Awaken Me Darkly (Alien Huntress #1)(39)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Could be we’re getting too close to the truth, and we’re pissing her off. Could be Harte betrayed her. Or could be Steele was a gift to us, but Harte is a warning.”

All of those made sense. Atlanna had seen me in the parking lot. I’d shot at her, tried to catch her. That had to have pissed her off. “Only one way to find out for sure,” I said.

“By catching our gal,” Jaxon finished for me.

I nodded. Easier said than done.

CHAPTER 12

When homicide arrived, Jaxon and I gathered our notes and vacated the scene. We had all the information we needed, anyway.

“Let’s visit Dallas,” I told him. “Then we’ll do dinner and talk.” I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I suddenly needed to assure myself that he was okay, that he hadn’t slipped closer to death.

Jaxon must have sensed my desperation, because he opened his mouth to protest, then snapped his lips closed. “Good idea,” he finally said.

He drove to County without another word. I rested my head on the back of my seat and emptied my mind. Minutes or perhaps hours later, we arrived, and I found myself striding down the twisted, bland hospital hallways. Visiting hours were over in ICU, but the staff was smart enough to let us pass.

While Jaxon waited in the corridor, I stepped into Dallas’s room, drew in a cleansing breath, and perched myself at his beside. I read his chart. His condition was still considered stable, though there had been no new improvement. I held his cold, limp hand. His complexion had faded slightly; his breathing was not as strong as before.

I fought back a wave of fear, wishing to God I could cling to life for him.

“Listen up,” I told him. “You’re going to recover. Do you hear me? You’re going to recover. I’ve got a plan.” And I proceeded to tell him every detail. “Jaxon is going to help me. He doesn’t have your flare for drama, but I think he’ll provide some entertainment.”

Once, Dallas actually squeezed my hand, as if he heard every word I uttered.

When I left, I felt revived, more willing to conquer the day’s events.

“You hungry?” I asked Jaxon.

“Always.”

I sped down the highway and parked at the front of Trollie’s, in a no parking zone.

Jaxon and I ate a quick, silent meal, both lost in our own thoughts. I had the special, club sandwich, fries, and a bowl of steaming beef soup. Jaxon had wheat toast, plain chicken breast, and a large orange juice.

“How do you survive on so little?” I asked him.

“By eating more meals than the average person.” When he finished, he wadded up his napkin and tossed the crinkled paper onto the tabletop. “Something you should consider.”

The time for relaxation had ended.

A hard gleam entered Jaxon’s eyes, and I knew the same gleam was reflected in mine. Time for business. I leaned back in my seat. “The most important thing is to find Atlanna, but we have no leads on her. There are two people who seem to know the most about her—Kyrin and Lilla. Lilla’s in lockup, and I’ll question her again, but we need Kyrin too. We can play them off each other.”

“If we’re going to have any hope of catching him, we need to talk with Lilla’s boyfriend, St. John, ASAP,” he said. “Get our ball moving, so to speak, for the big event.”

Ah, yes. The fake execution. “Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, I found myself standing inside St. John’s office.

This was nothing like the sparsely decorated enclosure Lilla had occupied. Here, plush burgundy carpet layered the floor. The desk was composed of high-gloss Moroccan wood, expensive and rare. The chairs were padded with altar cloth and mated with matching, perfectly rounded footrests. Murals of cavorting, na**d religious figures covered the walls, their mocking expressions so richly detailed that they almost appeared alive.

St. John was seated behind the desk, his freckled face cold and hard. His fingers were laced in front of him. At least he was dressed, and his hands weren’t filled with br**sts. I noticed he didn’t ask us to take a seat. I didn’t want to anyway.

A tall, muscular Ell-Rollis, though it wasn’t Bob, I noticed, stepped inside the room. He was wearing a shiny purple suit. “You okay, boss?” he asked, eyeing us like we were ice cold mugs of water and he’d been trapped in the desert for at least a year.

“I’m fine,” St. John said. “You may go.”

The other-worlder gave a quick nod, turned, and snapped the double French doors shut behind him.

I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

“I want you to know my lawyers are working diligently on Lilla’s case,” he said through clenched teeth. “She’ll be released before you can snap your fingers.”

Just for the hell of it, I snapped my fingers, then glanced over each of my shoulders. “Think she’s been released?”

Beside me, Jaxon grinned.

St. John’s nostrils flared, and he leapt to his feet. His chair skidded behind him, blending with the sound of his hissing breath. I heard the tick, tock of the wall clock as St. John glared at me with hatred in his eyes, but he visibly reined in his temper. He eased back into his seat.

“What can I do for you, Agent Snow?” he asked, his tone all that was polite, though I caught a hint of fury in the undercurrents.

“What were you doing February second between the hours of nine and twelve P.M.?” I asked.

He laughed with genuine amusement, completely abandoning his anger for the moment. He even lifted a cigar from a small humidor on the corner of his desktop and ran the length through his fingers, practically daring me to arrest him for the illegal possession. “You’re not going to implicate me in this murder.”

I arched a brow. “Answer my question.”

Still grinning, he shrugged. “I was here, working. A thousand people can verify that.”

“So you weren’t at the murder scene,” I said, unfolding my arms and planting my fists near the weapons strapped to my waist. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t involved in the actual killing.”

Just like that, in the space of a heartbeat, he lost his good humor. He bared his teeth in a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were jealous of Steele, weren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

I ignored his reply. “What’s the cost to make a hit these days? One thousand? Two? That’s pocket change to you.”

Silence thickened the air.