Fireborn

CHAPTER 13

“That’s impossible,” I said automatically.

“Obviously not, given it just happened.” He planted his foot, and the big car leapt forward. “It would appear Baltimore was somehow infected with the red plague virus. He woke up, broke free of the morgue, killing two people and injuring four others in the process.”

“Fuck.” I hesitated. “What will happen to those who survived now?”

“Now,” he said, voice grim, “the waiting begins.”

I frowned. “I thought you were killing anyone infected with the red plague.”

He hesitated. “Not immediately. It often depends on what happens.”

My confusion grew. “What do you mean? You said any scratch or bite would transmit the disease, and that it was all downhill from there.”

“It is, but if you actually survive the infection, there appears to be two levels of degeneration.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Meaning what?”

“The majority of those infected do become red cloaks, simply because that is who they are infected by. But it appears that there are some humans who have a natural resistance to the infection. While they still turn into vampirelike beings, they do not descend into utter madness. If you’re infected by one of these, then you also have a greater chance of avoiding madness.”

“What percentage are we talking about?”

“About ten percent of the cloaks, as near as we can figure, have avoided the madness.”

Meaning it was more than possible for someone to be controlling the rest of the cloaks. “Then why not use the blood of those who have shown resistance to make a vaccine?”

“It’s being tried; trust me. But not only is the virus constantly mutating within the body; it also reacts very differently in each person, depending on the race.”

“Could that also be the reason some shifters are immune?”

“Possibly.” He shrugged. “As I’ve said, we still don’t understand a whole lot about this virus.”

I snorted. “Tell me again why everybody thought it was a good idea to develop this thing?”

“Discovering the secret to immortality could very well help cure some of man’s greatest diseases.”

“Or it might just create more damn problems.” It certainly had in this case. “What happens to those who don’t fall into madness?”

“Whether they do or not, the result is generally the same. They head into Brooklyn.”

“Why would they all go there?”

He shrugged. “We suspect there’s something in the virus that produces a hive mentality in survivors.”

As I’d noted the night I’d saved his ass. “Which would suggest that everything they do is for the greater good of the hive. And that means the question that has to be asked is, who is the queen of this particular hive?”

“That we don’t know.”

“Meaning there is someone in control?”

The look he gave me was fierce. I thought for a moment he wouldn’t answer, but he surprised me.

“Yes. But we have no idea who and no idea how he or she gained control.”

“Well, you’d think it would have to be someone who had natural resistance to the drug. Perhaps someone who was one of those initial infections.”

“No. All the initial infections resulted in death or madness.”

I wondered if the deaths were a result of the infection or PIT’s intervention. I suspected the latter. “How many people have been infected all told? Have you any idea?”

“Outside the initial twenty or so, no. We estimate there’s close to a hundred, though, if what we’ve seen in Brooklyn is any indication.”

One hundred red cloaks. Fuck, that was a scary thought. “Why isn’t the army involved? Why don’t you all just go in there and shoot the shit out of the bastards?”

“That was tried. It ended very badly.” He swung off the freeway and onto Footscray Road. We were obviously going to my apartment rather than PIT headquarters. “Fifty men dead, another twenty infected, most of those now also dead.”

I stared at him. “How in the hell did you keep a toll like that secret?”

“We didn’t. Remember the reports of the two Chinook helicopters crash-landing during secret maneuvers?”

“That was a cover story?”

“Afraid so.”

“But surely to god someone in Brooklyn witnessed what happened. I mean, it’s not only the red cloaks who hide there, but all sorts of thieves and felons. How could the story of so many deaths not get out?”

“Thieves and felons are thin on the ground in certain parts of Brooklyn these days. Most of them have gotten the hell out of the sections the red cloaks control.”

I hesitated, then said, “Is that when your brother was killed? During the military raid?”

“No. As I said, Luke was one of the first people killed by a red cloak. The military were sent in not long after that.”

Again the edge of anger and guilt ran through his voice. “Was the scientist at work when the virus took full effect?”

“Yeah. He was working in one of the solo labs at the time, so no one noticed the changes until it was too late.”

“And are you sure he’s dead? Is it possible he’s the hive leader?”

“No. He was riddled with bullets. Even if he could have survived the body shots, his brains were splattered all across the pavement. There was nothing left, and certainly no chance of any sort of rebirth.”

