coat similar to that of an Immortal Guardian. His face, neck, and hands were streaked with blood. His clothing glistened with wet patches. And his eyes shone bright amber.
She had never seen them so bright and knew it meant that whatever emotion roiled inside him was intense.
Panic consumed her. “Cliff,” she breathed. Stepping onto the porch, she swiftly glanced around, terrified she might see soldiers in black approaching with weapons raised.
When none materialized, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside.
Her hands shook as she closed and bolted the door, her fingers leaving little streaks of blood on the white surface.
Spinning around, she stared up at him. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Her gaze swept over him, noting every wet patch on his clothing, every ruby-red splotch on his skin. Was that his blood or someone else’s? “How did you get here? Are you hurt?” Closing the distance between them, she began to run her hands over his chest in search of wounds.
Cliff grabbed her wrists to halt her frantic movements. His glowing eyes dropped to the points at which they touched. He drew his thumbs over her skin as if to confirm she was real. Then he met her gaze. “I need your shower,” he said, voice gruff.
Heart pounding, she nodded. As soon as he released her, she pointed. “It’s through there.”
Without another word, he strode toward it. His heavy boots thudded loudly in the quiet as he entered the short hallway, then turned in to the bathroom. The door closed. Water began to pound tile.
Emma didn’t move.
Cliff was here. In her home. What the hell had happened?
Her thoughts raced around and around in her head, scrambling for purchase.
Had he escaped? How the hell could he have escaped? There was so much security at the network! So many guards!
But hadn’t Sebastien Newcombe successfully plowed his way through security two or three years ago?
Yes. And rumor claimed Mr. Reordon still had it in for him. Some said Reordon had even gone so far as to call for Bastien’s execution after that.
Oh crap. Reordon.
The head of the East Coast division of the network would already be assembling special-ops teams to search for Cliff. He might even have Immortal Guardians out looking for him. And while she knew Bastien wouldn’t harm his vampire friend, the others would. They might even kill Cliff on sight.
“Oh shit,” she whispered again. When she glanced down at her crimson-stained hands, a little shudder shook her. Racing over to the kitchen sink, she washed off the blood. She didn’t take time to dry her hands afterward. She just wiped them on her pants as she ran to her bedroom, her bare feet barely making a sound.
Flipping on the lights, she dove for her closet and yanked out an oversized duffel bag. Tipping it upside down, she shook it hard. Skeins of yarn, long bamboo needles, and round plastic looms tumbled out, leftover supplies from when Cynthia had gone on a crafting kick and tried to teach Emma how to knit.
Emma shoved it all aside and tossed the bag on the bed.
She was darting back and forth from her dresser to the bed, stuffing clothing into the bag, when the bathroom door opened. Emma glanced toward the hallway.
Cliff stepped out, his big body bare save for a white towel wrapped around his hips. Broad shoulders, a muscled chest, and washboard abs gleamed with a hint of moisture left behind from his shower. Little beads of water clung to the ends of some of his dreadlocks.
Though she’d love to take the time to admire every delectable inch of him, Emma only looked long enough to determine he bore no injuries before she went back to packing.
“I have a shirt that will fit you.” Sometimes she slept in large men’s T-shirts. “But you’ll have to wear the pants you came in.”
He said nothing for a long moment. “Okay.”
Delving back into her closet, she drew out the heavy lockbox. “Keys, keys, keys,” she whispered absently as she dropped it beside the bag on the bed. Where the hell had she put them?
Right. The kitchen.
Hurrying past Cliff and into the kitchen, she yanked open the junk drawer and retrieved the little ring of keys. She swung by the coatrack bench to retrieve the 9mm. Best to keep it handy since she had no idea when network soldiers might arrive and she was not going to let them shoot him. Then Emma headed back to the bedroom.