All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(95)

“Come on. You don’t know me. Maybe I’m a hell of a guy. Who’s the blonde with the ass like a brick shelf?”

“Vie,” Becca said, touching my arm. “What’s going on?”

“We’re being harassed. You, sexually. Me, verbally.”

“What—”

“Come on.” I tugged her towards the garage exit.

But, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Salerno keeping pace with us. He vanished in between the cars, but as soon as another piece of glass came into view, Salerno strolled into view. He still wore all black, and he puffed a little for breath, wiping his shining forehead with one big hand. “Kid,” he said. “You can run, but you sure as hell can’t hide. And if you don’t have the sense God gave you and listen up, you’re going to be joining me real soon.”

“You’re a model citizen,” I said through gritted teeth. “Last time I saw you, you were planning on blowing a hole in me the size of a dinner plate. I don’t know what your idea of helping is, but I don’t think I want it.”

“Vie, who are you talking to?” Becca had paled, and her fingers tightened on my arm. She glanced around the garage, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is he—is Mr. Big Empty here?”

“No,” I said, glaring at Salerno as he shimmied across the cracked glass of an old Ford pickup. “There’s a ghost. And he won’t take a hint.”

“Oh,” Becca said, and her voice had gone so thin that you could have made coffee filters out of it. “That’s nice.” She stumbled, but before I could help, she caught herself and kept going.

“Listen, numbnuts,” Salerno said, huffing for breath now. Under his olive-colored skin, an ugly flush showed. I was starting to think ghosts were easier to outrun than I’d expected. “You keep going, and I’ll let you go, and you’ll be dead in a week. In a week tops.”

“Great,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. “Save me a table.”

“Shit-bird, I’m trying to warn you.”

“You did it,” I said. “Now get back to hell and keep it nice and hot for me.”

The last part I said came out louder than I intended, and an older woman, who was entering the garage as we left, gasped and clutched her handbag to her chest. She spun in a slow circle as we passed her, as though keeping watch on a vicious animal. When I offered an apologetic smile, she squeaked, turned, and ran.

“Well,” Becca said with a tremulous smile as we emerged into watery sunlight and a bleak sky, “it’s nice to know that Vie Eliot has the same effect on women everywhere.”

The blaring horn of a taxi masked my response.

Ahead of us, Denver’s Union Station rose against the scum of gray clouds overhead. Frankie’s memory matched what I saw now: the green metal awning hung below three huge, arched windows set into pale stone. At the top of the building, reddish-orange letters proclaimed Union Station, and a clock showed the time as half-past three.

“Those clouds don’t look good,” Becca said as we sprinted across a busy street.

“A little rain won’t—” We had reached the front doors to the station and there, reflected in the glass, stood Salerno. Well, stood is probably a generous term. He leaned forward, hands on knees, dry-heaving. The rest of what I’d been about to say slipped out of my head. What the hell did he want?

“Vie?” Becca said.

I stared at Salerno, still trying to catch his breath, and shrugged. “Anything from Emmett?”

“God, I wish you hadn’t asked. He’s sent sixteen texts for you. All of them hearts and kissy faces.”

“Jesus—” I put a hand to my face. “Does he not understand this is serious?”

“Of course he understands. He’s incredibly smart.” Becca grimaced and burrowed deeper into her coat. “He’s also an ass and he’s trying to impress you.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed.

Becca eyed me. “So?”

“So what? I’m not impressed.”

“Please. You two could start a nuclear reaction. It’s like watching atoms collide, all those goddamn sparks.”

I shrugged. “He’s cute, but like you said: he’s an ass.”

“Vie.”

“What? Becca, I don’t really want to go into it, but if anything was going to happen, it would have happened. Emmett made that really clear. He wants to mess around, but he’s not looking for anything serious.” I couldn’t help the next words. They just popped out, bitter as gall. “At least, not with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Becca frowned, and I could read it as plain as day on her face: she had more to say. She shuffled her feet, throwing glances at me, until finally I said, “Just spit it out.”

“I’m not trying to get in your business, but I think he’s dangerous.”

“Emmett? Trust me. He tried to hit me once. I’m pretty sure I’m not in any danger.”

“No. God, it’s like all this—” she squeezed my upper arm “—has made your brain shrink. I mean he’s a danger to you because of how he affects you. The way you look at him, the way you act. You do things you wouldn’t normally do. You . . .”