Maker's Song - A Rush Of Wings Part 20

Johanna raked her fingers through her hair. She'd underestimated Stearns or, more accurately, his attachment to Wallace. "Call your people in New Orleans," she said. "Give them Stearns and Wallace.

Extreme prejudice."

"Understood."

Johanna folded the cell phone shut. In truth, she'd made more than one mistake with Stearns. She should've killed him the day he discovered Bad Seed. But she'd thought his own black past and her knowledge of it would keep him silent.

She'd been right about that - his silence.

She'd simply forgotten Stearns was a man of action, not words.

18.

All of this for You Pulse roaring in his ears, Dante held the sheer black stocking in both hands. A yellow sticky note clung to the delicate fabric. He plucked it off.

1616 St Charles

Dante lifted the stocking to his nose. Sniffed. Nothing of Gina remained. No trace of her black-cherries scent. Instead he caught the clean odor of soap and the rubber tang of latex gloves. He lowered the stocking, throat tight. Every bit of her was gone.

His fingers clenched around the stocking. His eyes squeezed shut. Fire burned through his veins; rage ignited his thoughts, his heart. In the distance, wasps droned.

Was Jay still alive?

Wasps burrowed beneath Dante's skin. Crawled into his mind. His body reverberated with their deep droning. His head ached with it.

Dante-angel? Did she trust you? Did she believe in you?

'Fraid so, princess. She knows better now, huh, Dante-angel?

A hand seized his chin, forced his head around. Dante opened his eyes. Heather stared at him,into him, held his gaze. He heard her heart pounding hard and fast.

"Breathe, Dante," she urged, releasing him. "Are you all right?"

Dante held up the stocking. "How thef.u.c.k am I supposed to wake up?"

Understanding lit Heather's blue eyes, but something else shadowed her face. She tugged the stocking from his grasp, the fabric whispering against his palm. He sucked in his breath when he saw the runs and tears. He glanced down at his hands, his nails. Closed his hands into fists. A wasp's swollen abdomen disappeared beneath his knuckles - glistening and wet and Gigeresque. He shuddered.

"- and he's not only hooked you, he's reeling you in."

Dante glanced at Heather. He realized she'd been talking for a while before he'd heard her. The droning faded.

"Let him have me."

Heather's brows knitted. "That again," she muttered. "He knows what you don't - your past. He knows how to play you. I wish I knew why."

"I don't give a f.u.c.k." Dante keyed on the MG's ignition and stepped on the gas. The car roared to life.

He grabbed the gearshift.

Heather's hand wrapped around his, warm and strong. He looked at her. "He's got the advantage," she said.

"Yeah, maybe so," Dante said. "But he's the one you've been tracking for three years. Gonna let him walk?"

Dante held her gaze, listening to the steady beat of her heart. She smelled clean and sweet, like the air after a storm, and, for a moment, the droning stopped as he looked into her eyes.

Heather released his hand and pushed her hair back from her face. She drew in a long, deep breath.

"We're on our own," she said, strapping her seat belt shut. "The case has been closed. I can't call for backup."

"Me neither."

Dante touched his link to Lucien. It was closed. A burr of dread hooked into his stomach. The sudden alarm in Lucien's dark eyes had rattled Dante; had shaken him free of the unknown song lacing through the night and pulsing in time with his blood.

What could frighten Lucien? That question left Dante cold.

Shifting the car into first gear, Dante nosed the MG out into traffic. Partiers crowded the street, unknotting reluctantly when the MG nudged against them. "Can knives hurt you?" Heather asked. "Bullets?"

Dante glanced at Heather, surprised. "Sure, anything canhurt . A bullet to the head or the heart would put me down for a while...so I've been told." He shifted his attention back to the street. "Never taken a bullet before."

"You're fast. Can you take him?"

"Yeah, if he's mortal. If he ain't, maybe," he said, swinging the steering wheel to the right and tapping the horn. A partier staggered backward, a drunken smile plastered across his face, and extended his middle finger.

"All DNA has been human."

"Should be no problem then."

Dante maneuvered the MG through the people-clotted street, his reflexes steering the car around pedestrians and cops on horses, goosing the gas every time a gap opened.

"What did Ronin mean by True Blood?"

Dante glanced at her. "Is my friend asking or is a cop asking?" He shifted the MG into second as he pulled out onto Ca.n.a.l.

"I'm both, Dante. That hasn't changed."

Dante nodded. Picking up speed, he shifted into third. Neon light danced along the windshield.

Headlights. .h.i.t his eyes like runway spotlights. Pain p.r.i.c.kled like thorns within his aching head. He winced.

Spots of color floated in front of his eyes.

He unhooked his shades from his belt, then slid them on. Oncoming headlights muted, the pain faded.

