"Or not," he said, and disappeared.
No one in the restaurant seemed to notice or care. He may have been visible to everyone, but there was obviously some sort of magic at work, because it was simply impossible for anyone to disappear in the middle of a crowded room like that and not have anyone notice.
I rose and headed out of the restaurant. It was still raining, so I flicked the collar of my jacket up and ran for the underground parking garage. After finding the ticket machine and paying, I headed for the stairs and walked down to sublevel two, my footsteps echoing sharply in the silence.
I'd parked my bike in the slots near the elevators, which were on the opposite side of the garage from the stairs. I waited for a car to cruise past, then stepped out, but as I walked through the half shadows, the awareness that I was not alone hit. Which, given this was a multistory underground parking lot, wasn't exactly surprising. But the sense of wrongness that came with the realization was.
I glanced around. Cars were parked in silent rows and there was no one in immediate sight, walking either toward or away from them. The air was thick with the scents of dirt, oil, and exhaust fumes—aromas that seemed to be leaching from the concrete itself. There was nothing that suggested anything or anyone was near.
Yet someone was. The sensation of wrongness was getting stronger, crawling like flies across the back of my neck.
I'd lived with clairvoyance, warnings, and portents all my life. I wasn't about to start ignoring them now.
I slowed my steps a little and flared my nostrils, drawing in more of the air and sorting through the flavors.
And I found him.
Or rather, them—because there wasn't just one person nearby, but four. One ahead, one to the left, one to the right, and one attempting to sneak up behind me. Effectively, they had me boxed in, and you didn't do that unless you wanted to ensure your prey couldn't escape.
I flexed my fingers and wondered how I should play it. I could fight—years of sparring with Riley and Quinn had seen to that—but they'd also impressed upon me the need not to fight unless it was absolutely necessary.
I wasn't sure yet that it was necessary. It was possible my stalkers intended nothing more than to talk to me. They might even be intending to follow me. Hell, I already had a reaper playing tag, so why not four strange-smelling men?
But if these men had intended to do nothing more than talk, they wouldn't have bothered boxing me in so completely.
They were here to attack. Nothing more, nothing less.
I reached into my pocket as I neared the bike and wrapped shaking fingers around my keys. Doubt skittered through me, but these men left me with little in the way of options.