On Midnight Wings

“Might as well go back inside and—” He stopped, sentence unfinished as the sidewalk tilted beneath him. He grabbed the van’s side mirror to steady himself—what the hell?—then felt Merri’s hard fingers lock around his biceps.

“The stay-awake,” she reminded. “Consequences.”

The club and the street performed a single swooping pirouette, then settled back down. Von exhaled in relief. “If a little dizziness is all—”

“It isn’t,” Merri warned, releasing him. “Trust me. It’s just getting started. You need to be careful.”

Von rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t afford to be careful. Couldn’t afford to Sleep. Not when all he felt from Dante was acid-etched pain. Not when Heather was waiting, uncertain if he’d heard her. Not until he’d found them both.

Von walked into the smoke-reeking club and headed up the stairs to the third floor landing, then his room. It was a smelly mess. Furniture, bedding, curtains, and clothing all stank of smoke and mildew, of dried blood. Sprinkler-soaked throw rugs squished beneath his borrowed sneakers.

Retrieving his double shoulder holster from the back of the chair he’d slung it over before hitting the hay—what? Only forty hours ago or so, but it felt like weeks, a lifetime—he checked the Browning tucked inside each holster and was pleased to see them in fine working order.

Shrugging off the brown leather bomber jacket, Von strapped the rig on. Patting the grip of each gun in turn, he whispered, “Missed you.”

The only other belongings Von was able to scavenge from his room were his well-worn leather jacket and his scooter boots—both of which he promptly put on. He was just plain stuck with Jack’s gatorfied T-shirt for the time being. He silently renewed his vow to make the drummer eat the T-shirt, one tiny gator at a time.

With Jack’s sneakers and bomber jacket tucked under his arm, Von strode from his room and out into the hall—just in time to see Thibodaux heading for the stairs.

“Hey,” Von called after him. “Find anything that’ll help us?”

Thibodaux stopped on the landing, turned around. He shook his head. “Nothing that y’all didn’t already know. Sorry, podna.”

Von nodded. “I had a feeling that would be the case. Thanks anyway, man.” He glanced down the hall as Thibodaux’s footsteps faded away. Silver stood at the far end, staring at something on the floor in front of Dante and Heather’s room, mingled anger and despair chiseled into his pale face.

The scene of the crime—or part of it, anyway.

Von joined him, the odors of copper and cordite—blood and bullets—fading beneath Silver’s clean soap-and-cinnamon scent. A dark stain edged out from the bedroom doorway into the waterlogged carpet like a high tide line on a beach. Blood. And lots of it—too much. Von’s heart constricted.

“Annie thinks this is her fault,” Silver murmured. His body thrummed with tension. “I told her it wasn’t, but I don’t think she’s listening.”

“The only one at fault here is her old man,” Von said softly. “She’ll see that once we bring her sister and Dante home.”

Silver grunted, unconvinced.

Von knelt on the wet carpet and touched the maroon high-tide line. Little brother. His hand began to shake and, frowning, he clenched it into a fist. More of Merri’s consequences?

An urgent sending from Lucien arrowed into his mind, and the stay-awakes and their consequences faded in importance. The Washington contact was our brass ring. Heather is in Dallas. The Strickland Deprogramming Institute.>

Excitement surged through Von, driving him up to his feet. Silver looked at him quizzically, dark brows slanting down over his eyes. “What? Is it Lucien?”

Nodding, Von held up a just-a-minute hand. <Holy hell, that’s good news.>

<I’m on my way there now.>

Von stiffened. <Hold your horses or Pegasi or whatever. I’m coming too, damn it. Wait for me. A flight to Dallas is less than two hours.>

<My apologies, but I can’t wait. The FBI is planning to steal Heather out from under her father’s nose and use her against Dante. I intend to reach her first.>

<Shit. Okay, yeah, you do that. Keep her safe. I’ll contact you as soon as my plane hits the tarmac at Dallas/Fort Worth.>

<Until then,> Lucien agreed, ending the contact.

“Heather’s in Dallas,” Von said, meeting Silver’s impatient gaze. “I’m joining Lucien, but I need you here to keep an eye on things—like making sure Jack and Annie are safe.”