Текст книги "Gale Force"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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David let out an almost inaudible hiss and reacted instantly, faster than any human could have.

It was almost fast enough.

Plowing into a puddle of water three inches deep in a car going a hundred miles an hour creates

an incredibly strange set of physical problems. Forces shear in unpredictable directions, and as

the driver, if you don't get it right in that first second, you're out of control. Spinning, skidding,

flipping . . .

If only it had been that easy. But this was a wall of water, not just a puddle. It was at least a foot

thick, probably more than that, a huge amount of mass.

If we'd hit it head-on, the car would have been crushed. Instead, David's reactions were just fast

enough to throw us into a skid, which burned off some of the kinetic energy. In that extra quarter

second, he and I both reached out to snap apart the wall of water.

Again, we almost succeeded. It was evaporating into mist even as we hit it, but part of it was still

inevitably solid.

The impact was like being slapped by God. I heard crumpling metal and I was jerked violently

from side to side. The glass next to me shivered and cracked into a frosted geometric mess. I

heard David's voice but couldn't sort it out; there was too much to process, and my body

couldn't decide what to complain about first.

''I'm fine,'' I said, although I probably wasn't. David did something to the car, swore quietly,

and I heard metal grinding in the engine. Well, he could fix it. He was Djinn, after all. That was

what they did; they fixed things. They were nature's great handymen.

''Hold on,'' he said, and his hand closed over mine. I turned toward him. Mist leaked in through

the window cracks. The water we'd vaporized had formed a thick, heavy, creamy fog that

swallowed us up. ''I love you. Hold on. I'm sorry I didn't believe you, I'm sorry-''

The fog was getting lighter. It wasn't anywhere near dawn. David was still talking, low and

quietly.

''I can't get us out,'' he said. ''I can get myself out, but not you. If I try to pull you out, I'll kill

you. So hold on. I'll protect you. Jo, I love you. I love-''

The semitruck burst out of the fog like the red fist of a vengeful god, and I felt the surge of

power around us as David pulled together a bubble of protection just before the world came to a

sudden, sharp end.

''Hey.''

I jerked awake, sweating and trembling. The sun was coming up, a hot blur on the horizon, and I

wasn't dead-we weren't dead, and there wasn't any truck. There hadn't been any truck for

hours, since we'd left it behind at the gas station.

We were alive. It had been a dream . . . no, not a dream, a goddamn nightmare, so real it still

ached in every muscle. My heart was thumping so fast it felt as if it were on the verge of needing

a shock to bring it back to normal rhythm. I was damp with cold sweat.

David was looking at me with worry in his eyes. His hand was on mine, just as it had been in the

dream. Exactly as it had been. I twisted around, sure I was about to see the specter of the truck

rising up behind us, but no.

Nothing but road, and early-morning mist, and the traffic of another normal, busy day. I

recognized the road. I'd traveled it before I'd met David, driving non-stop through the night,

heading for Lewis's last-known address in a desperate bid to save myself from a death sentence.

Why did it feel as though I were still on the run?

David chose not to ask about my all-too-obvious freak-out, for which I was extremely grateful.

He downshifted the Mustang and blended smoothly into the traffic as he reached down between

the seats and came up with a smoking hot cup of coffee. Not a word spoken. I cried out in relief,

grabbed it, and found it was exactly right-just hot enough, not one degree over, although I

would have gladly chugged it if it had been the same mean temperature as lava, damn the burns

and blisters. I felt badly off balance and unsteady.

When I'd taken enough in that I felt part of the world again, I sighed, tilted my head back against

the seat, and asked, ''So how far do we have to go?''

''Couple of hours,'' he said. ''We'll be there on time. Do you need a comfort stop?''

Of course I did. We found a small roadside diner with clean facilities and a pretty spectacular

breakfast. Probably not too smart to order the Heart Attack Special, given my earlier cardiac

fibrillations, but damn, eggs, biscuits, and gravy all sounded like heaven. If heaven came with a

side of bacon.

David watched me consume with a lazy sort of pleasure in his expression as he nursed a cup of

coffee and a bowl of mixed fruit. If he noticed that the waitresses kept whispering and looking

him over, he didn't mention it. ''That was some dream,'' he said. ''What happened?''

I didn't want to talk about it. Unlike most dreams, this one remained vivid and terrifying. ''We

died,'' I said. No explanations. His eyebrows climbed, and I saw him think about asking for

details, and then think better. ''That truck. Did you ever see-''

He was already shaking his head. ''There was nothing weird about the truck, Jo,'' he said. ''It

turned off and went its own way a little after you fell asleep. It was a Peterbilt, carrying a load of

television sets. The driver was a Haitian immigrant. Want to know his name?''