Dante drew in a deep breath, tried to ease the tension from his shoulders, but his muscles refused to relax.

Heather still waited for an answer. She said nothing, but he felt her antic.i.p.ation.

Fourth gear. Still picking up speed. Lights blurred.

"A True Blood is a born vampire."

"Born? That's possible?"

"So I've been told."

"Why would he call you that?" Heather's tone was soft, perplexed. "If you're a vampire - and I'm willing to admit to the possibility - then someone made you, right? Who made you? And when?"

Pain shafted Dante's temple. And, below, behind his thoughts, something shattered like gla.s.s. His hand locked onto the steering wheel. White light squiggled at the edges of his vision. He clenched his jaw, willing the pain away.Not now. Not f.u.c.king now! Horns blared and tired screeched as Dante missiled the MG through a red light. Streetlights, shadow-darkened old oaks, and gleaming streetcar rails merged into one continuous image.

"Jesus Christ!"

Dante heard vinyl creak as Heather latched her hands onto the dashboard. "Slow down," she said, her voice even. Coaxing. "Maybe you'll survive an accident at this speed, but I won't."

Wasps droned. Venom burned through Dante's veins. Warm fingers wrapped around his on the gearshift.

"Please, Dante. Slow down."

Heather's calm voice was like a waterfall dousing the fire consuming him, tumbling wasps back into the shattered depths within. He drew in a shuddering breath and eased his foot up off the gas pedal.

Downshifted to third. Lights and colors shifted from streamers to distinct images: houses, trees, cars.

Sweat trickled along his temple.

"Listen," Heather said, her hand still grasping his. "A trap's been set for you. You know this. I know this. You plan to walk right into it. Then what?"

Dante glanced at her. Shadow and light flickered across her face. Streetlight burnished her hair. He shrugged. "No plan. I'll play it as it comes. But I'll walk out with Jay."

Heather sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Uh huh."

Shifting his attention back to the road, Dante scanned for building addresses.

"I think he believes you're nightkind," Heather said. "So he'll be planning for that. But he isn't planning for me. Even Ronin thought I'd be in Pensacola."

1500. They were close. Dante reduced speed. His gaze swept from one dimly lit warehouse to the next.

Another block. A stone building on the right with a weather-faded sign reading CUSTOM MEATS.

Boarded-up windows. Vacant. His gaze flicked back to the sign. CUSTOM MEATS. Unease twisted through him.

"Go past," Heather murmured.

Dante drove several blocks farther, then hooked a left, swinging the MG to the next parallel street.

Arrowing in against the curb, he downshifted to a stop and switched off the engine. Pocketing the keys, he yanked open the door. A hand grabbed his arm, fingers latched around his forearm.

One twitch and he'd walk away.

Would he be leaving behind his friend or the cop?

He eased back against the seat. Looked at Heather. He'd be leaving both.

"I'll follow," she said. Adrenaline sharpened her scent, warmed her blood. "I'm your backup." Sudden intensity lit her blue eyes. She radiated a dark, desperate, almost violent emotion - one Dante couldn'tname. "Promise me you'll play it safe."

He held her gaze, breathing in her adrenalized odor, listened to the steady beat of her heart. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. Her skin felt feverish.

"No."

Heather nodded, jaw tight. She released him.

He slid out of the car.

Does she trust you too, Dante-angel?

'Fraid so, princess.

He ran.

Ronin eased the camaro along the curb, then switched off the engine and glanced at the GPS receiver.

Dante was on the move, running, judging by his speed; aimed for CUSTOM MEATS like a wrecking ball.

Hope etienne is ready.

Ronin opened the driver's side door, uncurled from the seat, and walked across the street. Of course, etienne really had no clue. He was so blinded by his rage and his grief, by his desire to make Dante feel a little of the same, that he hadn't recognized True Blood. Hadn't recognized death coiled into a slender five-nine form, hadn't recognized danger in a beautiful, pale face.

HadDante put the torch to etienne's household? If so, it wouldn't be the first time he'd played arsonist.

Or had someone else done the dirty work and left Dante to take the blame? Who knew? All that mattered was that etienne believed Dante responsible and would do anything to punish him.

GPS receiver in hand, Roninmoved , gusting like a night breeze along the empty street. He watched for Agent Wallace. Her presence at the club had caught him completely off guard. Blue eyes watchful, she'd stood beside Dante on that dais like she belonged there.

Like an equal. Amortal .

He'd underestimated her. She'd understood the messages when Dante hadn't; she hadn't bought Johanna's desperate cover-up - which begged the question, How much longerdid Wallace have to live?

Ronin knew hisfille de sang - Wallace's return to New Orleans was a death sentence. E would miss her, but then, he didn't have much longer to live, either.