Circle of Death (13 page)

“And mine,” he said, catching her hand in his. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

His fingers were warm against hers, the palms callused. Not what she’d expected from the hands of a thief. “Won’t the police question us when we leave?”

“They won’t even see us if we leave quietly. We’ll probably have to abandon the car for the moment, though.”

“I don’t think walking is a good idea.” Especially if someone kept sending monsters after her.

He squeezed her fingers, then released them, working his magic on the dead bolt barring their exit through the front door. He had it open in a minute flat.

She shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t try to tell me you’re a locksmith when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress or tracking bad guys, because I just won’t believe it.”

He gave her that cheeky smile again, and her stomach did odd flip-flops. “You could say I’ve had a somewhat shady past. But it’s all behind me, I promise.”

“Yeah, it looks like it,” she said dryly.

Smile widening, he placed a hand at her back, ushering her through the door. His touch burned into her skin, and for some reason, hurt. She frowned, flexing her shoulders, wondering what was wrong. Pain twinged, running down her spine like muted fire. Maybe she’d twisted something when the door had blown her off her feet. Maybe she hadn’t felt anything until now because she’d been too scared for Doyle. Or too aroused by him.

Swallowing the thought, she moved down the steps and into the street. A crowd had gathered around Rachel’s gate, watching what was happening. An ambulance had pulled up, its lights still flashing as two paramedics ran inside. But they were far too late to save Rachel—as she and Doyle had been far too late. She crossed her arms and shivered, remembering Helen’s words. One more woman to go, and
she
had to save her. But how, when she couldn’t even save herself? God, she was only here now because Doyle had rescued her.

His gaze swept her as he walked down the steps,
flushing heat through her body. “Make it casual,” he said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they headed down the street.

“Where to now, Romeo?” she asked, voice tart. He might want casual, but right now, when her body still sang to the tune of his touch, casual was the last thing she wanted—or needed. “Right now, we disappear into this mist and get as far away as we can. Then we catch a cab and head on over to the government facility that housed you and Helen.”

She glanced up at him, startled. “Why?”

“Because Camille believes that’s where all this started.”

She frowned. “But that was closed down years ago. What do you hope to find there now?”

He shrugged. “All I’m hoping to find at the moment is my friend, Russell, alive and unharmed.”

She raised an eyebrow. If his friend was at the center at this hour, he obviously hadn’t gotten in through any normal means. “He’s a thief, too?”

“No. Actually, he’s a vampire.”

She stopped and stared at him. “A vampire?”

He glanced behind them, then nudged her forward again. “Yes. Vampires aren’t all bad, you know.”

They weren’t? She blinked several times. Lord, it was hard enough to believe vampires were real, let alone the fact that some of them were actually on the side of the angels. “But … they have to drink blood to survive. How
can
he be good?”

“He doesn’t take human blood.”

“So he dines on animals?” Somehow, she found that even worse.

He glanced down at her, an eyebrow raised. “You eat meat, chicken and fish, don’t you? What’s the difference?”

He sounded so damn logical it was annoying. “But I don’t actually kill them. They come in ready-to-eat pieces all wrapped in plastic. I don’t have to think about where it comes from.”

“Russ doesn’t kill them, either. And it’s mainly cows and horses he takes from.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure that made her feel any better about meeting this friend of his. She frowned. “If he’s a vampire, how did he get into the center? Don’t vampires have to be invited over thresholds? Or is that all a load of Hollywood tripe?”

“Tripe?” He grinned. “Now, there’s an expression I’ll have to use back home.”

Right then, she didn’t particularly want to think about him leaving her, let alone going back to America and whatever life he had there. She slapped him lightly in the stomach. “Just answer the damn question.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He guided her across the street and into the park. “When the threshold in question is private—a home, for instance—the vampire can’t cross it without invitation. But if the threshold is public—say, an office, hospital or supermarket—then the vampire can cross as easily as anyone else.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and looked at her, his gaze suddenly intense. “Some things just are, Kirby. You don’t question them; you just accept.”

