Brazen (8 page)

Seventeen

Nick

With the headlights off, the car rolled down the driveway. More lights flicked on in the house next door as whoever saw him in the yard figured out what to do about it. They were driving away when Nick, craning to look back, finally saw the front door open and a woman stepped out, looking toward the police cars.

“We’re clear,” he said.

The road dipped, and they were out of sight of the house within minutes. Once Nick was sure none of the cruisers was going to come ripping after them, he pulled his knee up, rubbing his calf and wincing.

“I think I pulled something back there,” he said. “Five fences in five minutes. I’m too old for that shit.”

Vanessa gave a shaky laugh. “Five fences in
twenty
minutes was too much for me. I’ve been too old for this shit for a while. Out of practice, too. I need to get out in the field more. I can’t believe Stokes got the jump on me back there.”

“You handled it,” Nick said. “And he
is
a professional killer.”

She screwed up her nose, as if to say, “That’s no excuse.” Nick watched her as she drove, her gaze fixed ahead. She was a beautiful woman. That was almost certainly not what should be going through his mind at the moment. He blamed the excitement of their escape. Still, it wasn’t a, “God, she’s gorgeous, and I want to pull over and jump her” kind of appreciation. Although, now that he thought of it, with his adrenalin still pumping…

No. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking, and he wasn’t going to think it now. 

Vanessa cast an anxious glance in the rearview mirror.

“I’ll hear anyone coming after us,” Nick said. “My window’s cracked open.”

“I know.”

“We’re fine.” He paused. “Relatively speaking.”

She gave a tight laugh and loosened her death grip on the wheel, flexing her hands, only to squeeze it again with both hands, her gaze fixed into the night.

“You know what we need?” he said. “A drink.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Think we can find one at…” He checked his watch. “Three-thirty in the morning?”

She glanced over. “You’re serious?”

“I am. We’ve made our getaway. We aren’t going to catch Malcolm tonight. We need to rest and convey our updates to our respective bosses…and then we need a drink. Or three.”

Her laugh loosened then, as did her grip on the wheel. “If you really are serious, I won’t argue. I’m sure we could find a corner store and grab—”

A phone buzzed.

“Speaking of bosses,” Nick said. “That must be yours.”

“Um, no. My ringer’s off. When I’m in the field, I can’t even put it on vibrate.”

“Well, mine
is
on vibrate and…”

He trailed off as they looked at each other. Nick whipped around, clicking his seat belt off as he looked in the back seat. The phone kept ringing. He pinpointed the sound, coming from under his seat. He reached down, feeling around until his fingers touched plastic.

He pulled the phone out. A blocked number showed on the screen. He was about to answer when Vanessa grabbed the phone from him and yanked the wheel, braking hard, but not before the car lurched up over the curb.

“Out!” she said. “Now!”

She scrambled out. He followed. The phone kept ringing. Then, as the car doors slammed shut behind him, the ringing grew muffled, and he realized she’d left the phone in the car. She prodded him until they were fifty feet away.

“Cell phones are used to set off bombs,” she said, before he could ask.

They stood on the curb and watched the car, still running. They were on the edges of the suburb now. A lone truck slowed as it approached. Vanessa waved her own cell phone, telling him it was fine, they’d called a tow truck.

The other phone kept ringing.

“We’re assuming Malcolm put it in there, right?” Nick said. “That he looped back to watch Stokes’ house, found the car—or saw us drive in—and planted it. I was in too big a hurry jumping into the car to notice his scent in the garage.”

She nodded.

“Is there any other explanation?” he asked. 

“No, it’s Malcolm.”

“Okay, then. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s not a bomb. He’d never use one.”

Vanessa shook her head, gaze still trained on the car. “Anyone can adapt—”

“Not Malcolm. He really is an old dog. Using a bomb is a trick he couldn’t learn even if he wanted to, and believe me, he wouldn’t want to.”

