Page 28 of Heir of Ashes

Logan was shaking his head even before I finished talking. “If one of us tried hitting them with anything that wasn’tforged in any of the other worlds, we’d have disrupted the salt binding and made them deadlier. Besides, I didn’t mean that literally. Didn’t you notice their armor?”

I had. “And if the guardians had a drop of my blood?” I asked quietly.

Logan’s lips tightened. “Mr. Drammen accomplished exactly what he had planned to accomplish, with or without the blood. He has a connection to the Leeway no one else has. He doesn’t need the blood sample to send anything after you. Apparently, he doesn’t want you dead.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “He already tried to kill me once, back in the motel. With the Bad Boy Team.”

“No. If he wanted you dead, he’d have summoned stronger guardians, ones that carry weapons like swords and axes, and they would have been physically present.”

His certainty gave me the impression that this wasn’t his first encounter with a guardian.

“You’ve fought them before,” I guessed.

“Sort of,” he said. There was an edge to his tone I couldn’t decipher. “I was present when two guardians—armed ones—attacked someone I knew.”

“You won?” I prompted.

“I survived. But they were never after me. They were focused only on their target. It was vicious and fast.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, but the grief and guilt in his tone were unmistakable.

We lapsed into silence after that. I pulled a brown sweater that smelled freshly of soap from my duffel and slipped it over the oversized t-shirt. Although I looked silly in the brown sweater, pink flannel pants, and black boots, I was at least warm.

Not having much else to do, I marveled at how banged up I was. The bruise on my face was gone, but my back, fromshoulder to tailbone, was a tapestry of black and blue, as I had discovered after my shower. If it weren’t for Remo’s ward and the hard slam against the glass bar, my ribs and back would have healed already.

In fact, my shoulder and the black burning bruise on my forearm—courtesy of the guardians—were what pained me the most. Even my previously charred hand wasn’t giving me any trouble, though it still looked hideously deformed.

All in all, I looked like I’d taken a turn with a mild tornado.

“I couldn’t find any matches with the descriptions you gave me last night,” Logan said, and there was that edge again. I angled myself to look at him, but I wasn’t sure if it was grief I heard or something else. “I called in some favors long overdue, and I got three names that weren’t listed: Elizabeth M. Deninsky, Elizabeth Whitmore Longlan, and Liz Beth Anthony Whitmore. Any ring a bell?”

“No.”

Logan’s lips thinned in annoyance, or maybe disappointment. “Unfortunately, my source couldn’t get any photos of these three, or personal information, except for their mailing addresses.” He shot me a quick glance and continued. “One lives in Hollywood Park, another in the Sierra Oak Vista, and the third in Midtown Sacramento. We’ll check them all as soon as we arrive.”

I nodded, but my throat had gone dry. I used to live in Hollywood Park. Could it be? Could she still live near our old house, in the same neighborhood—waiting—hoping for me to come back?

Hope, so long dead, flickered inside me, igniting back to life. I wanted to squelch it, afraid of a disappointing surprise, but excitement kept the spark alive, eager for a lead after ten years. The sooner we checked them, the faster I’d know.

Logan must have mistaken my silence for doubt because he added in a reassuring tone, “We’ll find her. I promise you, Roxanne. If she’s not any of those three, we’ll broaden the search for the entire state. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go even broader. We’ll keep searching until we find her, even if we have to scour the entire world.”

We drove a straight ten minutes before the silence was broken again. “You know, the Society is bound to be watching her. Even if she’s not any of the three, they’ll probably keep tabs on them for the simple fact that they bear similar names, in case you ever show up. They’ve probably watched the footage from Las Vegas too, and if they’re half as smart as they advertise, they’ll have figured you’re heading that way anyway.”

I nodded, ignoring the ball of fear that curled inside me. “Tell me something about my father.”

“He was a—son of a bitch.”

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He cursed again, and when I followed his narrow gaze, I understood. An SUV was parked sideways up ahead, blocking the road. They had found us.

Logan slammed on the brakes hard and spun the steering wheel, executing a smooth one-eighty. The Range Rover squealed, barely losing any traction before he floored the gas pedal, sending us racing back the way we had come. I twisted in my seat to watch the SUV pursue us, but it remained where it was, blocking the street. Puzzled, I turned back in time to see a second SUV slide sideways on the road, cutting off our escape. I jolted with fear and braced my right hand on the dashboard.

Boxed. It was the only word playing inside my head. We were trapped. A sharp pop echoed through the air and the car lurched to the right, followed by a hissing noise. The long barrel of a gun protruded from the rear window of the SUV ahead, butwhat made my heart hammer was the emblem on its door—the PSS insignia. Another pop sounded, followed by more hissing.

“They’re shooting the tires!” Logan snarled, slamming the brakes, and bringing us to a stop. His eyes flicked between the two SUVs, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. They were far, but not far enough.No distance would ever be far enough.

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