I’m fine. This is fine. She’d suspected they wouldn’t suit, and he’d proven her right. No big deal. Except her chin wobbled and her eyes blurred with tears. Shit. She never cried! Why here? Why now? Why over him?
The answer didn’t matter. Like every time before, she stuffed her hurt deep inside and pasted an unconcerned smile on her face. She strolled back to the bunkhouse, to Ava, the only other constant in her life.
Twelve
A year later
HURRY, HURRY, DAMN IT, hurry.
Though Noelle had only been an AIR agent for a few weeks, she already had one successful case under her belt. A case Ava was now engaged to marry, but whatever. Noelle couldn’t think about that.
Her second case was currently sprinting down the wealthy side of Main.
Midday, on a nice, cool Saturday, the sidewalks were crowded with clueless shoppers and the otherworlder servants carrying their bags. The same species of otherworlders she’d spotted so long ago on the other side of town, only these were dressed in crisp, clean uniforms.
The shops were high end and pristine, the cafes sparkling with activity, their outside tables shielded by large umbrellas. This was the atmosphere she was used to. The perp busted through the crowds and toppled the tables, leaving chaos in his wake, forcing Noelle to push and shove her way after him, all while leaping over shattered glass, dropped purses, and slippery food.
Hector Dean was working this case, too. Not with her. Never that. In fact, they hadn’t really spoken to each other since that night at camp. But Mia Snow, the new official head of AIR, had informed all agents to be on the alert for a white minivan with tinted windows.
Apparently, an anonymous tip had promised the van would be carrying three otherworlder females who’d been abducted from their homes. As that same anonymous tipster had never before been wrong, Mia had taken him—her?—seriously.
And ten minutes ago, Noelle had spotted the van and called in the plates.
Hector had barked over the radio: This is mine, Tremain. Stay back, but maintain a visual. I’m on my way.
As if.
Yeah, he was invested in the case. He’d worked it a year ago, but the whole thing had been iced when no new clues surfaced, the recovered girls vanished without a trace, and no other kidnappings occurred. (That they’d known of.) The tips had stopped, too. Then, two days ago that minivan info had come in, as if there’d never been a lag, and well, now things were back on.
Have to beat him, have to beat him, damn it, have to beat him.
The driver had realized she was on his tail, threw on the brakes, and abandoned the vehicle right there in the center of the road. There’d been no time to check on the women, so Noelle had sprinted after him while at the same time radioing in about the new development.
Agents were probably at the van now. Hector wouldn’t have stopped there, though. A bruiser at heart, he would have followed the commotion and come after the driver. Like her.
Have to beat him!
Perp was a scrawny human in his mid thirties—and thereby unstunnable. He was also out of shape. Was now slowing, taking the corners with less vigor. No longer throwing stuff or people in her way. I’ll have him yet.
Sweat poured down her back. Her muscles burned, the first sensation she’d had in months, and the bones in her legs vibrated every time she pounded a foot into the concrete. She was off the clock and not dressed for a street chase. Black leather halter, black leather pants, five-inch heel boots.
Plus, she had a killer hangover.
Ava’s bachelorette party had roared all night long, and had still been going strong this morning.
Noelle increased her speed. Drew in closer … closer still … The guy rounded another corner. She stayed tight on his ass, practically stomping on his shadow. Another busy sidewalk came into view. He slammed into a pedestrian and flew backward—
Straight into Noelle.
Just the break she’d needed. She caught him with a humph and, using the momentum to her advantage, swung him around and slammed him into the side of a building. Smack.
Reacting on instinct, he threw back an elbow and knocked the air from her lungs. For a moment, she saw stars.
He tried to sprint off, but she kicked out a leg and tripped him. He toppled on his stomach.
“Bitch!” he spat, twisting around, going for a blade in an ankle sheath.
“I invented that move.” Noelle kicked the weapon out of his hand, then kicked him in the face—knocking out a few of his teeth. He spat blood and attempted to crawl back, away from her.
With a muttered, “Oh, no you don’t,” she dove for him. Just before she hit, she reached for her own switchblade. Contact. She kneed him in the balls, making him howl with the intensity of the pain. Then she flicked her wrist, snapped the blade in place, and pressed the tip into his throat. Not enough to damage him, but enough to sting.
His struggles increased as panic hit his bloodstream, causing the knife to slide in deeper. Jolting upright, he head-butted her in the chin and she once again saw stars.
“Bastard,” she spat, and tasted blood.
“Let … me … go,” he gritted.
“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”
“I’ll kill you!”
“After I kill you?” She hated being without her pyregun, but as she’d known she would be drinking last night, she’d left her piece at home.
“Fuck you!” he said on an explosion of breath, but he ultimately settled down.
“Good boy. First, a little warning. You run and you’ll suffer. Second, I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’re going to answer them. Or you’ll suffer. Basically, just get used to the idea of suffering. First up. Where were you taking those women?” Interrogations usually happened back at headquarters, but she wanted to throw the information at Hector and pretend it had been a breeze to acquire.
“Fuck you,” he repeated, panting. “You can’t hurt me. I’m human. I know my rights.”
“Really?” Noelle slammed the palm of her free hand into the end of his nose, snapping the cartilage on impact.
Blood spurted from his nostrils. His scream nearly busted her eardrums.
“Let’s try again,” she said calmly. “Where were you taking those women?”
“Not scared of you.” His trembling body belied the assertion. “Nothing you do will be worse than what he’ll do.”
Should I be offended? “Who’s he, and what will he do?” Realizing he’d said too much, the perp really panicked.