Page 31 of Hounded

My hound howled, and I knew Whitney’s hound heard it because he finally stepped back. A vein jumped in his temple, showing a measure of the tension that had bound me up since the moment I spotted him.

“Whatishe, Lorenzo?” he demanded.

I’d asked the scientist the same. Insisted upon it. He’d told me, but I refused to tell Whitney anything. He already knew too much.

“Loren?” Indy’s voice snuck up from behind me, and my taut muscles loosened. Even my hound relaxed at the familiar sound.

Whitney could have seized upon the moment of weakness. My guard was down, and he must have known it. But, rather than barrel past me and get the answers to his questions, he gave a huff.

“Keep your prize.” He waved his hand before fixing me with a scowl. “But do your damned job so I can do mine. It’s tiresome having to follow you around.”

With that, the other hound spun on his heel and began a rapid retreat. Relieved as I was to see him going, there was more to be said.

What if he told Moira? Rather, whatwouldhe tell Moira, because he had to give her some explanation for his whereabouts and mine.

I should have asked him not to. I may not have been able to persuade him, but I should have tried.

A tap on the shoulder spun me around to find Indy holding his bags and frowning.

“Who was that?” He nodded in the direction Whitney had gone.

Rather than reply, I lunged forward and threw my arms around him. The embrace was a first for this lifetime and, while Indy’s body stayed stiff, I held on until my nervous jitters stopped and Indy mumbled into my chest.

“So, for lunch, I’m thinking drive-thru?”

There was a Chinese takeout place a mile or so from here he always liked.

I nodded, brushing my jaw against his hair before forcing myself to pull away. My thoughts scrambled, fitting together events that shouldn’t have been related but could too easily connect. Moira was making more hounds. She sent Whitney to keep tabs on me. He smelled Indy and knew immediately the same thing I had. My phoenix was precious and rare. A prize. If more hellhounds were being trained—it only took a few weeks—they would soon be prowling the Earth, sniffing out wayward soulsand otherinterestingthings.

Something had to be done, and I knew just the witch for the job.

Indy watched, waiting for me to move toward the car or do something more than stand and stare blankly at passing traffic.

I remembered what he’d said in the checkout line about his phone being wiped and having no contacts besides mine.

“You do know other people, Indy,” I said.

He brightened.

“At least one,” I added. “After we eat, I can introduce you.”

At my offer, Indy beamed. “That’d be great.”

I didn’t need people like Indy did. The numbers I’d deleted would soon be replaced with strangers he met and friends he made. I couldn’t stop that, but I could guide it, and Sully was as safe a starting place as any.

12

Loren

The Firebird smelled likewontons and sweet and sour sauce, and I imagined we did, too, as we pulled into the private lot behind the Urban Easel. I’d texted Sully a heads-up about our impromptu visit, which explained her excitement and the post she’d taken on the curb outside the gallery.

She barely waited for us to park before racing toward the passenger’s side of the vehicle and bouncing on her toes while Indy opened his door. No sooner had he stood than did she tackle him with a bone-creaking hug.

I exited the coupe and came around toward them as Sully gushed.

“Gads, Indy, you look so cute! Love the boots.”

Indy’s startled expression relaxed into tentative ease. He moved back and struck a pose, flaunting the outfit and the shoes that boosted his height by at least three inches.

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