Kiss of Fury Page 12

  There was a stairwell at each end of the corridor. Alex ran down one floor carefully, keeping her heels from clicking on the steps, slipping into the corridor on ten. Everyone on her floor had a day job, so the coast should be clear.

  Alex paused at the end of the hall and listened.

  Silence. For the first time, she appreciated that the doors to individual apartments were staggered: there wasn’t one directly opposite hers. Anyone who was home would get a distorted view of her through the fish eye in the peephole.

  Still, she moved quickly.

  She pulled out the credit card that Peter’s bank had foolishly issued to Meredith Maloney and found a new use for it. The building was old and the locks were a far cry from the latest and greatest. Alex leaned her weight against the door and it moved inward a fraction of an inch. That was enough. She picked the lock with the card, just like they did in the movies.

  It was easier than she’d expected. She wanted to hoot with glee when the lock opened. She’d be the next James Bond—008.

  Alex moved into her own foyer, closed the door behind her, and froze in shock. The lights were out and the curtains were drawn, just the way she’d left them. Even in the dim light, though, Alex could see that her apartment had been trashed.

  She stared.

  Her home had been turned upside down. Every drawer was dumped; every table was tipped; every cupboard had been emptied. There was stuff everywhere, tangled and scattered and smashed. Cutlery was mixed with shattered bowls, CDs, and socks. Alex hadn’t thought she was a minimalist, but it sure looked like a lot of stuff, cast all over the floor like worthless junk.

  The sliding glass door to the balcony was open, and she knew she hadn’t left it that way. A breeze wafted into the apartment, ruffling the magazines that had been chucked on the floor.

  It didn’t dissipate the smell of smoke.

  Dragons. Alex shivered.

  Good thing she hadn’t been home.

  She could hear that the apartment was empty. There was no sense of a malicious presence, no sound of anyone breathing or waiting. She could hear the tap of the bathtub dripping, as it had dripped since she had moved in.

  She eased through the chaos that had been her living room and peeked out the sliding glass door. Her bicycle was still locked there and everything looked as it should. No one lurked on the balcony and she was careful not to let herself be seen.

  They were gone, but they could come back.

  They might, in fact, have left some dragon means of notifying themselves if she came back.

  Alex headed for the bedroom, her heart pounding.

  To think that Mark had teased her about her need to safeguard her files. Alex was starting to feel as if her so-called neurotic tendency to protect her data in complicated ways wasn’t so neurotic at all.

  She was starting to feel smart.

  The smartest thing, though, would be surviving this ordeal intact. Thursday seemed to be a thousand years away.

  Her heart skipped when she entered her bedroom. It was a mess like the living room, but it was more upsetting, maybe because of the intimacy of the space. Her underwear had been thrown around and the mirror on the wall over the dresser was shattered.

  Surely she couldn’t be up for seven whole years of bad luck?

  Someone had urinated in the room, from the smell. Nice touch.

  The bedding had been tossed on the floor and the mattress had been tipped. No! Alex raced to the bed. Her hands shook as she shoved the mattress aside. She peeled back the corner of the box spring lining, where she’d made a resealable hiding place.

  It was still sealed. Alex wouldn’t believe anything until she pulled it open and looked. The Velcro fastening seemed to make too loud a noise when she tore it open.

  Alex winced, then shoved a hand into the dark nook inside the box spring. Her fingers closed on a CD jewel box and her knees nearly collapsed with relief. She pulled it out and checked that it was the same box, the same label, the same CD inside. Then she held it over her pounding heart and took a deep breath of relief.

  They hadn’t found it.

  The safety deposit box key was still there, too, taped to the inside of the box spring with packing tape. Alex worked it loose, feeling like she’d won the lottery. She slid the box and the key into the inside pocket of her jacket, and knew there was one more thing she had to retrieve.

  She didn’t like guns. She didn’t like owning one. She didn’t like that Peter had insisted on buying her one for Christmas a few years back, after his fancy house in the fancy suburbs had been burgled and his fancy toys had been stolen. She didn’t know if a bullet could stop a dragon, but it was worth a shot.

  Alex grimaced at her unintentional pun as she returned to the galley kitchen. Sugar and spices were strewn on the floor and dishes broken all over the counter. She reached around the corner, not wanting to leave her boot print in the sugar, and reached into the bottom cabinet closest to her.

  All the way at the back was a tin of crackers.

  It didn’t have crackers in it anymore. Alex had removed the crackers and put the gun and the ammo in the tin, then sealed it all up as if it were new.

  The gun was there, just as shiny as ever. Her hands shook a bit as she loaded it, put the safety on, and put it in the inside pocket of her jacket. It felt heavy, like trouble waiting to happen, but Alex knew she needed all the help she could get.

  Dragons were trying to kill her and no one was going to believe that enough to help her.

  No one except a good dragon, like Donovan.

  With dragons, though, good seemed to be comparative. Donovan was still dangerous.

  He’d killed his own father.

  Alex almost left the apartment, then remembered the one thing she couldn’t abandon. She darted into the bathroom, rummaged under the sink, and removed what looked like a tin of talcum powder. She ripped off the lid and dumped the tissue-wrapped treasure into her hand. The way her grandmother had always hidden her treasured brooch had worked for Alex, too. She stuffed it into her pocket.

