found some way to sneak her out of the garage instead of letting her witness Troy’s murder. Now Benson was going to kill her as soon as he found out that she’d seen what he’d done.
“See you at work tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I handed over her keys. Catalina gave me a shaky smile, more tears pooling in her eyes, then slid into her car and cranked the engine. She backed up and followed Xavier in the sedan out of the garage.
Bria was still talking on the phone, pointedly not looking in my direction. Maybe I should have tried to makenice with her, but right now, I was too angry and disgusted to bother.
So I went over to the stairs and plodded down them to the first level, my soft footsteps like a steady heartbeat against the dirty concrete. I stood in the shadows by the entrance, staring out at the street. The lights spaced along the sidewalks continually flickered, the weak, worn-out bulbs humming in warning that they could go dark at any second. The sputtering glows made it seem as though the graffiti runes spray-painted everywhere were moving, like roaches skittering along the street and up and down the building walls. Most of the cars that had been parked here earlier were gone, and I didn’t see anyone schlepping down the sidewalks, not even a couple of hookers trolling for clients.
I sighed. It didn’t matter if anyone was watching or not. The cops would be here soon enough, their blue and white lights flashing and drawing everyone’s attention to the garage. And when word got out about exactly how gruesome Troy’s murder had been and that there had been a witness to the crime, well, that would only make folks more interested in things, especially Benson in finding and eliminating Catalina.
But Catalina had made her choice to testify, and there was nothing I could do to stop her, even if doing the right thing would probably end up getting her killed. I sighed again, a little louder and deeper this time, stuck my hands into my jeans pockets, and ambled down the street.
I’d only gone half a block when a pair of headlights popped on behind me.
I palmed a knife and whirled around, thinking thatmaybe Benson had already heard something on the police scanner and had come back with his vamps to investigate.
But the lights weren’t from a car cruising down the street. They were on one already parked at the curb close to the garage entrance—a black Audi with tinted windows.
The Audi’s engine churned steadily, sounding as smooth and silky as a cat’s satisfied purr. I squinted against the glare of the headlights, but I couldn’t make out who was sitting inside through the tinted windows. I doubted it was just a wayward commuter, though, hiding in his car until the scary woman with the knife decided to leave. Oh, no. If whoever was inside was an innocent bystander, he would be calling the cops and racing down the street as fast as he could, instead of sitting there playing a game of chicken with me. Maybe Benson had left some vamps behind to watch the garage for whatever reason. Either way, I wanted to know who was in that car and why.
So I sprinted toward the Audi, coming at the car from an angle, in case the driver decided to floor it, zoom up onto the sidewalk, and try to turn me into a bloody pancake against the side of the garage. I was a hundred feet away from the car and closing fast. Seventy-five . . . sixty . . . fifty . . . thirty . . .
The driver finally did floor it, and I tensed, ready to throw myself out of the way of the sleek hood and churning wheels. But I didn’t have to. The driver turned the wheel sharply to the left . . . and zoomed away from the curb and down the street.
I cursed, whipped around, and ran after the car, even though there was no way I could possibly catch up withit. The Audi rounded the corner. A few seconds later, so did I, but the car was already two blocks away and picking up speed. I cursed even louder as I finally stopped. I hadn’t
“See you at work tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I handed over her keys. Catalina gave me a shaky smile, more tears pooling in her eyes, then slid into her car and cranked the engine. She backed up and followed Xavier in the sedan out of the garage.
Bria was still talking on the phone, pointedly not looking in my direction. Maybe I should have tried to makenice with her, but right now, I was too angry and disgusted to bother.
So I went over to the stairs and plodded down them to the first level, my soft footsteps like a steady heartbeat against the dirty concrete. I stood in the shadows by the entrance, staring out at the street. The lights spaced along the sidewalks continually flickered, the weak, worn-out bulbs humming in warning that they could go dark at any second. The sputtering glows made it seem as though the graffiti runes spray-painted everywhere were moving, like roaches skittering along the street and up and down the building walls. Most of the cars that had been parked here earlier were gone, and I didn’t see anyone schlepping down the sidewalks, not even a couple of hookers trolling for clients.
I sighed. It didn’t matter if anyone was watching or not. The cops would be here soon enough, their blue and white lights flashing and drawing everyone’s attention to the garage. And when word got out about exactly how gruesome Troy’s murder had been and that there had been a witness to the crime, well, that would only make folks more interested in things, especially Benson in finding and eliminating Catalina.
But Catalina had made her choice to testify, and there was nothing I could do to stop her, even if doing the right thing would probably end up getting her killed. I sighed again, a little louder and deeper this time, stuck my hands into my jeans pockets, and ambled down the street.
I’d only gone half a block when a pair of headlights popped on behind me.
I palmed a knife and whirled around, thinking thatmaybe Benson had already heard something on the police scanner and had come back with his vamps to investigate.
But the lights weren’t from a car cruising down the street. They were on one already parked at the curb close to the garage entrance—a black Audi with tinted windows.
The Audi’s engine churned steadily, sounding as smooth and silky as a cat’s satisfied purr. I squinted against the glare of the headlights, but I couldn’t make out who was sitting inside through the tinted windows. I doubted it was just a wayward commuter, though, hiding in his car until the scary woman with the knife decided to leave. Oh, no. If whoever was inside was an innocent bystander, he would be calling the cops and racing down the street as fast as he could, instead of sitting there playing a game of chicken with me. Maybe Benson had left some vamps behind to watch the garage for whatever reason. Either way, I wanted to know who was in that car and why.
So I sprinted toward the Audi, coming at the car from an angle, in case the driver decided to floor it, zoom up onto the sidewalk, and try to turn me into a bloody pancake against the side of the garage. I was a hundred feet away from the car and closing fast. Seventy-five . . . sixty . . . fifty . . . thirty . . .
The driver finally did floor it, and I tensed, ready to throw myself out of the way of the sleek hood and churning wheels. But I didn’t have to. The driver turned the wheel sharply to the left . . . and zoomed away from the curb and down the street.
I cursed, whipped around, and ran after the car, even though there was no way I could possibly catch up withit. The Audi rounded the corner. A few seconds later, so did I, but the car was already two blocks away and picking up speed. I cursed even louder as I finally stopped. I hadn’t
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