“Thanks,” I told him honestly. Had I said that to him yet? “I thought when I went to the bus station that I had this under some kind of control, but... I am so far out of my depth right now that I can’t even see the fucking shore.”
He sighed and broke that disconcertingly direct eye contact. “Welcome to my world,” he said. “Don’t mind the riptides.”
How reassuring.
Still, he obviously had a better handle on this shit than I did. I returned to the last few bites of my gourmet late-night meal. When I was finished, I looked up at him again. “What time do we need to leave? And how can you be so sure of getting me through security? The cops at the bus station snagged me without even glancing at my ID. They recognized me on sight.”
Rans leaned his elbows on the counter. “The flight’s at five-thirty a.m. We should get out of here in the next hour or so. Time for either a shower or a nap, but probably not both.”
“And security?” I pressed.
“It’s likely that the police staking out the bus station were under direct Fae control. If anyone recognizes you at the airport, I’ll be able to influence them and make them believe they were mistaken... assuming they’re human.”
“And if they’re not human?” I asked, vaguely appalled that this was something I apparently had to worry about now.
Amusement touched his handsome features. “Then things will get a bit more frisky.”
I shivered, remembering the carnage in the parking lot. “I doubt the TSA is going to let you stroll past with a giant freaking sword strapped to your back, you know.”
He snorted. “It probably wouldn’t be worth the hassle, true. Happily, swords are on the list of rather unlikely things that can be checked in luggage. Also, throwing stars, believe it or not. Americans, eh? Sometimes I really wonder about you lot.”
“Seriously?” I asked. Huh. Maybe cosplayers had a political lobbying group I’d never heard about.
Rans shrugged without lifting his elbows from the counter he was leaning on. I slid off the bar stool and took my plate and silverware to the stainless steel double sink. After giving everything a quick wash and setting it in the basin to dry, I wiped down the counter and threw my napkin in the trash.
“I’ll meet you back here in forty-five minutes,” I said, feeling fatigue start to creep back in after my brief reprieve of not feeling like shit.
He nodded, and made no move to follow me as I left the kitchen, retracing my steps to the elegant bathroom. Forty-five minutes of sleep wouldn’t make much of a dent, assuming I could get to sleep at all. I eyed the claw-foot tub and made an executive decision.
After locking the door behind me, I stripped down and used the sink and some hand soap to scrub my panties, which had borne the unfortunate brunt of my slutty horn-dog routine earlier. The towel bar was heated... of course it was. I laid the damp underwear over it, trying to get as much of the fabric in contact with the warm metal as I could. It would help dry them, at least a little.
There wasn’t much to be done for the rest of my clothing—it was all I had to wear now. But, hey. Maybe JoAnne Reynolds hated doing laundry, okay? That would be my story, and I was sticking to it.
The tub was as luxuriously indulgent as it appeared, and I soaked in the hot water scented with lavender bath beads for as long as I dared before giving myself a quick scrub and rinsing off.
I arrived in the kitchen at three a.m. sharp, wearing panties that didn’t stink of stale sex and were only slightly wet from being washed in a stranger’s bathroom sink. Rans was waiting for me, having exchanged his bad-boy biker vibe for something more in line with what he’d worn to the restaurant the other day—casual, but still put together.
“You keep spare clothes here?” I asked dryly. “What is this... Guthrie’s Penthouse Apartment and Safehouse?”
“Be prepared, that’s my motto,” he said, unperturbed.
I couldn’t hold in a snort. “Don’t try to tell me you were ever a boy scout. Because I won’t believe you.”
“I’m afraid my boyhood predates that particular institution by a few hundred years,” he replied easily. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t borrow their motto, now does it? Are you ready?”
I filed that throwaway line for future consideration and gestured at myself—slightly rumpled clothing, boots, and raincoat with fake ID and a couple of burner phones in the pockets. “What can I say? I like to travel light.”
He spared me a quick smile. “Low maintenance, eh? Give me that dagger from yesterday. I’ll box it up and put it in the checked luggage with the sword.”
“What, no throwing stars?” I asked, feigning disappointment.
He huffed. “Sadly not.”
I carefully drew the unfamiliar hard length from my boot and held it out. He gave the blade a sour look. “Hilt first, if you don’t mind,” he said.
I flushed and quickly turned the knife in my hand, pinching the silver blade between my thumb and forefinger. He took it by the wooden handle and placed it in a flat box padded with newspaper.
“So... silver, huh?” I asked. “I thought that was werewolves.”
“No such thing as werewolves,” he said. “And as metals go, it’s not my favorite thing, no.”
He stuffed the sealed box in a suitcase that was sitting in the corner. I eyed the large piece of luggage.
“So, if we’re not taking the motorcycle...?” I trailed off.
“There’s an Uber on its way,” he informed me. “Come on—it’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I followed him out of the apartment after leaving a quick thank-you note