  What if she was being followed?

  She had to anticipate the worst-case scenario. She snatched up a dozen boxed CDs that were held together with a pair of rubber bands. They were filled with games and movies, a loan from Mark. Dropped into her purse, the pile made a bulge.

  If anyone was following her and stole her purse, they’d have lots of bits and bytes to sort through before they realized they had nothing at all.

  Alex removed Meredith’s fake identification and fake credit card from the purse and put them in her jacket, too. Good thing it had a chunky design and didn’t look as if she’d jammed it full of her worldly possessions.

  She refused to dwell on the wreckage of her apartment. She doubted that she’d ever be back and that made her a little bit sad. She’d had some good times in that apartment, but it was impossible that she’d ever feel safe there again.

  She returned to the door and listened.

  Silence.

  Alex eased out of her apartment and left the door slightly ajar. That way, her neighbors would notify the police that her apartment had been robbed.

  “Got everything?” a man whispered, his voice winding its way into her ears.

  Alex spun around to find a sandy-haired man standing at the end of the hall. His eyes glittered. He smiled and it made him look hungry.

  Alex ran. She bolted down the opposite stairs all the way to the lobby, hearing his measured steps following her. He was moving faster than she was, but didn’t catch up to her. She didn’t dare look back, didn’t want to see a dragon following her.

  She flung herself out the back door, the one that led to the trash cans, and ran down the lane to the end of the building. She heard the door slam behind her but didn’t look back.

  Instead she emerged on the street and strolled toward the bank as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Got everything?

  Alex shuddered. He was following her.

&nb
sp; Unfortunately, she had one last retrieval to make. After she got the schematics from the safety deposit box, anyone trying to anticipate what Alex would do or where she would go would have more of a challenge on his or her hands. Even Peter didn’t know that the prototype car was stashed in his boathouse.

  Of course, after she got the schematics from the safety deposit box, her new friend might attack. Leaving Donovan behind suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.

  Would she have a chance for a Plan C?

  Alex glanced over her shoulder, as if checking for traffic, and noticed the sandy-haired guy on the opposite side of the street. He was watching her, but his gaze flicked away when he saw her notice. He took interest in a window display, biding his time.

  Alex was scared. She was pretty sure he was a Slayer.

  Just then, Alex heard the throaty hum of an approaching motorcycle and felt relief at its familiarity. It was being driven aggressively and she had a pretty good idea whose Ducati it was. Alex was smart enough to know when she was out of her league and humble enough to ask for help when she needed it.

  When the Ducati came peeling around the corner, Alex stepped out to the curb and stuck out her thumb like a hitchhiker.

  She just hoped Donovan stopped for her.

  She figured it was even money.

  Chapter 7

  Alex was more trouble than anyone Donovan had ever known. Given that he had a tendency to find trouble himself and that he was almost five centuries old, that was saying something.

  Alex’s home address was in an apartment building on a busy street. Donovan turned down the street, saw the building, and was immediately struck by the scent of another Pyr.

  Except that this Pyr had turned Slayer. His dark scent reminded Donovan of old horror-film laboratories where experiments of dubious merit were performed on unwilling victims. Dr. Frankenstein’s place, maybe. Donovan’s hackles rose and he scanned the street. He had a vague sense of familiarity from that smell. They’d met, but not often.

  He looked again and didn’t see anyone he knew—

  Except a woman in black leather pants, stiletto heels, and a red leather jacket. She waved to him from about a block away, then stuck out her thumb as if she were hitchhiking.

  So confident, she might have known he’d follow her. Donovan’s anger rose another notch. He was supposed to be the confident one.

  He drove toward her, squealing his tires to stop. Alex smiled and the curve of those red lips reminded him all too well of the taste and the feel of her. The firestorm began to sizzle through his veins, distracting him from what he should be saying to her.

  It only got worse. Curiosity was his downfall. As he stopped the idling bike beside her, his gaze followed the length of her neck to the lavish lace edging her white bra.

  Lace.

  Lace.

  Donovan stared as his brain stalled. Alex’s tanned skin gleamed gold through the edging on the bra. He tried to look away from the ripe curve of her breast, from the rosy bit of nipple that was visible through the lace; he tried to fight the firestorm.

  He lost.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” she said, her eyes dancing. “Going my way?”

  “I should kill you now,” he growled, and her smile broadened. It was a bit galling that she wasn’t afraid of him, and even more disturbing that she was as unrepentant and charming as he strove to be. “If you had any idea how stupid it was to take off—”

  “I think I do now,” she said, interrupting his tirade, her serious mood and her confession surprising him to silence. “Do you know that guy? Seven o’clock, sandy hair, short.” Her gaze flicked across the street; then she ran a possessive hand over his shoulder. She acted as if they were lovers meeting, which was probably a good choice. Donovan had a hard time appreciating its strategic merit with the firestorm striking his blood like lightning.

  He glanced over his shoulder, trying to look casual. There was a man studying the baked goods displayed in a store window across the street. Donovan inhaled slowly, letting his eyes narrow as he took the man’s scent.

