Page 43 of Heart and Soul
“Nick Gorgeous. He just ordered me to take time off.”
“Something happened.”
I peck rapidly on my phone.
Me: What happened?
Nick: Find somewhere with protective wards. Stick your head in the sand.
Me: Is this about last night?
Nick: Your welcome, btw. Hope you like your man meat well done.
My heart stops. What the hell’s he mean by that?
“Shit,” Hillerman hisses. She hurries down the steps.
I look up from my phone and gasp at the sight of Jay’s car as it pulls up. The entire back end is charred black, and the windows are blown out. When Jay steps onto the curb, he matches the car. One side of his face is red and black. His clothes are torn. Lips bleeding. He winces in pain with every little movement. Russo slams the passenger door. “Car bomb,” he says. “Parked right behind us at the crime scene.”
Hillerman pulls her firearm. “Get him inside. Were you followed?”
“Maroon El Camino. See ’em there?”
One block down, an El Camino—the same maroon El Camino that chased us out of East Side last year—slows to a crawl as it turns a corner. Three huge guys are packed in the front seat, glaring at us. Hanging out the passenger window is that hairy bear of a man—the silverback wolf. Grinning, he makes a gun of his fingers and points it at Jay.
I feel paralyzed. I haven’t moved—haven’t breathed—since Jay pulled up. I want to throw my arms around his neck, but that would hurt him. I want to run after those East Side maniacs, tear their throats out, but my feet are rooted to the spot. The silverback has spotted me. His jeering smile gives way to bared teeth. I feel his growl in my bones, and I’m forced to look down in submission.
Tears of frustration are wrung from my eyes. In my heart, I feel that I’m not afraid of him, but my underworld instinct—the fox biology in my nervous system—completely overrides my senses with a flight instinct. I’m useless.
The El Camino turns the corner, out of sight, but not out of mind. Never again out of mind, not until I catch that silverback bastard and put a silver bullet in his brain. I vow it.
Jay’s arm snakes around my waist. He crushes me to him.
“Careful, you’re hurt, you’re…toasted.” Tenderly, I touch the bright red swells on his neck. I wipe black soot from his face.
“Not to alarm you,” Russo says heartily, “but he should be dead.”
I swipe at him. “Yes, Russo, thatdoesalarm me, you asshat. How can you be smiling right now?”
“Because, this is Brenner we’re talking about. He has what can only be described as a supernatural tolerance for pain. You would not believe the beatings I’ve seen this man take. Ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you that Jay Brenner simply cannot be killed!”
I nearly choke on the glut of gypsy superstition that suddenly lodges in my throat. “Are you insane? Go find some hard wood and knock your fat head against it!”
“All right,” Jay murmurs against my forehead. He squeezes me gently. “All right.”
“We can’t stay in the open,” Hillerman reminds us.
Russo follows her up the marble steps. With awe, he says, “Special Agent Charlotte Hayes. I’m still not over it.”
“Only my friends call me Charlotte.”
“Oh, but I thought you didn’t have any friends,” I quip.
“Exactly.”
Russo claps his hands together with a chuckle. “Keeping your distance, I get it. I not only get it, but I need it. If you don’t keep me at a distance, there’s no telling how close we’ll get, because I got no brakes when it comes to you.”
Hillerman whirls on him with a death stare. Russo stops, and even though he’s two steps below her, their faces are nearly level with each other. He meets her dagger eyes with an easy calm. “No disrespect intended. What I meant to say is, what should I call you?”
