his battered Jeep north, swiftly taking them away from the outskirts of Columbia to the farmlands that surrounded the town.
It was always a beautiful drive. The manicured fields dissected by meandering streams. The sturdy farmhouses that were dwarfed by red-painted barns, along with sheds and paddocks.
Today it was even more charming with the fading April sunlight offering a hint of spring and the tiny buds beginning to appear on the trees and bushes.
Unfortunately, she was too busy glaring at the stark male profile of Nikolo Bartrev to pay attention to the passing scenery.
He really was indecently handsome, she was forced to acknowledge, even as she considered the pleasure of punching hard enough to break his perfect nose.
He’d lied to her, used her, and now kidnapped her.
Okay, to be completely fair, he’d rescued her from the whacked-out freak. And she wasn’t entirely averse to having him near in case Dylan made a repeat appearance. At least until she could find someplace to hide.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still mad as hell.
Or that she wasn’t going to try to escape the very second she suspected he was about to serve her up to the wolves. Or in this case—the freaks.
She didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him.
Which wasn’t very damned far.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted as the Jeep slowed and Niko halted in front of a heavy gate that blocked the narrow gravel road. Slipping out of the vehicle, he moved to punch a series of numbers onto a computer screen that was set in a small gatehouse before returning to steer the Jeep through the open gates and down the road that was lined with massive oak trees.
She frowned, abruptly conscious of just how isolated they were as he turned yet again and stopped in front of a picturesque log cabin that was nestled among the trees.
The front of the A-frame house was made entirely of glass, giving a hint of the large living room with a silver sectional couch loaded with bright pillows and a spiral staircase in the middle of the planked floor leading to the open loft above.
“What is this place?”
He put the Jeep in park and pocketed the keys. She grimaced, belatedly wishing she’d learned how to hot-wire a car.
Who knew it would come in handy?
“I’ve been staying here since traveling to Missouri.”
She blinked in surprise, her gaze returning to the house that managed to be elegant despite its rustic style.
It looked so . . . normal.
“Here?”
He shoved open the door to the vehicle and stepped out. “Did you think I crawled beneath a rock every night?”
With a shrug, she climbed out to join him on the pathway leading to the wide, wooden terrace.
“It’s where most slimy invertebrates slither.”
“Slimy?” His lips tugged into a lopsided grin. “Is that a scientific term?”
Her heart skipped a treacherous beat. It was no wonder he so rarely smiled. It was lethal.
“Personal opinion,” she managed to mutter.
Grasping her elbow, he led her onto the terrace. Then, reaching the glass door, he paused to flip open a small, metal box and placed his hand against it to be scanned. There was a small beep before the door slid open.
Good grief.
This place had the sort of security she’d only seen in movies.
Perhaps sensing her confusion, he sent her a wry smile as he urged her over the threshold and into the house.
“I borrowed the cabin from a friend,” he said, closing the door and pressing a button that reset the lock.
He pressed another button that did something to darken the windows. She assumed it was so they could see out, but no one could see in.
“A Sentinel?” she guessed.
“No, Serra is a psychic.”
In spite of the combustible combination of fear and anger that continued to seethe through her rigid body, Angela felt an undeniable stab of curiosity.
Hardly a big shocker.
She was a scientist who’d been obsessed with genetics for as long as she could remember.
“I thought most high-bloods lived together?”
He turned to meet her searching gaze. “Most prefer the comfort, not to mention the safety, of official compounds, but psychics have a need to seek solitude on occasion.”
“Oh.” She glanced toward the windows that offered a view of the thick woods that encircled the house. The nearest neighbor was no doubt miles away. “I never thought how annoying it must be to hear other people’s thoughts.”
“This house belonged to Serra’s parents before they retired to Florida.” His features softened as he spoke of the psychic. “She was fortunate to have