Fireborn

CHAPTER 8

Fire howled through me, thick and angry, but I couldn’t focus and everything seemed fuzzy. The fire dancing around my fingertips seemed to be fading, and the roaring in my head was getting louder and louder, but it wasn’t flame.

My knees buckled, but before I could slump to the floor, someone grabbed me. They ripped my purse from my shoulder, but everything after that became hazy. I wasn’t knocked out, not entirely, but what I heard and saw seemed to be coming from a very great distance and didn’t have a whole lot of impact.

Something was thrown over my body; then I was carried like a sack out of the house. Wind. Sunlight. Darkness and metal vibrating underneath me. Then nothing for a long period of time.

Rising to full consciousness seemed to take forever. My head was back to throbbing with an intensity that suggested it was about to tear apart, and there was a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. My shoulders burned, and there was something tight around my wrists and ankles. It took a few minutes to register it was rope. I was tied.

Which was better than being dead, I guess.

As awareness grew, I remained still and listened to the sounds around me, trying to discover where I was and who might be near.

I was lying on something cold and hard. Not concrete, but smallish rectangular shapes. Bricks, I thought. Bricks that were slick with moisture. In the distance water trickled, the sound echoing lightly. The air that swirled around me was stale and heavy with the scents of excrement and rubbish. Either I was in a very old, not-often-cleaned lane or I was in a sewer.

My vote was on the latter option.

After a few seconds, I became aware of footsteps. They were barely audible, and I could hear only one set. But until I knew whether there was more than one person nearby, I wasn’t about to give any indication that I was awake.

Time seemed to creep by. The pain in my shoulders flared downward until it felt like my arms were locked in agony. And the ropes around my legs were so damn tight they were cutting into my skin and making my toes numb. It was just as well I could take another form, because if I had to rely on this one to react with any sort of speed, I’d be in serious trouble.

A phone rang sharply into the silence and I jumped. Thankfully, whoever was out there didn’t seem to notice.

“Got your parcel,” a gruff voice said. “You were right—they did go for the waitress.”

God, I thought, the waitress had been a trap. I should have known that it had all been a little too conveniently timed.

“She did get a call off to the cops,” he continued, “so I didn’t get the chance to kill the waitress. And the Fae took out my two men.”

He didn’t get the chance? He’d had plenty of time to kill the waitress before we got there, if simple murder had been his intention. I wasn’t close enough to hear the other side of the conversation, and that was irritating. I cracked open an eye and peered around. My captor was standing near what looked like a sewer’s edge ten feet away. He was tall, broad shouldered, and thickset, with a bald head that seemed to gleam even in the thick shadows that surrounded us.

Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew who he was, having seen a photograph not so long ago. It was Sherman Jones, the man who’d mysteriously disappeared after Mark’s murder.

“Don’t worry. They can’t tell anyone anything,” Sherman said. He swung around, and I quickly shut my eye. “So there’s no problem with the cops interrogating them. What do you want me to do about the waitress, though?”

He listened for several seconds, then grunted. “And this one?”

Again silence fell; then he said, “Fine. See you then.”

He walked toward me and bent down. Even though he was close enough that I could feel the wash of his breath across my cheek, I couldn’t really smell him. It was as if something had completely erased his scent. Maybe that was why Jackson hadn’t realized he was in the house—either that, or the scent of the other two had been so strong he simply hadn’t had the chance to look beyond it.

“So,” he said softly, his rough fingertips trailing across my cheek. “It seems we have an entire afternoon to fill in before I have to hand you over.”

“Well, you’re not passing that time with me,” I spat, and flamed. The force of it threw him backward even though he was barely touching me, and it cindered the ropes holding me captive in an instant. I let the flames take me fully into spirit form, then flowed forward. Sherman scrambled backward, his sharp face twisted with fear and his mouth open, though if he was screaming, he made no sound. I reached out and grabbed him with one molten hand. My flames danced across his clothing, setting them alight but not actually burning them. Not yet, not until I intended it. I slammed him against the slick brick walls and held him there.

“Tell me who you’re working for,” I said softly. “Or the flames that surround you will consume you.”

He made several attempts to speak and eventually croaked, “What the hell are you?”

“Something you don’t want to mess with.” I shook him lightly. “Now, answer the question.”

He licked his lips, then said, “I don’t know his name. I was contracted through an intermediary.”

“Marcus Radcliffe?”

He shook his head violently. “No. Haven’t worked for him in weeks.”

“Then who?”

I directed the flames up toward his face, letting them tease his chin and lightly burn. He gulped. “Lee Rawlings. I was supposed to hand you over to him this evening.”

The timing suggested that Lee Rawlings was a vampire—the same one that had pursued me, perhaps?

“When and where?”

“Under the bridge near the red zipper sculpture in the Flemington Canal. Eight p.m.”

“And is Rawlings the one who hired you to watch the professor?”

He shook his head. “Radcliffe did.”

“Why was he interested in the professor?”

“I don’t know. I was just asked to see who he interacted with on a daily basis.”

Did that mean we had two different parties interested in Mark’s work? “What about Professor James Wilson—was anyone following him?”

“How the fuck do I know? I was just employed to follow Baltimore. When he was murdered, I made scarce.”

I guess that was no surprise. “What does Rawlings look like?”

Sherman shrugged, so I let the flames leap a little higher and singe his whiskers. He yelped and said, “Christ! He’s tall and thin, like most fucking vampires. Dark hair, brown eyes.”

