Trouble on Reserve (2 page)

“Takes too long to get back into the city that way,” he said, slowing suddenly to take a sharp right turn.

“Are you kidding me?” I shouted, hands going to grip the dash and door as he spun the little car onto a dirt road that looked as if it was made for donkeys, not beamers. “Trent, it’s got to be like a thirty-degree grade!” What was this? Some way to get back at me?

Trent had one hand clenched on the wheel, the other on the shifter. “Road less traveled.”

Okay, this was freaky weird, and I held on as he took the switchbacks, tires spinning on the gravel and the scrub and trees closing in over us. He was tense, preoccupied—thinking thoughts he wasn’t going to share with me. The headlights bobbed wildly, and I couldn’t even tell why they even
had
this road. It looked as if it went right up to Edden Park—if you could manage the climb.

“Trent!” I cried, eyes widening as the lights found a dip in the road the size of Manhattan.

Jaw tight, Trent swerved. The lights flashed into the scrub, then we bounced off the shoulder and back onto the road. Adrenaline flashed through me.

“Look out!” I yelled, wanting to point but afraid to let go. Someone was
in
the road. Someone was just standing in the middle of the
friggin’ road!

Trent slammed his feet onto the brakes. My head swung forward, and the seatbelt cut into me. The car spun a quarter circle, and with a harsh revving, the engine stalled.

The sudden quiet was like a slap. Heart pounding, I held the car door and dash, trying to figure out if we’d hit the guy.

“Don’t do this to me,” Trent breathed, almost frantic as he tried to get the engine to turn over, but the convertible was unhappy at being asked to be an off-road vehicle and refused to start.

The moon couldn’t make it through the trees. It was dark, and as the engine wined and the lights dimmed from the draw on the battery, I tried to see what happened to the guy in the road. I hadn’t felt a thump.

This is not a good place to be
. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but even though we were inside the city limits, we were a good five-minute walk from anything. And where was that man who had caused it all?

The hair on the back of my neck began to prick. “Stay in the car.” The seatbelt retracted, and I slung my bag over my shoulder and reached for the door. Trent, though, was already halfway out, his motions smooth with decision.

“Stay here,” he demanded, using that voice that usually got other people to do what he wanted. “Stay down.”

“Hey!” I exclaimed, affronted. “I’m the one doing security here. Trent!”

But he was gone, the door eased to a clicked shut.

Ticked, I shoved the door open and followed him out. Head up and eyes scanning, I dug in my shoulder bag for my splat gun. The road was silent under me, soft with loose soil. I was leaving footprints. The wind blew up from the river below. We were halfway between nothing and everything. Creeped out, I sent a sliver of my awareness out to tap the nearest ley line.

Energy eased into me, spilling along my synapses and neurons, gathering to a warm pool in my chi. I let it spill over and suffuse me until I spindled enough in my head to blow the top of my church. Heart pounding, I backed off before I accidently fried someone. “Trent!” I hissed. “Get back here!”

Thirty feet down the road, he turned to me, a black shadow among the gray. “I told you to stay in the car.”

Why in hell is he acting like this?
My eyes widened, and I jerked my arms up, gun pointed at the form rising up behind Trent. The faint moonlight caught a glint of light.
Turn take it--gun!

“Down!” I shouted.

Trent dove to the right and into the scrub. There was a flash of light and a pop of a silencer. My heart pounded, and a spike of satisfaction went through me even as Trent’s muffled cry came from the nearby ditch. He’d listened to me. The stupid billionaire had finally listened to me. I think it had just saved him a ton of hurt if not his life.

Stance firm, I stood in the middle of the road. The puff of air from my splat gun iced through me. But he was just out of my weapon’s range, and the splat ball hit and bounced off. It had the desired reaction, though, and the man ran into the woods.

Crap on toast, I was a sitting duck out here
. “Trent!” I shouted so he wouldn’t hit me with anything nasty. “You okay?” Frantic, I slid into the ditch and out of the sniper’s sights. Hard rocks pinched the soles of my shoes, and I put a hand out to slow my slide. Stones bit into my knuckles as I slid down, but I refused to let go of my gun. Above came the sound of someone shooting the tires out. It wasn’t a Glock, but that didn’t negate the possibility of Amos being responsible for this. But why kill the golden goose keeping your kid alive?
Unless there is a bigger nasty holding a knife to your throat.

