Burning Darkness (7 page)

Instead she pushed Westerfield over. He landed on the concrete with a hard thud, but she was already grabbing the planks of boards in the pile and throwing them onto him. She grabbed his gun and stuffed it into the waistband of her pants. She dragged the tank over by the board it was still attached to and dropped it on him.

The sounds of birds started again. Eric looked around in bewilderment, gasping for breath.

“Help me!” she said. “Throw boards on the pile.”

“What—” But he didn’t stop to question. He’d already taken in the situation and knew acting was better than figuring things out.

Westerfield was trying to push the boards away.

She pulled out the gun and aimed it at him.
Remember how to do this.
She’d practiced a few times with a friend’s gun when she was a teenager but never aimed at anyone. She squeezed off three shots, punching holes through the boards and getting thrown backward with the kick. Eric took the gun and squeezed off three more. Blood splattered on the aged wood. Westerfield groaned, his fingers sticking out between the boards.

Eric grabbed her hand again and started running toward the woods. As they ran, boards flew into the air, one next to her head. She spared a glance back, seeing Westerfield struggling to get up. He was flinging the boards with flicks of his arms.

What the hell was he?

Eric flung his hand back and shot at him. Westerfield ducked out of sight. As they ran alongside the buildings, boards exploded from them. Westerfield was making the motions of smashing everything and sending it toward them.

One board hit her in the back, sending her flying forward. Her hands skidded across the hard ground and dried grass. The air was filled with debris, as though a minitornado had hit. Eric shielded his head as another board flew past, ducking down and pulling her to her feet. They both looked back. Westerfield was walking toward them. Walking, not running, in no hurry, which was the scariest of all. No, the scariest was the smile on his face.

Her back ached, but she pushed forward. Eric, still gripping her hand, led her to a sharp left. Her hand ached, too, but she wasn’t about to complain. Once again it felt as though she wore a boxing glove, but this one was two sizes too tight.

Her brain screamed. Pressure. Crushing pain. She looked back as they entered the edge of trees. Her legs went weak, but Eric jerked her to the right. Her vision began to blur, and then Westerfield was out of sight. The pressure eased. She shuddered at the thought of him getting into her.

Eric kept looking behind them. “I don’t see him, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m going to check on him real quick.” He came to a stop, and so did she, nearly stumbling into him.

He closed his eyes and his face tensed for a few seconds. His eyebrows furrowed. She knew better than to interrupt him. When he opened his eyes, he said, “He’s still there. No sign of any wounds, though there’s blood on him. I wonder if he can heal himself like my sister Petra can.”

“She can heal herself?”

“I don’t think she’s ever tried to heal herself.”

So
that
was why Eric wouldn’t die.

He said, “I saw him on the phone reporting to someone that we’d gotten away. He’s definitely not working alone.”

“Does he look like he’s going to come after us?”

“No, but I’m not taking any chances.”

She trailed her hand against the trunk of a tree as they passed. The canopy allowed the early sun to stream through in places, warming her as she walked through the sunbeams. “I don’t think he can use his skills unless we’re in visual range. That squeezing in my head . . . as soon as we were out of his sight, it stopped.”

“Good. We need to know his limitations.” He slid her a glance. “Especially since he knows about our abilities.”

“Sorry,” was all she could say. “I grew up in a neighborhood where the cops weren’t always to be trusted. But FBI, CIA . . . I figured they could be.”

He huffed, a hard expression on his face. “Mostly they can, but there’s corruption everywhere. The government has been doing people wrong for a long time. BLUE EYES was only a small chapter in the book of Heinous Crimes Against U.S. Citizens. There have been all kinds of secret programs that infected people with biological chemicals, smallpox, you name it.” His mouth tightened. “Darkwell was probably the worst. He used our parents, and then he tried to use us again to do the same thing.”

Darkwell had used her. Maybe. She’d trusted him once. She wasn’t so sure she could trust Eric.

He turned to her. “You froze time. You really friggin’ froze time.”

She nodded, feeling a smile spread on her face. Her mother’s legacy. “But I didn’t think about you freezing, too.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t haul ass while you could.” And leave him there, he didn’t say.

Me, too.
She shrugged. “It was only fair to help you; you told me about it.” At his surprised expression she added, “Don’t make more out of it than that.” That’s all it was.

“I won’t.” He looked at her. “Let’s get to someplace safe and figure out what to do next.”

Let’s.
Meaning
let us
. She didn’t like the sound of that. Getting someplace safe sounded good, but no way was she staying with Eric Aruda, even if she didn’t have any good options.

