Every Which Way But Dead (19 page)

Lee set the dice in my hand. “When you hear hoofbeats, look for horses. That would be the common rolls in this case. I knew you'd roll something odd. A zebra.”

I grinned, rather liking the idea, and the dice flew from me almost before he moved my chips to another square. My pulse quickened, and as Lee explained the details of odds and betting, I rolled again, and again, and again, the table becoming louder and more excited. It wasn't long before I caught on. The risk, the question of what would happen and the breathless wait until the dice settled, was akin to being on a run, only better because here it was little plastic chips on the line, not my life. Lee switched his tutorial to other ways to wager, and when I dared to make a suggestion, he beamed, gesturing that the table was mine.

Delighted, I took over the betting, letting it ride where it was while Lee put a hand on my shoulder and whispered the odds of throwing this and that. He smelled like sand. I could feel his excitement through the thin material of my silk shirt, and the warmth of his fingers seemed to linger on my shoulder when he shifted to put the dice in my hand.

I looked up when the table cheered my latest roll, surprised that almost everyone was clustered about us and that we had somehow become the center of attention. “Looks like you have it.” Lee smiled as he took a step back.

Immediately my face went slack. “You're leaving?” I asked as the red-cheeked guy drinking beer pressed the dice into my hand and urged me to throw them.

“I need to go,” he said. “But I couldn't resist meeting you.” Leaning close, he said, “I enjoyed teaching you craps. You're a very special woman, Rachel.”

“Lee?” Confused, I set the dice down and the people around the table groaned.

Lee slid the dice into his hand and put them in mine. “You're hot. Don't stop.”

“Do you want my phone number?” I asked.
Oh God, I sounded desperate.

But Lee smiled, his teeth hidden. “You're Rachel Morgan, the I.S. runner who quit to work with last living Tamwood vamp. You're in the phone book—in four places, no less.”

My face flamed, but I managed to stop myself before I told everyone I wasn't a hooker.

“Till next time,” Lee said, raising his hand and inclining his head before he walked away.

Setting the dice down, I backed from the table so I could watch him vanish up the stairway at the back of the boat, looking good in his tux and purple sash. It matched his aura, I decided. A new shooter took my place, and the noise returned.

My good mood soured, I retreated to a table by a cold window. One of the wait staff brought me my three buckets of chips. Another set a fresh Dead Man's Float on a linen napkin. A third lit the red candle and asked me if I needed anything. I shook my head, and he eased away. “What's wrong with this picture?” I whispered as I rubbed my fingers into my forehead. Here I was dressed up like a young rich widow, sitting alone in a casino with three buckets of chips. Lee had known who I was and never let on? Where in hell was Kisten?

The excitement at the craps table nosedived, and people started pulling away in twos and threes. I counted to a hundred, then two hundred. Angry, I stood, ready to cash in my chips and find Kisten. Little boys' room, my ass. He was probably upstairs playing poker—without me.

Chip buckets in hand, I jerked to a stop. Kisten was coming down the stairs, movements sharp and quick with a living vampire's speed. “Where have you been?” I demanded when he came even with me. His face was tight and I could see a line of sweat on him.

“We're leaving,” he said shortly. “Let's go.”

“Hold up.” I jerked out of the grip he had on my elbow. “Where've you been? You left me all alone. Some guy had to teach me how to throw craps. See what I won?”

Kisten glanced down at my buckets, clearly not impressed. “The tables are fixed,” he said, shocking me. “They were entertaining you while I talked to the boss.”

I felt as if I'd been punched in the gut. I jerked back when he went for my elbow again. “Stop trying to drag me around,” I said, not caring that people were watching. “And what do you mean, you were talking to the boss?”

He gave me an exasperated look, the first hints of stubble showing on his chin. “Can we do this outside?” he said, obviously in a hurry.

I glanced at the big men coming down the stairway. This was a gambling boat. It wasn't Piscary's. Kisten was handling the undead vampire's affairs. He was here leaning on the new guy in town, and he had brought me in case there was trouble. My chest tightened in anger as it all started to come together, but discretion was the wiser part of valor.

