CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Teresa’s truck was a lot faster than Nightbolt’s, but it was still slower than I liked. I drove it as fast as I could, but it seemed to take an eternity for us to get to Nightbolt’s house. It didn’t help that my body still ached from where I’d been shot twice. The spots didn’t hurt quite as badly as they had at first, but I knew I’d be feeling this in the morning … assuming I lived that long, that is.
Finally, Nightbolt’s house came into view. It looked ordinary from a distance, but as we got closer, I noticed more and more signs of a struggle. The front door stood open; the gate around the house had been knocked off its hinges; Camel’s car was parked at the gate, while Nightbolt’s truck stood where it always did. Even Spike’s doghouse had been knocked over, though Spike
