Maybe I should go down there and provide him with an alibi. I’d been with him a good part of the night, after all, and even though he’d stolen heat from both the guards, he was a full dragon and restricted by the rule of night. He couldn’t flame, even if he had been at full strength.
Hell, even daylight might not have helped him. It could take days to get back the sort of strength needed to set a fire that large. At least, it would for an ordinary dragon.
But there were other ways of lighting fires, and surely a dragon trained as an assassin would not be above using them.
In truth, the part of me that wanted to help him was undoubtedly the same part that remembered the feel of his lips on mine, and the way the merest hint of a smile had sent my pulse racing like a mad thing.
I hated that reaction. Or rather, hated the fact that it was aimed yet again at the wrong sort of man. Why couldn’t my hormones pick some kind, gentle, normal man for a change?
Of course, the sane part of me—the part that actually remembered the pain of trusting too easily and that had sworn never to trust like that again—was reluctant to go anywhere near him.
After all, there was a very real possibility that he was responsible. I had no idea when the fire had started. No idea where he’d gone after he’d left me.
And yet I felt like I owed him. While I might have gotten us out of that cellar, he’d gotten us free of the house and made sure I’d arrived at Trae’s safely.
I gulped down my sandwich, then jumped off the sofa and headed for the phone once again. Before I decided what to do, I needed to find out where he’d be. The bar was on Fillmore Street, so it seemed logical he would have been taken to Northern Station, but I wanted to be sure before I wasted cash on cab fare.
Robyn would know that sort of information. She was one of the crime reporters at the Chronicle and had been a friend since journalism school. She was also very human—and didn’t know that I wasn’t.
“Hey, chickie,” she said, voice its ever-cheery self when I phoned. “How you doing?”
“Not bad, considering that in the last twenty-four hours I’ve been run off the road, drugged, and then kidnapped.”
“No! Seriously? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “I was told the Chronicle ran a story on the accident?”
“Not that I know of. I’m sure Frankie would have mentioned one of our own being in an accident, and he knows we’re friends.”
“That’s what I thought.” So Angus had been lying. “Listen, I need some help with a story I’m tracking down.”
“And here I was thinking you were off on a vacation with that mad friend of yours.”
“I was. Am.” Only the mad friend is dead and I need to save her soul. “But I caught a whiff of something that may or may not amount to anything.”
“If it amounts to anything, I want the details. In full and over coffee. And cake.”
“Done deal.” Although the details would be highly modified, given she had no idea what I was. “What can you tell me about the fire on Fillmore Street last night?”
“Nothing much more than what’s been said on TV. Why?”
“Because I know the man arrested for it, and I don’t think he did it.”
“No one was arrested.” Confusion darkened her tone. “Although a Damon Rey was taken in for questioning.”
Well, at least he’d given me his correct name. “What station is he at?”
“None of them. I think they released him about an hour ago.”
“Damn.” Why I was disappointed I couldn’t entirely say. At least it solved the problem of me having to provide an alibi for the man. “What time did the fire start?”
“Witnesses say about three, but the arson investigators have only just started sifting through the ruins.”
Which meant he could have been responsible. Damn, damn, and damn.
“He’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton, if that’s of any use,” Robyn said.
Who’d have guessed Death was a five-star sort of guy? “How do you know all this shit?”