Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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chapel in Sedona, one of the places where the Oracles reside . . . this one was the home of the

Earth Oracle, a kind of super-Djinn who was an avatar of the Earth herself. I wasn't entirely sure

what the Oracles did, exactly, except that they were the direct conduits from the Djinn to Mother

Earth. If you wanted to talk to her, you went through them.

This particular Oracle was also my kid. Long story, but she'd been born in the Djinn way, from

power– David's, and mine. Half-Djinn, half-human, and not strong enough to survive the Djinn

civil war that had erupted around her literally on the day of her birth.

I'd thought I'd lost her forever, but she was alive, in a sense, if beyond my reach. Oracles didn't

have as much contact with humans, and they couldn't reach us in the way that Djinn did.

If I wanted my daughter, Imara, to be at the wedding of her parents, then I had to bring the

ceremony to her. Super-Djinn badass avatar or not, I didn't think she could actually leave the

chapel, at least on the physical plane. Besides, it was a gorgeous place. I couldn't think of a

better, more sanctified spot to exchange vows.

However, at most, it would hold only a couple dozen people, not nearly enough for the rapidly

spawning guest list. That would be like trying to fit Mardi Gras into a two-room split-level.

Maybe, I decided, we ought to have two ceremonies. A party in Fort Lauderdale, an all-access

blowout to make the rank and file of the Wardens happy. And then a private ceremony in

Sedona.

Maybe I could get the Wardens to kick in for the party as a morale builder.

I was working out the costs, and trying to persuade myself that I felt weak because I was tired,

not because anything above four figures was unacceptable, when the telephone rang. I picked it

up, had a bad reporter flashback, and checked the number. It was blocked, which meant it was

probably a telemarketer. Annoying, but not nearly as stressful.

''Hello?''

The sound of breathing on the other end made my hackles go up. Couldn't really say why;

breathing was not, in and of itself, a threatening sort of sound. But I knew something else was

coming, and so I wasn't surprised when a rough male voice said, ''You don't care, do you? You

don't give a shit about the dead. The ones who stood up and died for you.''

I flinched, remembering Jerome Silverton, and forced myself to stay still and listen. ''What are

you talking about? Who is this?''

''You didn't even warn them it was coming. You didn't warn your own friends that the Djinn

they trusted, the ones they liked, could turn around and rip them in half.'' The hatred in that

voice was chilling. ''Now you're screwing one of them. One of the enemy.''

''The Djinn aren't the enemy. Who are you?''

''You're already on the list,'' the voice said. ''Fair warning, Baldwin. You're a traitor, and we

don't want you in charge. Quit now, before it's too late.''

He hung up. I sat frozen for a few seconds, staring at the phone, then called Warden HQ and

asked for a trace of the last call.

I got nothing. It would take a Fire Warden to disrupt the sort of trace we used, but clearly, our

enemies were ourselves. That didn't bode well for a long-term solution.

I was trying to decide how much of this-if any of it-to tell David, when the doorbell rang. It

took me a few long seconds to lever myself out of the chair, put my laptop aside, and go to

answer it. The apartment was cool and quiet, except for the distant, constant sound of

construction on the other side of the complex, where they were repairing fire damage.

When I got to the door, there was nobody outside. I looked right and left, frowning, and

remembered to look down.

It was a delivery service package, plastered with labels. I didn't remember having ordered

anything, but maybe someone had sent me a get-well present. I reached down for it, but as I did,

David came up the steps at the end of the hallway and turned toward me with his luminous,

lovely smile.

Now that was the best present ever.

''What are you doing up?'' he asked as he came closer. He was tossing newly minted apartment

keys in his hand; I'd insisted that if he was going to marry me, he'd have to start doing more

mundane, human things, too, such as unlocking doors the standard way, and knocking before

entry. He'd found it funny, of course. But he humored me.

''Just getting the package,'' I said, and bent down again to pick it up.