“Fine,” I said. My boots made muted thumps in time with my pulse as I headed for the door. I dropped my buckets of chips on the counter and smiled grimly at the chip lady. “I want my winnings donated to the city fund for rebuilding the burned orphanages,” I said tightly.

“Yes, ma'am,” the woman said politely, weighing them out.

Kisten took a chip from the pile. “We're going to cash this one out.”

I plucked it from his fingers, mad at him for having used me like this. This was where he wanted Ivy to go with him. And I had fallen for it. Whistling, I tossed the chip to the craps dealer. He caught it, inclining his head in thanks.

“That was a hundred-dollar chip!” Kisten protested.

“Really?” Ticked, I took another, throwing it after the first. “I don't want to be a cheap ass,” I muttered. The woman handed me a receipt for $8,750, donated to the city's fund. I stared at it for a moment, then tucked it in my clutch purse.

“Rachel,” Kisten protested, his face going red behind his blond hair.

“We're keeping nothing.” Ignoring Kisten's coat that the doorman was holding for me, I blew out the door with its double S's. One for Saladan, perhaps?
God, I was a fool.

“Rachel…” Anger made Kisten's voice hard as he leaned out the door after me. “Come back here and tell her to cash one of them out.”

“You gave me the first ones, and I won the rest!” I shouted from the foot of the ramp, my arms wrapped around me in the falling snow. “I'm donating all of them. And I'm pissed at you, you bloodsucking coward!”

The man at the foot of the ramp snickered, steeling his face into impassivity when I glared at him. Kisten hesitated, then closed the door and came down after me, my borrowed coat over his arm. I stomped to his car, waiting for him to unlock the door for me or tell me to call a cab.

Still putting on his coat, Kisten stopped beside me. “Why are you mad at me?” he said flatly, his blue eyes starting to go black in the dim light.

“That is Saladan's boat, isn't it?” I said furiously, pointing. “I may be slow, but I eventually catch on. Piscary runs the gambling in Cincinnati. You came out here looking for Piscary's cut. And Saladan turned you down, didn't he? He's moving in on Piscary's turf, and you brought me as backup knowing I would fight for your ass if things got out of control.”

Incensed, I ignored his teeth and his strength and put my face inches from his. “Don't you
ever
trick me into backing you up again. You could have gotten me killed with your little games. I don't get a second chance, Kisten. Dead is dead for me!”

My voice echoed off the nearby buildings. I thought of the ears listening from the boat, and my face burned. But I was angry, damn it, and this was going to be settled before I got back in Kisten's car. “You dress me up to make me feel special,” I said, my throat tight and my anger high. “Treat me as if taking me out was something you wanted to do for me even if it was only in the hope of sinking your teeth in, and then I find out it's not even that but
business
? I wasn't even your first choice. You wanted Ivy to come with you, not me! I was your
alternate plan.
How cheap do you think that makes me feel?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

“I can understand you using me as a second-choice date because you're a man and therefore a jerk!” I exclaimed. “But you knowingly brought me out here into a potentially dangerous situation without my spells, without my charms. You said it was a date, so I left everything at home. Hell, Kisten, if you wanted backup, I would have!

“Besides,” I added, my anger starting to slow since he seemed to actually be listening instead of spending the time formulating excuses. “It would have been fun knowing what was going on. I could have pumped people for information, stuff like that.”

He stared at me, surprise mirrored in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You think I became a runner for their dental plan? It would've made for more fun than having some guy teach me craps. That was your job, by the way.”

Kisten stood next to me, a dusting of snow starting to accumulate on his leather coat draped over his arm. His face was long and unhappy in the dim light from a streetlamp. He took a breath, and my eyes narrowed. It escaped him in a quick sound of defeat. I could feel my blood racing, and my body was both hot and cold from my anger and the cutting wind off the river. I liked even less that Kisten could probably read my feelings better than I could.

His eyes with their growing rim of blue flicked past me to the boat. As I watched, they flashed to black, chilling me. “You're right,” he said shortly, his voice tight. “Get in the car.”

My anger flamed back.
Son of a bitch…
“Don't patronize me,” I said tightly.

He reached out, and I jerked away before he could touch me. Black eyes looking soulless in the dim light, he turned his reach for me into opening my door. “I'm not,” he said, his motions edging into that eerie vamp quickness. “There are three men coming off the boat. I can smell gunpowder. You were right, I was wrong. Get in the damn car.”