Neil stood in the wreckage of the building. He didn’t want to chase them into the woods. They had the advantage there, and they were skilled enough to push him out, unlike the average human. He looked down at one of the bullet wounds, running his finger inside the hole in his shirt and touching the weal of healed skin. He hated getting shot. Worse, was getting badly cut. He slid his finger down the cut Eric had made. Even though it was healed now, it hurt like hell and drained him.

He pulled out his phone and called his brother. “They escaped, but I’ll find them again. Any luck on your end?”

“You’re not exposing yourself, are you?”

He smiled at the wreckage strewn all around. It felt good to wreck things. To create chaos. To breathe in the emotions of fear. He inhaled now, at the memory of the sweetest scent, fear flavored with anger.

“No worries. I’m in a remote location.” It would look like vandals had torn up the place.

“And you couldn’t take them down?”

Oh, but he loved the chase so. They would die, he had no doubt of that. They could not go to the authorities, nor could they hide forever. He had waited so long for this, obeying, curbing his desires so his pretty brother could have all the power and glory.

“Remember, they’re not ordinary humans,” he said. “They’re strong—stronger than I thought they’d be. I can get into them, but they can push me out. Don’t worry; I’ll wear them down.”

The silence was filled with doubt. Malcolm had no choice but to trust in him. Who else could handle this?

“Have you taken care of the others?” he asked.

“No. There’s a block on them, and I suspect they’re all together somewhere. I have a feeling it’s near Lucas Vanderwyck’s gallery. Darkwell noted that they saw activity in the house above his art gallery, though when they went in, no one was there. I don’t want to pull in any more of my people than necessary. It’s a delicate situation, one I expect you to remedy immediately. Take care of Aruda and Raine now, so they’re not loose ends. Then we’ll be ready for the rest of them.”

Neil heard someone address Malcolm in the background. “Sir . . .” The rest was too low to hear.

“I have to go,” Malcolm said to him. “Be effective. I’ll do a locate as soon as I can. Maybe Aruda will lead you to the rest of them.”

He disconnected. Neil shoved the phone back in his pocket. He wished he could locate. Even Malcolm had to look into something, akin to a crystal ball, to see a distant location. They had always been competitive, but Malcolm was the golden, older brother. He was all right with that . . . as long as he could kill.

S
omeplace safe, after hitching a ride on the back of a farmer’s flatbed for an hour, turned out to be Quiet Waters Park in Annapolis. Not that he cared, at that moment, about getting back to nature, fresh air, all that crap.

Eric knew he needed time to think. Sitting on the flatbed, the air rushing around, whipping Fonda’s white-blond hair into a frenzy, was not the time he’d needed. She had a dark pink streak on the right side. He knew she had a white-hot streak inside her, but didn’t want to think about that.

They walked into the park. The day was warming up, and people were arriving to take advantage of it. He watched one family lay out their blanket, mom telling the kids to stay close, dad unpacking coolers. He watched them so intently as they walked that the woman called her kids even closer, staring him down.

No, I’m not stalking your rugrats. Just wondering what it would be like to have that life. To not have demons tearing up your insides and devils hunting you down on the outside.
He looked at Fonda.
And let’s not forget the succubus.

As though she’d been reading this thoughts, she turned to him. “We’re having a picnic?”

“Yes.”

The two bags he carried contained food and drink. She carried another bag with a change of clothes for both of them, courtesy of Wal-Mart. Her hair was still windblown, though she’d finger-combed it once they got off the truck. He’d wondered at that. Was she vain or neatening up for him? Yeah, right. He must be tired.

Dead dog tired.

Once they passed the building and main area, they took one of the paths and found a spot nestled in the trees that overlooked the water. He set the bags on a picnic table, took out his phone and called Amy.

“Just checking in,” he said when she answered.

“They’re still out there, several cops posted.” He could hear the fear in her voice. “It makes me wonder what these people know. This is too close for comfort.”

“Give me their positions. I’m in Annapolis. I’ll take them out.” The gun was hidden in the clothes bag, and they’d bought ammo.

“No, don’t do that. We’re trapped, but for now we’re okay. If they come down here, we’ll be ready for them. If you come, they’ll know for sure we’re here, and you might get killed.”

“I’ll hold for now.” He filled her in on what they knew about Westerfield. “I’ll try to find this guy. Or probably he’ll find us. I’ve got to figure out a way to take him out.”

“Is Fonda still with you?”