I paused, studying him. A forkful of eggs cooled on my upraised fork. ''You really did pay

attention.''

''Of course I did. He has six kids, a wife, and an elderly mother. I know everything about him,

everything about the truck, everything about its cargo. I wasn't taking any chances. Not with

your life. I've nearly lost you too many times.'' He said it without any emphasis, but it went

straight to my heart. I lowered my fork and put it down, and fought to catch my breath. He

leaned forward, cup cradled in both hands with exquisite care. ''Nothing will happen. You have

to trust me on that.''

I held his gaze. ''And you have to trust me that everything may not be as simple as you think it

is.''

''You're talking about the package.'' I nodded. ''Jo, I promise, I'll try to keep an open mind. No

matter how . . . unlikely all this seems to me.''

He really was trying. More than that, I knew it wasn't easy for him to devote so much time to

me; there were constant demands in the Djinn world, just as in the human one. He had a day job,

after all.

''I love you,'' I said. ''More than chocolate. And you know how much that means to me.''

''Eat your eggs,'' he said, and gave me that slightly off-kilter smile, with an intriguing tilt of his

head. ''Wouldn't want you to faint like a girl later and blame it on low blood sugar. Again.''

''Hey, buster! When have I ever fainted like a girl?''

He picked up the spoon from his fruit bowl and licked it, slowly and contemplatively, tongue

moving very deliberately around the sleek curves. ''I can think of one or two times.''

''That,'' I said severely, ''is totally unfair.''

''What is?'' He dipped the spoon into the little pot the waitress had left out for my coffee, and

then licked that off, tongue curving lovingly into the bowl of the spoon. ''Mmmm. Fresh

cream.''

I think one of the waitresses dropped a water glass. I distinctly heard one of the other ones

murmur something that sounded like Thank you, Jesus.

''Stop it. Not even you can make me faint with desire, '' I said. I was trying for stern, but it was

coming out more indecisive than anything else. It wasn't that I was weak-willed; it was that

nobody was immune to David when he really put effort into it. Especially me.

''Oh, I don't know,'' he said, and even his voice was pure seduction. ''Five minutes from now,

when I do this thing I was just thinking about-''

''Is it that thing with your little finger? Because I'm ready for that one this time.''

''Oh no,'' he said, very earnestly. ''I was thinking of the thing with my tongue, actually.''

''What thing with your tongue?''

His smile deepened, and sparks flew in the darkness of his eyes. ''You sure you really want me

to demonstrate? Right here?''

I was pretty sure that if he did, there'd be a lot of women asking to order what I was having. I

took a deep, slow, determined breath, and said, ''Play nice, David.''

''I'm always nice.''

Oh, I didn't think so. That was part of his dark, chocolate-rich charm, and as I'd already noted to

him . . . I really couldn't resist chocolate.

He ate the rest of the fruit, nibbling on the moist bites with such suggestiveness that I think every

waitress in the diner made sure to come by and ask if there was anything at all she could do for

him. He never noticed. He was having too much fun making me squirm.

But when I glanced down involuntarily at my watch, he sighed, ate the last bite of cantaloupe,

and nodded. ''Right,'' he said. ''Let's get going.''

''As soon as this is over-''

''Don't think I won't hold you to it.''

Chapter Six

When we came out of the diner, there was a van pulled up behind the car, neatly blocking us in. I

felt my nerves tighten up and shiver, but I silently told them to stand down; I'd already made a

fool of myself over the semitruck, and this would turn out to be just another idiot picking up,

dropping off, or parking badly. In fact, it even looked like a delivery van– battered, a bit

weather-faded.

The sunlight caught a glitter on the door, and I paused, blinked, and tried to convince myself it

was nothing but random metallic paint flecks. Tried hard, but got nothing. I gave it up and took a

quick look in Oversight.

The van took on the dimensions and solidarity of one of those military Humvees, wickedly

armored and decorated with spikes. Tough and badass-that was its essential character,

interpreted for me visually by whatever processing filter the Wardens had that others didn't. The

aetheric showed truth, but it was a subtle and strange kind of truth.

One thing was unequivocal about the truck, though: On the door panel blazed the stylized sun

emblem of the Wardens.

I opened my mouth to warn David, but he already knew, of course. He stopped, studying without

expression the van and whatever occupants it held. All the playfulness was gone, and he

reminded me of a hunting leopard, lean and powerful. His eyes had gone a color that should have

been a warning, and probably would have been to anybody with sense.

