How did he—? Her face must have betrayed her, because he nodded again. “And you’re tired. Triggering does that, eats up a lot of the body’s reserves. The biochemical changes are pretty intense.” He moved a little, as if his own muscles were sore. “You’re going to need at least a month or two to adjust.”
What? “What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.
Amazingly, that made him smile. All the anger fled from his face, and his eyes actually lit up. It made him even more dangerously handsome, the stubble roughing up his cheeks and his mouth softening just a bit. “Well, first of all, I thought I’d feed you. You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?”
He sounded actually cajoling, and her heart gave an amazing thumping leap inside her chest. She was starving; she hadn’t choked down more than toast and that had gone down the tubes this morning. “I—”
His head came up, tilting as if to catch a sound. It was a quick inquiring movement, like a cat’s, and she flinched again. She couldn’t help herself.
“Shit.” The anger came back, settled over his face like an old friend, and chased the handsomeness away. “It never rains but it pours. Look, Sophie, can you trust me?”
Trust you? Are you fucking insane? You kidnapped me, broke into my house, and you’re…you’re…Words failed her. She just stared at him.
“Guess not.” He slowly rose, and she noticed his boots were dusty and crushing the carpet. He made another one of those quick, inquiring moves, and swore under his breath again. “I hate to tell you this, honey, but there’s upir in your building. There’s no reason for them to be here unless they’re after you. I’m going to ask you again, why the hell are they following you?”
“I don’t know.” How amazing. I actually sound irritated. Go figure. Her brain began to work again. “How can you tell?”
“I can smell them.” He turned in a tight circle, his gaze roving over every surface of the room and coming to rest on her again. “I wonder why they’re so interested in you. Huh.”
“Please don’t hurt me.” How many times am I going to have to say that in my life? she wondered, and not for the first time.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He took two quick steps and held out his hand, palm cupped. “But we’re going to have to get out of here.”
She shook her head. Loose curls fell in her face. “I’m not going anywhere.” She clutched at the chair arms like a drowning woman. “You can’t kidnap me again.”
“I’m not going to kidnap you, for Christ’s sake. Can’t you smell them?”
“All I can smell is whatever cologne you’re wearing. Why don’t you go find someone else to harass?” She couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth.
It sounded more like something Lucy would say.
He gave her a smile too tight and thin to be an expression of good humor. “What if I like harassing you, sweetheart? You get all cute when you’re mad.”
What the hell? She stared at him. “You’re insane.”
“Nope.” He moved his hand a little, urging her to take it. “How did you vanish the other night, by the way? We thought the upir had taken you. Were about to tear down the whole town looking for you.”
What the hell for? She lifted her chin and scowled stubbornly at him. If he wanted an answer he was going to have to beat it out of her.
And if there was one thing Sophie Wilson knew, it was how to take a punch and keep a secret.
His hand stayed where it was, hanging out in the air like it had nothing better to do. “Come on.” He didn’t look impatient or upset, just thoughtful and tense. “We need to get out of here. I smell bloodsuckers all over this building. I’d really prefer it if you came willingly.”
“Go. To. Hell.” She settled herself farther back in the chair, which squeaked again, and braced herself for an explosion.
Someone knocked sharply on her front door. Three hard, quick raps.
Sophie swallowed hard. What now?
“Huh.” Zach spun in a tight half circle. “Male. Expecting a gentleman caller, sweets?”
Her heart gave a sickening thump, began pounding.
God. It’s Mark. He’s found me. “Nobody knows where I live.” Except you, apparently. And now him. He’s going to hit the roof if he sees a man in here. It was the final straw.
And Zach was striding toward the door as Sophie, frozen, held on to the arms of the old chair with tense, aching fingers. He didn’t pause, just swept her purse aside with his foot, tucking it out of sight over the kitchen threshold, flipped the dead bolts as if he lived here, and yanked the door open. “Hello?”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut so hard fireworks slid behind her lids. Her breathing came in quick, shallow gasps, and her entire body was locked in a cube of ice. She could actually feel the wet cold against her skin, and a thin trace of sweat slid down the shallow channel of her spine.
The darkness behind her lids turned gray for a moment, as if a diaphanous scarf had wrapped itself over her head. A strange sense of comfort settled over her, warring with the lunacy she was trapped in, this nightmare that didn’t want to end.
“Is Miss Wilson home?” It was a half-familiar voice. Not Mark’s. Her breath whooshed out, gasped back in, and held itself again.
“May I ask who you are?” Zach asked, amiably enough. It was absolute insanity, and it wasn’t about to end anytime soon.
She wondered if she was crazy. It would certainly explain a lot.
“Detective Andrews, CPD. I spoke to Miss Wilson this afternoon, about her friend Lucy Cavanaugh.”
“She’s really broken up, sir.” How was it possible for a werewolf who kidnapped her and dragged her hundreds of miles away, not to mention broke into her house, to sound so calm?
“I know. But I had a couple questions. You see, witnesses describe someone matching Miss Wilson’s description entering the Paintbox with Miss Cavanaugh. You wouldn’t happen to—”
“That would be what, Friday night?” Zach still sounded calm, and he paused. The detective must have nodded. “It couldn’t have been Sophie. She was with me. We were at home.”
“Here, in this apartment?” The detective sounded mildly surprised. “Miss Wilson didn’t mention you this afternoon, Mr….?”
“Gabe. Gabe Sellers.”
A faint, hopeless sound escaped Sophie’s throat. My God, is he even lying about his name? There was the sound of cloth moving as men shifted weight, and her eyes flew open.
Zach filled up the door, towering over the pudgy little detective. She couldn’t even see the man out in the hall. And that weird grayness didn’t go away. It looked like the cloudy haze on the conference table earlier that day, swirling hypnotically.
She wondered if she was going into shock.
“Mr. Sellers.” A floorboard creaked sharply under the detective’s feet. “She didn’t mention you. Can I come in?”
“Well, her ex-husband’s kind of looking for reasons to make her life miserable. I guess she doesn’t want me to be one of them.” Zach leaned on the doorjamb. “And Sophie’s crying her eyes out about Lucy. I don’t think now’s a good time.”
“So, you’re involved with Mrs. Harris?”
“It’s Ms. Wilson.” Zach’s tone had turned chill. “And I’m not sure it’s any of your business, Sir. Sophie was with me all weekend. Does that answer your question?”
“Where did you two spend the weekend, Mr. Sowers?” The detective’s tone matched Zach’s now, and Sophie let out another small hitching sound. Her nose was full, and tears had welled up. Two scorch-hot drops of water trickled down her cheeks. Say something, you idiot. Yell. Scream. You wanted to call the police, there’s one standing right there in the door! Do something!