Midnight Awakening(8)

He exhaled a sharp laugh. “I just saved your sweet little ass, female. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you tell me why I had to.”

“It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to be out past dark. I know the dangers.” She looked up, gave a vague lift of her slim shoulder. “Things just took…a little longer than I anticipated.”

“Things,” he repeated, not liking where this seemed to be heading. “We’re not talking about shopping or coffee with friends, are we?”

Tegan’s gaze went back to the kitchen counter, to the familiar design of the cell phone that lay there. He scowled, suspicion coiling in his gut as he walked over and picked it up. He’d seen dozens of these things lately. The phone was one of those disposable jobs, the kind favored by humans in league with the Rogues. He flipped it over and disabled the built-in GPS chip.

Tegan knew if he took the cell phone into the compound lab, Gideon would find it contained just one number, super-encrypted and impossible to break. This particular phone was spattered with human blood, the same shit that soaked the front of Elise’s coat.

“Where’d you get this, Elise?”

“I think you know,” she replied, her voice quiet but defiant.

He turned to face her. “You took it off a Minion? By yourself? Jesus Christ…how?”

She shrugged, rubbing the side of her head as if it pained her. “I tracked him from the train station. I followed him, and when the chance was there, I killed him.”

It wasn’t often that Tegan was taken by surprise, but hearing those words coming out of the petite female hit him like a brick to the back of his head. “You can’t be serious.”

But she was. The level look she gave him left no doubt whatsoever.

Behind her, the television screen flashed with a live breaking-news bulletin. A reporter came on, delivering word that a stabbing victim had been discovered a few minutes before:

“…the deceased was found just two blocks away from the train station, yet another killing in what authorities are beginning to suspect is a string of related murders…”

As the report continued, and Elise calmly stared at him from across the room, Tegan’s blood ran cold with understanding.

“You?” he asked, already knowing the answer, incredible as it seemed.

When Elise didn’t respond, Tegan stalked over to a footlocker on the floor near the futon. He yanked it open and swore as his eyes lit on a large assortment of blades, guns, and ammunition. A lot of it was still brand-new, but others had been used and had the wear to show for it.

“How long, Elise? When did you start this insanity?”

She stared at him, her slender jaw held rigid. “My son is dead because of the Rogues. Everything I loved is gone because of them,” she said finally. “I couldn’t sit around doing nothing. I won’t sit back and do nothing.”

Tegan heard the resolve in her voice, but that didn’t make him any less pissed off about what was going on here. “How many?”

Tonight wasn’t the first, obviously.

“How many times have you done this, Elise?”

She said nothing for a very long time. Then she slowly walked over to the bookcase and knelt down to pull out a lidded crate from the bottom shelf. Her gaze on Tegan, she lifted the top and calmly set it aside.

In the bin were more Minion cell phones.

At least a dozen of the damned things.

Tegan dropped his ass onto the futon and raked his fingers through his hair. “Holy hell, woman. Have you lost your goddamn mind?”





Elise rubbed her palm over her forehead, trying to ease some of the throbbing that was battering her from within. The migraine was coming on fast, bearing down hard. She closed her eyes, hoping to stave the worst of it off. Bad enough she’d been discovered tonight; she didn’t need the humiliation of a psychic meltdown that would leave her unable to function, let alone deal with the Breed warrior in her living room.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Tegan’s voice, though level and without a hint of anything beyond basic disbelief, boomed into Elise’s head like cannon fire. With the box of cell phones in hand, he started pacing off somewhere behind her in the small studio, the sound of his heavy boots on the worn, grubby, low-pile carpet grating in her ears. “What the hell are you trying to do, woman, get yourself killed?”

“You don’t understand,” she murmured through the drumming of pain behind her eyes. “You couldn’t…could not possibly understand.”

“Try me.” The words were curt, sharp. A command issued from a powerful male who expected to be obeyed.