"Lucky him," seemed harmless enough. Vacuous enough. Jessie glanced at the witch hunter as he adjusted the rearview mirror with one rough hand. Despite his terrifying vocation, he appealed on some deep level. A rough shadow darkened his angled jaw. It framed a mouth that bowed at the top, which she'd noticed the instant he'd sat down at her bar.

She'd briefly toyed with the idea of leaning over the counter and tasting it. Now she was glad she hadn't. Not even for the extra tip money that flirty act would have netted her.

His hair curled in short waves, dark brown and s.h.a.ggy, and Jessie couldn't help but admire his easy strength as he'd hauled her down half a city block, even despite his limp.

It was the same strength he'd probably developed strangling innocent people in the night.

She set her jaw.

Anger rolled off him in palpable waves, an aura of fury that she didn't need preternatural senses to recognize. Long, all-too-capable fingers gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity as he drove with purpose.

Drove where?

Death and the laughing joker. Two different people? s.h.i.t. Caleb's prophecies never made sense.

Jessie sc.r.a.ped back the fringe of fake red hair with one shaking hand. "Thanks for the help and all." His mouth twisted. "But," she continued lightly, "you can drop me off here."

He didn't reply, didn't slow down. Didn't acknowledge her. She bit her lip, winced when it throbbed in protest.

It had to be a coincidence. She'd never heard of a witch hunter saving a witch just to kill her himself. Unless he was a real freak of nature.

Or didn't recognize her in her disguise.

Short red hair, no makeup, street clothes designed to blend; it was a far cry from the vamped-up brunette bartender he'd met. The alley had been dark. He'd seen a woman in trouble.

Could she stake her life on a witch hunter's good intentions?

Would she be heading to her own death if she did?

No. It was still a risk, and the laughing joker hadn't killed her. That didn't mean she was safe. She'd just toppled the first domino of her baby brother's worst prophecy. Christ. s.h.i.t.

She wasn't going to die, d.a.m.n it.

Jessie casually draped her hand on the armrest, her thumb resting on the door release. The second he slowed down, the moment she saw her chance, she'd be gone.

"Don't even try it."

"Try what?"

"We're going sixty. In half a minute, we'll be on the carousel. You'll be a smear if you jump, and I'm not slowing down."

What was he, psychic? Her temper spiked. "I'll take my chan- Let go of me!" His hard, cold fingers were implacable as he gripped her forearm.

"I didn't haul you out of that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's rape fantasy to lose you to asphalt," he said flatly.

Jessie's teeth clicked. "I don't need a hero," she gritted out. "Let me go."

He did, but only so he could put both hands back on the wheel. "Stay f.u.c.king put."

Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Her lip throbbed, but the small pain was going to be the least of her problems if the jump out of a moving vehicle didn't kill her first.

Steeling herself, she reached again for the latch on the door.

"Your friend was right," he said. "You're a better blond."

end.