Destiny Kills (Myth and Magic 1)

“So he never talked about his clique and what they did?”

Clique? What the hell did he mean by that? His family?

“No, he didn’t.” I hesitated, my fingers clenching around the cold metal ring as the decision I’d made to return the ring to its owner reverberated briefly through my thoughts. “What did they do?”

“What didn’t they do might be a better question.” His gaze went back to the rearview mirror.

I twisted around again. The cops were closing in fast. The big man who’d tracked me to the dam was talking into the radio, meaning that Trae was probably right in his earlier assessment that they were setting up a roadblock.

“If I was the betting kind,” I said, “I’d reckon they’re working up a trap.”

“Looks like it.”

He didn’t sound in the least concerned, and I studied his face for several seconds before letting my gaze slide downward. Was it his similarity to Egan that had the flick of attraction racing through my veins, or was something else going on?

“Have you actually got a plan to get us away from them, or are you just playing it by ear?”

“I always have a plan.” His gaze met mine, the sky-blue depths holding an intensity and an awareness that sent a warm shiver across my skin. “Always.”

I rubbed my arms and pulled my gaze from his. I didn’t understand what was going on, but for once my lack of memory had absolutely nothing to do with it. This man seemed to be working on a whole different level.

The car swept around another bend, revealing a long straight stretch of road. Two cars sat across the road at the far end, completely blocking it.

“Well, there’s our roadblock,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer, just wrenched the wheel side-ways. The car slewed around, the tires screaming in protest. The unexpected motion threw me against him, hard. And that odd awareness rose again, thick and strong, until all I could feel, all I wanted, was him.

And then the car was straightening again, and I was thrown back, this time against the door, hitting my head so hard against the glass it was amazing one or the other didn’t crack.

“Seat belt,” he snapped, voice little more than a heat-filled growl.

Or maybe it was my imagination, a leftover of the weird awareness our brief touch had caused.

I took a deep, shuddery breath and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand—escape.

We were currently gunning down a dirt track that barely looked wide enough to fit a motorcycle, let alone a car the size of this one. Tree branches and God knows what else slapped across the windshield and scraped the sides, but somehow we were getting through. But a look behind soon revealed the cop still followed.

“Have you any idea where we’re going?”

“Not really.”

I looked at him. “I though

t you said you always had a plan?”

“Maybe I lied. Maybe I just like winging it.”

Amusement played about his lush lips, and I frowned. “Is that meant to be comforting?”

“Sweetheart, it’s not meant to be anything more than the truth.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

His amusement bubbled, stretching his lips into a devilish grin that had my pulse doing happy little cartwheels.

Why? That was the question that still echoed through me, even as another part of me bathed in the sexiness of that grin. What the hell was happening to me? Why on earth was I reacting like this to a stranger? A man who might yet prove more dangerous than the cops chasing us?

“You may not be my sweetheart,” he said, blue eyes twinkling as he glanced my way, “but you could be, if you play your cards right.”