Broken Wings (24 page)

“
No, but we should run into
someone who can lead us to him.” Ava held her breath on that one,
not knowing the contact personally.

“
Someone we can
trust?”

Lying to Mickey wasn’t an option. “Not
sure.” She shook her head and scanned the room, an inbred
trait.

A couple, the only patrons occupying
the row of booths to the left, weren’t the least bit interested in
Ava and Mickey. The woman sat on one side; the guy on the other.
Both were draped over the tabletop, hands and arms tangled so
tightly it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other
began.

Red and gold hues swirled around the
pair and cloaked them in a veil only Ava could see. The color
combination showed their desire for red-hot sex.

Ava pulled her focus away from the
couple. No point in exhausting her limited energy on the would-be
lovers. They posed no danger.

An old man sat at the far end of the
bar, hunched over a half-empty glass. His scruffy, graying hair
reminded Ava of Mickey’s—minus the gray. A mauve aura, the color of
solitude, surrounded the old-timer. He needed no conversation, just
the bottle. No threat there.

All the tables on the right were empty
except for one near the bar. Two women, technically hookers, looked
at Ava and Mickey, mostly Mickey, and giggled amid clandestine
whispers. Those short skirts, tank tops and fishnet get-ups turned
Mickey’s face red.

Tones of smoky-black and candy-apple
red danced and shimmered around the women. They were lying in wait
for their next victim, but Ava wasn't about to let that be
Mickey.

“
Come on, Skippy,” she said,
dragging him by the arm. As they passed by the girls some
vile-smelling perfume crawled up Ava’s nose and turned her
stomach.

“
Why do you call me that?”
Mickey asked, exasperation shredding his voice.

Someday, she’d take him back to the
1980s and show him. He reminded her of that kid from Family Ties
that was in love with Mallory. The one they called
Skippy.

Ava chose the empty end of the bar and
dragged a stool out with the heel of her boot. The chair’s legs
screeched across the wooden floor.

“
Ava. Long time no see.”
Phillip, the bartender, greeted her with a lonesome smile that was
locked in some dark area of his past. A lavender fog flowed around
him. Her presence had summoned a flicker of amusement in his
memories.

Don’t do it. Don’t say his
name
.
Ava’s silent warning, she knew,
would go unheeded. “What can I say, Phil,” she said. “I’m a busy
girl.” Better to guide the barkeep as far away from
him
as
possible. She settled onto the bar stool and hung the heels of her
boots on the rails. “I’ll have the usual. My friend Mickey will
have...” She knew what he was going to order before she turned to
him, but sometimes it was fun to play these games.

“
I’ll have what she’s
having,” Mickey said.

How original. And predictable. Mickey
could’ve benefited from Lucien’s company back in the day. On second
thought, that might’ve been like sending a mouse to train with an
elephant.

Shit. Now she’d done it. She’d let his
name rattle off her brain. How long before he showed up? Half hour?
Forty-five minutes tops.

“
How’s Lucien these days?”
Phil asked, setting the frosted drafts in front of them.

“
I wouldn’t know,” Ava said,
hoping to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t seen him in years.” And she
wished Phil would stop talking about him. Lucien would find her so
much quicker if the conversation didn’t change, and
fast.

The door creaked open and the hairs at
the nape of her neck rose amid goose bumps. Some strange magic was
at work.

Lucien? No. Not Lucien, but somebody
equally as dangerous. Could Ava’s contact be a vampire?

Uh oh.

She fought the urge to look at the
figure claiming a seat at the bar, leaving an empty stool between
them. An overwhelming scent trickled over her and drew her in with
the ease of a fishing lure. Definitely male, and possibly
vamp.

The desire to look at him needled at
her, but it wasn’t a good idea even though she wanted to in the
worst way. Was he a vampire, or wasn’t he?

Ava didn’t like messing with vamps.
Still, he had another thing coming if he thought she’d give up her
bounty.

She glanced in the mirror behind the
bar and wrestled with the urge to preen her hair. The chestnut
color looked browner than usual and she prayed it didn't look as
drab as her reflection portrayed in the subdued
lighting.

Pathetic. Either Ava was pitiful or
this guy was a vampire with superpowers. She hadn’t even looked at
him but he’d already wielded an intoxicating influence over
her.

His image in the mirror resided just
outside her peripheral vision—whoever said vamps don’t have
reflections was probably a vampire poking fun at some
Mortal.

Ava tried to look at him in the mirror
in an offhanded way. His dark eyes caught and tangled her in a
mixture of turmoil and curiosity, even though he wasn’t looking at
her. A wave of lust washed over her, followed by a powerful need to
move to the empty stool separating them. She wanted this guy. She
wanted him in the worst way. This desire she was feeling was
stronger than anything she’d ever experienced—even the attraction
she used to feel for Lucien.

Damn it. She was a goner.

The magnetic stranger was talking to
the guy sitting on the other side of him, and paying no attention
to Ava whatsoever. She lowered her head and inched it to the left
until she had a good view of—his boots.

Typical footwear of twentieth century
bikers. It was hard to say if it was his normal attire or a trite
disguise. Seasoned Levi’s clothed his long, lanky legs and dragged
her attention up to his athletic torso covered by a black,
skintight T-shirt. Bronzed muscular arms rested against the bar.
Long, slender fingers loosely encircled the beer bottle Phil had
placed in front of him. Ebony-black hair had been tied into a
pony-tail and hung down his back nearly to his waist. Several
inches longer than her own, Ava marveled at the perseverance it
took to grow it to such lengths. His face, chiseled and
clean-shaven, was as bronze as his compelling arms that were
capable of....

Geez, he was good to look at. And most
definitely a vamp. Who else could bewitch her like this? Hell, he
hadn’t even looked at her yet and she was already under his
spell.

