Free Storm Kissed by Jessica Andersen Page A

closing on a burn of tears, she whispered, “Damn it.”
    She thought about Denver, about the new life she was building there, and her determination to be a better person, one who didn’t take the same sort of risks the old Reese had, who lived with less danger, less pain. Then she thought about the young man she had known, the one she had mourned even though their relationship had died years before his actual—or faked—death. She thought of the comfort of his spine pressed into hers, crowding her against the wall so she would be warm while he kept watch. And she thought about the puniness of saving the world one person at a time when she could potentially help save the whole damn thing.
    Don’t do it , her smarter self said. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t —
    “Shit . ” She crossed the room in a few strides, went for the intercom pad, and hit 1313 so hard her fingertip stung.
    Strike came on the line immediately, voice sounding resigned and tired as he said, “Give me good news, Ms. Montana. I could really use it right now.”
    “I’m going to need whatever you’ve got on the museum break-in—provenance on the artifact that Keban stole, any cross-refs on similar cases, the works. Dez knows how to hide his tracks, so I’m guessing it’ll be easier to find the damned winikin . ” She paused, toughening her voice to hide how small and vulnerable she suddenly felt, how deeply out of her element. “And for future reference? The next one of you who puts a spell on me without permission is going to be choking on his or her own spleen.”
    There was a pause. Then the king of the Nightkeepers said simply, “Welcome to the team.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Aztec Ruins National Park
New Mexico
December 10; total lunar eclipse;
one year and eleven days until the zero date
     
    Well into hour three of his stakeout, Dez barely even twitched at the sound of a kid-sized stampede approaching from the visitors’ center, followed by the nasal chirp of a teacher′s voice doing the facts-and-figures thing.
    He was well hidden, and knew that the human herd would stay on the marked path that crossed the huge circular footprint of an ancient kiva. From there, they would wind through a few of the hundreds of rooms belonging to the thousand-year-old stone-and-mortar structure, loop up to a smaller, heavily restored building called the Hubbard Site, then back around to the gift shop and picnic area. The tour groups didn’t stray off the beaten path. Not like he had. And not like the man he hunted would do.
    Come on, you bastard. Where the hell are you?
    Ever since Dez had awakened from his Triad-induced coma and his ancestor′s this-is-your-life-and-hey-you-suck reprogramming, he’d been working on curbing his impatience and maintaining control. But sitting and waiting still wasn’t his strong suit.
    He had been chasing Keban’s dust for the past week, always two steps behind the bastard until—thank fuck—yesterday, when he’d finally crossed a fresh trail and recognized the sour scent and faintly off vibration that he’d caught a whiff of at the Santa Fe museum Keban had robbed. He’d followed it to a library downtown, got his hands on the same book the bastard had touched, found the map he had lingered on, along with a reference to shadowscript and the lunar eclipse, and knew he’d finally gotten the break he needed.
    The winikin would be there at dusk. Not long now.
    Dez had picked a spot just inside one of the dozens of low passageways that ran through what was left of the huge ruin. He was fifty or so feet and several chambers away from the self-guided path, but the alignment of the rectangular doorways and thick, rubble-filled masonry walls carried the teacher′s words.
    “Despite the name, these buildings weren’t originally built by the Aztecs. The mistake was made in the mid–eighteen hundreds by scholars who believed the Aztecs had originated here and migrated south to Mexico. But this was most likely a