I gave a moment's thought to taking his belt off and tying him up, but Trent was flashing his lights at me. Not wanting Wayde to follow, I felt his pockets for my keys and fished them out. Still shaking, I got up, made a salute to the camera in the corner, and hobbled out.
The cool night air was like a balm, and I headed for Trent's car with my thoughts swirling. I'd hurt Wayde, but he'd be okay, not dead like if he followed and ended up shot. "You could have helped me out there," I said as I yanked the handle up and slid into the sharp little black two-seater, finding the seat warm from the electronic heater. The windows were down, but with all the vents wide open and aimed at me, it was comfortable even in the chill autumn night.
Trent revved the engine, giving me a sideways grin. "I told you to come alone. You think I want to be on a security camera?"
I eyed his black attire as I put my belt on and he jammed the car in first and headed smoothly for the exit. "Besides," he said as he paused at the entryway to the apartment complex, then gunned it. "If you couldn't get rid of your bodyguard, you aren't fit enough to tag Eloy. How come you didn't make up a healing curse?"
"I haven't had the time. Besides, I'm okay," I said, and he nodded. Adrenaline spiked, and I couldn't help my smile. The car was fast, Trent looked good, and we both knew more than the I.S. and the FIB combined. "Do you know who the-men-who-don't-belong are yet?"
He shook his head and tossed my battery pack and earbud to me. "Not yet, but they're human, and they're targeting HAPA, not helping them. They have one of their men with Eloy and Dr. Cordova at the 'watering hole.' Take a listen."
I fumbled for the earpiece and put it in. The sound of light chatter and the clinking of a spoon met me. It could be anywhere.
"You know what the watering hole is?" Trent asked, slowing at a stop sign.
I shook my head, then hesitated, smiling as the distinctive sound of ice being crushed nearly blew my ear out. "Grand latte! Italian blend! Easy on the syrup, light on the froth! Ready for pickup!" Mark shouted.
"You're not going to believe this," I said, thinking Trent looked a shade too devilish to be good backup, but he'd do. "They're at Junior's."
Trent grinned across the car at me, and something in me fluttered. "You're right. I don't believe you."
Chapter Twenty-seven
Ribs aching, I sat next to Trent in his snazzy car as he pulled into Junior's and parked, lights off, engine running. My fingers looked silver in the dash's blue light, and all my bruises were invisible but aching. The earbud lay on the console between us, the volume cranked as terse commands went back and forth in a busy, well-organized flow. Inside Junior's it was peaceful. I can change that, I thought dryly, knowing that the next ten minutes were really going to mess up the new understanding that Mark and I seemed to have.
It was nearing three in the morning according to the clock on Trent's dash, and if the coffeehouse had been in the Hollows it would be jumping. As it was, it felt much later, the brightly lit eatery sending its glow through the plate-glass windows onto an almost deserted parking lot. Junior, or Mark, as his name really was, was stocking shelves from a pallet of boxes beside him. There were no other employees that I could see.
In the corner, two customers argued over their to-go cups - Eloy and Dr. Cordova. Eloy had a jeans coat on over his white prison jumpsuit. Dr. Cordova was going more casual than usual in black pants and a knit top - comfortable to travel in should she need to jump a plane. In the corner, an athletic-looking man in a jogging outfit sat with his back to them, but I'd sell my best panties online if he wasn't one of the-men-who-don't-belong watching everything going on behind him with some sort of electronic gizmo.
Trent hit the seat warmer again as it went out. "Here," he said, reaching into his belt pack and handing me a tiny vial. "You look like you're hurting."
I took it, my eyebrows high. "And this is?"
"Numbs the pain. I could really use your assistance, but not if I have to help you in the door. It masks pain better than your amulet. But it won't heal you." He grimaced, needlessly flicking his fair hair back out of his eyes. "I'm not that good, either."
"I said I didn't have the time," I said, and he looked at me.
"And I wasn't going to ask for Ceri's help," he added as if I hadn't said anything. "All you have to do is swallow it."
"Oh thank God," I said, slugging the tiny vial of amber liquid back. My lips curled as the bitter concoction slipped down, tasting of ash and willow. Trent's lips parted, clearly surprised, and I shrugged. He was right. I wasn't much good if I couldn't move fast.
Inside, Eloy and Dr. Cordova continued to discuss something, her arms waving in her dramatic fashion, Eloy leaning back, letting her rage, his disdain obvious. Breath held, I waited for something to happen, but nothing did. My wrist still hurt, my ankle still throbbed, and I still couldn't take a deep breath. "It's not working," I said, my estimation of Trent's abilities fading.
In a quick, irate motion, he took the empty vial. "I haven't invoked it yet. Ta na ruego," he said as our fingers touched.
Starting, I shivered as I felt a filmy sheet of numbing gray slither over me, working from my aura in, muffling the pain and storing it up for later. Wild magic tingled along my muscles, and I took a deep, painless breath. "Dude. That's good stuff. Thanks."
Trent cracked his neck, and I filed the motion away as him trying to hide his pleasure. The chatter from the earbud was getting intense. Inside, the man at the table was stirring his coffee, the sound of his spoon hitting the table a bare instant after he did it. My heart pounded as he turned halfway to the window, noticing us. His eyes almost black in the dim light, Trent adjusted his rearview mirror to see the Laundromat down the street. "Ready to go?"
I gave my ankle a wiggle and took a cleansing breath. I was going to pay for this in spades later, but for now, I didn't hurt. "Yes, thank you."
"I have another when we're done if you want it. You've got an hour until it wears off."
An hour? Jeez, not much of a spell. "Thanks again," I said, meaning it.
Trent reached for the door handle, and from between us, that low, deep voice drawled in a smooth, even tone that rivaled Trent's, "Blockades in place. Beater, approach at personal discretion. All units stand by for cleanup. This is going to be a messy one, people."
"Wait," I said, reaching out to touch his knee, and Trent hesitated. "I don't like the sound of this," I said as I barely resisted the urge to flip the visor mirror down and look behind us. "They're going to trash Mark's place."