The Bastard (6 page)

A scoff lifted his chest. “Yeah, that’s weird.”

“What’s weirder is I thought you had an axe.”

His eyes darted to the rearview mirror. “You said something like that. It was probably just my tattoo, like I said.”

“But you had a long-sleeved shirt on. How could I have seen it?”

His throat worked, bobbing with a deep swallow. “I don’t know. Maybe you remembered it from when I came into the diner or something.”

“Probably,” she murmured as he turned onto her street. She unhooked her seatbelt. “This is it, the white one.”

Erik pulled in front of the small one-story house and it dawned on Lacy he was going to pick her up again. A rapid rhythm took root in her veins. He opened her door and started to lift her out.

“Erik, really, I can walk.”

He frowned but stepped back, letting her climb down alone. Her knees wobbled as she tried to stand. A strong hand slipped under her elbow. “You’re kind of out of it. Should you be alone?”

“I’ll be fine.” She fumbled for her keys, the drugs making it hard to work her fingers. “My sister lives here, too. She’ll be home in a few hours.”

The key stuck in the lock and she had to knock the door with her hip. It sent an ache down her thigh reminding her she’d taken a beating only yesterday. The ache faded as she stared into the dimmed room. Fear nibbled up her spine. She was suddenly afraid to step into the shadows.

With a bracing inhale, she flipped the wall switch. Light flooded the room and her tensed shoulders relaxed. Home felt strange, as if she’d been gone for years rather than just overnight.

Erik set her bag in an armchair. “Maybe I should stay until your sister gets home, just in case you need anything.”

“Really, you’ve done enough. I appreciate the ride. I’m just going to shower and veg out with the TV a while.”

Shadows swam across his eyes. “Lacy, I don’t want to scare you, but I really don’t think you’re safe alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He blew out a harsh breath. “My team has been…watching this group. They can be really dangerous. They were the ones who attacked you. I recognized them.”

Ice funneled into her stomach. “What? What do you mean?”

“They hurt people. Kill them. Sam is their leader. And that guy who came into your hospital room? I think that was one of his men.”

A prickly feeling raised the hair on her arms. Why? She didn’t have any money. She wasn’t someone important who could be held for ransom. She was a cook, for God’s sake, not even a chef, just a small town cook in a small town diner. “Why me?”

Those ashy-gray eyes widened a tick then firmed to stone. “Is a reason that important?”

Her eyebrows nearly smacked the Band-aid on her forehead. “Yeah. Someone beat the hell out of me and now you’re telling me that they might come back. I want to know why.”

Silver gray eyes shot to the side as his jaw thrust forward. For a tense moment, he said nothing then he blurted, “That preacher last week.”

“The heart attack guy?” Memory flashed before her like a movie reel. “He’s behind this?”

The frumpy man in his mid-sixties would never have even caught her eye despite his white clerical collar except he’d been friendly, telling her about his missionary work. She’d been covering the front while Linda took a bathroom break and had half her mind on the pies in the back oven. He’d paused with his wallet open in front of her cash register, clutched his chest and collapsed.

Lacy hadn’t thought much, just jumped around the counter and yelled for Doreen to call 911. A volunteer firefighter had been eating breakfast and, between the two of them, they performed CPR until the ambulance had arrived. She’d later learned from her sister that the man survived and was transported out of state to his hometown hospital but neither had caught his name.

“Apparently his followers think you have the power to restore the soul.”

“What?” She hadn’t meant to screech but Erik winced at her harpy-shrill. “That’s stupid.”

“Hey, did I say it was smart or made sense?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Religious nuts are still nuts.”

Her mind sputtered trying to process. “Paul Alvarez, the firefighter who helped me. Are they after him, too?”

“No, he was doing chest compressions, you did the breathing. You’re who they want.”

“My sister.” Her throat constricted painfully. “What if they hurt Annie?”

“They might. That’s why I wanted to stay.”

“Why would he try to hurt us? I tried to help him. I thought church people were supposed to be kind and nice.”

His shoulders hunched and he tucked his fingers into his pockets. “They aren’t a real church like you think of it, more like…a cult, a deadly, murderous cult. There’s no understanding that logic.”

