Gathering of Angels(11)

He bent over her hand and kissed it, then let her go, jogging around the back of the plane.

“He’s really—something,” Annie said. She felt a little breathless herself.

“A lady killer. I’m just glad you met me first.”

Turning, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I still bless the day you snarled at me in the pub.”

Eric laughed, kissing her scarred ear. The touch of his lips on the spot where Natasha had sliced off her lobe always made her shiver. “How are you, Annie?”

She knew what he asked without asking—how was she doing without Claire.

Sighing, she tipped her head up and met his eyes, saw the concern in those clear blue depths, the love that made her tingle all the way to her feet. “Getting through the days. Some better than others. How long are you staying?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that. Later.” He let her go, went to meet Jeff. Shaking his hand, Eric took the duffle bag and returned to Annie. “He has another stop before he’s done. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She smiled. “But I’d like to have dinner first.”

With a laugh, Eric leaned in to kiss her. “I missed that. Damn, I missed you, blondie.”

She put a hand on his shoulder, halted him inches from her lips. “You start now, and we’ll just embarrass the poor bystanders. I want to call Marcus before we leave, so you can take that time to cool down, store it up—whatever you need to do to keep from jumping me. I’ll do the same.” She dug around in her purse, frowning when all her usual spots for her phone came up empty. “Where—damn it, I left it at the store. Can I—”

Eric was already holding out his phone.

“I never want to find out what I’d do without you,” she said. “Stay put—this will just take a minute.” She tapped Marcus’ number into the phone. “Hey, Marcus—I just met up with—”

“Are you still at the airport, Annie?” The urgency in his voice shattered her mood. She knew that tone, all too well.

“What’s going on?”

“I am on my way to Sacramento. My plane is on the runway, so I have to make this short. One of those attendants is giving me the evil eye. A man called on your phone and said a woman is in trouble, a woman we know. Don’t be jumping to conclusions—just get yourself up to Huntsville as soon as you are able. I may have need of your skills—” His voice shifted, faded, like he pulled away from the phone. “All right, the phone is going off. I can hear what you are thinking, miss, and you should be ashamed of—”

His voice cut off. Annie ended the call by habit, staring at the ground, terrified of the hope that welled up. It can’t be—she’s been gone so long—oh, God—

“Annie?” She jerked at Eric’s voice. He gripped her arm, caught the phone when it slipped out of her hand. “Tell me.”

“Any chance your friend is headed north?”



*



Heather shoved the cuff of the sweatshirt in Claire’s mouth to muffle any screams, caught her right arm and pinned it to the cot. The chief straddled her, trapping her left hand under his knee. Cold poured off him, surrounding her until she felt like she had been thrown into a freezer. He took the ugly, curved knife Heather held out to him.

“This is going to hurt,” he said. His laughter startled her, high-pitched and almost manic. “I will destroy your last line of protection, and we will see what you have been hiding from me.”

The tip of the blade dug into her wrist. Claire closed her eyes, bit the thick fabric to keep from screaming. Tears slid back into her hair, and blood slid down her skin, hot as the pain that burned up her arm. The chief took his time, the blade inching across her tattoo.

Claire jerked when the knife hit her wrist bone, agony shooting though her. He twisted the knife, and finally got a raw, muffled scream from her. She arched off the cot, trying to escape the grinding pain, and collapsed when the blade finally pulled free.

Opening her eyes, Claire met the chief’s angry, confused gaze. “How are you hiding from me?” Before she saw it coming he slapped her, hard enough to snap her head sideways. “I will have answers, before I kill you, slowly, and with great pleasure.” He stood, wiping the blade on the edge of her blanket. “Clean up the mess, Heather, and get her dressed.”

Heather helped her sit, using the bandana that tied Claire’s hair back as a makeshift bandage. Her touch felt warm in comparison. “He’s only trying to protect us,” she said, avoiding eye contact. Carefully, she got Claire into the oversized sweats, lowered her back to the cot. “He only wants to keep us safe.”