Frost Line Read online

  Through traffic cameras and by hacking into a variety of security systems of businesses along the senator’s route, Caine was able to track the car—or he thought he had. It wasn’t possible to be certain, given that cameras weren’t conveniently positioned everywhere he needed them to be, but he was almost positive the man he’d been looking for was in a particular area, south of Atlanta. The location was puzzling, as it was nowhere near Markham’s home, and from all Caine knew of the senator, he had no interests—financial or otherwise—in the area. It was an industrial district, and with the downturn in the economy many of the buildings there stood empty.

  It looked as if Markham had driven into the area but had not, at least as far as Caine could tell, driven out.

  “I think Markham’s here,” he said to Lenna, circling the area on the computer screen with his finger. “But I can’t pinpoint his location. We’ll have to check each place. Put on your coat. It’s miserably cold tonight.”

  Without comment she pulled on the coat, putting it on over the bag that was slung crosswise across her body. “I’m ready,” she said, looping her arms around his neck and looking up at him with a calm expression. He supposed she was; when had she ever shrank from anything? He gave her a quick kiss, then teleported them to the area where he’d last seen Markham’s car.

  In the blink of an eye they were standing in a dark, decrepit, and deserted parking lot. The icy wind whistled around them. There was no beauty here to share with her; there were rusting fences, cracked asphalt, winter-dead weeds drooping in those cracks. An empty building loomed beside them, broken windows making silent comment on the desolation.

  It was after midnight, but midnight had long since passed for this place; it had been sitting unoccupied a long while. Caine looked around, not just searching for the senator’s car, but scanning for any other danger that might be nearby, danger of the feral human type. Snow and ice still made some of the footing treacherous, so they carefully walked around the building. Nothing was there, not any kind of vehicle.

  Looking around, he tried to get a better idea of the area. The lots were large, separated by fences or ditches or expanses of weed-choked dirt. There was no car, no vehicles of any type, to be seen from this vantage point. Here and there dusk-to-dawn security lights created pools of light that revealed the desolation in stark, sickly detail. Markham wouldn’t necessarily be parked near any light, if he was here at all, because it hadn’t been dark when he’d driven to this area. He could be anywhere. He could be across town. He could have taken a flight to a different country.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” he said against Lenna’s hair. “There’s going to be a lot of teleporting. How do you feel?” She wasn’t a Hunter; she wasn’t naturally acclimated to teleporting. All he felt was tired from expending so much energy, but she was likely feeling other effects.

  “Dizzy,” she murmured against his leather jacket. “But we have to do it. I’m ready.”

  He took her at her word. She was, after all, Strength. He was methodical in his search; holding her tightly against him, he teleported to another, similarly desolate plant. Again, there was nothing there, no car, no Markham. And then again. By the fourth relocation, she was literally hanging around his neck, her knees weak, gulping deep breaths with her face buried in the curve of his shoulder.

  He didn’t mind having her cling to him. What he minded was not being able to strip her naked and thrust his aching penis inside her. He minded the constant push of power from the cards. He minded this whole damn situation.

  At the sixth site, they found Markham’s car.

  “There,” he said with satisfaction. “We’ve found the bastard.”

  Lenna lifted her head from his shoulder and heaved a big sigh. “Thank the One. The effects accumulate, don’t they? I would rather use my feet now, instead of popping here and there.”

  He still held her close as he searched the surrounding area for any sign of danger; if any threatened, he wanted her there so he could whisk her to safety without even a second’s delay. But the night was empty and cold, the biting wind keeping most beings under shelter. The sky overhead was brilliant with stars, letting him know it would turn even colder before dawn finally arrived.

  Markham’s car was parked at the side of the building, close to a rusted metal door. They silently approached, not touching now, but he could feel her tension rising. She put a protective hand over the bag, the move instinctive.

  Then she stopped so abruptly her feet made a small skidding sound on the grit and gravel. Caine turned back, his instincts ratcheting into high alert, but he didn’t see or hear anything unusual, other than Lenna staring at the door.

  “Death,” she murmured.

  “Where?”

  Lenna tilted her head toward the door. “Inside. I feel it, violence and death, the way I felt Elijah’s mother’s death.”

  He didn’t know much about her capabilities, but he didn’t doubt her. She was a powerful being. Not physically powerful, like him; her strength was of the mind. She would feel the things that tested all beings, and that included death.

  A test of the door found it locked. “One more time,” he said, tugging her close. She pressed her lips together and gave a reluctant nod, and he took them inside.

  The interior of the abandoned building was icy cold, the air stale. The electricity was still on; a few dim lights lit the depressing space. There were several doors along the long hallway, but Lenna straightened away from him and without hesitation went to one of them, turned the doorknob and opened the door. Caine briefly thought about fingerprints—assuming she had any, which he didn’t know—but even if there were, there was no chance the cops could match them to any file here on Seven.

  A desk lamp burned on a rusty metal desk, illuminating the ugly scene.

  There was a body on the floor.

  Lenna simply stood there looking at it, but Caine stepped past her and squatted by the man’s shoulders so he could study the face. Death changed a person’s appearance; without the spirit’s energy and animation, the facial features became slack and empty, more like a mannequin than a person. Nevertheless, this was undoubtedly Robert Markham, state senator, possible murderer. His death had been neither accident nor suicide, because the thin rope that had been used to strangle him was still around his neck.

  Lenna moved closer, her face expressionless as she looked down at the body. “He’s the murderer,” she said flatly. “Even though he’s dead, I feel it on him, not just the violence of his own death but the murder he committed. I sensed his energy in Elijah’s house.” She glanced up, met Caine’s gaze. “I feel her here, around him. Elijah’s mother.”

  Caine rose to his feet. “Then Elijah is safe.”

  “I think so,” Lenna said, but her voice lacked certainty. “But who killed him? Who was the man who attacked us at Elijah’s house?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Caine said. “The police will sort it out. Elijah saw this man kill his mother. Whoever did this isn’t the man Elijah saw. The line of events is broken. He’s safe.”

  “That’s an assumption, but a good one,” she admitted. She exhaled a weary breath, then gave him a faint smile. “We can collect Elijah now.”

  “Not just yet,” he said, and seized her for one more teleportation—back to their hotel room. Immediately they were surrounded by warmth, and comfort. It wasn’t by accident that they were standing next to the bed.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” he continued, as if they hadn’t just crossed the city in less time than it took to inhale. “He’ll be asleep, and so will Wiley and Chantel. We’ll fetch him in the morning, and then we’ll get the final card from Esma so I can take you home.” Though how he was going to accomplish that he hadn’t yet figured out, but he knew he’d have to bait Esma into coming for them.

  “So anxious to be rid of me?” she teased, her voice light, but her eyes … was that sadness?

  “Not anxious, no, but it’s a matter of