Finally, he turned toward her.
Self-preservation urged Ava to look away before their eyes met, but
she couldn't. His deep coffee-brown eyes latched onto her gaze and
held it with some infinite, indefinable power.

She’d been hoping against hope that her
talent for reading emotions would confirm or deny her suspicions.
Was he or wasn’t he? He could hide among the shadows of the night
and cast as many spells over her as he could conjure, but his
vampire attributes would still be there, camouflaged.

She gave reading him a go and drew a
blank. If she couldn’t read him that was verification within
itself. Wasn’t it? A deep sigh did little to settle the troubling
outcome.

“
How’s it going?” he said,
and then had the gall to wink. He continued looking at her, as if
waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he said, “It’s a
nice night for a walk in the park.”

A sinking feeling dragged her fears
down into her gut and tangled them in knots. She couldn’t remember
the last time she’d had this much trouble projecting a calm front.
Was he her contact, or just a vampire invading her thoughts? Or was
he both? “It’s better down by the river. South side.” She spoke the
code, fearful of his answer.

“
Maybe tomorrow
night.”

Damn. All his responses were correct.
Still, dread washed over her. Ava tried, but couldn’t shake the
feeling that this was going to lead to trouble.

“
Do you have a lock on
Cole’s location?” she asked.

“
As we speak.” He tipped the
beer bottle to his mouth and drained nearly half its contents. “You
have the jewels?”

“
You’ll get your payment
when I get Cole.”

Bridled laughter preceded his response.
“Fair enough.”

“
Whenever you’re ready.” She
still had reservations about him, but she doubted it had anything
to do with his ability to lead her to Cole.

“
You got a ride?” He raised
the bottle to his lips and chugged the remainder of his
beer.

“
No.” She doubted it would
help to explain that her ‘ride’ was in the twenty-ninth century,
and she didn’t need one here. Once she got Cole, she planned to lay
out her Sun Stones and take him back where he’d run
from.

Ava’s contact stood, shoving the
barstool back with his foot. “You can go with me. Your boyfriend
can ride with Skeet.” He moved away from the bar and headed toward
the door. He didn’t wait or look over his shoulder to see if she
was following.

Ava quickened her pace, catching up to
him. Two could play this game. “You got a name? Or should I just
call you,
hey
?”

“
Stone.”

It was all she could do to keep from
laughing. “Stone?” What the hell kind of name was that? It sounded
like a product of the twentieth century, something a pair of
stoners would name their kid.

“
Yeah, Stone. You got a
problem with that?” He turned away, pretty much dismissing her as
he shoved his hand against the wooden door. It swung open with the
force of his frustration.

“
No. No problem at all.” She
laced her hands behind her back and snickered as she followed him
outside. “You’re the one who’s got to live with it.”

Mickey was hot on Ava’s tail. “Are you
sure about this?” he said, just above a whisper. Which was
pointless. He could take both these guys at once. She’d seen him in
action. He was a black belt in Karate. Mickey could definitely kick
some ass. A trait that came in handy for time-traveling bounty
hunters.

Ava remained silent, and gave Mickey a
quick nod to follow her lead. One thing she was sure of—this guy
was going to take them to Cole.

Stone slipped a set of keys from his
front pocket and began unfastening a small chain securing two
helmets to an old Indian—old, even by the current time period’s
standards.

She’d pegged him right. He was the
biker type. She gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for her
skilled insight.

“
Here.” He shoved a helmet
toward her. “Put this on.”

Ava took the gear and slipped it over
her head, fastening the strap. “Thanks.” Snootiness overtook her
tone; she didn’t care if he found her offensive.

But he didn’t. He paid her no mind,
grabbed a handlebar and straddled the massive machine. Okay, Ava
had to admit the motorcycle was kind of cool with its black frame,
chrome forks, valanced fenders and that rich, blood-red color
gleaming against the streetlights’ glow. It was breathtaking, and
so was he.

A grin spread across his face as he
turned to her and rested his hands on his thighs. “You coming or
what?”

She moved toward him at a snail’s pace,
knowing what was coming once she mounted his bike. In her
peripheral vision, Mickey didn’t look happy behind
Skeet.

Ava laid her hand on Stone's shoulder
and climbed behind him, leaving as much space between them as
possible without sitting on the rear fender.

“
You’d better come closer if
you don’t want to fall off.” His tone held a mixture of amusement
and arrogance. She didn’t like it. “I’m sure your boyfriend will
understand.”

“
He’s not my boyfriend.” As
much as she didn’t want to, she scooted closer to Stone. “He’s my
associate,” she added of Mickey.

Stone turned the key on the bike and it
roared to life. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” His
laughter droned through Ava, keeping time with the bike’s
growl.

She leaned toward his ear. “Be a smart
ass if you want, but Mickey is my brother.” It wasn’t a total lie.
That’s how she saw Mickey.

He turned to look at her. “Brother,
huh?” His expression hardened.

“
Yes.” She nodded. As long
as she felt it, it was so.

He dragged up the kickstand. “Well, all
right.” The engine revved and the bike charged off, yanking her
backward. Ava locked her arms around his waist to keep from falling
off.

Humiliation charred her cheeks, but
soon her shame gave way to annoyance. She cleared her throat,
wanting to cast out the disagreement, anxiety, and
doubt.

Loosening her rigid hold on him, she
trailed her fingertips to his sides and laid her hands freely
against his fine, firm body. Her face flushed hot again, but not
from shame, resentment, or irritation.

Skeet and Mickey cruised up beside them
and Stone let off the gas, slowing.

“
Dex, 4th or Auburn?”
Stone’s companion said over the roar of the motorcycles.