“So the virus is capable of rebooting its host in much the same manner as a vampire’s body is rebooted?”

“We had been hoping it wasn’t possible, but your boss walking out this evening suggests otherwise.” His expression was grim. “Future victims will have to be burned immediately after their deaths, it seems.”

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. “So what happens with Baltimore? Are you even going after him, given what happened to both the scientist and the military?”

“We’re planning to try.”

“God, be careful, Sam. I’d hate to have to come and rescue you again.”

He snorted softly. “Thanks, Red, but next time you might be better leaving it in the hands of fate.”

“Sorry. I’ve tried to do that over the years, but I just can’t seem to stop sticking my nose into fate’s business.” Especially when fate was sticking her claws into someone I’d once cared about.

Someone I still cared about, despite every mean and nasty thing he’d said and done.

The whole trouble was, the man I’d loved wasn’t gone. He’d just been buried very deep—at least where I was concerned.

“Or anyone else’s, for that matter,” he noted, voice dry.

I half smiled. “What happens next? Do you have to run off and join the hunt?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Baltimore has been tracked to Brooklyn, and there are only a few of us capable of hunting within that place.”

“What about the notebook?”

“We find it. That’s a priority right now. The hunt for Baltimore won’t start until dusk anyway.”

I frowned. “But that gives him time to find a hideout or join up with the rest of the crazies.”

“That’s presuming he is crazy. I actually suspect he might be one of the second-tier survivors.”

“Why?”

“Because he’d be of little use to whoever is behind the hive if he were a mindless worker. For whatever reason, it appears the red cloaks are as desperate to get their hands on the cure as the sindicati. Why else would they have turned the head scientist of both labs involved?”

“It’s not that surprising,” I replied. “I mean, surely even the second-tier survivors must fear an eventual descent into madness?”

“It is certainly an ever-present threat.” He glanced at me. “Survivors have told us it’s like a black curtain they constantly have to push back.”

“Have you got any survivors working at PIT?”

He hesitated. “We have people who were attacked. Whether all those who survived are still working, I couldn’t say.”

“If they are, isn’t that a risk, given what you said about the black curtain?”

“No, because all our survivors are tagged and tracked. If they go off the reservation—in any way—they’re killed.”

I blinked. PIT didn’t seem to hold a lot of belief in the sanctity of human life. “How, if they’re off the so-called reservation?”

“It’s done via a form of suicide pill that can be activated remotely. Every survivor has one implanted. They stray, and they’re dead.”

“Nasty.”

“But better than killing survivors outright.”

I guess. I studied the road ahead and realized we were close to my apartment. And that Sam was intent on coming in with me.

I took a deep breath and slowly released it. “You should wait in the car while I go search for the notebook.”

“Why? So you can run off with it?”

“Sam, I promise—”

“And we both know how much weight your promises hold, don’t we?”

It took every ounce of strength I had not to bite back, not to give in to all the anger and hurt that surged at his words. “When we split,” I said, voice even, “I sold or burned every single thing that reminded me of you and our time together. Everything. Even the damn ring you gave me.”

“That was my mother’s—”

“And now it’s a lump of metal sitting at the bottom of a rubbish dump somewhere. As I’ve already said, I was a little pissed off.” And really not thinking with all that much clarity. If I had been, I probably wouldn’t have melted the ring, because I knew it had been in his family a long time. “I was determined to start fresh, and I have. I don’t want you in my apartment, Sam.”

“In case it’s escaped your memory, I’ve already been in your apartment.”

“Yes, but I stayed outside. Big difference.”

He snorted. “If there’s any sort of logic in that statement, then I’m not seeing it.”

No, he wouldn’t. But then, he wasn’t the one who’d see him surrounded by my things. Who’d later have to touch the same items he’d touched. Who’d once again see him in the room every time I closed my eyes. I’d freed myself from that sort of anguish when we’d moved. I didn’t want to return to it, even if Sam was doing nothing more than helping me search for the missing notebook.

“You can wait outside the door if you like. There’s only one exit—”

“Bullshit,” he cut in. “You have a patio. And even I know phoenixes can take winged form.”

“Yeah, but it’s the middle of the day and there’s a pervert in the opposite building who constantly has his telescope trained on our building in the hope of catching nakedness. I’m not about to out myself as something more than human to him or anyone else. Not for the sake of a damn notebook.”

