“Failure is not tolerated within Nightshade,” January said.
Rage, infused with the frustration that resulted from the missed kill, twisted through him. It was all he could do not to break January’s neck. It would be so easy.
Unfortunately, January was the source of the drug. Until he figured out how to obtain the formula from someone else within Nightshade—the mysterious person January reported to, for example—he was stuck having to take orders.
“I didn’t fail,” he said. He stared hard through the SUV’s windshield at the night-darkened street. “You saw what happened. A car pulled into the lot. I was caught square in the headlights. I had no choice but to leave the scene. You said yourself we can’t afford to attract the attention of the cops.”
“I was watching you. Jones had you on the defensive. Obviously the old-woman illusion wasn’t working.”
“It worked.”
It had slowed him down, though, and it had been out of control. That really worried him. He was afraid to tell January that, in the heat of hand-to-hand combat, he had been unable to hold the illusion. It had winked on and off erratically like a broken flashlight.
“You tripped and fell,” January said.
There was a reason January had been given that particular code name, he thought. Cold as a glacier.
“Things like that happen in a fight,” he said. “It wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Jones isn’t anywhere near as fast as me.”
“He’s a mirror talent. He was anticipating your every move.”
“That’s not true. I was closing in. The problem was that damned car.”
“I hope you understand that your failure to perform to expectations reflects poorly on me. Jones survived tonight. That means I will have to have an unpleasant conversation with a certain individual. Need I remind you that both of us are dependent on that individual for our supply of the drug?”
He forced himself to remain silent. He had one critical advantage. January could be replaced but that was not the case with him. He was a one-of-a-kind lab experiment. They had explained to him that illusion talents of any level were extremely rare. An illusion talent who possessed a psychic profile that could, with the right chemical stimulation, be expanded to include a high-level hunter talent, was the stuff of myth and legend.
He was on the way to becoming a walking legend within the organization. Nightshade needed him.
“I’ll take care of Jones next time,” he said.
“I’ll decide whether or not you get a second shot at Jones.”
He did not argue. Instead, he started to make his own plans.
Twenty-six
By the time Zack ended the call she was simmering.
“Mr. Jones, I take it, is not a sympathetic employer,” she said. It had been all she could do not to yank the phone out of his hand and give Fallon Jones the benefit of her opinion.
Zack shrugged. “I think of him as a client, not an employer. I work for him on a contract basis. As far as I know, all of his agents and analysts handle it that way. He doesn’t have a regular staff. Doubt if he could get anyone to work for him full-time. He calls in whatever talent he thinks he needs.”
“That’s not the point.” She spread her arms wide, exasperated. “You almost got killed tonight. Judging by your end of the conversation, it didn’t sound as if Fallon Jones cared a jot about your welfare.”
“Fallon is all about the bottom line. As long as I’m alive and kicking, he’s only interested in the next move.”
“He doesn’t sound like a very nice person at all.”
“Fallon is…Fallon. To know him is to appreciate him.”
“Bet he doesn’t have a lot of friends,” she muttered.
“Well, no, but that doesn’t seem to bother him much.”
She sighed. “What happens next?”
He looked down at his duffel bag and then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Given recent events, it looks like I’ll be staying with you for a while. Where do you want me to put my stuff?”
She had known this was coming, she reminded herself. And he was only here because of the danger. This was business, nothing more. Nevertheless, the reality of having him here, under her roof, sent little shivers of anticipation through her.
“Okay,” she said, opting for cool and composed.
“Not going to argue, huh?”
She raised her brows. “A serial killer invaded my home tonight and more or less announced that he is targeting me. I am not an idiot. I am delighted to have a houseguest who knows how to cope with people who attack other people with knives.”
“Gotta love it when common sense prevails. Are you going to call Gordon and Andrew and tell them what’s going on?”
She shook her head. “There’s no point. They’ll cancel their trip and sit around worrying about me. There’s nothing they can do. In fact, if they stay here in town they might be in jeopardy. If the freak finds out how important they are to me he might—” She broke off suddenly.
“Your choice. Where do I sleep?”
“I made the second bedroom into a library. There’s a pullout sofa bed in there.”
“I was afraid you were going to say something like that. Lead the way.”
She turned and went down the hall. He followed her, duffel and jacket in hand. Batman and Robin padded after them, interested in the unusual situation.
“Maybe you should think about getting a dog,” he said. “Cats are great but they have their limitations when it comes to guarding a household.”
Raine looked at him over her shoulder. “I’ll let you bring up the subject with Batman and Robin. Something tells me they’re going to be a tough sell.”
She led the way into the library. Bookcases lined the walls. There was a sleek glass-and-wood desk near the window. The sofa bed, black leather like the rest of the furniture, was in the center of the room.
