“Can you convince me to believe your story instead?”
I punched him in the shoulder. “Ow!” I yelled. Stupid, stupid. That hurt. My hand was killing me.
Zayvion acted like he hadn’t even noticed I’d touched him.
“Hitting me is not the best way to convince me you are not capable of violence,” he said, and I was sure I heard laughter beneath his disapproving tone. “I don’t think it would go over well with the police either.”
“I did not kill my father. You were there when I last saw him. I accused him of being a jerk, of putting the hit on Boy. I told him I’d go to court to testify against him, and I worked blood magic to make him tell the truth. That was all.”
Zay was busy navigating the road. “Even so, the police are looking for you. And they’ve put out the Hounds to hunt you down and bring you in.”
“Why is that a bad thing? I need to go to the cops. I need to tell them what happened. I’m innocent, Zay. I don’t want to hide.”
The car stopped, and I looked up. We were at a stoplight, and a crowd of people streamed across the intersection through the rain and gray.
“The police have orders to shoot, if necessary, Allie. You’re considered armed and dangerous. You were right about one thing—it took a hell of a lot of magic to knock your dad down. More to kill him. Unprecedented,” he added quietly.
The light changed and Zayvion moved the car through the intersection, only to slow for traffic ahead. “The Hounds have been approved to Proxy as much magic use as they need to drag you in.”
“All the more reason for me to surrender peacefully. I have information that will clear me.” I was getting into that uncertain how-much-could-I-trust-him territory. I didn’t want to tell him what the kid had told me. That he might know who killed my dad. That he might have been there when it was done. Or at least that’s what I thought the kid had said. But until he was conscious and could answer questions, telling him Cody might be a part of it was only hearsay.
“What kind of information do you have about your father’s death?” And even though he was quiet, there was that air of authority again. Like he expected people to tell him things because he said so. Like he expected me to do what he thought was best.
And I guess because that reminded me too much of the sort of things my father used to do to me, or maybe because I’d just had the crappiest day on earth, I suddenly didn’t want to do what he wanted me to do.
“Information I’d be happy to tell the police.” And not you, not yet, I silently added. “And unless you can give me a better reason than ‘you’re being hunted by Hounds,’ then this is kidnapping, Jones.”
Zayvion snorted. We had stopped at another light, another intersection. He turned and looked at me.
“I’m trying to help you.” The baffled smile was real and nothing like my dad.
“Why?”
“Because I have . . . friends in the police department. This isn’t an average arrest order. Someone wants you gone from public view, locked away, shut up, dead, if need be. Someone wants to kill you, and whoever it is, they have the money, the manpower, the Influence and drive to make sure you are removed from the picture. They think you know who killed your father.”
“Why?” My heart was pounding with equal parts fear and anger. Mix in a cup of tired, two spoons of shock, and a heaping portion of way too much magic, and all I could think of was, “Why me?”
“Because you are Daniel Beckstrom’s only heir and your father was a very shrewd, very bad man in the world of business and the world of magic.”
“Like that’s news.” I’d grown up hearing about the Hoskil and Beckstrom fight over the patent for the Storm Rods. Grown up listening to the news stories about how my father had outmaneuvered Perry Hoskil, filed the patent in his name alone, and then bought out Perry’s share in what was now Beckstrom Enterprises. That action had ruined Perry Hoskil and made Daniel Beckstrom what he was. I’d grown up hearing other, darker stories of my father’s magic and business deals too.
But Zayvion had done his job. I was spooked. I always knew my dad had enemies. For some reason, I just never expected to be their direct target.
“Listen, Allie. The police . . .” He stared out the window, thinking. “Anyone can be bought for the right price. Even people in authority positions. It’s not safe to go to the police right now. I’ll take you anywhere else you want me to. All I ask is that you lie low for a day or two before you approach a lawyer—and yes, I think you should go to a lawyer before you go to the police. Do you have a place I can take you to? Maybe out of the city? Out of your father’s range of influence?”
Right. Like I, the girl drifter, would have some out-of-the-way cottage on a sunny shore where I lounged and drank fruity rum drinks, waiting for bad guys to give up plotting my demise. My life was starting to sound like something out of the movies, and I didn’t like it one bit.
“My friend Nola . . .” I didn’t know if I should mix her up in this. What if he was just making this all up? What if he were the one out to hurt me, out to kill me? He could have killed my father. He was there too.
Okay, now I was just getting paranoid.
“Who?” Zayvion asked.
I swallowed.
“Can you convince me to believe your story?” I asked, “Give me one indisputable reason why I should trust you enough to put my friend in danger.”
Zayvion eased out of traffic and turned down an alley. He put the car in park, but left the motor running and shifted his whole body toward me. I was ready for him to punch me like I had just punched him. Instead, I got honesty.
“You should trust me because I’m trying to look out for you. And I don’t want you to be hurt, or to die.”
He sounded sincere. He looked sincere. Everything about him seemed sincere, but I’d been wrong before. I’d been wrong a lot lately, and people were dying.
“Really? Why not?” I wanted it to come out strong, accusing, but I just didn’t have it in me. It came out quiet, sad. Maybe even lonely.
“Because,” he said gently. “I care about what happens to you.”
He leaned forward, and I thought about leaning away, but then his hand was on the unburned side of my face, and I didn’t want him to stop touching me there, even though he paused. His eyes were still brown and gold, still earth and fire, but the heat warmed me, made me feel welcome, wanted. For the first time in a long time I felt like I was right where I wanted to be, with who I wanted to be with, doing exactly what I wanted to do. That electric tingle flipped in my stomach and rushed along my nerves. I brushed my fingers down his long, lean chest and stomach, then dragged my stiff hand around to his back so I could pull him closer.
I was bloody, filthy, and stank of a garbage dump on fire. I was pretty sure most guys would consider that a turnoff in a woman. Still, the need to feel his touch, to savor again the richness of his mouth, the heat of his lips, the strength of his body, pushed all other thoughts aside.
I stroked the arc of his dark cheek with my bloody, bruised fingers and cupped the back of his neck with my hand. I thought I’d have to bring his head down to mine, but that was not the case. He leaned down and kissed me.
Oh, sweet loves, I wanted him. All of him.
I breathed in deeply as the kiss lingered. The electric tingles built up and up and poured through me in a wave of luxurious heat. I opened my mouth to him and he moaned, shifting closer, his knees, the stick shift, and his seat belt all stopping him from making much progress.
I, however, hadn’t buckled my seat belt. I pulled my legs up and shifted in the seat so I could face him. He drew his hand down the back of my left arm and pressed his palm against my ribs. With his help, I crawled over the stick shift and then placed my knees on either side of his seat. I eased down across him and straddled his lap.
He was built thicker than I’d expected, and there was barely enough room for me to press tightly against his thighs and chest without my back hitting the steering wheel. It was a cramped space, a small space.
And I liked it.
He smiled, and I noticed I had left a smudge of dirt, or maybe blood, on his face. I touched his face, and hesitated. He did not. He kissed me again, and the pleasure, the want, the sweet hot need for him radiated through me.
