Sam crept to the top of the stairs and paused, listening to intense silence. He had no sense of anyone downstairs. But he also had no weapons except for his fists, and a position that fully exposed him if he tried to get a line of sight into the living room.
He had no choice. He inhaled slow and deep. He had to be a moving target. He barreled down the stairs and prepared to swing left, behind the wall. But nothing happened. The room was empty.
Sam hurried toward the laptop, whose screen still showed Chloe’s place, all images still. Anson or Numina or whoever was supposed to have gone to her house. How the hell had Anson known to come here? And where were Nick and Quinn?
The alarm was still armed and showing no breaches, so he hurried back upstairs to get Riley and the bastard. She stood over the weasel, a fierce-looking warrior with her tousled hair tumbling around her face and the candlesticks that, in the dim light, could almost have been short swords. Sam wanted to haul her up against him and kiss her, but even though Anson’s bloody face was still buried in his hands, Sam refused to give the man any ammunition, including revealing the extent of his relationship with Riley. Assuming the jerk hadn’t heard or seen them outside, but he thought that was a safe assumption, given Riley’s ability to detect his presence.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He dragged the dirtbag to the stairs and forced him down into the great room. Quinn and Nick were just coming in through the door to the garage. Quinn held a couple bags of frozen vegetables, Nick a big package wrapped in white butcher paper. They stared, open-mouthed, as Sam dumped Anson in a dining room chair.
“Should I tie him up?” Riley glared down at Anson and hefted one of her candlesticks. He huddled, still holding his face.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Sam clenched his fists and tried not to break Anson’s face. Again.
“What the hell?” Nick’s package thunked when he dropped it on the marble counter and walked out of the kitchen section. He stopped, hands on his hips, in front of Anson. “Where did this shit come from?”
Sam explained how they’d discovered him. “Riley doesn’t detect anyone else around.”
“Neither do I.” Quinn came to stand next to Nick and gazed coolly at the leech. “How did you find us? What are you doing here?”
“Bleeding,” Anson said nasally. “I could use some ice.”
Sam would have given him another injury to take his mind off the first, but Riley went into the kitchen, put ice in a baggie, wrapped it in a hand towel, and gave it to Anson.
“Thank you.” He laid it gingerly against his face, wincing, and flashed Riley what he probably thought was his usual charming smile but looked rather gruesome. Riley’s expression didn’t change, but since Sam was watching closely, he saw revulsion in her eyes. That made him feel better about her giving comfort to the enemy. She was just playing the good cop side of things.
“What are you doing here?” Sam demanded, looming over Anson, willing to use every ounce of intimidation he could get from his size and position. Nick folded his arms and silently backed him up.
“Spring break,” Anson muttered from behind the towel-wrapped ice. He shook his head and studied the blood on the towel. “You broke my nose, you big ox.”
“You deserved it. What did you think I’d do when you sucker-punched me?”
Anson put the ice back and sat sullenly. Quinn leaned against the half wall behind her, and Nick grabbed a second chair, spun it around in front of Anson, and straddled it with his arms crossed over the top. He leaned forward slowly until it tilted, and Sam realized he’d set one leg on the toe of Anson’s shoe. Not directly on top of his foot, but the pressure still had to send an uncomfortable message.
“You’ll answer all our questions,” Sam warned, “and maybe we won’t call the cops.” Riley made a slight, jerky movement that Sam noticed because his body still hummed for her, and she still held half his attention. He also felt Nick’s disapproval, but he held his ground. The tactic wouldn’t work if Anson didn’t believe it was possible.
“What are you gonna tell the cops?” Anson challenged. “Look at me, and look at you!”
Sam assumed he didn’t show any evidence of Anson’s smack on his chin, while the leech’s nose had swollen into a misshapen hunk, still oozing blood. That might work against him, but… “I have the witness on my side. A witness,” he continued when Anson opened his mouth, “you’ve been chasing all over the eastern seaboard. But hey, if that’s not enough for you.” He leaned forward. “Tell us, and maybe I won’t kill you.”
Anson sighed and folded the towel to a clean spot, rewrapped the ice, and held it to his face again. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Sam and Nick said at the same time.
Chapter Sixteen
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Anson leaned back in the chair, faded-denim eyes narrowing with resentment. “Can I at least have a drink of water or something?”
This time, Riley didn’t move. “Not until you start talking.” She kept her tone smooth and encouraging despite the tough words, and was gratified to see Sam’s mouth twitch. She retrieved one of the candlesticks she’d set down and waited.
Anson heaved a great sigh and tossed the towel-wrapped ice on the table. “Fine. Ask away.” He folded his arms and stretched out his free leg, trying to look like he didn’t care about his situation. But Riley noticed he leaned away from Sam, and his eyes kept darting between him and Nick. He was more afraid than he let on.
She wasn’t surprised when Sam started his questions all the way back at the beginning. He’d hinted at his guilt for the connection to the leech. “Back in college,” Sam said. “Were you working for Numina then?”
Anson’s eyebrows went up, making him wince and grimace. He tentatively touched the bridge of his nose. “Uh, no. Not then. You’ve probably figured out the whole leeching thing, right?” He glanced around at them. “Why it works?” When they nodded, he continued. “I was adopted, but my grandmother stuck around. She wanted me to know about my mother and my heritage, but she wasn’t that powerful and could only teach me so much. I figured I could ‘bond’ with another son of a goddess and pick his brain, get an in to the community. I hacked the Society’s database, found other male descendants my age, and picked you.” He shrugged and rubbed at some dried blood on his hand. “Bad choice, as it turned out. You were too noble to be of much use after that.”
It wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Jealous boy, resentful that he didn’t have the power he’d have had if he were a girl, seeking a way to take it instead of living a normal life and trying to be successful on his own merits. His methods made Riley’s skin crawl.
“So you were always planning to leech a goddess,” Sam said with disgust.
“Not from the beginning. But once I found out it could be done, I started planning.”
“Why Marley?” Quinn asked. Riley glanced at her, relieved to find she didn’t seem to need the wall to hold her up. At least, not yet.
Anson shrugged. “I liked her. That made it easier. You know she had to bestow power willingly, and that was going to be a challenge.” He gave Quinn a steady look that almost seemed sincere. “I didn’t intend to hurt her. She’d have been fine if you had left her alone.”