The Departed

by Shiloh Walker

  Taylor stared past her, his gaze lingering on something in the distance. “More than likely. They…whoever put her in there didn’t seem to want her dead right away. She wasn’t in any danger of drowning for quite a while. They…well, I don’t have any men here but I talked to the locals. They found some weird wiring, timers—looks like things were set to do something later, but I’m not sure what yet. Somebody will talk, though. Or they’ll figure it out if they aren’t completely incompetent.”

  Dez thought of the boy she’d seen in the water fort, but she kept quiet. She needed sleep before she got any more involved in this and she knew how Taylor was.

  And she didn’t need to talk to anybody to think about what those timers might have been set for—flooding that bucket, maybe. Drowning her completely? Or something more sensational?

  Dez felt that rage burn hotter, brighter. “Bastards.” Something cool tickled her neck and she shrugged, stretched her shoulders. Looking back at him, she met his eyes, all but colorless in the dim light. “I can’t help you. There’s nothing for me to tell you. I just knew something was wrong.”

  “She’s alive. The living don’t call to you.” His voice was a quiet, steady murmur in the night.

  Meeting his gaze, she cocked her head. “No. They don’t.”

  “So who is he?” He looked down at the stone and she wasn’t surprised he’d pieced it together. He wasn’t the boss for nothing.

  Dez looked at the marker by his feet. “Somebody who’s not here anymore. He’s already moved on…and he can’t help you, either. He was only here long enough to help her.”

  * * *

  TAYLOR wondered if she was trying to make this harder on him or if it was just natural for her.

  Sighing, he crouched on the ground, mindless of his jeans as he studied the marker. It was new, pale gray marble from what he could tell in the dim light, shot through with something that made it shimmer.

  He read the date and managed not to flinch when he saw how old the kid was. Just a kid…only seventeen. “What did he have to do with it, Dez?”

  Silence was his only answer.

  Looking up, he saw her standing on the other side of the small graveyard, her arms crossed over her chest, her face lost in the shadows. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Come on, Desiree, help me out.”

  “Why?”

  He could just barely see the glitter of her eyes. “How about so I can keep your ass out of jail?”

  She snorted. “Nice try. They might try to throw me in jail for a few days and, hey, maybe they’ll succeed, but they can’t keep me there. I’ve got too good an alibi…unless they can come up with a way of convincing people I teleported that poor girl in there.”

  “They can still make your life hell,” he bit out. “I can make that go away. You going to help me or not?”

  “If they try to make my life hell for a few days, so what? I get a lawyer and deal.” She shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “You can’t ride into small-town America, flash those shiny credentials, and think that makes everything okay, Jones.”

  “Or you can help me out and nothing happens. You’re not going to jail here, damn it.” Shoving to his feet, he spun away and stared off into the night. No, not here. He had enough nightmares here to haunt him for the rest of his life. Letting them try to put Dez in a jail that was no doubt full of old ghosts and older memories…no.

  She might be able to deal, but he sure as hell couldn’t.

  Behind him, Dez laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound, though. “And what are you going to do if they decide they want to lock me up for a while, slick? You can’t exactly stop them.”

  “I’ll tell them to yank their heads out of their asses, damn it,” he snarled, shooting her a dark look. And they’d listen. They wouldn’t like it. But they’d listen—he’d damn well make sure of it.

  Dez just shook her head. “You really still haven’t figured it out, have you, Taylor? You can’t control the universe.” She rocked back on her heels and added, “And you aren’t my boss these days—you sure as hell don’t get to control me.”

  “I may not be your boss, but that sure as hell doesn’t keep you from calling me when your ass is in trouble.”

  Although he couldn’t make out her face, he didn’t need to see her clearly to know she was smirking at him. “Hell, Taylor. You think it’s my ass that had me worried? My ass ceased to be your concern some time ago. It’s not me who needs you right now. You have another problem you need to worry about. That girl needs you right now—she needs you to help them find who did that to her. Why don’t you get back to her?”

  Her words managed to drill into his heart, an icy cold lance. Yeah, he knew she didn’t need him. That was one thing he hadn’t ever questioned. Swallowing past the ache in his throat, he said grimly, “I’m here trying to do my job—you came here for her, so I’m trying to follow up on anything that might help her.”

  “And I’m telling you there’s nothing I know that will help. At least not right now.”

  “Nothing—you want me to believe you got nothing for me.”

  DEZ was having the hardest time focusing. There was a whisper, something so faint, even fainter than Tristan’s call had been. But Taylor’s presence, his voice—hell, his everything drowned that voice out.

  But she needed to focus.

  This was important.

  It was almost like a voice. Almost.

  But it was so…faint.

  Was somebody speaking—

  “…answer me?”

  She jerked her head up and realized that at some point, while she’d been distracted by that not-quite voice, Taylor had closed the distance between them. Now he stood just a foot away, close enough that she could see him all too clearly, close enough that she could feel his warmth once again and if she leaned forward enough, she could reach out and pull him against her. Feel that long, lean body once more.