All the strength sucked out of her and her knees started shaking. “Were you watching me? Is that why you got to the parking lot so fast?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, gentle, slightly guilty. “I’d been watching you a few days.”

The coffee table was hard under her butt as she sat, her forehead clammy against her palm. She was a big frickin’ fool. She’d thought he was flirting. He was doing a job, had been doing it for days. “Who’s paying you?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Denim scuffed as he crouched in front of her. “Lacy, I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

A quiver started in her chin but she firmed it, refusing to give into pointless tears. She raked a hand through her stiffened hair and winced, her fingers pulling at her stitches. Okay, so Erik wasn’t interested in her except as some assignment. She could deal with that. He’d saved her life and was still here, standing guard. She owed him for that. Nothing said thank you like a home-cooked meal.

Reaching for the familiar, she gave him a shaky smile. “Are you hungry?”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I have frozen lasagna, but it’s homemade. It won’t take long to reheat. The least I can do for my hero is feed him.”

Vike never understood why women carried half the shit around in their purses they did. He dug through a layer of pens, crumpled tissues and folded receipts until he found her wallet. The running water was his marker and he paced himself, snapping cell phone pictures of her license, credit card and social security card. He sent those to Myth then dialed.

“Damn, Vike, give me time to download the shit,” Myth grumbled.

“Five minutes. She’s in the shower.” He blew out a loud exhale. “This charming shit is exhausting.”

“You’re a big boy, you can handle it. Okay, running. What else you got?”

Vike hadn’t spotted a desk anywhere and was hesitant to enter the bedrooms with Lacy in the bathroom. Still, a basket of mail sat on the counter. Thumbing through some, he read off banking information.

“Got it.” The clacking of computer keys was muted through the phone line. “All clear. She’s clean, no record, has less than two grand in the bank and likes Amazon a little too much. Books, mostly, and kitchen crap. She’s got a taste for English teas and gets some flavors shipped monthly from London. Give me more.”

Her cell had powered up so Vike checked the call log, the incoming and outgoing, capturing and sending both pictures. “Cell stats on their way plus a couple pictures. Cake has a sister named Annie.” He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a small glass vial. “Annette, actually, but she’s safe. There’s insulin in the fridge with her name on it.”

“Nice. The Third doesn’t like the diabetic ones.”

“Yeah. Also, I had to tell a story about why the Third is after her. There was a guy, a preacher of some kind, who had a heart attack in the diner last week. The Cake did CPR on him. I told her the preacher was a kook cult leader who thought she had the power to breathe life into people. She bought it.”

“You are such a liar. You told her a preacher was after her rather than Satan.” A low chuckled vibrated the phone. “No worries. If you need me to, I can plant a few false records to cover your tracks.”

Vike closed the fridge and went through the cabinets. If Myth covered his tracks, not even a bloodhound would discover them. His people had invented writing and that expertise carried throughout time and into computer codes and motherboards.

Myth hummed while he worked then burst out laughing. “Get this. Last text sent. ‘
A, man-candy alert. Hero showed up - taking me home. Wish bruises were sexy. Call if you’re slow. I’ll describe. You’ll drool.
’ She thinks you’re hot, Vike. Called you a hero.”

A hungry growl filled his belly that had zero to do with food. “Hero, my ass.”

“Dude, she wants you. You should tap that. I would.”

Vike shook his head. Myth was a pussy hound — a classy, upper crust, debonair pussy hound. He’d once claimed every hymen in the land belonged to him and taken every new bride to his bed. He might have given up on deflowering virgins but he wouldn’t pass up a willing woman now.

“Get your mind out of her pants and get the shit we need.”

“You should get into her pants and I’m trying. She calls her sister a lot, the diner some, a few other names, all local. Incoming from the same except two from… ah never mind, those damned political recordings. Girl’s boring as toast.”

Vike peeked over his shoulder even though the water hadn’t stopped. The trashcan snagged his attention, her hospital ID bracelet face down on some paper towels. He read the information out loud.