F
ear flashed through me, and sensing it, Kisten took a breath as if I had slapped him. I froze, reading in his rising hunger that I had more to worry about than the feet booming down the gangplank. Heart pounding, I got in the car. Kisten handed me my coat and his keys. My door thumped shut, and while he crossed in front of his car, I jammed the key into the ignition. Kisten got in, and the sudden rumble came simultaneously with him shutting his door.

The three men had shifted direction, their pace quickening as they headed for an early model BMW. “They'll never catch us in that,” Kisten scoffed. Wipers going to push off the snow, he put the car in gear, and I braced against the dash when he punched it. We skidded, fishtailing into the street and running a late yellow light. I didn't look behind us.

Kisten slowed as the traffic increased, and pulse hammering, I wiggled into his coat and put on my seat belt. He flicked the heater on high, but it only blew cold air. I felt naked without my charms. Damn it, I should have brought something, but it was supposed to have been a date!

“I'm sorry,” Kisten said as he cut a sudden left. “You were right.”

“You
idiot
!” I shouted, my voice harsh in the close confines of the car. “Don't you
ever
make my decisions for me, Kisten. Those men had guns, and I had nothing!” Fading adrenaline made my words louder than I had intended, and I glanced at him, suddenly sobered as I remembered the black of his eyes when my fear had hit him. He might look safe, dressed in his Italian suit and his hair slicked back—but he wasn't. He could shift between one heartbeat and the next.
God, what was I doing here?

“I said I was sorry,” Kisten said again, not looking from the road as the lit buildings, hazy with snow, passed. There was more than a hint of bother in his tone, and I decided to stop shouting at him even if I was still pissed and shaking. Besides, he wasn't cowering, begging for forgiveness, and his confident admission of having made a mistake was nice for a change.

“Don't worry about it,” I said sourly, not yet ready to forgive him, but not wanting to talk about it anymore, either.

“Shit,” he said, his jaw clenching as he watched the rearview mirror instead of the road in front of him. “They're still following us.”

I twitched, managing to not turn and look, satisfying myself with what I could see in the side mirror. Kisten took a sudden right and my lips parted in disbelief. The road ahead of us was empty, a dark tunnel of nothing compared to the lights and the security of commerce behind us. “What are you doing?” I asked, hearing a tinge of fear in my voice.

His eyes were still on the road behind us when the dark Cadillac jerked out in front of us, blocking the road as it spun sideways.

“Kisten!” I shouted, bracing my arms against the dash. A tiny shriek escaped me as he swore and jerked the wheel. My head smacked the window and I bit back a cry of pain. Breath held, I felt the wheels lose contact with the pavement and we slipped on the ice. Still swearing, Kisten reacted with his vamp reflexes, the car fighting him. The little Corvette gave a final little hiccup of motion as it found the curb and we swayed to a shaken halt.

“Stay in the car.” He reached for the door. Four men in dark suits were getting out of the Cadillac ahead of us. Three were in the BMW behind us. All witches, probably, and here I was, with only a couple of vanity charms.
This was going to look really good in the obituaries.

“Kisten, wait!” I said.

Hand on the door, he turned. My chest clenched at the blackness in his eyes.
Oh God, he had vamped out.

“It will be okay,” he said, his voice a black-earth, rich rumble that went to my core and gripped my heart.

“How do you know?” I whispered.

A blond-dyed eyebrow shifted up so slightly, I wasn't sure it even moved. “Because if they kill me, then I'd be dead and I'll hunt them down. They want to—talk. Stay in the car.”

He got out and shut the door. The car was still running, the thrum of the engine tightening my muscles one by one. Falling snow hit the windshield to melt, and I turned off the wipers. “Stay in the car,” I muttered, fidgeting. I glanced behind me, seeing the three guys from the BMW moving closer. Kisten was lit to a stark severity as he crossed in front of his lights, approaching the four men with his palms forward with a casualness that I knew was false. “Like hell I'm going to stay in the car,” I said, reaching for the handle and lurching into the cold.

Kisten turned. “I told you to stay in the car,” he said, and I pushed down my fear at the starkness in his expression. He had already divorced himself from what was going to happen.

