Angels' Flight(37)

Giving up, Sara threw up her hands. “We need to check on Tim—the hunter inside.” She turned to Deacon. “Think we should send Ellie in? We wouldn’t want to get blood all over Tim’s floor.”

Deacon’s eyes gleamed. “Good idea.”

Elena glanced from one to the other. “Do I have ‘sucker’ written on my forehead? I don’t think so. I know all about Timothy’s demon fiend of a sidekick.”

Despite his words, Deacon was already at the door. “Tim?”

“I’m okay,” came the groaning answer as Lucy went into a barking frenzy. “Luce, girl, down.” A few growls but the dog quieted.

“Cover me,” Deacon said and opened the door.

Sara was ready to shoot Lucy—to disable, not kill—but “the damn devil-eyed dog” was sitting attentively by the sprawled form of her master, grinning as if she wasn’t just waiting for a chance to bite off their faces. Tim had a gun in hand, a nasty bruise on the side of his face . . . and smelled like a distillery.

“Jesus, Tim,” Ellie muttered, waving a hand in front of her hunter-sensitive nose. “What, you took a beer bath?”

Tim winced. “Shh.”

“You’ve been on a bender?” Sara blew out an angry breath. “We thought you were dead.” Or a serial killer.

“Hey,” he muttered, “I got conscious long enough to shoot them, didn’t I? And I’m allowed to go on a bender after I find a vampire torn to pieces by a hate group—they even cut off his fingers one by one. How f*cking noble.”

Sara had had one of those cases, too. She’d baked nonstop for five days after. Her neighbors loved her. “Who’s been feeding Lucy?”

“Me, of course.” He gave her an indignant look. “As if I’d leave my baby without food.” He kissed that mangy black head. “She knows where her stash is. And I leave freshwater all over the place.”

“Tim,” Sara pushed, “this is important. Can you prove where you’ve been the past few days?”

He gave her an oddly clear look. “Hiding in a corner of Sal’s All-Night-All-the-Time bar. Matchbook’s on the table.”

Deacon called the number and confirmed Tim’s story. Happy at the news, but cognizant of the implications, Sara rubbed her face. “Ellie, can you make sure Tim detoxes and gets that bruise taken care of? Deacon and I have something to handle.”

“I’m fine,” Tim murmured and tried to stand. Only to fall flat on his butt. “Or maybe not.”

Elena nodded. “No sweat. You need a hand?”

It was Deacon who answered. “Stay close. If we need backup, we’ll call.”

“Gotcha.” Pulling “yummy” faces behind Deacon’s back as he walked out to make another call, Ellie gave Sara the thumbs-up.

It was impossible not to smile, but that smile was gone by the time she reached the bike and Deacon. “It has to be Marco. And if not, we’re in deep shit.” Because that meant they had an unknown crazy out there.

“I just checked with Simon. Shah left the city two hours ago, so if there’s another killing . . .” He shook his head. “We can’t wait for that. It’s time to play hardball with Marco.”

“You think you can break him?”

Deacon’s face was a grim mask. “Yeah.”

It should’ve scared her. It didn’t. Because she knew how to play hardball, too. “Let’s do it.” Getting on the bike, she took the helmet he held out. “After this is over, I want a shower in a really big bathroom.”

“I’ll get us the penthouse.”

“What makes you think you’ll be sharing it with me?”

“I live in hope.”

Oh, she definitely wanted to keep him, she thought, as they closed the gate behind themselves and headed out. Maybe there was a way to make it work? But she knew there wasn’t. She could hardly see Deacon in a tux at some “do.” And the Guild Director had to play politics. Nobody liked a powerful presence like the Guild in the city, but that wariness could be turned into respect and even welcome by a little subtle maneu-vering.

A long time ago, the Guild had chosen the veil of secrecy. The end result had been a spate of Guild-burnings that had razed many a chapter building to the ground, killing a devastating number of hunters in the process. No one wanted a repeat of that.

Suddenly conscious that Deacon had dramatically reduced his speed, she twisted to peer around one muscular arm. “Oh, no f*cking way.” Pulling off her helmet, she stood on the back of the bike, using Deacon’s shoulder for balance. “You yielded,” she told the vampire standing in the middle of the road. “This time, we’ll be aiming to kill.”





7


“Milady, you misunderstand me.” A serious expression. “I have need of the Guild’s services.”

Sara really didn’t feel like helping someone who’d tried to separate her head from her body not that long ago, but hunters existed for a reason. “Someone run out on a Contract?”

“No. One of your hunters has taken one of us captive. If you would please organize a rescue, we’d be most grateful.”

She squeezed Deacon’s shoulder. No way was this a coincidence. As she sat back down, Deacon maneuvered the bike to the side of the road. “Talk,” they both ordered at the same time.