“We have some chicken and pork in the freezer,” Marley mused. “Do you eat meat?” They paused at an alley to make sure the way was clear. “I have a recipe I’ve been wanting to try, for this pork chop glaze.”
Riley stopped walking. A stone had worked its way into her shoe, and she bent to slip it off and dump the stone. Marley didn’t notice and stepped out to cross the alley. An engine roared, and Riley looked down the alley to see a motorcycle zooming straight at her roommate.
She didn’t have time to think. She dropped her shoe and, with her left hand clenched hard around the tire iron, shot her other hand out. Power flooded her body and zipped through her. She realized then that the cyclist wasn’t trying to hit Marley. He drove one-handed and seemed to be reaching for the satchel draped across her body.
Riley’s surge hit him at the same time his hand curled around the strap. Marley spun, but the bike tilted when it hit the dip where alley met street. He fell sideways, and Marley shrieked and jumped back, tripping over the curb and landing hard on the sidewalk.
Tiny, hard fragments dug into her shoeless foot as Riley ran and awkwardly leapt over the cycle to land straddling the driver. He was young, his face shaved smooth, his brown hair trimmed short. He lay on his back, the shoulder of his long-sleeved shirt torn. Riley crouched and grabbed the shirt, pulling him up toward her. His eyes rolled, unfocused, as if he’d banged his helmetless head when he fell. One hand scrabbled at her fist.
“Who are you?” She brandished the tire iron, concentrating on drawing energy to boost her strength again, and shook the guy a little. All the anger at her family’s lies manifested in a raging desperation for answers. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
“Riley.” Marley sounded confused. “He’s a mugger.”
He could be, but Riley didn’t believe it. A mugger would have hidden his face and been on foot. Who mugged people on a motorcycle?
“Who?” she demanded again, and the guy reached for his back pocket. She released him to knock his hand out of the way and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. On the left, in the plastic window, was his driver’s license. The photo matched, but the edge of the window blocked his name. On the right, she spotted the top of a familiar-looking business card. Millinger’s logo. She didn’t recognize the name printed on it.
Marley murmured something behind her. Riley caught the words “security team” and realized she had called someone, probably John or a member of the Society board or Protectorate instead of the police.
Riley wasn’t waiting for them. She dropped the wallet and grabbed his shirt again. “Tell me what Millinger wants with us.”
“I don’t know,” the guy croaked out. He tilted his head back and looked pleadingly at Marley. She held her palm toward him, and he squirmed in panic, his heels digging into the asphalt. He twisted back to Riley. “Please, don’t magic me.”
“We don’t do magic,” she scoffed. “Just tell us.”
“They told me to swipe the bag and bring the contents to the office, that’s all.”
“What’s your job there?”
“I’m a consultant.”
“Aren’t you all.” Riley shoved him away in disgust. “Who’s your boss?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t have one. I get my instructions from the owner.”
“And he is?” She stood but didn’t move away from him. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know!” he insisted. He wiggled backward until she brandished her weapon. “Honest! I don’t even know if it’s a guy!”
“Why would you work in a job like that?” she asked.
“It pays a lot of money. But not enough for this!” He’d played her with his frightened weenie act, or just got desperate and then lucky. Either way, Riley wasn’t ready for him to lash out. His fist struck her in the side of the head. Lights flashed, and she staggered back, gasping in pain when something, probably a foot, hit her wrist and made her drop the tire iron. Seconds later, the small bike roared to life. Riley’s vision cleared in time to see the “mugger” skidding around the next corner and out of their sight.
Riley cursed loudly. Her head swam when she bent to pick up the tire iron. Only Marley’s grip on her elbow kept her from toppling over.
“Are you okay?” Marley thumbed her phone again. “You need an ambulance.”
“Don’t bother. I’m fine.” She rubbed her temple. “Who did you call?”
“John. He’s alerting the security team. I should have called the police instead,” she fretted.
“It’s fine. Don’t second guess yourself.” Riley was going to have a headache, but her vision wasn’t blurred and the lightheadedness had passed, so hopefully no concussion. “See if you can have them meet us at the apartment. I don’t think we should hang around here.”
They hurried down the street while Marley called again, John’s anger coming through to Riley even though he didn’t shout. They got safely into the apartment a few minutes later, and Riley immediately went to take a painkiller.
“You didn’t know him, did you?” she asked when she came back to the living room. Marley shook her head. Her eyes were too wide, though, and her grip on the satchel too tight, despite being locked inside now.
“You know something, though,” she encouraged. “He said something familiar to you. Was it Millinger? You know Millinger?” She wasn’t sure, but maybe they’d never said the company name in front of Marley.
Tears filled the other woman’s eyes. She dropped the satchel on the coffee table, sat on the couch, and covered her face. “It’s Anson.”
Riley pulled her sleeves down over suddenly cold hands and wrapped her arms around herself. “You think that’s who sent this guy?”
Marley shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know, but it’s an awfully big coincidence.”
“What is?”
“He was an orphan. His mother died in childbirth, and he said his grandmother let them put him in foster care but stayed in contact with him. I’m pretty sure her last name was Millinger.”
Everything she’d been told about Anson paraded through Riley’s head. He’d gone through a lot to get power the first time. How far would he go now?
Knowledge was supposed to make things easier. Take away the fear, give you something to fight. But the more she learned, the bigger the picture became, the more she hated sitting around waiting to be targeted again.
Joining the goddess world hadn’t been all good, but she’d be damned if she let anyone take it away from her.
Riley stood and headed for the spare bedroom. “Pack a bag. We’re going to Georgia.”
“What?” Marley stopped in the doorway her eyes wide. “Now? The security team is coming!”
Riley tossed her bag onto the bed and shoved a stack of shirts into it. Over the past few months she had filed several police reports, learning quickly how little good it did. They were all overworked and had far more important things to worry about. Plus, this guy hadn’t touched them, not until Riley had knocked him off his bike and threatened him. Vern’s earlier threats echoed—a powerful person could turn this around on them. She could end up being arrested.
She grabbed a few more things from the dresser to stuff into the bag. “What’s a security team going to do?”
“Protect us.”
Riley shook her head. “All that does is give us a wall to hide behind while we wait for something else to happen. So I’m going to Atlanta.”
“Why?” Marley challenged.
“Because that’s where Millinger’s headquarters is.”
“What do you think you’re going to do there?”
“Find out what the hell he wants. Are you coming?”
“Who, Anson?” Marley dropped back a step and shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
Riley zipped the bag’s main section. “I’m tired of being a victim, Marley. My family, the Society, all these people who’ve been following me—this is my life, not theirs. I’m tired of running in the dark, and I won’t keep sitting inside some office building surrounded by protectors. I have to end this.”