She sighed. "You should think a little longer about Jimmy. He isn't as big of an idiot as he seems."
"That would be impossible," I muttered. If he were that big of an idiot, he wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time.
I continued to drive up the mountain, but I started to think, and I didn't like where my thoughts took me.
Summer was right—how I hated to admit that—Jimmy had known what I could do, so it followed that he knew I would see him with Summer.
"You're saying he wanted to end things?" I asked. "But he was too big of a weenie to face me, so he ..." I made a vague gesture in the direction of Summer's breasts.
"For someone with a standing reservation on the moron train, you throw the word around pretty easily at others."
I gaped. That was something I would say.
"If you think about it with your head instead of your childish heart," Summer said, "you'll see the truth." Her eyes lifted. "We're here."
I followed her gaze. Above us on the next curve of the highway, the large, black half circle of a cave loomed. Dotting the incline around it were no less than a dozen others. I didn't have time to worry about what Jimmy had done so many years ago. I had to deal with what he'd done lately.
I wheeled the car around the final bend, pulling it off the road and onto a gravel area carved out for breakdowns. We stepped out, glanced up, sighed.
"You take the ones on that side." I pointed with my left hand. "I'll take the ones on this side. Whoever finds him first—" I stopped, uncertain where to go with that.
"Wins?" Summer murmured, and floated upward without benefit of wings.
CHAPTER 6
I had to ascend the old-fashioned way—shuffling across the rock-strewn dirt, yanking myself over steep areas using exposed tree roots, sliding downward several feet here and there, then cursing Jimmy Sanducci, Summer, the Nephilim, and anything and anyone else I could think of.
Luckily I had superior strength and speed, thanks to Jimmy, and the cuts and scrapes I received healed almost immediately, thanks to him, too. Still, I would have preferred to fly. That had looked liked fun.
But I was sticking to my guns at least figuratively and making do with the powers I already possessed for as long as I could. I was certain that sooner rather than later, I was going to need more magic than I had to fight the Nephilim.
I'd left my Glock in the car and brought only the knife. Ricochets, rock chips, not to mention lack of adequate lighting, made shooting a firearm in a cave a tad ill-advised.
Hauling myself over a dirt embankment, I contemplated a dark, nasty cave. If I hadn't known better I'd think dusk was falling, but it was still too early.
I glanced to the west and cursed some more—just what I needed to make this day complete. Huge, indigo clouds of thunder rolled across the horizon. My luck, the storm would turn into a tornado.
Inside the cave I pulled out the trusty flashlight that had also been in my duffel, and scouted every creepy corner. No sign of Jimmy. It would have been too simple for him to be lurking in the first place I searched.
I continued upward, listening with one ear for Summer and with the other for a swish of wind. I remembered reading somewhere about storms in the mountains making the roads impassable. Wouldn't it just be special to get stuck up here all night with Jimmy the vampire on a rampage?
I talked big, thought big about killing him, but when push came to shove, it wasn't going to be easy—neither emotionally nor physically. Jimmy was dangerous. He had been even before he'd gone vamp.
Jimmy's real job—or perhaps it was his cover and the demon killing was his real job, hard to say—was portrait photographer to the stars. He traveled the world; he was in high demand. He'd always had the best eye for color, light, people, and it had taken him places.
But once he'd been a street kid like me, handy with a knife—I stroked the hilt of the silver blade—and he'd had a hair trigger of a temper. No one had crossed Sanducci back then; if they had, they'd been very, very sorry.
At the fourth cave, I hit pay dirt. At first I thought it was another empty, damp hole. But this one kept going; it was slightly bigger than all the others.
The air became cooler; I could smell water, hear a trickle somewhere in the distance. The narrow, rock walls widened until they opened into a cavern.
Something squeaked. Bats or mice. Either one didn't work for me. I swished the flashlight around and was turning to leave when my brain registered what I'd revealed in the far corner.
Feet clad in shoes, legs covered by blue jeans. Could be anyone, but it wasn't. I'd know the scent of Jimmy Sanducci anywhere.
Even when his scent was shrouded by dirt, water, moss, and other less pleasant odors, I could smell the last hint of cinnamon and soap.