Broken (9 page)

He turned back to the minivan and put both hands out, palms first. He touched the side of the van and jerked back with a grunt, as if expecting to touch a wall of brick or wood, not steel. He looked up and down the street, his body tense, eager to be off, and yet…

He reached out and pressed his fingertips to the minivan door. His hands moved across the panel, hit the handle and stopped. His fingers traced the outline of the door handle, and he bent for a closer look but only grunted, making no move to open it. Then he straightened. His hands resumed their exploration of the door. When they reached the window, he looked closer, peering through it. Then he backpedaled, sending up another too-loud oath.

Breath tickled the top of my head and I wheeled to see Jeremy behind me.

“What should we do?” I whispered.

He hesitated, eyes on the figure, about twenty feet from us.

“Clay? Take him. Carefully, and before he reaches the main road. Elena?” He paused, then said, “Help Clay. Make sure you stay back—”

The screech of tires cut him short as a car ripped around the corner. Headlights flooded the darkened street. The man let out a wail of absolute terror and threw himself to the ground—in the middle of the road. At the last moment, the car veered around him. Someone shouted from the open passenger window.

“Go,” Jeremy hissed. “Now. Quickly.”

Clay bolted for the man, with me jogging behind. The man was still on the road, his face pressed against the asphalt. We made it halfway to him, then a second carful of teens careened around the corner. This time, the man didn’t cower in the street and wait to be mowed down. He leapt to his feet and raced for the side of the road.

From there he had two directions to choose from. One would’ve brought him straight into our arms.

He hit the sidewalk and ran in the other direction, heading north again.

Still jogging, I glanced over my shoulder at Jeremy. He hesitated, gaze meeting mine, and I was sure he was going to call me back. After a moment, he motioned for us to keep going, in silent pursuit, and head the man off someplace safe.

Parked

WE REACHED THE AUTO REPAIR SHOP ON THE CORNER JUST
as the man crossed the road. He paused and stared up at the replica gaslight streetlamps, then squinted down the street. Clay glanced at me, but I shook my head. Too public.

Seconds later, the man took off again, darting down a narrow road between two yellow brick houses. Before we could sprint across, a short line of cars, released from the stoplight, reached the corner. I bounced on the balls of my feet, leaning and ducking, trying to track the man’s figure as he disappeared down the dark road. The moment the last car passed, we dashed off the curb and to the other side.

He was gone. As Clay raced down the narrow road, I slowed and took a deep breath, getting the scent. Then I followed. When I hit an alley between two tall buildings, the trail ended. I whistled, and veered without waiting to make sure Clay understood. He would.

The alley was clogged with garbage bags, stinking in the summer heat. I skirted around them, and the rows of gray and blue recycling bins, and came out on the east side of Sherbourne. As I paused to find the man’s scent under the stench of the busy street and the garbage, Clay tapped my back, grunted “there,” pointed across the road and strode past me. At this hour, the four-lane road was quiet, and we crossed easily, earning only one polite warning honk from an oncoming driver.

On the other side was a block-sized park surrounding the square-domed Allan Gardens Conservatory. That’s where our target was heading, straight down the rose-lined walkway to the glass building.

Clay glanced at me for instructions. That was how we worked, and it had nothing to do with dominance or power. Put Clay with a werewolf of roughly the same hierarchical position, whose judgment he trusted, and he preferred to follow orders…which was fine because I preferred to give them.

The choice now was: split up or stay together. Still moving, I scoped out the park and our target’s path, and made my decision. I signaled the plan. There was no reason why I couldn’t talk—we were far enough away that the man wouldn’t overhear—but when I switched to hunt mode, my brain switched to nonverbal.

Clay nodded, and we broke into a slow jog. In the dark, our outfits looked sufficiently joggerlike to get away with that. The biggest danger we faced was alerting our target, but if he hadn’t looked over his shoulder yet, he probably wasn’t going to. He had other things on his mind. As for
what
…well, I had my suspicions, but this wasn’t the time to consider them.

We ran along the gauntlet of trees, old-fashioned benches and lampposts that lined the main path. As we neared the conservatory, we slowed, and I motioned Clay into the shadows with me. The man had stopped in front of the historic site marker. His lips moved as he read it, brows furrowing in confusion.

I glanced at Clay. He stood motionless, tensed and waiting, blue eyes glittering as he watched his prey. Without looking away from the man, he leaned sideways toward me, his hand brushing my hip, lips curving. Our eyes met. He grinned, and I could read that grin as clearly as if he’d spoken.
Even better than a city run, huh?
I grinned back.

The man finished reading the plaque and walked to the window. As he stared at the huge tropical trees inside, I nodded and Clay slipped away, looping around to the other side. I crept to the stairs. I made it halfway up before the man turned. He saw me. I kept climbing, gaze fixed on a spot to his side, just another nighttime visitor, a pregnant woman, nonthreatening and—

He bolted.

He ran for the north staircase. I raced up mine as Clay flew from the south. A look my way. I waved him back and he nodded, wheeling to head around the building and cut the man off. While I scrambled down the north steps, the man raced between the garden beds and toward the greenhouse. I ran after him. I rounded the corner and nearly bowled over two police officers.

