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Malone roared out his pain, and hurled Conway off his back like he weighed nothing at all. Surging back to his feet, Malone gave us one more look of pure, savage hatred and then vaulted into the trees again. I could hear him moving toward the front road.
When I felt strong enough to move again, I did two things—checked on Toby and found him unconscious, and I feared from his pallor and thready pulse that he wouldn’t live long. I looked for Conway, relieved as hell to see him stand up from near the back of the yard where Malone had tossed him.
Toby was still bleeding profusely from his wounded throat. Kneeling beside him, I tore off a strip of my shirt to hold pressure against the wound, but before I could, the police charged into the back yard, guns drawn.
“Drop your weapons,” they shouted. I was hesitant to leave Toby but at their continued shouts, I got to my feet and raised my hands so I wouldn’t get shot. It probably wouldn’t have killed me, but it would have hurt like a bitch, and I was getting too old for that shit. Conway looked stunned, and I learned later that he had been slammed into a tree trunk, hitting his head. Though it might have killed anyone else, Conway was strong, and a Hunter with many years of experience. He was already on his feet but swaying a little.
A police officer began to render aid to Toby, but I was afraid it was too late. I let them cuff me and read me my rights, knowing we’d be released as soon as the police checked our credentials. Our people in the mayor’s office had long known about us and our mission and even knew we were currently operating in Atlanta.
“That fucker,” Conway growled under his breath, as he was pulled over to stand beside me. “I’m going to enjoy staking that son-of-a-bitch.”
“We have to catch him first.”
One of the cops yelled at us to shut the fuck up, and I sighed and we both did as he asked. It promised to be a long night before we were done.
Chapter Thirteen
Jace
I left the house early the next morning for Suzanne’s cabin, after making plans with May Anderson to take care of Tyler and my mom. I told her and my mother that I’d be back in a few days, and that I had to clear my head. May only gave me a dirty look as I tried to offer her extra payment.
I packed a few things in a bag, gassed up the old Buick and took off. I had the key Suzanne had given me to her cabin in the woods in my pocket, and I’d left the address with my mother in case she needed me for anything. I hoped Suzanne’s offer was still good and no one had decided to stay there in the last day or so. If they had, I’d just find a hotel. At least I’d be away from Atlanta. Away from Logan.
I was embarrassed and felt like I’d made a fool of myself, the way I’d acted in Logan’s hotel room. He had never made me any promises about a relationship, and it was my own damn fault for once again going after another emotionally unavailable man. What the fuck was wrong with me? The answer was, apparently, plenty, and it was one more thing I needed to figure out.
By nine o’clock that morning, it had begun raining hard, a cold, miserable rain that brought the fog with it. According to my GPS, this cabin of Suzanne’s was close to North Carolina, and I wondered again why I was making this long drive in such terrible weather. After all, nothing was stopping me from just checking into a hotel in town somewhere. Well, nothing except the fact I didn’t have enough money.
But I really wanted this time away to think about things in my life and try to figure out how they had gotten so fucked up. Suzanne had mentioned fishing in the stream on the property or just sitting on the porch and staring at the scenery. That sounded like what I needed. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about all that had happened, including my really confused feelings about Logan and Dylan. If I had actually dwelled on any of that, I’d go crazy.
The weather made driving difficult. The temperature had dropped steadily, and it was below freezing already by the time I got to Dillard, the nearest small town to the cabin. I stopped and got a few groceries to tide me over for a few days. The weather was getting worse, and I could be trapped here until the roads cleared. They were already slick and icing a little as I made my way up the steep incline. When my headlights raked the windows and my Buick slowly made it up the driveway, I saw that no one was there. I had the place all to myself.
I went inside, turned on the heat and then built a fire in the fireplace. After I got the fire going, I put my groceries away and made up the bed in the master bedroom. All busy work to keep my mind occupied. When I was done, I flopped down on the sofa to rest for a few minutes and used the remote to turn on the TV. I’d had my phone turned off all morning, but I finally turned it back on to check. I had a missed call from my mom, wanting to know if I made it okay, and then about a dozen missed calls from Logan.
I sent my mom a quick text, telling her I was okay, and not to worry. I was safe and I’d be back in a few days. Then I sucked up all my resolve and called Logan.
He answered on the first ring. “Where the fuck are you?”
“I’m safe. I’m in a cabin my friend from work is letting me use. I’m only calling to let you know I’m all right.”
“Tell me where you are.Now.”
“Logan…”
“Tell me, Jace, damn you, or I swear to God…”
“I’m in the mountains near North Carolina at a cabin my friend owns. Look, I’m okay, really.”
“You have no idea what you are! We need to talk. Toby Baker was killed last night.”
I was shocked and gasped out loud. A frisson of unease went down my spine. “What? Oh God, Logan, what’s happening? How did he die?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. Look, just tell me exactly where you are. I’m coming to you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Give me an address.”
I sighed and gave it to him. He grunted and mumbled some more curse words when he realized how far away I was. “All right, damn it. I can be there in a couple of hours. Stay inside and keep your doors locked. Keep your phone near and call me if anything happens. I mean it.” He hung up abruptly, and I sat there staring at the phone in my hand. Toby Baker was dead. I hadn’t liked him, and he sure as heck hated me, but I hadn’t wanted him dead. First Dylan and now Toby. What could be happening?
