“I didn’t hear that. Repeat,” I said.
“The pantry off the kitchen. There was a guy in the hall by the cafeteria exit.”
“Shit.”
The call dropped again. So frustrating! I started focusing, trying to picture Bubba in my mind. I could almost do it, but damn, it was hard. I was panting from the effort when I felt Fred’s gentle touch on my arm.
With a jolt, Bubba popped into focus, as clear as if he was standing in front of my face. I could even see the room around him and Michelle in her plain gray sweats. It was almost as if I was actually there. Bubba was whispering softly into his phone. “Do we have a plan, or do I improvise?”
Bubba, close the phone. We’re going to do it this way. He jerked, startled, then slid the phone into his pocket.
Someone is searching the kitchen, he thought.
How many?
Just one.
One meant they didn’t have a bead on Michelle. Magical tracking is tricky, and the same things that were wreaking havoc with cell calls would make it hard for them to find her. Still, if they were smart, they’d have people watching all the exits, and Bubba isn’t exactly unnoticeable.
Want me to deal with him?
Yes. Then put on an apron and a hairnet and take Michelle out the cafeteria door.
It wouldn’t be much of a disguise, but it was something—maybe enough to make a watcher overlook him. Maybe. I hoped.
Fred and I watched as Bubba signaled for Michelle to stay in place, then slipped out of the pantry, moving in utter silence. Straining, using his ears, I could hear the soft shuffle of steps, harsh breathing. There was the crackle of a radio, and a metallic-sounding voice said, “Have you found them yet?”
“No. But I swear I saw them come in here, and they haven’t gone out the fire exit. I’ve been keeping it in my line of sight.”
“Fine. I’m sending Ted down to back you up. But we need to hurry. We only have a two-minute window left.” I shuddered. Even with the radio distortion I recognized that voice. It was Suit. Finn.
“I know.”
Bubba waited beside some metal shelving stacked with pots and pans until the hunter stepped forward. With brutal speed and zero hesitation, Bubba swept one arm down, knocking the thug’s gun to the floor as he threw a hard punch into the man’s throat with the other. The enemy was a big guy, built like a bodybuilder, but he fell like a sack of grain, too busy struggling to breathe around the swelling in his throat to worry about anything else.
DUCK! Fred’s voice shouted in both our minds. Bubba dropped to the floor, diving for the gun he’d knocked from his opponent’s hand, as a spell ball exploded against a pan right behind where his head had been. Acid ate through the steel in less time than it took to draw a breath.
Bubba didn’t spare time or thought to watch. Grabbing the dropped gun, he turned, aimed, and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. Only one slug hit, but it was enough to put the skinny little spell slinger down.
Bubba called to Michelle, who rushed out of the pantry to join him. The two of them looked around quickly. It took a few precious seconds, but they found a pair of aprons that had headgear in the pockets. They had just gotten dressed when the radios the thugs wore crackled and Finn’s imperious voice said, “Jon, Ted, report.”
The crackle of the static that followed that last word echoed behind Michelle and Bubba as they hurried out of the kitchen toward the cafeteria exit.
Then my connection with them vanished.
22
I supported most of Fred’s weight as I guided him over to the couch. His skin was grayish and clammy. He’d pushed himself too hard. He wasn’t having a heart attack—I could hear it beating steadily in his chest. But he’d badly overstrained his magic. I’d been so worried about Bubba and Michelle I hadn’t really thought about how hard what Fred was doing would be on him.
“Damn it, Fred!”
“You needed me. It was important.” He stretched out on the couch, looking terrifyingly frail. “Don’t tell Dottie.”
“You think she won’t notice?” I snapped as I looked around. I tried to remember exactly what the first aid was for this sort of thing. In the hospital with Dottie they’d given her fluids and carbohydrates. I ran into the kitchen. It was echoingly empty. Not a glass for water, no food in the cupboards. Shit! No, wait. There was a nutrition shake in my purse. I’d packed it because this was a fairly long trip and I didn’t want to risk getting vampity on the way. I ran out to the truck fetch it.
Fred was already breathing easier when I got back. Once he’d drained the shake, his color began to improve.
“Promise me you won’t tell Dottie. After the trouble I gave her the other day, she’ll never let me live it down. And I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.”
I scowled at him and didn’t answer. Chances were good that she’d hauled out her bowl and was watching us right now. So I said the only thing I could think of that would make him happy without getting me in trouble with his wife. “I try not to get caught between married people when they’re arguing.”
He gave a snort of acknowledgment tinged with wry humor.
“So, back to where we were before we got interrupted. What are your terms for leasing this place?”
He smiled, and for an instant, energy and animation filled his face. When he spoke, his voice was weary. “Six-month lease, going rate, and you cover the homeowner’s insurance. I don’t want to risk having this place uninsured with you using it.”
I didn’t argue. My record with insurance companies was a joke. I pay my premiums—very high premiums, mind you—but it’s reached the point where they consider me just too much of a risk. Go figure.
“Fine. Call your attorney. We’ll sign the paperwork as soon as he has it ready.”
My phone rang. Bubba’s number showed on the screen. “Graves.”
“Hey, boss. Everybody’s good. Tell Fred I owe him a beer. We’re in the car. Where are we going?”
I gave him the address of our brand-new safe house and told him to call Kevin, fill him in, and ask him to pick up groceries for the next several days.
“Done,” Bubba said. He hung up without saying good-bye. I was okay with that. I had another call to make, and it wasn’t one I was particularly excited about.
She picked up on the fourth ring. “Heather Alexander.”
“Alex, it’s me. They made a run for Michelle at the hospital. We got her out. She’s safe. But there are a couple of injured thugs in the kitchen. I can come in and give you a statement in a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours?” She was pissed. “They had to evacuate the hospital, Graves. Get your ass in here now!”
“Can’t. I’m at least two hours out—and that’s if I drive like a maniac. I only saw what happened telepathically.”
“Then who … no. Never mind. Just get your ass in here. I’ll tell the guy in charge you’re on your way. You can tell us everything when you get here.”
“Okay, let me get this right.” The man speaking was FBI Special Agent Shawn Shea. He was six one and had black curly hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. His skin had that porcelain quality with just a hint of freckles that told me of his Irish blood. His voice, however, was pure Midwestern. Shea was all business at the moment, and none too happy with yours truly. The interrogation room was a little crowded, I must admit, with Shea, me, my attorney, and two other law enforcement officers who were obviously friendly with me. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but Dom Rizzoli managed to loom while leaning against the wall, and Alex’s stony expression spoke volumes. Still, Shea plowed on. “You were out of town and you got a call from one of your employees telling you he’d spotted one of the guys who attacked you.”