A Gathering of Angels (6 page)

She struggled to sit. “I can’t—”

“You look like death.”

“Well, thank you.” Marcus gently applied pressure until she was prone, and once her head touched the flat pillow, exhaustion swept over her. She gave in and closed her eyes. “Marcus?”

“Right here.”

“Annie knows about me—what I am.”

Warm, calloused fingers brushed across her forehead, continuous, soothing.

“Yes, sweet, she knows.”

“Does she—hate me?”

His fingers paused, slid down to cradle her cheek.

“She misses you.”

Tears stung Claire’s eyes, lodged in her throat. “And you?”

His lips pressed against her forehead, and he whispered, his breath warm on her skin.

“You left a hole in my heart.” She opened her eyes, tears slipping free. The gold-laced green eyes she remembered so well met hers. “An ache that refused to go away. I wanted to believe, as Annie did. But the hope hurt almost more than the grief. I never believed in miracles, Claire. Until I saw you.”

A door slammed in the station, and a raised voice filtered back to them. Claire gripped Marcus’ hand when she recognized it. “The chief is back.”

He eased himself out of her grasp. “Stay put. I will see how far I can get with him—her.” He shook his head and stood. “I will happily take a straight up demon over a dead witch bent on vengeance. No offense.”

“None taken, Jinn.”

Relief swept through her when he smiled, really smiled. “Ready yourself, both of you. If this ends badly, we may need to make a quick exit.”

“Marcus.” He paused just outside the cell. “Try not to piss him off.”

“Your command, milady.”

Claire watched him stalk through the doorway, six feet plus of simmering anger. She could no longer see the power that radiated from him, but his swagger told her he was going in guns blazing. Once he was out of sight she sat, easing her legs off the cot.

“Lea—I’m going to hunt down a spare key for that cell. Once you’re out, I want you to grab anything we may need. I have a feeling we’re going to be making a run for it.”

*

“
I
ordered you not to let anyone near her! Did I not tell you what would happen if—”

Marcus halted just inside the doorway, and the man whirled, one hand already raised. Dark energy burst out of his palm. Marcus dropped to the floor, feeling the heat of it scrape across his back. He crawled to the nearest desk, cursing all witches, and rolled on to his back. Pain flared at contact with the floor.

He despised ghosts—their simple presence hit any Jinn with a backwash of heat. A ghost who had power in life could become a real menace.

Footsteps pounded across the wood floor. Marcus pulled his legs up, not trusting an object the witch could turn back on him. When the first uniform clad leg appeared he kicked out.

A high-pitched scream bounced off the walls. The man collapsed, the gun that was in his hand skittering across the floor. Marcus lunged before he could recover, leading with his fist. The man’s head snapped back, and he crumpled. His badge caught the fluorescent light, confirmed Marcus’ suspicion. The chief.

Using the desk, he got to his feet, his back feeling scorched—and froze when he heard the distinctive click of a revolver being cocked.

“Hands up.” He closed his eyes briefly. He’d forgotten about the lanky female cop. “Now turn around. Slow.”

Obeying, he faced her. The heavy revolver in her hands shook. “All I want is to take my wife and—”

“She’s not your wife!” One hand wiped away the sweat on her face, clamped back on the revolver. “I checked the reports. She’s there, all right—listed as Claire Wiche. Single.”

Marcus had a ready lie. One she would not have time to check. “We were married just before—”

“Shut up!” Her finger convulsed on the trigger. Marcus stilled. That bullet would be poison for him. Deadly poison. “On the floor. Now!”

He could sense her panic, knew it took only a small jerk for her to pull the trigger, intentional or not. Slowly, he got to his knees, lowered himself to the floor. Metal pressed into the back of his neck.

“I should kill you, for daring to harm her.” The voice was different now, colder, the rhythm more affected, no longer the easy drawl. And heat whispered over his bare skin, promising more. “It would be so simple, so satisfying . . .” Her voice faded—and the barrel dug into him. “What are you, heathen? Why can’t I recognize—”

“Hey.”

