I swore softly. The bastard had to be up high. He had too good a sight on me to be anywhere near ground level. I scooted forward, my arm burning and bullets pinging around me. And they were all silver, because while ordinary bullet wounds hurt like blazes, they didn't burn like this one was.
Which meant this bastard, whoever he was, knew I was a werewolf. Meaning it was no damn accident I was being shot at.
Could Blake be so angry about me not saving Adrienne he'd sent out a hit?
Probably, but all the same I doubted he was behind the shots. Torment was more his style.
I stopped behind the rear tire and scanned the surrounding rooftops. I couldn't see a goddamn thing... until a shadow moved on the top of the apartment building next to ours. It was moving, half-crouched, along the roof, probably searching for a better angle. But I'd be damned if I was going to let him get it. I scooted around the back of the car, and felt another bullet nip at my toes.
The bastard had found a better angle.
God, if only I'd had a weapon on me, I could have taken the shooter out when he'd moved. But I'd left my damn laser locked securely in the apartment safe this morning, just like I always did. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I'd have to risk running. I blew out a breath, then scrambled to my feet and ran like hell for the building. Bullets pinged against the pavement behind me, but their presence no longer burned. Perhaps he'd run out of silver ones.
But the mere fact that he was still sighting me when I was running as fast as I was physically able meant he had to be something other than human. To human - even wolf - eyes, I'd be nothing more than a blur. But a vamp could track me through infrared vision.
If it was a vamp up there, it'd have to be an older one, otherwise he couldn't be out in the dusk. I slammed through the building's front doors and ran up the stairs. This apartment block was almost identical to ours - a neglected old warehouse that had been converted to apartments and rented cheap to those who didn't mind living near the freeway. Though this building, being on a corner and facing suburbia, had less inspiring scenery than ours. At least we could see the city and the bridges at night from our apartment.
And obviously there were no werewolves living here, either, because the high-pitched squeal of rats was evident as the little bastards went scampering at my approach. Like I was going to stop and eat one of them.
I continued to pound up the stairs. Six flights left me winded. The rooftop fire escape door was padlocked - which was totally against the rules, but often done in old buildings like these to stop the jumpers. We'd had a few jump from our roof, and it was never a pretty sight. Even a cat-shifter didn't have much luck against that sort of drop.
After wiping the sweat from my forehead with a bloody hand, I stepped back and kicked open the door. It rebounded against the wall loud enough to wake the dead, but no welcoming bullet pinged into the opening.
I blew out a breath, then dove through the opening, my back hitting the concrete hard before I was rolling to my feet and running for the nearest ventilation shaft. Again, no bullets.
Maybe he'd gone.
Maybe he was waiting for a clearer shot.
I sniffed the air, trying to get sonic hint of who and what my adversary was. The air ran sharp with many aromas - including the metallic scent of my own blood - but there was no hint of vampire on the breeze.
I switched to infrared and scanned the rooftop. There was no one here. I was totally alone. I swore softly and rose. No bullets smashed through the air to greet my sudden appearance. My quarry was truly gone.
Cursing softly, I walked over to the corner of the building, going near, but not too near, the edge. At least a dozen shell casings littered the ground. Someone had wanted me very dead. Question was, who? And had they moved up from using cars and trucks to using bullets?
I suspected they had. But why? Certainly there was nothing happening in my private life that warranted such actions, so it had to be connected to a case.