“Uh, I think we got some. Lemme check.”
Willow watched the reflections in the refrigerator glass as the clerk shuffled over to assist the officer. The cop’s partner headed for the chip racks. Meanwhile, another patron entered the store, a tall guy in a suit who was yammering about ‘boneheaded accountants’ and reports that were going to be filed late because of them. He paused to grab a bag of pretzels, still talking in the open as though everyone in the store needed to hear what a big, important deal he was.
Willow rolled her eyes, annoyed despite her anxiety over the police presence.
“Do you mind?” Suddenly, he was standing right next to her. “No, not you, Marcus. I’m talking to some kid blocking the soda cases.”
Willow swung her head to look at him as she moved aside. Shrewd, dark brown eyes collided with her gaze for less than a second before flicking away without apology or interest. He opened the glass door and pulled out a Coke, letting the door close with a bang as he resumed his public conversation and walked to the cashier.
“So, how long am I going to have to wait on those commissions?”
Willow tuned him out, more focused on where the police officers were. The guy in the suit had distracted her long enough that she’d lost them in the store momentarily. She spotted them both in the chip aisle now, neither one looking her way.
Grabbing a bottled water, she tucked it under her arm and carried all of her selections up to the counter. As much as she wanted to ask the clerk to borrow his phone, she didn’t dare linger inside any longer. She could try again after the police were gone.
She paid in cash as quickly as possible, then rushed out of the store.
She’d barely made it out the door before a heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder from behind. “Excuse me, miss.”
Fuck.It was the cop who asked about sandwiches.
Dread arrowed through her as she debated whether to turn around and face whatever danger she’d just landed in or to make a run for it.
“You must be in an awful hurry to get somewhere,” the officer said to the back of her head.
She slowly pivoted around . . . only to realize he was holding her bottle of water.
She let out a relieved breath and took the bottle from him. “Thank you.”
He nodded, giving her a friendly smile. “Have a good day now.”
Her anxiety released like an outgoing tide as she watched the two cops get into their patrol car and drive away. Her paranoia was just that. God, she was a bundle of nerves.
And she still had the challenge of finding a ride to Bangor, hopefully while it was still daylight.
The sound of swiftly approaching footsteps came from somewhere to her left. “Hey, can you tell me how to get to Medway from here?”
She swiveled her head to say she didn’t know and was stunned to realize it was the man in the suit. He was smiling, but there was no warmth in his dark eyes. He came closer to her—too close—and abruptly brought his hand up.
Willow saw the gleam of a syringe needle flash in the sunlight before he jabbed it into the side of her neck. The world around her started going dark. Her legs gave out, but he held her up and started walking her toward his waiting vehicle.
“Yeah, it’s her,” he said in a low voice into his Bluetooth. “I’ve got her contained. I’m bringing her in now, sir.”
CHAPTER 27
Razor peeled his eyes open with a groan.
Pain seared him over most of his body, although the worst of what he’d endured had passed. Skin that had felt as if it were being flayed off his bones had knit back together, healing faster than normal, no doubt because of the benefit of Willow’s blood living inside him now.
The attic guest room where he lay was dark, the only light coming from the thin moon shining through the small window. He must have been unconscious and recuperating for hours. The last thing he recalled was Knox bringing him back to the house and helping him up the stairs after the ultraviolet rays had nearly smoked him on the road.
Now, the sounds of conversation downstairs—two deep male voices talking with Knox, and what sounded like a pair of females as well—helped shake off the last of his grogginess. He recognized one of the male voices. The Siberian-accented growl could belong to none other than Nikolai, a Breed warrior Razor had spoken with from time to time over the years and the leader of the Montreal command center.
The Order team was in Parrish Falls.
Razor sat up slowly on the bed, a move that sapped more of his strength than he wanted to admit. Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, he paused to simply focus on breathing.
His head pounded. The soft, pale moonlight felt as bright as a strobe to his scorched retinas. Everywhere his skin had been exposed to sunlight earlier that day felt as if it had been dipped in an acid bath.
