by Dana Archer
Lyla studies me. Whatever she sees has her setting her coffee down and leaving Ella, Sam, and Izzy sitting at the table in the otherwise vacant Shifter Affairs lunchroom. Lyla hurries to me and steps into my open arms. With her hands linked at the base of my spine, she tips her head back. “Is everything—”
“Where’s Colin?” Sam interrupts her sister and strides forward, her body coiled and her jaw tight.
“Colin’s with the human female who not only found his younger brother but told the 911 agent she saw claws punch out of Doyle’s hands as he thrashed at the end of the rope.”
“Oh no!” Lyla yanks her attention from me to a scowling Sam.
“And? It’ll get explained away. That’s what Shifter Affairs does.” Sam cracks her jaw. “So why is he still with her?”
“Because I didn’t want him at the scene. He was close to losing control. With the woman, he’s got to keep himself in check. He’s currently upstairs with the female in one of the interrogation rooms, waiting for the staff shrink to determine whether we try to alter her memory or enter her into the initiation protocol.”
All three humans in the room flinch and cast their gazes to the ground. I glance between them as tension slithers down my spine. All three would have gone through the same evaluation after being thrust into the shifter world. “What?”
Ella rolls her neck first, shaking off the uneasiness that settled over her, and turns in her seat. “The shrink is a warlock with degrees in psychiatry and occult studies. He’s also not the most personable man you’d ever meet.”
“And his lack of people skills justifies the reaction all of you had?”
“Not me.” Izzy raises her hand. “I didn’t have to go through any evaluation when Shifter Affairs swooped in and plucked me out of my nice warm bed. Being a shifter and all, I got a free pass.”
Lyla touches my jaw, drawing my attention back to her before I inform my younger pride mate that sometimes silence is a good thing, especially when cockiness hurts those around us.
“The tactics the staff shrink employs mess with the heads of his patients.” Lyla pauses as if searching for the right words. “Either twisting our memories or building compulsions within our consciousness that guarantee we won’t ever betray the shifter world. We understand it’s necessary, but it’s not exactly—”
“Pleasant.” Sam once again cuts off her sister. “Though for me, it wasn’t so bad. Colin stayed with me the whole time. He was my pillar of strength.” She shakes out her hands and returns to the table. “Guess he’s someone else’s support person now.”
I resist the urge to let my amusement show. Apparently, Colin’s not the only one suffering from jealousy. Or maybe Sam’s regretting not letting Colin know what he means to her. Either way, my choice is the same. I’m in the role of therapist, something I’m not convinced I excel at. “Colin just lost his younger brother. He’s in no shape to be anyone’s pillar of strength. He needs one of his own. Actually, he could use you. Why aren’t you with him?”
Sam pauses for the briefest of moments with her hand on the back of the chair, then sits. “He’s got family not far from here and plenty of saved-up vacation time. If he needs a shoulder to cry on, they can be the ones to get slobbered on.”
“The next in line to be alpha won’t cry on anyone’s shoulder, not even yours.” Even if he truly needs it. Our instincts are difficult at times. “But he does need someone who won’t judge him if he lets his guard down.”
Sam snorts. “Well, that’s not me. I’d tease him if he started crying.”
That might be exactly what Colin needs. We all have different views of heaven. “If the woman he spent the last two decades with can’t find the time to even ask him if he’s okay, then I’m not exactly sure why we’re having this conversation. I’m not Colin. I can’t answer whether or not he’s okay. He wasn’t crying when I left him. That’s all I can say.”
“It’s not that I don’t have time,” Sam shoots back. “It’s that I don’t want to interrupt him while he’s with this woman. That’s always been our deal. When Colin’s with another woman, I vanish. I’m too distracting to have around when his focus is on someone else.”
“Jesus, Sam. This other woman just watched a man commit suicide. She’s not going to try and seduce Colin, and I doubt he’s in the mood to screw a stranger. He loved his little brother.” Lyla sighs and looks away from her sister with a small shake of her head. “Okay. Other than this human seeing Doyle’s claws, do we have any other slips or things to worry about?”