“Yeah, you did,” I shot back, forcing my arms down. It was cold and I shivered.

He hesitated, clearly torn. The approaching men spread out. We were surrounded. Their faces were shadowed but confident. All they needed was a bat or crowbar to thump against their hand to make it complete. But they were witches. Their strength was in their magic.

My breath came slow, and I rocked forward on my flat boots. Feeling the stir of adrenaline, I moved into the car's headlights and put my back to Kisten's.

The black hunger in his eyes seemed to pause. “Rachel, please wait in the car,” he said his voice making my skin crawl. “This won't take long, and I don't want you to get cold.”

He didn't want me to get cold?
I thought, watching the three guys from the BMW behind us settle in to make a living fence. “There are seven witches here,” I said softly. “It only takes three to make a net, and one to hold it once it's in place.”

“True, but it only takes me three seconds to drop a man.”

The men in my sight faltered. There was a reason the I.S. didn't send witches to bring in a vampire. Seven against one might do it, but not without someone getting really hurt.

I risked a glance over my shoulder to see that the four guys from the Cadillac were looking at the man in the long coat who had gotten out from the BMW.
Top guy
, I thought, thinking he was too confident as he adjusted his long coat and jerked his head to the men around us. The two in front of Kisten started forward and three dropped back. Their lips were moving and their hands were gesturing. The hair on the back of my neck pricked at the sudden rise of power.

At least three ley line witches, I guessed, then went cold as one of the advancing men pulled out a gun. Crap. Kisten could come back from the dead, but I couldn't.

“Kisten…” I warned, my voice rising and my eyes fixed on the gun.

Kisten moved, and I jumped. One moment he was next to me, and the next he was among the men. There was a pop of a gun. Gasping, I ducked, blinding myself in the Corvette's headlights. Crouched, I saw one guy was down, but not the one with the gun.

Encircling us, almost lost in the glare, the ley line witches muttered and gestured, their net tightening when they took a step in. My skin tingled as the lacework fell over us.

Moving too fast to readily follow, Kisten grabbed the wrist of the man with the gun. The snap of bone was clear in the cold, dry air. My stomach lurched as the man screamed and fell to his knees. Kisten followed it up with a powerful blow to his head. Someone was shouting. The gun fell, and Kisten caught it before it hit the snow.

With a flick of his wrist, Kisten sent the gun arching to me. It glinted in the headlights as I lurched forward to catch it. The heavy metal landed in my grip. It was hot, surprising me. There was another pop of a gun, and I jerked. The gun fell to the snow.

“Get that weapon!” the man in the long coat at the outskirts shouted.

I peeked over the hood of Kisten's Corvette, seeing he had a gun, too. My eyes widened as I saw the black shadow of a man coming at me. There was a ball of orange ever-after in his hand. My breath hissed as he smiled and threw it at me.

I hit the pavement, the snow-covered ice making a hard landing. The ever-after exploded into a shower of sulfur-smelling sparkles as it struck Kisten's car and ricocheted away. Cold slush seeped against me, the shock clearing my head.

From the ground, I put my palms against the cold pavement and levered myself up. My clothes…My clothes! My silk-lined pants were covered in filthy gray snow. “Look what you made me do!” I shouted, furious as I shook the cold slop from me.

“You son of a bitch!” Kisten cried, and I spun to see three witches down in a messy circle about him. The one that had thrown the ever-after made a pained motion, and Kisten savagely kicked him.
How had he gotten there so fast?
“You burned my paint job, you mother!”

As I watched, Kisten's mien shifted in a breathless instant. Eyes black, he lunged at the closest gesturing ley line witch. The man's eyes widened, but he had no time for more.

Kisten's fist rammed into his face, rocking his head back. There was an ugly sounding crunch, and the witch crumpled. Arms slack, he arched backward through the air, landing to skid into the headlights of the Cadillac.

Spinning before the first had stopped moving, Kisten landed before the next, turning in a tight circle. His dress shoes smacked into the back of the startled witch's knees. The man cried out as his legs buckled. The sound cut off with a frightening suddenness when Kisten stiff-armed his throat. My stomach clenched at the gurgle and crackle of cartilage.