“Look, I have no desire to invade your privacy any more than necessary, but I will not—”

“I’ll keep the door open,” I said. “Or you can go in and search. Either way, there is no way known you and I are going to be in that apartment at the same time. I couldn’t take it.”

“The woman I”—he hesitated, looking away briefly before adding—“once loved is stronger than that. Besides, memories aren’t deadly.”

“Unless you have too many of them.”

And I did. Many lifetimes’ worth, in fact. It never got any easier to ignore them. Starting afresh, in a place that held none, was the only way I’d learned to cope with lifetime after lifetime of disappointments and heartache. I liked where we were currently living. I didn’t want to have to move just yet.

“There’s no such thing as too many memories, Em.” His voice was soft, distant. Wistful, even. “Especially when it’s only memories that stand between you and utter darkness.”

I frowned and shifted slightly in the car seat to study him. “And is that what you’re doing, Sam?”

His gaze met mine. There was no darkness in those blue depths, no anger. For the first time since we’d been reunited, there was just him, me, and the echoes of all that we had been and all that we could have been. And I knew in that moment that he felt the loss of our relationship as keenly as I did. That he missed it—missed me—as keenly as I missed him.

But I also knew that it was because of the darkness more than everything else that had happened between us that he would never admit to either.

“Who said I was talking about myself?” He pulled his gaze away from mine and turned the car onto a side street.

Frustration swirled through me, even though I wasn’t entirely surprised he’d backed away from the moment. He hadn’t been overly forthcoming with general information, so it wasn’t surprising he was even less so when it came to whatever was going on with him. Because something very definitely was.

We drove around my building several times before we found a space a block away. Once he’d parked, he held out one hand and said, “Apartment key. Sorry, Red, but that notebook is too damn important for me to trust that you’d hand it over once you’ve found it.”

“Fine,” I muttered. I went through my handbag, found my keys, and slammed them into his waiting hand. “The notebooks were only ever in the living areas. They were never in the bedrooms.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I had no intention of going through your underwear drawer.”

I didn’t bother replying. It wouldn’t have been of much use anyway—he’d already left the car. I watched him walk across the road. And with every step away from me, that darkness seemed to wrap around him again, as if it were some sort of private storm.

It made me wonder if I still would have fallen for him if we’d met now rather than years ago. Fate could be a bitch at the best of times, but even she wasn’t often this cruel. The men slated to become heartbreakers each rebirth were generally decent enough in and of themselves. It was mostly outside circumstances—and the inability to either accept what I was or the situation with Rory—that caused the problems. Although there had been one or two who were either outright bastards or utter psychos . . . The serial killer had been one of those. Not that we’d realized that until it had been far too late for both me and his other victims.

I crossed my arms and stared out the window. Heartbreak might be our destiny, but it would be a whole lot easier to deal with if only fate would clear out our memory banks at each rebirth. At least it would have allowed hope to burn bright. But after all this time, there was little enough of that left.

And yet, somehow, it survived—even if the flame was growing smaller and smaller.

It wasn’t long before Sam returned. In fact, little more than ten minutes had passed. I frowned and watched him approach, a slender, powerful figure that moved with the grace of a predator. He didn’t appear to be carrying anything and his expression gave little away.

“Well?” I said the minute he slammed the driver’s door closed.

“Your place is being watched,” he said. “It’s lucky for the both of us I parked so far from your building; otherwise your presence in my company would be immediately reported.”

“The sindicati?”

“Yes.”

Meaning it wasn’t just lucky for us, but lucky for Jackson. I had no doubt they’d kill him if they had the slightest inkling I’d talked to Sam. And though it wasn’t at all surprising that they were watching me, it was damn inconvenient.

“I’m gathering you didn’t bother doing anything about him?”

“No. They’d simply put another in his place. At least we’re now aware of this one.”

I frowned. “He can’t be very good if you picked him out so easily.”

“A comment that suggests you think my policing and observation skills aren’t up to scratch.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

He waved the rest of my comment away. “As it turned out, I didn’t spot him. Not at first. It was his brief attempt to read me that gave the game away.”

“So was he a vamp or a psychic?”

“Vamp. He was wearing too many layers for a warm building.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why would a vamp be pulling watch duty during the day? Surely a wolf would be more suited?”