As my fingers closed around it, David asked, in pure puzzlement, ''What package?'' and it hit

me like a speeding express train-I was already feeling worse. Woozy. Something was wrong

here.

And he couldn't see the package.

Oh God.

''Get Lewis,'' I said, and backed away, into the apartment. ''Get him fast, David. Go!''

He didn't waste time asking what I was on about; he just blipped away, moving faster than light

could follow. I slammed the door and kept on moving, as far back as I could. I ran into the plate

glass window, slid along to the opening, and stepped onto the balcony, where I braced myself

against the far railing and slowly lowered myself into a deck chair. I was short of breath and

sweating, and it wasn't all just nerves.

That box. Dammit. How many people had been exposed? The driver, for sure. People at the

distribution center . . . I grabbed a pad of paper, threw away the lists of florists I'd compiled, and

began to frantically scribble down anyone I could think of who might have touched the package

during the shipping process. They all needed to be examined and treated.

I was only halfway through the list when the phone rang, and I grabbed the extension sitting next

to the pad. ''Lewis?'' It was. ''Get a disposal team over here, right now. There's a package

outside my door. I think it's the same stuff as in the office building. Antimatter. David can't see

the package at all. Get a team on tracing the package back through the system. People who came

in contact with this thing-''

''Got it,'' he said. ''Look after yourself. Get the hell out of there.''

''I don't want to go near it, and I'd have to if I leave by the door. I'll have to climb down-'' I

didn't feel up to the acrobatics, not at the moment.

I didn't need to. David came out of thin air, moving fast. He picked me up, out of the chair,

stepped up on the balcony railing, and off into open space without a second of hesitation. I didn't

even have time to gasp before his feet hit the ground, and then he was carrying me across the

parking lot at breakneck speed. He dumped me in the passenger seat of my car, took the driver's

seat, and started it up with a touch of his finger to the ignition.

''David-''

He wasn't listening. His eyes were focused and distant. He had a mission, and that mission was

to get me out of danger. I didn't have anything to say about it.

I realized I was still holding the phone. Lewis's voice was a faint buzz on the other end. ''Right,

I'm out of the apartment,'' I said to him. ''And we're about to lose the connection. Hurry up

with the disposal team. I don't want that thing lying around where anybody can pick it up. My

God, Lewis, there are people here. Innocent people!''

David put the Mustang in gear, and we screeched out of the parking place, cornered hard, and

accelerated out of the apartment complex and onto the street.

The phone went dead, of course. I tossed it in the backseat and rested my head against the

cushions as David put the Mustang through its paces, driving way too fast for a human's

reactions. He must have screened us out of other people's perceptions, because we blew past a

police squad car doing about 120, and there was no reaction at all from the two protecting and

serving in the front seat.

''I thought you didn't believe in this stuff,'' I said to David. ''You're acting like you do.''

''I'm trusting you,'' he said. ''If you say it's there, and you say it made you sick, I'm not taking

chances. But Jo-I can't see it. I can't sense it. It's just not there.''

''Look, there are things that exist that are invisible to humans-''

''But not to Djinn,'' he interrupted. ''Nothing is invisible to Djinn. Nothing that belongs on this

earth.''

This was kind of the point. He must have realized it, too. He was quiet for a moment, and when I

looked over, I saw that his eyes had taken on a fierce orange color, like the heart of a fire.

''This isn't something being done by the Djinn,'' he said. ''Not mine, and not Ashan's. Whether

I personally believe in it or not is beside the point. If an enemy is sending these things to you,

personally, it's someone human. Someone who wishes you harm.''

No kidding. I remembered the angry phone call. ''Maybe it's a Demon,'' I said. ''They seem to

like to drop in for regular visits.''

''Not funny, Jo.''

''Yeah, not from this side, either. Do you think it is? A Demon?''

