Mercy Burns

“Hey, chickie,” she said, voice its ever-cheery self when I phoned. “How you doing?”

“Not bad, considering that in the last twenty-four hours I’ve been run off the road, drugged, and then kidnapped.”

“No! Seriously? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I hesitated. “I was told the Chronicle ran a story on the accident?”

“Not that I know of. I’m sure Frankie would have mentioned one of our own being in an accident, and he knows we’re friends.”

“That’s what I thought.” So Angus had been lying. “Listen, I need some help with a story I’m tracking down.”

“And here I was thinking you were off on a vacation with that mad friend of yours.”

“I was. Am.” Only the mad friend is dead and I need to save her soul. “But I caught a whiff of something that may or may not amount to anything.”

“If it amounts to anything, I want the details. In full and over coffee. And cake.”

“Done deal.” Although the details would be highly modified, given she had no idea what I was. “What can you tell me about the fire on Fillmore Street last night?”

“Nothing much more than what’s been said on TV. Why?”

“Because I know the man arrested for it, and I don’t think he did it.”

“No one was arrested.” Confusion darkened her tone. “Although a Damon Rey was taken in for questioning.”

Well, at least he’d given me his correct name. “What station is he at?”

“None of them. I think they released him about an hour ago.”

“Damn.” Why I was disappointed I couldn’t entirely say. At least it solved the problem of me having to provide an alibi for the man. “What time did the fire start?”

“Witnesses say about three, but the arson investigators have only just started sifting through the ruins.”

Which meant he could have been responsible. Damn, damn, and damn.

“He’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton, if that’s of any use,” Robyn said.

Who’d have guessed Death was a five-star sort of guy? “How do you know all this shit?”

“It’s my job,” she said drily. “And I’m good at what I do. So you’re not even going to give me the slightest hint as to how this fire is connected to what happened to you?”

“Not yet. But we will have that cake.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

I smiled and hung up. Now what? It was still too early to go find Angus—Janelle said he wouldn’t be at the boat until this evening, and she wasn’t often wrong.

So, what next?

I knew what I wanted to do. It might be stupid, but I wanted to see Damon again. I had a feeling he could answer more than a few of my questions—not that he actually would.

I bit my bottom lip for a moment, then thought: What the hell? I had nothing to lose by at least trying.

I grabbed a sweater, raided the cash my brother kept in his so-called secret spot, then headed out. I caught a cab, but the traffic was its usual chaotic self, so I got out near the Fairmont and walked the rest of the way. The Ritz looked as impressive as ever, its grand façade almost seeming to belong to another century, one more suited to horse-drawn vehicles and ladies in fine silks.

I crossed the road and headed into the foyer. After a moment of admiring the lush surroundings, I headed over to the reception desk. A pleasant-looking woman gave me a friendly smile and said, “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Damon Rey. He’s a guest here.”

“I can give him a call and let him know you wish to see him, if you like.”

“That would be great.” Even if it wasn’t. He was just as likely to send me away as see me.

“Who shall I say is calling?”

I hesitated. “Just tell him Mercy Reynolds is downstairs waiting for him.”

She nodded and made the call. She didn’t say anything, which meant he wasn’t answering, a fact she confirmed minutes later. “I’m sorry, but he doesn’t appear to be in. Would you like to leave him a message?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She handed me a notepad. I scrawled down my name and my brother’s phone number, then pushed it back.

“Will that be all?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

I walked away. So much for that great idea. Maybe I should just head down to Angus’s place, and hang around on the off chance he would get there earlier than Janelle predicted.

I exited the hotel, smiling at the doorman as he wished me a good day, and headed toward California Street. But I’d barely taken a dozen steps when my heart just about leaped into my throat and I froze. In the shadows of the trees lining the curb was one of the men Damon had knocked out last night—the guard with the silky voice.

God, I was stupid. Stupid.

If I could trace Damon to the Ritz, it stood to reason his kidnappers could, too. Hell, for all I knew, this could have been where they’d captured him in the first place.

I needed to get out of here—and fast.

But even as the thought crossed my mind, he looked up. I didn’t have to see his expression to know his anger and his sense of triumph. The feel of it rode across the breeze.

He pushed away from the tree.

I turned and ran down the street and right onto Pine Street, scattering pedestrians as I went. I swung right again, keeping to the shadows of the trees and hoping against hope that I was faster.

A quick glance over my shoulder proved that I wasn’t.

Fear slipped through me. I thought about stopping, about asking for help, but I just couldn’t risk anyone else’s safety. Besides, I could protect myself if I really needed to, and other people— especially if they were human—would just get in the way. Even with the tight control I had over my flames, things could very easily get out of hand in a street filled with cars and people. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. I couldn’t live with that guilt.

So I kept on running.

My pulse was racing as fast as my feet and sweat was beginning to trickle down my spine. I’d let my fitness slip since leaving my clique, and I might just pay the price for that slackness now, because the footsteps of my pursuer were getting closer and closer.

Panic rolled through me, sending a surge of energy through my legs. Somehow, my speed increased, and the footsteps seemed just a shade farther behind.

I couldn’t let them catch me again. I just couldn’t. There’d be no second escape, of that I was sure.

I turned left onto California Street. More people, more parked cars, trees, and lots of big tall buildings. And nowhere to hide that wouldn’t endanger others, leaving me with little option but to keep going. I ran across the street, heard the screech of brakes from behind, and jumped sideways. The hood of a green car slid past my side, missing me by inches. It came to a halt between me and my pursuer, but instead of the irate driver flinging abuse, he reached backward and flung the door open. A familiar voice said, “Get in.”

I didn’t hesitate, just dived into the backseat and slammed the door shut. With a squeal of rubber, Damon took off. My pursuer quickly became a speck lost to the distance, then disappeared altogether as we sped down another street.

I collapsed back into the seat and let out a relieved breath. “Thank you,” I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead with a shaking hand.

“What the hell were you doing at the Ritz?” he said, voice not in the least bit friendly.

“Looking for you.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that our kidnappers might well be doing the same thing?”