Unfortunately, the Warden who got out of the van was Lee Antonelli, and he had less sense than

a pet rock. He was a big guy, and a gifted Fire Warden, but when it came to subtleties, he was

likely to crush them under his big steel-toed boots and never notice. How he'd survived the

Warden/Djinn conflicts was anybody's guess, but the fact that he hadn't had a Djinn issued to

him in the first place was enough to keep him off the initial hit list, and I strongly suspected he'd

spent most of the conflict hiding out.

I said Lee was big. Not brave. Hence, of course, the unreasonably tough shell of attitude on his

van, not on his person.

He leaned against the passenger side of the van and crossed his arms; they were impressively

muscled, and he'd invested a small fortune in body art. It should have made him look

intimidating. Instead, I thought it made him look like someone doing hard-ass by the numbers,

especially when coupled with the shaved head. ''Warden,'' Lee said to me. He didn't so much as

glance at David. I wondered why, and then I realized that Lee couldn't see him. David had made

himself invisible, although he was still there to my eyes.

''Warden,'' I replied to Antonelli coolly, ''who taught you how to park? I'd say Sears, but

really, they do a much better job. Maybe you were absent the day they explained what those

parallel lines in the lot are for-''

''Shut up, Baldwin. I'm supposed to pick you up and escort you in,'' he said. ''Since whatever

you've got going on is so damn important, I guess I'm riding shotgun.''

This was weird, and it wasn't normal. Lewis knew I was coming; he knew David was traveling

with me. Why send Antonelli, of all people, whom he knew I couldn't stand? Lewis might work

in mysterious ways, but that was downright impenetrable. I bought time to think by digging a

pair of big sunglasses out of my purse and putting them on. There. Without a clear view of my

eyes, Antonelli was going to have a tougher time figuring out what I'd do. ''Shotgun,'' I

repeated, ''so you're the bodyguard. Flattering.''

Antonelli ran one hand over his bullet-shaped shaved head and gave me a grim-looking smile.

''Most ladies would say so.''

''Save the smarm, I'm not in the mood.''

He shrugged. Flirting was reflexive for him; he didn't fancy me, except in the abstract way that

somebody like Antonelli fancied anyone with internal sex organs. If I stood still long enough,

he'd gladly take a turn, but other than that, I was furniture. ''Playtime's over, then. Let's move.

In the van.''

I stayed right where I was, next to the door of the Mustang. ''I'm driving my own car.''

Technically, David was driving, but Antonelli might not know that. In fact, he didn't look nearly

worried enough, so I doubted he had any idea there was an angry Djinn standing a couple of feet

away, eyes lit up like Halloween lanterns.

''Look, I don't know the plan; I'm just following orders. Lewis says take the van; we take the

van,'' Antonelli said. ''I don't ask no questions; neither do you. Come on, sister, let's go. I've

got things to do.''

There was a ring of sweat around the high neck of his muscle shirt, and dark streaks under the

arms. Unless Antonelli had come straight from the gym, something was up. He was nervous.

''We can sort that out,'' I said, and pulled my cell phone from my pocket. ''Let me just call-''

The circuitry inside the phone fried, boiled into vapor in an instant. I dropped the red-hot case

and blew on my blistered fingers. Antonelli hadn't moved, but something about him had

changed. I could almost smell it: the burned-metal bite of desperation, mingled with a coppery

odor of fear.

''Get in the fucking van,'' he said. ''I'm not playing, bitch. Don't make this a showdown; there

are too many people around. Kids. I don't want to do that, and neither do you. Let's keep this

calm.''

Oh God, he was serious. I could tell it from the sweat on his skin, the dark shadows in his eyes.

He was a whole lot more scared of someone else than he was of me.

That needed to change, right now.

I dropped my purse to the ground, glad I'd donned the sunglasses. I made sure my feet were

firmly planted, shoulder-width apart, the right slightly forward to give me a more stable base.

''You're right,'' I said quietly. ''I don't want to do this. You don't want to do this. But somehow,

I think it's going to happen anyway, because I can't get in that van, Lee. Whatever's going on, I

can't take the chance. Let's think this through before we both start something that will end

badly.''

David had not moved. Hadn't spoken. Still, I was feeling the vibration of menace from him like

the subsonic pulses from a volcano about to blow; this was going to go south, very badly, very

fast.

