Blood Bound. Rachel VincentЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘bout this?” He pulled back the right side of his jacket and showed me his gun. It was bigger than mine. And it was fitted with a long, barrel-shaped silencer in what had to be a custom-made holster.
“Nice,” I admitted, and his grin was back. But I couldn’t help wondering why the hell he even owned a silencer.
“I had a feeling you’d appreciate the reminder that I come well equipped.”
“I’d appreciate it more if I thought you knew how to use that,” I said, without thinking. His eyes lit up, and that’s when I realized I was flirting. We’d fallen back into that old familiar pattern as if the past six years had never happened.
“What, you don’t remember?” he teased, while I silently cursed myself.
“This isn’t going to happen, Cam.”
His good humor faltered, then resurged. “The execution?” He was as stubborn as ever.
“No, that’s going to happen. Then you go back to your life and I go back to mine.”
His grin vanished. “What life?” Cam demanded softly, his gaze holding mine like the earth holds the moon captive. “What could you possibly have now that’s better than what you left behind?”
Nothing. I had nothing now but the knowledge that I’d made a tough choice for us both, because I couldn’t live with the alternative. And neither could he. But that knowledge did little to ease the hollow ache in my chest or warm the empty half of my bed, and admitting regret now would only make the whole thing worse. So I closed my mouth, opened the car door and got out without a word.
Turning away from him this time hurt no less than it had the time before.
Six
Liv opened the passenger’s side door and stepped onto the sidewalk without acknowledging my question. She might think she could sweep me under the carpet again when this job was over, but she was wrong. I’d given her time. I’d given her space. I’d given her every opportunity in the world to find someone else and start a family, or at least start a life that included more than just the job she obviously lived and breathed. The closest she’d ever come was moving in with some asshole who cheated on her—I’d tracked him, even if she hadn’t thought to—then stolen her car.
I could see the truth as well as any Reader could have. If she really didn’t want me, she would have gotten serious with someone else. She wouldn’t grimace every time she told me to go away, as if the words tasted bad. She wouldn’t still look at me like she used to, when she thought I wasn’t watching.
Olivia still wanted me, just as much as I wanted her, but something was holding her back. Something she couldn’t move past. I could take care of that obstacle for her—I’d tear down anything standing between us—but I couldn’t destroy what I couldn’t even see. She’d have to show me the problem. I’d have to make her show me the problem.
Bolstered by fresh determination, I fell in at her side, and we headed for the entrance without even a glance around the neighborhood.
Rule #1 in tracking: don’t look like a Tracker.
It’s always best to go unnoticed. Even near my own neighborhood.
Especially with Liv at my side.
Even if she wasn’t marked or bound, word on the street was hard to overcome, and most people thought she was sleeping with Cavazos at the very least, which meant that Tower’s men would see her either as a trespasser to be booted from this side of town, or a prize to be offered up to the boss.
No easy outs, either way.
I jogged up the front steps and she followed me into a tiny, dusty entryway leading into a long hallway lined with doors and apartment numbers. “Well?” I said, relieved to have her off the street and out of sight.
Liv reached into her pocket to feel the bloody sock again. Then she nodded toward the staircase, and I followed her up the first flight of stairs. On the second-floor landing, she reassessed, then started down the hallway, eyes half-closed, obviously letting the energy signature pull her.
She had told me once that the blood pull was really more of a feeling than a scent, and though I had little blood-tracking skill myself, I knew she was right. But as she worked her way down the hall, she sniffed the air softly, like a real bloodhound, though she didn’t even seem to know she was doing it.
About halfway down, she stopped and turned to me. “It starts to fade here….” She stepped back toward me, then stopped, closed her eyes and nodded, as if she was sure of something. “And it’s strongest here.” She stood directly between two apartment doors. “Is that 208 or 210?”
I glanced at the end of the hall, toward the first door, then followed the pattern to where we stood. “Two-ten,” I whispered, and reached for the doorknob. But then her hand landed on my arm, warm against my bare skin.
“Let me,” she insisted. “Men are still less threatened by women than by other men. I’ll have a better shot of getting in there without causing a scene.”
I nodded and stepped back from the door, not because I agreed with her—I didn’t—but because I could still feel her hand on my arm, and the surprise of being touched by her again had yet to fade.
She may not have looked scary, with her big blue eyes and jacket that hid her gun but not her curves, but Liv could track better than any man I’d ever met, and if word on the street could be believed, Rawlinson had turned her into a damn fine fighter. Over the past six years, living and working in this city had turned the funny, charismatic girl I’d loved with every cell of my body into a jaded, hard-edged loner I still couldn’t look at without catching my breath.
I’d never felt more alive, watching Liv prepare to charm—or maybe force—her way into some stranger’s apartment. Olivia was a wire wound too tight, always about to snap, but she lived on excitement and thrived under pressure. Being with her was like holding a bomb in both hands, watching the numbers tick back toward zero. I knew she’d eventually explode, and this time it might kill me.
But it was hard to care about the potential for collateral damage when just being near her again felt so good. So I pressed my back against the wall to the right of the door, gun drawn and ready in a two-handed grip. Liv’s gun was still concealed, but I had no doubt she could get to it in a hurry. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. There was no sound from inside.
Liv knocked again, but again got no response. “The pull’s still strong, which means he’s home but not answering. Or, he’s lying unconscious and near death from whatever wound Shen managed to inflict before dying.” She glanced up at me, brows raised in question. “Plan B?” she whispered, and I nodded.
B always stood for breaking and entering.
She stepped aside and pulled her gun while I holstered mine. I took the doorknob in both hands and twisted sharply. The lock broke with a metallic snap that seemed to echo much louder than it should have. But the door didn’t swing open.
“Dead bolt,” I said.
“Is that a problem?”
I gave her a disappointed look. “It’s like you don’t know me at all…. Step back.”
She stepped away from the door hesitantly as I dropped into a deep squat to stretch—which is when she figured out what I had in mind. “Wait, don’t …!” she whispered, but I was already in motion. My foot slammed into the door just beneath the knob and wood creaked loudly. Liv cringed over the noise, then shrugged. “May as well finish it now….”
I kicked again, and the interior frame gave way with the loud splinter of wood. Maybe not the most subtle entry, but definitely the fastest.
The door swung open, and I lurched to the right, watching her from across the doorway with my gun already drawn. For one long second, neither of