“
You
accept,” she muttered, turning her gaze from his. “I’ll continue to question.” It was a whole lot safer that way.

Though the mist still covered the tops of the gum trees, the drizzle was beginning to lift and, above all the gray, patches of blue were showing. They might even get a fine day. Which would be good, she thought, dragging the ends of her coat together. She needed to get warm. It felt like the chill of the last few days had settled deep into her bones.

“If you’re cold, you can have my coat,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

She shivered, more from his touch than any chill. “No. I’m okay. Really,” she added, when he gave her a disbelieving look. “I think I just need a coffee.”

“And something to eat. You can’t continue to run on empty, you know.”

“I know.” She looked away from the concern in his eyes. Despite the temptation to believe otherwise, she knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. They were strangers who’d shared a mad moment of passion. Nothing more. Nothing deeper.

You’re wrong. And you know it.

His thought whispered through her, its touch as warm as the wind on a hot summer evening. She certainly wasn’t telepathic, and while she’d been able to catch Helen’s emotions easily enough, it was never something that had expanded to anyone else—until now. That she could hear Doyle’s thoughts as well as feel his emotions scared the hell out of her.

On the street ahead, yellow cars gleamed. Taxis, lined up in a row, waiting for customers. “We’ll have to head back to my place sometime,” she said, reminded suddenly that she didn’t have any money.

“Might be safer if we didn’t,” he muttered. “You’ll be less tempted to run without cash.”

She didn’t refute his statement, just crossed her arms and tried to keep warm. Though her back was on fire, the rest of her was so cold her bones were beginning to ache. They climbed into the taxi and he gave the driver the address. The center wasn’t far away, and it didn’t take them long to get there. The taxi stopped just shy of the locked main gates.

“Looks quiet,” she said, climbing out of the taxi and studying the rows of old red-brick buildings visible behind the gates. They looked like factories—or a prison.

“It should be. It closed down a few years ago and is apparently little more than a storage facility now.”

“It looks like it should have closed down earlier than that,” she muttered, noting the peeling paint and cracked walls on the building closest to them. The whole place looked little better than a dump.

Had it always been like this? She couldn’t say, because she had no real memories of it. She knew well enough that she’d met Helen here, and that meant she’d obviously been here for some time, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember anything else about the place. And yet she could recall every one of her foster parents. Could still recite their names and addresses. Had this place been so bad she’d wiped away all memory of it? Or had it just been so bland there was nothing worth remembering?

“Camille’s van is just down the street,” he said as the taxi drove off.

“What about your friend’s car? Is that still about?”

Doyle shook his head and moved toward the main gate. He had the padlock undone and in his pocket in
two seconds flat. “Russ doesn’t need a car,” he said. “Make sure you close the gate behind you.”

She nodded, doing just that before following him across the damp lawn. “Why doesn’t he need a car? Don’t tell me the hype about vampires turning into bats is true?”

He flashed her a grin. “No, vampires aren’t shapeshifters. They don’t have to be, when they can run like the wind.”

Shapeshifters.
The word reverberated through her. She stopped abruptly, staring at his back. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? That panther—it was you, wasn’t it?”

Tension ran through his back muscles and he slowly turned, his expression a mix of uncertainty and resignation. “Yes, it was,” he said. “But you knew all along I wasn’t entirely human. Your magic told you that when we first met.”

She licked her lips, not entirely sure what to think now that she
had
made the connection. “You could have told me,” she said softly. Could have mentioned she’d almost made love to a man who was half-beast.

“I’m still just a man, whether or not I’m in panther form. Don’t get the werewolf legends confused with the reality of shapeshifters.”

She thrust a hand through her hair. “I can’t deal with this now.” Didn’t
want
to deal with it now. Her world was in the process of zooming out of her control, and her head felt like it was spinning. She didn’t need this, not on top of everything else.