“They would, but telepathic wolves are rare.”

“Even so, there’s twenty-four-hour security in the foyer. I can’t imagine any of the guards—”

“It was the guard,” he cut in.

“No—”

“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or are you saying you know them all personally?”

“Well, of course not, but after so many years of seeing the same faces, I have formed a casual, how’re-the-kids-type friendship.”

“And yet you noticed neither the new guard nor that he’d appeared one day after your boss was killed. Which doesn’t say a lot about your observation skills.”

No, it didn’t. But then, why would I be on the lookout for something like that? It wasn’t until very recently that I’d even become aware of the sindicati’s involvement in all this crap.

“I’m not the cop in this little game. You are,” I snapped back. “And I would have thought—given your goons are still following me about—that background checks would have been performed on all those I interacted with.”

“They are. Unfortunately, that vampire is using an assumed name—Michael Venton. And Venton checked out.”

He might have checked out, but he wasn’t one of the guards I was familiar with—and I probably wouldn’t have any chance to do so now, given the remains of the real Venton were probably buried deep in the countryside somewhere. Maybe even the same countryside in which I’d woken.

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes again. The hobnailed folk had calmed down a little, but I was still in serious need of some painkillers. And a hot shower. And several decent mugs of green tea followed by the biggest block of chocolate I could buy. It had been that sort of day. Unfortunately, it wasn’t over yet.

“So how did you explain your presence there?”

“I didn’t. I simply flashed the badge, said I needed to talk to you, and asked if he knew whether you were home. When he said he wasn’t sure, I went up and banged on your door. Naturally enough, you didn’t answer.”

I half smiled. “A fact he would have seen on the security cams.”

“No doubt. It does mean we have a problem, however. I can’t get in there to get that notebook and—if you do—you can bet your life that vamp is going to find a way to relieve you of it.”

I frowned. “Why would they do that when we’ve already made a deal to exchange the book for Jackson?”

“They’re a crime syndicate.” Sarcasm filled his voice. “They don’t give a rat’s ass about convention or rules, and they always stack the odds in their favor.”

They might be the biggest, baddest things out there—other than the red cloaks, that was—but that didn’t mean they were without their own rules and laws. Hell, the vampire who’d been sent to collect me from Sherman Jones had been courteous to a fault, and even the vamp who’d tasted me in that darkness had been nothing other than polite.

But being polite didn’t mean they couldn’t also be double-crossing bastards.

“Which has left us with only one course of action, and it means we’re both going to have to take a bit of a risk.”

“I’m not letting you go—”

“But you already have.” Once again the comment was out before I could stop it, and it was filled with the bitterness that still lurked deep inside. I silently cursed myself and quickly added, “We both know you—or at least your department—could make my life hell, so the sooner this is over with, the quicker we can go our separate ways.”

“But that vampire—”

“Look,” I cut in, a touch impatiently. “The sindicati will be expecting me to go home. If I don’t, it’ll only raise suspicions and perhaps endanger Jackson.”

He snorted. “That’s not exactly a winning argument. Not given my already-expressed feelings where the Fae and the notebook is concerned.”

“Maybe, but they’re not likely to do anything until I’ve found the notebook and made contact. Until I do that, we have time to maneuver.”

“And just how do you plan to get back here with the notebook? If you attempt to leave, you can bet your ass that vamp will try to grab it.”

“Only if he sees me leave, which he won’t. Security cams monitor the inside of the building, not the outside, remember. I’ll simply take fire or firebird form and leave from the balcony.”

“Which means exposing your true self to possibly hundreds of people in nearby buildings, as you said before.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sam.” But it was worth the risk if it saved Jackson’s life.

He studied me for several seconds, then tore his gaze away. The muscle along his jaw had gone into serious overtime, but there was little other emotion to be seen.

“Okay,” he said, voice flat. “We do it your way. But if you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’m coming in.”

“Make it an hour, because I need a damn shower.” I got out. It was pointless to do anything else, and arguing with him wasn’t going to get me anywhere. It never had.

It didn’t take me long to get home, but it took every ounce of willpower I had to do nothing more than give the guard a polite nod in greeting as I walked by.

But I could feel his gaze boring into my spine long after I’d entered the elevator, and I had no doubt his gaze was glued to the monitor screens as I headed for my apartment.

