My expression must reflect the skepticism churning the acid in my stomach because he ignores the question and fol ows with,
Must have been. I’ve never seen Chael project insecurity before — anxious, rambling, fil ing his thoughts with empty words in a desperate attempt to persuade or distract me.
Until?
Someone must be on the way to help him.
Time to move things along before he thinks to ask again why I’m here or worse, how I found him.
He backs away.
His face draws up. His thoughts are cloaked, but I can feel the intensity of the battle he’s waging. He doesn’t trust me, but he’s alone and so am I. In his arrogance, he is sure he can handle anything I throw at him.
I turn my back and start toward the slider at the same time there’s a knock on the guestroom door.
“Police, Mr. Sidhu. Open up.”
Chael pushes against me in an effort to propel us forward faster. The grin that lights my face is hidden by the fact that I’m out the slider and headed for the corner of the building so fast, al Chael sees is the blur of my back.
He’s as dexterous as I am and we shimmy down the building like two reptiles fleeing the talons of a raptor. Once on the ground, we move too quickly to be noticed by the police officers posted at the back door to the lodge. Then we’re off across the desert floor, headed for the mesa a mile away.
Chael is fast, almost faster than I. At one point, he slows and sends a message.
The answer satisfies him. He was not looking forward to a long trek on foot. Even vampires have their limits.
I have to scan the area Frey mentioned before I find the opening about twelve feet up a dirt and loose rock pathway. I point.
Chael shields his eyes with a hand.
He’s looking up at the rock strewn path with distaste.
He doesn’t like the idea, but the reasoning is sound so he gives in with a shrug. He fol ows close behind me, slipping on rock and gravel his smooth-soled loafers were never meant to travel. The legs of his dark trousers are powdered with dust. I’m sure the idea that he’d be trekking through the desert with me was the last thing on his mind when he got dressed this morning.
When we reach the mouth of the cave, he peers inside.
This cave is far different from the one I explored yesterday.
The floor is littered with guano dust and animal scat. The smel of rotting vegetation and stale air gusts out at us.
Chael wrinkles his elegant nose.
He lets the barrier slip from his thoughts. His eyes turn hard.
We’re facing each other, the pretense of civility fal ing away like shattered glass.
He draws himself up, a flicker of anger tenses muscles, fists clench and unclench at his side.
That I saw Sani anyway I keep buried.
A smile draws the corners of his mouth into a humorless grin.
He watches me, enjoying the flashes of emotion that flicker through my thoughts. Anger that he lies so blatantly, fury that he thinks I’l fal for it. . curiosity because I don’t know why he’d throw out such an outlandish lie. George told me I’d been turned down. Insinuated that Sarah’s death was my fault because she was kil ed coming back from the council meeting where she pled my case.
None of the tension has drained from my body, however. I lower my head and growl at him.
I turn away from Chael — not completely. I would never be so foolish as to turn my back to him. I step close to the rock wal of the cave so I can gather my thoughts. Privately. I al ow nothing to come through that he might pick up.
If Chael is tel ing the truth, George purposely led me to believe Sarah had spoken to the council. There was no misunderstanding. He told me my request had been turned down. I remember how he looked sitting at the kitchen table, the way he swept an arm and said,
I recal every word Sani said. He never told me how he knew I was seeking his council, did he?
But why should I believe Chael? How can I know?