“Charley.” When Lyla’s brows scrunch in question, I nod. “That’s the female’s name. Charley O’Conner. She’s a model—”
“A freaking drop-dead gorgeous model with hundreds of thousands of adoring fans.” Sam pushes from her seat and plants her palms on the table. “You are not going to be able to just make this go away with a made-up story of it being a trick of the light or something. If she breathes a word of this on social media, shit is going to fly.”
“No, it won’t. Rick’s already authorized an adulterated medical file that has Charley coming up positive for previous drug use and unpublicized mental issues. He’s working on the report for the 911 office right now and securing Shifter Affairs’ legal rights to take Charley into custody for rehabilitation and treatment. Plus her phone and social media accounts have already been checked and locked. The only activity was her call to 911. After that, she claimed to have tried to hold Doyle up so he wouldn’t strangle, but Charley’s too…” I slide my gaze from Sam to Ella to my true mate and choose my words carefully so as not to offend them. “Charley’s too petite and wasn’t able to hold Doyle up long enough to stop him from dying. She tried, though. Actually she was still struggling to lift him when we got there.”
“And even if the doc succeeds in altering her memory, she’ll lose her life in the process.” Ella shakes her head. “Forward Charley’s information to me. We might not have any need for a model, but we’ll see if there’s a fit for her within our networks.”
“Done.” Rick had mentioned doing that anyway.
Izzy pushes to her feet. “And in the meantime, let’s call it a day. Human models aren’t the only ones who need their beauty sleep. I turn into a bitch when I’m tired.”
Ella partially stands and slams her palm onto the table, sloshing the coffees scattered on it. “Not without bringing me up to speed on Cedric Yuran and who your inside source is.”
Izzy walks toward the door with Sam on her tail. “I have one more lead to follow up on, and then I’ll sit down and catalogue everything I know.”
“I’m holding you to that, Agent Isadora Alexander.” Ella’s voice booms in the room.
“Technically, you can’t. I report to a different department.” Izzy walks past me without looking in my direction and pauses with her hand on the door to the lunchroom. “But I will freely comply. That’s what’s expected of an Alexander. Besides, I’m grateful for you allowing Sam to partner with me on this case. Her help is proving invaluable now that my identity has been compromised.”
With that, both Izzy and Sam leave.
“Don’t spend all night in your lab, Lyla. You need to sleep.” Ella snatches the mugs, hooking the handles of two in each hand, and piles them in the sink before heading for the door without waiting for Lyla’s response.
Once we’re alone, I turn to Lyla. “Ella’s right. Let’s get you back to your place.”
“I need to finish my reports.” Lyla slips out of my embrace. “Then I can sleep.”
I glance at the clock. At close to midnight, most humans are in bed. “Finish them tomorrow.”
“And what happens if tomorrow comes and there’s another dead body waiting for me? Maybe Harry? He is still under a suicide watch, and if he tries to hurt himself without trained medical staff on duty, he dies, taking whatever other information he might share with us with him.” Lyla plants her hand on her hip. “And even if it’s not Harry who dies, I do still have plenty of friends and
family members out there who haven’t committed suicide yet. Any one of them could be waiting for me in my lab.”
I take Lyla’s hands in mine. “You can’t be positive—”
“Bryon warned me not to pursue this killer. He told me the streets have ears and the shadows mask death, but I didn’t listen. I waded right into another murder scene with you by my side, then went looking the next day for someone else who’d give me information about this newcomer, who apparently isn’t a newcomer at all.” Lyla points to the door. “Thanks to Izzy, I know who I’m looking for. The man who was supposed to own me. The man who hurt Sam. The man who wants me to know he’s coming after me.”
“And he’s also the one who had you in the tavern that night and let you go.” I approach Lyla slowly so as not to trigger her instincts to run, but it’s clear she’s mastered her prey response. She stands taller. “You can’t assume he’s after you.”
“He told me he would if I returned to the pub, and I had to. I couldn’t let this case die.” Lyla moves closer to me and skims her fingers over my knuckles. “But he’s not going to win. Not when I finally have heaven within reach. I don’t want to lose you before we get the chance to explore this thing between us.”