  Although the look in his eyes was anything but amorous. She smirked as she looked at him, amused despite herself. Even now, even after he’d been such a fucking jerk, even after she’d missed him for the past year, and even after the hell of today, she still wanted him.

  Damn it, she wasn’t ever going to not want him, she realized. It just wasn’t going to happen.

  She wanted this man…plain and simple.

  Needed him. Craved him.

  He was her drug.

  His eyes narrowed on her face. “Are you listening to a damn thing I say?”

  “No.” Dez smiled. “I can’t say I am. And you know what’s really wonderful about it? You can’t do much more than snarl and growl about it. After all, you’re not my boss, right?”

  Abruptly she laughed. “Damn, no wonder you were always so pissed off when you had to call Taige in on a job. It must really grate on you to have to call in somebody you can’t control. And this is even worse…you didn’t call me in. I’m not even a loose cannon. I’m worse than a loose cannon.”

  Taylor opened his mouth, said something.

  She never heard it, though. She heard something—it was like the soft sigh of the wind dancing through the branches. Louder than a whisper, but no understandable words.

  It was a cry, though. A cry for help—she understood that much this time. And once more, that shivery brush touched her spine and she shivered before she could stop it.

  He saw, too. Damn it.

  He glanced around. “I thought you said he was gone.”

  “He is.” Dez shrugged. “I’m just cold.”

  “You’re not cold. At least not because it’s cold out.” He looked past her, and once more she saw his gaze lock, linger. This time, she followed his eyes, tried to find whatever it was that held his attention.

  But all she saw was the garden of stone—monuments to the dead, to the lost. Was it one of them calling her?

  Was it a call at all or just her imagination? Cemeteries were full of so much
unrest, it could be nothing. It could be just the remnants of their passing. And it could be just her subconscious trying to give her something else to think about besides Taylor.

  Just then, Dez didn’t know. She couldn’t trust her instincts when it came to him, because when it came to him, her heart was involved and that made things too damn complicated. Sighing, she looked back at him.

  That alone was enough to make her ache. Make her hunger. Make her long for things she couldn’t have. It was enough to make her hate him at times. She’d been such a fool, letting herself touch him. That one day hadn’t been enough. All it had done was make her long for more.

  “Just leave me alone, Taylor,” she said quietly. That was what she needed. She needed him to leave her alone—desperately. “Go do your job and leave me alone. I’m not your concern.”

  “Not my concern?” He caught her arm, his fingers burning hot, even through her jacket. “That’s where you’re wrong. You called for help. That makes you my concern.”

  She tried to pull away, but he wasn’t letting go and unless she wanted to get into a wrestling match—and actually, that idea held too much appeal—she wasn’t going to get away until he decided to let go. Because she didn’t like the idea of just jerking against his hold, she settled for glaring at him.

  “Wrong, Jones. I’m not your concern. Haven’t been for over a year. I quit, remember?”

  “As if I could forget,” he muttered. “Come on. You don’t need to be here right now. You’re already on edge.”

  On edge. Talk about an understatement.

  As he started to walk out of the cemetery, she reluctantly fell into step next to him, steaming mentally and debating on whether or not she wanted to go along with his imperiousness.

  “Whether you’re one of my people or not, you brought me here and you need to give me something to go on. You also could probably talk to that girl and help her a hell of a lot more than these people here can.”

  She could refuse. She knew that. She didn’t need to go anywhere with him. But the cold shivers running down her spine, the echoes of the departed, the strange, disturbing whispers…no, she didn’t need to be here.

  And she wanted to be out of here.

  Badly.

  If there was something or somebody here for her, she’d figure it out soon. Preferably after she’d had some rest, a few hot meals. She was so damn tired—too many jobs, too close together. She all but ached with exhaustion. Maybe fate and God would be kind, though, and this would turn out to be nothing.

  She could use a break. Really.

  Following Taylor out of the cemetery, she resisted the urge to look back. If she had, she might have seen it as the moon came out from behind a heavy bank of clouds at just that moment.

  The silvery stream of light fell across one of the monuments along the far border of the cemetery. There was an angel there, her face upturned to the sky, her wings spread.

  A sigh drifted through the cemetery, followed by a sound that was almost a sob.

  * * *

  HOSPITALS were all the same in some aspects. Too brightly lit, smelling of antiseptic and faintly of illness and death. The stink of illness and death weren’t necessarily something the average person might pick up, Dez knew, but she’d been in too many of these places. She couldn’t miss it.

  Then again, maybe it was her imagination. Maybe she knew the death and the illness lingered and that lingering stink was some manifestation of her mind. And what did it matter…even though, logically, she knew why she was thinking about it. It was a way to distract herself, just another mind game, something to keep from thinking about the fact that she was walking down the long, overly bright hallway next to Taylor.

  A way to think about something other than the low, cold whispers she felt in the hall.

  They were there. Some of the departed…not all of them rested, not all of them called for help. Some of them just lingered, their cold, dry touch like a skeletal hand on the nape of her neck. She could feel their presence and now that she’d allowed herself to think about them, to focus, her mind reached out and tried to lock on one of those whispers. Tried to grasp something real…a voice, something, somebody she could help.

