Nick’s head was down, and it stayed that way as she put her hands on her hips and shot unheard questions at him. Blood soaked one of his pant legs and he looked pale. That he was hurt would make it easier to get him to the hospital where the vampire doctor waited, ready to pronounce him dead of a complication, mix up the paperwork, and shuffle him both out the back door and out of my life forever. Peter would be moved to the vamp wing underground until his body repaired itself. Everything was perfect. But the damn truck wasn’t exploding.

“What are our options?” I asked Jenks, taking the remote and dropping it into my bag.

“It might be the switch on the tanks,” he said. “If Jax was here—”

“He’s not.”

Jenks took my elbow when I swayed. “Can you blow it with your ley line magic?”

“You mean like with me lighting candles?” Hiking up my shoulder bag, I shook my head. “Can’t tap a line over water. And I don’t have a familiar to connect through to a land line.” My mind jumped to Rex. Maybe I ought to remedy that. This is getting old.

“Nick might.”

A shiver went through me, remembering when I channeled Trent’s ability to tap a line last year to make a protection circle. I had hurt him. I didn’t care if I hurt Nick right now—I just wanted to finish this run—but the question might be academic; I didn’t know if Nick had a familiar. “Let’s go ask,” I said, lurching into motion.

My chest hurt, and as I gripped it with my arms, I forced a slow breath into me and tried to pull myself upright. It wasn’t worth the effort to look unhurt, so I gave up, hunching over and breathing shallowly. The wind sluicing through the straits had a chill in it, and the setting sun was lost behind the clouds. It was going to get cold very quickly. Relegating Jax to cat-sitting duties at the motel had been a good idea.

Ivy heard my footsteps on the grating and turned with a frown she reserved only for me, a mix of anger and worry. She was ticked. Big surprise there.

“Rachel,” Nick breathed, holding out his hands as if I would take them. I stopped, and his hands fell.

“I wouldn’t touch a strange man like that,” I said, reminding him that he was still under a disguise. “Especially one that just hit me.”

His eyes flicked to my dental-floss stitches, and my face warmed. He saw me stiffen, then forced his face smooth. Though he looked nothing like himself, I could tell it was him. Not only was there his voice, but I could see Nick in little mannerisms that only an ex-lover might notice: the twitch of a muscle, the curve of a finger—the glint of annoyance in his eye.

“My God,” he said again, softer. “That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Are you okay? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”