Hannah Jayne (18 page)

“I’m calm.” I pointed at him with a half-eaten chicken wing. “I’m just trying, once again, to give you a little heads-up to the things that go bump in the night.” I smiled, gritting my teeth against a hiccup.

Will stopped trying to fight his grin and it pushed up to his earlobes. “All right, then. I’m listening.”

The setting sun was glistening off the line of empty pint glasses on the sticky little coffee table as I polished off the last potato skin, licking sour cream off my fingers.

“I might be wrong,” I started, then hiccupped, “and I hope I am, but I am not being overdra-matic. It just kind of adds up a little bit. I mean, their whole organization. . . Hey, isn’t it weird that in England they spell ‘organization’ with an s, not a z?” I grinned, and Will’s eyes were intent on mine. I knew I was in the zone. I knew I was onto something. I knew if I didn’t stop sucking down Guinness and chicken wings, I would be seeing both again later tonight. “Their whole organization is dedicated to the restoration and empowerment of vampires. They’re all,

‘Vampires good—arghh, arghh, arghh!’” I feigned bashing with my chicken wing. “It’s right there on their website.”

“VERM has a website?”

“Everyone has a website.”

Will nodded, picking bits of chicken from the front of his shirt. I finished off my chicken leg, gave myself a makeshift bath with a Wet Nap, then blinked.

“Do you think everything is going to be okay, Will?”

Will’s grin was easy and slow as he tangled his fingers in my hair. His fingertips brushed my naked neck, making me shiver. I closed my eyes and let the warmth from the fire—and from the beers—wash over me.

Will nodded. “Nothing is going to happen, love—not if I have anything to say about it.”

“You have pretty, pretty teeth. Do Guardians get good dental?” I hiccupped again.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Now I think I’ve had enough.”

Will slung his arm around me and carried—er, led—me out the door. A slow drizzle had started in the ink black night and I pulled my jacket up over my head, feeling the flaming red curls that I had so carefully relaxed frizz and bounce around my head. I could smell the yeasty scent of beer on my own breath; but when Will turned to me, his breath was minty fresh. Before I knew it, my arms were around his neck, and my chest was pressed up against his. I leaned forward, focusing on the stern set of his chin. I brushed my fingertips over the sprinkle of stubble there, and Will grabbed my hand and kissed it.

“Thought we were workmates,” he said in a throaty voice. His index finger gently tapped my chest. “Guardian and guard-ee.”

“We are friends, too,” I murmured. My eyelids felt heavy. “And friends can do all sort of things.”

Will whirled me around so we were standing under an awning, slightly shielded from the rain.

“No!” I said. “I like the rain!”

My hand trailed down his arm; my fingers interlacing with his. I pulled him into the cool rain and rolled up onto my tiptoes, mashing a rough kiss against his lips. My knees went weak and my whole body exploded in titillating warmth. I pressed my tongue through Will’s slightly parted teeth and found his tongue. Will’s arms tightened around my waist and he pulled me closer. I let out a little groan and slumped against him, enjoying his firm chest and the secure way his hands fit at the small of my back.

“You’re drunk,” he whispered down to me.

“You’re pretty,” I said to his chest.

“Come on, Sophie.”

“Don’t you want to kiss me some more?” I was trying to smile in the sexy way I had seen Nina do so many times, but my cheeks felt like bubble gum and fishing weights. I shrugged.

“Hey, where does it say in my supernatural job description that I can’t occasionally imbibe?

Besides, I was just going to get a Coke.” I poked his firm chest. “You were the one who bought me the beer. What kind of angel is that?”

I may have been a little out of sorts, but not enough to miss the look of disappointment that flitted across Will’s face.

“I am your Guardian. Alex is the angel.”

I shrugged and continued down the sidewalk, feeling light and silly. “You say potato ...”

Will stepped around me so he was walking closest to the curb. I stopped and snickered.

“Alex does that so I don’t get mud on my petticoat.”

He looked at me skeptically. “Come again?”

“Boys from his time walk on the outside so that girls”—I thumped my chest in a most lady-like gorilla fashion—“don’t get splashed with mud from wagon wheels on their dresses.” I attempted an imaginary dress-fluttering twirl, but instead I stumbled over my own feet and landed against the cold bricks of a boarded-up Zain’s Liquors. I hiccupped and giggled, pointing at the wall. “When did that get there?”

