Too nervous to care what she bought, Grace shakily lifted a plastic replica of the Empire State Building. After she paid for it, she gripped the bag and walked with Darius to the door. Her stomach had yet to settle.
"Good choice," he said, motioning to the small building. "Use the tip as a weapon if you must. Jab his eyes."
Jab his eyes? Grace gulped. I should have bought a snow globe . She didn't mind using Mace; that was a spray, for God's sake. But using a model of the Empire State Building, the centerpiece of Manhattan, to blind a human being…
I'm just a flight attendant on extended leave , she thought dazedly. I do not jab people .
Darius must have sensed her unease because he stopped just before they stepped outside. Facing her, he said, "I would leave you here if I could, but the binding spell does not permit it."
"Having a conversation with this person really isn't necessary." Even to her own ears, she sounded timid, and she winced. She didn't want Darius injured or in trouble with the law. "I've seen enough movies and read enough books to know that sometimes the safest course of action is to retreat."
"And sometimes the safest course of action is the wrong one."
"When I asked you to help me find Alex, I never meant to place you in danger."
His features softened at her admission, but that flash of guilt was back. "This man might have information about your brother. He could be the one who followed him through the jungle, the one who locked him away. Do you really want to let him go?"
"No," she said quietly. Then more firmly, "No."
"I will be safe. And so will you."
"Let's use violence as a last resort, though. Okay?"
A long, protracted silence enveloped them. "As you wish," he said reluctantly. "In return for that concession, I want you to stay behind me. And do not speak again until I give you permission. You will distract me otherwise."
Resisting the urge to link her fingers through his, she followed him into the sunlight. A warm breeze greeted them as they began stalking forward. At first she thought Darius meant to lead their tail to a private ally, but her warrior didn't even try to pretend ignorance. He approached the man clad in a brown trench coat who was standing in front of a store window pretending to look inside. At maternity dresses? Puh-lease.
Watching their reflections, the man realized Darius meant to grab him. He stiffened, gasped and jolted into motion, running from them as fast as his booted feet could carry him.
"Run, Grace," Darius called over his shoulder, as he, too, started running.
An invisible force wrenched her behind Darius, forcing her body into action. Her feet barely touched the ground as she flew, literally flew, after him. Damn this binding spell!
Darius followed the man through traffic lights and around cars, past people and over commerce tables. Irritated grunts and surprised screams echoed in her ears, blending with the sound of her own panting. Was that a police siren? Air burned her lungs. She clutched the plastic Empire State Building as they ran on and on.
If this kept up, she just might be a luscious size six by the end of the month.
When Darius finally came within arm's reach, he grabbed his target by the neck, quickly cutting off any screams of protest. Using only one hand, he lifted the man up and carried him into a nearby alley. There, he dropped him, watching the flailing man fall onto his butt and scramble to the wall. Darius crossed his arms over his chest, daring him to make a move.
Behind them, Grace huffed and puffed to a standstill, then hunched over, gasping for breath. If she survived the day, she was going to treat herself and Alex to a triple dip hot fudge sundae. Or perhaps a banana split. Or maybe fresh doughnuts dripping with chocolate glaze. Maybe all three. She straightened and saw several men huddled against the brownstone wall. Their clothes were threadbare, and their faces dirty and scared. Did they think they would have to face Darius next?
Forcing a smile, Grace handed one of the men her Empire State Building-she was not jabbing anyone today-and reached into her wallet. She withdrew several bills. At the sight of cash, the alley men lost all interest in Darius.
"For you," she said, paying them to go away and keep this "their little secret." I'm aiding and abetting a criminal , she thought, an unexpected wave of excitement crashing inside her.
Excitement? No, surely not. skiing in Aspen hadn't excited her. Paragliding in Mexico hadn't excited her. Most likely what she felt so intently was fear. Any second she expected the police to show up and haul her and Darius away.
"I'll scream."
The threat came as the man pushed to his feet.
Both of Darius's brows winged up. A sheen of sweat glistened on his neck and face, but his expression did not portray a hint of weakness. "Are you a woman, then?" he said. "First you hide in the shadows, and when you are caught, you scream?"
"You lay a single hand on me, the cops will be all over you."
Darius grabbed him by the shoulders, angling his wrists in a crisscross and pressing his knives subtly into the man's carotid artery. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting.
That's when Grace received her first good look at the man. Shock held her frozen for a long while. "Patrick?" she said when she finally found her voice. This man worked with her brother; he'd even escorted her to the boat, and had engaged her in several conversations about her family afterward. "What's going on? Why were you following me?"
Silence.
"Answer her questions," Darius demanded. When Patrick still refused to speak, Darius increased the pressure of the blades, making small pricks and drawing blood.
"You won't kill me," he said smugly.
"You're right. I won't kill you. Not with blades, at least." Darius dropped his weapons and wrapped his hands around the man's neck.
"I-I wasn't following her. I swear," Patrick sputtered, his face slowly fading from pink, to white, to blue. He kicked and clawed, losing his smugness with his need for air.
Eyes wide, she glanced from Darius to Patrick, from Patrick to Darius. Intimidation was a good tactic for getting what they wanted, but she knew Darius wasn't trying to intimidate. He really would kill Patrick without a single qualm.
"You are lying, and I do not like liars," Darius said, his voice so bored he could have been commenting on the mating habits of flies. But then his eyes slitted and his voice deepened, no longer dripping with boredom, but with rage. "I recognize you. You are the one who touched Grace while she was sleeping."
Patrick's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "No, no," he gasped, struggling to loosen Darius's grip. "I didn't."
"I watched you do it," he said, his teeth bared.
Were those fangs? She shivered as she stared at the long, sharp incisors. Then their words sank into her brain. "He touched me?" she gasped, hands anchoring on her hips. To Patrick, she ground out, "Which part of me?"
"Your cheek," Darius told her.
Her jaw gnashed in fury.
"You couldn't have watched me," Patrick said to Darius. "You weren't on the boat."
No, he hadn't been on the boat, but then, Darius hadn't needed to be. He'd used his medallion on her like he'd done to Alex, she realized, not liking that he'd seen her and she hadn't known.
Patrick made a gargled sound, and his battle for freedom intensified. His legs flailed, and his hands slashed.
"Were we in my home," Darius said, "I would have your hands removed for such an offense."
"I didn't hurt her," Patrick squeaked. "You know I didn't hurt her."
"Wrong again," Darius said. A flash of green scales pulsed over his skin. "You touched my woman. Mine. For that alone I want to kill you."
Grace's heart stopped. Literally stopped, suspended in her chest. Which should she react to first? The scales or the "she is my woman" statement? Neither, she decided. Only Alex mattered right now. Not her shock at the fact that there were actually dragon scales under Darius's skin, and certainly not her unwanted joy at his words.