Marked by Passion (22 page)

"Well, if you're going to kill someone, you don't leave evidence like that around," Jerry replied. "Getting rid of the weapon in a Dumpster is a good idea, but the killer went wrong by not taking it to a different, unrelated location. If I'd killed the suit, I would have thrown the gun away in a trash can across town. No one would have thought to look anywhere else—there'd be no reason to— and the gun would have ended up in a landfill with no one the wiser."

I shook my head. "Okay, now you're scaring me, Jer."

He grinned and toasted me with his glass. "Just got a lot of time to think on shift, you know?"

"So you think about how to dispose of-—" I blinked as it clicked. I might not be able to destroy the scroll, but I could get rid of it—literally. No one would know to look for it in a garbage dump. If it ended up in a landfill, all the better. It'd be lost forever, which meant it'd be safe. I'd have done my duty. According to Rhys, I wouldn't be rid of my powers, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about it falling in the wrong hands—or playing me in hopes of getting it. Maybe my powers would fade over time, if I were lucky.

"Jerry, you're brilliant." I reached across the counter, grabbed his face, and planted a big one on his cheek.

He went beet red. "Shoot, Gabe. You're compromising my tough-guy rep."

"What about me?" Milo asked plaintively.

I gave him a smacker, as well.

"Don't think that kissing us will increase your tip," Jerry said with mock severity.

"You can't blame a girl for trying." I winked at them, because we both knew they were more-than-generous tippers, and went back to cutting up limes.

With each wedge, I went over the new plan to make sure there weren't any holes. Other than the fact that Wu would be doomed to purgatory, there weren't any.

Did I care? I paused, frowning at the pang I felt in my chest. I didn't want to care. I just wanted to be free of the burden.

Tu ch’i
surged as if it protested, but I clamped down and refused to let it sway me. I had to do this.

Damn—
Wu.
Would I even be able to do this without him finding out?

"Don't think about it," I muttered under my breath. I'd deal with that when the time came, because I doubted he'd think my plan was as ingenious as I thought it was.

Happy Hour came and went. Vivian arrived, and for the first time ever I was happy to see her, only because it meant that in a few hours I'd be able to go home—just long enough to pick up the scroll and go on a little jaunt.

Sometime around nine, Vivian sashayed over and jabbed me with her sharp elbow. "He's back."

I looked around for Rhys, although I was positive he wasn't here. I'd feel it if he walked in, no matter how distracted I was—our physical connection was that strong. I felt a rush of disappointment nonetheless. "No, he's not."

"Yeah, he is." She jerked her pointy chin at a guy sitting at her end of the bar.

As I studied him, one word resounded in my mind:
thug.

His flat face was pockmarked, and his nose wide and crooked, like it'd been broken a couple times. His hair was slicked back with some crap that made it look shiny—not healthy but greasy and dirty.

It was the shifty way his eyes roved around the bar that made me suspicious. That and the fact that I didn't notice him earlier—like he was trying hard not to draw my attention.

Unnerving. Only was this a legitimate be-wary situation, or was I projecting again? I shook my head and tried not to show my alarm. "Am I supposed to know him?"

She looked at me like I had the intellect of a beetle "He's the guy who wanted Gabrielle Chin. I never forget a face." She smirked. "I think you guys would look totally cute together."

I looked at him again. He knew we were talking about him—I could tell by the way he angled himself away from us. "I don't know, Viv. He looks more like your type."

She ignored my statement. She had excellent selective hearing. "Of course, you'll have to educate him on your name. But it's not the first time a guy didn't remember your name, is it? At least you haven't slept with him. Yet," she added cattily.

Normally I would have put her in her place, but the guy chose that moment to get up and walk out. Odd, since Vivian said he'd asked about me. Of course, with Vivian you could never tell if what she said was true or not. For all I knew, she was blowing smoke out her butt.

My gut told me otherwise in this case. As if to confirm, my birthmark prickled in warning. Rubbing the spot on my hip, I stared at the front door. What if he hijacked me after work? What if he had a gun?

My heart pumped with fear. I hated guns.

