“Bogey only a hundred yards out,” J.J. announced. “Two more close behind it, and, uh…like twelve—no, fifteen—more after that.”
“Like walking in the park,” Scott said, and his forehead was showing a little sweat now. “Splash one.”
“Literally,” J.J. said. “One down. No, two—three.”
“Damn, waterboy,” Augustus breathed.
“If you wanted to throw some rocks up at the ones following, he probably wouldn’t object,” I said, sweating a little myself.
“If I could see them, I would,” Augustus said. “Or feel them.”
“I think I have this,” Scott said, straining.
“Four and five down,” J.J. said. “Six and seven closing…”
Something blew up a little ways off, and I felt it.
“Sorry,” Scott breathed.
I felt something else, too—sudden, supersonic, cutting through the air toward us from behind.
“Uh oh,” I said.
“Something else on radar,” J.J. said. “Unidentified…small…faster than the missiles…”
“It’s Rose,” I breathed, as the engines outside thrummed to life.
“She’s closing on us, man,” J.J. said, looking up at me, wild-eyed. “What are we going to d—”
“Scott…” I said, “lay off on the missiles.”
“Done,” Scott said, collapsing on the seat behind him. Kat came over to him, putting a hand on his head, but his pallor didn’t really improve. “That…was not the easiest thing ever. The welds on those things—”
I concentrated on those drifts behind me, on that supersonic object cutting through the air toward me.
There was a break of fury in my mind, like blood ran in front of my eyes.
I reached out with my mind, with my powers, and seized every single one of the remaining missiles in a furious wind—
And sent them right into a perfect convergence on the Scottish woman following us.
The Gulfstream issued a rough shudder as the explosion’s shockwave ran through the plane.
“Got her!” J.J. shouted. “She’s losing altitude…”
“I know,” I said. “I can feel her.”
Rose ceased her supersonic flight, dropping back, falling to earth. I pushed her along, slamming her into the ground as we rushed forward, away from her, away from the ground as Chase turned the flaps and added power to the engines and we left the ground behind.
I fell into the nearest chair and put my head back against the soft seat. I was pretty sure I hadn’t killed Rose, not if she was the premiere badass she seemed to be.
But maybe, just maybe, I’d given Sienna a break.
I consoled myself with that thought as I pushed the plane with a hard tailwind back across the Atlantic…and wondered if I’d ever see my sister again.
39.
Rose
Alistair McKinney was Rose’s date for the evening. They walked along the summery streets of Edinburgh, trees green even in the evening dark, her giving him coy looks, him giving her hungrier ones. His hair was silvery, but he was eager and bordering on lecherous. The air had that brisk scent to it, and the lights were shining out from the flats in the buildings all around them as they went, his arm hooked in hers, his suit jacket’s rough cloth rubbing at her elbow like this whole evening had chafed at her mind.
She’d felt a bit strange about this at first, but that had been easily soothed. Because honestly, it felt so damned good when she touched a person, it practically made her ravenous for more.
This is fine, Granddad said. He’s just a man, and not a very good one at that.
Aye, Tamhas said, he’s a right bastard. I’ve known him for a long time, and this one—this one’s going to set you up for life if you can just get hold of his bank accounts. It’ll make things easier.
Just keep an even look, Hamilton said. He’d been advising her on being natural in moments like this, when she was deceiving. He’d had her practicing faces in the mirror. Doing exercises. Finding the emotions on command.
“Ahh, you’re such a pretty thing,” Alistair said, stroking his fingers through her hair as they walked.
Give him a little bit of hope, Hamilton whispered.
Rose did, flashing him a ghost of a smile. He went for her hand to hold and she brushed him, escaping while still keeping him on the line.
They were walking through the New Town, a lovely place that Rose had already developed a little affinity for here in Edinburgh. It was grand, she thought, filled with history and mystery, and a sort of magic that she might have felt more acutely with other company.
Like Graham, who had spent these last months…silent.
That’s it, Hamilton said, breaking into her thoughts. Now get him inside.
“My flat’s just up here,” Alistair said. They passed the rows of lovely older buildings, beautifully maintained and surely of finest quality within.
And in spite of their surroundings, part of Rose, deep inside, below the hammering heart, wanted to throw up.
Alistair hopped ahead, legs lively as he went up the steps to unlock the door to the flat. He took them two at a time, that short riser from the sidewalk up to the older apartment building. It had grand arches and recessed windows, a lovely and elegant old building. He held the door for her, and in spite of the summer warmth…
Rose felt…cold.
Go on, Granddad said, and Rose tottered up the steps in her heels, feeling very much out of place. All her life she’d have dreamed of looking as lovely as this, to be dressed to the nines this way, to be here in Edinburgh, and yet now here she was, her last pounds put into the dress, the heels, the hair…
And she was about to use it all to ensnare and kill a man to live.
It had a cold comfort, trying to figure out how to make it outside the village these last months. The voices in her head were loud, all the time. Maddening, even when she was trying to sleep. She’d wake out of a sound dream—always a nightmare, always the same one, people howling at her, clawing at her, ripping at her clothes—in the tiny flat she’d rented, gasping in the night, afraid everyone could hear her the world over.
Afraid that somebody would be coming. That Weissman, or Raymond, maybe. Maybe both.
“Let me show you inside,” Alistair said with a wink as he held the beautiful, glassy front door open for her. She stared; he was waiting.
She wanted to walk away. To stride off down the street with nary a word, and leave Mr. McKinney to his posh flat, to his fancy life. She didn’t want to touch him, and she didn’t to take his thoughts or his bank account information or anything else, really.
This wasn’t what she wanted at all.
Get in there, you stupid, worthless cow, her mam said.
Mechanically, Rose walked up the steps, and into the flat.
They’d had this conversation before when the money started to run out. She’d tried a job, but sometimes the voices would act up and she’d shout out in the middle of work. It came on like a fit in the middle of the store. Headaches so bad they’d drop to her knees, arguments between them so harsh that she’d cringe away from a customer.
She’d been sacked a few times before she’d realized that no one wanted to work with a crazy person.
And she had become a crazy person. Voices in her head completed the circle.
“You want a cuppa?” Alistair asked once she was inside. The apartment was indeed posh, grand staircase leading upstairs, the entire building his. She was living in a one-room flat, and he had a whole building. She looked around, feeling that intense desire to run again, like she didn’t belong here among these riches, these hardwoods, these leather-lined books and fancy people. She stared at Alistair and felt nothing but sick at his leer, one-sided as it was.
Answer him, you stupid cow. Her mam’s voice rang out in her head again, sharp and harsh. Had it ever been any other way? Rose had a hard time imagining it now.
“No, I’m…fine,” Rose said.
Alistair eased up to her, and she felt strangely like a shark was circling her. “Would ye like to go…upstairs?” So full of meaning.