Spirit and Dust

21


I RECOGNIZED AGENT Taylor’s profile with less than a glance. The way he moved, how he held his shoulders. It jabbed like an adrenaline needle into my heart, but with the reverse effect. I couldn’t move.

Binding promise or not, I’d had zero temptation to give myself up to St. Louis’s finest. But this was my Agent Taylor. He would believe me. Trust me, I’d said in my email.

The email I’d sent told him to track down Michael Johnson. And now Taylor was in St. Louis, where McSlackerson had just stabbed a guy and one of his Brotherhood had tried to abduct me through Ancient Greece. Did that mean one of them was Johnson?

The other car door opened, and Agent Gerard climbed out. Nuts. Agent Gerard would not trust me. If anyone could possibly want to lock me up more than he did, I didn’t know about it.

Beside me, Carson cursed, and I knew he’d recognized them. “Come on,” he growled. This time it was an unmistakable order.

I hesitated too long. Maybe Taylor caught a glimpse of the setting sun on my red hair. Maybe he felt me staring at him. Maybe my psychicness had rubbed off on him. But he paused on the steps to the museum and turned back to scan the crowd.

Then he saw me and blinked, poleaxed by surprise. He must have said something because Gerard turned, too. What he said was easily readable on his lips, and he didn’t blink, just charged like a bull down the museum steps.

Even if Carson hadn’t grabbed my wrist and urged me into a run, the sight of Gerard barreling toward us would have spurred me on.

The crowd slowed the two agents down. I heard them shouting for people to get out of the way, and I was tempted to look back but didn’t dare with Carson pulling me along. We plunged down the steep slope of the lawn, and I could barely keep my feet under me.

“Daisy Temperance Goodnight! Hold it right there!”

Crap! The full-name whammy. Oldest magic in the book. I’d taught Taylor that trick, the a*shole.

I obeyed, only for a fraction of a second before willpower kicked in. On the flat land it wouldn’t have made a difference. On the grassy hill, though, I tripped over my feet and went down.

My fall jerked Carson to a stop, but he didn’t let go of my wrist. That was going to bruise. He wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me to my feet. It wasn’t a long delay, but enough for Taylor to gain ground. Gerard lagged behind, probably because he was fifteen years older or maybe because he was on the phone calling for backup.

Carson dragged me after him until my legs started cooperating again. We made it through the gap in a row of hedges that walled off a sculpture garden, and I hoped he knew where we were going, because I had no idea.

“Maguire!”

The name startled me, and so did the fact that Carson glanced up at it. I whirled and found Taylor, slowing his steps at a safe distance, his gun drawn but pointed down at his side.

His gun drawn.

“Seriously?” I said, outraged. “You need your firearm for this?”

He looked not at me, but at Carson, who hadn’t moved. “Step away from Daisy, Maguire. We can sort this out, but only if you let her go.”

That was the second time Taylor had used that name. And inside, McSlackerson had called Carson by it, too, but I’d thought he was just being snide. Maguire?

“I’m sorry, Agent Taylor,” Carson said, still holding me beside him. “If I don’t get out of here with this girl, another one is going to die.”

“We can find Alexis.” Taylor spoke in an authoritative, hostage-negotiating tone. “This is what we do.”

“No offense,” said Carson, with a hint of cool irony that showed none of the tension I could feel in the arm wrapped around my waist. “But this is way beyond the FBI. That’s why I need to borrow your girl Daisy.”

“Hang on,” I said. Carson gave me a “not now” squeeze, but this was important, and not just because I didn’t want him to get shot. “I’m my own girl.”

Taylor’s gaze flicked to me, to Carson, and back again. He was smart, and intuitive, and he knew me. He must realize what “beyond the FBI” meant—beyond normal. I could see him working it out, but I could also hear Agent Gerard almost on us.

Taylor heard him, too, and came to a decision. “What do you hear, Daisy?”

I let out my held breath and gave him the I’m okay response. “Nothing but the rain, Taylor.” Trust me.

His eyes narrowed on Carson, who gazed steadily back, some kind of testosterone telepathic exchange going on. Taylor confirmed when he warned, “If anything happens to her—”

That was as far as he got before Gerard charged through the gap in the shrubs. Taylor whirled, expecting an attack, and Carson dropped his arm from my waist and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t hesitate, but I did look back, long enough to see Gerard point his weapon at us and shout something that I couldn’t hear over the roar in my ears. I made out “stop” and “arrest,” and I smelled the burning of bridges. Taylor knocked his partner’s arm away, yelling, “Are you crazy? You could hit Daisy!”

I was pretty sure Gerard wouldn’t mind.

I kept running, convincing myself that the ache in my chest was exhaustion and not my heart breaking because I was leaving behind everything that had been so important to me twenty-four hours ago.

We reached the parking lot with no more sign of close pursuit. Carson ran for a motorcycle that someone had parked illegally near a fire hydrant. He touched something—the battery, maybe?—with one hand and the ignition with the other and the engine roared to life.

He swung his leg over and ordered, “Get on.”

I wanted to make him work for it—with an explanation or a plea or even, you know, a request. I was tired of being ordered, hauled, squeezed, and run over.

“Get on the bike, Daisy.” His gaze caught and held mine, his fatigue and desperation binding me closer than any spell or bond. “I can’t do this without you.”

I got on the bike, like I’d known I would. A girl’s life and the power to throw volcanoes at people were more important than a “please” or a promise to answer all my questions. But so, I had to admit, was “I can’t do this without you.”