“And what was the delivery deal?”

“Half before, half later.”

“Half being . . . ?”

He licked his lips. “A thousand.”

I was worth only a paltry thousand dollars? That sucked—or Sherman was simply cheap. “And what about the waitress?”

He frowned. “What about her?”

“Why were you employed to kill her?”

“I don’t ask why,” he all but whined. “I just take the job and do it.”

“So you were told to beat her up and then rape her before you killed her?”

Sweat beaded his upper lip. He quickly licked it, his gaze darting away from mine. “Not exactly.”

Disgust stirred, and it took every ounce of effort not to burn the bastard to a cinder right there and then. He might have been employed to the kill the waitress for whatever reason, but he’d been the one who decided on the more savage method. Because he enjoyed doing it.

“What’s the security code for your phone?” I asked brusquely.

Confusion flitted through his eyes, but he rapidly spat out a number.

“Thank you,” I said, then regained flesh and hit him as hard as I could. He went down like a sack of potatoes, hitting the ground with a sharp crack that suggested something had broken.

For several minutes I did nothing more than wince and curse as the pins and needles in my arms and feet made the mere act of holding human flesh sheer agony. As the pain began to subside, I checked that Jones was unconscious, then rifled through his pockets, discovering in the process he’d landed awkwardly on his left arm and had indeed broken it. Feeling little in the way of sympathy—especially given what he’d intended to do to both me and the waitress—I plucked his phone free. Mine was with my purse back at the waitress’s house, and I wouldn’t have used it anyway. Not when Sam had it bugged. I flipped the case open, typed in the security code, and saw the time. I’d been missing for more than an hour, which no doubt meant that not only would the cops be at the waitress’s house but Sam and his people would be as well. Jackson would have been interrogated, but had enough time passed for him to have been released? Or was Sam holding him somewhere?

I guess there was only one way to find out.

I hit the text button and typed, Hey, babe. I left in such a hurry that I forgot to arrange another date. Ring me when you’re free.

Once it was sent, I walked around gingerly until the pain in my feet eased, then rang Rory at the fire station and updated him on events.

“Do you need help?” he said once I’d finished.

I hesitated. Rory and I had long ago made a pact not to pull each other into dangerous situations, simply because if both of us happened to be killed at the same time, it would be the end of us. While the spirit of a phoenix always rose from the ashes of its death, it was only with the assistance of a ritual performed by their life mate that we were able to regain adult flesh and become whole. Otherwise, our spirits moved on, uniting once more with the great mother, never to know life and love and feeling ever again.

We’d come close to that once. I had no intention of risking it in either this lifetime or any other future lifetime. And I had a suspicion that this case would get a whole lot deeper and darker before we got any real answers.

“No,” I said eventually. “I don’t think we can chance it.”

He swore softly. “Damn it, Em. Be careful. You know I’ll be there if the worst happens, but I’d really rather just get through more than one life span without one or the other of us dying before our time.”

I smiled. “Says the man who is currently a fireman.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who has chucked in the staid life to go chasing after bad guys.” He paused. “And that’s two lifetimes in a row for you.”

“Yeah, but last time I was official. This time I’m just pissed off.”

He snorted. “I still want you to be careful.”

“I will. I promise.”

He grunted. He’d heard that statement from me almost as many times as I’d heard it from him. “Keep me updated, Em.”

“I will,” I repeated, then hung up.

It took several hours for Jackson to get back to me. Sherman rose to consciousness several times while I waited, and each time I knocked him back out—although I didn’t hit him again, just used pressure points instead. If there was one good thing about living through so many centuries, it was an accumulation of knowledge. Rory had taught me the points after he’d learned the art during his time with an old Chinese kung fu master.

The phone rang about four o’clock, but the number that showed up on the screen wasn’t Jackson’s. I hesitated, then hit the answer button and cautiously said, “Hello?”

“Emberly? Is that you? Are you okay?”

Jackson’s voice. Relief slithered through me. “Yes to all three questions.” I hesitated. “I’m gathering you can talk freely?”

“Yeah. I’ve borrowed a friend’s phone. Thought it would be safer.”

I winced at the undercurrent of anger in his voice, even though I suspected it wasn’t aimed at me. “How bad was the interrogation?”

He snorted. “Let’s just say I’m surprised that detective friend of yours actually released me. I was sure the bastard was going to lock me up and throw away the key.”

“I’m sure he would have, too, except he no doubt wants to follow you.”

“Well, I wish him luck with that. He’s not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“He doesn’t need tricks. He has vampires and psychics, and he apparently has the right to use and abuse the law as he desires.”

“Which is why I won’t stay on the phone for long. If they did manage to follow me here, they’re no doubt scrambling to find and lock onto this number.”

Which was my cue to get on with it. “Are you able to track my location via the GPS on this phone?”

“I can’t personally, but I know someone who could.”

I smiled. “You must have some very interesting friends.”

“And if you play your cards right, I might just introduce you.”

I snorted softly. “Except when they’re a source you don’t want exposed.”

“Exactly,” he said cheerfully. “I’m gathering you don’t know where you are?”

“Well, yes and no. I’m in a sewer somewhere, and I have Sherman Jones lying unconscious at my feet. He’s arranged to hand me over to a vampire going by the name of Lee Rawlings this evening. I want to go to that meet and talk to him.”

