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ticked her off, though, was that
they’d put her in the position of having to complete the
destruction of her lovely suit. She’d been thinking it over ever
since they’d tossed her into the trunk. The big ox that had grabbed
her had said they were headed for the docks, which meant she might
have twenty minutes to come up with an alternative.
    Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of
one.
    Sighing, trying to tamp her justifiable
anger, she concentrated on shifting.
    She must have concentrated for a full
ten minutes. All the while, she was jounced unmercifully in the
trunk as her kidnappers seemed to go out of their way to find every
stinking pothole between 110 th and the docks, until she began to think she must know what it
felt like to be a basketball.
    Nothing happened and her confidence began to
seep insidiously away as the sound of heavy traffic faded and they
drew nearer their destination. Resolutely, she ignored the gradual
siphoning of her assurance. She’d always prided herself on her
clear-head in the face of disaster, her ability to calmly assess
any situation and pursue the most logical course.
    She had first learned that she could shift
when she’d reached puberty. It wasn’t a ‘gift’ that she’d found a
great deal of use for, however, and, if she were honest with
herself, she wasn’t particularly thrilled at the ability to become
a female of Amazonian proportions merely by willing it. There were
certainly drawbacks to being a small person, but weren’t there
always drawbacks with everything? And she rather liked being
referred to as petite. In her mind, it made up for some of her
other shortcomings--her garish, blindingly red hair, for
instance.
    She supposed now, though, that she might
ought to have practiced her gift in case of need. She needed it
now, if she ever had, and she couldn’t seem to recall how she’d
summoned it before.
    Taking a deep breath, she closed her mind to
the tell tale thump of the tires over wooden planks that told her
they’d reached the docks and concentrated once more, her mind
focused on the discomfort of having her hands tied behind her
back.
    Even as the car slowed and abruptly rocked
to a halt, she felt a tingle in her hands and arms, then the
burning sensation as bones and muscle lengthened and stretched,
bursting the sleeves of her jacket and then the rope around her
wrists.
    It was heartening, but hardly enough. Two
huge arms weren’t going to be enough to fight off two men with
guns.
    As she heard the doors slam and the
footfalls of the men coming around to the back of the car, she
thought of the amulet she always wore next to her heart, the
dragon’s tear.
    They were after it. That had to be the
reason behind this and ‘the boss’ they’d referred to none other
than Clyde Hawkins. He’d approached her only the week before
regarding the legend of the tear, hinting that he suspected she had
it in her possession.
    Digging it from her bodice, she clutched the
tear possessively. It was all that she had from the mother she’d
never known. She wouldn’t part from it for any price. She wasn’t
about to allow these hooligans to steal it from her.
    To her relief, as if merely holding the
amulet tightly in her fist were enough to focus her gift, she felt
her body growing, transforming, heard the tear of fabric and
bursting seams. The moment the catch of the trunk clicked, she
rolled onto her knees and thrust upward, exploding out of the trunk
and bowling both men over.
    She checked, tempted to make use of her size
and strength to teach the men the error of their ways, but her size
did not make her proof against bullet holes and the surprise hadn’t
lasted long. She’d barely cleared them when the two men began
scrambling for their guns. Whirling, she fled toward the edge of
the dock, launching herself toward the water even as she felt the
first barrage of bullets whiz past her.
    She hit--something--even as she launched
herself off the pier. Her mind, grasping to