Page 148 of The Vigilante's Lover
“I saw the report,” she says. “No one is supposed to harm the special, but some people took matters into their own hands.” She snorts. “The official cause is ‘undetermined.’” Her expression makes clear that she knows it’s a cover-up.
“So you see my concern,” I say.
“Killing her is not part of our job today,” the woman says. “Now, move.”
The shower shuts off. I glance at the bathroom door, then back to the woman. She watches me, then gives me a small smile. “Time to go,” she mouths silently. She kicks my shoes at me.
I think about going into a full-scale battle. Fight them off to the last minute. My fists tighten. Even if they dart-gun me, I’ll have several minutes to do damage.
But if Mia comes out, she could get caught in the crossfire.
Crouching man seems to know what I’m thinking. He heads over to the window and pulls back the curtain.
There’s a window washer there with his wide metal shelf. He waves at me, then opens his jacket. A normal gun, metallic blue, like Klaus’s.
They’ll shoot me on site, then. And Mia would have to come out and find the mess. I don’t want that.
I shove my shoes on my feet and walk to the door. The two men stand aside, weapons at the ready, but I keep my stance open and nonthreatening. They fall in behind me as the woman leads us out. I resist the urge to look back. It wouldn’t do any good.
At least my last memories of Mia will be happy.
22: Mia
I wipe a circle from the steam fogging up the bathroom mirror. The girl looking back at me seems more confident than I remember. More full of hope.
“We’re going to get through this,” I whisper to her. “And we’re going to kick some ass doing it.”
I rub my head with a towel as I survey the outfit I picked out for today’s upcoming mission. Armond is a magician with clothes. Black leather pants, a dark gray turtleneck sweater, and a sweet black jacket with a furry inset on the collar.
The jacket has a million zippered pockets on the outside, and a couple hidden ones inside. “Spy gadget central,” I tell it as I merrily zip and unzip a few of the compartments. I hold it in front of me and turn back to the mirror. “And I’ll look good doing it.”
“The shower’s all yours!” I call to the other room. I was a little pouty when Jax hung back as I headed to the bathroom. I thought he might want to come in with me. But he was stony and serious, no doubt concerned about traveling and what would happen when we arrived in Washington.
I’m all about the minute-to-minute. I stare hard at myself in themirror, which is rapidly clearing of steam. “You might die today,” I tell myself seriously.
But my heart doesn’t feel it. Jax is unstoppable. Nobody gets the better of him.
“When do we need to leave?” I ask loudly.
Still no response.
I wrap the towel tightly around me and head into the bedroom to see why he hasn’t answered me.
The bedroom is empty. Strange.
I head out into the living room. Not there. Nor the dining area. He’s left?
My heart starts to quicken. There’s something not right about the room. The impression of other people. A sense of invasion.
The front door is shut tight. The windows closed.
But I sense it.
“Jax?” I call out one more time, fear blooming. I race back to the bedroom. His suitcase is still here. The clothes he wore yesterday, neatly folded on the chair. Even the knapsack with his binoculars weapon and the Blackphone, the untraceable one with no contacts.
I hunt through his suitcase. All the clothes are new, so I don’t know what he might have taken with him. But why leave his weapons and tech? For me? He’ll have everything in his car.
I threw his phone in the parking lot. The one here is blank. I can’t contact him.