“Rory? You here?” I said as I opened the door.

“Certainly am.” He appeared around the corner, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. “You didn’t pass Sam on the way up, did you? He was here banging on the door a few minutes ago, but disappeared before I could answer.”

“That’s because it was a ruse for the guard downstairs.”

He frowned. “Why?”

I locked the door and began stripping as I walked toward our flameproof room. “Because the guard downstairs is sindicati. If they see me with Sam, or believe he’s working with me, they’ll kill Jackson.”

“And is Sam working with you?”

I half smiled. “No. Quite the opposite. He wants the missing notebook, as does the sindicati.”

“So who are you giving the notebook to? Sam or the sindicati?”

“Sam’s getting the notebook. The sindicati are getting the laptop.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him into the room. “But right now, you and I need to flame.”

“Your wish is my command,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around me and swept us both into fire.

“So, let’s retrace your steps,” Rory said, half an hour later. “After you typed the notebooks up, what did you do with them?”

“Nothing. I left them all on the coffee table.” I thrust my hands on my hips and glared at the room in frustration. It wasn’t offering up any clues. “You didn’t move them, did you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Me? Tidy something up? Are you serious?”

“Okay, silly question.” But if neither of us had moved them, what the hell had happened? Why would anyone steal four notebooks when five had been sitting there? It didn’t make any sense.

“You didn’t knock them over or anything, did you?” Rory said. “I have a vague memory of you running into something and swearing like a trooper one morning.”

I blinked, suddenly remembering hitting the coffee table and scattering the notebooks the morning Sam had woken us early. I’d picked them all up and thrown them back on the table, but I certainly hadn’t taken the time to count them. Had I missed one?

I scrambled over to the coffee table and began searching under both it and the nearby sofas. Rory joined in, and five minutes later, we found the damn notebook. It had somehow slid all the way into the kitchen and was resting under one of the cabinets.

Relief slithered through me, but it was tempered by the knowledge that the game wasn’t over yet. Jackson was still in the hands of the sindicati, and who knew whether this new and darker Sam would uphold his end of the deal.

“So what happens now?” Rory said.

I tucked the notebook inside the waist of my jeans, making sure it was not only secure, but touching skin. “I go back to Sam, and you go get the laptop. I’ll ring and let you know where to meet us.”

His expression was dubious. “Do you really think you can trust Sam?”

I half shrugged. “I have no other choice.”

He caught my hand, tugged me closer, and dropped a sweet kiss on my lips. “Be careful. And take flame form, not firebird. There’s a chance people will think we’ve simply thrown something burning out of the window.”

I nodded, stepped back, and called to the fire. In very little time, I was back on the street and walking back to Sam’s car.

“So?” he said, the minute I dropped into the passenger seat.

I pulled the notebook out of the waist of my pants, but flipped it away from him as he tried to take it. “I want you to promise you’ll uphold up your end of the deal once I hand this over.”

“Red,” he growled, eyes narrowed. “I said I would, and I will. Now stop playing stupid games when lives are at risk.”

“It’s the whole lives-at-risk bit that’s making me play them,” I replied. “We both know PIT is working on the bigger picture and wouldn’t really care if the smaller elements—like Jackson—fall by the wayside.”

“As I’ve already said, if you want to risk your neck saving Miller’s useless ass, then go for it. Neither PIT nor I will interfere, as long as we can ensure the information on that computer is secure. Now, give me the notebook.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “After we meet Rory and you’ve put the virus onto the computer.”

He glared at me, his expression so savage it was all I could do not to shrink back in fear. But fire flickered across my fingertips, touching but not burning the notebook. For several seconds, neither of us moved; then he tore his gaze away and I started breathing again.

“Fine,” he said, voice clipped. “Where are we meeting him?”

I released a somewhat shaky breath and doused the flames. “Head for Spencer Street.”

He started the car and did a quick U-turn, wheels spinning. I grabbed my phone and sent Rory a text, asking him to meet us at Black Sugar, a café a stone’s throw away from Southern Cross Station. Putting Sam and Rory in the same small space probably wasn’t a great idea, but it wasn’t like I had much choice. Besides, I doubted Sam would start something in public—not given how much he and PIT seemed to value their anonymity.

