasn’t the point. They knew I was trying to track down the culprits behind the cleansings—and given the lengths to which they’d already gone to keep their secrets, that would surely be more than enough reason for them to do whatever it took to stop me.
Although again, it begged the question, why kidnap me rather than just kill me?
What was so different now than two days ago, when they’d tried to kill both Rainey and me?
“Understanding the motives of evil men is often a difficult thing,” Damon said, philosophically.
I looked up at him. His prominent nose gave his face a sharpness that should have been less than appealing. Instead, his features suggested strength and courage—much like the character of the man himself, I suspected. “We could go to the police. Tell them that those men kidnapped us.”
It might work—might being the operative word. And really, could I afford to waste the time? Even if the cops caught our kidnappers, that still left at large the man in charge and the man who’d driven the truck, and it was them I needed caught.
No, not just caught. Dead.
A shiver ran through me. I rubbed my arms, raising static and causing sparks to fly from my fingertips. They spun across the darkness—bright chips of fire that were all too quickly snuffed out.
Much like Rainey.
“You could try,” he said, “but I very much doubt our captors would still be at the house by the time the cops got there.”