The phone stopped ringing. A few seconds of silence passed. Another car slowed. Vanessa waved it on. The phone started again.

“He’s trying to make contact,” Nick said. “That’s his style. Engage the enemy.” He looked around. “And the alternative is that we leave the car running, with our stuff in it, while we walk away.” He looked at her. “You stay here while I check the phone—”

“No. I might be able to tell if it’s been tampered with.”

Nick followed her back to the car. She flung open the passenger side, then backpedaled, as if ready to dive out of the way. When no explosion came, she retrieved the phone and ran, smacking into him before waving him back. Presumably, if there was a bomb, it was in the car not the phone. So they got fifty feet away again. Then Vanessa held the phone out gingerly, turning it over in her hands as it continued to ring.

“Stand back,” she said.

Nick did, only because he knew she wouldn’t answer otherwise. Once he was about ten feet away, she hit the talk button.

“Hello.”

Nick could hear the voice on the other end, and it was as chilling as picking up Malcolm’s scent, like being sucked into a time warp back to a place you’d rather never visit again.

“Please put Nicholas on the phone,” Malcolm said.

“I don’t know who you—”

“Don’t play coy, my dear. It makes you sound stupid. I was in your car. I smelled him. I’m sure he’s right there. Just look around. Handsome fellow. Terribly charming. Not too bright.”

Nick resisted the urge to scowl at that. If—like Stokes—Malcolm considered Nick an idiot, it would only make him easier to catch.

Vanessa looked at Nick. He held out his hand. There was no sense dragging this out.

“Hello, Malcolm,” he said.

“Nicky. How are you, boy?”

Not exactly a boy anymore
, but Nick knew that wasn’t what Malcolm meant. The name, like the diminutive, was meant to put Nick in his place.

“So where is he?” Malcolm asked.

“Where’s who?”

Malcolm laughed. “Really? Are you that dense, boy? Your partner-in-crime. The brains
and
the brawn.”

“If you mean Clay, he’s at home. Probably sleeping.”

Another laugh, infused with impatience now. “Do you expect me to believe that? There’s no way he’d send his puppy out alone. I remember when you were boys, how you followed him around, just like a puppy. And as helpless as one. Clayton’s not only your friend. He’s your protector. If you’re there, he’s nearby. Guaranteed.”

“Would you like to wager on it?” Nick paused. “I’ve got a new car. A Jag. I remember you liked Jags. Mine’s top of the line. If Clay’s here, you can have it. I bet you’d like that. Not a lot of fancy cars in your life these days.”

Silence. Considering whether to call Nick’s bluff? Fuming at the dig about his finances? Or just shocked that Nick actually had a comeback?

“Yes,” Nick said. “Clay looked after me when I was young, because he was a werewolf long before I was. And, yes, that isn’t the only reason. I’m not my father. I’m no warrior. But I’m not a boy anymore either, and neither is Clay. His mate is the Alpha. He has children. Do you really think he’s going to come running after you? Do you really think you’re worth it?”

More silence. Then a laugh. “Yes, I do, because I saw his face at Nast headquarters. He’s not going to let me live out my retirement in peace.”

“No, he’s going to kill you. But first you need to be found, and that’s really more trouble than he’s willing to expend on you.”

Now Nick was certain Malcolm’s silence masked seething. He glanced at Vanessa. She looked anxious and motioned he might not want to antagonize Malcolm. Nick knew what he was doing. No way in hell would Malcolm leave town if Clay wasn’t here. Run from Nick Sorrentino? That was just humiliating.

“Clay may have given you his grunt work,” Malcolm said after a minute. “But I think he’ll want to come now. You’re in over your head, Nicky.”

“Because you killed three people tonight? Slaughtering humans is par for the course with you, Malcolm. Unless you’ve got a posse at your command, you like easy prey.”

“Oh, it isn’t me you need to worry about, Nicky. Not right now. It’s the guys on the other end of the GPS in that phone you’re holding.”