He glanced at her, opening the bags and setting out the food on the picnic table, not unlike the woman he’d seen earlier. Fonda had obviously been looking at him, because she quickly shifted her gaze away. Damn, she was small. Small but fierce. Some part of him only saw vulnerable with a shell of toughness, a shell that would crack without too much pressure.

“Yeah,” he told Amy.

“I’d love to hear how you two connected.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll save that for another day.”

“Is she on our side now?”

Their eyes connected, and he felt something tighten in his chest. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. How’s Lucas?”

“He won’t even talk to me. But it helps having everyone else around. It doesn’t help being stuck down here.”

“Let me to talk to him.”

“He’s not going to listen to anyone. I’ve got to let him be angry about it. He hasn’t had any storms, but that’s no comfort. He hates not knowing the future.”

He could hear the pain in her voice. “Put him on for a minute.”

After a pause she said, “All right.”

A few seconds later Lucas said, “I heard you and Amy talking about me. You of all people should understand why I’m so pissed.”

“I do, but you weren’t there, bro. I mean, you were but you weren’t. There was blood, and you were out a long time and—I told her to give it to you.”

Silence for several seconds. “You
what
?”

“Yeah, it was my idea.” Okay, he’d screw up his relationship with Lucas, but they’d been family for a long time. Maybe theirs could withstand this. Lucas and Amy’s, he wasn’t sure.

“Your idea.” Except he didn’t sound convinced.

“Totally.”

“Eric, you are full of shit. You’re the last person who would put that stuff in me. Why are you trying to cover for her?”

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I don’t want you to mess up what you have. She loves you, man. That’s the only reason she did it.”

“Don’t get involved in our business. I’ve had enough deception.” He let those words sink in before changing the subject. “Were you able to get one of the cars?”

“No.” He didn’t want to get into how Fonda had outed them. “That’s not an option. They know about everyone.”

“Call Magnus. I’ll bet they don’t know about them.”

“Good idea.” He memorized the number Lucas gave him. “I’ll keep in touch. Let me know if you need me.”

Eric disconnected and then programmed the number into his phone. He sat down across from Fonda and started eating his sub. She was purposely not looking at him, instead focused on the greenery and water beyond. They were alone, since there was only one table in the area.

A thought occurred to him. “Have you ever heard of Magnus or Lachlan MacLeod?”

She shook her head. “Are they Rogues?”

“No. But they’re like us. Offspring.”

Good. They were safe. He continued eating. He’d hoped food would give him energy, but it seemed to make him sleepier. Had she drugged him again? No, he’d either carried the food or had it in view. Did she still want to kill him? Sure, she’d saved his ass back there, but that could be instinctual. Obligatory. Wasn’t that why he’d done the same for her?

He crinkled up his sandwich wrapper and set it aside, then ripped open the box of Ho Hos. Tearing into the package, he actually let out a sigh. Damn, did he need this.

She watched with an amused and curious expression. “Like it, do you?”

“It’s my one vice.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“You’re right. My other vice is having sex. Lots of hot, sweaty, monkey sex. Except it doesn’t look like that’s going to be happening anytime soon, so I’ll have to settle for these.”

She shifted uncomfortably, exactly what he’d intended. That would teach her for judging. As a peace offering, he held out the box to her, but she shook her head.

He tossed the last piece of cake into his mouth, savoring the chocolate and icing. “I always use a condom. Don’t want you to think I’m a slut or anything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then planted her elbow on the table, hand up. “Arm-wrestle me. At least give me the satisfaction of kicking your ass one way.”

“You don’t want to arm-wrestle me, little girl.”

“Don’t call me that, and yes, I do. Afraid I’ll beat you?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I used to hit the bars and wrestle for money. This body builder challenged me, thought he was some big shit. His bone snapped and poked right through his skin here.” He pointed to his biceps. “Wasn’t pretty.”

She kept her arm in position, challenging him with her eyes. Her arms were pretty toned, just short of being muscular. With a sigh, he engaged her, their hands locking. She took him by surprise, gripping him hard and slamming his hand down almost all the way. Recovering in time, he fought her within a half inch of the tabletop. He didn’t want to hurt her but couldn’t let her win. She gritted her teeth, her arm shaking, but she held. That surprised him, too. He could see the anger she was dredging up. She needed to punish him. If she couldn’t kill him, she’d humiliate him.

He eased up and let her bang his knuckles on the table. “You’re strong.”

She pushed to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did you usually give in when you wrestled a woman?”

“After that guy’s bone poked through his skin, yeah, pretty much. Mostly I didn’t wrestle women, unless it was some butchy chick who I thought could handle it. But you put up a good fight.”

