But I wasn’t ready to give up, so I sprinted out into the street, fell to my knees, dropped my knives, and slapped my palms flat against the asphalt. In an instant, I reached for my Ice magic, blasting it out over the entire street. The cold crystals of my power exploded out from my palms and rushed down the pavement like a tidal wave streaking toward shore. The sheet of Ice raced down the asphalt, getting closer and closer to the van’s back tires. If I could just get the vehicle to skid and crash, I could still catch Santos.
“C’mon,” I muttered. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon . . .”
I poured even more of my magic into creating that solid sheet of Ice, watching it creep closer and closer to the van.
At the end of the block, the driver took a hard right, making the tires screech in protest. The van careened around the corner and vanished from sight, even as my elemental Ice continued to shoot straight down the street.
“Dammit!” I snarled.
Gone—Santos was gone.
And so was my hope of getting any answers about the robbery.
*
I released my magic, grabbed my knives, and stood up. The elemental Ice coating the street burned my bare feet as I walked over to the curb. I slid my knives back up my dress sleeves, pushed through one of the doors, and stepped back into the bank.
All sorts of debris littered the floor—overturned tables and chairs, trays of spilled food and drinks, shattered shards from the crystal chandeliers, trash bags of valuables, bullet casings. The waiters and bartenders were clustered along the tellers’ counter, shell-shocked expressions on their faces. The partygoers and the bank’s clients wore similarly stunned looks. No surprise there. Things as low-down and dirty as strong-arm robberies simply didn’t happen at a place like First Trust.
As for the bank staff, all the tellers, investment types, and other hotshots were nervously gathered in the middle of the lobby around Stuart Mosley to see what his orders would be. Mosley had his phone clamped to his ear, his eyes narrowed, and his voice chillingly low as he demanded answers from the person on the other end about how this had happened.
The crime bosses were also on their phones, texting and talking to their crews, telling them what had happened and trying to get info on who the robbers were and where they might be headed. I would be doing the same and calling Silvio soon enough, if the vampire hadn’t already heard what had happened.
But first, I had to deal with Deirdre Shaw.
She was sitting on the same stool as when I’d first come into the lobby. Her scarlet shawl lay crumpled on top of the bar in front of her, along with her purse and several bloody cocktail napkins. A long red gash sliced along her upper left arm, but the wound didn’t look deep, and it wasn’t even bleeding anymore. She’d thrown herself in front of a bullet and had only gotten grazed. I was certainly never that lucky. Then again, I’d long ago lost count of how many times I’d been shot.
But it seemed to be a new, thoroughly horrible experience for Deirdre. The robbery itself might not have scared her, but getting shot certainly had. Shock still whitened her face, her eyes twitched, and her fingers shook with small spasms before she clasped her hands together to try to hide the tremors.
I studied her carefully, but her surprise seemed one-hundred-percent genuine. I didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps she really was an innocent victim tonight, like everyone else here.
What really concerned me, though, was the fact that Finn was right by her side, smiling and chatting while he dabbed at her minor wound with another cocktail napkin, even though he had a much more serious, oozing cut and a purple knot on his forehead from where he’d hit the floor.
Bria was standing right next to him, dabbing at Finn’s wound the same way he was dabbing at Deirdre’s. Owen was there too, a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched Bria watch Finn watch Deirdre.
Hugh Tucker had resumed his previous seat on Deirdre’s other side. He eyed her wound for a moment, then started texting on his phone, probably trying to find an Air elemental to heal his boss. That’s what Silvio would have been doing.
I stopped long enough to find my stilettos and slip them back on so I wouldn’t cut my feet on the shattered crystal and broken glass, then headed in their direction. Bria sopped up another bit of blood from Finn’s face, tossed her dirty napkin aside, and hurried over to me, making sure we were out of earshot of the others.
“Did you get him?” she asked in a low, hopeful voice.
“Sadly, no, but I’ll sic Silvio on him. Santos won’t be able to hide for long. If he’s smart, he’ll leave town.”
“Well, here’s hoping that he’s not so smart.” Bria jerked her head at Finn and Deirdre. “And what do you want to do about that?”
“I have no idea,” I muttered.
Finn realized that I had come back into the lobby, and he waved at me. I let out a breath and walked over to him. Owen stepped up beside me, hugging me to his chest. I gave him a quick kiss before turning to Finn.
“Gin, there you are. I was just finishing up with Deirdre’s wound.” He shot her a grin. “Just a graze. Nothing to worry about. Why, you don’t even need stitches. A few minutes with one of those Air elementals I told Tucker about, and you won’t even have a scar.”
Deirdre drew in a deep breath and let it out, pushing away her shock and steadying herself. Then she winked back at him. “I’ll take your word for it.”