Sam stopped in the parking lot near Southern Cross Rail Station, and in silence we walked down to Black Sugar. The place was packed, but we managed to find a spare table at the back of the room. Sam took the chair closest to the wall—a position that allowed him to see not only the entire room, but the entrance as well—leaving me either the chair opposite or the one to his left. Both were entirely too close to the man for my liking, but I chose the latter, simply because I didn’t want to have my back to the entrance.

But as I sat, his scent spun around me, warm and enticing. And even the darker notes so evident within it couldn’t stop desire from spinning through me.

I closed my eyes and fought the wash of useless regret. This was my life. This would always be my life. It was no use wishing for anything else, because—as far as I knew—no phoenix had ever been able to break the curse and live a happy life. Not with the love of their life. Not ever.

It certainly wasn’t about to happen in this life, with this man.

You’d think after spending so many lives in the exact same position, I’d be used to it. But there was something about this man that called to me in a way few others had. Even with that darkness.

“Red,” he said, voice holding a slight edge. “How long do we have to wait?”

My gaze met his. The edge, I realized, was desire, barely controlled. It made me want to lean closer, to see if it was possible to kiss away the ash and the darkness and unveil the man that still lay beneath them somewhere.

I didn’t. I might be occasionally reckless, but even I wasn’t that foolish.

“Not long.” I leaned back in my chair, though it didn’t really improve the distance between us or diminish the desire to kiss him. “Rory said it would take him twenty minutes to get here, so unless the traffic is hideous, he should only be a few minutes away.”

Sam pulled his gaze from mine. After a second, he said, “When you meet with the sindicati, watch your back. They have a liking for sharpshooters perched up high.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want you dead, Red, no matter how much I hate what you did to us.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was no point in trying to explain. Not anymore.

“I don’t want me dead, either,” I said instead. “It would be damnably inconvenient to die early in two consecutive lifetimes.”

He glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “You get to live again, so why does it matter?”

“Because dying before your allotted time makes rebirth a bitch.” I glanced toward the door and saw Rory. His gaze met mine, flicked briefly to the man sitting beside me, then returned. His expression didn’t alter, but tension rode him. It was evident in the set of his shoulders, in the brief clenching of his free hand as he made his way toward us.

I cleared my throat, but before I could say anything, Sam murmured, “Well, well, the boyfriend arrives.”

“And that statement proves just how little you understand about phoenixes—and Emberly.” Rory came to a halt in front of us, bright sunshine against the darkness of the man beside me.

“So you deny you’re her boyfriend?” Sam growled. “That you were—and still are—lovers?”

“I deny nothing.”

Rory’s voice was as even as Sam’s, yet it hinted at the anger that burned just beneath the calm exterior. The heat of it rolled over me, as fierce and as frightening as the darkness that lurked within Sam, but for a very different reason. I knew that anger, knew what it was capable of. Knew that if there was one flaw in the control Rory had over his fire, then it was me. Or rather, his desire to protect me from whatever life and fate threw at us. As much as he ever could, anyway.

And though he’d promised long ago to never again retaliate against those who were destined to hurt me, he’d been itching for a chance to confront Sam. Because he knew, just as I knew, that Sam had somehow been different. That the hurt this time had been deeper and harder to handle.

“But I am a necessity,” he continued softly. “Without me, she cannot be, and vice versa. And if you cannot understand that, if you cannot accept that, then you are more of a fool than I thought.”

Sam thrust to his feet, his fist clenched and very obviously close to losing control.

“Damn it. Get a grip, both of you!” I stepped in front of Rory, forcing him back with my body as I thrust my hands on my hips and glared at Sam. “This is neither the time nor the damn place to get into this sort of shit. Not when we have a deadline to meet and lives to save.”

Sam didn’t immediately move or react, but the muscle along his jaw was back in action. After a moment, he nodded and sat back down.

“Give me the computer.”

I held out my hand. Rory placed the computer in it, and I handed it across to Sam.

“How do we get the Trojan onto it?” I said as Sam opened the laptop.

He didn’t answer, simply fired it up and, after a few seconds, said, “Password?”

I told him. With the computer unlocked, he got onto the Internet, using his phone as a hot spot, and download a file from an e-mail account. After a few more minutes, he shut the computer down and handed it back.

“Now,” he said, voice little more than a growl. “The notebook.”

“You’ve installed the Trojan?”

