Ghost Phoenix (5 page)

He looked past the carousel. “Then we will do this in a time-honored fashion: a simple misdirection. Pretend as if I'm dragging you somewhere with a gun at your back. We'll see if that draws out our follower.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“No.”

The whole situation seemed absurd but she was sure Richard wasn't going to hurt her. And she really wanted to know if he was right and someone was following them.

“All right, Richard.”

“Stellar,” he said again.

Chapter Five

It was as if he was in the tunnel of a wave, enveloped by a wall of water, with one wrong move meaning a wipeout. This would be exhilarating or a disaster. That was the fun of it.

Richard grasped Marian's arm as she pretended to protest and pulled her past the silent, unmoving carousal. He put one hand in his pocket, to signal that he had a weapon to whoever was out there.

Marian did her part, struggling in his hold but not too hard. Curls fell in front of her eyes as she continued the mock struggle. “It's a good act,” he whispered in her ear.

She clenched her jaw tighter. “I'm trusting you.”

“I know.”

His angel. She was a bit overwhelmed by his presence but not intimidated. Not entirely certain she wanted to be with him, either. A nice challenge. He liked having her close, liked the smell of vanilla that clung to her, liked her intelligence and even her skepticism.

And her courage. This was not without danger.

The attack came from his left. He saw the man an instant before fingers clamped down on his wrist, yanking his hand out of his pocket.

Richard dropped his hold on Marian. She spun around to face them.

“Lady, get out of here. I'll handle this,” the attacker said.

Richard sized up Marian's rescuer. The man was nearly his own height, all solid muscle, dark hair, intense eyes and features that hinted at a mixed-race origin, possibly black plus some Asian heritage. Not a spy, he guessed. A soldier, and a good one.

“Your plan worked,” Marian said.

Richard grinned, wishing she sounded less surprised. “Believe me now?”

“Definitely.” She looked at the solider, who maintained the tight hold on Richard's wrist. “Who are you?”

The man looked from him to Marian and back again. “I've been had. Fuck.”

“Only because you cared about her welfare,” Richard said. “There's no shame in that.”

“You used her as a blind to get to me. You Genets don't seem to give a damn about pulling innocent women into your schemes, do you?”

That explained where the soldier was from. The Phoenix Institute had opposed Edward's scheme. They'd been part of his death. Richard curled his hand into a fist.

“I take it you've met my brother?”

“Only his corpse.”

Richard's fist shot forward. Whatever else he'd done, Edward had been his brother.

But before Richard could make contact, his angel wrapped her hands around his chest from behind and pulled him off balance. He missed his opponent by several inches.

“I thought you wanted to talk to him and find out why he was following us,” she said. “I thought that was the point of getting him to show himself. You keep this up, we'll all get arrested.”

How dare she? “He doesn't want to talk. He's made up his mind about who and what I am. And he insults my brother.” Odd. He hadn't thought that would matter. But it did.

The soldier looked around, probably assessing whether someone had seen their altercation. Richard did the same, but so far, if anyone had seen, they didn't plan to interfere.

Marian stepped between them.

“Lady, you shouldn't be protecting him,” said the soldier.

“You were following us. And then when you reveal yourself, you get snide and mention his brother's corpse. No wonder he took a swipe at you. Hell, I didn't even know his brother and I wanted to hit you. What's your deal?”

“I guess it does look bad on my end.” The soldier backed off several paces. “Let me start again. Miss Doyle, right? My name is Daz Montoya. I wasn't following you, I was following him. We've had some trouble with his people and I was assigned to watch and make sure he didn't cause any more.”

“So far, all he's done is hire me for a perfectly legitimate job.”

If you could call looking for a corpse that didn't belong to him and smuggling it into America a perfectly legitimate job.

I really like you, Angel.

“You were arguing with him,” Montoya said.

“We had a lively discussion about logistics,” she said.

The sunlight was in Montoya's eyes. No doubt that was why Richard saw the red dot appear on the soldier's chest before Montoya did.

Richard tackled Montoya and grabbed Marian's waist. The three of them went down in a heap behind the carousel.

