Spirit and Dust - By Rosemary Clement-Moore Page 0,67

the shrubs. Taylor whirled, expecting an attack, and Carson dropped his arm from my waist and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t hesitate, but I did look back, long enough to see Gerard point his weapon at us and shout something that I couldn’t hear over the roar in my ears. I made out “stop” and “arrest,” and I smelled the burning of bridges. Taylor knocked his partner’s arm away, yelling, “Are you crazy? You could hit Daisy!”

I was pretty sure Gerard wouldn’t mind.

I kept running, convincing myself that the ache in my chest was exhaustion and not my heart breaking because I was leaving behind everything that had been so important to me twenty-four hours ago.

We reached the parking lot with no more sign of close pursuit. Carson ran for a motorcycle that someone had parked illegally near a fire hydrant. He touched something—the battery, maybe?—with one hand and the ignition with the other and the engine roared to life.

He swung his leg over and ordered, “Get on.”

I wanted to make him work for it—with an explanation or a plea or even, you know, a request. I was tired of being ordered, hauled, squeezed, and run over.

“Get on the bike, Daisy.” His gaze caught and held mine, his fatigue and desperation binding me closer than any spell or bond. “I can’t do this without you.”

I got on the bike, like I’d known I would. A girl’s life and the power to throw volcanoes at people were more important than a “please” or a promise to answer all my questions. But so, I had to admit, was “I can’t do this without you.”

22

I CLUNG TO Carson’s waist as we zipped out of Forest Park, quickly getting the hang of shifting my weight with his. Mostly he did all the work and I just held on as he doubled back twice to make sure we didn’t have a tail before heading against rush-hour traffic toward downtown.

“Are you crazy?” I shouted, hoping some of the question would make it to his ear before being whisked away by the wind that was turning my hair into a banner behind us. “Every cop in town will be looking for a guy and a redhead on a motorcycle.”

“Trust me.” He made two more turns and then pulled into a parking garage near a retail mecca in an old train station, stopping at the gate and hitting the button for a ticket like we were out for a day of shopping. There were plenty of empty spots, but we wound all the way to the top before he pulled into one and cut the engine.

I was off the bike before the engine died. “Trust you? Who should I trust? Maguire? That’s your last name?”

He didn’t go so far as to wince, but there was definitely a flinch behind his cool control. “I can explain.”

“Yeah? You don’t think that would have been better at the beginning of our association?”

“Possibly. But this isn’t the best time for a freak-out.”

“Really? Because twenty-four hours ago, I was a law-abiding kick-ass psychic, the go-to girl when the freaking FBI needed someone to interrogate the dead. And now I’m on the run, complicit in grand theft auto, and grand theft motorcycle, and art theft, and riding a motorcycle without a helmet. I’ve been kidnapped, almost twice, and nearly smothered by the ghost of the most famous volcanic eruption in history. When would be the best time to freak out?”

Carson watched me all the way through, without expression. “Are you done?”

“Not quite.”

I reached out, grabbed the edge of his jacket, yanked him close, and kissed him.

It was an impulsive decision. But not the obvious kind. At least, not when I’d decided it. All I wanted was to seize one small moment of control. For the gazelle to get the better of the lion.

He froze when I planted my lips on his, except I’d knocked him literally off balance, and the natural reaction was to grab on to the nearest thing, which was me. And then he realized what he was grabbing and let go like I was hot—and not the good kind.

For an age we stood there like that, me holding him by the collar of his jacket and kissing him for all I was worth, him standing there, hands up like I was frisking him, with no idea what to do about it.

It. Was. Awesome.

Because all the time he didn’t know what to do with his hands, he knew exactly what to