“Yeah. Always has a paperback in his back pocket.” Tugging on his helmet, Ransom straddled the bike, flicked up the kickstand with a boot, turned the key, and kick-started the engine. The machine roared to purring life. “Get on. I’ll run you over to a building you can use as a launchpad.”
“No, thanks. I’ll have to spread my wings to keep them off the street and next thing I know, I’ll be clipped by some cabbie in a bad mood.” Elena wasn’t going to flirt with being grounded again. Not to mention she’d then have to deal with one extremely pissed-off archangel.
Devil-may-care grin on his face, Ransom gunned the bike. “Come on, Ellie. I bet we stop traffic.”
“Be visible in the doing.”
She had a feeling Raphael hadn’t considered this when he’d spoken those words. It was no doubt a bad, bad idea, but damn if it wouldn’t get a stupid amount of coverage, maybe give the city something to smile about.
“They should make motorcycles for angels.”
It was a kick to the gut, that splinter of memory. The words had been spoken by the young angel whose funeral cortege would reach the Refuge after darkfall, his statement directed at a friend as the two of them sat with their legs hanging off a Tower balcony to the left of where Elena stood. She’d smiled at the time, but now the words incited a renewed wave of angry sadness.
This one’s for you, she thought and swung her leg over the thrumming machine. However, she didn’t sit—that would leave her wings touching the street. Instead, she placed her hands on Ransom’s shoulders and stood on the footholds. She had to spread her wings a little to avoid tangling them in the bike, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. “You’re going to have to deal with considerable drag.”
“My sweet girl eats drag for breakfast.” Then they were off, the wind slamming into her face and her wings as Ransom executed a turn and roared down the street to the wide-eyed astonishment of everyone they passed. Laughing, Elena threw back her head and enjoyed the ride as that young soldier would’ve, had he only been given the chance.
She and Ransom had unquestionably made an impression by the time he brought the bike to a gentle stop in the silent street behind an older building. “This do?” he asked, nodding at the external fire stairs that led all the way to the roof.
“Yep.” Hopping off the bike, she checked her wings. “Still in one piece.”
“Told ya.”
Bumping his fist to her own, he roared down the street.
I do believe that is the first time any angel has ridden a motorcycle.
Grinning at the kiss of the wind and the rain inside her mind as she climbed up the fire escape, she said, I bet that gets our would-be invader’s panties in a bunch.
An . . . interesting image, but as a distraction from the state of our defenses, it was inspired. If, however, I didn’t know Ransom was much in love with another, I’d now have to kill him.
No touching my friends, remember?
I wouldn’t have to touch him to kill him.
Very funny. Having made it to the roof, she flared her wings and, sweeping off the edge of the building, flew in the direction of the gun shop as Raphael returned to Tower business. She’d debated heading for the pro first, men being men, but according to Sara’s intel, Darrell hadn’t visited the woman in over two months. The gun shop, however, was one he went to every time he was in town.
The owner, bearded and with a serious beer gut, was happy to cooperate once she reassured him he hadn’t somehow earned the wrath of the Tower. “Darrell? He’s a good customer, nice guy, too, but I haven’t seen him for, let’s see . . . going on a week now.” A chuckle. “He really stocked up that last time.”
When Elena heard what Darrell had bought, her head almost exploded. He has an arsenal, she messaged Ransom and got #%&! as a reply, then a call.
“Indoor shooting range was a wash. Literally.” Ransom’s tone was taut. “Burst water pipe five days ago, but the owner says Darrell came in every day before the damage, was a crack shot with multiple guns.”
“Shit.” If Darrell had moved from fists to guns this fast, they could be talking massacre.
“I’m heading to check out his mother’s place. They’re not close, but if he was angry, he might’ve turned up there.”
Elena’s next stop, the resupply store, had her slamming up against an ex-cop who gave her a blank face and said he didn’t gossip about customers. Too f**king worried to put up with bullshit, Elena laid her cards on the table, no sugarcoating. “Darrell is in trouble. The kind of trouble where he might pick up a gun”—not to mention the freaking assault rifle he’d bought—“and put it to his head or someone else’s.”
“And what?” Flat cop eyes. “The Tower cares?”
That was his problem? “The Guild cares.” She slapped down her license.
“I heard you were still hunting,” he said, after examining the badge, “but I guess I figured that was horseshit.”
“Yeah, well, it isn’t.” She slid away the license. “Now, Darrell?”
“Saw him three days ago.”
“What did he buy?”
“No, it wasn’t here. I saw him at the corner bar couple of blocks over with a stacked redhead. Legs up to her ears.” A shrug. “I figured the man was enjoying his time off, and who was I to bother him.”
The pro’s apartment, too, Elena realized, was only two blocks over.
People pointed and whispered the instant she stepped out of the store, this part of town busy, but no one crowded her. All it had taken for her to get her space was shooting a crossbow bolt into the boot of an idiot who wanted to get up close and personal. He’d lived, despite his whining, and now she had a rep. Exactly as she liked it.