soul-baring was not my forte, and I hadn’t had this sort of girl talk in … well, ever. I’d never had a best friend. While Ash had been the closest thing I’d had to a girlfriend, we’d never discussed love or boyfriends or anything similar. Our jobs had always canceled out the odds of a healthy long-term relationship, so why bother?
“Would you have died in Lucas’s place?” I asked.
She nodded.
“So you and Wyatt really aren’t that different.”
“Yet he got his love back.”
“Only because a gnome happened to give me a magic healing crystal.” The crystal had been a lucky gift, given by an elderly gnome named Horzt in an effort to atone for his part in my resurrection. He’d both blessed and cursed me with my healing ability, and without that crystal, everything would be different now. Wyatt would have stayed dead, having bled out from friendly fire; I’d be dead for all intents and purposes, seeing as a demon had been hell-bent on having his demon wife possess my body for a fiendish reunion. The city would be in ruins.
Yeah, lucky preempt, that crystal.
Kismet made a sound—louder than a sigh and softer than a grunt. “After this little chat, you probably think trying to kill you at the factory was personal.”
“No, I don’t.” I didn’t have to think about my answer. Gina Kismet was the consummate professional—duty above self.
“Thanks.”
And since we were on the topic of unusual Hunter romances … “Can I ask you a question about Milo?”
“If you have questions about Milo, you should ask Milo.” It came out as a friendly suggestion, but I also heard the hidden warning in her tone.
The doorbell chimed. Kismet climbed off the bed and went out, leaving the door half-open. Muffled voices filtered down the hall and into the bedroom. I stayed put through questions about Reilly and what was going on. I’d never met Seth Nevada but guessed his voice was the deep, grating one doing most of the asking. It seemed none of the Handlers who patrolled outside of Mercy’s Lot were in on our little operation, and Nevada didn’t seem happy about being left out of the loop.
Too fucking bad. The fewer people who knew about this trade with Thackery, the fewer would blame us if Thackery managed to develop and use his weapon. When the number of voices in the other room dwindled and the front door shut with a resounding bang, I rejoined the others.
Paul, Oliver, and Carly were there, sitting restlessly in the living room with Milo. Kismet and Baylor were at the dining room table with the laptop, going over basic functions. Without a word, Wyatt handed me a mug of steaming coffee. I carried it with me to the table. On the laptop’s screen, a steady beep on top of a city map said that the dye was still working perfectly.
“Bastian talk to anyone after we left?” I asked.
Baylor nodded. “Exactly who he said he’d talk to.”
When we didn’t elaborate, Kismet asked, “And that means what, precisely?”
I deferred to my sort-of-superior and drank my coffee while Baylor expounded on Bastian’s duplicity, his voice barely above a whisper so only Wyatt and Kismet could hear. The fury of their combined tempers was palpable. I grabbed Wyatt’s hand and squeezed. The tension was vibrating off him. He held tight in return. A little too tight, but I didn’t protest.
“This is insane,” Kismet said.
No one argued with her.
“How much time before Thackery calls?” Baylor asked.
Wyatt replied before I could look for a clock. “Less than ten minutes.”
Fucking hell. My stomach twisted into tiny, frozen knots. I put the half-finished coffee on the table and pulled Wyatt back down the hall to the bedroom. I didn’t care what they thought. I wanted a few more minutes.
Once inside, Wyatt swept me into his arms, his mouth finding mine in a bruising kiss. I held him around the waist, molding my body to his, kissing him so hard our teeth scraped. Imprinting his taste on my tongue, his smell in my nose, his touch all over my skin. We held each other a while, until my arms trembled and some internal chronometer told me our time was almost up.
I pulled back, cold everywhere we no longer touched, and fished my necklace out of my pocket. It had become a part of me since I’d first found it. The silver cross glittered in the light. I opened Wyatt’s palm, coiled it there, then curled his fingers back to hold it, and kissed his fist.
“I gave this to you once before for safekeeping,” I said, my voice tight. “Hold it for me again?”
His eyes glittered. “Only if that means you’re coming back for it.”
“You know I’ll do everything in my power, Wyatt. Me and Defeat aren’t exactly pals.”
“Yeah. It’s one of the things I love about you, Evy.”
I smiled. “I love you, too.”
And that was when my ass rang.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Yeah.” I fished out the phone as we walked back to the living room, hand in hand, and had it on speaker by the time we got there. Instead of opening with my usual terse “Stone,” I said, “The money’s ready.”
“Cutting to the chase, Ms. Stone? I like that.” The calm lilt of Thackery’s voice made my toes curl—and not in a good way. “Tell whoever else is listening to send it to this account.”
He rattled off a number that Kismet typed into the laptop. I let her do her thing, having no earthly idea how money transfers worked. Two hundred grand was more cash than I’d see in a lifetime, and it was all going to this bastard via Blackmail Express. A full minute passed in silence. Even the other Hunters had gone completely still.
“Excellent,” Thackery finally said. “I don’t suppose, after our first meeting, I need remind you that you’re to be alone and unarmed?”
“You don’t.”
“Keep this phone with you and go back to Grove Park. You have fifteen minutes.”
“That’s cutting it close from my current location.”
“Then I suggest you get started.” And he hung up.
Baylor closed the laptop. Everyone began moving without a single order being barked. Those cold knots continued twisting my stomach, unaffected by the scorching coffee I’d gulped.
I climbed into one Jeep with Wyatt, Kismet, and Milo. Baylor’s crew piled into the second Jeep. Kismet drove. Wyatt and I sat in the back, clutching hands, just existing for a few more minutes. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He didn’t try to offer platitudes or reiterate his unerring promise to find me and get me back alive. It was implied. Expected.
Six blocks from Grove Park, Kismet pulled to the curb. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might beat out of my chest. I started to stand. Wyatt pulled me down for one more kiss. A gentle promise in the brush of his lips. On any other day, I might have been embarrassed by the PDA. But today, I didn’t give a shit.
His expression was carefully schooled into intense calm, but he couldn’t keep the fear out of his eyes. Eyes that begged me to stay even as he silently watched me go.
“See you later,” I said, and he nodded. Replied, “See you.”
I didn’t look back as I walked. If I had, the tightness in my chest and throat would have turned into wrenching sobs. Crying where they could see me would only make this harder. And walking away now was hard enough.
Chapter Twenty-one
It was just past sunrise, the north-south streets still cast in shadows. Halfway to the park, in the gloom between two streetlamps, I pulled the little tin box out of my back pocket. Flipped the lid and looked at the two white capsules nestled in a bit of cotton. Enough poison lurked in one of those to kill a three-hundred-pound man in under ten seconds. I took the pills and tossed the tin into a garbage can. Held the milky capsules in my palm a moment, contemplating how benign they looked.
