Freaks Under Fire (23 page)

By now, his hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly his fingers ached, and his pits were damp with sweat. He saw no sign of the gray Accord but just to be sure, he cruised past the parking building entrance, his gaze darting every which way.

So far, so good. Tyler doubled back, pulled up to the entrance and keyed in the code Jay had given him. The instant the barrier arm raised, he gunned the engine and zipped inside, out of sight. Only when he’d parked the SUV did he relax—if slumping over the steering wheel and sucking in deep breaths while stars cavorted in his headspace could be considered “relaxing”. Man, coming down from an adrenaline high was a bitch.

Brum had scrambled into the front seat as soon as the SUV had stopped moving. Tyler couldn’t recall when the pup had crawled into his lap but he was there now, whining and nuzzling Tyler’s arm.

Tyler fondled the pup’s ears. “Sorry, Brum. It got a bit hairy back there, didn’t it?” He secured the pup’s lead to his collar, and scooped Brum into the crook of his arm before yanking the keys from the ignition. “But we lost our tail, so we did good, eh, boy.”

Brum yipped and licked Tyler’s chin, so he took that as an agreement. Juggling Brum, Tyler climbed from the SUV and went around back to grab his art stuff from the trunk. Jay had clued him in that it was best to carry the pup until clear of the parking building. Brum had a habit of trying to chase off any moving vehicles inside the building, and Jay believed he considered this level of the building part of his territory—he never made a fuss about moving vehicles once they’d exited the building. It would take a while to break him of the habit, Jay had said, so best carry him for now.

Tyler had shouldered his art bag and was grappling with the squirmy pup, who’d decided the rear luggage compartment of the SUV needed investigating, when the back of his neck prickled. He got a reeeally strong “Oh, shit” sensation as he slammed the luggage compartment door, and whirled so fast his art bag etched the air with a wonky arc before smacking his thigh.

The yelp strangled in his throat. It was her. The woman from the café. Marg—though if that was her real name he’d eat his boxers.

“Hello, Tyler.”

He decided to play it cool… and hoped she didn’t notice him swallowing more than once before he could speak. “Marg. Long time, no see.”

One eyebrow quirked upward. “Sorry if I startled you.”

She didn’t appear sorry in the least if the slight curve of her lips and the amusement glinting in her eyes were any indication.

“What do you want?” With any luck his bluntness might provoke a reaction, something he could use to his advantage. Because he was painfully aware his superior weight and inch or so of height gave him no edge whatsoever over this lean, whipcord of a woman, who shrieked badass from her cropped head to the toes of her black street sneakers.

“If that amateur display back there is anything to go by,” she drawled, her tone as relaxed as the hands held loosely at her sides, “then you know I’ve been following you.”

Her easy stance didn’t fool him one iota but he’d play her game for now. He gave her his best neutral face. “You’re the one telling the story,” he said.

Something glinted in those cold gray eyes. Respect, perhaps? Before he could confirm either way, Brum launched from his arms, literally hurling himself at Marg… who reacted instantly, snatching the pup before Brum could fall to the concrete, and cradling him in her arms.

Brum gave a happy-sounding series of barks and climbed up Marg’s chest to lick her face. It crossed Tyler’s mind that now would be an excellent time to toss the leash he still held in Marg’s face, dive back into the SUV and hightail it out of there. He didn’t believe her concern for Brum’s wellbeing had been faked—she didn’t strike him as the kind of shitty excuse for a human being who’d take her frustrations out on a puppy. Brum would be okay. And Jay…. Surely Jay would understand why Tyler had left Brum behind.

His shoulders slumped, the breath huffing from his lungs in a sigh. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t leave Brum to save himself. He unwound the leash from his wrist and released it, leaving it to dangle at Marg’s feet. She had just gotten herself two bargaining chips instead of one.

Those steely gray eyes observed Tyler as she gently but firmly fended off Brum’s exuberant advances. “Good decision. The concrete surface isn’t very forgiving. You might have gotten hurt when I took you down.”

“Or I might have made it to the SUV and reversed over your ass,” he said.

“That, too. But I doubt you’d have tried that while I was holding this little guy.” She smooched the top of Brum’s head and the pup wriggled with delight.

