A Perfect Blood (The Hollows #10)(112)
Author: Kim Harrison

"Holy crap, that was gunfire!" Jenks exclaimed, landing on my shoulder to hear better. I grabbed the earpiece and held it before us like a candle. If I put it in my ear, Jenks wouldn’t be able to hear.

"Give me an excuse!" Glenn shouted. "Everyone down! Fingers laced. One twitch of magic, and you will be shot!"

Chris’s voice was shrill, swearing at Eloy, at Glenn, at me. Why is she swearing at me?

"Chris! Help!" Jennifer cried, and then she shrieked. There was a masculine grunt, and I tensed, leaning forward. It was a weird feeling, knowing what was going on and not being a part of it. Jenks, too, looked frustrated.

"Cease and desist!" Glenn shouted. "You are wanted for questioning in the – "

"Corrumpro!" Chris exclaimed harshly. Gasps of fear rose, and then a cry of pain.

"Put that out," Glenn directed calmly, and I heard another crash. "Someone cuff her! I don’t know, shove a sock in her mouth! Use the zip strips!"

I looked at Jenks. He was itching to fly. "They should have had someone who can do magic there," I said, and he nodded.

"Lock her down! Lock her down!" someone yelled. "Gimmie a strap. Shit, she’s wiggly. Ow!"

Chris screamed, and then her voice became muffled. My lips curled in a half smile. That was one way to stop a curse, but they needed to strap her, and fast.

There was a quick, three-beat thump in the background. Then Gerald groaned, and I heard him slide to the floor.

"Strap them! Do it now!" someone shouted, and a crash made me wince. If they didn’t get control in thirty seconds, I was sending in Jenks.

The sound was muffled for a moment, and then a shuffling scrape turned into heavy breathing. Jennifer was crying in the background, and finally the sound of someone hitting the floor came, loud, followed by a soft grunt.

"I think that was Eloy," I said, and Jenks nodded.

"Get him down!" Glenn shouted, and then a thump again.

For a moment, silence, and then I heard Glenn swear under his breath. "Don’t move."

There was an oof of breath, then Glenn laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. "Go ahead, Eloy. I don’t care if you’re alive or dead at this point." I held my breath, imagining it, and then Glenn whispered, "Good choice."

A masculine voice called for Glenn, and I heard Eloy swear, his voice muffled. "I’ve got this," Glenn said, his tone telling me it was over – if Jennifer sobbing quietly was any indication. "Put the fire out. Someone put the fire out! I need another zip strip over here. Now! Can we have some lights?"

In the near distance, I heard Chris snarl, "Shut up!" and Jennifer’s sobs subsided.

There was a scuffle as I think Glenn yanked Eloy up, and I heard the familiar ratcheting of a zip strip. "You sure it’s him?" someone asked. "He might be disguised."

I fumbled to flick on the mic, whispering, "Check with the amulet, Glenn."

"Holy crap, Rachel!" Glenn exclaimed. "You startled me. I forgot you were listening."

I shifted my feet and grinned at Jenks. His dust was an excited silver. I was glad they’d gotten them. Score one for the FIB. Jennifer was pleading in the background, but no one was listening. It looked like it was all over, but I wasn’t moving. Not yet.

"Yep, it’s him," a new, low voice drawled, and Jenks’s wings clattered. "Thank God we got them before they abducted anyone else."

"Damn, Rache," the pixy swore as he made the jump back to my knee. "They did it!"

"And they did it without us," I said softly, feeling left out. I could hear the Miranda being recited, ignored. Jennifer was crying, Chris was swearing, and I think Gerald was knocked out. Eloy had yet to say anything, which wasn’t unusual, but I could imagine the scene well enough. He’d be standing with his arms cuffed behind his back and his shoulders hunched. His hair would be messed up, and he’d likely be sporting a new scrape from hitting the floor. He’d be silently thinking up a way to escape, his eyes darting about. I didn’t know Eloy, but I knew his type – my type. There was always a way out.

Calls were going over the airways to bring the vans in. And still I sat. Waiting. My tension began to build. Eloy wasn’t talking. Eloy had a way out. I knew it.

"Get up, Eloy," Glenn said suddenly, cutting through the radio noise. "Arms out. Assume the position."

Okay, so he wasn’t standing yet, but I could see him in my mind’s eye: slowly getting up, assessing everything, looking for a hole as he got patted down for whatever they could find. He was going to run.

"Hey!" someone said. "Lookie what I found on him! What do you think it is?"

A second man laughed. "A can of deodorant?" he said, then shouted, "Don’t point it at me, jerk-off! It might be magic!"

I reached to toggle the mic to ask Glenn to describe it to me, then settled back when a deep, almost bland voice I didn’t recognize said, "Excuse me," and presumably took it, muttering, "Damn fools. No wonder they can’t catch their asses in a windstorm."

They, I thought, my eyes meeting Jenks’s. He had heard it, too. Just who was down there with Glenn if it wasn’t his usual men? But as long as Eloy didn’t have it, whatever it was could wait. It was probably a can of sticky silk to ward off Jenks.

Not yet ready to leave, I sank to the floor. There was a soft pop as someone clapped their hands, and Glenn shouted, "Okay. We got ’em. Area is secure. Everyone can come in. Nicely done, people."

A soft cheering, both from the room and from the distant sites by way of the radio, filtered into the dark. And still I sat. Waiting.

"HAPA isn’t so happy now, huh?" Jenks said, his dust several shades brighter as he lit the tunnel with a healthy glow.

"Yes," I said softly, thinking as I spun Trent’s ring on my pinkie.

Seeing me not moving, he landed on my knee, his dust feeling like snow as it sifted over me. "I know the way back," he said, looking worried.

I tucked the glow stick in my bag so my eyes could readjust to the dark. "Not yet."

Jenks’s wings stopped moving, laying flat on his back, and it grew dark. "I know what you mean. It’s kind of anticlimactic, listening to it happen. I’m surprised you stayed put, Rache. You knew you weren’t going to see any action. I’m proud of you."

No action. Right . . .

Dr. Cordova’s voice slowly became audible, and in a confusing mix of about three separate conversations, I heard her come into the room with a bevy of aides, and my pulse quickened. "Congratulations, Detective Glenn, on a well-implemented run," she said loudly, and the radio chatter almost doubled.