She licked her lips and looked up at Cade, her expression suddenly hard as she lifted her chin. “I know how this ends if you catch him, where he’ll end up,” she said. “He’s not a bad boy. He’s not well, that’s all. And he didn’t kill anyone. All he wanted to do was help her. That shouldn’t ruin his life, even if he went about it the wrong way.”
Marlow shook his head in disgust. Love was one thing; blind was another. He grabbed the screwed-up dress from the table, blood and old curds of vomit crusted on the sequins, and threw it at Farnham. She turned her face away in disgust as it hit her in the chest and dropped into her lap.
“He stalked her,” Marlow said. “He kidnapped her—”
“She went willingly!” Farnham yelled at him. The roughness of her voice seemed to surprise her. She stopped, licked her lips, and tried again. “He didn’t kidnap her. She got in the car of her own free will.”
“He didn’t let her leave,” Marlow told her. “Did he tell her that when she went with him? When she got in the car, did she know she’d be his prisoner?”
Farnham grimaced and hitched her hips so the dress slid off her lap. She didn’t answer him, but her eyes flicked past him to the window.
It was another two hours before the earliest shift. All good nulls were on their way home to lock the doors behind them, but… not in a panic. Not yet. Marlow turned. Habit made the window catch his attention, but it wasn’t the only thing on the wall. There was a clock—red with silver hands and a tick he’d not noticed until now—and the minute hand had probably ticked off five minutes since they’d come in.
Marlow swore flatly and pulled his gun. The bullets were just lead and copper at this time of the day, but everyone flinched anyhow. Farnham made a small, shocked sound in her throat. He ignored her as he met Cade’s wary amber eyes.
“He’s downstairs,” he said. “In the garage.”
They took the stairs. Marlow’s heels clipped off the raw concrete as he went down two steps at a time. People thought the elevator was quicker, but that was because it was easier. If someone was in shape to run flights of stairs without a break—and motivated enough to move fast—the elevator would usually ding in late.
Marlow’s ribs ached as each step pulled the old scar tissue that tangled through them, and his knee didn’t hurt yet, but it was hot and the joint too elastic for comfort. He wasn’t sure he was in shape anymore, but he clenched his teeth and pushed through the pain. It would pass, and he was still half a flight ahead of Cade.
Pride was better than Tiger Balm.
“Are you sure?” Cade asked him. “We’re going to look assholes if there’s nothing but a couple of Lexuses down here.”
Marlow stuck his arm out to push himself off the far wall as he hit the first-floor landing. “There hasn’t been time to come up with a better plan than the one she had,” he said. His voice was slightly ragged as his lungs objected to multitasking. “Farnham said it herself. She was going to pay the girl off and get rid of her. Money in the car. Keys, for Parker, in her office. Probably tickets for a Greyhound down to Mexico too.”
The door into the garage was solid, black, and locked with a fire bar. Marlow hit it with both hands and slammed it open. He slowed to a jog as he breathed in the damp, stale air of the garage.
“He could have gone already,” Cade said.
They fell easily into step. The habits had been trained into them in different places but meshed well enough now. Cade took the left, the gun he’d produced from under his jacket held low and ready in both hands.
Farnham drove a black Prius, according to the assistant who’d been shocked into being helpful. She usually parked by the back wall because she was always the first to arrive and last to leave.
Marlow didn’t hear anything, but Cade cocked his head suddenly and circled to the right. The full moon was only hours away; Cade’s hearing wasn’t wolf sharp yet but probably better than Marlow’s.
They split up to cut between the rows of parked cars and down another level. Halfway down the ramp, Marlow caught the bounced echo of anxious voices as two men argued. He gave Cade a quick nod of acknowledgment and followed the sound.
“Just move the truck,” Parker begged. “I’ll pay you, okay? Here, look, a hundred bucks. Just move?”
Marlow gestured for Cade to go along the wall while he approached from the side. A catering truck was parked in front of a row of cars, the driver’s side open and a shifty-looking teen behind the wheel.
“I’m not allowed to drive the truck,” the teen said, even as he held his hand out for the hundred and started the engine. Parker swore under his breath and shoved another handful of notes at him.
“Don’t move the truck,” Marlow yelled. His voice bounced back from the bare walls. “SDPD. Take the keys out of the ignition and get out of the truck.”
The kid blanched and bolted. He stuffed the money into his jeans as he dodged between the cars. Cade grabbed him by the collar on the way past and shoved him up against the wall.
“Stay,” he rasped.
The kid held up both hands and did as he was told.
“You know the drill,” Marlow said as he stepped out from between a Land Rover and a Porsche. “Hands up.”
Parker licked his lips. “I won’t go to jail,” he said. “I know what it’s like for wolves. We go mad.”
“You locked up a girl,” Marlow said. “I don’t think you’re that well now.”
