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“Get up,” I tell him.

He crab-crawls away, totally panicked.

Not that I blame him. One minute he’s guarding a yacht, the next he's abducted by some monster girl.

A firm command stops his scrambling, and he rises awkwardly to his feet, zombie-like.

“Please don’t kill me,” he stammers.

“Why not? You were going to kill me.”

“We—we were told just to shoot you in the arm or leg. That the silver bullets would, uh, incapacitate you. Said you were some kind of monster.”

“Do Ilooklike a monster?”

He hesitates. “Actually, you look kind of cute.”

Before he gets any stupid ideas—like asking me to the prom—I command him to spill everything he knows about Norm.

Turns out Norm had purchased a surface-to-air missile.

Because, of course, he did.

What was he planning to do with it?

The thug just shrugs and smirks. “What else you use a surface-to-air missile for?”

Good point.

Shoot down planes.

I press harder: where has Norm gone?

Another shrug. He genuinely doesn’t know; Norm hadn’t trusted him enough to share the full plan.

At least when I force him to focus on the speedboat Norm escaped on, he’s helpful.

I get a solid mental image: color, shape, manufacturer. Enough to work with.

Satisfied, I teleport the goon back to Andrew’s condo and shove him into Kingsley’s surprised hands.

“Hand him over to the FBI,” I tell the big guy.

Then I’m gone—teleporting from the condo straight onto a small, fast-moving speedboat cutting through the ocean waves.

Three men, all in black, man the vessel. I land right in the center of it. Naturally, two of them start screaming.

When they’re done, they whip out guns.

But I’m already moving, a blur.

In seconds, I wrench away their weapons and chuck them into the drink.

The boat itself isn’t far from the Redondo Beach Pier.

And beyond that?

LAX Airport.