“You’re too pretty to cover your face,” one of the girls slurred. Her blonde hair was a wild mess from dancing, but somehow, she’d got her red lipstick on perfectly. That was a handy skill.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You on the run?” the dark-haired one asked, her blue eyes keenly assessing me.
I nodded, mind racing. “Bad boyfriend.”
Her face fell. “I know how that is.” She fumbled in her purse, and I thought she was reaching for more makeup. Instead, she pulled out a small wad of cash and thrust it toward me. “Here.”
I stared at it like she was trying to hand me a snake. “What’s that for?”
“To help you get away.”
The blonde dug into her own bag and shoved a Mars bar at me, then said apologetically, “It’s all I’ve got.”
My throat tightened. Drunk girls in bathrooms were the best people on earth.
“Thanks.” It was hard to get the words out through my stiff throat. Though my story about the bad boyfriend was fake, I needed the money.
I took it from the brunette, making sure to brush her hand with my own as I did so, hoping that I could see something to help her. An image flashed in my mind—one of a dark-haired guy slipping something into their drinks. Right now.
Bastard.
I gripped her hand. “Don’t drink the cocktails you left behind. The tall guy in the leather jacket put something in them.”
She gasped. “You know him?”
“I know his type.” My gaze moved to the blonde. “You, too. He put something in yours as well.”
“You saw it?”
I nodded. Let them assume I’d seen it before I walked in. “Just avoid him.”
“We will.” The brunette nodded fiercely.
The blonde pressed her Mars bar into my hand, and I took it gratefully. I loved chocolate. Even more, I loved the kind gesture. “Thank you. Truly.”
“Good luck,” the blonde said.
“Take care of yourself.” The brunette threw her arms around me in a hug, and I jerked.
I was the first time I’d been touched like this in years. I’d almost forgot what it felt like. I hugged her back. “Be careful. Go home.”
She pulled back and looked at her friend. “Let’s go. I have wine at my place.”
The blonde nodded, and they left the bathroom.
Briefly, I slumped against the counter.
Why did the world suck so badly?
Between the murderer and the bastard with the roofies, this was turning into a dark night.
But the one thing I didn’t have was time. No time to worry, no time to break.
I straightened and shoved the money into my pocket, not even bothering to count it. As I strode from the toilet, I unwrapped the Mars bar and took a huge bite.
The guy in the leather jacket was coming out of the bathroom, a smug smile on his face. No doubt the bastard thought he’d find the girls at the table drinking their poison.
He’d be disappointed.
As he neared me, I couldn’t resist stepping into his way.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
I kneed him in the balls, grinning as he went down with a wheeze.
I was two for two tonight, which was two more times than I’d ever pulled that maneuver in my life. Apparently, it was a night for new beginnings, and I was going to leave a trail of wheezing men in my wake.
He was curled like a pill bug on the floor, whimpering. I swallowed my bite of chocolate and leaned over. “Don’t put things in girls’ drinks, you tiny-pricked bastard.”
I didn’t wait to hear what he moaned. There was no time. I stepped over his worthless body and beelined for a back door at the end. It opened easily, and I slipped out into a narrow alley.
Should I risk another cab?
No, too expensive, and I was close to a Tube station, where I could get lost amongst the crowd. I kept my head down so my hood covered my face and moved as fast as I could without sprinting, making it to the stairs that led down to the station. I took them two at a time, debating jumping the turnstile at the bottom.
Nah. Too risky.
Quickly, I scarfed down the rest of the chocolate as I used my Oyster card to get through the barrier, then disappeared onto the platforms. I took the first train that roared up. There was a seat available at the back, and I collapsed onto the worn fabric, trying to catch my breath.
What a freaking day.
The train stopped, and a horde of people climbed on. It was busy for such an odd hour of the night, but then, it was one of the few lines running. An old woman sat next to me, her white hair wrapped in a blue scarf. Her coat looked like it had last been in style during one of the world wars.
“Bad day, dearie?” she asked.
“You could say that.”
She frowned, her pink-painted lips turning down at the corners. “You’d better get that signature under control, or the Council of Guilds will have something to say about it.”
I frowned at her. “What?”
She frowned right back, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Ah, nothing. Nothing at all.”
She got off at the next stop, and I shoved her words aside. I didn’t have time to worry about crazy old ladies. I had a murderer to catch.
And I had one clue tucked away in my pocket.
Now or never.
I reached inside and withdrew the matchbook. It was the first time I’d touched the thing with my bare skin, and a vision flickered in my mind’s eye.
The man.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lethal elegance that scared the crap out of me. His coat looked almost like a cloak, and his longish dark hair cast his face into shadow. I caught the barest glimpse of sharp cheekbone and full lips.
He still held no weapon, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the killer. He was connected to this somehow.
And we were still connected to each other. I could feel it, a tug of recognition. Of desire.
I frowned at the crazy feeling. I hadn’t wanted someone in so long, I figured I’d turned to stone.
Apparently, I hadn’t. And something about this man made my body sit up and take notice. I vibrated like an engine at the mere sight of him.
“Are you coming?” His voice rolled low through my head.
Holy crap. “Are you talking to me?”
The man in the seat in front of me shot me a wary look, and it broke my concentration.
The vision was gone.
Panting, I put my head between my knees.
That guy could talk to me through my visions. He’d said basically the same thing as last time, but not exactly the same thing. Which meant that he wasn’t just a shadowy repetition of something.
We were really interacting inside my mind, which had never happened before.
I shivered and sat up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t force objects to show me visions. They showed me what they wanted to, and while the visions often had a bearing on what I was interested in, they didn't always. And not all objects had information to share. I still had no idea why, but I no longer worried too much about it.
I flipped the matchbook over and read the back. The letters seemed to shimmer, a fancy ink that was almost holographic.
The Haunted Hound Pub
67 Winslow Lane
Covent Garden, London.
I grinned. My first clue. I looked up at the map plastered above the train windows, realizing I hadn’t even checked which line I’d got on.