He seemed to consider it seriously. ''Demons aren't so . . . strategic in their approach. Their

goals are simple and straightforward-consume, kill, escape. Whatever this is, there's no sense

to what you described before. The dead creature-''

''Djinn, David. He was Djinn. We're sure.''

He let that pass, but I could tell he was far from convinced. ''And the black thing inside him.

Who would do such a thing? Why?''

''Maybe,'' I said slowly, ''it was a test.''

''A test of what?''

''Of the Djinn,'' I said. ''A test that you failed.''

He took his gaze away from the road, which was eerie and alarming, though I knew he didn't

need to be staring straight ahead to drive. ''Failed how?''

''Failed to sense the danger. Look, that was a Djinn we found-''

''It wasn't.''

''Argument's sake, if it was, why can't you admit it? It's as if you just can't bring yourself to-

''

''There's nothing to admit!'' he said, and I heard the unmistakable vibration of anger underneath

the words. ''I would know if a Djinn had died!''

''Except you don't, and one did,'' I said, and closed my eyes. ''So what does that mean?''

''It means-'' David took in a deep breath, and I could see him struggle to get his temper under

control. ''It doesn't mean anything. Because all this is an illusion, Jo. Just an illusion. There's no

dead Djinn; there's no such thing as your antimatter.''

Whoa. The blind spot the Djinn had was big enough to swallow the sun, and it was starting to

really scare me. And there didn't seem to be any point at all to trying to debate it, because he

simply wasn't going to listen.

I turned face forward as he steered the Mustang through traffic at speeds that would have made

NASCAR drivers weep and flinch. ''Glad we got that all straightened out.''

Sarcasm was wasted on him, right at the moment. He sent me a heartbreaking smile of relief, and

I realized he actually thought we had straightened it out.

Oh dear God.

We finished the drive in silence. Once the traffic cleared, David pulled off the road at a

beachfront area, one loaded up with pleasure-seeking, bikini-wearing sunbathers, all one tequila

short of a Girls Gone Wild video. He turned off the engine, and we sat for a while watching the

waves crash and roll, and the tanners sizzle and flirt.

''I need my cell phone,'' I said. David . . . flickered. Like a bad signal, or a hologram. And then

he reached in his coat pocket and handed over my cell phone, which I knew perfectly well I'd

left back on the table in the apartment. ''Hey. Don't do that, okay?''

He looked puzzled. ''Don't do what?''

''Don't go back there. Promise me.''

''Why?''

I swear, when I closed my eyes, I saw red. I counted to ten, deliberately, and tried to pry my

fingernails out of my palms. ''Because even if you don't believe it's there, that stuff is toxic to

me, and it could be fatal to you. All right?''

He shook his head. ''There's no danger. If there was, I'd know.''

Which was just crazy. But he earnestly seemed to think he was telling me the truth.

I took the cell phone and called Lewis. ''Where are you?''

''Just got here,'' he said. I heard his breath huffing; he and what sounded like an elephant herd

of people were jogging up the stairs. ''Okay, I see it. Box in front of the door.''

''That's it,'' I said. ''Be careful.''

''I'm not going anywhere near it, trust me. We're using a bomb robot.''

''We've got bomb robots now? Cool.''

''It's on loan from Homeland Security,'' Lewis said. ''They're not going to like it if I get it

blown up, though. I'll call you back.''

Homeland Security was loaning us gear? Wow. When had we actually come up in the world like

that? Apparently, while I'd been unconscious in a hospital bed for something or other, or on the

run. I wasn't sure if I liked it. Part of the reason the Wardens had existed for so long in secrecy

had been the low profile. The more we ''cooperated'' with other governmental agencies, the

more likely it was that we'd get attention, and any attention was bad.

I remembered the reporters, and shivered. They had a job to do, and although they'd grant me

some sick time, they'd be back.

''Let's change the subject,'' David said. ''The wedding. Where do you want to have it? At the

chapel?''