“Did you win a lot?”

“Yeah. Made some good money for a while. Then it lost its allure. People take it too seriously, especially when money’s involved. Especially when money is going from their pocket to mine. Makes ’em grumpy.”

“I bet.”

The sugar he’d eaten backfired, making him feel even more drained than before. He pressed his forehead to the table, bracketing his head with his arms and closing his eyes. “Let’s rest up. Then we’ll figure out our game plan.” He lifted his head to look at her. “Don’t leave.”

Fonda walked away, just to be stubborn, he was sure, because she only went to the edge that dropped down to the water. She sank to the ground and leaned against the tree, bending her knees and pulling them against her chest. Damn, she looked like a little girl. Even with her new skill, she was no match for Westerfield, not in the long run. While he knew he shouldn’t care what happened to her, the hell of it was, he did. Must be that chivalry crap he’d seen from the other guys. But they were in love, and he was not. The thought was so ludicrous, he had to stifle a laugh.

How’d you two meet?

Ah, my little sweetie here tried to kill me. It was love at first sight.

He watched her, seeing only the side of her face, the curve of her jaw. It amazed him now to think she had the balls to try to kill him. No doubt Jerryl had been feeding her with his hatred of him, and then he himself had gone and given her a reason to hate him. He’d remote-viewed them and seen them making love, a perfect opportunity to take out a dangerous enemy while he was distracted.

At the time, he hadn’t cared that Fonda was there, that she was witness to the immolation of her lover. Now, he allowed himself to see it as she had, how horrific it must have been for her. She wasn’t a robot enemy; she was human, real . . . like him. As mad and vengeful as he’d been when Jerryl nearly killed Petra, he understood her reasons for trying to kill him.

He could keep her safe for a while. Wasn’t that the least he could do? She was the last thing he saw as his eyes drifted shut and he floated in a dreamless abyss.

Fonda woke, surprised she’d actually fallen asleep. She had curled up in a fetal position. A glance at her watch showed she’d been asleep for two hours. Damn, her body was a train wreck, bruised, scratched, and aching all over. She pushed painfully to her feet, and wouldn’t you know, her gaze went right to where Eric had been at the table. He wasn’t there now. Had he left? Why did that prospect shoot up her heartbeat in panic?

Hullo, don’t want him to be here. In fact, that would be perfectly groovy if he just disappeared.

Except he hadn’t. She found him lying on a patch of grass on the other side of the table. She walked over, very quietly. He was lying on his back with his hand on his stomach, a position that reminded her of when she’d astral projected to him.
He’d been naked then and he isn’t now, so push that thought right out of there.

He had buttoned up his shirt when they reached the highway, for whatever good it did with the big rip down the side. They’d picked the twigs out of each other’s hair before they faced the world, a trippy scenario in itself. All she could think about was how monkeys did that to their mates.

In a flash an arm grabbed her legs, swiping them out from under her and dropping her to the ground.
What the . . . ?

Eric was on top of her, his arm across her throat, his lower body pinning her hips to the ground. He blinked, breathing hard, and sat up. “What the hell are you doing? Trying to get killed?”

“I wasn’t doing anything. I walked over to see if you were awake. You didn’t look like you were.”

He still hovered over her, looking dazed. “I sensed someone there. After what I’ve been through, I’m paranoid. And ready to strike.”

“I see that. Can you let me up?”

He blinked again, as if realizing he was straddling her in a provocative way. Bracing his hands on the ground on either side of her, he leaned down, and when she had the bizarre suspicion that he would kiss her, he pushed up and jumped to his feet.

Then he totally surprised her by reaching out a hand. She wanted to refuse, to get up on her own out of principle, but was too tired for that bullshit. He pulled her to her feet with so much power she stumbled toward him. He braced her shoulders until she recovered her balance and took a quick step back.

Eric glanced at his watch. “We got a couple of hours of rest. But one thing we’ve learned with these people”—he looked at her meaningfully, but without malice—“is that we can’t stay in one place for long. This guy can locate, and we’re sitting ducks here.”

He walked over to the bag and pulled out the jeans and shirt he’d bought. He tore off his shirt, sending buttons flying and reminding her of an erotic male dance show. Then, just like that, he dropped his pants. She had a side angle view, ass to hip, and a glimpse of a semierection.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked.

The naughty son of a bitch turned to face her with a
duh
expression. “Uh, getting dressed.” He gestured toward the rest of the park. “No one can see me.”