A bullet dinged off the sidewalk, raising small puffs of concrete dust.

Richard rolled free from their pile, moaned and grabbed the side of his chest. His fingers came up bloody. God's eyes, he'd been so focused on the person stalking him that he hadn't considered someone else could be after Montoya.

“What's going on?” Marian scrambled to her feet. He snatched her hand and pulled her back to the ground. “Who's shooting at us?”

“Unknown sniper, after Montoya. Stay down, please, Angel.” Richard sat up, his back to the fence. Montoya was in a crouch, staring at the hotel windows, likely trying to locate the sniper.

“That bullet was aimed at me, Genet,” he said.

“I know. You're welcome,” Richard said.

“I'm going to get us out of here,” Montoya said. “Be right back with transpo. Stay put.”

“Isn't it dangerous to run out from cover?” Marian's eyes were wide. But her voice was firm.

“Staying here and getting shot at is more dangerous. I can handle this. Stay down, miss. Besides, if he's after me, you'll be safer if I go.”

Richard liked Montoya a little already for trying to save Marian. He liked him even more now for protecting her. Edward might have misjudged these Phoenix Institute people. Which meant his brother had probably died needlessly. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry about that. But he could do neither. Every breath he took was like a knife in his gut.

Marian, face white as a ghost, nodded at Montoya. “Okay.”

Montoya scrambled away, keeping structures in front of him as much as possible. No shots rang out. The sniper might have left already. Not that they could take that chance.

Marian turned to him and noticed the blood soaking through his T-shirt and into the gray hoodie.

“Oh my God, you've been shot! I'll call 911.”

“No. Would you like to spend the next few hours in a police station? Very boring, and then we'll have the questions as to why my bullet wound healed so quickly.” He inhaled, holding back a moan. He needed to use shorter words. The stabbing pain crested. He exhaled and felt his whole side turn to fire. That was his body, healing itself, and driving down some of the pain.

“You're losing a lot of blood,” she said.

Yes. He wouldn't fully heal if the bullet remained inside him, as he suspected it was. It would have to come out. Soon. He had an idea how. But not here.

“Slide off my sweatshirt and press it against the wound. It'll slow the bleeding.”

She did as he asked, and he wished pain didn't prevent him from enjoying the touch of her fingers. He pressed his hand against the sweatshirt to keep it tight against him. “Don't look so worried. It's all right. Just stay put. I want you safe.”

“I'm safer than you are.” She curled her hand around his forearm. “I'm going to look around and see if someone is sneaking up on us.”

“You can't—”

“No one can shoot a phantom. Bullets go right through me.”

“How would you know that?”

“I've been shot at before.”

He wanted to ask where and when and, if she had, why did she look so pale now, but it hurt to speak again. His head lolled down against his chest. Blood loss. Dammit.

She straightened, and by the time she stood upright, she was immaterial. Again. Sunlight streamed through her. Again.

Angel.

“I can't see anyone or anything that looks dangerous.” Her voice was a low whisper, almost as immaterial as the rest of her, the sound of a ghost. She turned, and he lost sight of her in the sun. “Nothing.”

“Did you look at the windows of all the buildings?”

“Yes, but I don't see anyone.”

“Then come back here and return to normal, because there will be people at Bryant Park who might convince themselves they've seen a ghost.” She must not suffer any fallout from this attack. “I need you to help with the blood loss.”

He took a deep breath. A sharp pain jabbed through his side once more, centered near the back. His healing fire couldn't touch it. That must be where the bullet was lodged.

Tires squealed around the corner. A black van sped toward them on the narrow street.

Ally or enemy?

“Damn,” he breathed out, cursing that he had no weapon to defend Marian. She pushed hard against his blood-soaked sweatshirt. His hand no longer had the strength to keep the pressure on.

“Be ready to go phantom,” he told her.

The van jumped the curb only two feet from them. The passenger side door was flung open.

“Get in!” Montoya yelled.

Marian grabbed Richard's arm, and they stumbled together into the back seat. Montoya reached across and slammed the door shut. An instant later, they were speeding away.