The quiet voice spun her. And Marcus watched Claire smack the revolver out of her hands with something long and black. Without hesitating, Claire swung it back and clipped her jaw. The woman toppled backward.

“Marcus.” Claire held out her right hand. He pushed himself off the floor, picking up the revolver before he took her hand. “Lea is right behind me. Are you all right?”

“Better. Why do you ask?”

“The back of your jacket is scorched.”

“Courtesy of the chief.” Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Marcus felt the burn that reignited every time his shirt brushed over skin. “What in the gods name did you use to hit her?”

Claire flashed a smile. “Three-hole punch.”

Lea appeared behind her, carrying a blanket and a plastic bag. She looked better for what little healing he could offer. Once they found a safe place, he would finish. Then work on Claire, whether she agreed or not.

He took the hole punch from Claire, surprised by the weight of it, and set it on the desk. “Time for us to be gone.”

Leaving the cops free went against his better judgment, but he did not think they could afford the time. He led Claire and Lea out to the gravel parking lot—and halted when he saw a metal clamp on the front tire of his rental car.

“Let me guess,” Claire said, moving to his side. “That’s your car.”

“What is that monstrosity?”

“A boot. It’s a portable, effective way to keep you from taking your car—anywhere.” She let out a sigh. “It looks like we’re walking.”

“This way,” Lea said, and pointed to an unpaved road behind the police station. “Not many locals drive it after dark. No streetlights. As a bonus, I live down this way. If we can make it to my house, we can take my car and get the hell out of here.”

Marcus looked down at Claire’s bare feet. “You will not get far without shoes—”

“I’ll be fine. We need to move, Marcus, before they wake up.”

Keeping close to the building, they made their way to the narrow road. Marcus had them form a chain, both women holding hands. He kept his right hand free, the revolver weighting his jacket pocket. Fully expecting to carry Claire sooner rather than later, he split his attention between her and their surroundings.

Tall, thick oak trees lined the road, blocking any ambient light. Walking along the rough, hard packed edge, he understood why the locals avoided it. A driver would be on top of someone, or something, before they saw it. Right now, he appreciated the darkness, the camouflage it offered.

A sharp gasp from Claire had him turning. Before she could argue or object, he lifted her into his arms and kept moving.

“Put me—”

“You will only slow us. Lea, hold on to my arm, so we do not lose you.”

“Marcus—”

“Save your strength, Claire.”

“Are you done?” she said. He glanced down at her, seeing only the outline of her face, the glint of eyes he knew would be clouded with exhaustion. “I never thanked you—for coming up here, standing for me and for Lea.”

“Did you think I would do anything else?”

He could just make out her smile. “Lose the indignation, Jinn. After what you did for me in June, I will never question you again.” With a sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Was I really gone only three months? It felt like years.”

“As it did to us.” He kept his eyes on the road, wanting to press his lips to her forehead, explore the emotion that slipped through the widening cracks in his shield when he kissed her. “Lea, how far will we need to—”

Headlights splashed across the road, followed by a squeal of tires. Marcus lunged for the cover of the trees—and halted when he all but ran into a thick hedge that stretched at least a foot taller than him.

“Gods—Lea, get behind me, and stay there.”

He faced the road as the car—a dark van—skidded to a halt. Marcus eased Claire to the ground, pulled the revolved out of his jacket. The side door slid open. He stepped in front of Claire, aimed the revolver and braced himself for the attack.

SEVEN

“
S
top fidgeting, Annie.” Eric leaned over the seat and laid his hand on her bouncing knee. He pitched his voice so it would be heard over the whine of the plane engine. “We’ll get there.”

“You know Marcus. He’ll go charging in, all arrogance and self-righteous anger.”

He forced down his laugher. “And you know he’s smarter than that, even if you would never admit it to his face.”

Annie slumped in the seat and crossed her arms, her knees all but bumping her chin, those gorgeous, denim clad legs were so long. God help him, he loved her; loved all of her moods, her wicked humor, and the gleam in her eye every time she prepared herself to work magic. His own witch. He still had a hard time wrapping his mind around that. Somehow, she made it easier.

“You know,” she said, pushing hair off her face. “I really hate it when you’re right. And don’t you dare tell him. Ever.”