There was only one chapel for us-Imara's home, the Chapel of the Holy Cross. I nodded

slowly. ''But we'd have to have it in secret,'' I said. ''After hours. They don't do official

weddings there.''

''I could work it out,'' he said. I was sure that was true, actually. ''It won't hold too many.''

''Small ceremony,'' I said. ''Big reception. It works.''

He nodded, staring straight ahead into the rolling surf, the eternal sky. ''Are you all right?''

''Me? Sure.'' I dredged up a laugh. ''Why wouldn't I be? Just because some crazy is sending me

antimatter through the mail . . .''

''We changed the subject,'' he reminded me gently. ''If you're worried about the wedding, you

can still change your mind.''

I draped an elbow over my seat and curled around to face him, resting my chin on my forearm.

''I really don't think I can,'' I said. ''And I really don't think I want to.'' I felt a cold breath of . .

. something. ''Unless . . . you're having doubts about us-''

''No,'' David said immediately. ''I'm just concerned for you. You seem . . . unreasonably upset.

I just can't understand how you can be so convinced and upset about something that has no

evidence.''

Well, that was rich. He thought I was crazy. ''David,'' I said, ''we're not going to convince each

other on this stuff. Are we?''

He shook his head ruefully.

''Then let's stop trying.'' I reached out. He took my hand, and some of the fluttering in my

stomach quieted. ''So if we can have only twenty people at the ceremony, who are we picking?''

He smiled. ''You go first.''

''All right. One name at a time.'' I took a deep breath. ''Cherise.'' Safe. He nodded.

''Lewis,'' he said, which surprised me, but I supposed it shouldn't have. He and Lewis had

known each other long before I ever set eyes on David.

''Um-Paul.''

''Rahel.'' He gave me a quick, apologetic smile. ''I can hardly leave her out of the invitation.

She'd only show up if we didn't invite her.''

She would, just to be a pain in the ass. Djinn. What can you do? ''Fine,'' I said. ''How many is

that?''

''Counting us? Six.'' He studied me for a second, eyes going gentle again. ''Seven with a

minister. Do you want to invite your sister?''

''Oh hell no,'' I said. ''Psycho sister Sarah is not welcome. She's caused me plenty of trouble

without this. I'll go with . . . Venna.''

David's eyebrows twitched, either in surprise or amusement, or maybe some of both. Venna was

a Djinn, but she was on Ashan's side of the fence; she'd done both of us favors, but as with most

Djinn, I couldn't peg her as good or bad, really. Still, she was always . . . interesting. ''She might

attend,'' he said. ''It might interest her. But she wouldn't come alone.''

''You are not inviting Ashan.''

That got an actual laugh. ''It would be politically wise.''

''And personally stupid because if I see him again, I swear I'll rip off whatever passes for his-

''

He kissed me. It was meant to be a shut-me-up kiss, quick and sweet, but it turned warmer,

richer, and I melted against him like chocolate on a hot plate. ''I'm asking Ashan,'' he said when

he let me up for breath. ''And you're going to play nice if he shows up. Which he won't. But it

will be wise to ask him.''

I made a noise that brides-to-be probably shouldn't make, according to Miss Manners. He kissed

me again.

We had so much to talk about-flowers, cakes, catering, dresses, tuxedos. . . . We didn't talk

about any of it. Instead, David pressed his lips to the pulse at my neck and murmured, ''I'm

bored with planning the wedding. Let's plan the honeymoon. Better yet, let's rehearse.''

I'd been recovering for weeks, and my libido had taken a serious beating along with my body,

but when he said that, I felt a fast, hot flush of desire. Aside from some gentle play, he'd been

careful with me, knowing I was fragile.

Now he sent waves of energy flowing into me, curing the lingering aches and exhaustion, and I

caught my breath in true, deep pleasure.

''Right here?'' I asked. ''In the car?''