“That might not be a great idea.” There was doubt in his voice. “Vamps can be tricky to deal with at night.”

“They can’t shadow when there’s light,” I commented. “Remember what I am, Jackson.”

“Can one phoenix raise enough light to stop a vampire shadowing? A Fae sure as hell can’t.”

“I can.”

“Ah, well, that’s a different story.” He paused. “It may take me a little while to get to you—will you be okay?”

“Well, I’ve been in better-smelling places, but I’ll be fine.” I hesitated and glanced down at my captive. “Bring something that’ll keep a wererat bound. I want to hand Jones over to Sam, but not before we get to that meeting.”

“Will do,” he said, and hung up.

I walked around a bit to ease the lingering remnants of the pins and needles, then sat down next to my captive and played solitaire on his phone to pass the time.

It was close to six p.m. by the time I heard footsteps. I shoved the phone into my pocket and silently rose, clenching my fingers against the flames that instinctively danced across my fingertips.

“Emberly?” Jackson said softly, as his form began to emerge from the darkness. “Don’t flame. It’s me.”

Tension slithered from me. “I’m glad you’re finally here. If I had to play solitaire too much longer, I would have gone stir-crazy.”

He grinned and shoved a coffee container at me. “Thought you might need this. It’s green tea, not coffee.”

I took a sniff. Not just green tea, but mint-green tea. “You,” I said, dropping a quick kiss on his lips, “are a darling.”

“And you,” he said, the amusement on his lips crinkling the corners of his bright eyes, “stink.”

I snorted. “Not exactly surprising given I’ve been sprawled all over a sewer tunnel.”

“But unattractive all the same. A shower is required before we go anywhere near that meeting this evening.” He pulled a coil of metallic rope from over his shoulder and squatted beside Sherman. “Did you ask him about Baltimore?”

“He said Marcus Radcliffe hired him to watch Mark and take note of who he talked to on a regular basis.”

“Did he say why?”

I drank some tea, then shook my head. “Which is not surprising. It didn’t take much to get him to talk, so he wouldn’t have been trusted with anything vital.”

“Wererats are never trustworthy,” Jackson muttered. “It’s the nature of their beast.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So what is the nature of the Fae? Besides being randy sensualists, that is?”

He glanced up and grinned. “You struck it lucky. Unlike most of my kind, I’m more beta than alpha. Which means I generally ask for opinions before I do whatever the hell I want.”

I laughed. “Yep. That about sums you up.”

He finished trussing Sherman up and then rose. “I’m pretty sure I got in here without a tail, but just in case, let’s exit via a different sewer cover.”

As he tucked a hand under my elbow to guide me forward, I said, “I’m going to need somewhere to shower and change.”

He nodded. “I’ve booked a room in a hotel not far from where we’ll exit, and I borrowed some clothes from my friend’s wife. She’s about your size. Oh, and I retrieved your purse from the waitress’s place.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” I teased.

His grin was bright and cheeky. “Trust me, I do expect payment in kind.”

I laughed. “Of course.”

We wound our way through the tunnel system, following the little GPS map he had on his phone. Where the hell he managed to get an app that showed the sewers I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to grumble. Not if it got us out of this stinking place sooner rather than later.

After about twenty minutes, I’d finished my tea and we’d finally reached our exit point. Once he’d checked that there was no one close, we climbed out. I took several deep breaths of air unfouled by rubbish and excrement, then looked around as Jackson replaced the cover. “Where are we?”

“Dorcas Street, South Melbourne. The hotel is just down the road.” He caught my hand and tugged me forward.

“If I know Sam, he’s probably got an electronic eye on all the hotel bookings, so he’s going to discover our location sooner rather than later.”

“He would, if I were using my own card. But I’m not.”

“Another friend?” I said dryly.

He smiled at me. He really did have a nice smile. “He owes me several large favors. I saved his wife once.”

“From what?”

“From a rather nasty kidnapping and extortion attempt.” He shrugged. “The police weren’t happy about my involvement, but who fucking cares when there’s a life at stake?”

“That,” I said with a smile, “is the alpha speaking, not the beta.”

He glanced at me, eyes twinkling. “And also the reason the cops in this city and I don’t see eye to eye.”

He tugged me through the hotel’s lobby. I blinked at the vibrancy of the red feature wall, but didn’t get much of a chance to see more than that as we strode quickly to the elevators. In no time at all we were zooming up to the eighth floor. As it turned out, we didn’t have a room, but rather a suite with a generous living area, separate bedroom, and a small kitchen.

“The shower is in the en suite,” Jackson said, “and the fresh clothes are on the bed. What would you like to eat?”

“A big steak with lots of potatoes and another mug of green tea.” I stripped off and headed for the shower. He was right—my clothes stank.

“A woman after my own heart. Except for the whole green tea bit.”

“I’ve had enough coffee over the centuries. Time for a change.”

“You know, I always wondered what being with a much older woman would be like. I have to say, it’s better than I imagined.”

I laughed as I shucked off the remainder of my clothes, then headed in to clean up. Twenty minutes later, the luscious aroma of roasted meat told me dinner had arrived, so I hurriedly finished dressing. Though there was no underclothing—a fact for which I was grateful, because I drew the line at wearing cast-off bras and panties—the rest of the clothes he’d borrowed fit me nicely. My butt was obviously a little bigger than the wife’s, because the jeans were rather tight, and the shirt fit like a glove, exposing more than it covered—a deliberate choice, I suspected. Thankfully, he’d also borrowed a coat—I could cover up and keep warm when I needed to.

