Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(88)

I didn’t say it back.

“Rose,” I call out, just as two car doors close in quick succession. “Rose.”

The engine of the Charger roars to life.




“Wait,” I beg, even though I already know they’ll never hear me. I crash through the door with the dog in my arms just as they peel away from the building in a speeding mass of black metal. I watch as the car roars to the end of the street and drifts around the corner, the tires squealing. In a flash of light on polished chrome, they’re gone.

“Fuck,” I hiss, and the dog whines again as though agreeing with me.

I manage to open the door of the rental and get the dog into the back seat, and then I run to the driver’s side. I have no fucking idea where the nearest emergency vet is. I’m searching for one on my phone when a text comes in from Rose.

Montague Muffins, INC, 2008 Woodland Road, Portsmouth.

I’ll be there as soon as I can.



She doesn’t respond.

I find a vet a few blocks away and speed there. Bentley is still panting, whining every few minutes. After I get to the clinic and park at the curb, the dog mounts a grumbling protest at the indignity of being carried, but he doesn’t have enough fight in him to argue. I burst through the doors, and by sheer luck, it’s his regular veterinary office. They whisk him from my grasp as I relay what little information I have in rapid fire. I give them my credit card and phone number, and then I’m back in my vehicle in under ten minutes.

As soon as I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, I press my forehead to the steering wheel and close my eyes. What the fuck am I doing? Rose was right there, saying the words I’ve wanted to say to her, offering her heart to me like she couldn’t bear to keep it when she should be protecting every broken shard. And after everything that happened yesterday and the sleepless night that followed, I hesitated, too shocked to process what was happening or how monumental it was. It’s as though I’ve spent years looking at a broken puzzle, and with one final piece, everything suddenly fit together.

Everything makes sense because of Rose.

I open my eyes and look to my right. Her tarot cards are scattered across the passenger seat and footwell. I hastily gather them up. All but three are facedown. Of the face-up cards, one is a knight, riding into battle with a sword held high. The other is three longswords facing downward, with a fourth lying beneath the tomb of a knight, the Roman numeral IV in the top left corner. The last is a reaper, a scythe gripped in his skeletal hand. I flip them over as I place them back into the deck and rest them on the seat. I’m just about to look for the leather pouch when my phone buzzes in my free hand. It’s not Rose, like I hoped it would be. It’s Leander.

You are not at the airport, Dr. Kane.



I don’t reply, selecting Rose’s message instead so I can copy the address into my map before I pull into traffic.

I know I can’t get away from Leander Mayes. Not forever. But I need to get to Rose. So I race through traffic. I cut people off. Swerve from one lane to the next. I jump the curb. Weave into the oncoming lane. Sweat mists my brow. The beat of my heart dampens the sound of horns as other drivers tell me off. But I don’t fucking care who I piss off or smash up. I will plow through this whole fucking city if that’s what it takes. I need to fix this. I need to tell her everything I should have in a moment that slipped through my fingers. Hell is going to have to wait.




In a chaos of squealing tires and adrenaline, I finally make it out of the city and onto I-95, heading north to Portsmouth. I’ve just passed Danvers when my phone rings.

Leander’s name appears on the dashboard screen.

Fuck.

I ignore him. But ignoring Leander is pointless. As soon as it goes to voicemail, he’s hanging up and calling again. And again. And again.

On his sixth attempt, I finally accept the call.

“I do not like being ignored,” he says.

“I gathered,” I grit out in reply.

“Where the fuck are you? The flight boards in fifteen minutes, and you’d better be on it.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Dr. Kane—”

“It’s Lark. She was attacked in her apartment and now she’s missing. Lachlan has gone to find her, and I’m following.”

There’s a pause. For a moment, the line goes so quiet I wonder if I’ve lost him. “Where,” he says, not a question, but a demand.

“Portsmouth. I’ve just passed Exit 78A.”

“I’ll call you back. And you will pick up.”

The line goes dead.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings again, and I accept it right away. “I’ve rebooked your flight. You’ll leave at nine tonight. You will keep me posted on your location and I’ll have my driver pick you up and bring you to the airport. Unless you want Rose’s extracurricular activities handed over to the FBI on a fucking silver platter, you will not be late, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” There’s another pause, and though I expect Leander to hang up, he doesn’t. His voice is softer when he says, “As soon as you know the status of Lark, let me know.”

“Leander,” I say.

“What.”

“Conor knows something about this. You’d better get to work.”