Free Liquid Lies by Hanna Martine Page A

busting Yoshi’s leg.
    Manny, bless him, replied, “Hey, man. She left. Leave her alone.”
    Gwen tossed another package and found the doorknob, yanking it with all her strength. She burst out into the alley, fat raindrops smacking her in the face. Behind her, Reed barreled through the mess she’d made in the storeroom. She couldn’t make it around the corner to David in time, and she couldn’t sprint to the street and hail a cab before Reed caught up to her.
    There was only one thing to do.
    Cars sped by the mouth of the alley. A few people hurried past, hands over their heads to ward off the unusual late-September rain, but otherwise it was dark and she was in a dingy alcove.
    She whispered Ofarian words. Her body shimmered, liquifying, and collapsed in on itself. It took extra effort and deep concentration to transform her clothes and belongings, too, but she did it. As a puddle, she pooled around the stumpy legs of a Dumpster. Raindrops splashed into her but did not mix.
    The puddle served as one great big limpid eye, and from it she watched Reed charge into the alley. Head whipping around, he called her name. By the determined way he took off toward the street, she knew he wasn’t just disappointed to discover his potential one-night stand had bolted. His desperation stemmed from his conversation with the other Secondaries, and the envelope they’d given him.
    She’d been a fucking idiot.
    She moved the puddle over the disgusting ground, oil slicks and hamburger wrappers and used chewing gum sliding underneath her. At the alley entrance she extended a trickle out onto the sidewalk and saw Reed run heavy-footed down the street. A taxi rolled down the opposite lane.
    Ducking back into the shadows, she let go of her liquid form. She was a great beanstalk extending to the sky, the world returning to normal size as her body and clothing solidified. She felt heavy and clunky with retransformation, but there was no time to wallow in it.
    Jogging across the street, she flagged down the approaching cab. “Swing around the corner,” she told the driver before her ass hit the seat. “Stop for a sec in front of the burrito joint.”
    As he hit the meter and did just that, she flipped open her phone and dialed.
    Griffin answered. “Hey, you. You coming over after all?”
    “No. Meet me at my dad’s. Fifteen minutes. Tedrans are in San Francisco.”

EIGHT
    Griffin clutched the keys to Gwen’s apartment and put a finger to his lips. You couldn’t have paid her to talk at that point. He inspected the door lock and knob, then ran his hands over the jamb. With a frown of concentration, he slid the key into place and pushed the door open. He thrust out a hand behind him, silently telling her to stay in the hall. Obediently, she plastered herself to the opposite wall. The pinch of her feet in her boots felt way better than the flock of butterflies swarming in her stomach.
    Griffin moved through the entranceway and into the main living space, switching on lamps as he went. Her place was minimalist, mostly white. Very few areas in which to hide. When he disappeared down the hall toward the bedrooms and out of her sight, she started to bounce on the balls of her feet, anxious. After reappearing and flashing her the “okay” sign, he headed for the kitchen. Gwen rushed inside, shut the door, and bolted it. All energy left her in a single breath, and she sagged against the door.
    Two nights in a row up well past midnight. Two nights in a row of occurrences that threatened her life and challenged the security of her people. Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe her state of mind.
    They’d just come from the Chairman’s manor in tony Pacific Heights, where she’d spent almost three hours being grilled by the Board. They’d been called out of their beds to hear her tell them about Reed and the Tedrans.
    All the Board members were now under careful watch of Griffin’s security team. In the wee hours, Ofarian soldiers were