Bound to Shadows (Riley Jenson Guardian 8)

"While the satellite is lining up," I added, "have you had any luck with the search I requested?"

"There's one hundred and fifty cars so far with a plate starting with BUK. " Her voice was dry. "At least twentythree of those are Toyotas. It's a proverbial needle in a haystack right now. "

But it was a haystack that Jack would still want searched. "It might be worth cross-checking whether any of those Toyotas belong to the family of whoever Johnson murdered. "

"You think it's a vengeance kill?"

"It sure as hell smelled like it. "

"Well, all I can say is the bastard probably deserved it. They don't slap you in jail for that long without good reason. " She paused, then added, "Okay, I have a fix. I'll trace the plate, if you like. "

"I like. "

I flicked another glance in the rearview, then changed lanes again. The red Mazda didn't move, remaining obstinately in its own lane. But the distance between us neither increased nor decreased.

"The car belongs to one Irene Gardener, who lives in Melton. " Sal paused. "She's a little old lady of seventyfive, and there are no reports of it being stolen or anything. "

"Meaning I'm being alarmist over nothing. "

"Well, unless she's a seventy-five-year-old who's taken up following people, then I'd have to say yes. " She paused. "Then again, she might not know the car is even missing yet. Might be worth trying to shake the Mazda, just to see what happens. "

I couldn't help grinning. "And if I crash, I can always say you told me to do it. "

She snorted. "This conversation is not being recorded, and I will deny it ever happened. "

"Right. Thanks, Sal. "

I flicked off the com-link and cruised along the freeway for several minutes, doing nothing other than watching the traffic and the annoying red car behind me.

Then a long semi-trailer came into view. Perfect, I thought, and pulled out into the other lane, keeping my speed even as I passed the truck. A glance in the mirror showed that the Mazda remained where it was. I pulled in front of the truck, then hit the gas. The big car surged forward, the speedometer rising. I didn't slow as the traffic increased, weaving in and out with a precision that would have surprised anyone who knew my driving record. The Western Ring Road overpass came into view. Ignoring the lights, I swung onto the on ramp and roared up into the traffic, using the emergency lane for several minutes before cutting into a gap between a truck and a cab. A quick glance in the mirror didn't reveal a familiar red shadow, but I cut across to the Boundary Road exit anyway, only slowing once I'd swung left - tires squealing - onto Fairbairn Road.

No red car.

I was safe.

I blew out a relieved breath and was surprised to discover that my hands were shaking again. I flexed my fingers against the steering wheel and wondered briefly if Kye's warning was nothing more than a way to get at me from the grave. He might not have thought he'd die - especially at my hands - but he knew enough about my relationship with Blake to understand just what his warning would do to me.

Maybe he thought he could use it to get closer to me. To drag me into his life. He'd suggested that, at the end, before he'd killed Kade and forced me to take the shot I'd been avoiding.

We were both killers, after all. I could do what he did, what Rhoan did. I'd proven that amply enough over my years as a guardian . . .

No, I thought, shoving the thought away viciously. I was not like him. I wouldn't be like him.

And yet . . . it was a possibility. If I stayed in this job, kept hunting down killers, I would continue to harden. It was inevitable.

Maybe that's why my hands were shaking. It wasn't so much the ghost of a threat but rather the fear of the future. A future without my wolf soul mate.

I closed my eyes briefly. This was ridiculous. I needed to stop thinking like that, because I wasn't alone. I still had Quinn. My soul might have been reduced to ashes, but I still had my heart.

I continued toward home, parking several doors down from our apartment building and locking the car as I headed back up the street. The rich smell of baking bread wafted around me, making my stomach rumble and reminding me that I hadn't yet had breakfast. I spun on my heel and headed back to the bakery, which was run by the same family that owned the pizza place next door. I'm sure Rhoan, Liander, and I kept the two places in business.

A bell rang as I pushed open the door and Frances - the cheery, matronly woman who was the chief baker -

came out of the back r

oom, wiping floured hands on a towel.

"Riley," she said, a wide smile creasing her lined features, "You're up early this morning. "