After several minutes, he pushed the door open and walked through. I swirled after him. There were few cars on this level, and no sign or sound that there was anyone else but us here.
Which was perfect.
He paused, his gaze sweeping the area, then he strode across the empty space, heading for several cars in the far corner. After a moment, I realized why—the rotating security cameras didn’t quite make it into this corner. It was a dead spot for them.
He pulled something out of his pocket and pressed several buttons as he aimed the device at the three of cars parked in the corner. The third one beeped, the taillights flashing to indicate a response. A lock pick, I realized. Shit. I’d just run out of time.
I surged forward and formed a mass over his head. As he reached for the driver’s door, I found flesh and dropped right down on top of him.
He grunted and collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, winded but not knocked out. I remedied that by knocking his head sideways into the car. He collapsed and didn’t move.
I pushed into a sitting position, my legs on either side of his body and my weight resting firmly on his butt, doing nothing more than breathing deeply for several minutes. When the tide of weakness began to fade, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked down at my captive.
Now what did I do with him?
It wasn’t practical to drag him back to the car with me—not only because some do-gooder was bound to intervene, but because he was a good foot taller than me. And despite his thin frame, his body felt like steel. The minute he came to, he’d have me beat in reach and strength.
Which meant I’d have to question him here. I glanced around, checking that we were still alone and that the cameras definitely didn’t scan this particular corner, then rose and looked inside the car he’d opened. There wasn’t anything useful in the backseat, so I popped the trunk and checked that out. And discovered the owner was obviously into hiking, because there was not only a backpack filled with gear, but also hiking boots.
I pulled the laces free, then slammed the trunk closed and grabbed my prisoner’s arms, hauling them behind his back. I tied one lace around his wrists, and the other around his thumbs. They might not hold him for long, but I didn’t really need much time.
I rolled him onto his back, then dropped down onto his stomach and slapped his face. “Hey! Wake up.”
His eyelids flickered. I slapped him again, harder this time, the sound echoing.
Brown eyes were suddenly glaring at me balefully. “Get off me, bitch.”
“Tell me why you were following us, and I might consider it.”
“We weren’t following anyone. You’re fucking crazy.”
The words were barely out of his mouth, and he was buc
king like a mad thing, trying to dislodge me. I rode the first few attempts, then punched him in the diaphragm. Hard. He gasped, and for several seconds made like a fish out of water as he struggled to suck in air. I felt a little sorry for him—until I remembered that he might just be involved with the people who had tried to kill Ilianna.
“Why were you following me?” I repeated.
“Fuck you, lady!”
I hit him again. He swore—fluently and creatively—when he was able, but otherwise he remained tight-lipped. I sighed. I had two choices. Either I could call Rhoan and let him deal with the man—and in the process lose any hope of gaining additional information on the who and why behind all this—or I could play hardball.
“Tell me,” I said quietly, praying—hoping—that he did talk, “why were you following us, and who put you on to us.”
It couldn’t have been Handberry, because he was dead. But he’d been talking to someone prior to his exit from the club—someone who’d made him so mad, he’d stormed out. Maybe that someone was the next person up the tree of command—and the person behind the current tail.
“Call the cops if you think I did anything wrong, lady,” he spat. “Otherwise get off me or I’ll start screaming for help.”
“Yeah, you do that,” I said, and reached for the Aedh again. But this time, I controlled the surge of power, channeling its fury, containing its strength, focusing it on just my hand. Making it transparent, but not entirely smoke. There, and yet not.
His gaze widened. “What the hell—”
“You will tell me,” I said softly, resting my hand against his chest, just above his heart. Only my fingers held no substance and slipped easily through his flesh, into his body, until they were positioned near his frantically beating heart. “Or I will wrap my fingers around your heart and squeeze every bit of life out of it.”
I RE-FORMED JUST ENOUGH FLESH AROUND MY fingertips to carry out the threat. Though I only squeezed gently, because I really didn’t want to kill him. And I could—so easily—if I wanted to. Uncle Quinn had made that abundantly clear when he’d shown me—somewhat reluctantly—how to do this.
The shifter screamed, and it was a high-pitched sound of pain. Sweat broke out across his forehead and fear filled his eyes. I let my fingers become smoke again.
“Tell me,” I said, voice harsh.