He stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes glittering. “Get on.” He turned the key.

The machine started with a muted purr, but she didn’t move to obey him. She couldn’t help but allow her gaze to stray down the street. Moonlit shadows played on the concrete of the sidewalk, dappled by the leaves in the trees. A soft, warm wind blew that made the limbs of the tall, beautiful maples shiver and creak. In the distance lights changed at an intersection and one lonely automobile traversed.

She did have on her running shoes.

“I know where your mother is.” The demon’s voice was low and sure. He knew what she’d just contemplated in the split-second she’d glanced down the street. Of course he knew. “I could be to her within the window of time I possess.”

Sighing, Isabelle mounted the bike behind Boyle. Declining to encircle his waist to hold on, she gripped the seat instead.

“We’re going to my warehouse.”

Nausea rose in her throat. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. Maybe they’d get lucky and have an accident before they arrived.

Actually, that was a good idea.

Isabelle knew that now she had the perfect opportunity to kill Boyle. If she could get the syringe out of her bra, she could inject the liquid copper into him while he drove.

Perfect.

Of course, if it worked they were going down. Isabelle, in her Keds, running shorts, and T-shirt would be pretty much screwed in that case. But Boyle would be dead. That was the important thing.

“Put your arms around my waist,” he commanded.

“Excuse me?” That would make it difficult to snag the syringe.

“Your arms. Put them around my waist and hold on. Do not remove them. I haven’t come this far to lose you now.”

Isabelle took a moment to collect her emotions and then slowly placed her arms around his waist. The muscles of a bodybuilder rippled under her hands. His torso felt like rock under the black leather he wore and Isabelle fought a gag reflex.

The bike lurched forward, along with her stomach. Isabelle closed her eyes and offered a prayer to the Lady. At the last moment, she looked up at the darkened windows of the apartment, where Thomas still slept.

Thomas.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FOUR

“ISABELLE?”

Thomas woke and turned over, groping for the warm body he missed. After finding only air and blankets, he cracked his eyelids. She wasn’t in the room.

The hair on the back of his neck rose as his intuition kicked in. Something wasn’t right.

He pushed the blankets aside, found his pants in the dark, and slid them on. Making his way carefully through the dimly lit apartment, he found the living room empty. He could feel that the entire place was empty except for him.

Outside on the street a motorcycle vroomed to life.

He knew the sound of that cycle.