''Who is it?'' I asked. ''Lee, tell me who's making you do this. It's not Lewis. It's not the

Wardens. Somebody's forcing you to take me out of circulation. Come on, man, we don't have

to make this a throw down. We can talk about it, work it out.'' While I talked, I used my Earth

powers, subtly sending calming vibrations to him, lulling him into a state in which he might be

more inclined to listen. To trust.

Antonelli shook himself, as if he were throwing off a wrestling hold, and I knew my brief second

of opportunity was gone. ''Save it,'' he snapped. ''I'm not some wet-behind-the-ears trainee.

You can't con me.''

And then Lee Antonelli, one of the best natural Fire Wardens I had ever seen, declared war.

I'll give him credit; it was a strategic strike, not just a general firestorm. He formed a fireball and

lobbed it not at me, but at my car. Clearly, he did not understand my relationship with cars. He'd

have gotten off easier if he'd gone ahead and set my hair on fire. I'd have taken it less

personally.

I formed an invisible cricket bat of hardened air, swung, lined up, and hit a solid line drive,

sending the fireball right back into Antonelli's midsection. It hit him hard enough to drive him

against the body of the van, which rocked and creaked on its springs, and his muscle tee caught

fire. He glanced down, annoyed, and brushed a hand over it. The fire went out, but there was a

nice round hole with scorched edges baring his carefully developed abs. He'd had a tattoo put

around his navel-a woman's face, with the navel representing her open mouth. Classy.

''Bitch!'' he snarled.

''Repeating yourself already? We just started,'' I said. I didn't alter my stance, and I didn't go

after him. ''Walk away. Just get in your van and go. We'll all be happier.''

Only it wasn't going to happen. He was scared, and he clearly didn't think walking away from

this was an option. Instead, he pointed his finger at me, and from the tip of it blazed a pinpoint of

red light, hot as the sun. Coherent light, concentrated a thousand times stronger than the brightest

earth-based laser developed by men.

Air wouldn't slow it down. Neither would water, although it would bend the beam and eat up

some of its energy in steam. Both options were sure to fail, and I knew from experience that if he

could break my concentration, he could hurt me badly enough that I'd have a hard time

defending myself at all.

Instead of defense, I went for offense. I had to end this fast, before some innocent bystander

traipsed out of the diner and into the line of-literally-fire.

First, I summoned up a gale-force wind that slammed into his chest and pinned him against the

van. Then I took away his air.

It's damn hard to concentrate when you feel like you're suffocating. I started with the air going

in, filtering out the oxygen as he gasped. Then I focused on the oxygen inside Antonelli's

body-in his lungs, in his blood. I knew what I wanted to see, and it glowed bright blue for me.

I separated the hydrogen and oxygen atoms, took away an atom from the oxygen molecule, and

within seconds, he was shaking in desperation, nearly out. I let him continue to breathe, because

if anything it increased his panic, but I destroyed the oxygen before he could metabolize it.

There was a side effect of this, of course. Destruction creates energy, and I burned off the excess

in sharp blue sparks that danced on the antenna of the van, the metal rims of the wheels, even

Antonelli's showy belt buckle.

It felt as though I were killing him, in a cruel and inhumane way, and that was exactly what I

wanted him to feel. I wanted him to know that I wasn't going to give in, and I wasn't going to

screw around. If he wanted to play hardball, he was going to have to live through the opening

innings, and I'd taken the game to the professional level.

''Think about it,'' I said. ''I could just as easily put water in your lungs. Drowning on dry land.

Sound good to you, tough guy?''

Antonelli sank to his knees, eyes wide and desperate. I hadn't noticed before, but he had brown

eyes, big and somehow childlike despite all the 'roided-up muscles.

I felt oddly detached about what I was doing, but there was no way I was going to let go until I

sensed he was more afraid of me than of the theoretical bad guys.

''Jo.'' David's soft voice. His hand touched my shoulder. ''You don't have to kill him.''

''Maybe not,'' I said. ''But if he's one of them, it'd be a damn sight safer in the long run.''

He didn't say anything. I could tell he'd dropped the veil concealing him from Antonelli,

because Antonelli's mouth stretched wide, and he tried to croak out something that was probably

a plea. His lips had gone the color of iron, and his skin looked dead and pale and rubbery.

He was about to lose consciousness, so I let him have a torturous, cruel gasp of air, loaded with

O2. He gagged and pitched forward, openly weeping; he wasn't coming after me, that much was

certain. He just wanted to live to get away.

