It was best if I explained things to her. I made the request silently, leveling a significant look on Shannon. He acknowledged that with an inclination of his head.
Ignoring his injury, Kel strode toward the door. “Before we take off, I’ll put the gunman down.”
I didn’t like sending him out to hunt a human being, but I had to be pragmatic. The man who shot us works for Montoya; he accepted money to kill me. He’s not going to stop until I’m dead. However I rationalized it, though, I couldn’t feel good about it, and knowing it was necessary didn’t lessen the sickness in my stomach. So I focused on the burn in my biceps and told myself, He’ll do worse to you—and to Shannon—if you let him. That so wasn’t on. But I loathed the ruthless decisions being forced on me in the name of survival, and I wondered if the woman I’d been, the one Chance loved, could’ve made these choices.
“Do what you have to,” I told Kel.
“I’ll handle it,” he said quietly.
I should be thankful for small favors. There were a number of places nearby where he could stash a body, and I wanted to be long gone before the authorities started asking awkward questions. In our favor, if this guy worked for Montoya, then he had a record, and the policía would assume the death was drug related. Lucky break. Funny, right then I didn’t feel fortunate.
“Come up when you’re done. I’ll fix your back, and then we can go.”
Kel smiled—and that was terrifying. “This won’t take long.”
His movements carried an awful grace as he slid out of the apartment. Shannon gave a shiver, but she wasn’t panicked. Another girl might be freaking out—not Shan. But then, like me, she grew up in a cursed town, where people died mysteriously and disappeared all the time. She was nearly sacrificed to a demon by her own mother, who developed a conscience only at the end; Sandra tried to claim innocence, but her daughter knew better. I could only try to be there for her and help pick up the pieces. Part of me thought she needed a more stable life, but I couldn’t offer that right now. I could only give her support and affection.
“Come on,” she said, leading the way to the bathroom.
I stripped off my bloodstained shirt and stood in my white bra while she cleaned the wound. As she worked, I sucked in a sharp breath, gritting my teeth. In old Westerns, the hero always had a bottle of rotgut to take the edge off. I just closed my eyes and tried not to scream.
“How does it look?” I asked eventually.
“It got the outer edge of your arm.”
“A graze?”
“I guess,” she said. “There’s no hole, if that’s what you’re asking.”
That was good news. At least I didn’t have to worry about muscle damage. If she cleaned it and wrapped it, I should heal well enough. The last thing I wanted to do was see a doctor in Mexico, who might report me to Montoya.
With gentle hands, Shannon took care of the wound and I went up to the bedroom to get a clean shirt. When I returned, she was dumping the spaghetti and salad in plastic containers. She opened a drawer and got out a plastic bag to stow the food and then added napkins and plastic silverware.
“Should I bring bowls?”
In answer, I located three plastic ones and handed them to her. If they didn’t make it back here, no big loss. I couldn’t say the same about Shannon. Though the gunshot wound should’ve alerted her to the fact that this situation was no joke, she still needed to know what she was getting into in order to make an informed decision. I took a deep breath and then summarized my history with Kel: how I met a holy warrior in a hundred words or less.
“Damn. Seriously?”
I had to nod. “It’s all true, my hand to God.”
“Pun intended?”
“Of course.”
“He’s really downstairs killing somebody for the Lord?”
My lips twisted. “Welcome to my world.”
“I’m thinking he’s not my type after all.”
“Well, that’s one positive that came out of this. He’s not exactly human, Shan.” I turned. “I’ll go get our stuff.”
“You said the same thing about your ex,” she pointed out.
I was on my way to the stairs, so I called over my shoulder, “Hence the ‘ex’ part.”
Our two bedrooms were up one level; the bilevel flat had the sitting room, kitchen, and half bath downstairs. Upstairs, we had two bedrooms and a bath, with balconies off each room. The split design made the place seem spacious, and when one of us had company, we could give the other privacy.
Though she’d been here only a few months, Shannon had more visitors than I did. I resisted any neighborly attempts to get to know me. It didn’t take a shrink to figure out why.
Two guys claimed to care about me, yet neither was here. They both wanted me to give up the life I’d built and come live somewhere else. With Jesse Saldana, it would be Laredo, Texas. As he’d pointed out, I could open a pawnshop there, but he couldn’t be a cop in Mexico, and he had a large family he didn’t want to leave behind. I couldn’t blame him. Chance, on the other hand, had business interests in Florida, where his mother lived. He was a dutiful son and he wanted to take care of her, a feeling that got stronger when he almost lost her.