My heart caught as I found Trent sitting at the bottom of the ditch. His eyes were pinched and he was holding his shoulder.
Shit, what if I got him killed?
“My God, are you okay?” I rushed as I crawled to him, trying to stay below the edge of the road. I jerked at the zing thud of another bullet imbedding itself into the dirt.

“I’m fine,” he said sourly, letting go of his shoulder to show me it was unmarked. “I landed wrong is all.”

Not believing him, I reached for his shoulder only to jerk back when a jump of energy flashed between us. My eyes darted to his, and I tightened my control. It hadn’t felt like our energies balancing, and my thoughts darted back to that static shock at the gate.

Oh, shit.
Feeling as if I’d been kicked, I sat back, stones jabbing into my butt. That hadn’t been a static shock from the keypad. Someone had tagged him. Not only had someone tagged him, but Trent knew it. That’s why this stupid, windy road. He had been trying to outrun them and get in a public place where they couldn’t act.

Trent grabbed my wrist, jerking my attention to him. “I’m fine,” he demanded, unaware I’d figured it out, but then he hesitated at my horrified expression. “What?

The pop of gunfire brought us both up. He was tagged all right. Every shot was going to the same patch of dirt, guided by whatever he picked up at the keypad. If we hadn’t been in a ditch, Trent would be dead.

“Stay down,” I said tightly. This was
exactly
why I didn’t do illegal stuff. Not being able to call on the I.S. or FIB for help sucked. “I thought you said you had some driving courses. Why in hell did you get out of the car!”

“Because there’s no roof and it stalled?” Trent said, refreshingly sarcastic. Crouching, he made a motion to look up out of the ditch. “Let go of the ley line. No magic.”

I looked at my splat gun. What did he want me to do? Talk them to death? “Beg pardon?”

The moonlight shown on his face, and he winced. “No magic. I can’t risk being placed here with Amos. The man I talked to tonight?”

“Are you kidding me?” I blurted, thinking back to the camera at the gatehouse. But knowing Trent, he’d already arranged to destroy the tapes if the camera had even been working at the time. “Damn it, Trent!” I shouted as another bullet buried itself in the dirt, the angle a little higher. “This is
exactly
why I don’t do illegal stuff!”

Irate, he looked out over the road. “I said I was sorry. I said it would never happen again. Can we talk about this later?”

I reluctantly tucked my splat gun away. If he didn’t want to be place here, I didn’t want to be placed here, and spells could unfortunately be traced back to their maker. “Stop looking up there,” I muttered, pulling him back. “And stay below the level of the dirt. You’ve been tagged.”

“I know.”

Shocked, I turned to him, reading his self-anger in the dim light. Satisfied he would stay put, I peeked over the edge. The man was rummaging around in the car. Most assassins worked in pairs.
Where’s the other guy?

Breath held, I eased back into the ditch. I had to get my splat ball back. Minimize the damage. “That car isn’t registered to you, is it?”

“No, not really.”

I peered over the edge. The man was gone or waiting for us to poke our heads out. “Good, because it’s full of holes now.” The vehicle had probably been taken right off the line and put in his garage, completely untraceable thanks to money. “I work best when I know what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing to know. I think we should just leave.”

There was the bare brush of presence beside me, and I turned to find him gone. Frustration edged out my anger. “Trent!” I whispered, stumbling as I followed him into the steep woods. “Assassins travel in pairs. Will you stop wandering off! I can’t do my job if you’re too far ahead!”

My splat ball was still out there somewhere. Everyone knew I used them. Hesitating, I turned back to the road, weighing the chance it might be missed against me running into the assassin.

A soft grunt and scuffle spun me around. In the scrub just off the road, two figures grappled.

Adrenaline slammed into me. Springing forward, I pulled on the ley line until the tips of my hair began to float. With a soft cry, Trent spun, hitting the man’s wrist perfectly. Swearing, the man dropped the gun, only to wind his arm around Trent’s neck instead. It was a hold to contain, not kill, and I slid to a halt, not helpless, but if I hit the man with a ley line, Trent would take it, too.
He isn’t trying to kill him. Then why the tag?
The thought niggled, but I couldn’t give it any attention. Trent was in the man’s grip, fighting to breathe.