  Slayer.

  “You do know him,” Alex said. She had guessed his thoughts. That should have worried Donovan more than it did.

  It certainly shouldn’t have sent a thrill through him.

  “I know his scent, but not his shape.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I must have met him in his other form.”

  Alex nodded. “So, he is Pyr.”

  “No. He’s Slayer. He’s probably stalking you.”

  Alarm flickered in her eyes. “So, are you going to help me or leave me to deal with my own mistake?” Donovan liked how she asked for the truth and didn’t hide from the answer.

  “That depends,” he said, although there was no doubt in his mind. “Are we a team, or are you going to bolt again?”

  “I thought you rode alone.”

  “I’ve been known to fight for the team.”

  Her lips set. “I have to rebuild my prototype by Thursday.”

  “I’ll assume you have a plan.”

  Her smile flashed unexpectedly, sending a blaze over his skin. “I had Plan B. The one without you.”

  Fear shot through Donovan and he heard urgency in his own voice. “Without me? The risk is too high, Alex. You need me to protect you. You can’t fight these guys alone.”

  She licked her lips and he knew she understood. She was thinking, reformulating her scheme. “How many Slayers are there?”

  “In total? I don’t know. Three are on the scene so far.”

  “But there could be more?”

  Donovan wasn’t going to lie to her. He nodded and watched her pale. “What happened at the lab, Alex?”

  Her gaze flicked to the guy across the street. “Let’s go with Plan C—you give me a ride and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Donovan liked her decisiveness. He knew he hadn’t imagined the flash of fear in the dark depths of her eyes. She had witnessed whatever had happened to Mark Sullivan and that was the root of her fear of dragons. He really didn’t need to know more to guess the truth—Slayers had killed her partner while she watched. They’d wanted to scare her and it had worked.

  As frightened as she was, though, she wasn’t surrendering. He respected that.

  Donovan wondered what Alex and Mark’s relationship had been. What kind of partners had they been? He didn’t want to ask. It would imply that his own interest was greater than it was.

  “There’s an offer I can’t refuse.” Donovan offered her the helmet, but she shook her head.

  “You need it.”

  “But we only have one, at least for the moment, and it’s my duty to protect you.”

  She took it then, her eyes narrowing in assessment. “Does that make me part of your team?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” Donovan muttered, and shoved the helmet at her. He revved the bike. “Let’s go.”

  Alex climbed onto the seat behind him and he closed his eyes at the sweet press of her thighs wrapped around him. Sparks danced over his skin and he almost groaned when she slid her arms around his waist. He felt her breasts against his back, smelled her perfume, and felt her breath against his ear. He felt as if he were burning up in his own skin, his desire for her at such a fever pitch that it nearly shorted his circuits.

  “Phew!” Alex said, making it clear that she felt the same thing. “You’re really hot stuff, you know?” He glanced back in time to see her lick her fingertip. She made a hissing sound as she touched it to his shoulder and he liked how her eyes sparkled.

  Donovan grinned. He felt better, just having her close, as dangerous as it might be. She was part of his team, at least for the duration of the firestorm.

  “Speak for yourself.” He pulled away from the curb, sparing a glance back for oncoming traffic. The Slayer stood on the opposite sidewalk, gaping at them. Donovan had no doubt that he could feel the firestorm and was shocked by its power. “Where to?”

  “The
bank three blocks down,” Alex said. “I need to get something from my safety deposit box.”

  “Something like what?”

  “That’s for me to know,” she said, her tone stubborn.

  Donovan guessed that it was more backup files. “Anywhere else?”

  She paused for a moment and he thought she wouldn’t say anything. “A drugstore,” she said finally. “We need condoms and spermicidal jelly.”

  Donovan almost missed a gear. “What?”

  She leaned against him, distracting him with her touch as only she could do. Her breasts were crushed against his back and Donovan thought about the white lace that edged her bra. The memory of that glimpse lit a bonfire inside him.

  “This firestorm is too distracting,” she said, echoing his thoughts perfectly. “We’re going to make a mistake because of it. I could die and I have too much work to do for that.”

  “A little bit of a workaholic?” Donovan murmured, wondering where she was going with this.

  “It’s vital that I have a running prototype for the meeting on Thursday,” she said with a determination he was beginning to associate with her. “To do that, I need to concentrate, and if you’re going to be around—”

  “I will be,” Donovan said with some determination of his own.

  “Then we have to extinguish the firestorm. I don’t believe for a minute that every woman gets pregnant the first time she does it with a Pyr, but let’s not take chances. If you think you’re going to leave me with a dragon baby, you can think again.”

  Donovan was so shocked that he didn’t know what to say.

  Alex settled against him, but her resolve was inescapable. “We eliminate the firestorm by doing the horizontal tango, get the Green Machine running again by Thursday, and on Friday, the Slayers can kill me.” Her tone lightened. “That’s Plan C. How do you like it so far?”

  “They’re not going to kill you Friday if I have anything to say about it.” Donovan was surprised by the vehemence of his own response. He wanted Alex to survive and prosper.

  It should have worried him how much he wanted to ensure that.