police.”
“Oh, God.” Something had happened to him. She knew she shouldn’t have left him!
“Don’t worry, Miss Jordan. Trent’s one of our most experienced operatives. He can take care of himself. I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”
And in the meantime, the clock was ticking down on something being very, very wrong.
* * *
Trent leaned back, badly rattled, in the cab as it lurched in fits and starts across San Francisco’s crowded, construction-filled streets. Now why would that guy kill himself rather than let Trent question him? He’d only shouted out one question—the obvious one—to the tail as the guy ran out of room in the warehouse and crouched defensively in the corner. Who are you?
The guy had shaken his head, muttered back at him in Spanish and then reached inside his jacket.
Trent had tensed and coiled his body to jump at full speed to avoid being shot, but instead the poor bastard had jammed the barrel of the gun in his mouth and blown his own brains out. Shock had, for once, literally frozen Trent into immobility. And the mess had been incredible. His guts twisted into an awful knot. Had he not chased the guy, he’d still be alive. But the dude had definitely been following him and Chloe. He seriously hadn’t been planning to hurt the guy. He’d just wanted to know whom the tail worked for.
Trent had snapped pictures of the body from across the warehouse and hoped the resolution was high enough that the wizards at Winston Ops could do something with the images. Maybe they could identify the poor kid.
If he was lucky, he’d left no forensic evidence behind for the police to find. It wasn’t that he minded talking to the authorities, but right now he really had to get back to Chloe to check on her. If he knew her, she was losing her mind.
What kind of organization put its employees under orders to kill themselves before allowing themselves to be questioned?
He hopped out of the cab a few blocks from Chloe’s place and hoofed it the rest of the way back. No sense leaving an easy trail for anyone to follow. He paused for a moment in front of her apartment door to mentally gird himself for the next looming crisis. He’d glimpsed her cab following him earlier as he ran at full speed. He hoped the angle had been such that Chloe didn’t get a good look at just how fast he was moving, but he feared that hadn’t been the case.
He never showed civilians his true abilities. It raised too many questions with highly classified and controversial answers. The dead man’s incredulous last words echoed in his mind... “What are you? Some kind of monster?”
That was him. A twenty-first century Frankenstein monster. And on that grim note, he knocked on Chloe’s door.
“Who’s there?” a quavering voice asked through the panel.
“It’s me. Trent.”
The door flew open and a blonde, fast-moving object launched itself at him. He grunted as Chloe’s weight slammed into him, and he used her momentum to spin them through the door. He kicked it shut with his foot while Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck and all but choked him. Damn, but he was glad to see her, too. He’d hated being away from her, even for that short time.
“Miss me?” he asked wryly.
“I was so scared. And you disappeared and we couldn’t find you and I called Winston Ops and they couldn’t get a hold of you and—”
He cut her off gently. “I was worried about you, too.” He showed her how much by kissing her. And hoo baby, did she kiss him back. Recognition exploded across his brain. Here she was. The passionate, unrestrained, expressive woman had finally broken through.
Her hands moved across his chest frantically as if she were checking to make sure each and every rib was intact. Her fingers passed across his neck, his jaw, his cheekbones and through his hair.
“Really. I’m fine,” he murmured against her mouth. Warmth unfolded inside him at the depth of her
“Oh, God.” Something had happened to him. She knew she shouldn’t have left him!
“Don’t worry, Miss Jordan. Trent’s one of our most experienced operatives. He can take care of himself. I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”
And in the meantime, the clock was ticking down on something being very, very wrong.
* * *
Trent leaned back, badly rattled, in the cab as it lurched in fits and starts across San Francisco’s crowded, construction-filled streets. Now why would that guy kill himself rather than let Trent question him? He’d only shouted out one question—the obvious one—to the tail as the guy ran out of room in the warehouse and crouched defensively in the corner. Who are you?
The guy had shaken his head, muttered back at him in Spanish and then reached inside his jacket.
Trent had tensed and coiled his body to jump at full speed to avoid being shot, but instead the poor bastard had jammed the barrel of the gun in his mouth and blown his own brains out. Shock had, for once, literally frozen Trent into immobility. And the mess had been incredible. His guts twisted into an awful knot. Had he not chased the guy, he’d still be alive. But the dude had definitely been following him and Chloe. He seriously hadn’t been planning to hurt the guy. He’d just wanted to know whom the tail worked for.
Trent had snapped pictures of the body from across the warehouse and hoped the resolution was high enough that the wizards at Winston Ops could do something with the images. Maybe they could identify the poor kid.
If he was lucky, he’d left no forensic evidence behind for the police to find. It wasn’t that he minded talking to the authorities, but right now he really had to get back to Chloe to check on her. If he knew her, she was losing her mind.
What kind of organization put its employees under orders to kill themselves before allowing themselves to be questioned?
He hopped out of the cab a few blocks from Chloe’s place and hoofed it the rest of the way back. No sense leaving an easy trail for anyone to follow. He paused for a moment in front of her apartment door to mentally gird himself for the next looming crisis. He’d glimpsed her cab following him earlier as he ran at full speed. He hoped the angle had been such that Chloe didn’t get a good look at just how fast he was moving, but he feared that hadn’t been the case.
He never showed civilians his true abilities. It raised too many questions with highly classified and controversial answers. The dead man’s incredulous last words echoed in his mind... “What are you? Some kind of monster?”
That was him. A twenty-first century Frankenstein monster. And on that grim note, he knocked on Chloe’s door.
“Who’s there?” a quavering voice asked through the panel.
“It’s me. Trent.”
The door flew open and a blonde, fast-moving object launched itself at him. He grunted as Chloe’s weight slammed into him, and he used her momentum to spin them through the door. He kicked it shut with his foot while Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck and all but choked him. Damn, but he was glad to see her, too. He’d hated being away from her, even for that short time.
“Miss me?” he asked wryly.
“I was so scared. And you disappeared and we couldn’t find you and I called Winston Ops and they couldn’t get a hold of you and—”
He cut her off gently. “I was worried about you, too.” He showed her how much by kissing her. And hoo baby, did she kiss him back. Recognition exploded across his brain. Here she was. The passionate, unrestrained, expressive woman had finally broken through.
Her hands moved across his chest frantically as if she were checking to make sure each and every rib was intact. Her fingers passed across his neck, his jaw, his cheekbones and through his hair.
“Really. I’m fine,” he murmured against her mouth. Warmth unfolded inside him at the depth of her
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