I ran forward, dancing back when Trent tried to lever his attacker over his head, but the man was twice his weight and the hill was working against him. Struggling, Trent slammed his elbow into the man’s middle, and still he held on.

“Some help here?” Trent wheezed.

Frowning, I made fists of my hands. “Don’t move.”

“Urgh . . . Rachel!” Trent sputtered as I found my balance. I was wearing these dumb shoes. This was going to hurt.

“Haaaaaeah!” I screamed, putting everything I had behind a crescent kick. It hit the man’s temple perfectly, a spike of pain radiating up my foot as I connected. Breathless, I stood with my weight all on my left foot, right foot throbbing. “Wait for it,” I said as Trent desperately dug at the man’s grip, still tight around his neck.

With a soft sigh, the man fell backward, dragging Trent down with him. They hit with a thud. For an instant, Trent blinked up at me, then he shoved the man’s arm off him.

Scrambling to his feet, Trent tugged his suit straight. “That was a little close, wasn’t it?” he rasped as he felt his neck.

I was still riding the adrenaline high of having saved Trent, and I crouched to feel for the man’s pulse. This wasn’t Mr. Glock. My foot hurt, and I kept my weight off it as I rose. “You’d rather I use my fist and have to explain to Ivy why she has to cut my steak?” Trent was silent, and I stood on one foot and rubbed the other. We needed to go. We’d find nothing if I searched the man. “He’s out. Let’s go. I can get that tag off you, but I need some time.”

“You want to just leave him here?”

“He’s not going to go to the I.S. and file assault charges. He failed. He’ll be lucky if his employer lets him live.” It wasn’t as if we could kill him. Hesitating, I thought about his arm wrapped around Trent’s neck. No. We couldn’t kill him, even if I wanted to.

“Perhaps you’re right.” With a surprising amount of grace, he climbed the steep ditch and scrambled out onto the road. He didn’t seem to be worried about the tag. Maybe he’d neutralized it himself.

Depressed, I looked for an easier way up. “Damn it, Trent, who did you piss off now?” I complained as I found a way to the top.

Trent was coming back from the car, his head down. “I’m sorry,” he said as he handed me my unbroken splat ball. “I don’t know what’s going on. I think there’s a restaurant half a mile up. We can get a cab. I’d feel better with people around us.”

Oddly enough, I would too. Whoever had targeted him wanted it to be in a dark alley, not where there were witnesses.

Without another word, he left the car behind and began hoofing it up the steep, winding road. I hastened to follow, dropping the splat ball he’d given me in my bag where it wouldn’t spell me if it broke. “Trent, who’s been most active with the death threats lately?”

His posture was bent as he labored up the hill. “Nothing sticks out.”

“Nothing sticks out?” I came even with him, pulse fast. “Look, there’s someone else out here. Assassins always travel in pairs.”

He looked sideways at me. “Why do you think I abandoned the car?”

Why do you think I abandoned the car?
I mocked in my thoughts, then quashed it. “Let me call Ivy,” I prompted. “She can pick us up. Who knew you’d be at the marina tonight? Who knows the number you’d hit on the keypad?”

He was silent. The crickets had resumed their chorus, and I heard a boat hoot on the river. “Quen? Ellasbeth?”

His pace bobbled, and I pounced on it.

“You told Ellasbeth?” I said, aghast. “For God’s sake, why?”

“She wanted to see the boat, but this isn’t her. I don’t know who it is, but it isn’t her.”

He was lying. The question was if he was lying to me, or himself. The faint moonlight glinted on a webbing across the road, and we drew up short when we found the chain-link fence. It was stretched right across the road. Thirty feet above, a paved road ran perpendicular to it. Seeing the cut someone had made in the links, I pulled it aside so Trent could go through. “It’s not like you to be this blind,” I said softly.

“She’s the mother of my child.”

But he didn’t seem to be happy when he said it, and I looked at him, the fence between us. “Exactly. ” How could something as wonderful as Lucy stem from someone as nasty as Ellasbeth? “She’s going to fight for full custody, even if it means taking you out.”

Grimacing, Trent bent the fence inward for me. “As long as I’m single, she has a chance to have it all. Killing me now would serve no purpose.”

I slipped through, my eyes on the nearby roadway. Thirty feet, and we’d be back in civilization. “Car,” I said, seeing the light on the trees before hearing the engine. “You want me to flag them down?”