Kissing Sin (29 page)

I ran up, and up. And up. Ran until my legs were on fire, my lungs burned, and my stomach was doing cartwheels. Once I reached the roof, I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, then carefully opened the door. Or tried to. The damn thing was locked.

So much for not announcing my presence to the shooter.

I stepped back, and kicked the door with as much force as my quaking limbs could muster. It was apparently quite a lot, because the door crashed open. The cold night air swept in, freezing the sweat on my skin and wrapping the scent of musk and man around me. The killer was still here.

I sniffed, trying to get a sense of direction. The wind swirled, making it difficult to judge where, exactly, he was. And what he was.

Which was unusual. This shooter wasn’t human, because I
was
sensing his presence. So why couldn’t I tell which race he was?

I wrapped the shadows around me and stepped out. The dark night and the nearby lights seemed to sweep around me, and the realization that I was so very high up hit like a punch, making my stomach turn and head spin.

Then a sense of impending doom washed over me, and the sick sensations were lost under the sudden need to save myself. I dove sideways, landing with a grunt on the hard concrete, scraping skin off hands and knees. Something pinged against the metal of the door and sparks flew.
The shooter had infrared sight.
Swearing under my breath, I scrambled to my feet and ran like hell for the nearest cooling tower. Soft pings followed, nipping at my heels like a terrier.

Damn, damn, damn.
Back pressed hard against the cooling tower’s metal casing, I closed my eyes and breathed deep, trying to get some air into my burning lungs. Trying to control the fear lashing at me. The harsh sounds of sirens bit across the night, mingling with the rumble of traffic. I had to get out of this building before the cops arrived. I couldn’t afford to get caught up playing twenty questions.

Swallowing heavily, I concentrated on the strongest noises, zoning them into a separate section of consciousness. Then I zeroed in on the underlying, closer noises. A cricket chirruped to my left. Soft footfalls moved to my right.

I swiped at the sweat running down my face with the sleeve of my jacket, then slipped around the cooling tower and peered over the edge. Nothing but a wide expanse of concrete between me and the cooling tower where the shooter must have stood.

Though the footfalls had ceased, the scent on the wind suggested the man had moved to the rear edge of the stairwell. Maybe he was trying to get around me. Maybe he was simply trying to escape.

I retraced my steps and padded silently to the other side of the stairwell. Once I was close to the corner, I stopped and lowered my shields a little, feeling out the shooter’s thoughts. Nothing. He was either mind-blind, or he was shielded against psychic intrusion.

I swore under my breath. So much for taking his mind and rendering him helpless. I’d have to do this the old-fashioned way. I risked a peek around the corner.

He was down the far end, on one knee, gun aimed at the tower he’d just vacated. Obviously, he thought me dumb.

I padded forward slowly, resisting the urge to blur and run at him with vampire speed, not wanting to risk the scream of approaching air giving him a warning.

At the last moment he sensed me anyway, turning and firing in one quick movement. The bullet nicked my shoulder, throwing me back and down, digging a trench in my skin deep enough to lose a fingertip in. Pain hit and I hissed, my vision momentarily blurred by the sting of tears. The bastard had
silver
bullets.

He hadn’t been aiming for Quinn earlier. He’d been aiming for me or Mrs. Hunt.

The click of bullets being reloaded echoed across the night. I caught my balance and pivoted, knocking the weapon away from him. His hand darted to his back. I blurred, kicked him in the balls, then whacked one of the shoes across his jaw as he was going down. Fire leapt across his jaw, meaning the shooter was vampire, even if I hadn’t sensed it.

His grunt was abruptly cut as the back of his head smashed against the concrete. His eyes rolled back and he didn’t move.

Now that adrenaline had faded, the pain hit again. Swearing softly, I tugged off the dress then called to the wolf within me. Power swept around me, through me, blurring my vision, blurring the pain. But I only stayed in my alternate form for a heartbeat, then shifted back. The wound still stung like blazes, but at least the bleeding had stopped.

I re-dressed then and, holding the stilettos at the ready in case he was bluffing, walked over to the shooter. He was Caucasian, probably early twenties, with black hair, tribal tats across his cheeks, and a ring in the middle of his bottom lip. It was the ring that was the psychic shield. Obviously, someone had done a little updating since I’d last seen one.

I straddled his body, plonked down on top of him, and pressed one heel against his chest, just as a precaution. If he moved, I’d stake him, because I wasn’t in the mood for a fight right now. He wouldn’t die immediately, because the stiletto wasn’t long enough to reach his heart from where I had it positioned. But it would give me time enough to read him. And right now, that was all that was important.

I grabbed the lip ring and roughly yanked it out. Blood spurted. He didn’t flinch, meaning he was truly out of it. Not that it mattered. Now that his mind was unshielded, it was mine to play in.

Lowering my shields again, I mentally reached out, touching his thoughts, rifling his memories. He was a contract killer, and had been hired yesterday to get rid of
me
.

Not Mrs. Hunt.
Me.

So much for Misha’s damn promise that he’d keep me safe and stop the attacks.

I continued rifling through the shooter’s thoughts. He didn’t know who had hired him, because the hit had been arranged through an intermediary. A man who had brown eyes ringed with blue and amber, and whose face had the same sort of harsh lines as Mrs. Hunt.

Did she have a brother?

Had the kill on General Hunt been deliberate, or an accident? Were the two hits even connected?

His mind couldn’t give me the answers. He only knew what he’d been contracted to do.