“You won’t lose me, and I won’t lose you.”
Lyla studies me intently. “Do you promise?”
“Yes.”
“Then we need to make sure the Yuran pride pays for what they’ve done.”
“Not the Yuran pride. They’re not all corrupt.”
“Then Cedric. He needs to die for what he did to Sam, for what he did to my mom and Eddie and Doyle and the other homeless living in this city.”
Vehemence slides into my gentle true mate’s eyes, reminding me Lyla isn’t just my gift from the heavens. She’s a warrior with the soul of an angel and the perfect complement to a man who wants to take on the evil in this world too.
“Then grab your computer. We’ll camp out in the lounge close enough you can respond to Harry if something happens to him while you write your reports and whatever else you need to do for the case.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Acting as your pillow when you’re finally ready to sleep.”
Lyla raises a brow. “You realize there’s no door on the lounge, right?”
I clasp Lyla’s hand and urge her to walk with me. “If you’re planning on being on call all night, then you’re working. Personal encounters while on the clock are prohibited.”
“Really?” Lyla shakes her head. “You do realize I went down on you in Ella’s office.”
“You were off duty.”
“Okay.” Lyla’s amused perusal maps me. “What about our little encounter on Hooker’s Lane? We were both on duty then.”
I raise a brow, letting my stoic agent mask return for just a moment. “I was only following your lead, Agent Bradford. You said we needed to fit the roles expected of us. I was only doing what was required for the case.”
Laughing, Lyla turns her back on me and walks down the hall to the elevator, then glances over her shoulder at me. “Is that what you’re going to write into your report?”
“It’s already documented there.” At Lyla’s gaping expression, I close the distance between us. “What? Do you expect me to lie? You did say that’s what we needed to do to blend in.”
Shaking her head, Lyla hits the button for the elevator. “I also said you owed me an IOU.”
I step into the elevator and pull my true mate into my arms. This lighthearted exchange is what we both needed. While shadows still mar the delicate skin under Lyla’s eyes, tension no longer clouds her gaze. And me? I feel right with this woman in my arms. There’s no other way to explain it.
“I’m good for it, baby.” I brush my lips over hers. “Once we’re off duty.”
Lyla’s chuckle slips through me, spreading contentment in its wake.
Oh yes, I was a fool to run from this. Good thing my pretty mate has the instincts of a predator too and didn’t let me escape.
Twenty-Two
Uri
Something wrenches me from dreams of loving my true mate. With my shoulders tight and caution slithering into my muscles, I sweep my gaze over the quiet lounge instead of jumping to my feet to meet the threat I feel in my bones. The warm and solid press of the woman curled against my side reminds me I can’t always act on instinct. Ensuring Lyla’s safety comes before being a hero.
My jaguar rises and blends with my soul, adding its insight to mine. No new scents reach me. Nothing’s been moved. The only change is the Specialized Affairs logo bouncing lazily across the otherwise darkened television hanging above the gas fireplace. Before I dozed off, the credits of the movie we’d watched had scrolled across the screen.
According to every sensory input available to me, we’re perfectly safe. My felines’ cautionary stillness doesn’t fade, however. My big cats are lying in wait to strike.
A contented groan accompanies Lyla’s stretch. She blinks sleepy, lust-hazed eyes at me. While I kept my promise of no sex while on duty, Lyla pushed my limits just as she has since the moment she ran into my arms and compelled me to kiss her. Technically, though, a little kissing and touching isn’t specifically forbidden according to the contract we both signed. It gave sex as an example along with personal doctor appointments and family engagements as things prohibited while on duty. Kissing is not on the list. Neither is touching. As far as I’m concerned, we didn’t break the rules. Bend them? I’m becoming an expert at that thanks to Lyla.
“Good morning, Uri.” Lyla slips her arms behind my neck and draws me closer for a kiss that tempts me to not just bend the rules but break them. Just once.