A mental “Oh, shit!” Then I checked my pace to a jog, flashed a tight smile and prayed they wouldn’t try to stop me. I made it three strides.

“Miss!”

Play dumb. No, deaf. Just keep—

“Miss!”

A hand touched my arm as one of the officers ran up behind me. Couldn’t ignore that.

I forced myself to stop, turn and smile, trying hard not to bare my teeth. My heart pounded, adrenaline racing, reminding me that my prey was getting away.

“Are you all right?” the first officer, a beefy graying man, asked.

“Sure, I was just—” I stopped before I said “jogging.” My outfit might pass from a distance, but not this close. I caught sight of a terrier across the park, and remembered this was an off-leash area.

“Walking my dog,” I said. “Chasing him, actually. He took off on me and—”

“It looked like someone was chasing
you
.”

“Me?”

“There was a man running behind you. We noticed from the other side of—”

“There you are,” said a voice to my right.

Jeremy walked out from the shadows. “I caught the dog. He’s back at the car now. Sorry for the inconvenience, officers.” A small smile. “It seems he’s not ready for off-leash walks quite yet.”

“There was a man following your—”

“Wife,” Jeremy said, his arm going around my waist. His face gathered with concern. “A man was following her?”

“A blond man.”

Jeremy looked at me. “Did you notice…?”

“No, but I was looking for the dog.”

Oh, come on! Problem solved, officers. Dog’s found, helpless pregnant lady safe with her husband. Now move on.

Clay was out there, chasing someone, thinking I was there to back him up. It took everything I had to keep from blurting “Thanks, officers,” and running after him.

Jeremy did the right thing, trying quickly but patiently to bring the encounter to a close. He confessed to the officer that maybe these nighttime dog walks weren’t such a wise idea, but I’d been having trouble sleeping lately, with the baby kicking and all…

As he handled it, I struggled to hold myself still. Had Clay caught the man? Was he holding him, waiting for us? Had something gone wrong? Was he hurt, while we were stalled, parked out of sight behind this greenhouse—

“Ready to go, hon?”

I started out of my thoughts. Jeremy smiled down at me.

“Getting tired finally, I see.”

He turned back to the officers, thanked them again, then led me away. I counted ten steps, then started to look over my shoulder.

“Not yet,” Jeremy whispered.

“But Clay—”

“I know.”

“But—”

“I know.”

I bit back a growl and counted off ten more steps.

“No,” Jeremy said, before I even started to turn.

“But—”

“He lost him.”

“How—?”

“Look right. Along the sidewalk.”

There was Clay, walking along the north sidewalk on Gerrard, his path set to intersect with ours. Jeremy gestured—the slightest flutter of his right hand—and Clay paused, then turned and walked across the road. We crossed at the lights, and found Clay around the corner, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes seething.

“Lost him,” he said.

“I got waylaid by—”

“The cops. I saw.”

He pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped toward me, hand brushing mine, reassuring me that he didn’t blame me, wasn’t angry about that. The reassurance was nice, but I knew what he was upset about. The same thing I was: a failed hunt.

“By the time I got around the building, he was gone,” Clay said. “I think he went north, but I couldn’t pick up the trail. We should circle back and maybe Elena—”

Jeremy shook his head. “The police saw you following Elena. I don’t want either of you back in that park.”

“What if we weren’t recognizable?” I asked. “If one of us Changed, we could find the trail for sure. And it is a popular park with dogs.”

Jeremy wouldn’t even dignify that with an answer.

“Okay,” I said. “Then we’ll wait. Those officers will move on, then I’ll go back—”

“No.”

“But—”

“One, he’ll be long gone. Two, it’s not worth our time simply to satisfy our curiosity.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Jeremy had already moved away. I looked at Clay. His jaw worked, and he glanced back toward the park.

“We could find him,” I whispered.

“Yeah.”

“We
should
find him.”

“Yeah.”

Jeremy didn’t turn, but his voice floated back to us. “Just in case I wasn’t clear? That was an order.”

We glared at his back, then jogged to catch up.

Jeremy had picked a hotel from a cluster near the QEW, the highway that would take us back toward Buffalo. The hotel was nothing fancy—this was just a sleep-and-go stopover. Or it was for Jeremy. Having been deprived of our quarry and our city run, neither Clay nor I was in any mood for sleep. A hasty good night at the door to Jeremy, then a fumbled throwing of the deadbolt and we fell on each other, nips masquerading as kisses, clawing as fevered gropes.

“Bed?” Clay gasped as he came up for air.

I looked over at it, looming five feet away. “Too far.”

He chuckled and his mouth went back to mine, kissing me deeply enough to stop the air in my lungs. My hands went under his shirt and I stripped it off, with only a split-second break in the kiss. His leg hooked the back of my knees, ready to drop me to the floor, then he checked himself just in time and carefully lowered me.

My shirt and bra went next, yanked off as one. His fingers went to my breast, kneading and pulling, fingers tugging the nipple hard and insistent. An ache rippled through me. As I gasped, something warm and sticky trickled out.

“What the—?” I began.

Clay laughed. “That’s new.”

He cupped my breast in his palms and squeezed, his fingers digging in, pulling me to him in another kiss. My hands slid down his belly to his fly. I snapped the button open, tugged his jeans down over his hips, then reached inside his boxers.