Will wagged his head. “Let’s get you home.” In one quick move I was hanging over his shoulder, my hair flopping in my eyes, arms hanging Raggedy Ann style over my head. I was watching the sidewalk roll by ... until I realized that if I straightened up, I had a perfect view of Will’s rump, and it was quite, well, perfect.

“You know, for a Guardian you’ve got a hell of an—”

But my words were drowned out by the pop-pop-pop as it echoed through the empty city streets. I tried to straighten up, to see the car as it backfired, but Will broke into a run and my stomach thunked against his shoulder. I could feel the beer slosh around in my gut and my cheeks started to burn. I was able to crane my neck and catch the shiny wheel covers of an SUV before Will dove behind a Dumpster, both of us flopping onto the wet concrete.

“Are you okay?”

“Were those—”

There was one more echoing pop! and I saw the sweat beading above Will’s upper lip. My teeth started to chatter. “Gunshots?”

The last shot melted into squealing tires and Will pushed me back as he peered around the Dumpster. I could feel the cold wetness of the concrete seeping into the seat of my jeans, and my palms were rough and stung from hitting the ground, raking through the gravel.

“Is he gone?” I was surprised I was able to get the words out as my teeth hammered together.

“Stay back,” Will commanded.

I did as I was told, holding both my breath and my stomach. I felt my beer and potato skins climbing up my throat. “I don’t feel so good.”

Will turned back to me and did a precursory examination as he knelt beside me. “Are you okay? You weren’t hit at all?”

I shook my head, unable to talk. “Wha-wha-wha,” I mumbled dumbly.

“Don’t move. I’m going to make sure they’re gone.”

Will reached behind him and fished a gun from his waistband. I could feel myself blanch.

“Since when do you carry a gun? Fire people don’t carry guns! Is it Guardian-issu—”

Will shushed me, and I clamped a hand over my mouth, parting my fingers to whisper, “I can’t believe you had that the whole time.”

He answered me with a hissed “shhh!” and crept around the Dumpster after cocking the gun once. I heard the safety slide and felt like I needed to pee. My heart thundered in my temples, replaying the rhythmic pop of every gunshot.

“Oh God,” I grumbled. It is happening again.

I could still see Will’s shoes as he crept along the side of the Dumpster, but I felt so incredibly alone. A tongue of icy cold air dipped down the back of my coat. The tears started to fall, and I darted after Will, pushing myself in front of him.

“Sophie!”

“They want me, Will. They’re after me!” I turned to him; tears and snot were mingling at my chin, and my eyes blurred. “I can’t let you get hurt, too!”

Will yanked hard on my arm and I flopped to the concrete, letting out an inelegant “oof!” as I hit the ground.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” I screamed as Will worked to still me.

“Sophie, stop!”

I finally stopped flailing and looked up at Will; he was straddling me, sitting gently on my hip bones. I sobbed miserably.

“All my friends are going to die, and it’s all because of me. I’m going to give myself up.

You can’t stop me. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’m going to do it!”

I was midway through my suicidal soliloquy when I realized that Will had climbed off me, tucked his gun back in his waistband, and was crouched down a few feet from me, studying the concrete.

I pushed myself up. “What are you looking at?”

“Shell casings,” he said without turning around. “Do you know what shell casings are made of?”

I shrugged, thinking back to the single shooting lesson I had with Alex a year ago. “I don’t know. Brass, right? Aren’t they usually made of brass?”

Will nodded and I crouched down next to him, following his gaze to the litter of shell casings gleaming on the wet concrete.

“They’re usually brass or aluminum.” Will picked up one of the casings and held it up between thumb and forefinger so we could both examine it. “But look. These are made of silver.”

“Silver?”

“Silver bullets.”

I felt my eyebrows go up. “Silver bullets? That’s either—”

Will licked his lips and forced a small smile. “Skunky American beer.”

“Or the only thing that could kill a werewolf.”

We both looked out to the deserted street and noticed the lone silver bullet at the same time. It was lolling against the black concrete, winking in the night.

Suddenly I was stone-cold sober. I sucked in a sharp breath.

“My God, Will. Someone is hunting werewolves.”