Regardless of whether it was a reasonable hope, I wanted someone who didn’t expect me to give up everything, a guy willing to do whatever it took to be with me. I’d spent my whole life settling, trying not to attract attention, and generally doing whatever it took to keep other people happy. I didn’t want to do that again. I wouldn’t. Not when I was comfortable in my own skin at last.
Sure, there were certain challenges, like a drug lord who wanted me dead, and the fact that I owed a demon a debt that he could call due at any moment. But everybody’s got problems, right?
Within a few more moments, I packed our bags. Shannon’s was a parti-colored black backpack with feminine skulls on it. Mine was less interesting, just a simple gray duffel that had wheels if you unzipped the bottom compartment. As we hurried around, Butch whined; I think he recognized signs of impending travel.
“Don’t worry,” I told the dog. “I won’t forget your stuff.”
He did not look particularly reassured. While he leaned against my legs, I plugged in Shannon’s laptop and went online. Because I didn’t check as often as Shannon, I had messages waiting. The first was from Yi Min-Chin. Things are going well at the store. Came up with a new cream, and I’d love to see how it works on you. Love, Min. P.S. Chance misses you.
Yeah, right. I wrote back quickly, asking about the cream. I ignored the mention of her son. She had been hinting, none too subtly, for months that I needed to come to Tampa for a visit. Much as I loved her, that wasn’t happening.
I read on. I could hear Jesse Saldana’s drawl as I skimmed the words.
Hi, sugar. Worked late tonight and I was thinking about you just before bed. I tried to call, but I got voice mail. I sure am missing you. Just as soon as I can swing it, I’ll take some vacation time and come see you. I have a bit saved up, even with that trip to Georgia. I figure I need to check out your shop. My mom’s birthday is coming up. I bet you could help me find the perfect thing for her. That’s if I’m welcome. Anyway, I’ll call again soon. Love, Jesse.
I also had a quick note from Booke, the magickal expert I’d met online while trying to find Chance’s mom. He was a proper mystery; I knew him only by his voice, as he appeared to be trapped somehow in Stoke. I’d give a lot to unravel his secrets, but this wasn’t the time. I skimmed his message detailing his latest project. Since we’d perfected lucid dreaming and then moved on to the next level, object translocation, he wanted my help in testing a new theory. For now, the idea would have to keep, but I was game once things settled down.
The rest of my mail didn’t amount to much. I deleted and then started typing. I couldn’t say anything specific without risking giving too much away, but I didn’t want Jesse or Booke to worry. I let them both know I was taking an unscheduled trip, showing Shannon some of the sights, and that I’d be sorry to miss our regular chats. Knowing he was lonely, I talked to Booke weekly on IM and about once a month on the phone. Jesse, I spoke to more often, since we were “dating,” though not exclusively. We’d agreed a monogamous long-distance relationship couldn’t work, but we should get to know each other better in case one of us—meaning me—wanted to relocate. Before a few months ago, I’d never heard of virtual dating, but it was better than nothing. I did miss him.
When Kel returned, he stopped in the shadows and said softly, “I recommend you avert your eyes.”
We both squeezed our eyes shut, and I felt the breeze of his passing. I smelled the sweet, coppery tang of blood, and a shiver worked through me. In the bathroom, the water ran for a good five minutes; I imagined the crimson diffusing in the sink, swirling down my drain. Pretty soon I felt a little woozy.
“Is this how it begins?” she asked.
“What?”
“One of the adventures you told me about.”
I wasn’t sure I’d call anything that’d happened to me an adventure, but I could see how a not-quite-nineteen-year-old girl might view it that way. She was young enough to find all of this exciting as well as terrifying and disturbing. If nothing else, I’d have some crazy stories to tell my grandkids—assuming I lived to see them.
“Pretty much. See what you can find out about hotels in Catemaco.” After she nodded and sat down with her laptop, I went down the hall to the half bath and knocked. “You ready for me?”
“Almost,” came his low response.
The noises from within indicated he was still washing up. Damn, what did he do, bathe in the shooter’s blood? I was sure I didn’t want to know the answer.
Eventually, he opened the door and I stepped inside. His shirt was off and it was wet where he’d scrubbed it. To his credit, there wasn’t a speck of blood anywhere in the place. After all, it wasn’t his first time cleaning up after himself.