Chapter 46
Electra
“Can you go faster, Mal?” I check the speedometer, then the little dot on Malachi’s phone that indicates Reeve’s whereabouts.
“I’m already going forty over the limit.”
“This is a car chase,” I remind him, looking into the side mirror for Gael’s SUV, which is just turning into a gas station on the side of the highway.
Malachi side-eyes me. “No, this is a car hunt, since Rafferty doesn’t know we’re coming. Besides, his car hasn’t moved for the last five minutes.”
For the umpteenth time, my restless fingers unlock Reeve’s phone, which I’ve been charging on the G-Wagon’s wireless dock since we tore out of the gym parking lot.
The prick has been meticulous. I’ve scoured his entire search history and found nothing—no photos, no deleted chats, no searches about Atlantis or anything remotely suspicious.
I don’t know why this surprises me, really. Holy Hunters might not be infallible, but they’re smart. If they weren’t, we’d already have dismantled their organization.
I fling the phone aside and gnaw on my pinkie’s cuticle. I keep expecting Malachi to ask: How did you miss all the signs? What happened to your instincts?
But he’s been careful with his words, like he’s loath to add to my shame.
Gaea, how did I miss all the signs? How did I let Reeve get so close? Where the fuck were my instincts?
As the highway ribbons past us, I analyze every beat of my time with Reeve—from the gala to the locker-room to my apartment to the hotel suite.
I recall the sob story he fed me about his sister’s diabetes. Since he doesn’t have a sister—a known one at least—I fathom it’s another lie.
I see the scars he blamed on his time living on the street and locked up in juvie. I’m guessing an Atlantean inflicted them. Could I have been the cause of one? Is that what prompted him to choose me as his victim, or did he target me because my crush on Malachi was easy to exploit?
“I never understood what you saw in that homeless kid,” Malachi murmurs.
“I saw a way to get your attention.”
Malachi swerves a little. “My attention?”
“You know how you fake-dated Ines to keep Gael away from her. Well, I fake-dated Cill—Reeve in the hopes that you’d finally notice me. I had such a huge fucking crush on you, Mal.”
For years, this secret felt like something larger than life, unsayable, borderline embarrassing. Yet I’m not embarrassed; I’m relieved.
I reach out and pat his arm. “Don’t worry. I don’t have one anymore. Reeve cured me of it.”
“That’s—I’m—I’m not quite sure what to say. I feel like I should apologize if I ever led you on.”
“You didn’t. I led myself on. You have nothing to apologize for. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer if we never spoke about it again.”
“Okay.” After a beat, he says, “For what it’s worth, you’re an incredible woman. I hope the next man you find will be deserving of you.”
The next man…
Emotion clogs my throat. Not because I’m touched by Malachi’s words, but because they make me think of the man before. The bastard who infiltrated my life like a parasite, taking up residence inside my body, inside my fucking heart, slowly hollowing me out.
Our last hours together flash behind my lids, making my skin crawl. I shove my hands beneath the sleeves of my jacket and scratch until I carve thin tracks into my skin. When I stop, my nails are tipped with blood.
Before Malachi can spot it, I slide my palms under my thighs and close my eyes, but not to sleep…to think. To figure out why Reeve took off when he did. The only reason I can come up with is that he assumed Gael had footage of him visiting the deli. Unless…
Air jerks down my throat. “Gael’s painting!”
“I know the one. I was subjected to dining in front of the vile thing. What about it?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out why Reeve took off when he did.”
Malachi flicks on his blinker, switching into the middle lane before sliding into the right one.
“If he heard about the painting, then he must’ve figured I’d see his parents’ faces and spot the resemblance.”
“Or he got what he came for…”
A fresh wave of shame burns away the thrill of connecting potential dots. “Which was?”
“Collecting something of yours. You invited him into your house.”
“I have nothing to steal.”
“You have mine-dust bullets, don’t you?”
My lids spasm.
“Did you check if they’re all there?”
I glare out the windshield as Malachi exits onto Route 3 South toward the Cape. “Bit of an elaborate con to steal three bullets.
“Those bullets can put even Tarian out of order, so no, I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch. Want me to send someone to check?”
Chewing on my annoyance, I say, “I’ll text Callie.” After I tap out my message, I grumble, “I still think my theory beats yours, since many of us have those bullets. But since you disagree, let’s hear your explanation for why Reeve would target me.”
“Because you were single.”
“You’re single,” I shoot back.
He shoots me a long, sideways look. “I’m not a woman.”
“I doubt it matters to a conman.” Is my comeback lame? Yeah. But I want to put an end to Malachi’s patronizing stare.
“You can’t feign an attraction to the same sex if you’re straight. At least, not if you’re a man. Some parts of our anatomy just won’t…react.”
“If memory serves, you said he was with me for my money, which blows your theory of physical attraction to pieces.”
Malachi sighs. “I wasn’t wrong that he was with you for the wrong reason.”
My flattened ego spurs me to snap, “Good thing the wrong reason didn’t impede his ability to get it up.”
Malachi’s mouth thins in what I assume is a mixture of disgust and pity.
I keep my mouth shut the rest of the way. It’s only once my cell phone vibrates with Calanthe’s reply that I break the uncomfortable silence. “My bullets are all accounted for.”
Malachi frowns as though that answer doesn’t work for him.
“Guess the Holy Hunter’s intent wasn’t to steal from me.” My relief is watered down by my lingering infuriation about what his intent was. “Goddess below, I can’t wait to pick him up and torture a confession out of him.”
“I think it’d be better if you sit tight, and I grab him.”
“No. He’s my problem, not yours. I’m the one he screwed over,” I say, just as the station wagon comes into view.
I glower at it, my eyes feeling like twin laser beams capable of hewing through the faux wood body. Sadly, I don’t have that sort of power. I can, however, deflate his tires, blow out all his windows, and pop his doors.
“Walk me through your plan,” Malachi asks as he backs up into the spot across from the Volvo.
“First, I destroy his means of escape.” I demonstrate by lowering my window, sticking my hand out, and popping the valve caps off his two rear tires with a flick of magic. “Then I destroy him.”
I open my mouth to list the rest of my plan when something shifts in Reeve’s backseat…someone. When I spot a ball cap screwed atop the person’s head, I snort. Guess it explains why he stopped—to take a nap.
Our arrival is about to give a whole new meaning to a brutal awakening.
I reach for my door handle when Malachi hisses a sharp, “Wait.”
As though he doesn’t trust me to do as I’m told, he clamps down on my forearm and jams his lock button.
“For…?”
“I don’t think that’s him.”
I squint. Malachi’s right. Not only is the person in the backseat not Reeve, but it’s also not a man.