Nick went quiet.

Malcolm chuckled. “That shut you up. Let me help, or you’ll be there all night figuring it out. Those three werewolf hunters you saw earlier are just one team on the prowl. There are two others, and they’re all in Detroit. And someone has helpfully provided them with the GPS in that phone. So you have two choices. Either you run back home to Daddy or you call Clayton and his bitch to come rescue you. Because otherwise—”

Tires squealed a couple of blocks over.

“In the car!” Nick said as he smacked the phone off. He drew his arm back to pitch it, but Vanessa grabbed his elbow. 

“They’re tracking the GPS,” he said. “He gave it to the werewolf hunters. Three teams of them.”

She took the phone from him. “Then we’ll have better luck throwing them off track
with
this. Get in and drive.”

Eighteen

Nick

Nick peeled off the curb and hit the gas, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of car he was used to, and when he looked into his rearview mirror, he could see a pickup bearing down on them.

“I’ve got their license number,” Vanessa said. “That might help later for ID, but right now, we need to lose them. Stay on the straightaway.”

“But they’re gaining—”

“Not fast enough, and this is no deserted back road. They’ll follow until they can find a place to push us off the street. Just give me two minutes to scramble this.”

“Scramble?”

“The signal. That won’t help with these guys, but it’ll keep the other two teams from catching up.”

He glanced over. She had her kit and was doing something to the phone. He turned his attention back to the pickup. Vanessa was right—the truck got about three car lengths behind them and stayed there. While the road wasn’t busy, the occasional other vehicle meant their pursuers weren’t taking a chance. They were waiting for Nick to veer down a quiet side road.

“And…got it,” Vanessa said. “They’ll still see a signal, but it’ll send them on a wild goose chase. Can you lose these guys?”

“In this car?”

She chuckled. “It’s not a Jag, there’s a distinct advantage to having an ordinary car—it’s much easier to lose them. Do you want to switch spots?”

He glanced over.

“We can do it,” she said. “I have before. Mid-car-chase driver switch.” A flashed grin. “It’s fun.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I’m fine with driving. You navig—” 

The truck shot forward, narrowing the gap between them.

“Um…” Nick began.

“Damn it,” Vanessa said, twisting to watch the truck. “The idiots are getting restless. Can you go any faster?”

“I can. But
that’s
the problem.” He waved at the red light ahead—with cars going through.

“Make a hard right at the light. Join the traffic flow. Try not to hit anyone.”

The last part was the toughest. The road ahead wasn’t jam-packed, but a car passed every few seconds.

“Nick! Brace—!”

The pickup bumped them. Nick smacked against the seat belt. He hit the accelerator. The light ahead was still red, with no sign it’d turn green anytime soon. Nick played with the acceleration, easing back and jolting forward, judging the traffic flow ahead, trying to gauge…

He hit the gas. There was a split second where the engine hesitated, as if to say, “You want me to do
what
?” Then it revved, and while they didn’t exactly fly back in their seats, the car did accelerate, engine whining.

Nick glanced over his shoulder. He could see the driver’s face, screwed up in confusion, the passenger’s eyes wide, mouth open as he said something, likely some variation of, “Slow the fuck down!” as they barreled toward the intersection.

A glance at his own passenger showed the same expression on her face.

“You need to slow—” she began.

“Got it.”

“You can’t take the turn—”

“Hold on.”

He gauged traffic flow, slowing just a little. Behind him, he could hear the pickup’s passengers, shouting now.

“He’s going through! Goddamn it, Ted, don’t you dare follow—!”

Nick braked hard, sending the car into a skid, then steering out and around the corner, wide enough to make a car in the opposite lane veer. He heard the other driver yell an obscenity. Completely unwarranted, considering that Nick probably saved the guy’s life, because as the driver veered, he also slowed, and the guy in the pickup—still thinking Nick was going straight through—kept going, narrowly avoiding a T-bone.

