Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(33)

“You can’t call the cops! They are listening to you through that thing! They probably listened to what we just did, upstairs! That’s how they found me! By watching you!”

“Who found you?” Even through the shock, he felt something inside him closing down in flat misery. “Oh, shit. I knew itI f*cking knew it, and I did you anyway.”

“Knew what?” she yelled.

He waved his hands wildly. “That this was too good to be true!”

“This?” She gestured at the sprawled bodies. “You call this good?”

“No! Not them! You!” he shouted. “I might have known it! You’re a black hole! You’re a f*cking head case!”

Lily clenched her hands into bloodied, shaking fists. Her hair was a wind-tossed lion’s mane, makeup streaked to her chin. She was a fearsome sight, yet so f*cking beautiful, she shone like a floodlight.

“I’m not crazy.” She forced the words out, careful and clipped, as if her precision and self-control would prove her claim. “I’m not a black hole, either. I’m just unlucky, I guess you’d call it. I’ve been on the run. For about six weeks. From, ah . . .” She pointed at the bodies. “Them.”

He struggled to his feet. “Ah,” he said. “I see.” Although he didn’t.

“That guy, right there.” She pointed at the one whose neck he had broken. “He tried to stab me in New York.” She pulled up her sleeve, showed him an ugly scar slanting in an angry curve over her forearm.

“And you’ve been on the run since then?” he said.

Her throat bobbed as she tried to speak. She nodded.

Bruno pressed his bleeding forehead, felt blood drip through his fingers. “Did it occur to you to warn me that a squad of hit men were after your ass? You know, like, a gesture of common courtesy?”

Her face tightened. “Talk about a conversation stopper. What a turn-on, huh? Great banana cream pie, and by the way, I’m running for my life from a pack of cold-blooded killers. Way to chat a guy up.”

“Chat me up?” He felt steam start to rise. “Are you for real? On the run for your life is not the best time to pick up a strange man off the street and f*ck his brains out! Or is this how you handle stress?”

“No!” She pressed her hand against her mouth. “It wasn’t about picking up any man. It was about picking up you. Specifically you.”

Every moment they’d passed together reshuffled as he sought connections, explanations. “Lily,” he said. “Do I know you?”

She shook her head. “No, but we have something in common.”

“Yeah? What?”

She gestured at the bodies. “Them. For starters.”

Bruno’s teeth ground. “I’ll tell you something about me,” he said. “I’m a straight arrow. I make my money fair and square, I pay my taxes on time, contribute to homeless shelters, soup kitchens, the World Wildlife Fund. I do not lie, steal, or cheat. So whatever these guys were pissed about, it has nothing to do with me!”

“But I . . . but they—”

“I do not like this crap!” he roared. “I don’t like getting punched, or jumped, or clubbed! It makes me tense! I do not like killing people before six A.M., even if they’re hit men! I make a conscious, deliberate effort to steer clear of this kind of bullshit! You get me?”

“Don’t yell. Please.” She looked around, eyes darting nervously.

“Give me a good reason not to, Lily, because I’m not in a good place, and you’re not helping!”

“I think . . . ah . . .” Her voice tightened. “I think it had to do with yr mother.”

The blood drained right out of Bruno’s head.

The world expanded around him, vast and solitary. A wind-whipped wasteland. Lily still stood before him, eyes desperate, lips moving, but he could not hear her. Just cold wind, whistling in the void. The thrum of his heart hurt against his ribs.

That same old f*cking pain. Completely intact and fresh, exactly as it had been in the bad old days. Like it had never really gone away, but had just hidden in the dark, waiting for its chance to leap out at him.

She grabbed his wrist, and the weird bubble popped. “. . . got to listen to me! My father was in the—”

He jerked back, sending her stumbling. “Don’t touch me.”

She shrank away. Bruno forced his numb lips to form words again. “Don’t mention her again,” he said hoarsely. “She’s offlimits. Forever.”

“Um, yes. But I—”

“Do not f*ck with me,” he said. “I’m right on the edge.”

She twisted her hands together. “I’m not f*cking with you,” she whispered. “Please, understand. These people killed my father. The same ones who killed your, um . . .” Her courage failed her, and her voice trailed off.

He fought to keep his voice even. “My mother was killed by her * boyfriend. Decades ago. These guys would have been just kids.”

She shook her head. “These guys are just hired muscle.” Her gaze flicked over to the bodies. “Were, I mean.”

This was great. Just great. A lifetime of struggle to create and maintain that precarious sense of normalcy after what had happened to Mamma, and this crazy girl blasted it to rubble with a few words.