Surviving Ice (Burying Water, #4)(59)

Shit. Panic sets in.

I fish the guy’s wallet out of his pocket and then settle him on the toilet, slumped against the wall. Plucking his piece from his coat pocket, I tuck it into the back of my jeans and slide under the bottom of the locked stall. A glance in the mirror shows a small cut and a trail of blood down my jaw. I quickly wash that off, along with my bloody hands, and then charge out of the men’s restroom.

And directly into the women’s.

Ivy’s in front of the mirror, brushing something onto her eyelashes. Perfectly safe.

Her eyebrows spike, but otherwise she shows no outward sign of surprise. Not like the lady who’s standing beside her, mouth gaping like a fish.

I nod to Ivy. “We should go.”

“You missed me that much?”

“Something like that.”

She throws the tube into her purse and stalks toward me, pausing as her dark gaze touches my mouth. “What happened to your lip?”

“Walked into a wall.”

Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s thinking of calling me on that bullshit. But all she says is, “That takes talent.”

I ignore her sarcastic tone and rope an arm around her back, guiding her out of the restroom and toward the cash registers at the front, my eyes scanning every face that we pass.

While she’s checking out, I pull out the wallet I lifted, flipping it open to the picture ID.

Mario Scalero.

I warned Bentley to keep them away, but in a way I’m glad they didn’t listen. At least now I know that Scalero is a threat to Ivy, and I don’t think finding that video is going to change that. Another reason for me to stick close to her.



Ivy tosses a second duffel bag on the front porch, waving a hand dismissively. “I can’t deal with this mess for another second today. Are you almost done?”

I shut the door and test the key. The bolt fastens smoothly.

“Well, look at you.”

I hand her the key. She smiles sheepishly. “Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So . . .” She hesitates over her words. “Dakota’s making dinner tonight. I’m heading over there now. If you’re hungry and you have nothing else to do, you’re welcome to come. As a thank-you.” She shrugs dismissively. “But if not, that’s cool, too. No big deal. Just thought I’d offer.”

She’s chewing on her lip. She wants me to come, but I think she’s afraid I’m going to turn her down, and I don’t think her ego can handle being turned down right now. Under that tough exterior, I’m beginning to see extreme sensitivity.

I scoop up her bags and march down the stairs without giving her an answer, scanning the street for any new cars that weren’t there when we arrived. There’s nothing, thankfully. Scalero and the other guy have backed off for the time being; Scalero’s likely preoccupied with the hospital and canceling his credit card, which, in hindsight, I wish I had used to pay for the locks, seeing as he helped bust them. But at least I used one to fill up my gas tank and buy lunch.

“Thanks. I’d love to come.”

She presses her lips together to keep me from seeing how much that pleases her. “Just to warn you, though, she’s a little bit out there.”

“I noticed.” The woman is stunning in a very natural way, but she had no qualms about lifting my shirt to see Ivy’s work thirty seconds after introducing herself to me. I tolerated it for Ivy’s sake. “How much of that weed in her greenhouse does she smoke?”

“So you noticed that, too,” she murmurs with a wry smile. “I think she’s always been a bit ‘spiritual.’?” She uses her fingers to air-quote that word. “Even before she started smoking. Speaking of weed, how are you with seaweed?”

I chuckle. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“She likes to experiment with strange ingredients. Last time I had dinner at her place, she made this seaweed salad. It wasn’t bad but . . .” She winces, then does a sideways glance of my body. “I doubt it’ll sustain you. Tell you what,” she says as she throws her purse onto the passenger seat. “Follow me to Safeway and I’ll grab some burgers and things, just in case.” She presses the button on her key fob to pop her trunk, but then frowns and slams it shut. “Oh, that’s right. There’s no room with all my other stuff in there.”

Other stuff? This is all I saw her bring from the house. “What stuff?”

“Just that shitty old computer from the shop.” She opens the door to her backseat and backs up so I can toss her duffel bags in. “I packed it up last night after you left. That and my kit . . . I bring it home with me every night, anyway, but thank God I left it in the car, or those *s would have torn it apart. Oh my God.” She shakes her head. “I would have gone homicidal if they had f*cked up my kit. That’s the only thing I own that I actually really care about.”

Her words drift as their meaning begins to sink in.

Her kit.

She brings her kit everywhere with her.

But . . . I frown. No. I saw the inside of it yesterday. There wasn’t any videotape in there. I would have noticed that.

“Hey.”

I look down to find her already sitting in the driver’s seat, seat belt on, engine cranked, staring at me. “Are you going to follow me?”