But I didn't want him to get away. I let him have just enough oxygen to survive, not enough to

get his arms and legs in any kind of working order. Then I picked up my purse and walked over

to him, crouched down to where he was sitting against the wheel of the van, and pulled down my

sunglasses to look into his eyes.

''What were you going to do to me, Lee?'' I asked him. ''Don't lie. It'll only make me angry,

and you won't like what happens when I lose my temper.''

I let him have more oxygen, just enough. I'd scared him, all right. I'd terrified him almost more

than was strategically necessary, and I knew-again, in a detached, academic sort of way-that

it might bother me later. Maybe it would bother me a lot.

Or-and this was a lot more worrisome-maybe it wouldn't bother me at all.

It took Lee six breaths before he was able to decide to choke out, ''Going to kill you.''

''Meaning, you're still going to kill me, or you were supposed to kill me?''

''Supposed to.'' His face contorted with effort, and he bared his teeth. ''Going to.''

I'd known that was a possibility, but somehow, it was very different hearing it. I glanced up at

David. He was standing over us, quiet, but his expression . . . Antonelli was lucky not to be

relying on his mercy. I might have developed a nasty streak, but I was the kinder choice between

the two options.

''I guess I should give up on the friendship bracelets, '' I said. ''Good, I suck at crafts. So, I'm

guessing all this wasn't your own brilliant idea. You haven't had an original one since you set

your cat on fire in the second grade. Who sent you? Think hard, Lee. We're going into the final

lightning round. If I don't believe you, the next breath you take could be water. Or cyanide. I just

love chemistry.''

He didn't want to talk, but self-preservation is a damn fine motivator. No matter how badass his

bosses might be, they weren't here. I was. Like anyone else, Antonelli wanted his next breath to

be sweet and life-giving, not foul and toxic. He knew better than to question whether or not I

could do it.

''Sentinels,'' he croaked. ''Want you dead. Paying cash.''

''Hmmm. How much?'' He looked at me as if I were totally crazy. I wasn't so sure he was

wrong. ''I'd like to know how much it was worth, stabbing me in the back.''

''Five million.''

I sat back, surprised. ''Five million dollars?''

''I'd kill you for free,'' Antonelli muttered. ''Bitch.''

''Is that any way to talk to the person holding your oxygen tank?'' I asked, and cut off the flow

into his lungs. He choked and thrashed. ''Oh, okay. I see your point. Five million is a lot of

temptation. But I don't think it was the money. You might like me to think it was, but I think

whoever sent you scared the crap out of you.'' I let him have an entire ten breaths of sweet,

sweet air. He shook his head. ''Come on, Lee. Please. I don't want to hurt you anymore. Just tell

me who sent-''

I had no warning. Neither did Antonelli.

Some tremendous force slammed into me, throwing me facedown to the gravel path. I rolled,

tossed my hair out of my face, and saw that David had also been driven back from Antonelli.

That was . . . almost impossible. Unless he'd been taken by surprise, by someone or something

of nearly equal strength, it was very hard to knock a Djinn for a loop. For a fatal second, David

was distracted from Antonelli by a perceived threat against me, while I was busy regrouping and

trying to figure out what the hell had happened.

Antonelli didn't hit us while we were vulnerable; he wouldn't have had either the concentration

or the energy. No, someone else struck Antonelli. I'd gone up into Oversight, struggling to catch

a glimpse of what was going on, and saw a huge red, spectral hand reach through the aetheric

and punch claws deep into Antonelli's chest. I felt the black wave of despair and fury like a

psychic blast. In the real world, Antonelli's eyes locked with mine.

And then the spectral hand crushed his heart like a grape.

Murder, cold and sudden and utterly merciless.

Lee Antonelli swayed on his knees, and as long as I live I'll see his face, see that terrible, sad,

confused expression and those lovely brown eyes begging me to explain why I'd let this happen.

You could say that he deserved it; he'd been willing to kill me.

But you'd be wrong. Nobody deserved that.

David whirled, turning into a blur of light, and was gone. I caught Antonelli as his corpse pitched

forward. Blood burst out of his mouth and nose, and I realized it hadn't been only his heart the

hand had gone after; it had been his lungs, too, and probably any other organ of note. His

murderer had systematically pulped him from the inside, like a kid squashing tomatoes in a bowl.

I cursed breathlessly, well aware it was too late. David had darted off in pursuit, but I could tell

there was little to no trace on the aetheric of who'd delivered the death blow. Someone horribly

powerful, though. Someone not afraid to break every rule.

