'If I find out you lied to me—'
'Yeah, yeah, yeah.' I turned to go.
He reached for me. I felt his hand coming and jerked away, spinning. I shook my head in warning, but his eyes were wide at how fast I had moved. 'You just don't get it, do you?' I said. 'I am not human, this is Inderland business, and you are in way over your head.' And with that thought to keep him awake at night, I strode back out into the sunlight, trusting he would keep an eye on me and not get in my way.
My arms swung as I attempted to dispel the last of the adrenaline, and my skin seemed to prickle as Jonathan's eyes fell on me. Ignoring him, I tried to spot where Quen had hidden himself as I made my way to the concrete bridge. On the other side of the twin ponds was Trent upon his blanket. He still had that book in his hand, but he knew I was here. He was going to make me wait, which was fine by me. I wasn't ready for him yet.
Deep in the shadows of the bridge ran a wide ribbon of fast water connecting the two ponds. My foot hit the bridge, and the puddle of purple amidst the current shuddered.
'Heyde-hey,' I said, stopping just shy of the bridge's apex. Yeah, it was kind of stupid, but it was the traditional greeting between trolls. If I was in luck, Sharps would still have possession of this bridge.
'Heyde-ho,' said the dark puddle of water, pulling itself up in a series of ripples until a dripping, craggy face showed. Algae grew on his otherwise bluish skin and his fingernails were white with the mortar he scraped from the bottom of the bridge to supplement his diet.
'Sharps,' I said, truly pleased as I recognized him by his one white eye, blinded by a past fight. 'How's the water flowing?'
'Officer Morgan,' he said, sounding tired. 'Can you wait until sundown? I promise I'll leave tonight. The sun is too bright right now.'
I smiled. 'It's just Rachel now. I quit the I.S. And don't move on account of me.'
'You did?' The puddle of water sank back down until only a mouth and good eye showed. 'That's fine. You're a nice girl. Not like the warlock they have now, coming at noon with electric prods and clangy bells.'
I winced in sympathy. Trolls had extremely sensitive skin that kept them out of direct light most of the time. They tended to destroy whatever bridge they were under, which was why the I.S. continually chased them out. But it was a losing battle. As soon as one left, another took his place, and then there was a fight when the original troll wanted his home back.
'Hey, Sharps,' I said. 'Maybe you could help me.'
'Anything I can manage.' A purple-hued, skinny arm reached up to pick a grain of mortar from the underside of the bridge.
I glanced at Trent, seeing he was making motions to head my way. 'Has anyone been around your bridge this morning? Maybe leaving a spell or charm behind?'
The puddle of oily water drifted to the opposite side of the bridge and into a patch of dappled shade where I lost sight of him. 'Six kids kicked rocks off the bridge, one dog took a leak at the footing, three adult humans, two strollers, a Were, and five witches. Before dawn, there were two vamps. Someone got bit. I smelled the blood that hit the southwest corner.'
I looked over, seeing nothing. 'No one left anything, though?'
'Just the blood,' he whispered, sounding like bubbles against rocks.
Trent had stood and was brushing his pants off. My pulse quickened and I pulled the strap to my shirt straight under my jacket. 'Thanks, Sharps. I'll watch your bridge if you want to take a swim.'
'Really?' His voice took on a hopeful, incredulous sound. 'You'd do that for me, Officer Morgan? You're a damn fine woman.' The smear of purple water hesitated. 'You won't let anyone take my bridge?'
'No. I may have to leave quick, but I'll stay as long as I can.'
'Damn fine woman,' he said again. I leaned to watch a surprisingly long ribbon of purple slip out from under the bridge and flow around the rocks to the deeper pool of water in the lower basin. Trent and I would have a good measure of privacy, but a troll's territorial drive was so strong, I knew Sharps would keep an eye on me. I felt unjustifiably secure with Glenn on one side in the men's bathroom and Sharps in the water on the other.
Putting my back to the sun and Glenn's eyes, I leaned against the railing of the bridge to watch Trent stride over the grass to me. Behind him on the blanket he left an artfully arranged set of two wineglasses, a bottle packed in ice, and a bowl of out-of-season strawberries looking as if it were June, not September. His pace was measured and sure on the surface, but I could see it was fraught with nervousness beneath, giving away how young he really was.
He had covered his fair hair with a lightweight sun hat to shadow his face. It was the first time I had seen him in anything other than a business suit, and it would be easy to forget he was a murderer and a drug lord. The confidence of the boardroom was still there, but his trim waist, wide shoulders, and smooth face made him look more like an especially fit soccer dad.
His casual attire accentuated his youth instead of hiding it, as his Armani suits did. A wisp of blond hair peeked from behind the cuffs of his tasteful, button-down shirt, and I spared a thought that it was probably as soft and light as the pale hair drifting about his ears. His green eyes were pinched as he approached, squinting from the reflected sun or from worry. I was betting the latter since his hands were behind his back so I wouldn't shake with him.
Trent slowed as he stepped upon the bridge. His expressive eyebrows were slanted, and I remembered his fear when Algaliarept had turned into me. There was only one reason the demon would have done that. Trent was afraid of me, either for still falsely thinking I had set Algaliarept on him, or for having snuck into his office three times in as many weeks, or for me knowing what he was.
'None of the above,' he said, his casual shoes scuffing as he came to a halt.
A wash of cold shocked through me. 'I beg your pardon?' I stammered, pulling myself up and away from the railing.
'I'm not afraid of you.'
I stared, his liquid voice melting itself into the chatter of water surrounding us.
'And I can't read your mind, either, just your face.'
My breath came in a soft sound and I shut my mouth.
'You took care of the troll, I see,' he said.
'Detective Glenn, too,' I said as I touched my hair to be sure my curls hadn't escaped my braid. 'He won't bother us unless you do something stupid.'
His eyes tightened at the insult. He didn't move, keeping that same five feet between us. 'Where's your pixy?' he asked.
Irritation pulled me straight. 'His name is Jenks, and he's somewhere else. He doesn't know, and I'd just as soon keep it that way as he has a big mouth.'
Trent visibly relaxed. He went to stand opposite me, the narrow width of the bridge between us. It had been hard to slip Jenks this afternoon, and Ivy finally stepped in, taking him out on a nonexistent run. I think she was actually going for doughnuts.
Sharps was playing with the ducks, pulling them under to bob to the surface and fly away quacking. Turning from the sight, Trent leaned his back against the railing and crossed one ankle against another, his position mirroring mine exactly. We were two people meeting by chance, sharing a few words and the sun. Ri-i-i-i-ight.
'If it gets out,' he said, his eyes on the distant bathroom behind me, 'I'll make the records concerning my father's little camp public. You and every one of those sorry little snots will be tracked down and treated like lepers. That is if they don't simply cremate you out of fear something will mutate and start another Turn.'
My knees went loose and watery. I had been right. Trent's father had done something to me, fixed whatever had been wrong. And Trent's threat wasn't idle. The best-case scenario would involve a one-way ticket to the Antarctic. I moved my tongue around on the inside of my mouth, trying to find enough spit to swallow. 'How did you know?' I asked, thinking my secret was more deadly than his.
Eyes fixed to mine, he pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to show a nicely muscled arm. The hair was bleached from the sun and his skin was well-tanned. A ragged scar marred its even smoothness. My eyes rose to his, reading an old anger.
'That was you?' I stammered. 'That was you I threw into the tree?'
With motions short and abrupt, he tugged his sleeve back down, hiding the scar. 'I've never forgiven you for