“Of course.” He held out his hand. “The notebook, Emberly.”

I handed it over. He rose, his expression as still as stone but the darkness within thicker—more dangerous—than ever before. And again, it allured as much as it repelled, and I had to fight to remain exactly where I was. Though whether I would have stepped forward or back, I wasn’t entirely sure.

“As I’ve said before, be careful when you meet the sindicati. They tend not to stick to deals made with the likes of you and me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, the honest, law-abiding types.” His mouth twisted into a smile, but it was a bitter thing to behold. “Obviously, they don’t know either of us too well.”

And with that, he walked out. I didn’t watch him leave. I didn’t need to. I could feel the deep gloom of his presence as surely as Rory’s heat at my back. When he’d gone, I released the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, then turned around and melted into Rory’s waiting arms.

He kissed the top of my head and said, “At least it’s over with, Em. At least you don’t have to see him again.”

“I can only hope.” But I had a bad feeling fate wasn’t about to let me off that easily. “But that’s not what matters right now. We have a Fae to save.”

“Well, I do agree with your bastard of an ex about one thing—the sindicati are not to be trusted. We need to meet them on our terms, not theirs, if we want any chance of pulling off this rescue.”

I grimaced and pulled free from his grip as a waitress finally approached. After ordering a green tea for myself and a coffee for Rory, I sat back down and said, “I’m not sure they’ll agree to a change of plans. They hold the cards, not us.”

“If they want what we have, they’ll play the game. At least until we hand over the laptop.”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t too confident, but I guess we really had nothing to lose by trying. “Sam said they have a liking for marksmen placed on high, so we need to factor that in.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down. “We could always go up to the rock. While it does provide plenty of places for a marksman to hide, I can easily keep watch from the sky.”

The rock he meant was Hanging Rock, a recreational reserve that featured a large mamelon formation. Rory often went up there after hours for some flight time during the long golden sunsets of the summer months, because the surrounding areas were farmlands and the chances of being seen were few. While I did go up there occasionally, he was far more familiar with the area than I was.

I frowned. “Do you think they’ll agree to meet that far out of town?”

“We’re dealing with the vampire mafia, remember. Trust me when I say they won’t want anything too public, especially if they’re planning a few nasty surprises of their own.” He smiled up at the waitress as she delivered our drinks, then added, once she’d left, “Our main problem will be getting them to agree to dusk rather than night.”

“True.” I dunked my tea bag into the mug of hot water and watched the bubbles rise as it sank. And hoped like hell it wasn’t an omen for things to come.

Rory’s hand slid across mine, his grip warm, comforting. “It’ll be all right, Em.”

I smiled, but it felt tight. Fake. “Will it? I have a bad feeling about all this, and it’s a real risk for both of us to be there.”

“Vampires can’t fly,” he said reasonably. “So as long as I keep to the skies, we’ll be fine.”

Yeah, we would, but we both knew that he wouldn’t keep to the skies, not if things started going bad on the ground—just as I wouldn’t, if the situation were reversed. It was one of the reasons we’d agreed that the two of us should never again get jointly involved in dangerous situations—the need to protect each other was so much a part of our psyche that we not only placed our very existence at risk, but the chance of rebirth. As he’d noted to Sam, one could not be without the other.

I leaned back in the chair and regarded him for several seconds. “Promise me you’ll keep to the skies. That you won’t get involved in the fight if things go to hell on the ground.”

He hesitated. “I promise I’ll keep to the skies unless I see a sharpshooter. Them, I’ll take out. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

“Then ring them and make the meet.”

I took a deep, somewhat quivery breath that didn’t do a whole lot to calm the butterflies suddenly going nutso in my stomach. I might have lived many lifetimes, but I’d never been one to march boldly into dangerous situations. “Avoidance was the better part of valor” tended to be the code I lived by.

But I dug out my phone and made the call regardless. After all, this wasn’t about me. It was about Jackson. About saving his life if it was at all possible.

“Well, well,” a cool and familiar voice said. “You report in far earlier than any of us predicted.”

“That’s because I have no desire to prolong these proceedings any more than necessary.” My voice was surprisingly calm given all I could suddenly think about was his teeth tearing into my neck. “I’ve looked for the notebook and I can’t find it. I do, however, have the laptop on which the notes were typed.”

