Page 42 of Shift Work
Ah, there it was—the thought of what he’d do to Cadeafterthat, when they were in private.
“I mean,” Marlow said, “there’s the sex.”
There were a lot of legends about nulls. None of them were that they were telepathic. Cade still felt heat wash up to his ears as he tried to shove his brief fantasy to the back of his head.
“What?”
Marlow kept his eyes on the road as the lights changed, and he threw the Impala into drive. His profile was all sharp lines and smooth skin, the corner of his mouth tucked up with wry humor
“Someone doesn’t have to actually die before we can fool around,” he said as they pulled up onto the interstate. “Or that’s what I’ve heard.”
If someone had asked, Cade wasn’t sure he could have described the feeling in his gut. It was a tangle of overinvested excitement and the sudden nervous pressure to not fuck this up and be an asshole. But there was a grab bag of other stuff too.
He reached out and curled his hand around the back of Marlow’s neck, and his thumb grazed along the tight line of tendon.
“Is this just because you want a shot at my spectacular ass?” he asked.
Marlow glanced at him quickly—a flicker of gray visible as he looked over the top of his glasses—and then laughed.
“Maybe,” he said. “Besides, we still don’t know who has stepped in for Piper to clear up—”
Behind Marlow, through the driver’s side window, Cade saw the truck barrel through the red light and roar across the junction toward them. It was low-slung and black, with armor-plated sides and glare-bright lights.
Instinct made him tighten his grip on the back of Marlow’s neck and drag him forward. He twisted his body over him, arms folded over both their heads. All he had to do was survive the night, and he’d be good as new. Marlow wouldn’t be so lucky.
The truck smashed into the side of the Impala. If it had been a newer car, it would have been t-boned. The old muscle car’s framework groaned but held, even as metal tore with a raw, almost organic sound.
A window shattered—Cade felt splinters hit the back of his hands—and the car lurched sideways as whoever was driving gunned the engine.
“What the fuck?” Marlow spat, voice muffled.
Cade looked up and squinted at the dust-grimed windscreen. On the other side of the glass, a man in SDPD TAC gear stared back as he threw the truck into reverse. The Impala rocked as the truck pulled free. It backed up a few feet and then roared forward again.
The Impala’s tires scraped sideways over the road as the truck rammed it until they hit the barrier. Cade felt the car shift under them, and then the world spun around them as they tipped over the edge.
He braced one hand against the roof as they dropped. A jolt of pain pierced down into his armpit as his wrist snapped. Cade snarled, furious for a second, and then the Impala hit the road, and his head hit the window.
The world went gray around him. Cade did his best to fight the wash of grogginess, although he couldn’t quite remember why it was important he stay awake, but it dragged him under.
The car finally scraped to a stop on the street beneath and slowly spun on its scored roof like a shocked beetle. Overhead the moon rose, fat and inexorable, into the dull purple sky.
