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The figure stopped and judged the situation.
Before anyone could shoot, her assailant turned and fled.
Chapter 16
Softly squealing brakes and a gently rocking truck woke her. Purplecoats marched by the truck, staccatoed chuckles piercing the morning air. Teenagers trudged toward the library, kicking up mud as they began another day. Half a dozen white-robed women gathered in front of the admin building, waiting for an SUV to drive them to the temple, their slippers crinkling on the gravel path underfoot. When the vehicle parked, the group hopped in.
Lila jumped as the doors slammed, her head aching.
Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she pulled the door release and hopped from Dixon’s truck. They’d left soon after she returned to the apartment. While Tristan and Dixon had jogged downstairs to help canvass the area, Lila had retired to the bathroom.
Unfortunately, cleaning herself up had turned into something different.
After washing up and disinfecting the scratches on her forehead, she’d poked through Tristan’s cabinets for some bit of his DNA, glad that her attack had happened so near the shop.
The next time someone came for her, she knew it wouldn’t, and she might not survive. She’d probably live in some apartment alone, with no blackcoats to protect her and neighbors who didn’t care about her welfare.
She’d die helpless and alone.
Her thoughts had turned to the baby after that, to the fact that she had no money for rent, for diapers, for formula, for heat.
Her heart had pounded faster.
Her temperature had fluctuated.
She had another spell, another “heart attack,” another bout of stomach issues.
Luckily, it had passed before Dixon returned. She’d cleaned up and gathered her things, waiting for him to return.
Hoping she wouldn’t get sick again.
“I found something last night,” Lila had said when he reentered the apartment. “Connell’s prepping one of the mercs for us.”
Tell me what happened in the garage again, he’d written, squinting at the scratches upon her forehead, the slash of pink across her mouth where the tape had been.
She’d only given Dixon the quick version of the attack while he packed, more worried about her heart problems than the masked assailant. Dixon’s fingers had tapped across his palm when she finished, messaging Shirley to come in early and fix her car, warning Dr. McCrae that she’d have a patient as soon as they returned to the compound.
Then he’d slipped his arms around her, holding her tightly.
She’d clung to him, not realizing how much she’d needed it.
After a few moments, she’d pushed him away, finally explaining what she’d found the night before. They’d left for the oracle’s compound soon after, taking her laptop and luggage and the files from the tablets. Somehow they’d managed to avoid Tristan and Katia.
Dixon left them a note, though, avoiding yet another conversation.
Lila had hoped it would be the last time she saw the shop, but she knew she’d have to go back one last time. She still needed a DNA sample. She hadn’t been able to grab Tristan’s toothbrush, for three had hung in the holder. She’d tried to snag his hairbrush, but after a quick search, she recalled that he kept it in his bedside table.
Next to a still-sleeping Katia.
Dixon whistled, catching her attention. She could always use Dixon’s DNA. He’d do a cheek swab if she asked.
He’d want to know why, though.
She wasn’t ready for that conversation, not when she didn’t know if she’d keep the baby.
Perhaps she could take something of his without him knowing.
Lila grabbed her satchel and lifted the strap over her head, starting for their cabin. “We’re supposed to meet the oracle at ten. We have twenty minutes.”
