“You inhaled poison gas,” Amalia said. “I specifically ordered you to rest.” She looked over at Adam. “And you look like hell. Is that your blood or someone else’s?”
Adam’s expression tightened with grief.
“Someone else’s,” Talia answered for him.
“I’ll order some food,” Zoe offered, retreating out of the commotion.
Adam turned to Talia. That too-calm look was in his eyes; it had her stomach clenching and her soul screaming no! no! no!
Proving her suspicions correct, he shifted his gaze away the moment hers met his. “If you’re all right, I need to make some calls.”
Calls. Right.
“Abigail said we could stay here,” he continued. “Try to get some sleep. You need to rest to heal.”
Sleep. Impossible.
“I won’t be long.”
Then why won’t you really look at me?
But she couldn’t ask him in front of all these people. Not with his pain so raw. And she couldn’t hold on to him while she was tethered to the oxygen. She didn’t even know if she had the right. So she had to let him go. She just hoped he didn’t do anything monumentally brave or stupid. At least, not without her.
Outside the room, Adam begged a black tee off the back of a guy with a silver shaft piercing the cartilage between his nostrils. As he shrugged into the shirt, Zoe descended the stairs, opening her mouth as if she were going to impart some more of Abigail’s wisdom.
“Leave me alone, Zoe. And tell Abigail to stay out of my business, too.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but headed back out the building and down the alley on foot, food and sleep be damned. He had to get out of there, away from Talia’s damn faery eyes. Her lost, hurt look. She saw too much.
Patty gone. Custo gone.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t, tolerate Talia’s death on his hands, too. No way on earth would he allow her within screaming distance of the demon. Not now, not ever. Not even if she could save the world. It wasn’t happening. Not while he still breathed.
He punched a number in his mobile phone, one he knew but had never allowed himself to use. The line rang once before Jack picked up.
Jackson Flatt traded in some very illegal exotic weapons and paraphernalia. He was a first-come, first-serve kind of operator, who made no connection between the weapons he sold and the innocent lives lost because of them. Over the years, Adam had had some special needs, but never, under any circumstances, would he have done business with Jack.
Times had changed.
“It’s Adam Thorne.”
“Adam Thorne.” Jack stretched the vowels of Adam’s name for pleasure. “To what do I owe the honor of your call? You slumming?”
Adam controlled the impulse to end the call and bit back a retort. “I need something. Can you hook me up, or what?”
“Why don’t you ask your go-to boy, Spencer?”
“Spencer’s dead and I am no longer affiliated with SPCI,” Adam answered.
“Hm.” Jack paused on the other line, processing this new information. “Welcome to the dark side. What do you need?”
“L-pills.” Just saying the words made Adam’s neck sweat.
“Have anything to do with your wanted face on the news?”
News. Damn. If he was on the news, then so was Talia. Even if he managed to pull this off, her life was going to be completely messed up.
“Indirectly,” Adam answered.
“You going to be able to pay with all the heat you got coming down on you?”
“Always.”
“Then, yeah. I can probably hook you up. I know a guy. Correction, I know the widow of a guy who might have what you’re looking for. You get my meaning?”
Jack wasn’t exactly subtle. L-pills or lethal pills were designed for quick and effective suicide. Ingestion of potassium cyanide would precipitate brain death within minutes and heart failure shortly thereafter.
“How fast can you get them to me?”
“Say an hour. Maybe two. Grand Central. Buy a paper to kill time, and I’ll find you.” The line went dead.
Adam didn’t know how much Jack wanted for the pills, and he didn’t care. A thousand. A hundred thousand. A million. Really didn’t matter.
Adam bought a newspaper, but he didn’t read it. He snagged a laptop from an unsuspecting college student at the station and worked, the paper propped up at his side. In a couple of hours, he had Talia’s security planned, instructions for her to leave the country detailed on a file on his flash drive.
When Jack dropped onto the bench at his side, three hours later, the second floor of the station was teeming with busy, colorful, vibrant people oblivious to the imminent crisis.
Adam shut down the laptop, slipping the flash drive into his pocket, as Jack sized him up with an undisguised once-over. “What are you on? Coke? Acid? Something more exotic?”
“I’m high on life,” Adam said in bitter irony. “Do you have what I need or what?”
“This shit will kill you.” Jack lifted a crumpled brown paper lunch bag.