“So Bill told me he was going to come and meet me here.” She winced and massaged the back of her neck as they started walking. “He was worried about me being all alone. But he never made it out. He said I called him on my way home and told him I hadn’t seen anything. So he turned around and went back to his own house.”

“Have you and he ever been together—”

Jo whipped her head around. “Oh, my God, never. He’s married. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not my type.”

Syn gave a grunt of satisfaction at that and Jo had to smile. Taking his hand, she bumped herself into him. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“Really?”

“Nah. I always want to tear people limb from limb. It’s exercise, you know.” He pounded his pec with his fist. “Develops the heart muscle, the arms. And plus the satisfaction of destroying an enemy is the best trophy there is.”

He looked down and winked at her.

“You are incorrigible,” she said.

“I don’t know what that word means—” As her boot nailed the lip of the concrete walkway, he easily caught her as she fell forward. “You okay?”

Jo laughed. For no other reason than they were together. “Yup. I am.”

Forcing herself to focus, she stepped over a chain and proceeded forward, looking into the darkened shops as they went down the promenade. Not much to see. Not much left behind. Not much that would have made her think to come for an after-dark visit.

God, her head was pounding.

At the end of the covered walkway, they stopped in front of the faded stencil of a cow holding an ice cream cone with his hoof. As the wind kicked up, blackened leaves chattered and rushed along the cracked sidewalk, congregating in the corner of an inset doorway with others of their kind.

Pivoting around, she shook her head and felt like a fool. “Bill said I’d gotten some kind of tip that I’d been vague about. I’d told him it was off my blog, but there’s nothing about this site anywhere on it—hey, there are stairs over here. Do you mind if we see where they take us?”

“Nope. Lead on, female.”

Jo smiled some more and led them down the concrete steps, spurred on by something in the center of her chest. At the base of the descent, she stopped and took in the sight of a vacant parking lot—

A gust of wind ruffled more winter-worn leaves across pavement that had potholes like it was Swiss cheese. And that was when she heard it. Creeeeak—slam. Creeeeeak—slam.

Over in the far corner of the lot, there was a building with sets of garage doors running down the front of it. A regular-sized door off to one side was loose on its hinges, and as the wind came up, it opened and closed on its own.

Wincing and weaving on her feet, she muttered, “Yes. Over there. I know the sound of that door.”

Without waiting for a response from Syn, she stumbled across the asphalt, blinded by pain, but hyper-focused by the sense that finally, the mystery was going to be solved. When she got to the door, her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound. With a trembling hand, she reached—

Syn put his arm out. “Let me go first.”

“I can do it.”

But he made the decision for her, stepping ahead, stepping inside. A moment later, a flashlight clicked on, and its beam made a slow circle . . . of an absolutely empty, windowless, concrete-floored maintenance facility.

“Shit,” she said as she joined him. “I could have sworn—”

The door slammed shut behind her, making her jump.

“Another wild-goose chase,” she muttered as she walked around, her footfalls echoing.

She was just about to suggest they leave and promise that she wouldn’t have any more bright ideas about nocturnal destinations . . .

. . . when the first of the cars pulled up just outside that slamming door.

“I swear to fucking God,” Butch said, “it was down here. The door was like something out of a dungeon . . . and she . . .”

As he let the words trail off, he walked back down the corridor, reading the little laminated headers that announced each corporate owner of each storage space behind each absolutely normal-looking fucking door.

“I’m beginning to think I’m crazy.” When V didn’t say anything, Butch glanced over at the guy—who was standing in front of what should have been the entrance to Mel’s apartment. “I swear—”

“I believe you.” V put his hand up. “Gimme a minute.”

Vishous closed his eyes and lowered his head, becoming so still, it was as if he were no longer a part of the living-and-breathing crew. Meanwhile, Butch found it impossible not to keep pacing.

None of this made any sense—

Well, actually, it did make sense. It was just Butch didn’t like where the connect-the-dots was taking him.

“What if she wasn’t who I thought she was,” he said. More to try the words out than anything else.

V lifted his head. “And you’re sure this is the building.”