Richard hoped Montoya was a good driver, as he didn't want to be jostled with the bullet inside him. Still bleeding. Too much blood. He hated feeling lightheaded. “Bandages?”

“First-aid kit on the sidewall behind you.”

The van took a corner hard. He bit his tongue rather than give in to a moan. Marian scrambled behind him and pulled the first-aid kit off the wall. She took out a wad of sterile pads and opened them. He grabbed them from her, let the bloodied sweatshirt fall away and pushed up his T-shirt to expose the bullet hole.

“Put the bandages and your hand tight over the wound,” he rasped, “and lean closer.”

She put her ear to his mouth. Lovely scent. Definitely a hint of vanilla.

“Bullet's still inside, Angel.” He caught his breath. “You have to get it out. Once it's removed, I can heal, and the blood loss will stop.”

“Is that how it works?” she whispered.

“That's how it works. Trust me.” His other hand gripped her shoulder hard. “Don't let him see.”

“You still think he's the enemy?”

“He was to my brother.”

She took a deep breath and blocked the view from the front seat with her back. Good.

“You know how to pull the bullet out?”

“Weirdly, I do. My great-aunt made me learn.” She could heart Aunt Eunice's voice in her head.
This is a dangerous world we live in, Marian. You have to know how to help if someone you care for is injured
.

“How did you learn?” He closed his eyes, concentrating on her voice.

“First on the same kind of dummies as emergency medical techs practice on. Then we moved to corpses. Once I got past my fear of the dead, that was easy enough. Next came living animals, just so I would get the feel of what a body was like inside.”

It was a whispered monologue, all into his ear. Lovely voice.

“Exploring Great-Aunt Eunice's body with a phantom hand was the worst of it. But hey, I know what belongs inside a person and what doesn't.”

He realized she was rambling to calm herself. As a coping technique, he thought it was quite seductive. She had been so careful with her words previously. Now the floodgates opened.

“When I put my hand inside, it'll feel like a small itch that you can't reach. Don't move. It'll be harder if you do.”

He kissed her cheek. “Yes, Angel.”

She flushed. “Trust me.”

Her hand turned phantom in a matter of seconds. When the effect was up to her elbow, she plunged her arm into his side.

He blinked. Interesting. Not so much an itch as a slight touch, like a feather tickled him from far away. Not unpleasant.

He stilled his breath, willing himself not to flinch from the feather's tickle. He could track her progress from his side to his middle and to his lung by feel. Unexpected.

“Near the back,” he whispered, so low that he didn't hear his own voice.

She must have heard because in another instant, the feathery touch grew stronger, into that itch that told him where the bullet was lodged.

She closed her eyes. Concentrating harder, he guessed. Montoya, Richard noted, hadn't looked back. He was watching the traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel and checking the side and rearview mirrors. They were taking the closet exit out of Manhattan from Bryant Park.

Marian's arm slipped back outside his body and became solid once more. She held her hand in front of him and opened her palm. Inside was a malformed bullet. He smiled and kissed her cheek again. “Thank you, Angel,” he breathed out.

The stabbing pain receded, leaving him with only his side on fire. But that would subside, in time.

She applied more pressure against his bandage. “You're losing a lot of blood.” This time, her voice wavered.

“Healing in progress.” He said that in a normal voice. “Just keep the bandages tight.”

“You're a self-healer, then. Like your brother,” Montoya said.

“Yes.” It would be impossible to deny. And let Montoya think the bullet had gone through him. He wanted his angel's ability to remain secret as long as possible. He trusted no one but himself with her safety.

“How long will it take to heal?” Marian asked him.

“It depends.” He closed his eyes. “If I pass out, tell them to just control the bleeding, Marian. But they'll know that…they have a self-healer there…”

Healing definitely at full force. It always made him sleepy. Damned inconvenient when he had to keep his wits about him.

“There? They?” She asked. “Where's there? Aren't we going to a hospital?”

“No hospital, not needed.” Richard said.

“Is he stable?” Montoya asked.

“I think so,” she answered. “The bleeding has slowed down.”

“Then we're headed to the Phoenix Institute,” Montoya said.