The third witch backpedaled into a run.
Mistake. Terrible, terrible mistake.

Kisten paced the ten feet between them in half a heartbeat. Grabbing the fleeing witch, he spun him in a circle, never letting go of his arm. The pop of his arm dislocating hit me like a slap. I put a hand to my stomach, sickened. It had taken a moment's thought, and nothing more.

Kisten stopped before the last witch standing, an aggressive eight feet back. I shuddered, remembering Ivy looking at me like that. He had a pistol, but I didn't think it was going to help him.

“You going to shoot me?” Kisten snarled.

The man smiled. I felt him tap a line. My breath came quick to shout a warning.

Kisten jerked forward, catching the man about the throat. The man's eyes bulged in fear as he struggled for air. The pistol dropped, his hand hanging useless. Kisten's shoulders tensed, his aggression shining from him. I couldn't see his eyes. I didn't want to. But the man he held could, and he was terrified.

“Kisten!” I shouted, too afraid to interfere.
Oh God. Please no. I don't want to see this.

Kisten hesitated, and I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. Slowly, as if fighting himself, Kisten pulled the man closer. The witch was gasping, struggling to breathe. Headlights glinted on the spit frothing at the corner of his mouth, and his face was red.

“Tell Saladan I'll be seeing him,” Kisten almost growled.

I jerked when Kisten's arm thrust out and the witch went flying. He landed against a defunct light post, and the shock reverberated up the pole to make the light flicker on. I was afraid to move as Kisten turned. Seeing me standing in the falling snow lit by the car's headlights, he paused. Eyes that awful black, he brushed a spot of dampness from his coat.

Poised and tense, I tore my gaze from him to follow his attention when he glanced over the carnage, brightly lit from the three pair of headlights and the one streetlamp. Men sprawled everywhere. The one with the dislocated shoulder had vomited and was trying to get to a car. From down the street a dog barked and a curtain fluttered against a lit window.

I put a hand to my stomach, nauseous. I had frozen. Oh God, I had frozen, unable to do anything. I had let myself get stupid because my death threats were gone. But because of what I did, I would always be a target.

Kisten strode into motion, the ring of blue around his black pupils a thin rim. “I told you to stay in the car,” he said, and I stiffened as he took my elbow and led me to his Corvette.

Numb, I didn't resist. He wasn't angry with me, and I didn't want to make him any more aware of my pounding heart and lingering fear. But a tingle of warning brought me stiff. Jerking out of Kisten's grip, I turned, eyes wide and searching.

From the under the streetlamp the broken man slitted his eyes, his face ugly in pain. “You lose, bitch,” he said, then mouthed a savage word in Latin.

“Look out!” I cried, pushing Kisten away from me.

He fell back, catching his balance with his vampire grace. I went sprawling when my boots slipped. A raw scream shocked through me. Heart pounding, I scrambled up, my eyes going first to Kisten. He was all right. It was the witch.

My hand went to my mouth, horrified as his ever-after– smeared body writhed on the snow-covered sidewalk. Fear slithered through me as the kicked-up snow took on a tinge of red. He was bleeding through his pores. “God save him,” I whispered.

He shrieked, then shrieked again, the harsh sound striking a primal chord in me. Kisten strode to him quickly. I couldn't stop him; the witch was bleeding, screaming in pain and fear. He was pushing every button Kisten had. I turned away, a trembling hand resting on the rumbling warm hood of the Corvette. I was going to get sick. I knew it.

My head jerked up as the man's terror and pain ended in a sodden crack. Kisten stood from his crouch, a horrible, angry look on him. The dog barked again, filling the icy night with the sound of alarm. A pair of dice rolled from the man's slack hand, and Kisten picked them up.

I couldn't think anymore. Kisten was suddenly next to me, his hand on my elbow hustling me to the car. I let him move me, glad he hadn't succumbed to his vampiric instincts, and wondering why he hadn't. If anything, his vampire aura was completely washed away, his eyes normal and his reactions only mildly fast.

“He's not dead,” he said, handing me the dice. “None of them are dead. I didn't kill anyone, Rachel.”

I wondered why he cared what I thought. Taking the pieces of plastic, I gripped them until my fingers ached. “Get the gun,” I whispered. “My fingerprints are on it.”