Forcing myself not to imagine any scenarios involving the thug, me, and deadly weapons, I checked the time. Still half an hour to go. I walked around Vivian and started closing down my station. When it was time, I took off my apron, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it in the dirty rag bin. "I'm out of here."

Vivian batted her eyes, trying to look innocent but failing miserably. "Have fun with your little friend."

I hated the frisson of apprehension that shot through my system, but I didn't deign to reply. I strode to the office and put on my jacket and scarf. As I walked out of the bar, I surveyed the area. Hypersensitive about safety? Yeah, but what could I do?

I was tempted to dance a jig when I went for a couple blocks without feeling like I was being followed. Sad. I didn't like living on edge like this. I was going to celebrate big-time when this was all over.

Which led me to my next task.

As I walked, I thought about the best place to dump the scroll, and I decided Noe Valley was it. For one. it was easy to get to from where I lived in the Mission even at this time of night. But the main factor was that it was yuppieville, which meant there were virtually no homeless people. The residents and homeowners wouldn't tolerate street people—it'd bring down property values.

Why did I care about the homeless? They went through trash bins looking for discarded treasures, and I didn't want some hapless street person pulling out the scroll before the garbage guys emptied the trash and took it away.

I was between the bar and home when I felt like I was being watched—again. The thug from the bar?

Without being obvious, I scanned the street. There were people around, but no one I recognized. And definitely no one that was paying more attention to me than usual.

"Maybe I'm losing it," I muttered, but I doubted it. I picked up the pace. I managed to give my shadow the slip by going to a convenience store and sneaking out the back.

Wu was waiting for me when I got home. Of course. "How dare you leave earlier? I was speaking to you."

Locking the door behind me just in case, I faced him. "Who exactly knows that I was supposed to be the next Guardian?"

He scowled. "If you think this will distract me—"

"I'm being followed."

That shut him up. His brow furrowed, three thin creases all the way across his broad forehead.

I touched my forehead. I got lines like that when I was really worried. I was torn between hating that we had that in common and anxious that Wu the Unflappable was unsettled.

After a long moment of silence, he asked, "Who is it?"

"If I knew who it was, would I be asking you?"

"What did he look like?"

I thought of describing Vivian's friend from the bar, but I wasn't entirely certain it was him. "I didn't see him."

"And yet you think you're being followed?" He said it thoughtfully, like he was processing my remark.

Which freaked me out. I'd expected him to blow me off as delusional. The fact that he didn't dismiss me outright made the pit of my stomach churn. "So who knows that I'm supposedly the next Guardian?"

"Not supposedly, you
are,"
he said with a distracted air. Then he waved his hand. "The only person who knows is Paul."

And Rhys. But neither one would never tell anyone. I knew that as certainly as I knew I was meant to be an artist.

Wu nodded as if I'd commented out loud. "Paul is not an issue. He does what he's told."

Implying I didn't. I didn't know what pissed me off more: that, or the casual way he dismissed his own son. Paul didn't deserve Wu's disdain. "Why didn't you just leave the scroll to Paul?"

He frowned at me. "He wasn't born marked. When are you going to accept the fact that you were chosen? There's no one who can take your place. Not yet, anyway."

Hovering back and forth again in a semblance of pacing, Wu muttered. "This is graver than I thought. How will I ever prepare her in time? The fate of—"

This was my cue to grab the scroll and get the hell out of there. Casually, so I didn't draw attention, I went to the kitchen and withdrew it. Resisting the urge to kiss it hello and flex the power that surged through me when I came in contact with it, I stuck it in the waistband of my jeans and pulled my top over it. Not the best cover, but better than nothing.

Shrugging, I strode into the living room. Wu was still ranting at himself, his glow intensified. Not saying a word, I picked up my jacket and went to the door.

He looked up like a startled deer when the lock clicked open. "Where are you going?"

"The store," I lied. "I'll be back soon."

"Gabri—"

I hurried out the door, slammed it shut, and jogged until I was a block away. I paused, looking over my shoulder, expecting him to be right there. I hoped I frustrated him enough that he wouldn't follow me, but I waited just to be sure.