I glanced up as the wailing sirens came to a halt on the street below. Time to go. I raided the killer’s mind again, this time making him believe he had a broken leg. Even if he woke before the cops got here, he wouldn’t go anywhere. I rose, patted him down for other weapons, shoved him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke to death on his own blood—though if he was a vampire, that was highly unlikely—then kicked the rifle well out of his reach.

Move, Riley.
Quinn’s voice was edged with concern.
The cops will be up on that roof soon.

I’m aware of that.
I headed for the stairs.
How’d you do?

He’d disappeared by the time I got up there.

I went down the stairs even faster than I’d come up, and a whole different set of muscles woke to protest.
No clues as to how?

He left some feathers and the weapon behind.

So the second shooter was a shifter—not that
that
gave any clue as to identity.
My killer had been contracted to hit me, not Hunt.

Hunt was a deliberate shot, not an accident.

I pushed my way out of the stairwell. The guard spun and opened his mouth to speak, but I took control of his mind and made him look past me and see nothing.
So, we were both targets simply because we were both at the one spot. The question is, why did they want Hunt dead?

And how did they know you were here, let alone that it was you under that disguise?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

The front doors swished open. Lights flashed across the darkness, streaking it with blue and red. Men in white and blue stood around the taxi and Mrs. Hunt, while a gathering crowd looked on in horror.

Awareness prickled across my skin, then Quinn was beside me, a shadow who suddenly found substance. He wrapped his hand around my arm and guided me to the right.

Where are we going?

You’re going to the airport. I’m going to follow Mrs. Hunt.

Jack won’t be happy.

Jack is not my boss, and we need to know what the hell is going on. If Mrs. Hunt is a replacement, she’ll know something. Or somebody. I intend to find out which it is.

Be careful.

In these matters, I always am.

He stopped by the car and opened the door. Then he pulled me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that was wild, erotic, and a very unapologetic affirmation of what he wanted. And what he intended to do when we had more time.

I opened my eyes, stared into his. Saw the desire. Saw the determination, burning bright.

This vampire would not give up, would not go away. No matter what I did or said. He was playing for keeps. For real.

Which meant he still wasn’t understanding that I was a wolf, with a wolf’s needs, and that we could never be what he wanted us to be, no matter what might lie between us.

“Quinn—”

“Mrs. Hunt is leaving,” he cut in harshly, making me wonder if he’d read my mind and was simply delaying the moment of truth. “We’ll talk another time.”

He kissed me again, no less fiercely than before, then pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut. By the time I’d twisted around to look at him, he was gone.

Chapter 10

T
he Rocker was filled with teenagers half my age, all of them bopping to music that was painful to my ears. I could see why the Rocker’s traditional weekend crowd had fled—the crap they were playing now was nothing like the good old-fashioned rock and roll this club had built its reputation on. But then, I guess they had to do something to attract the next generation of wolves through the door.

Misha sat on a stool at the far end of the chrome and red lacquer bar. He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt, and both accentuated the whiteness of his lean body. As I stood there staring at him, the urge to turn and run hit me. I didn’t want to do this. I really didn’t.

Not because of the sex. As I’d said to Quinn more than once, sex was part of a werewolf’s nature, and we didn’t hold it in the same reverent regard. Even though I didn’t particularly want to mate with Misha, I would, and I’d more than likely enjoy it.

No, what disgusted me was the fact that I’d been left no choice in the matter.

If I was a guardian and this was just a part of my job, it would have been okay. If I’d walked in here knowing I’d been offered this assignment and had willingly chosen to do it, I would have had no problems. But I didn’t have the choice, no matter what Quinn said. Misha seemed to be the only one who knew what was going on, and to get that information and get my life on track, I had to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because I
had
to. Two very different things.

And it hit me then that part of me had already accepted the reality that one day I would become a guardian. That one day, I’d be doing this out of choice rather than need.

I closed my eyes, sickened not so much by the thought, but the tremor of excitement that ran through me. I didn’t want to become a killer. Didn’t want to become my brother. But the part of me that had always rejoiced in the danger of being with Talon was dancing at the thought of becoming a guardian and facing danger on a regular basis.

Maybe Jack was right. Maybe he did know me better than I knew myself.

Taking another deep breath, I pushed the thoughts aside, and made my way through the crowd.

Tapping Misha on the shoulder, I said, “I believe we had a date.”

His icy gaze slid down my body. I’d changed into jeans and a black crop top, but had left Liander’s other improvements in place. There was no recognition in Misha’s eyes as his gaze met mine then slid away. “I believe you’re mistaken.”

“So you’ve decided you don’t want kids anymore?”

His head snapped around, and his gaze narrowed. “Riley?”

“The one and only.” I plopped down on the stool beside his and ordered a beer.

“Why the disguise?”

“Why not? Especially when you haven’t exactly proven you can keep me safe.”

“Have you been attacked recently?”

I snorted softly. “Twice, actually.”

“What?”

The surprise in his voice seemed genuine, but I wasn’t about to be taken in by it. Misha could act the pants off just about anyone I knew. “Once with orsini, once with a paid hitman. It’s pissing me off, Misha.”

“The bastard,” he muttered. “Obviously, he needs a little reminder that I mean what I say.”

“Obviously, because he ain’t taking a blind bit of notice of your threats at the moment. And keeping me safe was part of our deal, remember?”

“I remember,” he said, voice hard. “And I’m trying.”

“Well, try a little harder or the damn deal is off.” I paused and thanked the bartender as he brought over my beer. “I want to know how he’s tracking me, Misha. Tell me that, or it ends right now.”