“Hagen!” Dirk lurched forward, and this time Orthus’s growl did nothing to stop him. But his bite worked like a charm.
Orthus sank his teeth into the goblin’s left butt cheek and planted all four of his huge paws firmly on the floor. Dirk could either freeze where he stood and keep his ass intact, or he could try to help his brother, at the expense of a large chunk of his own flesh and muscle.
It didn’t take him long to choose himself, which made sense, considering that a single stab wound to the gut probably wasn’t enough to kill his brother. Yes, by twisting the blade, I’d guaranteed that Hagen’s recovery time would be long and painful, but I could easily have killed him with his own gun.
Did I get so much as a thank you for my act of mercy? No. I did not.Wherewas the gratitude?
“Thanks, Orthus.” I had no clue why the dog was helping me. “Hold him there, will you?”
I’ll be damned if he didn’t nod at me, Dirk’s ass still clenched firmly between his teeth. The goblin’s scream—music to my ears—followed me into the first of the two offices.
In the middle of the small, barebones workspace, strapped to a cheap wooden armchair with what must have been acres of duct tape, sat a delicate-looking, apparently human young woman, her brilliant blue-green eyes wide with what could have been either shock or terror. Or both. Her mouth was covered with a short strip of gray tape, and long, sandy blond waves hung from a center part to flow over both shoulders down to the crooks of her elbows, draping a petite, willowy build.
The girl’s brows drew low in confusion, then arched as her gaze took in my blood-stained white tank and soaked jeans. Evidently, she’d expected the goblins to win our little scuffle.
I got that reaction a lot.
“Cari Murphy?” I asked, still several feet from my target. I’d hate to accidentally rescue the wrong victim.
Don’t laugh; that’s actually happened, and it was a real bitch to explain to the client.
The girl nodded, dark blond waves falling forward to cover half of her face.
“I’m Lex Walker.” I scanned her quickly to assess her condition, taking in a gauzy, sea-foam-green blouse with a ripped shoulder seam and a scuffed-looking pair of snug jeans. And yards and yards of duct tape.
Overkill? Yes.
Were they afraid this wisp of a girl was going to rip through her bindings like the Incredible Hulk shreds polyester? Not likely.
“I’ve been hired to rescue you.” Miraculously, she looked unharmed, other than a scratch on her shoulder, peeking through the torn seam. “Are there just the three goblins?” I asked, and Cari’s head bobbed in a quick, jerky motion. I forced a smile to set her at ease. “Let’s peel off all that tape and get the hell out of here before Orthus loses his grip on the third Stooge.”
She nodded again, muttering something urgent behind the adhesive gag.
I stepped toward her, and her eyes widened in a resurgence of horror. Which was when I realized I still held the bloody dagger in one gore-smeared hand. “Relax, it’s for the tape.”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how to slide the double-edged blade between flesh and tape without severing something important from the victim. Clients tend to frown on that.
Hurried along by Orthus’s insistent, muffled growling, I wiped the dagger on my pants and slid it back into its sheath. I searched the drawers of a dusty metal desk, where I found a small pair of utility shears alongside what remained of the roll of tape.
Thank goodness. Plan B involved dragging her out of the warehouse still strapped to the damn chair.
I freed Cari’s right hand first, so she could help me with the rest of the job. She peeled tape from her mouth.
“Lex Walker?” she said, shaking the strip of tape from her fingers. Her voice was soft and hoarse, as if she hadn’t had anything to drink in days. “You’reLex Walker?”
I knelt at her back to work on the tape around her waist. “Yep, that’s me.” After more than one hundred successful retrievals, I was finally getting the recognition I deserved. ‘Bout damn time.
Peeling tape from the side of her blouse, I glanced up at Cari, trying to remember a time when I was that young and naïve, or that trusting of someone I’d never met. But there had never been such a time in my life. Not that I could remember, anyway.
Naiveté is a curse, hope a terminal disease. If there’s a cure for either, death certainly fits the bill.
And I’d died at least two hundred years before Cari’s parents even met.
THREE
Cari stared at me, bending over her own knee to peel away a piece of tape binding her ankle to the chair leg.
I plucked a strip free from three of my fingers. “What?”
