Chicks Kick Butt - Rachel Caine, Kerrie Hughes (ed) by Chicks Kick Butt (mobi)

Author:Chicks Kick Butt (mobi)
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub

CHAPTER

Becky’s screaming was like a shrill alarm clock in the background. I was tempted to shut her off, but she was nothing more than an ignorant pawn, who hadn’t tried to kill me, which meant I had to return the favor. Still, I kept her in my peripheral vision just in case.

I started toward the archway where the not-Olivia had crumpled to the floor. I automatically reached for one of my dragon-clawed daggers when I realized I was still in human clothes and wasn’t wearing my weapons belt. I ground my teeth. It wasn’t likely they’d had the courtesy to bring my handbag along with me, much less my leather fighting suit and weapons.

Rodán and the other Trackers needed to know what was going down, and I needed backup.

“Give me your handbag.” I held my hand in Becky’s direction. The flour-coated simpleton stopped screaming as she grabbed her purse from off the floor and clutched it to her. Idiot. Facing her possible demise and she was protecting her Ferragamo purse from me. She had only one of her matching heels on; the other was near Carl’s body.

With my hand still extended, I scowled at her. The floor started to rock again and Becky screamed and threw her handbag at me.

I caught it and she yelped as I jerked the purse open in a not-so-delicate manner. I dug through it, found her cell phone, then dropped the purse on the floor. Becky started to scramble toward it but stopped when she got a good look at my expression.

That’s right, lady. Don’t mess with a pissed-off blue-haired amethyst female Tracker.

A sense of urgency made my skin feel like ants were crawling over me. I flipped the phone open and called our Proctor, Rodán, who was also my mentor and former lover.

It didn’t take me long to explain everything to Rodán. He pinpointed my location by the cell phone signal and would send the Paranormal Task Force to clean up the mess and take care of Becky.

I would have called Adam, who was an NYPD detective, or Olivia, but both were human and couldn’t enter—or know about—the Paranorm Center. Chills prickled my arms. I didn’t even know if Adam was alive. Or Olivia for that matter. Had the Metamorphs gotten to my lover or my partner?

I pocketed the cell phone, scooped Carl’s gun up from the floor, then grabbed the elemental-magic-treated wrist and ankle cuffs. My eyes narrowed and my jaw set, I approached Becky.

“No!” Her high-pitched voice was a squeak. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Shut up.” I knelt in front of her, grabbed one of her wrists, and cuffed her to the handle on the door of the pantry. For good measure I cuffed her ankles, too. The PTF would be here in no time and take care of her.

I stepped over the dead doubles of Adam’s and Olivia’s bodies before rushing through the archway. Pictures had fallen off the walls, lamps had toppled from end tables, glass from broken picture frames had shattered on the carpet from my mini-earthquake.

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