''I think I said before, the seats do recline.'' Being a Djinn, he didn't even have to crook a finger

to make it happen. My seat slipped back, nearly level, and I made a sound low in my throat as his

warm hands moved over me, sliding the strap of my top down my arm, folding back fabric. . . .

''Wait,'' I said, and sat up again. ''There's a motel half a mile back.''

He looked surprised, and a little disappointed. I kissed him again.

''I'm not saying no,'' I promised. ''I'm saying . . . I want lots of time, and a bed. If it's a

rehearsal, let's make it a full undress rehearsal.''

''Oh,'' David murmured. ''That's all right, then.''

Chapter Five

The rain hit while we were lying twined together, sweaty and completely satisfied, on the motel

bed. It was a nice motel, nothing sleazy, and the rooms were actually quite lovely. Big ocean

views. We'd drawn the curtains, though, for privacy. No matter how much fun it is, some things

really aren't meant to be shared with strangers on the beach.

I listened to the patter of drops on glass and rested my head against his bare chest. He had a

heartbeat, and his lungs worked just like any man's. In fact, he was all the way human in every

way that I could sense, including his postcoital drowsiness. His fingers combed lazily through

my hair, leaving it smooth and shining, the way it had been when he'd first seen me.

''How'd we do?'' I asked, and his hand left my hair to softly stroke my arm, skim my side, wrap

possessively around me.

''I think we need more practice,'' he said. ''I don't think I quite had that last part right.''

''The Russian judge gave it a nine point five,'' I said. ''And you nailed the dismount.''

I loved it when he laughed. Djinn didn't laugh enough, and they had little enough to laugh about,

in general. His happiness was contagious, like fever, and I basked in its warmth. We kissed, long

and slow, and I heard the low vibration in the back of his throat. Still hungry. Still wanting.

I knew how he felt. The passion between us wasn't fading; if anything, it was strengthening as

time went on, as we learned each other and found new ways to please. I loved surprising him,

loved the mixture of shock and wicked delight in his eyes.

When my cell phone rang, I flailed for it and switched off the ringer, but I couldn't resist taking a

quick glance at the lit-up display. Lewis, of course. And I had to answer. Otherwise, he'd do

something stupid, such as send the cavalry to bust down the door and catch me doing something

morally questionable.

David groaned, deep in his throat, and buried his face against my neck. ''You have to get it,'' he

said. ''Right?''

''Afraid so,'' I said. ''Put the porno movie on pause for a second.'' I caught my breath, tried to

pretend I was fully clothed and businesslike, and answered the phone. ''Lewis?''

''Took you long enough,'' he said. He sounded tense, which wasn't good. Lewis was one of the

most relaxed people I'd ever known, in general. ''Okay, we've got the package in containment.

Jo-there was also a card.''

''A card? Like, a greeting card?''

''You're not going to like it,'' he said. ''It's a congratulations card. On your wedding. It had a

message inside.''

I went short of breath, and it wasn't for any of the reasons that it would have been a minute

before. ''What kind of message?''

He ignored that question, which didn't bode well. ''Who knows you're getting married?''

''I-not that many people. We haven't officially-I don't know. I didn't think it was a state

secret! My God, I was about to order invitations!''

''I think we'd better talk,'' Lewis said. ''All of us. Warden HQ in New York. There are some

things you need to see.''

''Now?''

''Tomorrow. Let David drive if you're taking the car.''

I bit my lip. Not that I didn't love being in the car with David, but even at the speeds he was

likely to travel it would be at least a fifteen-hour trip. Then again, it kept us mobile, and Weather

Wardens generally didn't do too well in airplanes. We draw storms the way a bug zapper draws

moths.

''See you there,'' I said, and hung up. I dropped the cell phone back on the nightstand and rolled

back toward David. ''Where were we?''

His fingers slowly stroked the column of my throat, down the valley between my breasts, and

across to circle the hard cap of my nipple. ''That depends,'' he said, low in his throat. ''How

much time do we have?''