His gaze skimmed me as I walked out, and a grin split his face. “Nice,” he murmured, his gaze coming to rest on what the shirt wasn’t covering. “Shame we haven’t got time to peel off that shirt and explore what lies beneath.”

“You know what lies beneath,” I said, amused. “You’ve explored them once or twice already.”

“Ah, but a good explorer is never afraid to retrace his steps on the off chance he missed something vital.”

I snorted. “Let’s concentrate on the business at hand, shall we?”

“Oh, I was,” he murmured. But he sat down and uncovered the two plates—steak, mashed potatoes, and several helpings of vegetables.

“Right,” he said as he picked up his cutlery and began to tuck in. “While I was twiddling my thumbs, waiting for your former boyfriend—”

“And just how do you know he’s a former boyfriend?” I inquired mildly.

He waved a fork. “It’s obvious given the way you talk about him. I’m guessing it ended badly, but some part of you isn’t quite over it.”

He’d guessed entirely too much. I waved him on irritably.

Amusement danced in his bright eyes as he continued. “My friend got back to me about that pic I sent her. She couldn’t find a match.”

“So, our mysterious Professor Heaton hasn’t got a criminal record.”

“Nor a driver’s license.”

“Inconvenient.”

“Yeah.” He munched on some steak for several minutes, then said, “Said friend is going to do an overseas search to see if anything comes up, but that may take a while.”

“Which leaves us with the vamp tonight. Hopefully, he’ll be able to enlighten us more than Jones did.”

“If not, we go back to the waitress who tried to seduce me and do a little backroom interrogating of our own.”

I nodded. “We also need to talk to Wilson’s wife. And the friends.”

“I really don’t think the wife will be able to tell us anything more.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be sure.”

His expression was dubious, but he didn’t disagree any further. We finished our meals in companionable silence; then I grabbed my purse and borrowed coat and we headed out.

Though it was after seven, the rush-hour traffic lingered and it took forever to cut across town. Along the way, I rang the number Sam had given me, telling him the GPS coordinates for Jones’s location and letting him know what had happened—but not what Jones had said. He’d be pissed—I knew that—but having made the decision to see this thing through to the end, that was exactly what I intended to do. And while I knew it probably wasn’t the smartest decision I’d made in my many lifetimes, it would hardly rate among the worst, either. That honor went to the time I’d decided to become a nun. The vows of poverty, chastity, and—worst of all—obedience had not sat well.

Darkness had well and truly settled in by the time we reached the park. As Jackson paid the driver, I climbed out and studied the huge wrought-iron struts that jutted out of the ground at an angle. How anyone could call it a sculpture, I had no idea. But then, I’d lived through some of the greatest eras when it came to sculpture and painting. When compared to the sculptures Rodin and Bernini—both of whom I’d known—had produced, this might as well be scrap metal randomly stuck in the ground.

Jackson shoved his hands into his pockets and stopped beside me. “The last four spikes are unlit. I’m thinking that’s not a coincidence.”

“Probably not.”

He glanced at me. “You realize I’ll have to carry you over my shoulder to the meeting—he’ll be jumpy enough when he realizes it’s not Sherman.”

I nodded. “It’s probably the only way of getting me close enough to encircle him with fire anyway.”

Jackson glanced at his watch. “Eight minutes. I’m betting it’ll pay to be early.”

“I’m betting you’re right.”

He touched my elbow, lightly guiding me across the road, then, in the shadows of the bridge, hauled me over his shoulder fireman’s style.

“Play dead,” he said.

“As long as you don’t play with my ass,” I retorted.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through my body. “As tempting as it is to have such a lovely ass so close to my hand, I suspect shifting my grip and risking dropping you would not be a wise move on my part.”

“Too right,” I muttered. “And can we please move? Despite what the literature says, this is not the most comfortable way of being carried.”

“It’s supposed to be more comfortable for me rather than you.”

“Just get on with it.”

He laughed softly and headed under the bridge and down to the canal. It was fenced off with high wire but had been cut in several places, so it was easy enough for Jackson to squeeze through, even carrying me.

He walked along the banks of the concrete canal, following the line of red-painted metal until he neared the shadowed section.

There he paused. “Lee Rawlings?” he said, not raising his voice. If the vamp was out there, he’d hear us. “I have a parcel delivery for you.”

For several seconds there was no response, then, “You’re not who I was expecting.”

The voice was smooth and urbane, but it wasn’t the voice of the vampire who’d claimed to be Professor Heaton.

“Jones decided he couldn’t risk being seen,” Jackson said. “The police want to question him about some murder, and he’d rather not talk.”

“And who might you be?”

“Let’s just call me a subcontractor,” Jackson said. “Now, do you want your delivery or not? She may look light but trust me, she ain’t.”

I resisted the urge to dig an elbow in and remained still. While we had no idea just how well the vamp could see, he would be able to hear the beat of blood through my body. I had to keep my pulse rate slow for this to work.

“You may leave her there and go,” Rawlings said. “I shall pay Jones himself when I catch up with him.”

Jackson snorted. “Hardly. The deal was half before, half after. Cash on the line, buddy, or no delivery.”

