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Russell spoke, flicking through the TV channels with his remote control, “Well, I’ll be calling Jolene and demanding to know what else she’s doing to find the bastard who’s after you. And Finn needs to pull his finger out of his ass and get this shit sorted fast. He’s always been absolutely useless.”
“Jolene’s doing all she can—she always does,” Devon told him.
“But she’s not doing enough, or the threat to you would be gone.” Gertie rubbed at her temples. “Whoever spoke through Sheridan said they’d see you soon. They’re not going to stop, are they?”
“Mom, please don’t obsess over this.”
Russell snorted. “Like she could do anything else. Making me a coffee and something to eat might help keep her mind off it, though.”
Gertie sighed at him. “It wouldn’t kill you to fix yourself something to eat and drink, you know.” She cast a mournful look at the full suitcase. “I’ve got some laundry to do, and I’m not looking forward to it.”
Russell gave her a look that was pure false sympathy. “It’s not going to do itself, so you should probably get started.”
Gertie shot him a scowl that had no real anger in it. “So freaking lazy.”
“I’ve never pretended to be anything else.” He looked at Devon. “Have I, beautiful?”
She raised her hands. “Don’t bring me into this.”
“Hmm, yes, you know better than to get involved in—” Gertie gaped in horror when Russell elevated one leg and let out a horrid-sounding fart. “Oh, Russ, must you really do that?”
His eyes widened. “If I can’t fart in my own house on my own chair, where can I do it?”
“How about the yard?”
“Not a chance.” His nose wrinkled. “Oh, that reeks.” He took a folded newspaper from the coffee table and started wafting the air with it.
“Come on, Devon, let’s go spare ourselves.” Gertie herded her into the kitchen. Lowering her voice, she said, “I didn’t want to ask in front of Russell, because hearing her name always puts him a bad mood, but has anyone told Pam—?”
“No,” clipped Devon, stomach hardening. “There’s no need to.”
“Sweetheart, she has a right to—”
“There’s no need for her to know. It would do her more harm than good anyway.”
Sighing, Gertie gave a wan smile. “I suppose you’re right. So … why don’t you tell me how you came to be marked by that hellhound.”
“Um, how about no?”
“You want me distracted from everything that’s happening around you, don’t you? So distract me.”
Oh, the woman was diabolical at times. “Some other time. I have to get going.” She’d agreed to meet Jolene, Ciaran, and Tanner outside Lockwood’s office building in just twenty minutes’ time. “I’ll see you guys later.” After an exchange of kisses, hugs, and “be safes,” Devon walked down the cobbled path and over to her car.
Since she had time, she made a pit-stop at the gas station near her destination. As she refilled her tank, she noticed that both pairs of her “guards” were idling near the empty squeegee stations, talking with each other through the open car windows. Even with her hellcat hearing she couldn’t make out what they were saying over the sounds of engines idling, gas gurgling through hoses, and music filtering through an RV’s open door, but all four guards were laughing about something. Apparently, they’d bonded.
With a snort, she turned back to the pump just as it clicked off. She replaced the nozzle, recapped the gas tank, and wiped her hands with paper towels. Then, sidestepping a fresh oil stain on the hot pavement, Devon tossed the scrunched-up paper towels in the half-full garbage can and headed inside the station to pay for the gas. On her way back to the pump station where her car waited, she gave her guards a little wave, making sure they—
Tires screeched as a van came to a stop next to her car. The back doors flew open. Men leaped out and grabbed her.
Heart slamming against her ribs, Devon struggled like crazy as they yanked her into the van. “You mother—”
There was a sharp prick in her arm, an awful feeling of pressure, and then it felt like her blood was fluttering. And she knew … liquid mercury. The bastards had injected her with liquid mercury, knowing it would weaken her and prevent her feline from surfacing. Oh, fuck.
*
Rolling up his electronic window to block out the country music blasting from the BMW idling in front of him, Tanner continued to listen intently as Knox telepathically told him what he’d learned of Sloan’s most trusted sentinel, Colm. Which was basically nothing helpful.
It wasn’t uncommon for people to go to great lengths to delete any paper trails that led to their past—hell, Tanner, Knox, and the sentinels had done that very thing—but it could be fucking annoying at times.
The only thing that pointed to Colm being the one who killed Harry and Dale was that he was often sent by Sloan to execute traitors. But Colm had never been known to mutilate them beforehand. He allegedly liked to get the deaths over with quickly.