  But their voices, they were so indistinct, like listening to dry leaves skittering down a street. There were no words, hardly any feeling left to connect to those disconnected souls.

  She jumped as Taylor curled his hand over her nape, his fingers digging lightly into her skin. “Stop it,” he murmured, leaning in and speaking almost directly into her skin.

  “Stop what?” she asked sourly. She would have glared at him, but the firm hold he had on her skin kept her from doing that, and she was reluctant to break that contact. Just like always, his touch made everything else fade away.

  “You know what. You’re not shielding. I can see it. Shield up or you’ll be a mess before I even get you to her room.” His voice lowered when she tensed and tried to pull away.

  “You don’t get to boss me around anymore, Jones.”

  She tried once more to pull away, but this time he herded her into a narrow dip in the wall. A quick glance showed that it led to the chapel. She glared up at him. To her surprise, he was glaring back, his pale blue eyes glittering at her, and his normally emotionless face was anything but. “I’m not trying to boss you around, damn it. You’re walking around looking like you’ve got death dancing on your shoulders and you’re not doing shit to stop it. Should I just ignore it?”

  “What does it matter to you?” She shouldn’t be looking at him. She told herself that, told herself to look away, to look anywhere but at him. She couldn’t, though. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. Swallowing, she rested her head against the wall and repeated, “What does it matter to you?”

  A heavy breath rushed out of him, his shoulders rising and falling. His blue eyes, so fiery hot and so unlike the cool, icy professionalism she was used to seeing, bored into hers. “Just shield up, damn it.” Then he shoved off the wall and stalked away.

  Immediately, Dez sagged a few inches and covered her face with her hands. Damn it. What in the hell…Damn it. Her knees were shaking. Her belly felt all tight and hot and jittery, and damned if she knew why.

  You damn well do know—

  No. She wasn’t thinking about that—

  She took a deep breath and lowered her hands. Then she looked up and gasped when she realized Taylor had returned, silently. One hand came, curled over the back of her neck. “This is why it matters, damn it.” He hauled her against him and as his mouth crushed against hers, her brain clicked off, shut down…

  And her body came to life. After more than a year of existence, Dez felt like she was living again. His free hand gripped her hip, keeping her body pressed close to his while his other hand tangled in the short strands of her hair to yank her head back.

  This wasn’t just a kiss, she thought. It was…more. It was everything. He breathed her in, just as she breathed him in. After so much time apart from him, she felt complete again. Whole.

  His tongue stroked across her lower lip and she opened for him with a groan. He didn’t waste a second, pushing deep inside. She bit him lightly and his long, lean body shuddered, crowded her back against the wall.

  Dimly, she knew they couldn’t do this. Dimly, she knew they needed to stop.

  But she didn’t care.

  He was touching her. Finally, he was touching her again and it was so wonderful, so beautiful, she thought she might die. And then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended.

  He tore his mouth from hers, panting. Pressing his brow to hers, he stared into her eyes. “Damn you. You know why it matters.”

  “If it matters that much, you shouldn’t have let me walk,” she challenged.

  He sighed, one hand restlessly kneading her hip. “It’s because you matter that we can’t do this, Dez.” He closed his eyes and then pulled away. Not just physically.

  Mental
ly. She felt it, that slow mental withdrawal. Her heart ached inside, and those words made it all that much worse. She mattered? Hell, if she mattered…then she shook her head. She couldn’t think about this right now. She had a job to do. And not just the one that Taylor had brought her here for—she’d made a promise to Tristan and even if he’d moved on, she would still keep that promise. She couldn’t leave until it was done.

  She wouldn’t acknowledge the disturbing sense that she had something else here that awaited her.

  That disturbing sensation in the cemetery.

  Those vague, faint whispers.

  She needed to cling to something—cling to the fact that she could just finish this job and get the hell away from Taylor Jones before he broke her heart all over again.

  HE’D lost his mind.

  Taylor knew he’d lost his mind. The last thing on earth he should have done was put his hands on her. The last thing he should have done was put his mouth on her. The last thing he should be thinking about was doing it again.

  But he was.

  Damn it, maybe he really was closer to losing his mind than he’d thought. Not that it would take much of a push, being here. He needed to focus, needed to get a grip. Needed to get whatever information he could out of Desiree, get her out of this place, and then see if the team was needed here. He wasn’t so certain they were, and if nothing else, he could still trust his instincts on that.

  In short, he had no time to think about her, but as she pushed around him and strode down the hall in front of him, all he could do was stare at the sweet, round curve of her ass. He had to stifle a groan as he remembered digging his fingers into those curves, how she’d shuddered and moaned under him, how she’d rocked up to meet him.

  His heart raced and his hands weren’t entirely steady; his mind was focused on nothing but sex, Dez, and getting her naked. And then he realized that she was standing at a dead stop in the middle of the hallway. Standing still in that odd, eerie fashion that he recognized all too well.