Betrayals (Cainsville Book 4) by Kelley Armstrong Page A

run.
    Aunika saw me and did the same, and when a man slid from the shadows, he had two guns pointed at his chest.
    I looked at him and my brain shot out
biker
and
cop
. Yes, there’s a world of difference between the two, yet there is an uncomfortable similarity, too. Paramilitary organizations, insular, male-dominated, an edge of machismo, devotion to the job … The guy had the military stance and the bold smirk, that preter-natural sense of calm from a guy with two guns pointed at him. A man accustomed to having guns pointed at him. From which side of the law, though? A tattoo peeking from under a short sleeve looked military …
    “Nicely done, girls,” the man said. “But you do know you’re surrounded, right?”
    “Good,” I said. “Have your friends step out and say hello.”
    The shadows stayed still and silent. Aunika snorted. I slid her a look, one that said not to be too certain he was bluffing. My gut told me he wasn’t.
    “So, little Aunika has a friend herself,” the man said. “Or did you hire a bodyguard? If so, you have excellent taste, sweetie.”
    “Stop talking like you know me,” she said. “Like I have the first damned clue what’s going on here.”
    “Don’t play the innocent for your friend. We’ve been in communication for a while, and you know exactly why I’m here.”
    “Stalking me and leaving cryptic messages is not
communication
. I have no damned idea what you people want, and I’m starting to think you have me mistaken for someone else.”
    “Aunika Madole. Daughter of Gwen and Grant Madole, both deceased. Sister of Lucy. Also deceased.”
    Aunika went still. “Does this have something to do with Lucy’s murder? I’ve been trying to get a hold of Ciro for days.”
    There was a flash and a bang as some kind of strobe hit the floor. Aunika fell back, seeming to move in slow motion with the strobing light. I recovered fast, my gun never wavering, but the guy stumbled himself, as if equally caught off guard.
    “Run!” I yelled to Aunika as she got her footing.
    I went one way, she went the other. I dove behind barrels, expecting gunfire. The only noise that rang out, though, was footsteps. Two pairs, coming from opposite directions. I kept moving, doubled over, as fast as I could move. When I reached a broken window, I vaulted through it. As usual, my move was a bit less graceful than I might have hoped, but I made it out. Even managed to land without twisting my ankle.
    A second building twenty feet away was the obvious choice, but I spotted a broken basement window on the building I’d just come out of. I waited until I heard a set of running footfalls. Then I pitched a chunk of brick toward the neighboring building. A man shouted, “She’s next door.”
    I slid through the broken basement window, back into the building I’d left. A fine escape plan, except that I failed to checkbefore going through. There was enough glass left in the frame to slice open my arm as I dropped. I fell, hissing, and crouched there, cradling my arm.
    Shit, it was a good gash. Probably stitch-worthy. I tugged off my jacket and shirt. Backing into the shadows, I kept an ear open as I ripped my shirt and bound the gash. Then took out my phone. I had enough bars to make a call. I went to speed-dial Ricky … and my phone vibrated.
    Gabriel didn’t even wait for a hello. “Did you get a chance to speak to Ms. Madole?”
    “Mmm, kind of.”
    “Good. Can you talk now?”
    This wouldn’t be the first time he just happened to call when I was in trouble. Gabriel has a sixth sense for trouble, and he would say it’s honed from his years on the street, but I suspect there’s a sprinkling of fairy dust in it, too.
    “I’m in a … bit of a spot,” I said.
    He exhaled, as if in relief. Something
had
prompted him to phone. That relief, of course, only lasted a second, his voice tightening as he said, “Where are you?”
    Not
What’s wrong?
or
Do you need help?
Simply
Where are you?
    Tell me