respiteâor sunscreen.
She easily scrubbed off the blood and the dirt, but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how long she rubbed, she couldnât get rid of the scent of werewolf. That scent was part of her now.
She had a sudden flash of Barlowâs hands on her breasts, his tongue in her mouth, and everything sheâd felt in that small clip of time sheâd spent in his arms rushed back. Despite her hatred of werewolves, and him in particular, sheâd wanted the man more than sheâd ever wanted anyone else.
There was definitely something hinky about Julian Barlow.
Mind control? Witchcraft? A magic spell? Maybe all three. Sheâd find out of course. Finding out was what she did bestâalong with killing.
His brush lay on the sink; Alex used it even though the mingling of his golden strands with her light brown made her edgy. After wrapping herself tightly in a scratchy hotel towel, Alex opened the door. A fresh set of clothes lay on the floor just outside.
She snatched them up without even looking around. The clothes, obviously his, fit badly. The jeans were hugeâshe threaded a length of what appeared to be telephone cord through the belt loops to hold them upâthe tank top, too. She didnât really want to wear his boxers, but what choice did she have? The long-sleeved shirt, heavy socks, and bulky,tree-hugger sandals were also too large. She managed by pulling the straps as tight on her feet as theyâd go.
When Alex stepped into the room again, the first thing she saw was Barlow staring out the window. The night had turned gray as dawn approached. In the distance she caught the twinkling lights of LAX, so numerous and bright they seemed like stars that had fallen to the earth.
The room smelled of smokeâbut not cigarettesâreminding her of the small towns she and her father had passed through, places where theyâd burned their garbage in the backyard. The scent made her ache with the echo of loneliness.
Every dusk had brought another monster; every dawn had brought another town. They never got friendly. It didnât pay. Who knew when the kid youâd struck up a friendship with might turn out to be the next werewolf victim, or perhaps the next werewolf.
âWe should get to the airport,â Barlow murmured without turning. âWe leave in an hour.â
Alex opened her mouth to question him, then thought better of it. Sheâd know soon enough where they were going. All sheâd have to do was read her boarding pass.
Except they didnât fly commercial. Barlow had his very own plane.
They also didnât leave in an hour. Something needed to be adjusted, and when dealing with planes Alex was all for adjusting it, however long that might take. She sat in a hard plastic chair and watched Barlow pace. He seemed more like a wild animal now than when heâd been one.
At last the pilot motioned for them to board. Alex reached for her ID, then remembered sheâd left her license on the table in the hotel when sheâd gone into the shower, then sheâd neverseen it again. The scent of burning waste in the room suddenly made a lot more sense.
âYou burned my ID?â she whispered furiously.
âYou wonât need it where weâre going.â
âJust because you have your own plane doesnât mean we donât have to show ID.â
He smiled. âIt does on my plane.â
âButââ
âIf you have enough money you can buy anything. Especially anonymity. Iâd think you would have learned that from Mandenauer.â
Barlow got on board, leaving Alex to follow or not. Though she had no doubt that if she chose not, heâd make her.
They flew away from the sun, out over the Pacific. Just when Alex had begun to obsess about landing in China or Russia or some Stan country with a lot of caves and disappearing forever, the pilot turned toward land, then tilted the nose
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