Myth laughed. “HIPAA’s a joke. Okay, she’s healthy enough minus her Leech run-in. B positive blood. Hold on, damn, what kind of slow server is that hospital using?”

“Don’t know or care.” The water shut off. Vike shoved her wallet and cell back in her purse before yanking the zipper closed. “Hurry up. I’m almost out of time.”

“I’m in. Nothing. Not a damn thing remarkable about her. She’s got multiple bruises, a concussion and seven stitches in her head. No signs of sexual molestation. No alcohol or drugs present. No appendix, but she’s got her tonsils. Last check up was over two years ago, all normal. Of course, they aren’t checking for Scion blood, so Nomad’ll have to do his own look-see. Get me her IP. I want to look around her computer.”

“How the fuck do I get that?”

“Forget it. She pays her bills by electronic debit monthly. I’ll trace her through the server, hack in the backdoor and play peek-a-boo. That’ll take some time, an hour or two. You sit tight. And remember, be charming.” That knowing chuckle rubbed against Vike like steel wool. He grumbled an unintelligible noise and started to hit Off. “Hey, Vike.”

He yanked the phone back to his ear. “What?”

Myth chuckled. “FYI, she’s not on birth control, so wrap your willy.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck her. Damn, Viking, do you need a manual here?”

Vike punched the Off button and shoved the phone into his pocket. The robust fragrance of warming Italian spices filled the kitchen. The bathroom door creaked open. Wiping all traces of duplicity away, he lunged into a chair and looked up with a smile. An invisible fist punched into his gut.

Lacy wore some kind of fuzzy pants with pastel rabbits on them and a tank top. Ugly bruises peppered her upper arms, vibrant against the pale pink of her shirt. Those marks incited him and his blood boiled. It surged for a different reason when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples stood out like two buttons. He forced his eyes up to her face, which seemed like a good move but backfired.

Her skin was rosy from the water, her cheeks freshly scrubbed and shining, bruises now livid and dark. A scrape along her temple peeked from the towel wrapped around her hair. The delicate cords of her neck stood out. He licked his lips, wanting to bury his face there and nibble along her pulse line, let the life rushing through her veins pound against his mouth.

“Clean.” She reached into the cabinet, pulling out two heavy green mugs. Water rushed as she filled a bright blue kettle. “A cup of tea and I might start to feel human. Would you prefer coffee?”

“Tea’s fine.”

Idle small talk filled the time until the kettle whistled. Plopping a tea bag in the mug, she pulled creamer and some lemon wedges from the fridge before sliding a cup in front of him. The long line of her arm passed his face and the sweet scent of her soap teased his nose. The side of her breast was inches from his mouth. If he turned just a bit…

“Do you need sugar?”

He fixed his most charming smile into place. “I’m fairly simple. I prefer my tea unsweetened and my coffee black.”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind black
and blue
. I thought about putting some make-up on, but figured you’ve seen me at my worst so why bother.”

He hated make-up. It tasted disgusting and hid what nature had intended. He’d rather have her bruised than painted, but the marks on her face stirred a deep masculine place inside him. He’d dusted those bastards who’d hurt her, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to eradicate every Leech out there.

Instead, he drank tea. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, still a little woozy. I don’t like those drugs.”

Those medicines were saving her life in more than one way right now. The Third only craved and took pure souls, those young and strong. Any serious injury, sickness, alcohol or drugs were like Kryptonite to them. As long as she had medication in her system, they wouldn’t touch her. It was what had saved her this morning in the hospital.

But the hidden Scion element was something they wanted badly. She was in more danger than she could possibly imagine.

She chattered, talking about her job as he focused on the known, the concrete. Although very pretty, Lacy wasn’t beautiful. His wife had been prettier. His mistress, too. Neither had made him feel like this. He’d been married for decades, but had never felt as comfortable with a woman as he did just sitting across from Lacy, listening to her speak.

Not that she sat still all that long. She was up and down, always seeming to find one more thing to do. She wiped the sink, watered a plant in the windowsill and plucked a few sprouts from a container herb garden. She checked their heating meal and tossed a salad before storing it in the fridge. Then she refilled his half-full cup and arranged three types of cookies on a plate in front of him.