The Epilogues: Part I: Badge of Honor (The Potentate of Atlanta Book 6), Hailey Edwards [year 2 reading books TXT] 📗

on me following. I caught him way too quickly otherwise. He was barely trotting when I breezed past. Glancing back, I saw him perk his ears. He allowed me to keep the lead then loped after me. The worst part was, I was giving it my all. He was just chilling at the pace I had set. I was dying a slow, painful death. He was probably daydreaming about chasing rabbits.

The GPS announced when we arrived at Lockdown, a full twenty-two minutes after we left Bishop.

I wanted a chair, a tall glass of ice water, and new feet. I was too hot and tired to care who won.

Frak that.

I had come this far.

Drawing on Ambrose, I fed magic into my aching muscles and pulled ahead of Midas. With sweat igniting my eyes, I slapped my palm on the door or maybe the window. I couldn’t see a thing through the burning. “I win.”

I bent over, braced my hands on my thighs, and focused on not expiring on the spot.

Who cared if Midas pretty much let me win?

Who cared if Midas hadn’t even been running?

Who cared if Midas could have beaten me with two paws tied behind his back?

I won, dang it, and it felt good.

Crimson magic splashed in my periphery, droplets flying onto my arms. “You won.”

“Yeah…I said…that…already.” Lungs burning, I gulped down air. “You…are…evil.”

He proved me right by ducking into the bar and leaving me to die alone on the street.

An ice-cold touch at my nape shocked me upright, and I whirled to find him standing with three bottles of water in his hands.

“Sorry.” He jerked out of swinging range, as if I had that kind of energy. “I thought it would help.”

“I just…didn’t hear…you.” I was panting so hard the drum of my heart in my ears took center stage. “Please?”

“Here.” He cracked the cap on one and passed it over. “Take it easy.”

Ladylike sips of water helped, but I finished with an unladylike smack of my lips. “Much better.”

“You’re getting faster.” Midas took the empty and handed me the second bottle. “I was impressed.”

“I was motivated.” I chugged this bottle. “I couldn’t let you win.”

He didn’t say he could have won at any time, and I didn’t beat him to death with a water bottle.

Win/win.

We had this mate gig in the bag.

“Ready to go in?” He sniffed the air. “Smells like we’re due for more rain.”

“It can’t hurt me.” I pulled at my shirt, which clung like a second skin. “I’m already drenched.”

“Maybe not,” he allowed, “but I heard our guy’s on a smoke break out back.”

“What?” I shoved him aside. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Most people who smoke are religious about their breaks. I didn’t see him cutting it short.”

“Most people haven’t just participated in a kidnapping and assault combo.”

We didn’t have much evidence, but we had the recording, and that was proof enough for me.

Once inside the dark bar, I noticed the bright-red exit sign and headed straight for it. I shoved through into an alley and spotted a man with a cigarette clenched between his teeth. A familiar shiver coasted down my spine, confirming he was a vampire, and the guy puffed up like a wet cat stuck under a blow-dryer.

“What do you want?” He put out his smoke on the side of the building. “I’m not breaking any laws.”

“You worked at Marx’s last night.”

“Yeah?” He pocketed the remaining cigarette. “So?”

Either this wasn’t our guy, or he was seriously not bright.

“Who did you text when you saw Cruz and Neely Torres arrive at the restaurant?”

“Shit,” he cursed, then pivoted on his heel and ran.

Definitely low wattage. This guy should have taken his cues from Richards and called in sick.

“See,” I said philosophically, “if you hadn’t raced me, I could probably catch him.”

With a put-upon sigh, Midas shifted in a crash of crimson magic then charged after him.

Barely able to string words together again, I leaned against the wall until I heard a meaty smack.

Shoving off the bricks, which required a ridiculous amount of effort, I walked to the end of the alley.

“You didn’t think you were going to outrun a gwyllgi, did you?”

The gwyllgi in question had knocked the vampire onto his stomach and stood with his jaws clamped on the vampire’s nape.

“I didn’t do anything,” Wesley snarled. “I demand to speak with my master.”

More often than not, a master knew exactly where his or her people were and what they were doing. And they wanted a cut of the action. “Who is your master?”

In a flash of self-preservation, he had a change of heart and clamped his mouth shut.

“Okay, how about we start off easy?” I waited until he hit me with his glare. “Who did you text?”

“I don’t know his name.” He grunted as Midas bit down. “I swear.”

His. That told us something. Not much, but a little. “How did he contact you?”

“I take odd jobs from customers at Lockdown. There’s a system. People write a phrase on a napkin and leave it under their plate or drink when they’re done. Whatever server finds it puts it on the board behind the bar. Anyone who wants the job can have it.”

“What phrase was written on this particular napkin?”

“Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white as snow.”

“And that means…?”

“Two marks. Both ignorants. One target.”

“You’re going to have to expand on that.” I tapped my foot an inch from his nose. “Details, please.”

“It means the target would be in the company of another person. Ignorant means they’re both human.”

Ambrose, intrigued by the vampire’s panic, slithered across the pavement to sniff at his favorite food.

“That’s mighty vague.” I wasn’t buying it. “How did you get the names, date, time, location?”

“You accept the job by writing your number on it. You get a call the next day.”

The OPA could trace the number, but I expected it to ring a burner phone.

“Where does Dean Richards fit in?”

The vampire went still then began thrashing until Midas issued a rumbling growl.

“Dean Richards is my clanmate.” He rested