''How fast can you drive?''

He laughed. ''You wouldn't believe how fast I can drive if I'm properly motivated.''

''Any particular thing you find motivational?''

He put his lips close to my ear. ''Your mouth.'' His tongue traced the folds of my ear, drawing

shivers. ''I love the way you use it.''

''I'm guessing you aren't talking about pleasant travel conversation.''

I couldn't see his smile, but I felt its dark power. ''Don't want to give it a try?''

''Dude, there are laws, you know.''

''Laws against driving above the speed limit, too, but I don't notice you objecting to breaking

them.''

''You are a very bad''-I caught my breath convulsively and pressed against his fingers, which

had wandered lower-''man. And we should get dressed and on the road.''

''In a while,'' he said, watching me, and his hand began to move. My mind went white and

smooth with pleasure. His eyes were lazy and still somehow fiercely intent. ''Let me see if I can

ease your mind first.''

I decided not to protest, unless don't stop counted.

Driving with a Djinn isn't really like normal driving. For one thing, nobody really sees your car;

they have an awareness of it, for traffic safety, but even the most vigilant of peace officers can

look right at you breaking the speed limit (and nearly the sound barrier) and not feel moved to

react.

The downside? No bathroom breaks. Djinn just don't think of things like that. I know they eat,

so they must have the other human-type functions at least when maintaining human form . . . but

you'd never know it. They're better masters of their bodies than we are.

After six hours on the road, I was squirming in the seat and ready to die for a bush by the side of

the road, never mind a bathroom.

''Comfort break,'' I said to David. ''Sorry. Nature calls.''

He sent me a lazy, amused glance, entirely relaxed and at ease behind the wheel of my car. I'd

learned not to look out the windows; the constant smear of color reminded me of science fiction

movie concepts of travel past light speed. Instead, I'd asked for a laptop, which David had

obligingly provided, and an Internet connection. Bingo, I was back to research.

Only this time, I was tracking down suspects instead of china patterns.

''What are you doing?'' David asked, leaning over. I nudged him back with one shoulder.

''Drive.''

''I am.'' He stayed where he was, eyes off the road.

''You know that makes me crazy, right?''

His lips threatened to smile. ''Not the right kind of crazy. So?''

I sighed. ''I'm searching all my correspondence, trying to figure out how many people I've told

about the wedding.''

''And?''

''Dozens.'' I stared gloomily at the screen. ''Not only that, I didn't exactly think to make it eyes-

only clearance. Those dozens told more dozens, who told their friends, who posted it in the

Wardens chat room. . . .''

''So it's a dead end.''

Yeah, and we might be the ones dead at the end of it. Wasn't sure I liked that symbolism.

I was on the verge of logging off the computer, but a word caught my eye on the Warden chat

board. I frowned and scrolled back up, looking for it, and finally saw, in the message thread of

people offering congratulations on the upcoming wedding, a single entry. You had to be

registered for the Warden chat board, of course, and authenticated, but somehow, this particular

entry had no name or IP address associated with it. What it said was, simply, It'll never happen.

I shivered. The Sentinels were at work.

''Bathroom,'' David announced, and I closed up the laptop and was unhooked before he'd

screeched the Mustang to a stop in front of the gas pump of the BP station. I barely noticed the

convenience store, except that as I frantically scanned the interior walls, the bored clerk took pity

on me and pointed toward the rear of the store. Clearly, he knew the look.

I found the bathroom; it was unlocked and relatively clean, and all that mattered was the sweet,

sweet relief. When I finished, I went to the sink and washed, studying my face in the mirror. I

looked okay-a little thinner than usual, more angular, but not as haggard as I'd feared. Stress

looked good on me; it always had. Lucky me. As a beauty treatment, though, it sucked.

Hmmm. Maybe some cold cream. And Ding Dongs.