Tyler raised one eyebrow, mimicking her early expression. “And
I
doubt you’d have stood there and risked Brum getting hurt. Yourself, maybe. But a puppy? No way. You’d have either dived out of the way, or thrown him to safety.”

“We’ll never know, will we?”

“Guess we won’t.” Weary of the banter he asked again, “What do you want, Marg?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“Well, duh.” Now he had made the decision not to fight and to see this encounter through, Tyler felt surprisingly calm—calm enough to manage an eye-roll. “You’ll have to get in line—she’s always been popular in certain circles. But if you know anything at all about Jay, you have to realize that when she catches up with you—and she will—it’s not gonna be pretty.”

Marg lowered Brum to the floor, but made no other move. She stood there, observing Brum’s antics with a smile, completely unconcerned when the pup tangled the leash around her ankles. A car cruised past them, provoking Brum to bark something crazy and lunge to the end of his lead, and she knelt to soothe the pup, distracting him from the big bad noisy thing invading his territory and threatening his humans.

Tyler hid a wave of relief. He’d called it right: Marg really did have a soft spot for Brum. Which meant the chances she was some psycho who was gonna do something horrible to Jay’s puppy to prove a point, were slim to none. Time to try to salvage something from this situation. “Why so cloak ’n dagger about the photo?” he asked. “Why not front up face to face, and say what you have to say, instead of staking out Jay’s place ’n stuff? She’s not the sort to shoot first and ask questions later.”

At least, not where humans were concerned. Sixer, however, was another matter.

Tyler’s brain chose that moment to do a total freak-out over Jay’s continuing silence, and it took him a moment to corral the unpleasant and downright scary What-ifs skittering through his mind. Realizing he’d missed Marg’s response, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Marg pushed to her feet. “I said, ‘What photo?’”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Tyler groaned. How could he have been so wrong about who’d left the damned photo? Marg was right: He was an amateur. Which meant it was back to the drawing board.

“So if
you
didn’t leave the photo of Beta at Allen’s for Jay,” he muttered, “then who the fuck did?”

It was her utter stillness—a stillness oozing menace—that finally cued Tyler he was on dangerous ground. He silently cursed his dumbass mouth while he scrambled for some way to regain the upper hand. In the end, unable to bear the weight of her laser-stare he said, “Tell me what you want with my girlfriend.”

He had time to register the purr of a motor before Brum went ballistic, barking and lunging to the limit of his leash. Marg’s head snapped around and then, without looking at Tyler, she thrust the leash at him. “Get in the car, Tyler. Now.”

He opened his mouth to ask a really pertinent question, like, “What the fuck is going on?” but Marg was shoving him toward the SUV and yelling, “Get in and stay down!” and then all hell broke loose and something whined past him and— Shit! That was a freaking bullet! He knew he wasn’t mistaken because from the corner of his eye he’d seen a thumb-sized chip of concrete flying off the pillar one park down from the SUV. And then he turned his head in time to see Marg running and pulling a gun—a freaking gun!—from the rear waistband of her pants and… returning fire.

Tyler ducked, scooped up Brum, opened the car door and dived for the backseat. Thank God he hadn’t gotten round to locking the SUV because he would’ve been a sitting duck while fumbling in his pockets for the remote. He curled up in the space between the front and back seats with his art bag over his head, clutching Brum to his chest, hoping the pup would take the hint and quit barking, and praying a stray bullet wouldn’t find either of them. Or Marg. Because right now, she appeared to be the good guy in this nightmare.

The gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and Brum’s frantic barking eased to distressed whines. Tyler counted to sixty. A lifetime later, he peered over the backseat of the SUV. He squinted through the tinted rear window, but couldn’t see anyone.

At least, no one who was moving.

His mind shied from the implications of that thought, and he edged across the seat to the right passenger side window, and risked a glance outside.

Nothing.

He cracked the door, stuck his head out for a very quick look-see, and pulled it back in.

Ditto—no sign of the bad guys. Or Marg.

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, and the small pain helped him focus. He could sit here, cowering in the SUV, or he could man up and take a proper look. Skin crawling, imagining bullets ripping through him, he slid from the rear seat and closed the door quietly behind him. Last thing he needed right now was Brum doing a runner.