I'd forgotten to worry about conservation of energy, in those few seconds, and as I eased Lee to

the pavement, the imbalance went critical. First, the windows on the van blew out in a shrapnel-

spray of glass. One second later, the windows in my car followed. Then the diner's plate glass

windows. The concussive effect rippled out, losing strength until it was only cracking glass and

denting metal, and then it faded away.

I didn't care about that. Someone had murdered a Warden right in front of me, and I hadn't been

able to do a damn thing to stop it.

Some hero I was.

I heard a confused babble, and then the patrons and staff of the diner boiled out into the parking

lot, yelling questions, momentarily more upset about their auto damage than anything else.

Someone caught sight of me on my knees, with Lee's body cradled in my arms, and the tenor of

the babble changed and grew louder as people converged around me in a forest of heads and

shadows.

''What happened?'' one of them asked. ''Is he okay?''

''No,'' I said. I sounded calm. That was odd. ''I think he had a heart attack.'' Stupid thing to

say; there was blood on his shirt, on me, still dripping from his gaping mouth. ''Maybe a

hemorrhage.''

''That's sad; he's so young,'' someone else murmured. I heard a cell phone being dialed, and a

voice asking for an ambulance. After a pause, they also asked for the police. Well, I couldn't

blame them. Big dude dead on the ground, with a burn mark in his shirt and blood all over his

face.

And me, with blood on my hands.

I couldn't explain, so I didn't try. I just sat next to Lee's body, and by the time I realized that I

was uncontrollably trembling, it was too late to claim I was too badass to care about what had

just happened.

I was crying by the time the sirens approached.

I should have realized that where the police went, the scavengers would follow. In this case, it

was the local news crews, two different species by the plumage of their satellite trucks. The

reporters had a certain sleek, predatory look to them that identified them clearly from the

casually dressed videographers and sloppy, Earth-shoe-wearing boom guys.

I watched them approach as I was giving my story to the police, and it was like a flock of

vultures circling, waiting for my last breath.

''Ma'am?''

I blinked. The police officer facing me was tall, beefy, ginger-haired, and excruciatingly polite.

Despite that, he wasn't the kind to take any crap, and I heard the warning in his oh-so-polite

question.

''Sorry, sir. I was just coming out of the diner with my-my fiance, and we saw this gentleman

get out of his van. He looked like he was in some trouble. I think he might have been having

some kind of seizure.''

''Seizure,'' the cop said, and noted it down. ''Uhhuh. Was his shirt like that when he got out?''

Oh. The burns. ''I didn't notice right away. I didn't see him with a cigarette or anything,'' I said,

which was the absolute truth. ''Is it important?''

''Probably not. He damn sure didn't burn to death. So, you didn't know him, ma'am?''

I was lucky that nobody appeared to have noticed our little confrontation in the parking lot-then

again, it probably wasn't luck so much as David, taking care of business. Everybody

remembered me and David inside the diner, but nobody appeared to have been paying attention

when we left and went out to the car. The glamour had held until the windows blew out.

''No, I didn't know him,'' I said. It was my first real lie, and I had to make sure he bought it. I

tried not to hold myself too still or keep his gaze too long. A good Earth Warden could have

exerted some mental pressure to make him overlook anything that tripped his suspicions, but I'd

never been that good, and I wasn't about to try something like that at my current level of

emotional trauma. ''Sorry. I think he didn't really know what was going on. Maybe he was high .

. . ?'' Slandering the dead, Joanne. Good one. I felt an uncomfortable roll of guilt, but then again,

Antonelli had been willing to abduct and murder me. A little slander might have been

appropriate.

''Where's your boyfriend?'' the cop asked.

''Fiance,'' I automatically corrected him, and smiled nervously. ''I think he went to the

bathroom. It was– this was awful. Really awful.''

The cop nodded, probably thinking of all the much more awful things he'd no doubt seen in his

career. Probably thinking I was a lightweight ditz. That was fine, because in some senses I was,

and besides, I didn't want him to take me too seriously. That would be a very bad thing.

''Okay,'' he said. ''If you'll wait over there, Ms. Baldwin, it'll be a little while. You said you

were on your way to New York?''

''Yes,'' I said. ''I have a business meeting. Look, can I call-?''

''Sure,'' he said. ''Just don't go anywhere.''

I walked away, not in the direction of the reporters, and headed for the pay phone. How long had

it been since I'd had to use a public phone? Years. I missed my crispy-fried cell phone,

especially when I saw the grime and dried spit on the telephone receiver. You're an Earth

Warden, I reminded myself. You laugh at public phone germs.