Kissing Sin

I had to believe that. I really did.

Blowing out a breath, I stopped, broke down the rifle and shoved the bits in the pack. Throwing it back over my shoulder, I looked around, searching for the nearest phone. I'd left mine in the car, and while it would only take me a few minutes to run back there, I needed to call Jack fast and warn him that the man behind all this was killing—

I stopped abruptly.

He was killing the main limbs of his organization in order to protect himself.

Misha was one of those limbs.

If I didn't get to him before they did, our last chance of discovering the name of the leader was gone. As dead as that woman in the restaurant. As dead as the man who had shot her.

I got my clothes then ran on to the car with every ounce of speed I possessed. Unlocking the door and grabbing the phone seemed to take forever, as did dialing Misha's number and waiting for a response. All I got was a recorded message.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I slammed the door shut, started the car, and threw the gears into drive. After planting my foot on the accelerator and taking off with a squeal of tires that undoubtedly had the nearby cops scrambling to note my plate number, I thumbed Rhoan's number into the phone, and hit the call button. His phone was engaged. I swore softly, and sent him a text message instead. Hopefully, he'd look at it before it was too late. Jack's number got the same response. I sent him a message, telling him what I was doing and why, then threw the phone onto the passenger seat and concentrated on driving.

It took me twenty minutes to get to Lygon Street, and to say I broke the land-speed record would be something of an understatement. I stopped in a loading zone, grabbed the backpack and my phone, then ran toward the Rocker.

The security guard glanced my way as I neared, one bushy brow raised in query. "You seem to be in an awful hurry."

I slid to a halt. "I need to find Misha Rollins. Is he inside, by any chance?"

"I've only just come on shift, so I can't—"

"Thanks," I cut in, then pushed past. The main bar wasn't full, though quite a few people were waiting for drinks. Misha wasn't one of them. Swearing softly, I pressed his number into the phone again as I made my way toward the back stairs.

Misha answered as I reached the top. "Riley," he said, voice filled with cold amusement rather than passion. He wasn't here, then. Or at least, not in the process of mating. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Where are you?" I stopped on the top of the stairs and sca

"My, you sound awfully anxious—"

"Cut the crap, Misha. Your life is in danger. Where the hell are you?"

"At work." His voice was flat. "Why do you think my life is in danger?"

"What does Nasia Whitby look like?" I countered. "And is she one of the Helkis who can take male and female shape?"

"You have been busy."

I headed back down the stairs. "Just answer the goddamn question."

"She's tall, dark-haired." He paused. "I guess you can say she's very masculine to look at."

"Roman nose? Gold nose ring?"

"Yes. Why?"

Now out on the street, I glanced left and right then ran across the road to my car. "Because Nasia Whitby has just been assassinated in a St. Kilda restaurant."

There was a long silence, then he said, very softly, "Fuck."

"Precisely. I caught the killer—he was a black thing with suckered fingers."

"Spirit lizards, he calls them. The creature would have killed himself."

"He was disintegrating, but I offered him a quick death in exchange for the reason Nasia was killed. Your master is apparently chopping off the limbs to save the head."

"Then he knows the Directorate is closing in."

"But why kill everyone?"

"You don't yet know the location of the other lab. The only people who do know are myself, Nasia, and Rupert."

"Rupert being the man who played Mrs. Hunt?" The man Qui

"Yes."

I glanced in the side mirror, then drove out of the parking space and did a quick U-turn in front of the oncoming traffic. Ignoring the ensuing blast of horns, I planted my foot on the accelerator and headed for the city.

"How come you're saying his name now, and not before?"

"My office is psi-shielded, and as an extra precaution, I'm also wearing a psi-shield. He can't get to me here."

"He can still shoot you. Keep away from the fucking windows."

"Riley—you care."

"Of course I care—you're my only source of information."

He chuckled softly. "You're on your way here?"

"Yes."

"I shall tell security to let you in."

"You'd better tell them to be extra vigilant. He's coming after you, Misha."

"I'm safe in this fortress."

"I'm sure there's many a dead man who thought the same."

"They probably didn't have the security layout I have."

But the man in charge probably knew the layout—after all, he apparently had free access to Misha's mind.

"I'll be there in five."

I hung up, then sent Jack another message, asking him to get people to Misha's office building as soon as he could, then concentrated on not crashing the car as I wove in and out of traffic. Misha's office building was at the Paris end of Collins Street. It was one of those gorgeous old buildings that was almost cathedrallike in design, the windows and doors soaring, archlike structures that allowed plenty of light but offered absolutely no protection when it came to bullets. At least modern buildings used plasti-glass, which, while designed primarily to withstand the onslaught of severe storms and flying debris, could also take the force of two gunshots before it shattered. Two shots gave targets time to run or hide.

I parked in a bus zone, grabbed the backpack, then jumped out of the car and ran across the road.

Two stern-faced security men were standing, arms crossed, at the door. "Riley Jensen?" one asked.

When I nodded, he held some sort of portable unit up. "Speak into this."

"We're wasting fucking time, Misha."

The guard didn't crack a smile, just looked at the monitor intently. When it beeped, he nodded at the other guard and the door opened. I wondered if these two men were part of Misha's vaunted security system. If they were, then he wasn't staying in this castle. I could have taken either of them out right at that moment, and had easy access to the building.

One guard followed me inside, and keyed a lift. When the doors opened, he leaned around the corner and pressed the sixth-floor button, then slid a keycard through the slot and gave me a smile. "This will take you straight to his floor. Mr. Rollins's office is the last one on your left."

I nodded my thanks and stepped inside. Once the doors closed, I took off the pack, reassembled the rifle, then put it back. Better safe than sorry.

The lift slid to a stop and the doors opened. I stepped out. The corridor was long, and rife with shadows. The light from the lift splayed across the gloom, flaring slightly, as if the shadows were a thick fog the light could not penetrate.

Down the far end of the hall stood a steel door. No light crept under the edges of that door. Indeed, there almost seemed to be no seam. And the shadows seemed more intense down there.

Unease slithered through me. I reached back and dragged the rifle from the backpack. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it wasn't, but I had the sudden feeling I wasn't alone in this corridor.

Yet I couldn't see anything. Only shadows and my silhouette.

The lift doors began to close, and as that bright patch of light dwindled, my unease increased. Then the light was gone, and I was left to the darkness and whatever it was hiding. Holding the gun toward the floor but ready, I walked toward Misha's office.