Under Suspicion

Chapter Fourteen

In my imagination I am Sophie Lawson, Badass Investigator, Paranormal Specialist. I wear black leather, like a second skin; I wield a sexy, jeweled sword; I have the kind of hair that flies in gorgeous wisps over my naked, carved shoulders.

In real life I was crouching behind a Dumpster, sputtering and making snot bubbles; my skin was pasty white and “I’ll hit the gym tomorrow” jiggly.

“Someone’s hunting werewolves?” I finally bellowed; my voice was choked with tears and terror. “Does someone think I’m a werewolf?” I pointed to my own chest and then focused on my index finger. “Have I always had hair on my fingers? Oh, holy lord, I’m becoming a werewolf, and someone is trying to kill me!”

Will grabbed my halfway-to-a-paw hand and pushed it to my side. “I don’t think anyone thinks you’re a werewolf, love.”

I shook my head. “What’s going on, Will?”

He gathered up the last of the silver bullet casings and slipped them in his pocket.

“Are you okay?”

I gave myself a mental pat down and a short scan for bullet holes. Other than a bladder that was suddenly, shamefully empty, I was unharmed. “I think I’m okay,” I said, my voice a cracked whisper. “Are you?”

Will nodded coolly as though a shower of bullets was a common occurrence in his English life; then he helped me to stand.

He brushed little bits of gravel from my shirt and frowned. “I think Bettina was right.

Someone is definitely out to eradicate their kind.”

My stomach quivered, gooseflesh breaking out all over my arms. “Oh my God.”

“This guy might be after anyone mythical.”

I licked my lips in a vain attempt to stop them from trembling. “So not VERM? Not just vampire defense.”

Will shot me a noncommittal glance. “I’m not sure any of this is a coincidence anymore.”

I slowly began to process what Will was suggesting—a serial killer of mythical creatures?—when I heard a gruff wince coming from the street. My whole body went hot again; the hair on the back of my neck pricked up. My legs trembled like Jell-O and I thanked God that my bladder was empty.

“What was that?”

Will pushed me behind him again and my inner Gloria Steinem was stomped out by my overwhelming girlie desire to climb up on his shoulders and bury my head in his neck.

Will picked his way across the wet sidewalk to where the wincing was coming from; the collapsible iron gate that locked the storefront next door was gaping open, and there was a dark shape hulking inside.

“Hello?” Will asked. “Sir, do you need help?”

Though I trusted Will implicitly, a large part of me considered taking off, running—if only to get help for the downed stranger. To get help and possibly to crawl under a bed somewhere and scream bloody murder until everything was calm again.

Instead, I stayed glued to Will, certain that my thundering heart would bash through my rib cage and kill us both.

I could make out the shape of a large man lying on his side against the brick wall. He made a sound, somewhere between a grunt and a growl, and I stiffened.

“Is he hurt?”

Will shrugged me off. “Sir, I’m an EMT and a fireman. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m going to come in and check on you. Again, are you hurt?”

“No,” came the gasping reply. “Don’t come in here. Just leave me alone.” A painful breath punctuated every word, and I narrowed my eyes, peering deeper into the shadows. I could make out the man’s rumpled coat; the hem dipped into a shard of streetlight and I noticed that the stitching was even and hand done, the luxurious gray silk lining exposed.

“I think he’s a businessman,” I whispered to Will. “Ask him if he’s a businessman.”

Will glared over his shoulder at me and took another step toward the man, who shifted and lurched. The man jumped out of the darkness and his face was thrust into the light, teeth bared, upper lip snarled. Though he remained crouched, I could see the guy was huge, with biceps the size of melons and a chest at least three feet across, smeared with blood. A vein bulged in the man’s neck, and his dark skin was stretched tight. His brown eyes were wild, and sweat stood out above his eyebrows and lips.

“I don’t need any help,” the man snarled.

“You need a doctor,” Will said. His full body was tensed and seemingly ready to pummel the man.

“I don’t.” The man doubled over and crumbled before he could finish. I whipped around Will and knelt down, just a few inches from the man’s face.

“Sophie!” Will yelled.

I felt Will’s fingers brush past my shoulder as I put my hands on the man’s chest. His head railed against my palm and his breathing came in sharp, fast breaths.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”