“Who took you out?” I asked.
“A human. Might have been a woman. Tall. Spoke English like a foreigner, talking with whispery, sliding sounds. Accompanied by two vamps, male and female. The male never spoke. The female vamp had a Middle Eastern accent. The human and the vamps were tattooed with wristbands of falcons. Or hawks. Raptors, anyway. Don’t know.”
Vamps did not tattoo themselves very often, which made these vamps unusual, and therefore interesting. The Reach I knew would have found out any unknown info before his attacker got out the door good. Now, not only did he not know the gender of an attacker (which seemed impossible), he also didn’t know what kind of bird was in a tattoo. This was not the Reach I knew. The sense of dread deepened, making my palms ache. “How bad are you hurt?” I asked, my throat tight.
He gave that broken, breathy laugh again. “Well, I won’t type two-handed ever again.”
“Reach,” I whispered.
“Don’t,” he said. “Save it for yourself. They were here for information about Leo, but they also were looking for you. Not just where you lived. They had that.” I turned and looked at the video screens. Reach’s torturers knew where I lived? “They wanted everything,” he said. “And I gave them everything I had. Not that it did me any good. They left me in pieces anyway. This was a week ago. I couldn’t call until now. The lead vamp made sure of that. He’s coming for you, for the icons you have. The something Leo has, or might have. But more important, he wants someone he called . . . I don’t know. It sounded something like E-sen-do Lucy. I don’t know who it is, but they want her—or him—bad. Be careful, Jane. Make sure your family is safe.” The call disconnected.
The Kid said, “Got him. He’s moving west. Right here.” The Kid showed us a map, and Reach was at the bottom of one of the Great Lakes, the one that looks like Florida, or a body part—and not a mitten. “GPS puts him coming into Chicago, could be a train.”
A moment later, Alex said, “There are train tracks at his location . . .” His voice trailed away, his fingers flying over the tablet.
Moments passed, and I studied the tablet screens with the robot on them. Nothing was happening. A lot of hurry up and wait as the night shadows lengthened.
“Yeah. He’s on a train,” the Kid said, “or his cell is. Train route originated in Boston, but made multiple stops on the way. No Amtrak ticket in the name of Reach, first or last. Chicago is the biggest passenger train hub in the country, and if he stays on an Amtrak route, he can go in one of nine general directions. If he gets a car, he can go anywhere.” Moments later Alex said, “GPS stopped. Cell has been turned off.”
“Assume he dumped the phone,” Eli said.
“He can’t type two-handed,” I said, my voice numb. “And they left him in pieces.” It sounded selfish to speak of myself in the midst of someone else’s pain, but I added, “And someone’s had my info for a week. Bomb. Tail cars. Someone’s after me.”
Eli set a hand on my shoulder, took the cell phone away, and guided me back to my stool. Deon put a mug of hot tea in front of me. I took it up, holding the cup in icy fingers. Reach had been with me for years. Never in person, but always there with info when I needed it. Yeah, he’d turned on me a time or two, but Reach had never been reticent about admitting that he sold his services to the highest bidder. This time the price had come from him.
“Drink up, Tartlet,” Deon said gently. “I put a little tequila in yo’ cup.” He placed a blanket around my shoulders, and when I didn’t drink, he cupped his hands around mine and lifted the mug to my mouth. I drank—it was that or drown in tea.
It burned all the way down and I coughed, pushing him away. “Holy moly. A little tequila?” I spluttered and the burning continued all the way down to my toes.
“Drink or I be making sure you regret it.”
I sipped and withstood the pain as the alcohol scorched through my gut.