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But the suspicion was turning into certainty. If it wasn’t me or my brothers—and I knew it wasn’t—Tomas was the logical suspect.
“Sleep on it,” Ridley said. “We can’t do anything more tonight.”
I nodded. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“No, I will. You need rest.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it again. She was right, I did need to rest. Not only was I wrung out, my blood craving was so strong I’d found myself eyeing a rat in the tunnel. Ordinarily, I’d ask Spider to lend me a thrall, but in his current mood he might send an assassin instead.
I slugged down some more blood-wine and used the john. When I came back, I told Ridley to wake me in three hours and settled on top of the quilt. She used the john too, then retook her seat.
I turned my head to look at her. She had a switchblade in her hand and was eying it.
“I wonder how George knew I was the woman who pretended to be your thrall last week.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’d love to know that too. Another leak. It’s like someone knows every fucking move we make, almost before we make it.”
Her face closed up. Both switchblades were in her hands now. She released the catches and the knives sprang free.
I narrowed my eyes. “You know something.”
“Maybe. But I have to think, okay?” The long silver blades danced through the air too fast to follow, even for a man with my supernatural vision.
I set my back teeth. “Damn it, Ridley. I can’t figure this out if I don’t have all the information. This is my family we’re talking about.”
She shook her head. “It’s not something I know. Just a…suspicion.”
“Tell me.”
She exhaled. “Let me think it over, will you?”
“Fine,” I growled. I thumped the hard, flat pillow and laid my head on it again, staring at the ceiling.
It took me a long time to fall asleep. The mattress was lumpy and the quilt smelled like somebody’s armpit, but I’d slept on worse.
No, I was awake because I was becoming increasingly uneasy. Velma’s advice to leave at daylight replayed in my head. Had coming to Spider been a mistake?
Ridley was on edge, too, maybe more so than me.
I rolled onto my side and watched her from beneath my lashes.
She’d stopped playing with her knives. She stared at the door, a blade in each hand, her wiry body tense.
Then she started pressing the catch on the blade in her right hand.
Snick, snick. Snick, snick.
I shifted onto my back and put an arm over my face.
“Sorry,” she muttered, and stopped.
She didn’t retract the switchblades, though. She kept both of them in her hands and ready, and when it was my turn to keep watch, I did the same.
As the hours passed, my uneasiness increased. The moment I sensed the sky outside lightening, I crossed to Ridley. “Time to go.” I touched her shoulder.
She was on her feet in one smooth move. We eased open the door and hurried back through the tunnels, blades out and ready.
We’d only gone partway when my shoulders tightened and crawled higher. Someone was watching us. I glanced behind me.
