Black and Blue (Otherworld Assassin #2)(27)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Are you trying to say you’re smarter than me?”

“Trying? Ha.”

“Well, I’m stronger, so suck it.” Suddenly he was all business, pushing his way inside.

Evie followed close on his heels, watching as he scanned and aimed, scanned and aimed.

“Stay here,” he commanded, disappearing around the corner.

“You might want to come back,” she called. “There are—”

“Ow!”

“—traps,” she finished with a flinch.

He stomped back into the foyer, a frown tightening the scar running through his lip. A scar that was thinner than it had been a few hours ago. Was it not from makeup? Had he actually cut himself?

For some reason the thought of him bleeding and in pain bothered her. Need to kiss it and make it better.

He held up his leg, revealing the antique metal claw now biting into his ankle. “What are we? Barbarians? This is how we do things now?”

“Apparently. Let’s get downstairs and I’ll patch you up,” she said, doing her best to hide her amusement. Bother her, yes—but come on, this crap was funny.

She must have failed in her endeavor because he said, “Is this a joke to you, chuckles?”

“Well, yeah. Only a moron falls for the old ‘Step here’ trick.”

“Zip it. I don’t need any patching. I’m already healing.” He removed the claw and stalked toward her—or, rather, limped toward her.

Laughing, she crouched down and rewired a second ID box. A crack opened in the concrete, just wide enough to allow a body, and revealed a staircase.

When she looked up, she realized Blue had stopped his approach midway to stare at her with a bemused expression.

“What?” she asked.

“You laughed.”

“I know.”

“I mean, you really laughed.”

“Uh, yeah, I know.” His point? “So I ask again: What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, finally looking away.

Not nothing, but she wasn’t going to press. She descended the stairs, following a trail of golden light. At the bottom she saw plush carpets and soft couches that led to a chef’s dream kitchen. Around the corner from the stainless steel fridge was an office with an entire wall of computer screens.

“Evangeline Black. About time you showed up,” a voice said.

Evie’s heart raced with joy as she plowed toward her father, who clearly hadn’t been in the path of Blue’s power. He stood in the doorway of the only bedroom. He sported multiple bruises and his shoulders were stooped with fatigue, but he was alive and well, and that was all that mattered.

Rather than hug him, as she wanted, and potentially bruise him further, she grabbed hold of his hand and held it close to her heart. Warm tears trickled down her cheeks. “I am so angry at you right now, I could shove a fishing rod down your throat and hook your organs one by one. Except for your intestines. That would just be gross.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I love you, too, sunbeam.”

He’d said those same words many times before, but she’d never really believed him. This time she wasn’t looking at him through a veil of hurt feelings. She was too relieved to see him. She actually saw the affection in his eyes.

I’m such a fool for ever doubting him.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Why did you stay in hiding so long? Do you know where John and Solo are?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, a sign of irritation she knew wasn’t directed at her but at their circumstances. “One question at a time.” His gaze strayed to Blue. “Son.”

Though his lips thinned, Blue nodded in greeting. What was up with that?

“I’ll want a full report on how the two of you came to be together,” Michael said.

“Sure, sure,” she said before the agent could respond.

Michael led her to the couch and sat down, urging her to take the spot beside him. “I suspected there was a traitor in my midst, and I was right. I stayed away, letting the world think I was dead, because I didn’t want you used to hurt me. But, of course, an attempt was made.”

“The chase this afternoon,” Blue said, claiming the chair across from them.

Evie avoided looking at him. At the moment she wasn’t sure she could guard her expression. She was just too raw, too overcome. And she didn’t want her dad to know she’d . . . softened toward the agent. He’d flip.

Women fall for Corbin Blue every day, he’d once said, after she’d ranted and raved for an hour over Blue’s treatment of her. Tell me you’re too smart to be one of them.

Duh. I totally am. But I have to confess, I’m a little surprised by your warning. You adore the man.

I do. He’s like a son to me, and I love him, faults and all. I just don’t want those faults anywhere near my daughter.

“Yes,” Michael said now. “Speaking of, I’ve been monitoring AIR feed, and they have already spoken to witnesses and watched traffic cams, so they know you were involved, sunbeam. You’ll soon be contacted and questioned.”

Another round with Agent Gutierrez, she thought with a sigh.

“About Solo and John,” Michael said to Blue. “I have searched and searched, but found nothing. I’m sorry. I thought I had a solid lead on Solo, and flew to his home, but there was a woman claiming to be his wife—”

“Wife?” Blue burst out.

Michael dug a phone from his pocket and tossed it. “I have pictures.”

Several minutes passed while Blue studied the images. When he finished, he handed the phone to Evie. She gave him a grateful half smile before flipping through the photos. In them, a sweet-looking blonde was pulling weeds in a garden . . . feeding horses . . . pigs . . . goats. She appeared harmless, but then, appearances never meant jack.

The woman who’d sliced and diced Claire had—

Shut that crap down.

“Her name is Vika,” Michael said, “and she told me Solo survived the explosion, that he was sold to her father’s circus and later returned to his home planet, with no way back.”

True? Or a great cover story for his murder?

Blue massaged the back of his neck. “So, Solo was the one sold?”

Michael’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I overheard a conversation between two men at the bomb site. They planned to sell one of us, and I assumed it was John. They planned to keep one of us, and I assumed it was Solo. They also planned to burn one of us. And since a guy doused me with accelerant, I’m clearly Mr. Battered and Deep Fried. So, if Solo was sold to the circus, that means . . .”