No sign of him.

Once I did this, I'd never see Wu again. Grief hit me like I was finding out he'd died all over again. Except this time it was my fault. Maybe I should go back to tell him—

What? That I'd miss our relationship? I shook my head. He hadn't earned any father-of-the-year awards in the short time he'd been back.

"Pointless," I muttered. Huddling into my coat, I continued on my way.

A block later, the feeling returned—like someone was spying on me. Intently. With malevolence. I shuddered and drew my jacket closer. As nonchalantly as I could, I looked around for the source.

The only suspicious thing was a guy leaning against a building next to an alley up ahead, but his back was to me, so he couldn't be watching me. Probably a dealer waiting for customers. (It was easy to score in the Mission if that's what you were into.)

Still, I wasn't a dummy—I gave him a wide berth just in case. As I passed him, my unease increased. I started to turn around when he grabbed my arm, pulled me into the alley, and shoved me against a wall.

Tu ch’i
spurred me to action, like a shot of adrenaline. I grabbed his crotch and twisted his nuts. As he yowled and doubled over, I brought my knee up to strike his nose. He cried out again, his head jerking up.

A distant streetlight lit his face. I blinked, startled but not sure why. I should have known my attacker would be the mystery guy from the bar.

In the moment I stood there gaping at him, he grabbed me in a bear hug.

"Damn it," I cursed at myself. I shouldn't have given him the opportunity to get me like this—I knew better.

"Why are you after me?" I managed to get out despite his death grip squeezing my lungs.

He replied by shaking me. "Where is it?"

The scroll. Panic surged, but I forced myself to calm down. If he was asking, he didn't know that I had it tucked in my jeans.

And he wasn't going to find out. I headbutted him, hitting his nose again. The sharp
snap
of cartilage breaking evoked both satisfaction and revulsion in me.

He shrieked like a little girl, dropping me to hold on to his face. Blood flowed through his fingers, and I swore I could hear each drop hit the ground.

Rubbing the sore spot on my forehead, Wu's voice whispered in my memory.
Keep your opponent as close as possible, Gabrielle.

Nodding, I stepped in front of the punk, wrapped my arms around his neck, and lodged my shoulder under his jaw to lock the choke hold. I had a few things I wanted to find out. "Who are you, and what do you want with it?"

Glaring at me from slitted eyes, he tried to break my hold.

I dug my knuckles into a pressure point at his collarbone.

He gasped, and his knees buckled.

"Why are you after me?" I put more pressure on that spot. I needed to make him talk fast—my hand was getting tired. Even as I had the thought,
tu ch’i
rippled through me and lent me strength.

"Bitch." He spat at me.

Caught off guard by his loogie, I let go enough for him to counter and take me off balance. Then he punched my ribs.

I gasped at the shock of pain and tightened my obliques to protect myself. His next strike didn't hurt quite as much. At least that's what I told myself.

"Bitch," he growled, punching me again. "Tell me where it is."

As much as I wanted to get rid of the scroll, I didn't want it falling into some thug's hands. So I said the logical thing. "Bite me. asshole."

He cocked his fist. I could tell he was going to hit my face this time, and my eyes scrunched shut reflexively.

Only I felt a surge of energy draw up from the ground, and before I could grab it back, it burst out of me. My eyes flew open, afraid I was going to see the thug lying dead in front of me. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed when I saw him still standing there.

He gawked at me, his fist frozen an inch away from my face. He tried to push it forward to connect, but it bounced back like it smacked an invisible rubber wall. "What the-—?"

Not giving him time to recover, I stomped on his foot—a girly move, but it distracted him enough for me to pivot and elbow him in the nose. As it hit, I could feel
tu ch’i
gather and unleash with the blow. I winced as bone crunched but immediately kneed the inside of his thigh. He doubled over, and I brought my heel straight down on the back of his neck, feeling
tu ch’i
draw up with the arc of my leg and add power to the strike.

The crack of his head echoed in the chill night. I wanted to think it was from hitting the pavement. Hard to convince myself of that when it sounded before he reached the ground.