Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,125

clairvoyant, he sucked.

Hope gave him props for admitting it. In the supernatural world, the strength of your powers is like intelligence level for humans. Everyone lets on they have it in spades, if only as untapped potential. Saying your powers are weak is as tough as admitting you’re not too bright.

When he tried to check on Karl, he couldn’t pick up anything, which suggested Karl was still unconscious. He did get a brief flash of Robyn. She seemed to be sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance. There was a man with her. From the description, it was Detective Findlay.

After talking to Sean, Hope was sure Findlay had nothing to do with the Cabal. The fact that he’d waltzed through their office doors meant he was either one hell of a ballsy necromancer or he didn’t know what the Nast Corporation was. But she hadn’t had a chance to tell Robyn that. If she was with the paramedics, though, she must have realized that whatever Findlay was, she was safe for now.

For now, Robyn did seem safe, and Hope had to leave it at that, because after a brief snapshot of Robyn, Rhys’s mental camera screen went blank. Not so much a substandard model, then, as a battery hog, needing plenty of downtime between shots.

They were being tracked by two vehicles—a black car and a van, which were taking turns in the tailing position. Rhys wasn’t fooled.

“Are you sure Karl is in that van?” Hope asked.

“Positive.”

“But if you can’t see him . . .”

“He is. Relax, Hope.”

“I’m being sensible, not sensitive. There’s no shortage of vehicles at a Cabal. Why not exchange that van for another, take Karl back and get him locked up before he wakes?”

“Because they’re waiting for him to wake up. Irving isn’t particularly bright, but he is resourceful. If I take off on foot and his guys lose me, he has a werewolf.”

“For tracking.”

“Presumably the original plan was to take you as a hostage and force Karl to help.”

“But now you have me, and that works just as well, as motivations go.”

A moment of silence, then, “Check out the van behind us. Can you tell me what he’s doing wrong?”

One might think a mercenary would jealously guard his knowledge, but Rhys spent the next ten minutes teaching her how to spot, lose and be a tail. In part, Hope was sure it was a distraction from thoughts of his son, but she also got the sense he liked to teach. So she shut up and absorbed.

Or she did until, in the distance, she saw the big-box bookstore from earlier.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Back to those medical offices where Colm— Where you were earlier.”

It was a moment before she managed a cautious, “Why?”

“I need a quiet place to take care of the Cabal team.”

“By taking care of them, you mean . . .”

“I have tranquilizer guns in the trunk.”

She hoped her sigh of relief wasn’t too loud.

He went on. “The problem with stopping to do that is that I need an empty place where, logically, I might go before heading to the kumpania. Irving will be wondering why I grabbed you. Going here will answer his question.”

Hope was about to ask how. Then the vision replayed—the boy running off the edge, twisting, his face— She shivered, the chaos pleasure cut short by a cold snake of dread slinking up her spine.

“Revenge,” she whispered.

He didn’t seem to catch the chill in her voice. “Right. If they haven’t already woken Karl, they will when I take you inside. He’ll tell them why we’re here, and the team will rush in. Your death isn’t in their best interests. They’ll try to rescue you, while letting me escape so they can continue the hunt.”

The car slowed to take a corner, heading into the complex behind the big-box store. Her gaze straight ahead, Hope waited until the car decelerated, then grabbed the door with one hand, and her seat belt with the other. The door flew open, her seat belt whirring as she threw herself against—

Rhys’s arm slammed into Hope’s chest, catching her square in the solar plexus, forcing her back in her seat, gasping and sputtering as the brakes squealed. Rhys lunged across her to yank the door shut while the car shot up on the curb and bounced down again.

As the car hit a full stop, Hope jerked against his arm, coughing, eyes watering, like she’d been hit with a fresh dose of tear gas. He made a sound,