Rawlings was quiet for several seconds and I wished I knew what the hell was going on. But with my nose stuck in Jackson’s back, I couldn’t see a damn thing.

After several moments, Rawlings said, “Very well. You may approach.”

“So generous of you,” Jackson muttered, making me smile.

He carefully navigated the steep canal sides, then splashed his way through the thin layer of water lying at the bottom.

“Far enough,” Rawlings said.

Jackson stopped slightly sideways, and suddenly, I could see. And what I could see was feet. Jackson’s. It wasn’t a lot of help.

“Money first,” Jackson said. “If you think you can throw twenty feet, that is. I don’t appreciate wet cash.”

Thank you; thank you, I thought, and called to the fire. Only this time, instead of using the flames that burned within me, I called to the heat of the world around us—the fire of the earth and the energy in the air—gathering it, weaving it, then casting it out to form a circle that was bright and fierce but also surreal. This wasn’t normal flame; this was the flame of the mother herself, and she burned with a fire that danced with the colors of all creation.

“What in Hades . . . ?” Rawlings said, even as Jackson said, “Holy fuck, that’s impressive.”

“You can lower me now,” I said, and he hastily did so.

Even in the vivid brightness of the flames that surrounded him, Lee Rawlings was a tall, thin shadow of a man. His eyes were as dark as his skin, and his thick glossy hair glinted with blue highlights. He was also very, very angry. It poured off him like sweat, stinging the air and making it hard to breathe.

Not telepathic, but empathic, meaning he could not only sense the emotions of others, but—as he was doing right now—use them as a weapon. Although in this case, he was amplifying his anger rather than ours.

“Stop projecting and remain still,” I said flatly, “or the flames will burn you.”

That thickening sensation eased, and suddenly I could breathe again.

“What trickery is this?” Rawlings’s hands were clenched, and the anger that no longer burned through the air vibrated through his body.

“What this is,” Jackson replied evenly, “is an information exchange. You tell us what we want to know, and you can walk away with your skin unburned.”

His gaze flickered between the two of us. Him walking away didn’t seem to be on his agenda right now.

“Trust me,” I said softly, “any attempt to do anything more than walk away would not be wise.”

I flicked a finger, and a slither of flame danced apart from the main ring of fire, shimmering softly as it curled toward Rawlings and almost lovingly wrapped around his ankle. His pants instantly began to melt away, but I withdrew the flame before it did any real damage.

Rawlings didn’t scream, didn’t react in any way, really. And, oddly enough, the anger in him seemed to fizzle away. But old vampires were very good at that sort of thing, and I very much suspected Rawlings was one of the old ones. His speech was too formal for him to be a more recent recruit into the vampire ranks. “What do you wish to know?”

“Who do you work for,” Jackson said immediately, “and why do they want Emberly?”

He studied us for several moments, then said, “I work on a commission basis. You can threaten me all you like, but it would be far easier if you simply paid me for the information.”

That raised my eyebrows. “You’d risk ratting out your employer?”

He half smiled. It was not a pleasant thing to behold. “That shows how little you know about the vampire sindicati and how they work in these matters. As I said, I merely accepted this commission and I can give you nothing more than the next person in the chain. I do not know the person behind the order. I will never know.”

“Well, the next person is better than nothing.” Jackson glanced at me and, at my nod, added, “How much will it cost?”

“One thousand. That is the fee I will lose.”

“I seem to be going rather cheaply if you ask me,” I muttered, resisting the urge to rub at the ache beginning to form just behind my eyes. The fire encasing Rawlings might not be mine, but it still pulled at my strength. I couldn’t keep it going indefinitely—not unless I wanted to become little more than ash and flame myself. And that would not please Rory.

Rawlings’s gaze flicked briefly to me, and in its dark depths, amusement briefly glinted. Despite that he hired himself out to the vampire crime syndicates, I had a suspicion he wasn’t intrinsically bad. “Having witnessed your rather extraordinary skills, I would agree that you most certainly are going cheaply.” His gaze went back to Jackson. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“Wire the money into my account immediately.”

Jackson drew his phone from his pocket and, as Rawlings recited the number, made the transfer.

Rawlings nodded. “The vampire who employed me for this parcel pickup was one Henry Morretti. I cannot give you his address, and I suspect the phone he called on is either generic or untraceable.” He reeled off a number, then added, “And I was not told why he wished you collected, only that I was to be here at this time to collect you and then deliver you to an address in Laverton North.”

“Why would you deliver me to what is essentially an industrial area?”

He raised an eyebrow, the movement rather eloquent. “Where else could you question someone without suspicions being raised? Most of the warehouses around that particular address are not twenty-four-hour.”

Charming, I thought with a shiver. “What address?”

He gave it to us, then added, “I have lived up to my part of the bargain. I now expect you to live up to yours.”

“Do not try to attack us,” I warned.

“We made a deal. I will not go back on that.”

An honorable criminal. Amazing. I glanced at Jackson, who nodded. I took a deep breath and released my hold on the flames. They shimmered for one brief moment longer; then their heat dissipated, retreating to the realms of earth and air.

Rawlings bowed slightly. “Thank you,” he said, then promptly disappeared.

Jackson’s nostrils flared. “He retreats, as promised.”

“Good.” I rubbed my temples wearily, wishing I had some aspirin.

Jackson frowned at me. “You okay?”

“I will be. Creating those sort of flames takes a bit out of me, that’s all.”

