“Yeah, he has that effect on most women.” Glesenda wore an amused expression.
Not quite this effect, Ruby bet. Her chest was so tight she had to push out the words. “That’s Cyntag, the one with the dragon tat?”
“Sure is. Total hotness,” she said on a sigh.
Sure, if you were into men who sent murderous orbs. The hefty guy pretended to sneak up behind Cyntag, who twisted, hooked the other guy’s neck with the curved handle of the cane, and sent him flat on the mat in a flash. Unscathed, Hefty jumped to his feet and tried another attack, which was quickly thwarted with a pseudo-whack of the cane to his head. She watched, mesmerized by the stealthy grace of Cyntag’s movements, the way his muscles flexed, and how damned fast he was.
“You can listen in, too.” Glesenda pressed a button and then ran in five-inch heels to answer the phone.
Cyntag’s voice came through the speaker. “The next counterattack we’ll demonstrate is an assailant in a face-to-face assault.”
Yes, the low, smooth voice she’d heard on the message.
Ready to take more abuse, Hefty tried to punch Cyntag and ended up with his arm locked behind him and the cane shoving him to the floor.
Cyntag extended his hand and effortlessly pulled Hefty to his feet. “Thanks, Stephen.” He raised the cane over his head, which tightened his biceps, and addressed his class. “Looks like a sign of disability or old age, right? If I’m looking for a victim, you’re an easy target. Or maybe not. If you’ve got one of these, you have the ability to fight off an attacker with force. At all times, you can carry a weapon right out in the open, no permit needed.”
At that moment, Cyntag started to look her way. Ruby moved out of view, her fingers so tight on the frame around the window that she had to pry them off. Her hands were shaking as she passed the desk where Glesenda was on the phone with someone who was obviously calling in sick. Ruby glanced at a clock. Forty-five minutes before class ended.
She’d laid her eyes on him, all right. What was she going to do about it? The only way to take him out—if she could—was to shoot him from a distance, but that wouldn’t glean any answers. She was as desperate for them as she was for revenge. Maybe something here would help.
She passed a sign that read OBSIDIAN ROOM. This room bore no window. Too bad, because disturbing sounds emanated from behind the closed door. She tried the handle, ready to act contrite at interrupting.
Except, no deal. The door was locked. The thumps and growls coming from within were muffled, as though the walls were somewhat soundproofed. Those primal growls raised chill bumps on her arms. But more than that, they reached deep inside and twisted at her insides.
She rubbed her arms and wandered into the shop, pretending to look at fighting sticks, canes, and uniforms. Until she spotted a closed door with the words EMPLOYEES ONLY on it.
She pushed it open, prepared once again to feign innocence if she found someone on the other side. It appeared to be a break room and, fortunately, vacated. A door at the other end was ajar, and she could see a desk. Maybe Cyntag’s office. Inside, a contemporary desk was juxtaposed with more antiques, like framed compasses and maps that looked as though they’d traveled on many a high sea. No pictures of friends, family, or a special vacation. A collection of dragon figurines lined the top shelf of the bookcase, each locked in combat with either another of its kind or a man wielding a sword. Dude had a thing for dragons.
Ruby caught herself scratching the damned rash again and closed the door. She sank into the leather chair at the desk and searched for any clue to who Cyntag was and what he was involved in. Anything incriminating would be documented with her camera phone. She’d rifled through four drawers, finding nothing out of the ordinary, when the door opened. Her heartbeat shot straight up into her throat as she turned.
Because of course it had to be Cyntag standing there.
Chapter 4
Cyntag stepped inside and closed the door, his eyes narrowing. Cold dread washed over Ruby. How in the hell had he known she was here? He was supposed to be teaching. And she was sure that he hadn’t seen her. She launched to her feet and slid out from behind his desk. Every excuse or bluff fled her mind.
Thankfully he spoke before anything dumb could roll out of her mouth. “Ruby, right? Ruby Salazaar?”
The blood drained from her face. He knew her. Keep cool and answer him. She swallowed what felt like a ball of sand.
No. Yes. What’s it to you? What came out was, “Yeah?” Brilliant, Ruby.
He stepped forward, reaching for her. Her street-smart instincts kicked in. Mon had taught her to look for a defensive weapon in her surroundings. At the yard, she could always lay her hand on a shard of metal or a screwdriver.
Her fingers touched a silver letter opener as he brushed past her and plucked a cell phone from the desk just as it began playing Queen’s “We Are the Champions.” He ignored the call, and the song stopped.
Since she already had her hand on the letter opener, she went with it, pulling it out of the leather cup and rubbing the curves of the silver dragon handle. “It’s beautiful. Very detailed, even down to the talons.” She wasn’t used to going for the gun; if she had, she’d have blown it for sure by overreacting.
What’s wrong with you? Cool and calm, calm and cool.
Not working. Her rash felt as though it were on fire.
Cyntag eyed the letter opener, obviously nobody’s fool. “And very sharp. I’ll take that.” He tugged it from her reluctant grasp but didn’t return it to the cup. “Moncrief finally sent you to me then?” He glanced around. “He didn’t come with you?”
“He’s dead.” Which you know, considering you killed him. The words burned up her throat and singed her tongue. The rage, she could hardly hold it back.
Cool and calm, calm and cool, damn it.
His eyebrows, shaped like sleek raven’s wings, settled into a furrow. “Moncrief is dead? How?”
“You sent an orb, some kind of lightning thing, to kill him. Don’t play dumb with me.” The words boiled out. So much for cool and calm. “He said your name. I asked him who had done it, and on his dying breath, he said your name.” Now she’d accused him. He would have to act, defend…or kill her. She pulled the gun from her back and leveled it at him, because the latter option was most likely.
An odd expression flickered across his face. “Ruby, what are you doing?”
Losing her mind, that’s what. Her heart thudded roughly in the area of her diaphragm, which was weird because that’s not where it resided. She grabbed his phone and thumb-dialed her number with the same hand that held it. Her brief outgoing message played, then the beep. She shoved it toward him with her other hand. “Say your name and admit it. Admit you had him killed.”
He was eerily cool, the way she should have been. “I didn’t kill Moncrief.”
“He said you did.”
“I don’t think he said that, Ruby.” God, the way he said her name, slow and smooth, like thick honey. “You obviously saw an orb kill him. You were upset, scared. Like you are now.”
She pushed the gun closer. “I’m not scared. I’m pissed. I know how to use this. I hit the center of the target nine times out of ten.”
“Impressive. Are you shaking like this while you’re aiming?” In a flash, he turned her around, shoved her arm aside, and tightened his grip on her wrist. His arms encircled her, his bare skin brushing against her arms.