Keeper of the Moon - By Harley Jane Kozak Page 0,48
them. “So he was friendly enough to have drinks with them. But wait. You said all four glasses. If you don’t know where Charlotte Messenger died, then—”
“She was working on a film,” Tony said. “And they were shooting at a house near Benedict Canyon. She left her Mercedes there the night she disappeared. And her trailer was just as she’d left it, they hadn’t cleaned up. Which is how we were able to test the champagne glass.”
“How do I even know,” Sailor said, “that the attack on me came from the same person, when everything about it is so different?”
Tony said, “You don’t. If I could have swabbed you as soon as you were clawed—well, even then, there’s no guarantee we would have gotten anything from it.”
“And how do we find the antidote?”
“Fergus is going to take another blood sample from you right now,” Tony said. “We’re hoping it will be like the flu, which just runs its course and leaves your body. And if that’s the case, we’ll see some indications of it. In the meantime, even though we don’t think it’s airborne, lie low. It’s better not to take chances, and half the Elven population would still look at you like you’re Typhoid Mary.”
On that happy thought, Fergus stuck a needle in her arm, after which Tony dismissed her, recommending she use her feet rather than her superpowers to see herself out.
When she returned to the parking lot, she found Declan Wainwright leaning against her Jeep.
* * *
The sun glinted off his mirrored sunglasses. His arms were crossed, and he watched her approach with neither a smile nor a greeting. Her heart was beating fast, alternating between happiness and apprehension. Would there ever come a day when she could set eyes on him and feel completely confident?
Not with him looking at her like that.
She cleared her throat. “Hi,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Turned off your phone, did you?” His voice was neutral.
“Left it in the car,” she said.
“While you did a quick two-hour errand. While illegally parked.” He plucked a citation from her windshield and handed it to her. “Good job.”
She stared at it. “Forty-eight dollars? Man, talk about a crime, and in full view of the crime lab.” She looked at him and repeated, “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer my calls. I got impatient. The question is, pet, what are you doing here?”
“But how did you find me?”
He shook his head. “You first.”
“I—” She stopped. A pair of LAPD officers passed by them, quite close, moving toward a squad car parked in the next aisle. She knew this wasn’t the place to talk.
Declan knew it, too. He took the parking ticket from her and stuck it back on her windshield. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the main campus. “Let’s walk.”
He took her arm, and the feel of his skin against hers was like a jolt of electrical energy, pulling her into his force field, the scent of him, the way his body absorbed the heat of the sun. It made her unsteady on her feet. “Let’s walk toward a vending machine,” she said. “I need water. I teleported into the crime lab.”
Teleportation looked easy to anyone watching—here one moment, gone the next, or vice versa—but it was hell on the one doing it. Her short jump inside the building had been the equivalent of a 5K run, uphill. She’d minimized the aftereffects with Tony Brandt and Fergus, but now she was feeling dehydrated, headachy, extremely thirsty and mentally fuzzy. Declan steered her across the parking lot toward the campus. He let go of her arm, but stayed close, his hand straying to touch her back at one point, sending another jolt through her. Soon they were at the food court.
Somewhat to her surprise, Declan gave her a break, saying nothing until he’d bought her four bottles of water—waving away her protest that she could buy her own—and watched her drink three of them almost without pausing. When she was halfway through the fourth she stopped and took a deep breath.
“Finish it,” he said.
She shook her head, feeling energy return. “I’m done.”
He took the bottle from her, wiped a drop of water from her chin and led her to an outdoor table.
“Okay,” he said, sitting opposite her. “What were you doing here?”
“Can you take off your sunglasses?” she said. “You look like a Secret Service agent.”
He complied. His eyes, piercing blue, sent another zap of energy through her. “Better?”