“Do you need tea? Painkillers?”

“Yes, but I’m guessing you don’t have either right at this particular moment.”

“No, but there’s a 7-Eleven not far down the road. If you think you can walk there—”

“The only place you two will be walking,” a sharp, all-too-familiar voice said, “is straight into two goddamn jail cells.”

I looked up quickly and my stomach sank. Sam and Adam strode toward us, and to say neither of them looked particularly happy would have to be one of the understatements of the year. Sam’s body practically vibrated with anger.

“Ah, Detective Turner,” Jackson said equably. “How nice of you to join us.”

Sam barely gave him a glance. He was too intent on glaring at me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Emberly? This isn’t some sort of game, you know.”

I bit back the instinctive smart-ass reply that rose to my lips. “I know.”

“Then, to repeat, what the hell are you doing here, waiting for some criminal?”

Meaning he hadn’t seen Rawlings, which put us one up on him—although what good it would do us if he threw us in jail, I had no idea.

“I told you—”

“You told me you were going to be sensible. This is not what I call sensible.” He planted himself in front of me, his hands clenched near his sides and a blanket of darkness emanating from him. “You were both warned to stay clear of this investigation—”

“I’m being employed to investigate Professor Wilson’s death,” Jackson said flatly. “And if that means I also have to investigate Baltimore’s, then so be it.”

Sam’s gaze flicked to Jackson. The darkness in him sharpened, even as his control seemed a little more tenuous. Fear skipped lightly into my heart. I had a bad feeling we did not want to see his control slip.

Sam took a half step forward, leaving me sandwiched between the two men. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, because he was so focused on the Fae at my back—a Fae who was more than ready to give as good as he got, if the coiled readiness I could feel in his body was anything to go by.

“You had better”—Sam’s voice was little more than a harsh whisper, but the force of it seemed to shudder the air around us—“start listening, or else—”

Adam placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, as if in warning. Sam growled, the sound animalistic, then drew in a breath and released it slowly. He glanced down at me, and awareness flared. Awareness and hunger. It was thick and sexual and it stormed through me, making me ache even as the dark heart of it had fear stirring again.

After a moment, he stepped back. The darkness in him receded, but not the awareness. Not the hunger. “Adam, get both their asses out of here. Take them to headquarters.”

Adam raised a pale eyebrow. “That will not please Henrietta—”

“Right now, I don’t fucking care. Just do it.”

Adam hesitated, then said, “And you?”

“I’m going to the hospital to question Michelle Rodriguez.” He glanced at me. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. “I’ll interrogate them when I get back.”

Adam studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You two, follow me. And please, do not attempt to run. It would be a fruitless waste of all our time.”

I glanced at Jackson. He just shrugged and tucked his hand under my elbow, both guiding me forward and offering support in case I needed it. We were shoved into the back of a waiting van, which had no windows and no seats, forcing us to hunker down on the metal floor. The rear door slammed shut, and darkness closed in. After a few minutes, the engine started and the van drove off, taking us god knew where.

“Well, this is the first time I’ve been arrested in quite a while,” I muttered, drawing my knees up to my chest. Flames flickered across my hands, but given the energy store was very low, they barely lifted the darkness. Jackson’s eyes were little more than a pale glitter.

He raised his eyebrows. “Meaning this lifetime or past?”

“Past.” I gave him a lopsided smile. “You’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve done.”

Amusement tugged at his lips. “Actually, I wouldn’t. I daresay a being who keeps getting reborn has more than her fair share of tales to tell.”

“Yeah.” I paused, then added, “Although being burned at the stake as a witch was not the punishment they thought it would be.”

He laughed, but his attention wasn’t really on me. I contemplated his intentness and realized he was listening to the sounds around us—a tram rattling by, the peal of a church bell, the heavy bass thump of music—normal noises that meant nothing unless you needed to retrace your steps.

Jackson was planning just that, I suspected. Or, at the very least, wanted to be able to should the need arise. So I watched him quietly, sensing we’d moved through the city and out the other side. Not too far, but somewhere close to the ocean. The distant call of seagulls ran under the night’s stronger sounds.

St Kilda, I thought. There was a major police hub there, but I wouldn’t have thought it’d be a suitable location for a specialized task force. But maybe that was the whole idea.

Eventually, the van dipped downward, then stopped. Doors slammed, and then the rear doors opened. Adam motioned us out and, with two other men, escorted us through a series of tunnels that were cold and bleak. PIT, it seemed, didn’t believe in making their guests feel welcome.

Jackson was placed in one room, me in another. It was little more than a concrete box and was sparsely furnished—just a couple of long benches divided by a table, all of which were concrete. They obviously didn’t believe in comfort, either.

I scanned the walls, looking for mics and cameras and finding none. That one fact chilled me more than my bare surroundings, simply because it meant they kept no formal record of what went on in these rooms. They really weren’t tied to the rules of the regular police force.

I shivered and began to pace, half wishing Sam would hurry up and get here, but fearing what would happen if he did. Outwardly, at least, he wasn’t the person I’d known—that darkness . . . Another shiver ran through me, and I rubbed my arms. Something had happened to him—something bad enough to change his very essence.

It was more than an hour before he did arrive, by which time I was practically climbing the walls. But as my gaze met the blue of his, I realized that was precisely what he wanted. Me on edge, desperate to get out. Bastard.

