John stared at a place somewhere over Z's left ear. There was a temptation to sign that he'd heard when the Brother had been looking for Bella, he'd gone shit wild and done all kinds of crazy things. Except bringing up that shellan 's abduction was a red cape in front of a bull and John was already doing the cloven-hoof thing about a female. Two would be overkill.
Z's voice dropped. "What's doing, John?"
He stayed quiet.
"John." Z leaned in further. "I will beat an answer out of you if I have to."
Just got the time wrong. The lie sucked ass, because if that were true, he'd have made a move to go out the front door and not covered his tracks with the trash story. But he honestly didn't care whether the bucket that carried his bullshit had a hole in the bottom.
"I'm not buying it." Z straightened and checked his watch. "And you're not leaving for another ten minutes."
John crossed his arms over his chest to keep from commenting on the lockdown, and as the Jeopardy! theme played in his head, he felt like he was going to explode.
Z's hard stare sure as hell didn't help.
Ten minutes later, the sound of those shutters lifting all around the mansion broke up the standoff and Z nodded at the door. "Okay, go now if you want. At least you won't fry out." John turned away. "I catch you without your ahstrux nohtrum again, I'm turning you in."
Qhuinn cursed. "Yeah, and then I'll get fired. Which means V'll Donald Trump my ass with a dagger. You're welcome."
John gripped the knob and yanked his way out of the house, his skin feeling too tight. He didn't want trouble with Z because he respected the guy, but he was pretty damned volatile and the trend suggested that was only going to get more true.
In the garage, he hung a louie and headed for the outside door that was on the back wall. As he went along, he refused to look at the coffins that were stacked across the way. Nope. Didn't need the image of even one in his head right now. Sixteen? Whatever.
Opening the steel door, he stepped onto the long rolling lawn that stretched out around the drained swimming pool and eased down to the forest edge and the retaining wall. He knew that Qhuinn was right on his ass because the scent of disapproval contaminated the fresh air sure as mold in a basement. And Blay was with them as well, going by the cologne.
Just as he was about to dematerialize, his arm was grabbed hard. As he wheeled around to tell Qhuinn to fuck himself, he stopped.
Blay was the one doing the holding and the redhead's blue eyes were burning.
The guy signed as opposed to spoke, probably because it forced John to pay attention.
You want to get yourself killed, fine. At this point, I'm resigning myself to that possibility. But you don't endanger others. I won't stand for that. Don't leave without telling Qhuinn again.
John glanced over the guy's shoulder at Qhuinn, who was looking as if he wanted to hit something he was so frustrated. Ah, so that was why Blay was doing the signing thing. Didn't want the third wheel in this dysfunctional triumvirate to see what was being said.
We clear? Blay signed.
It was a rarity that Blay ever punched a hole in the wall of opinion. And that made John explain himself.
I can't promise I won't need to bolt, John signed. Just can't do it. But I will swear that I will tell him. At least that way he can get out of the house.
John--
He shook his head and squeezed Blay's arm. I just can't promise anyone that. Not with where my head's at. But I won't leave without telling him where I'm going or when I'll be back.
Blay's jaw worked, clenching and releasing. He wasn't stupid, however. He knew when there was a nonnegotiable on the table. Okay. I can live with that.
"You two want to share some love?" Qhuinn demanded.
John stepped back and signed, We're going to the Xtreme Park until ten. Then we go to St. Francis Avenue. Trez texted me.
He dematerialized, traveling south and west, taking form behind the shed they'd hung around the night before. As his crew appeared behind him, he ignored the tension that clouded and weighted down the air.
Staring across the concrete, he traced the various players. That young gun with the busy pockets was still smack in the center of it all, leaning against one of the ramps, flicking a lighter so that it sparked but didn't catch. There were about a half dozen skaters riding the hard stone and another dozen talking and spinning the wheels on their boards. Seven cars of various meh description were parked in the lot, and as the police rolled by slowly and kept going, John was feeling like this was a colossal waste of time.
Maybe if they headed deeper into downtown and trolled the alleys they'd have more--
The Lexus that wheeled up into the lot didn't park in one of the spaces. It stopped perpendicular to those seven rear bumpers . . . and what got out from behind the wheel looked like a high school kid, what with the baggy jeans and the cowboy hat.