Rest For The Wicked(18)

SEVEN




Annie kept glancing at the front door of Billie’s every time it opened, expecting Claire to appear. She knew Claire was keeping the store open later, but she should have been here by now—

A hand touched her shoulder and she spun, losing her balance.

Strong fingers caught her outflung arm, pulled her up. Gold-edged green eyes captured her attention.

“Where is Claire, Annie?”

“How—do I know you?” Anger simmered, along with another emotion that made her want to punch him in the groin. And her memory burst through the haze. “It was you—son of a bitch!”

He grabbed both wrists.

“We can deal with my lack of manners later. Where is Claire?”

“She should be here—we always meet Sunday nights after work for a drink.”

“What time?” He shook her when she didn’t answer right away. “What time were you to meet her?”

“She was going to close at eight—”

“Stay here. If I don’t return with her in fifteen minutes, phone the police. Annie.”

Dread shot through her.

“I will—go!”

She watched him move to the door, dark hair flying around his shoulders. A sudden snap of wind burst over her, left behind the smell of desert and heat. He scared her in a way she didn’t understand. But the thought of Claire in danger scared her more—and she understood now that he had power, power that could save her.

If he got there in time.



*



Claire’s captor used her key to open the door.

She clutched his shoulder with her right hand, waited until he closed the door, until his attention was divided. And elbowed him in the gut.

He grunted, his breath shooting out. Claire took advantage and jerked out of his loosened grip, dropping to the floor. She let out a harsh gasp, rolled away from him, toward the cabinet that held her tools. Her hand closed over the latch just as he recovered.

With a furious shout he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her across the floor. Pain roared through her leg, across her scalp. One hand clamped over her mouth, smothered her scream.

“The more you fight, bitch, the longer I take.” The vicious edge in his voice stilled her. “I just want to know one thing—why Katelyn?”

His grief blasted her, laid hairline cracks in the wall of power surrounding him.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.” His fingers closed around her throat, incredibly strong, and started to squeeze. She clawed at his hand, his arm. He let her go, and she dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. His figure loomed over her in the darkness. “There was no reason for her to die.”

Claire closed her eyes, tears sliding back into her hair. Nausea twisted her stomach, her leg on fire, her shoulder almost as bad.

His ragged breath washed over her. She braced herself for more violence—it radiated from him, so strong he shook with it. Forming a desperate and probably fatal plan, Claire inched her left hand across the floor until she felt the heat from him on her skin.

Swallowing, she gathered the shards of her power and slapped her hand on his leg. He shouted as a shock of heat slammed into him.

Claire rolled when he jerked away. She found the wall, tried to sit, her right arm numb. The pain in her leg made her want to throw up, and sweat slipped down her face with the effort.

Before she could get herself upright he was on her.

Both hands closed around her throat. Claire lashed out, dragged her nails down his cheek. He reared back, his face bloody. His weight shifted off her and she freed herself, crawled across the floor. He came after her. Kicking out at him with her good leg, she crabbed backward. He caught her ankle, yanked her toward him.

“No—”

“You’re going to die—even if it kills me. I want it to kill me.” She clawed the back of his hand. He slapped her so hard her head bounced off the wood floor. “Tell me why it had to be Katelyn and I’ll end you fast.”

“I don’t—” She bit back a cry when he grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her up. “Please—give me a minute. I can’t think.”

He propped her against the wall. Her heart skipped when he pulled a second knife out of his coat pocket. A switchblade. He flipped it open, angling the thin blade until it bit into the skin at the base of her throat. Blood slid down her chest.

“Minute’s up. You killed her with a single thrust.” The knife moved, fast, stopping an inch from her ribcage. “I’ll give you the same gift. If you tell me why.”

The grief in his voice tore at her. Claire took in a shallow breath, all too aware of the blade, and took a chance.

“I did not kill her.”