She raised her eyebrows, her heart thudding against her breastbone.
“My files?” He plucked them out from under her arm. She opened her mouth to protest, but he said, “Shall I call the police about your breaking and entering and attempted theft? Or would you rather owe me one?”
Riley ground her teeth and let go of the files. She was getting damned tired of the bad guys threatening to turn the tables on her.
“That’s what I thought.” He waved the folders down the hall. “Don’t lose that business card.”
Riley had no choice but to put her back to him and walk to the exit. He knew she was armed, and he seemed to be leaving open the possibility of winning her over to his side. She couldn’t help but be a little grateful for that.
Who knew what he’d be capable of if he had nothing to lose?
Chapter Ten
Keep your friends close. Don’t have enemies.
Riley didn’t breathe again until she was back on the highway, heading north. It was a good thing traffic was light because she couldn’t really remember getting in the car. Her arms burned and ached, weighed down by the heavy chains now that she wasn’t drawing energy. And might never again, after this. She’d never tried to sustain a connection that long, and obviously, it wasn’t a good idea. Neither was trying to unwrap the chains while she was driving, but she had to keep moving, had to get as far away as possible from Anson. He might have let her go, but only because he knew how to find her again when he wanted to.
She had to call Sam.
Her chest tightened, air feeling too thick to drag into her lungs. She had enough presence of mind to know a panic attack was approaching. She was alone, and pursued, and couldn’t use her abilities for defense right now, and that put her right back where she’d started. Right where Anson had wanted her.
But you’re not alone anymore, a voice in the back of her head reminded her. No one was in the car with her, or even in Atlanta, but she had people she could call. People who’d help her. Who needed to know what she’d learned.
She pulled off at the next exit and made her way to a crowded section of a Walmart parking lot. First she had to get these chains off. She left the car running while she fumbled to open the clips, unfastened the chains, and slowly unwrapped them. Oh, God, that hurt. Her eyes watered when the chain stuck before peeling away from her damaged skin. She wished healing came naturally to her like John said it did to others, but it was one thing he couldn’t train her in, even if she had the ability. They’d discussed setting her up with another goddess in a few weeks, but that did her no good now.
She dropped the first chain to the floor and sat back in her seat, eyes closed, gulping air. The smart thing to do would be to go inside and buy some bandages, but she didn’t have the energy to leave the car. And she still had to face removing the other chain. It took several minutes to work up to it, and then another few for recovery. She poured bottled water over the red stripes and carefully pulled her sleeves down, as if not seeing the wounds would make them hurt less.
Then she dug out her phone. She should call Marley, who had to be worried about her by now. Or John, to report what she’d learned. But she dialed Sam’s number automatically, craving the connection and comfort he always provided.
“Where the hell are you?” he answered after only half a ring.
Riley burst into tears. She got herself under control quickly, but the damage was done. Sam cursed, and Riley heard keys jingle and a door slam, cutting off a shout of anger.
“Where are you?” he repeated. A car door creaked and then banged shut, and an engine turned over before Riley could clear her throat, inhale, and try to answer him.
“I’m okay,” she said first, because he seemed to need to hear it. “I’m outside of Atlanta.”
“Alone? If Tournado hurt you…”
“No, he didn’t.” She sniffled and opened her glove compartment to dig for a tissue. “He could have—he caught me with files in his office—but he let me go. Said now I owe him.”
Sam cursed again, and the engine revved as if he’d pressed down on the accelerator while still in neutral. “I’m coming to you. Don’t move.”
That made Riley laugh. She wiped her nose and leaned against her seat again, feeling a lot better. Safer, though he was still hundreds of miles away. “Don’t be silly, Sam. You don’t even have your own car. You flew to Mississippi, right?”
After a few beats of silence, the engine shut off. “John called me. We were on our way to Atlanta, but Quinn got sick and we had to stop for a couple of hours.” His frustration was clear, and Riley regretted making him feel that way. “I kind of lost it when I heard your voice after getting your voice mail all day.”
“I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t know.”
“Anyway, I was about to take the Charger. Nick’s car,” he clarified. “He’s gonna—yeah, there he is. He’s gonna kill me.”
“Not if I can help it. Listen, Sam, I have to tell you what’s happening. I—”
“Not over the phone,” Sam interrupted. “I need to get to you.”
She shivered at the idea that someone was monitoring them, and it eliminated the slight comfort she’d gained hearing his voice. If someone knew their locations and could track them down… Then again, Anson had found her somehow, again and again, without ever having to trace a phone call.
Maybe it didn’t matter what they did.
Riley listened to paper rattling, as if he’d unfolded a map. Another car door opened, and a man’s voice said, “You’re trying to get me locked up for homicide, right? That’s your plan?”
“I need to meet up with Riley coming from Atlanta,” Sam said away from the phone. “What’s the best route from here?”
“What’s going on? She okay?”
“I’m fine,” Riley muttered.
The man—Nick, she guessed—named a route number Riley remembered passing a few minutes ago. She hit the speaker button and set the phone on the seat beside her, backing out of her parking space and speeding toward the lot exit before Sam had even told her what to do.
“We’ll head your way,” he said, “and you head ours. We’ll meet in a couple of hours in the middle. We’ll figure out a place when we get closer. Call me every thirty minutes so I know you’re okay.”
She blinked fast against the sting in her eyes. “I will. Thanks, Sam.” She hung up without looking, her attention on the long, wide road ahead of her.
A little more than two hours later, she pulled up beside the cool, old muscle car in the parking lot of the steakhouse outside Birmingham, Alabama. Sam, who’d been pacing behind the Charger, watching nervously as she drove up, hurried around to open her door and haul her into his arms.
“Thank God you’re okay.”
“I told you I was,” she insisted against his chest, her words muffled. She wrapped her arms awkwardly around his waist, trying not to rub or put pressure on her chain burns, and let his big, warm body swallow her up. For the first time in hours, her body stopped pumping adrenaline. She clung to him for a long moment that partially balanced the queasy shakiness as the hormone drained out of her system. She inhaled the scent of his skin and laundry soap and faded aftershave, an already familiar combination, and one that was a little arousing despite her exhaustion. His arms were so strong, his chest and abdomen hard against her body, and…
And he buzzed.
Like Anson had buzzed. Somewhere at a level of awareness Riley didn’t normally use. The uneasiness she hadn’t realized she held vanished. It couldn’t be a bad thing because this was Sam.