The Lost Saint(63)

“No … I can do it. I just don’t know that I should.”

“This is just another part of the superhero gig, Grace. Most crime happens after curfew. If you want to find Jude, then you have to start letting go of the inhibitions that are holding you back.”

I stroked my moonstone necklace with my fingers. “I do want to find Jude.”

“Good. Meet me outside the club at ten o’clock. That should give us enough time to get into position before anyone of importance shows up.”

“But—”

“I want you here with me, Grace.”

At least somebody does. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

“Great.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Oh, and Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t wear those vinyl pants again. We’re trying not to stand out.”





THAT NIGHT




At eight forty-five p.m., I went downstairs and got a glass of water, slipped my keys to the Corolla off the kitchen counter, and tucked them in my pocket, all the while making a big deal out of how tired I was, and how I should go to bed early because I had a big test in the morning. Dad snored in his recliner in the family room with a book leaned against his chest, but I said good night to my mom. She barely even acknowledged me over the stack of homemade price tags she’d crafted out of scrapbook paper for the Halloween fund-raiser. I trudged back up to my room, yawning the entire way just for good measure.

At nine p.m., I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and changed into black jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt (what else are you supposed to wear on a stakeout?) and then propped a couple of pillows under my comforter to make it look like I was tucked in bed. (Lame, I know. But sneaking out wasn’t exactly my forte.) Then I popped open the screen on my second-story window and climbed out on the eave of the roof. I stood on the edge and scanned the street, making sure no one was around. When I was sure the coast was clear, I dove off the roof, did a double flip midair, and landed with hardly a sound near the walnut tree. I felt a thrill of triumphant pride at pulling off the stunt, and almost wished someone had been there to see me.

Luckily, the Corolla was parked in the driveway, and by nine fifteen, I was backing out onto the road. The car rattled and shook the whole way there, and I prayed that it wouldn’t stall at each stoplight, but I made it to The Depot just before ten p.m. I stayed put in the car until Talbot pulled up and parked beside me in a pickup truck—blue with rust spots, and looking like it had done plenty of farm hauling in the last couple of decades.

We both got out of our cars and stood on the sidewalk together. Talbot wore a white-and-gray flannel shirt, which actually looked like it had been ironed, tucked into boot-cut jeans. He was without his baseball cap for the first time since I’d met him, and he’d combed his wavy milk-chocolate-brown hair back behind his ears. He hooked his fingers in his belt loops next to his large bronze marshal-star belt buckle.

I rocked back on my heels. “So … did you bring treats?”

Talbot scrunched his eyebrows. “For what?”

“Aren’t we supposed to sit in a car and eat lots of junk food and guzzle coffee while on a stakeout?”

“You watch way too much TV.” He lightly touched my arm. “And besides, why would we sit out here in a car if we can have more fun inside?”

“Fun? Inside?” I gave him an incredulous stare.

“Come on.” He slipped his fingers down my arm, grabbed my hand, and pulled me across the street and down the alley between the train station and the old warehouse. He dug a keycard out of his pocket and used it to get us in through the door. We descended the stairs into the cloud of music and fog. I hesitated at the bottom step. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go into this place again. Talbot seemed to sense my reason for hanging back. He gave me a reassuring nod and let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist as he steered me through the entrance.

“Just for show,” he said, his lips brushing my ear. “No one is going to hassle you this time if they know you’re with me.” He held me tight against his side and headed deeper into the club. And just like on the night I had come here with April, people seemed to practically jump out of Talbot’s way as he headed toward the dance floor. Guys nodded in his direction, and girls gave me envious scowls. I didn’t know what it was—his wolf pheromones, perhaps—but he seemed to have a commanding presence in this place. So much so that my breath caught in my chest when he slid his fingers along my arms and entwined his hands with both of mine.

I looked up into his emerald green eyes. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Dance with me,” he said, and then pulled me into the dancing throng.

It was a quick, pulsating song, the kind of music that swallowed you whole, and I couldn’t help being sucked into the gyrating motion of the crowd. Talbot danced with that same sort of commanding energy—not like a farm boy at all, more like he was made for this sort of music. Like he owned this dance floor. His body moved with the pulsing rhythm close to mine, our hands touching, and then not. My heart raced. I couldn’t help but stare into his piercing eyes. Almost like he held me in an Akh-like trance.

We danced two songs this way, but then the music shifted into something slower and more sensual. With a smooth, swift movement Talbot wrapped my arms around his neck and then placed his arms around my waist. He pulled me close, his hands pressing against the small of my back. I recognized the hungry glint in his eyes. It was the way Daniel used to look at me.