“You’ll have to deal with it eventually,” he murmured and turned away, walking toward the west side of the building.

Only if you stay
, she thought. And she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

He disappeared around the corner of the building, and she hurried to catch up with him. Azaleas and rhododendrons battled for space with weeds in the small garden bed lining the wall. The path was covered in moss and looked like it hadn’t been swept in months.
No caretaker
, she thought, and wondered if the place was even still used as a storage facility.

He’d stopped about halfway down, his expression grim and his hands on his hips.

“What’s wrong?” She stopped beside him and stared at the window. There was nothing she could see that would cause such a fierce frown.

“Blood,” he said, stepping back and studying the windows on the first floor.

“There is?” She stepped forward, intent on getting a closer look, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Careful. It’s a trap.”

She stared at him. “How can you tell that just by looking at it?”

“I can’t. I can feel it.”

“You can? How?”

“Now is not the time, believe me.” Without glancing at her, he moved off down the path.

“Now is never the time,” she muttered, stomping after him.

They rounded the corner of the building. About halfway along this section was an old wooden door. Standing in front of it was a woman. Though she had gray hair and, from a distance, looked reasonably old,
her multicolored sweater was so bright you almost had to squint to look at it. To complement this, she also wore black leather pants and red sneakers. A woman who didn’t care about the opinions of others, Kirby thought with a smile.

The woman glanced up as they approached, a smile creasing her lined features.

“About time you got here. I can’t get this damn lock to open.” The woman’s bright gaze swept past Doyle, fixing on her. “You’d be Kirby, then?”

Her blue eyes were luminous, almost electric. Not a woman who missed much.

Kirby nodded. “You’re Camille?”

“That I am.” She swatted Doyle’s arm, then stepped to one side, out of the way. “Get a move on. We can’t stand out here all day, you know.”

“You could have spelled it open,” he said, voice dry as he squatted in front of the lock.

“I could have, but that would have let whoever placed those spells around the front of the building know another witch was near.”

Kirby crossed her arms and watched Doyle work on the lock. “Are you sure your friend is inside?”

“Something is,” he said, as the lock clicked open. “I can hear it scuffing around.”

She frowned. Did vampire’s scuff? Somehow it didn’t fit the image she had. “It could be a trap.”

“It could be,” he agreed, rising. “Which is why you’ll wait out here.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. We need someone to watch for security patrols. You’re it.”

She bit her lip. It made perfectly good sense for her to remain out here, and they both knew it. Problem was, she didn’t want to be left alone in this place. Something about it spooked her. But whether it was forgotten memories finally surfacing or something else, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Camille patted her arm, fingernails painted purple and glittering in the pale morning light. “Don’t worry, dear. Whatever they’re using to track you, it’s not with you now. You’re safe.”

Doyle’s glance was sharp. “Her backpack is the only thing that’s not with us, and I checked that last night.”

“You did?” Kirby said.

He gave her a half-apologetic glance. “Yeah, sorry, but I had to double-check, given I can sense magic and you can’t.”

Camille nodded. “The spell might be layered deep, though. I’d get rid of the pack, fast.”

“But I packed it myself. Believe me, nobody put anything in there that I don’t know about.” Then she remembered Helen’s words and a chill ran through her. If her friend hadn’t left that gift for her, who had?

“The spell might be on the pack itself. As there’s no immediate way to discover the truth, it would be better to abandon it.” Camille glanced back to Doyle. “You ready?”

He nodded, his gaze meeting Kirby’s. “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere and don’t run.”
Warn me like this if you hear or see anything. Don’t yell, and don’t enter the building.

His thoughts were firm but warm as they whispered
through her mind. She stared at him for several heartbeats, wondering if she
should
take this opportunity to run. His blue gaze narrowed slightly.

Don’t
, he added, mind-voice more forceful this time.