Pressing close to the SUV and keeping as low as possible, he circled the vehicle, gaze raking the gloomy interior of the parking building, paying particular attention to the areas cast in shadows from the pillars.

Still nothing.

He debated venturing further afield to look for Marg but commonsense won out. He didn’t know the woman from a bar of soap. Best get the hell out of here and try to contact Jay—
she’d
know what to do.

Feeling vaguely guilty for abandoning someone who’d tried to protect him, Tyler climbed into the driver’s seat and fished the keys from the back pocket of his jeans.

He jabbed the key into the ignition, and just as the engine roared to life, the rear passenger-side door opened and Marg climbed in. “Drive,” she said, cool as anything.

Tyler twisted in his seat, fully prepared to tell her he wasn’t going anywhere until she came clean, but she wasn’t paying him any attention. She was too busy shucking her top and wadding it into a ball to press against her ribcage… which was smeared with blood.

“You’ve been shot!” he blurted, shocked to his core, the pit of his belly roiling with a combination of horror that she was injured, and shame that he’d been about to take off and leave her.

“Go to the top of the class.” She glanced up, looked him straight in the eye, and damned if she didn’t bark a laugh. “Chill. It’s just a scratch.”

Yeah, riiight. “Scratches” didn’t bleed like that.

She clicked her fingers, crooned Brum’s name, and stretched out to allow the pup to crawl into her lap. “Are you gonna sit there like an idiot, or get us the hell out of here before someone else decides to take pot-shots at us?”

Tyler didn’t need to be asked twice. Answers could wait. He reversed, slammed the SUV in gear, and headed for the nearest exit. “Where to?”

“Soon as you exit, head right.”

Thank God
she
knew where they were going because he was too keyed up to accurately recall where the nearest ER or medical facility was right now. He’d have ended up driving in circles.

As soon as he’d merged into the traffic she said, “Feel up to a road trip?”

Tyler’s stomach swooped. He shot her a narrow-eyed “Don’t mess with me” glance in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think so. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m driving.”

“And very well, too.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll pull over and toss you out on your ass.”

Marg laughed. “You know, Tyler, I like you almost as much as I like your girlfriend’s dog. Which is why I’m going to put you out of your misery.”

His gut lurched at what could be interpreted as a not-so-veiled threat, but he resolutely kept his gaze front and center, refusing to play the game. He’d had enough of games.

She laughed again, but this time it had a sharper edge. “Relax. I’m going to tell you why I’m looking for your girlfriend.”

That was good. As Jay said, information was power.

“And then,” Marg said, “you’re going to tell me exactly what the hell you and your girlfriend did to piss off those guys back there.”

Tyler met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I have no fucking idea who those guys are.”

“Were.” Marg paused as if to let that chilling statement sink in. “Okay, we’ll play it your way,” she said. “Me first. My ward is a defective cyborg—”

Tyler jerked the steering wheel, causing the SUV to swerve out of his lane.

“—and I need your polar-opposite-of-defective cyborg girlfriend to fix her.”

Tyler quickly corrected and gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting to control his wildly beating heart. He blotted his clammy forehead with the back of his wrist. Shit. He sure hadn’t seen
that
coming.

When he was mostly sure he could speak without his voice cracking, he asked, “So, back to this road trip. Where are we headed, exactly?”

A huff of muted laughter drifted from the backseat. “Nice try. But here’s how it’s gonna work. Shortly we’ll be ditching this vehicle in case something is following us. And when we do, you can leave the cell phone you have in your back pocket in the glove compartment.”

Fuck. She’d noticed the phone. “It’s turned off,” he muttered, which was the truth because, dammit to hell, he’d been in such a hurry after leaving his last class of the day he hadn’t remembered to turn it on again.

Could cell phones be tracked when they were switched off? His brain was so fried he couldn’t remember but if it
was
possible, Jay was sure to know how to do it. He hoped.

And then he fixed on a particular word Marg had used and his stomach did that sick-making somersault thing again. He swallowed the bile that had surged up his throat. “Some
thing
?”