The Hollows Series Books 1-4. Kim Harrison

cop who didn’t seem to trust me, met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Actually, sir,” he said reluctantly, “that clock is five minutes fast.”

      “See?” Jenks exclaimed.

      Edden reached for the car phone and snapped on the speaker so we all could hear. “Let’s make sure that plane is grounded and everyone is in place,” he said.

      Anxious, I adjusted my arm sling as Edden punched three numbers into the phone. “Ruben,” he barked into it, holding it like it was a mike. “Talk to me.”

      There was a brief hesitation, then a masculine voice crackled through the speakers. “Captain. We’re waiting at the gate, but the plane isn’t here.”

      “Not there!” I shouted, wincing as I yanked myself to the edge of the seat. “They should be boarding by now.”

      “It never came to the tunnel, sir,” Ruben continued. “Everyone is waiting at the terminal. They say it’s a minor repair and should only take an hour. This isn’t your doing?”

      I glanced from the speaker to Edden. I could almost see the ideas circulating behind his speculating expression. “No,” he finally said. “Stay put.” He broke the connection and the faint hiss disappeared.

      “What is going on?” I shouted into his ear, and he gave me a black look.

      “Get your butt back in your seat, Morgan,” he said. “It’s probably your friend’s daylight restrictions. The airline won’t make everyone wait on the tarmac when the terminal is empty.”

      I glanced at Nick, whose fingers were nervously tapping out the rhythm of an unheard beat. Still uneasy, I settled back. The landing beacon from the airport ran an arc across the underside of the clouds. We were nearly there.

      Edden punched in a number from memory, a smile easing over his face as he took the phone off the speaker. “Hello, Chris?” he said, as I faintly heard a woman’s voice answer. “Got a question for ya. Seems there’s a Southwest flight stuck on the tarmac. Eleven forty-five to L.A.? What’s up with it?” He hesitated, listening, and I found myself chewing on a hangnail. “Thanks, Chris.” He chuckled. “How about the thickest steak in the city?” Again he chuckled, and I swear, his ears reddened.

      Jenks snickered at something I couldn’t hear. I glanced at Nick, but he was ignoring me.

      “Chrissy,” Edden drawled. “My wife might have a problem with that.” Jenks laughed with Edden, and I tugged a curl, nervous. “Talk to you later,” he said, and clicked the phone off.

      “Well?” I asked from the edge of my seat.

      The remnants of Edden’s smile refused to leave him. “The plane is grounded. Seems the I.S. had a tip there’s a bag of Brimstone on it.”

      “Turn it all,” I swore. The bus was the decoy, not the airport. What was Trent doing?

      Edden’s eyes glinted. “The I.S. is fifteen minutes away. We could pull it right out from under them.”

      On my shoulder, Jenks started to swear.

      “We aren’t here for Brimstone,” I protested, as everything started falling apart. “We’re here for biodrugs!” Fuming, I went silent as a loud car approached us, heading back into the city.

      “That one’s above city code,” Edden said. “Clayton, see if you can get a number off it.”

      Mind whirling, I waited for it to pass before I tried to speak again. The engine was racing as if the driver was doing thirty over the speed limit, but the car was hardly moving. The gears whined as it tried to shift in an all-too-familiar sound. Francis, I thought, my breath catching.

      “That’s Francis!” both Jenks and I shouted as I spun to see his broken taillight. My vision swam from the pain the quick movement started, but I half crawled to the far backseat, Jenks still on my shoulder. “That’s Francis,” I cried, my heart pounding. “Turn around. Stop! That’s Francis.”

      Edden hit his fist into the dash. “Damn,” he swore. “We’re too late.”

      “No!” I shouted. “Don’t you see? Trent is switching them. The biodrugs and Brimstone. The I.S. isn’t there yet. Francis is switching them!”

      Edden stared at me, his face alternating in the shadow and light as we continued up the long drive to the airport.

      “Francis has the drugs! Turn around!” I shouted.

      The van stopped at a traffic light. “Captain?” the driver prompted.

      “Morgan,” Edden said, “you’re crazy if you think I’m going to pass up the chance to slip a Brimstone take right out from under the I.S. You don’t even know if that was him or not.”

      Jenks laughed. “That was Francis. Rachel burned out his clutch right proper.”

      I grimaced. “Francis has the drugs. They’re going out by bus. I’d bet my life on it.”

      Edden’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “You have,” he said shortly. “Clayton, turn around.”

      I slumped, letting out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

      “Captain?”

      “You heard me!” he said, clearly not happy. “Turn around. Do what the witch says.” He turned to me, his face tight. “You’d better be right, Morgan,” he nearly growled.

      “I am.” Stomach churning, I settled back, bracing myself at the sharp U-turn. I had better be right, I thought, glancing at Nick.

      An I.S. truck passed us on its way to the airport, silent with its lights flashing. Edden hit the dash so hard it was a wonder the air bag didn’t come out. He snatched up the radio. “Rose!” he bellowed. “Did the dog team find anything at the bus depot?”

      “No, Captain. They’re on their way in now.”

      “Get them back out there,” he said. “Who do we have in the Hollows in plainclothes?”

      “Sir?” She sounded confused.

      “Who’s in the Hollows that I didn’t move to the airport?” he shouted.

      “Briston is at the Newport mall in plainclothes,” she said. The faint ringing of a phone intruded, and she shouted, “Someone get that!” There was hesitation. “Gerry is backing her up, but he’s in uniform.”

      “Gerry,” Edden muttered, clearly not pleased. “Move them to the bus depot.”

      “Briston and Gerry to bus depot,” she repeated slowly.

      “Tell them to use their ACGs,” Edden added, shooting a glance at me.

      “ACGs?” Nick asked.

      “Anticharm gear,” I said, and he nodded.

      “We’re looking for a white male, early thirties. Witch. Name is Francis Percy. I.S. runner.

      “He’s no better than a warlock,” I interjected, bracing myself as we came to an abrupt halt at a red light.

      “The suspect is probably carrying spells,” Edden continued.

      “He’s harmless,” I muttered.

      “Do not approach unless he tries to leave,” Edden said tightly.

      “Yeah.” I snorted as we lurched into motion again. “He might bore you to death.”

      Edden turned to me. “Will you shut your mouth?”

      I shrugged, then wished I hadn’t as my shoulder started to throb.

      “Did you get that, Rose?” he said into the phone.

      “Armed, dangerous, don’t approach unless he tries to leave. Gotcha.”

      Edden grunted.