There was still plenty of honking, and a squeal of tires. Nick accelerated again, zooming up on a transport in front of him. He weaved to see past it. Then he swerved into the opposite lane—and into the headlights of an oncoming car.

“You don’t have time—!” Vanessa began.

Nick hit the gas. She was right—he didn’t have time. But presuming the person at the wheel wasn’t asleep, the oncoming car would brake. Which it did, tires protesting as Nick’s car veered in front of the truck. Both the oncoming car and the truck laid on their horns. Nick put the pedal down again, passing the next car, and then making a sharp right at the light and another at the next, taking them back the way they’d come. He crossed the first road they’d originally been on and continued into the night. The pickup was long gone.

“You
can
drive,” Vanessa said. She grinned over at him, eyes sparkling, and for a second, he knew the rest of the night was forgotten.

“So, do I get that drink now?” she asked.

“Several. I think we’ve earned them.”

Her grin grew. “We have.”

They continued in silence for a few minutes. Then she said, “I need to call Rhys.”

“And I need to call Elena. Just let me get where we’re going.”

“Which is…?”

“Someplace we can get a drink.”

She smiled and relaxed in her seat. They reached the highway, and she watched out the window, saying nothing for about five minutes, and then, “We need a plan.”

“I know. Just…let’s rest a bit.”

Nick left the highway two exits early, intentionally. He glanced over, waiting for her to ask where they were headed, but she had her eyes closed. When she opened them, ten minutes later, she shot forward in her seat.

“Why are we at the airport?” she said.

“Getting a drink. If anything’s open. Then getting you on a plane home.”

“Hell, no.” She twisted to face him. “You are not putting me on—”

“Yep, I am.”

“If this is because Stokes got the jump—”

“It’s not.” Nick pulled into the parking garage. “It’s about the fact that we’re chasing a psychopath who’ll grab you the first chance he gets. Then he’ll kill you—horribly—to teach me a lesson.”

Her face hardened. “I’m not some date you brought along—”

“I know that.” He pulled into a spot. “You’re accustomed to bad guys who will kill you if you get in their way. But that’s not Malcolm. He knows I’m with a woman now, and he’s going to target you because I’ll blame myself. That’s how he operates. He kills those who don’t matter. And he hurts those who do. He
will
come after you.”

“Then we’ll know how to catch him.”

“No.”

Vanessa sat there, poised, as if waiting for him to elaborate. 

He looked her in the eye. “No.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to split up and do this on our own. You call Elena and have her send Clay. I’ll get Jayne and a few others, and we’ll go after Malcolm separately. Then we’ll pray it doesn’t turn into a huge cluster-fuck, attacking each other and those damned werewolf hunters, while Malcolm circles until he can take out Clayton.”

“After that fight at Nast headquarters, Malcolm knows Clay will—and can—take him down. The minute Clay’s here, he’ll bolt. Elena knows that. She won’t send him.”

“So she’ll come out herself? Even better. Malcolm would love that. You said he likes to hurt his enemies.”

Nick shook his head. “You’re not drawing me into this argument, Vanessa. Stay or go. Your choice, but only because I can’t force you onto a plane.”

He left her the keys and got his bag from the trunk. Vanessa caught up with him halfway to the parking garage exit.

“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, Nick,” she said. “But this guy killed my agent, and that gives me a reason to go after him. I can do that with my own people, but I’d really rather do it with you. You know Malcolm. Bring in whoever you want, and I’ll work with them, too. But I have experience and tools that your people don’t. Like checking for a security system or scrambling that phone signal.”

“I don’t want to take responsibility—”

“You’re not
bringing
me. You’re teaming up with me.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “How about I call Rhys? Get his word on this. If he wants to recall me, he can.”

He stopped walking. “Fine. You’ll make that call here where I can hear both sides. But before that, I’ll phone Elena. If she insists we split up, I have to do that.”

“Understood.”