were a thousand redheads in this city, and chasing an active suspect through the streets via spotlight was a very different proposition than identifying her in a bar twenty-four hours later.
Facial recognition was good. It wasn’t that good.
Besides, she’d had the hood of her windbreaker up most of the time.
“That’s not a problem for me,” he said without blinking.
Ignoring the relief she felt, Jo hefted her bag up on her shoulder and headed for the Golf. As she walked, she could sense him behind her, and she glanced back. He was scanning the parking lot, the lane, the buildings around them.
And he hadn’t put the gun away yet. It was down by his thigh—
As her phone went off, she put her palm up at him. “Just my cell. Don’t fill me full of holes.”
He shot her a no-shit-Sherlock look.
Whoever was calling wasn’t in her contacts, but she answered anyway. “Jo Early.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the man did a double take. But then she had to concentrate on what McCordle was saying.
“Wait, wait,” she interrupted. “So Frank Pappalardo’s definitely put a hit out on him? You’re sure?”
Butch pulled his roommate’s R8 up to Safe Place, but he did not cut the V10 engine. As much of a gentleman as he was, there was no walking his shellan up to that door. No males were allowed on the property, and definitely not close to the entrance or in the house. The females and young who were finding safety and treatment inside were on a continuum of recovery and stability. There was no reason to make them any more uncomfortable than they had to be, and surprise, surprise, the aggressors who had hurt them were all males.
Marissa leaned over the console and he met her halfway. Kissing his mate, he lingered with their mouths together, his hand sneaking up to the nape of her neck.
When they finally pulled back, he smiled. “I’ll come pick you up at four.”
“I love driving in with you.”
“I love being your chauffeur.”
Marissa gave him one more peck, and then she opened her door and shifted her legs out. As she extricated herself from the low-level car, he wanted to pull her back in. Then he wanted to drive off and keep going.
Instead, he tilted over into the passenger seat and looked up at her. “I’m counting the hours.”
“Me, too.”
Marissa blew him a kiss, closed the door, and went up the front walkway. On her way inside, she gave him a last wave, and then the heavy, reinforced oak door was shut. Butch took a deep breath. Then he put the car in M1S and hit the gas, manually shifting the DCT as he left the neighborhood. It was a good ten or twelve minutes to get downtown, and he enjoyed the swerving in and out of lanes, the seventy-eight miles an hour in M4S . . . the dropping down into third gear, hammering the accelerator, and taking the Audi up to a hundred just before he got off at the North-way’s Trade Street exit.
Some blocks down from where he dumped out onto the surface roads, he ditched the R8 in the garage where Manny parked the mobile surgical unit when it needed to be downtown on standby. Out on the street on foot, he strode along with his senses threading through the darkness. He immediately sensed a couple of lessers, but they were blocks and blocks away. Frustrated, he gave their approximate locations to the group that was on rotation, and hoped that tempers would hold and nobody would get too stabby before he could come on scene.
The instinct that he was being followed was a gradual one, the kind of thing that snuck up on him . . . as someone snuck up on him.
Triangulating the direction of the wind, he made a left, a right, and then another right so that the breeze coming off the river rode up on his back, carrying the scent of his little friend upon it.
Not a slayer. Not a vampire.
And was that . . . Poison by Dior? Shit, his nose had to be playing tricks on him. No one wore that perfume from the eighties anymore.
Stopping, he pivoted around, not bothering to hide his Hi, how’re ya.
The woman was a good twenty feet away from him, and she was surrounded by light, sure as if the ambient illumination of the city was drawn to her. And yeah, he could understand why. Considering