I was gathering up sweet, snack-treat goodness and heading for the register when I felt . . .

something. Not exactly trouble, but . . . something. It was subtle, but I'd definitely felt something

shift, and not on a natural real-world level.

I put the food down on the counter, smiled meaninglessly, and wandered back toward the cold-

drink case to give myself time to think. Time to track what was happening. The clerk must have

thought I was giving the Pepsi-Coke debate serious consideration. I glanced over my shoulder

and saw that David was gassing up the Mustang, eyes scanning the horizon but without any sign

of worry or alarm.

So maybe this sudden foreboding was just my imagination working overtime. Maybe I was tired,

on edge, and still recovering from my near miss.

A big semitruck eased into the parking lot. It was a tight fit; the place wasn't exactly a truck stop,

and I wondered what he was doing. Maybe he needed a bathroom, too, or Ding Dongs.

Everybody needed Ding Dongs, right? But no driver emerged from the shiny red cab; it just sat,

shimmering in the overhead lights, idling.

I felt a chill. I grabbed a drink at random from the case and went back to the counter, threw

money at the clerk, and continued to stare at the truck without blinking or looking away.

Something. Something wrong.

David didn't seem alert to anything at all. He replaced the gas cap and stood next to the car,

leaning on it, waiting for me to reappear.

''Your change,'' the clerk said, and pressed coins into my hand. I shoved it into my pocket

without looking, grabbed the sack he handed over, and hurried outside. There was a cool breeze

blowing in from the ocean. Couldn't see the shore from here, but the sound of the surf was a

distant, low murmur.

I stopped, staring at the red truck, which continued to idle where it sat. Nothing intimidating

about it, other than its size. But then again . . .

''Let's go,'' I said, and climbed into the passenger seat. David raised his eyebrows at my tone,

which was fairly tense for somebody who'd achieved the desperately needed pit stop, but he got

in the car and started it up. We pulled out onto the road in a smooth growl of acceleration, the

tires biting and cornering perfectly.

Behind us, the semitruck lurched into gear and followed.

''Crap,'' I whispered, and turned in my seat to look behind us. ''That truck-''

David glanced in the rearview mirror. ''What about it?''

''Don't you think there's anything strange about it?''

''I think you're tired,'' he said. ''And you're worried. Let me worry about keeping us safe.''

''But-'' I stopped myself, somehow, and managed a nod. ''Okay. Just . . . keep an eye on it,

would you?''

''Sure.'' He sounded indulgent and amused.

''David, I'm not kidding.''

He gave me a strange look. ''I know,'' he said. ''I'll watch.''

That was said with a good deal more seriousness. I nodded and turned again, looking behind us.

The truck was still there, but rapidly falling behind as the Mustang's engine opened up with its

throaty growl. I frowned. The truck didn't seem at all intimidated by my scowl. You've seen

Duel one too many times, I told myself, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something

. . . something wrong. Something dangerous.

But despite all that, the steady blur of passing scenery, David's impeccable (nay, uncanny)

driving, and the soft, lulling roar of road beneath tires took its toll. Before too long, I was leaning

against the passenger-side window, sleepily contemplating the headlights visible in the far

distance behind us, and slipping over the edge into sleep.

Or almost, anyway. I jerked myself awake with a start, banging my head against the glass, and

blurted, ''How are they still there? The truck? How fast are you going?''

David didn't even need to glance at the speedometer to say, ''About one-fifty.''

No semitruck on the planet was going to do more than eighty on these roads, and that was if they

were asking for trouble, especially at night. So at half our speed, more or less, he should have

been far behind us by now.

Invisibly far.

I checked the headlights again. They were still visible, and if anything, they were closer. ''How

fast is that truck going?''

It no longer mattered, because I felt a sudden snap of power out at sea, as if someone had pulled

a steel wire taut in front of us, and I had time to see a wall of water rise up, glistening and glass-

brick thick in the moonlight, beautiful and deadly. . . .