on the other end of the line. The sound was muffled, and Bobbi’s voice was filtered. “Hey, hon. I’m on the phone with Grace, and she can make it on Sunday.”
“Awesome,” Brian said, his voice coming through clearly. “Is her head all right? That was kind of weird.”
“Yeah, I already told you that her head is fine.” Bobbi came back on the line. “Watch out, or he’ll make a lame joke about your brain. I apologize preemptively.”
Grace smiled. She could do this. Live in two worlds for a while, until other people started aging and she didn’t. If she survived the mating. “There probably is something wrong with my brain,” she joked, not really joking. She’d give anything to remember the good times with her friends. Well, almost anything.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was too early to hear from Adare. Her stomach clenched. “Bobbi? I’ll give you a call in a couple of days and set things up, okay?”
“Sounds good. Stay safe, my friend.” Bobbi hung up.
Grace set the phone down. Could she have a somewhat normal life with Adare? For some reason, she couldn’t see him joining a bocce team with her. She sighed and turned on the light, leaving the darkroom and heading upstairs to spend time with her sister. No doubt Faith was as worried as Grace about the soldiers.
They had to be okay.
Chapter 29
Adare’s head swam. Snow pinged up around him from laser bullets, and he rolled out of the way, using the metal shop to cover his ass. The explosives weren’t working? What the hell? He grabbed one out of his bag, ripped the pin, and threw it toward the empty building. It hit the side with a small clank and dropped to the snowy ground to disappear.
Harmlessly.
The explosives were duds. He swallowed and kept his gun loose, running through the snow and zinging bullets to another building.
He arrived at the doorway just as Ronan made it around the other side, blood flowing from his arm and a pissed off expression on his ancient face. “The fucking explosives don’t work.”
Adare nodded, his head hurting as if he’d taken a bullet between the eyes. “Yeah. I can’t explain it.”
Ronan leaned back against the building, blending almost into it, his gun in his right hand. “The Ledoni shifters are for sale to the highest bidder, but I thought you had an in.”
“I thought so, too,” Adare growled, his brain pounding. Had Jacki set him up? He couldn’t believe it. But it wasn’t possible that every single one of the explosives had been faulty. “A problem for another day.”
Ronan nodded.
A whoosh sounded, and they both ducked as a missile crashed several yards to the left, exploding. Heat flashed over Adare, and he stood, wavering slightly. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Ronan grasped the doorknob, crouched, and yanked the metal door wide open to reveal a long hallway with red doors set several yards apart down its length.
Adare went in high, shooting a Kurjan guard between the eyes and then sweeping left.
Ronan went in left and swept right. They kept their backs to each other, maneuvering up the hallway and kicking in doors. A Kurjan squad burst in through another door, well protected with hats and skin guards, their movements still slowed from exposure to the sun.
They fired immediately, and Adare flattened himself on the concrete, shooting up. He took out two while Ronan took out the other two. The concrete heated and then cooled beneath him, and then the red doors spun around and around. Nausea filled his belly and blood echoed through his ears.
Ronan tapped his shoulder and stood.
Adare forced himself to stand and sucked down bile, blinking until his vision cleared.
“You good?” Ronan asked.
“Yes,” Adare snapped, hurrying down to the last doorway. His body ached as if he’d been dragged behind running horses, but they had to find those women. More Kurjans would be coming, and only the sunny day outside had helped him this time.
A missile flew through the wall and continued through a red door, detonating in the exterior wall.
“Shit,” Ronan bellowed. “They’re trying to take out the whole building.”
Adare ducked his head and kicked in the final door. The women huddled on what looked like sleeping bags on the other side of the concrete room, except for two who stood in front of the others, their faces dirty and bruises on their arms. He didn’t have it in him to smile, but he tried. “We’re here to get you out. We have to