He stepped into the room, a paper coffee cup in each hand and what looked to be a BlackBerry tablet tucked under one arm. The darkness—or whatever it was I’d sensed earlier—had retreated. How far, I had no idea, but in its absence, he seemed a whole lot more . . . human. Which seemed the wrong word to use, given that was what he actually was, and yet it oddly fit.

“Thought you might like some tea.” He slid one cup across the table and kept hold of the other. His voice held none of the cold abruptness that had been a constant in most of his dealings with me, instead hinting at warmth.

But it was a warmth I couldn’t afford to believe. I made a short, somewhat humorless sound. “Last time I had a drink in your vicinity, I ended up drugged.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Em.” He picked the cup back up and took a drink. “Happy?”

I somewhat gingerly picked up the cup and sniffed the contents. It smelled like ordinary, everyday green tea. There was no weird scent that I could detect, but that didn’t really mean anything—these days they had all sorts of drugs that were odorless and tasteless. I cautiously took a sip. It did taste like ordinary, everyday green tea.

“Now that we have that little drama over with,” he said, voice a weird mix of annoyance and amusement, “will you please sit down?”

“Sorry. I prefer to stand.” Besides, sitting would bring me far too close to him. I had a hard enough time resisting his presence when he was being a bastard—there was no way I’d cope being near this less-frosty version.

Don’t let him hurt you again, Rory had said. It was a warning that was very much uppermost in my mind at the moment.

Sam shook his head and made a sharp “whatever” motion with his free hand. “Fine. Your choice. Tell me about Lee Rawlings.”

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t found out all you need the same way we did—via Sherman Jones.”

“Adam is interviewing Jones, but I haven’t received the report yet.”

I took a drink of tea, then said, “And you’d also like to cross-check information, just to make sure we didn’t get anything extra.”

“That, too.”

I snorted softly. “Why am I here, Sam? We’ve done nothing illegal.”

“You’re interfering with an ongoing case. That in itself is enough to confine your ass in jail if I so desire it.”

“And do you? Desire it, that is?”

His gaze swept me. The twin fires of need and fear stirred in its wake. The desire was echoed in his eyes. “That depends.”

“On what?”

He slammed the BlackBerry on the table, then sat down on the concrete bench. “Your answers. And you staying away from this case as ordered.”

“Jackson is a legal private investigator, and he’s been employed by Rosen Pharmaceuticals to uncover who murdered James Wilson.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, given what they wanted was his research rather than his killer. But Sam probably knew that. “You can’t legally prevent him from doing his job.”

“I can if he gets in the way, and he is.” Just for a moment, the darkness resurfaced, staining his eyes and expression, making me wonder yet again just what had happened to him. What was still happening to him. But it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Fierce self-control, or had something else happened in the hour or so since I’d last seen him? “But that doesn’t explain why you’re involved—other than the fact that you’ve always been bloody stubborn.”

“These people killed my boss. They’ve also made several attempts at snatching me, one of them successfully—”

“None of which would have happened if you’d just done as you were told,” he cut in.

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” I retorted. “So can we just cut the shit and get down to the questions? I want to get out of here.”

He studied me for several seconds, and my heart began to beat just that little bit faster. Because there was hunger in his eyes—a hunger that had nothing to do with the deeper darkness within him and everything to do with desire. He still wanted me. After all that he’d said, after all the anger and hurt and sense of betrayal—a betrayal both us felt, for very different reasons—he still wanted me.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because if there was one certainty in this life, it was that he and I would never end happily.

I turned away to break the spell of his gaze and took a gulp of tea. It didn’t do a whole lot to ease the fires that had begun to burn low down in my belly.

“Fine,” he said abruptly. “What, exactly, did you get out of Lee Rawlings?”

I looked at him sharply. “Nothing. He wasn’t there. You guys turned up and no doubt scared him away.”

He gave me a long look. “We both know that’s not the truth. Adam picked up the resonance of another life as we approached. Someone else was there.”

“Adam was wrong.” I started pacing again. The coldness in the room was beginning to get to me—it crawled across my skin like a live thing and made me shiver.

“Adam is a vampire. He’s never wrong when it comes to the resonance of life.”

“Well, I guess that naturally means I’m lying, then, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does. The question is, why? We’re both after the same thing—we want the people behind these murders brought down.”

“I want answers, Sam, and I’m not likely to get them from you, am I?” I downed the rest of the tea and tossed the cup toward the table. He caught it reflexively, his actions so fast they were almost a blur. I frowned. “What is going on with you? You’ve changed, and I don’t just mean emotionally—”

“We’re not here to talk about me,” he said, voice still surprisingly mild despite the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Stop changing the subject and start answering questions.”

I continued pacing but crossed my arms, trying to ward off the growing chill. “I have nothing to say to any of you. You can leave me in this cell to rot if you want, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“Sadly, I knew you’d say that.”

I gave him another sharp glance. “And what does that mean?”

“It means you were right. The tea was drugged.”

Blood drained from my face and I stopped abruptly. “What?”

He shrugged and rose. “I figured you wouldn’t cooperate, so we dropped a little something into the tea to ensure that you would.”

“But you drank some of it.”

“Only a sip. It wasn’t anywhere enough to affect me.” He hesitated. “I am sorry, but it was a necessary step. We need answers, Em, and we need them now.”