“Hand to God, blondie. He’ll never know.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, her tell that she was pulling out of her funk. “How much longer?”

Eric glanced back at Jeff, who held up one finger. “About an hour.”

“The car better be there.” She looked out the window. “I don’t want to deal with any more delays—”

“Annie.” He cupped her chin, nudged until she met his eyes. “Who do you think is up there?”

“I don’t—it doesn’t matter. Whoever it is needs help, so we’re going to help.”

Eric studied her face. She swallowed, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Are you still having the dreams?”

“No.
No
. Not since she—” Closing her eyes, she continued in a whisper. “Not since Claire saw me, said my name. They just—stopped.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Letting go, he squeezed between the seats and joined her on the narrow bench seat. She was already turning into him when he wrapped his arm around her. “I miss her, too. She left quite an impression.”

Annie let out a watery laugh. “That’s Claire. Impossible to forget. You know what I liked most about her? I could never put one over on her. No one ever saw
me
, just the smart mouth. But she got me, completely. I don’t want her to be dead—Marcus thinks that’s why I’ve been having the dreams. I can’t figure out why they just stopped.”

“You won’t want to hear this, but maybe the part of you that has been hanging on, the part causing the dreams, is ready to let go.”

With a sigh, she curled into him. “I’m just so tired, Eric. Tired of missing her, tired of being pissed at her for lying to me, tired of trying to live the same life. It shattered the minute she fell into that void. I don’t want to pick up the pieces anymore, and constantly rearrange them.”

“Sounds like you’re ready to start over.” He didn’t plan on doing it this soon, but it felt right. Letting her go, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black box.

Annie jerked backward, one hand covering her mouth. “Oh, God.” When he opened the box she dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking. “Oh, God—”

“Hey.” Appalled that he made her cry, Eric leaned in, brushed his hand over her blonde curls. “Annie, it’s okay—”

She lifted her head, and he blinked. She was laughing. “I’m sorry—it’s not—” She cleared her throat, caught his hand when he started to put the box away. “No, you don’t. This may not be the scenario I had in my head for the most important moment of my life, but with you, it’s the right one. The answer’s yes.”

Eric smiled, relief spreading through him. “I haven’t asked the question.”

“Details.” She held out her hand. “Give.”

“Not until I ask.”

“You don’t—”

He pressed one finger to her lips, enjoying the surprise that flared in those warm brown eyes. “I have been rehearsing this for days, and I am going to ask.” He traced his finger across her lips, then slid his hand up and cradled her cheek. “You came into my life when I thought I had nothing to live for, and made me realize I still did.” Letting out a shaky breath, he flipped open the box, the sapphire and amethyst ring sparkling against the black velvet. “I don’t remember what my life was like before I met you, and I don’t want a life without you.”

He turned the box, watched her eyes widen as she caught sight of the ring. They moved up to his face, tears making them luminous in the single overhead light.

“Eric—”

“I sold the clinic.”

One hand covered her mouth. “You didn’t—Eric, you love that clinic, all the animals you’ve treated for years—”

“I can open another one. It’s a good bet people have pets in Santa Luna.” He took her hand, eased it down so he could see her face. He needed to see her face when he spoke the next words. “Marry me, Annie.”

She nearly gave him a concussion when her enthusiastic embrace knocked him into the low ceiling. Her gentle kiss left him craving more—and eased the ache that hovered just below his heart since he left her behind.

“I’d say yes just to get that ring.” He laughed, leaning in for another kiss. She laid her hand on his chest, pushing him against the seat. “But the fact that I love you like crazy makes it even better.”

With those few words the ache disappeared.

He pulled the ring out of the box, lifted her left hand and kissed her ring finger. Annie let out a sigh, her fingers trembling in his grasp. When he slid the ring on her finger she leaned in until her forehead touched his, one fingertip brushing over the sapphire.

“It’s perfect. And it’s mine now—you’re not getting it back. Ever.”

“I’m good with that.” He framed her face. “I love you, Annie Sullivan. Now,” he kissed her. “And always.”

She crawled into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m good with that.”