“And is the file on said laptop untampered with?”

“I haven’t opened it,” I replied, and thanked the stars I’d listened to Sam and hadn’t tried to tamper with the notes themselves. “You can check the date it was last accessed when we do the swap, if you want.”

“Oh, I will,” he murmured. “Now, as to the swap—”

“Not so fast,” I cut in. “I want proof that Jackson Miller is alive first.”

“I gave you my word that he would be.”

“You did,” I said. “But past dealings with vampires have left me a little less inclined to trust a promise given by one.”

“That is unfortunate.” Though there was still little in the way of emotion to be heard in the vamp’s tone, trepidation stepped through me. He really didn’t like having his integrity questioned in any way, and I had a feeling doing so was a bad, bad idea.

I reached for my cup of tea, but my hands were trembling so much that liquid splashed over the sides and scalded my fingers. Rory plucked the cup from my hand, discarded the tea bag, then, with a wry smile, brought it up to my lips. I took a sip, but it helped with neither the dryness in my throat nor the butterflies doing a tango in my stomach.

For several—very long—minutes, there was nothing but silence. Then came the sound of a click—the sort of sound that came from a light being turned on—and a muffled curse. The voice was Jackson’s. But the surge of relief was tempered by the knowledge that while he was alive right now, it didn’t mean he would be when the time for the exchange came.

“The lady of fire wishes to confirm you’re alive, Fae.” The vampire’s cool tones echoed slightly over the phone. Wherever they were, it was somewhere cavernous. “Please assure her that you are.”

His choice of words had alarm shooting through me. I glanced sharply at Rory and mouthed, “How the hell could they know what I am?”

But even as he shrugged, I remembered Rawlings, and the fire I’d encaged him with. Obviously, he’d reported events to the sindicati, something I hadn’t counted on but surely should have. And while it meant the sindicati now knew some of what I was capable of, they didn’t know it all. Didn’t know I was a fire spirit and capable of a whole lot more than just calling forth fire from the earth itself.

Unless, of course, they’d beaten the information out of Jackson. He not only knew what I was, but he’d witnessed my transformation from flesh to fire.

“Emberly,” Jackson croaked, “I’m alive.”

“And you sound like shit,” I replied, trying not to envision what had been done to him.

“I have had better days.” Amusement briefly overrode the pain so evident in his gruff tones. “But it’s nothing a good barbeque can’t fix up.”

“Except both of us know that controlling any sort of barbeque is not on the list of things you are currently capable of, Fae,” came the amused comment. “So let us not wish for something that cannot be.”

Once again his comment had alarm stirring. If the sindicati knew Jackson couldn’t control fire, then that could mean only one thing—PIT had been infiltrated. There was no way they could have known that otherwise.

“And you, dear Emberly, have your confirmation that the Fae still survives,” the vampire continued. “If you wish him to remain that way, you will meet—”

“No,” I cut in. “Sorry, but we’re back to that whole trust issue again. We meet at a time and a place specified by me, not you.”

There was a long pause. “When and where?”

“Hanging Rock, central parking lot, at dusk.”

After another long pause—during which I had no doubt he was consulting someone—he said, “As you wish.”

His agreement only ratcheted up my tension. I’d expected at least some argument, especially given they were vamps and night would suit them better than dusk. That there was none could only mean the meeting point suited them just as much as it suited us. Still, I had one advantage—they didn’t know about Rory.

Or at least I hoped they didn’t. The shit could really hit the fan if they did.

“Fine. I’ll see you then.”

“You will indeed,” he murmured, and hung up.

I breathed a sigh of relief, then plucked my tea from Rory’s grip and downed it in several gulps, hoping it would at least drown the butterflies. It didn’t.

I glanced at my watch, then met Rory’s understanding gaze. “We have three hours.”

“Which gives us time enough to eat before we have to head up to Macedon.” He caught my hand and kissed my fingertips. “You need to fuel this body, Em, not just the fire spirit.”

“I know.” I scrubbed a hand across tired eyes. After everything that had happened, I felt like shit, and I very much suspected it was a feeling that wouldn’t go away, even after I’d eaten. “It’s just that I’m—”

“Worried. I know. But it’ll all work out. I’m sure of it.”

I hoped he was right.

Hoped like hell that things didn’t go down as badly as I suspected they would tonight.