Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(44)

“Try harder!” I ground out. “We have a week here, remember? Then you and I are both—”

The car behind us laid on the horn, and Raymond and I simultaneously flipped it off. A second later, the interior of the Impala was strobed with garish light. I glanced in my mirror and confirmed that, yes, we’d just given the finger to a policeman. At least we’re wearing our seat belts, I thought, and hit the gas.

The cop had gotten out of his car before I took off, giving me a few seconds while he scrambled back into his vehicle. I used it to grab the phone. “You know that assistance you mentioned? This would be a good time,” I said when, miracle of miracles, Mircea actually answered himself.

“Where are you?”

“Headed south on Mott. Cop on my tail.”

“The human police?”

“Yes!”

“And this constitutes an emergency?”

“It does if he draws attention to us,” I hissed, as a dark Mercedes coupe did a 180 and swerved into the street behind the cop.

I hate being right all the time, I thought, and floored it.

“I’ll arrange something,” Mircea said, his voice going crisp. “Remain on the line.”

The cop turned on the siren as I whipped onto Hester, and also took the turn on a dime, while no doubt radioing for backup. And in case I’d had any doubt about who was in the coupe, it stayed glued to the cop’s tail. Mircea finally came back on the phone to give me a complicated set of directions that had me totally lost in less than five minutes, but didn’t do the same to my pursuers.

“I’m hearing multiple sirens now,” I pointed out.

“Not for long.”

Mircea had barely finished speaking when a huge moving van rumbled out of an alley. I managed to squeak by on the sidewalk, sacrificing the front bumper to a fire hydrant, but the cop wasn’t so lucky. He stood on the brakes, judging by the sound, but still plowed straight into the side of it. The coupe rear-ended him and their combined force pushed the truck onto the sidewalk and took out a candy store.

“If I’d known you were that efficient, I’d have asked for help before,” I told Mircea.

“You don’t usually require it.” It was mild enough, but it sounded like a rebuke.

“I don’t usually get mugged by family, either!”

“Who?” Mircea asked sharply.

“Radu’s bright-eyed boy. You might have mentioned Louis-Cesare was involved.”

“I was not informed.” His voice suggested that someone was going to pay dearly for that little lapse.

“There’s a lot of that going around,” I said tightly.

“Meaning?”

“That I don’t think it’s coincidence that three first-level masters from three different Senates all suddenly formed an intense desire to talk to—”

“Dorina!”

“—a certain person on the same night. There’s more here than you bothered to tell me.” Not like that was new.

“It should have been an easy errand. You didn’t need to know.”

“Oh, no. No, no. That’s not how I work. If I’m going to take someone’s freaking head, I need to know why! You want blind obedience, send one of your boys.” It suddenly occurred to me to wonder why he hadn’t.

“You do freelance assignments for many people,” Mircea said, before I could ask. “You were not as easily connected with me as one of my own stable.”

“I hate when you do that,” I told him.

“Do what?”

“Answer questions before I ask them. It makes it seem like our conversations are planned out four or five steps ahead, and you’re just waiting for me to catch up.”

“If that were the case, they would not end in arguments much of the time.”

“Most of those arguments are because of this kind of thing. Start trusting me with the truth, or use someone else.”

“I will explain the situation later, if you wish it.” Translation: it’s bad enough that I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. “Did Louis-Cesare mention what his interest was in your errand?”

“He wasn’t feeling chatty. But probably the same as yours. Whatever that is.”

He was silent for a moment. “I sincerely hope not,” he said quietly.

It really is amazing what they can do with their voices, I thought, as gooseflesh broke out over my arms. I couldn’t translate that particular tone, because I’d never heard it before. But it had sounded a lot like: I’d hate to have to kill a member of the family.

“Come again?”

“Pull over. My men will locate you and assist with the search.” Translation: I’ll have my loyal minions take over and find Louis-Cesare, because you might not like what I plan to do to him.

I stared at the phone for a moment. I owed Louis-Cesare a world of hurt, and I fully intended to deliver. But that wasn’t the same thing as throwing him to the lions. This was personal, and until somebody bothered to give me a good reason otherwise, it was going to remain that way.

“Sorry. I didn’t get that,” I said.

“Dorina! Pull off and wait for—”

“I’ll call you back,” I told him, then chucked the phone out the window so he couldn’t use it to track me.