A man’s deep laugh followed by the beginning lyrics of a rock song stop me.
Lyla scrambles away from me, snatches her ringing phone off the ground, and answers. “Hello.”
Her jaw drops. She whips her head to look at me, but she doesn’t need to say anything. Although the person speaking on the line is being quiet, I have no trouble picking up on the caller’s words with my jaguar’s senses enhancing mine.
Harry is dead.
I take the phone from her once she lowers it and turn it off. Then I push to my knees and draw Lyla against me so her cheek rests over my heart. “Harry’s death is not your fault.”
Lyla opens her mouth, no doubt to deny my words, but the pounding of feet in the hallway draws her gaze to the door instead. I don’t need to look. Rick’s scent is a familiar one. So is the angry wash of power spreading out ahead of him. At least this time, I don’t need to wonder what triggered his fury.
“Harry’s dead,” Rick announces the moment he steps into the open entryway to the lounge.
“Lyla just got the call.”
Rick glances at Lyla with a sympathetic expression. “It’s not your fault. Don’t believe the lies of a dying man.”
“My fault?” Lyla eases away from me. “What are you talking about? The guard on duty said there was nothing I could’ve done. The damage was irreparable.”
Rick nods, relief easing his straight shoulders. “Right. Harry ripped the front of his throat out. There was no fixing his injuries.”
Lyla slips off the couch and walks barefoot across the industrial carpet to where Rick’s standing in the doorway. “What did he say before taking his own life?”
“Like I said, the rambling of a dying man—”
“What did he say?” Lyla enunciates each word.
“You don’t—”
“Never mind. I’ll find out myself.” Lyla turns her back on Rick and retrieves her phone from the couch, then taps the screen a couple of times. Once the call connects, she says. “Pull the video feed of Harry’s cell. I’ll be up in five minutes to review it.”
“Like hell you will.” Rick takes the phone from her and tosses it to me. “You do not want to see—”
“You have no say in the matter, Agent Lyall. I’m working this case too. If I deem that video feed necessa
ry to conduct my part of that investigation, I’m getting my hands on it. One way or another.”
“But I do get a say.” I make my way to Lyla and lay a hand on her hip. The slight contact is enough to draw her attention to me. “Watching a man you cared about take his own life will cause unnecessary stress to you. I can’t allow you to suffer that way.”
Lyla takes several slow breaths. “As your beloved human, I understand your right to protect me, but I need this information. This case is personal.”
“Harry said you’d regret not following your owner’s commands. That good girls are supposed to do what they’re told, and you were supposed to let him go if he told you everything. You lied and made him miss his train. Now he’d never go home. Then he took his own life.” Rick delivers the details before I can decide if they’re ones Lyla should have.
Lyla turns to me, but I already have my arms spread, welcoming her home. She steps into my embrace. I hold her close while tears wet my shirt. “We’ll make things right, baby.”
“They’re not committing suicide. They’re being controlled and told to take their own lives.” Lyla tips her head back but doesn’t wipe her tears away. “My mom was crying. She didn’t want to light herself on fire. I really believe that. I also don’t think Doyle or Eddie would’ve taken their own lives. Eddie was looking forward to retirement, and Doyle was just too happy…too alive and full of life. He had hundreds of years ahead of him.”
“And Harry just wanted to go home.” I finish Lyla’s argument. “I agree with you, but I don’t know how to prove it.”
“It’s got to be that thickening agent.” Lyla shakes her head. “That’s the only difference between the versions of Elixir.”
“Or it could still have been a blood vow.” Rick speaks up, reminding me of the conversation with Bryon I haven’t had yet. Too many dead bodies are preventing me from following up on leads. Likely that’s Cedric’s intent: to keep us frazzled while he wins. Not happening.
“True. The giver of the vow can be made to do anything, even take their own life. Plus we know a Royal, maybe Cedric, is adding his blood to the drug. I’ve never heard of a blood vow without the vow being spoken, but I know little about what a shaman is capable of doing.” I’ve avoided seeking out that information. I’d always thought it best not to know what I allowed to live when I saved Bryon.