“We can check the GPS on my phone, right? You record where all of us go every night—it’s how you found me here just now.” Butch got his Samsung and held it out to his roommate. “It should be in the log.”

In the back of his mind, he was aware his instincts were going haywire—and it was a little late for that, wasn’t it. If he’d been played by something . . . otherworldly . . . whatever it was was no longer here.

“I can get your trail on mine,” V murmured.

As the brother went into his own phone, Butch crossed his arms and thought about the strange thing that had happened when he’d started walking away from Mel’s the night before. He’d just closed her door and taken one, maybe two steps . . . when that massive locking mechanism with the bifurcated iron bars had slid back into place quietly behind him.

There was no way the woman could have gotten herself out of that tub, across the breadth of that open area, and locked herself in. Even if she hadn’t been injured.

And that was the other thing. When he’d found her outside of the garage, she’d been bleeding in a lot of places, bruised and beaten. But when he’d helped her with the bustier? When she’d stared at him from the tub? There had been nothing marring the porcelain skin of her face.

At the time, he’d been too busy making sure he didn’t look anywhere he shouldn’t to really notice. But now? He knew that kind of healing was flat-out impossible—

“This is fucked-up.”

Butch glanced over. “So I wasn’t here?”

“No, you were, but last night, there was a helluva misread on your location.” V turned his phone around. “This is the map of Caldwell. This is you. Here we go.”

V tapped something, and like some old-school Pac-Man shit, a little blinking dot moved through the block maze of streets.

“This is Trade here.” V’s finger went vertically across the screen. “And now you’re on Thirteenth. And . . . here we are, one block from this address.”

The dot disappeared.

“Fast-forward about fifteen, twenty minutes at the most,” V said. “And . . . here you are again.”

All at once, the dot reappeared and moved away from the dead zone. Which seemed to take up the entire block that the building was on.

“What the fuck,” Butch muttered. “And who the hell was I talking to?”

Not just one car. Many.

As what sounded like a goddamn flotilla pulled up to the groundskeeping facility, Syn put his body between Jo and the door they’d come through. Getting out his gun, he cursed himself as he flicked off his flashlight. There had been no cover that he’d seen as he’d looked around the interior space. Nothing but support beams, the roof overhead, and the oil-stained, concrete floor.

He was getting out his gun when the situation went from bad to deadly.

At first, as the scent of the enemy reached his nose, he tried to tell himself he was imagining it. What the hell would lessers be doing out—

“That smell,” Jo hissed. “It was on the train coming back from Philadelphia today. And I swear I’ve sm—”

“Shh.”

As she fell silent, he listened hard, threading through the wind and the slamming of that door, waiting for voices. Although what was that really going to tell him?

Grabbing her hand, he took her further into the darkness. Totally no cover. Absolutely no escape. And here he was with a limited amount of weapons and ammo, a half-breed who didn’t know what she was, and God only knew how many lessers.

Voices just outside the flimsy building now. A congregation. Three? Four of them? It was hard to get a bead on multiple scents this far back.

A blowtorch. What he needed was a blowtorch so he could burn a hole through the metal walling for Jo to squeeze through. But like he could have thought that far ahead? The only other option he had was to leave her in the back here, totally undefended, essentially unarmed, while he went on a blitz offensive, shooting up whatever the fuck was out there. Not appealing. Not by a long shot—or a hundred of the point-blank variety.

What other choice did he have, though? He couldn’t call the Brotherhood or the other fighters. If he thought he had problems with the proverbial management already, it was nothing compared to what would happen if he were caught with a half-breed, pretrans female, out in the dark, all by their lonesome.

Besides, she was his. Not theirs.

“Take this,” he said as he unholstered the backup forty he kept on his calf. “It’s heavier than you’re used to, but it’ll blow a hole in—”

He froze. And then twisted around to the corrugated metal wall behind them.

Yes, he thought. That may work.

“On three, I’m going to start shooting at the wall,” he said as he palmed up the other Smith & Wesson on his hip. “They’ll take cover, but not for long, so I need you to be ready to run. After we’ve busted out, we go straight for the wood line. All you have to do is keep up, okay?”