“Anything?” I ask Matthaeus as he crosses the street toward me.
“Nothing.”
“Fuck.” I walk to the bums at the far corner, smell the stench of liquor and body odor from here. Three turn toward me, one of them with a grin that shows his lack of teeth. “You guys seen a girl out here? About this tall.” I gesture to the middle of my chest. “Wearing a gray hoodie. Blonde hair.”
They look at each other then over my shoulder.
I follow their gaze to another man who is bending to pick up what looks to be a discarded still-smoking cigarette butt. He puts it to his lips and takes a drag. I turn back to the others and take out my wallet. “Well?”
They glance down at it and the one without the teeth talks. “Pretty little thing.” He pauses, eyes on my wallet.
My fingers tighten around the leather, and I grit my teeth. I take out a hundred-dollar bill. “She was here?”
He holds out his hand and all their eyes follow that bill as I hand it over. “Talked to Bart over there for a minute then ran off.”
“Bart.” I turn to find the one with the cigarette staring at us. When he sees my expression, he tosses the butt away and takes off down the street.
Matthaeus and I both go after him and it takes about half a block before I’ve got him by the collar, his back against the wall.
“Where is the girl?”
“I didn’t touch her.”
I give him a shake. “Where is she?”
“Ran away. That way.” He points.
I toss him aside and Matthaeus and I take off in that direction, running several blocks before we slow down as a throng of people rush down the stairs of the platform above.
“Fuck! Get the fuck out of the way!”
But this is New York so no one does. That’s when I see it. My hoodie. A strand of long white-blonde hair escaped from beneath blowing in the cold wind as she rushes to board the train.
“There,” Matthaeus says, seeing her at the same time.
We shove our way through the mass of people but we’re too late. The train doors close and it’s already leaving the station before we’re even on the platform. I catch a final glimpse of her and look up at the train line.
“I know where she’s going,” I say, realizing something. Remembering what she said.
“Where?” Matthaeus asks, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“The hotel.” This line will take her near it.
“She’s going back there? Why the fuck would she do that?” he asks.
I look at him briefly before flying down the stairs to wave down the next cab, practically throwing myself in front of it.
“She asked if it was a test. A trick,” I say as the driver hits the gas when I toss a hundred-dollar bill into the seat beside him with the promise of another hundred if he gets us there at the speed of light. I watch out the windshield, the snow slowing down traffic. When we’re about two blocks out I turn to Matthaeus. “Keep going in the cab. Watch the subway exits. I’m going on foot to the hotel.”
“Petrov’s men will be looking for you.”
“Better they find me than her, don’t you think?” I push the door open, slamming it closed behind me, before he can say more. I hurry down the sidewalk, keeping my head down against the heavy fall of snow. At least there’s less people out.
I’m about a block away when I see Petrov’s soldiers. Matthaeus was right but like I said, better they find me than her. They’re standing at the front entrance of the hotel looking like a couple of goons. I pull my baseball cap down at the front. I always wear a hat these days. Helps to have something to cast a shadow over my face so people don’t fucking stare at the half-monster coming at them.
I scan the intersection, glad it’s a busy one, and cross to the other side, giving the finger to the asshole who almost runs me over. It’s when I’m turning to watch the stairs coming out of the tunnel that I see her. She must have gotten off at the earlier stop. She has the hoodie up. Most of her hair is tucked inside it and she’s hunching against the cold. She stops when she’s in the middle of the block and looks up at The Hudson straight ahead of her. She doesn’t see me watching her but I’m half a block away between the hotel and her. The snow has become a white wall between us.
She moves quickly heading straight to me in her haste to get back to the hotel.
I start to move toward her, hoping to block her from the soldiers’ view. Her steps have slowed. She has her head down against the snow. Someone walks out of the liquor store just as she’s passing the door and collides right into her, knocking her backward. She stumbles and I’m only a few steps away then. I don’t look behind me, hoping we’re too far for Petrov’s soldiers to see us.
The man apologizes, moves past her.
And that’s the moment she sees me.
She freezes in place, mouth falling open in surprise. And it takes her a split second to make the decision to run. She spins and takes off, but she doesn’t go back down the sidewalk. She takes off into the street, looking back at me as she does, she doesn’t notice the SUV that’s coming down the road straight at her.
The driver hits the break, but the road is slippery, and the SUV goes into a spin, blaring his horn. She stops, turns to the sound and over every other noise, I hear her scream. I charge toward her, not knowing whether it’s adrenaline giving me the speed I need or maybe fate fucking giving me a break for once, but I wrap an arm around her middle and pull her out of the SUVs path just before it would slam into her. I don’t stop running and I don’t let go of her until we’re around the corner and out of sight of the hotel. She’s squirming but I don’t care. A few moments later, I hear the horn of the taxi and Matthaeus pushes the back door open. I get her inside, forcing her head down as we pass the hotel and Petrov’s men back to the warehouse.
8
Mara
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dante barks when we’re back inside the warehouse. I back away from him as soon as he lets me go.
Matthaeus is here too. He rode with us to a place about an hour from where we got into the taxi. We changed cars, then drove back to the warehouse in case Petrov’s men followed us.
“Take it easy,” Matthaeus tells Dante.
“Just take care of the fucking locks,” Dante orders.
Matthaeus looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind, glances at me then disappears down the hall. I watch him go and some part of me wants to ask him to stay. To be a buffer between Dante and me.
“I asked you a fucking question!”
I startle, Dante’s tone commanding my attention. He pulls his baseball cap off and hurls it across the room, pushing a hand through his hair. Some of it flops over the right side of his face, partially obscuring the patch.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he asks.
He's angry? I’m angrier. I breathe a sharp breath in and step toward him. “I was almost back! I almost made it!”
“For fuck’s sake.” He looks at me like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. With a shake of his head, he moves to where the bottle of whiskey sits on the coffee table. He lifts it and one of the empty glasses, pouring, then straightens and watches me as he drinks it in one swallow before pouring a second.