I stepped away from him. But that chill in my body was growing, making my feet go numb, and I stumbled. Sam caught my right elbow and directed me backward, until my back was pressed against concrete. He placed his other hand under my left shoulder, effectively pinning me.

“Tell me what Lee Rawlings said.”

He was close. So close. His breath teased my lips and his warm, woody scent filled every breath, making my nipples pucker and sending slivers of desire curling through my belly. The desire in his gaze sharpened a caress of heat that rolled over me, making me tremble, making me yearn.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Go fuck yourself, Sam.”

Anger flared, deep and fierce. Its intensity was frightening. But once again it was just as swiftly smothered. “Trust me, I was fucked a long time ago. Now, just answer the damn question, Red.”

I closed my eyes and battled the need to obey. It would have been far easier to give him what he wanted, but something within me just wouldn’t allow it. He was right. I could be bloody stubborn when I wanted to be. Stupid, even. Because really, what was I gaining by resisting? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

I licked my lips, saw his gaze drop to follow the movement. Heat rolled over me, thick with desire, fanning the flames within to greater heights.

“What is the drug you gave me?”

“N41A. It’s designed to restrict certain paranormal powers and also acts as a truth serum of sorts. What did Rawlings tell you?”

That he was just another delivery boy, that the real meet was with a Henry Morretti in Laverton. But somehow, I kept the words inside. “Define what you mean by restrict.”

“It means you will not be able to flame. It was created for those with talents such as telekinesis and pyrokinesis, but we figured it would probably work on rarer creatures such as yourself and the Fae.”

“I’m not human, Sam. You have no idea how that drug will affect me.”

“When you’re in this form, human drugs will affect you the same way as they will affect any other human. In this case, it means you won’t have full use of your flames for forty-eight hours.” He studied me for a moment, almost seeming to lean in closer, as if he intended to kiss me. But his gaze was on mine rather than my lips, and the fires of desire were banked in his eyes.

I wished I could say the same about mine.

“The Paranormal Investigations Team has a long history of studying nonhumans, and while phoenixes might be rare, they are not unknown to us.”

Meaning if he was right, I was without my one major form of protection. But they obviously didn’t know everything. Any drug introduced into my system in flesh form would burn away in spirit, and no drug, no matter how strong, could stop a return to my true self. Only a lack of strength from within could do that and, right now, thanks to everything that had happened, I was running low on reserves. “They were unknown to you five years ago.”

“That was before I joined PIT. I’ve learned a whole lot in the last year or so.”

“Shame you never learned it’s impolite to drug the people you want cooperation from.” And it was a shame the words came out a whole lot huskier than I’d intended.

“We don’t. It’s only those we can’t read and who won’t cooperate we drug. Tell me about Rawlings, Emberly.”

I did. I couldn’t help it. The words vomited from my mouth—Rawlings, his orders, the meeting details, even how much we’d paid for the information.

At the end of it, Sam grunted. “He said nothing else?”

I glared at him. “No.”

“Good.” He hesitated, his gaze sweeping my face and his lips suddenly closer even though he hadn’t moved. “There’s one other thing about the drug I forgot to mention.”

My stomach did a strange flip-flop, but I wasn’t entirely sure whether the cause was his words or the brush of his breath against my lips as he spoke.

“Gee, color me surprised.” I intended sarcasm, but it came out far more breathless than that, and the desire in his blue eyes sharpened abruptly. It ran around me like a storm, and all I wanted was for it to sweep me away.

But that would be a very bad thing to happen. I had enough trouble now forgetting his kisses. I didn’t need a refresher to make it all that much harder.

“That drug,” he said softly, his lips so close to mine I could practically taste them, “is also something of an enforcer. You will obey what I say now that it is in full effect.”

But thankfully, only until the moment I have the strength to take on my fire form. “Damn it, Sam, don’t do this.”

“You give me no other choice—”

“There’s always a choice, Sam. You just have to want it enough.”

Again his gaze swept me, and I knew in that moment I wasn’t mistaken, that he did want me. Badly. I was in a whole heap load of trouble if he actually acted on it.

“Emberly Pearson,” he continued softly. “You will not go anywhere near Henry Morretti or the meeting in Laverton. You will stop pursuing all leads pertaining to the murder of your boss.”

“Bastard.”

“Totally,” he agreed; then, a heartbeat later, his lips met mine.

It was a fierce thing, this kiss, both familiar and yet not. It was everything we’d once shared, and yet so very raw and different. It was hunger and desire, darkness and desperation, and it reflected all that we once were and all that had changed.

It proved how much I still wanted him—and he me—but it also confirmed just how different he now was. Because where once I’d tasted nothing more than joy and desire, heat and passion, there was now also ash and anger, fierce and barely restrained, and it spoke of the night and even darker urges. I’d never kissed a vampire, but I imagined they would taste something like this.

But Sam wasn’t a bloodsucker. He’d been out in the sunshine often enough to prove that. I had no idea what had happened to him, but the mere fact I could actually taste the changes scared the hell out of me.

He broke away with a suddenness that tore a gasp from my throat and left me dizzy and breathless. His gaze, when it locked on mine, was hot—hungry—and yet also very angry. With me, with himself, and with the world in general, I suspected.

“Stay away,” he growled, leaving me wondering if he meant from the case or from him.

Then he pushed away from the wall, away from me, and I collapsed into a heap on the floor. The last thing I remember seeing were his boots as he walked away.

They were the boots I’d given him as a birthday present six years ago.