Page 12 of Dark Lover

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT ARE YOU going to do with this?” Kit asked, keeping her voice low.

It was late. The party was breaking up. Sam had watched Maclean for the past few hours as he drank and eyed several pretty women, keeping mostly to himself. He was clearly a loner, no surprise there. Nick had ordered her to keep him in her sights—and because she knew he was going to steal the page sooner, not later, she intended to do just that. She had just followed him down to the building’s lobby.

Sam took her messenger bag, loaded with her favorite toys, from Kit. “Thanks.”

“I don’t like this,” Kit said, glancing past her at Maclean.

He had a woman on each arm—both tall, young and beautiful—and clearly, he meant to take them home for a very private house party.

Sam didn’t care who he slept with. All she cared about was stopping his offense with her defense. She intended to be on him like glue. He was not going to get into that vault without her.

Sam and Kit still stood beneath the building’s canopy. He glanced over his shoulder at her, clearly offering an invitation. Sam shook her head, smiling coolly. He seemed to sigh and then stepped into the street to hail a cab.

“Are you upset? What happened tonight?”

“Nothing happened. He’s just a jerk, but he’s about to take a big fall. I’ll see you tomorrow. If I’m late, it’s because I’m on Maclean. No pun intended.”

“I think he’s dangerous, even if his power is white.”

Sam actually laughed. “No kidding. What are you going to do?”

“There are a few guests left. I’m going back upstairs. Maybe Hemmer will notice me and show me the vault. I’ll try to chat with him.”

“Hey, Kit? Work it and he’ll notice you.” It never ceased to amaze her how modest Kit was. Sam suspected she was celibate, but they never discussed it. She nodded now as Kit slipped back into the lobby. Then she glanced at Central Park West.

Tons of cabs were heading uptown and every one was full. Nothing was heading downtown. Considering how late it was, that was odd—most should be empty.

As the two girls with Maclean whispered and giggled, both high and drunk, Sam felt a chill slither down her spine. She tensed, instantly searching the area for a sign of impending violence. Maclean must have felt it, too, because he had dropped his arm and was looking past the traffic.

And Sam saw the couple on the park side of the street, running, five cloaked figures in pursuit.

Burnings were creeping up on the proportion of murders committed both in the city and globally. A recent study released by Interpol showed that almost 20% of all the murders committed last year had been burnings. Burning the Innocent alive had become a huge “gang” sport. The perpetrators weren’t entirely human—they were possessed by evil, and commonly referred to as subs. The press had dubbed the crimes witch burnings, because the subs wore cloaks and the burnings were so medieval in nature.

Five cloaked teens chasing a couple meant one thing. Sam was already running across the street, holding the short stiletto that had been hidden in her right high heel.

Running in high heels sucked, but she wasn’t about to be deterred. Sam caught one boy from behind, who screamed as he was seized. He tried to stab her with his knife and she cut his throat just as two of his friends leapt at her.

Sam dropped her messenger bag and used the side of her hand to deliver a fatal blow to boy number two’s throat. He dropped like a rock. At the same time, his buddy stabbed her, the blade of his knife grazing her arm and then cutting across her rib cage.

It hurt. And she didn’t like being hurt. Pissed, she gave him a flying front kick, which sent him backward across the street. She knelt, taking her .38 from the bag. As she did, the boy got up, his face a mask of possessed fury. She glimpsed Ian standing on the street corner. He was calmly watching her take on a pack of evil kids.

Her fury knew no bounds. Couldn’t he get rid of one of the subs for her, at least?

She felt someone behind her. Sam whirled, firing as the girl landed on her, her face hairy. Wolflike claws dug into her body. Sam fired again and again. It took a while to kill the shape-shifting girl. The half woman finally fell dead to the ground at her feet.

“Arrgh!”

Sam turned but before she could shoot the fourth possessed teen, he had kicked the gun from her hand. His rage, combined with the evil, made him terribly powerful. Off balance, she landed hard on her ass as he tackled her, his hands going around her throat. He started choking her, intent on strangling her to death.

This would be a great time for Maclean to butt in, she somehow thought. But he didn’t. Sam jammed her knuckle into the boy’s carotid artery; as he choked, she took the dagger from the garter on her thigh and imbedded it in his chest. Instantly he collapsed on her. She shoved him off, and then knelt over him to see if he was alive.

He was. She dug her cell phone out of her tiny purse and dialed not 911, but CDA. Their medical center was as clandestine as the rest of the agency. Known as Five, it was in constant use. Bringing subs into a regular E.R. was a bad idea. The non-ordinary—and many at CDA were NO—could not seek treatment in a public hospital, either. The press would start to figure things out. Full-blooded demons disintegrated if left untouched within moments of their destruction, so they were rarely an issue. Five was for the very special.

That done, she closed her phone and looked at the bodies on the street. Four dead kids, all of whom had once been normal. It was routine by now. These possessed kids were mostly runaways, and they were easy prey for evil.

She looked at the boy who was still alive. “Try not to die. With a little help from the gods, we might get you back to your family.” She spoke without emotion. Compassion was a bad idea, she’d learned that long ago. If she started caring about who lived and who died, she’d be the one winding up dead, really soon.