Chapter 16

"On a positive note, we don't have to worry about Sally DeSantos turning the theft into a news item," Michael said.

I glared. "Her dead body is so much better."

"Did you say ‘dead body'?" Shandra leaned so far out the window she teetered and had to grab the window frame.

"Stay inside, Shandra, I mean it," I snapped. She didn't need to see this.

I leaned forward for a better look. Sally had a wire garrote around her neck, her eyes bulging, and her fingernails bloody and broken. Her phone lay beside her, the screen cracked.

Michael snagged the phone and turned it on.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"She was a reporter, right? Maybe something on her phone will give us a clue what happened. The more we know, the better. Then we'll call Kennedy, and she'll handle it."

He held the phone in front of her face, and despite her grotesque expression, the camera recognized her and unlocked. Michael thumbed through the open apps.

"Anything?" I leaned into him to see.

"Yeah. A recording from tonight. And some notes." His finger slid across the screen. "Shit. She was researching that dead guy and the Domino Sugar situation. She somehow made the connection between them. Even knows, uh, knew about the shades."

I narrowed my eyes. "Hey, Shandra, you said you took the car from Fells Point, right?"

When she didn't answer, my heart sank. Worse and worse.

"Shandra," I drawled.

"Don't be mad," she whispered.

I closed my eyes, puffed out my cheeks. "Where did you steal it from?"

"Borrowed. And we didn't mean to take it. We drove to the port. Heard from my brother there was a shipment of custom SUVs recently offloaded but not moved yet. We meant to borrow one of those, only there was a container without a lock, so it made sense to check that one first. The Cadillac was parked in it. And it was so much cooler than anything else."

"A container?" Michael asked, rubbing his forehead like it ached. I could relate.

"Specialty orders are sometimes shipped in containers. Maybe they killed her and had to stash the evidence." I paused. "They could have planned to have it shipped out or maybe they planned to come back for her. My guess, they went to look for someone willing to move it. Put it on a truck, and they could drive away with her. Her car is pretty conspicuous."

"Wouldn't these specialty cars be in a secured area?" Michael asked.

Good question. "Shandra, how'd you all get past the guard house?"

"Easy." She leaned out the window again. "No guards posted. Only took us a minute to disable the cameras and wire the gate to open." She sounded a little too proud, considering the trouble we were in because of their antics.

Michael and I exchanged glances. No way guards would leave their post unless they were in on whatever was going on, or something happened to them. I'd guess the latter, though in Baltimore you never knew.

Shandra's voice gathered strength. "We thought since you know everyone at the docks, you could . . ."

"Deal with it," I finished.

"Without getting in trouble," Shandra added. "Everyone knows you've got a lot of friends there."

Michael's knuckles whitened around the phone. He walked back toward the driver's side.

"It was incredibly short-sighted. Just because Abe worked there doesn't mean he's your ticket out of trouble or you should put him in a position to have to shield you. That's not how you treat roost members. Especially your betas." His voice held a growl that even made me flinch. The teens sank even lower in their seats.

"Michael—"

"No. I understand these kids are important to you, and you want to protect them, but they need to learn there are consequences. You're not their get-out-of-jail-free card."

"A dead body should do it. No way to keep Poe and Tommy out of it now." I closed the distance and placed my hand on his forearm, squeezed it once. I didn't like the situation any more than he did, but there was a big difference between joy riding and murder. "We need to call Kennedy."

He grimaced. "It's going to be a long night."

I returned to the back and, with a last glance at Sally DeSantos, closed the trunk. No sooner had it latched than a black SUV turned onto the street. The lone vehicle on the road, it crawled down a lengthy block behind us. No headlights. Not full dark yet but enough you'd want your lights on. The hair on my nape stood on end, and my skin prickled.

"Shandra, in the back." Michael's voice came out low and urgent. "Abe, I need you to get in. Now."

He cracked the driver's door open. I slipped inside and slid to the passenger seat. He followed, settling behind the wheel. Michael adjusted the bench seat and the rearview mirror and inched away from the curb. He also didn't turn on the headlights, though street lamps began winking on. He managed not to spin the wheels as the car lurched into motion.

We neared the midway point of the block, only sliding a little, the windshield wipers working furiously to clear accumulated snow. Soon we'd hit the corner where Chiapparelli's sat. The SUV picked up speed, but the icy roads kept it from roaring up on us. We just needed to reach the intersection, and we'd race down High Street toward the Lord Baltimore.

As if summoned, three more SUVs—with no headlights—skidded to a halt and blocked the junction in front of our vehicle. Car doors opened, and humans in black military-like gear swarmed out, guns in hand. They flickered, dissolving into the shadows, then reappearing.

Oh, fuck. Not humans.

Shades.

A lot of them.

Michael carefully braked until we idled, his knuckles whitening around the wheel. He glanced in the rearview mirror, put the Caddy in park. "Abe, you need to drive. When you hear the signal, gun it. Don't stop. Get back to Kennedy."

"Where are you going?" I said, as he cracked open the car door.

"Wait for the signal." He leaned in and brushed our lips in a hint of a kiss, flipped on our high beams, then flung himself from the Caddy, using the door as a shield.

"What signal?" I called after him.

Michael transformed into his dire wolf form before he hit the ground. He scrambled across the road almost faster than the eye could track. A mad burst of gunfire. Dammit, I saw him flinch. The kids screamed. The door slammed shut from the force of impact from a round of bullets.

Leaping onto a snowbank, Michael hurtled to the top of a row home's second-story balcony, his weight denting the metal railing. In a blink, he disappeared onto the roof of another home, the move more monkey than wolf.

The gunfire stopped.

My pulse pounded. These kids needed me to be the cool one.

"Down on the floor and stay down until I tell you otherwise. It's going to get rough." I slid into the driver's seat, sinking as low as possible.

An older shade stepped forward under a streetlamp, command in every movement. Large gashes covered his cheek. The guy that Michael had slashed. Joris, Kennedy called him. No gun, but he held a megaphone.

"Come out with your hands up." His voice—wispier than most humans'—sent chills through me. "Only warning. Any sudden moves and you're dea—"

Someone screamed behind him, and the shade spun away from the light, dissolving into the near darkness. Another shout that quickly cut off. More bursts of gunfire.

A shade ventured too close to a streetlamp, his form almost ghostlike. He shimmered, his gun waving madly. He screamed as Michael's hulking mass took him down. They rolled before both disappeared into the darkness.

More screaming. And a deafening growl.

A bullet shattered our back windshield. The kids shrieked again. Damn it! Forgot about the SUV at our rear. Throwing the Caddy in drive, I gunned it. Seemed as good a signal as any.

The car spun in place before fishtailing wildly. We careened into a curb and ricocheted into the center of the road. Then we rocketed forward like a missile.

"Brace!" I screamed.

My foot on the floor, I aimed between two of the cars, praying we wouldn't spin-out.