She got some sheets and pillows out of a closet. By the time she returned to the library, Zack had pulled out the bed. They made it up together. It was an oddly intimate experience, she thought. But then, everything she did with Zack felt that way.
“There are two baths,” she said, indicating the door across the hall. “That one is all yours.”
“Thanks.”
Unable to think of any reason to linger, she went to the door.
“Good night,” she said.
He made no move to stop her but she knew from the heat in his eyes that was what he wanted to do.
Was that what she wanted? To have him lunge toward her, scoop her up and toss her down onto the sofa bed? Take the decision out of her hands?
Well, sure. What woman with blood in her veins wouldn’t have wanted to play out that scenario? Life was getting complicated.
She made it out into the hall without succumbing to the urge to fling herself into his arms. So far, so good.
Two steps beyond the door he spoke.
“Almost forgot to tell you. Fallon gave me a lead on Lawrence Quinn. He’s a big blues aficionado. Evidently there’s a club here in town.”
She turned and went back to the entrance to the little library. “The Alley Door. I’ve never been there but I’ve heard it’s quite popular.”
“Fallon thinks it’s worth checking out, and since hunches are his specialty, I’d better take a look. Tomorrow night—” He checked his watch. “Make that tonight, you and I are going to spend the evening at the Alley Door.”
Her curiosity stirred. “Sounds interesting.”
He watched her with a knowing expression.
“You like the hunt, don’t you?” he said. “Even though there’s a heavy downside.”
“Like isn’t the right word,” she said slowly. “But yes, I do get something out of it. Using my talents is satisfying. I can’t explain it but in a way I need to do it occasionally.”
“So do I. I’ve come to the conclusion that finding justice for the victims is the way we exorcise the visions and the voices.”
A sense of intuitive wonder swept through her.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s it. I’ve never thought about it in those terms but that’s the way it works for me, too.”
He walked to her and cupped her face in one hand and kissed her slowly, taking his time. When he finally raised his head, excitement was sparking through her.
“Good night,” he said.
She managed to make it all the way to her bedroom without looking back over her shoulder. She didn’t need to do that. She knew he was watching her from the doorway. She could feel his eyes on her. Everything inside her got very, very warm.
A few minutes later she climbed into bed, took the deck of cards out of the bedside table drawer and propped herself against the pillows.
Robin and Batman curled up beside her.
She dealt herself a game of solitaire and tried to tune out the dark voice that whispered to her.
…Burn, witch, burn….
Twenty-seven
The figure at the end of the bed was silhouetted against the window. She knew it was a man but she could not see his face. She tried to move, to cry out, but neither her limbs nor her voice responded. She was frozen with terror.
“Mother tried to drive out the demon but every time she punished me she only made him stronger. Now I serve the demon. He has made me more powerful than any witch. You will be punished, and then you will burn…”
She came awake to the feel of something warm and soft against her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Robin standing over her. Batman was on the other side. He touched his small nose to her shoulder and meowed softly.
Her nightgown was damp. She shivered with the ice-and-flames sensation she always got when the voices invaded her mind at night.
She sat up, gathered both cats in her lap and buried her face in their fur.
“Thanks, guys,” she whispered.
“Had a feeling it would probably be bad tonight,” Zack said from the doorway. “Didn’t think the solitaire would do the trick. It’s bad enough when the voices are talking about someone else, a stranger who is usually already dead. You can get a little distance. Puts an entirely different spin on things when you’re the target and the voices are talking about you.”
She raised her head and looked at him. In the low glow of the night-light she could see that he was wearing pants but nothing else.
“Has it ever happened to you?” she asked.
“In a way.”
“Very cryptic.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Long story.”
“And one you don’t like to tell.”
“It doesn’t improve with repetition, trust me.”
He had a right to his secrets, she thought. She’d only known him a little over twenty-four hours. How was it possible that a man she had met just yesterday was standing there, only inches outside her bedroom?
How was it possible that a serial killer had gotten inside her condo tonight and left a warning?
Her life was tumbling into chaos.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
“I wasn’t asleep.” He did not move out of the doorway.
“I actually got to sleep but then I started dreaming. I think I had a mini panic attack.”
“No surprise there.”
“No.” She stroked Robin. “In hindsight, I was definitely overdue.”
“Remember, your psychic side is hardwired directly into your intuition. When your senses perceive a threat, it stirs up all those good old and extremely primitive fight-or-flight reflexes.”
“You certainly do know a lot about this kind of thing.”
“That’s because I had the advantage of being raised—”
“Within the Arcane Society community,” she finished crisply. “Yes, you have mentioned that on one or two occasions.”
“Just trying to explain.”
“I know. I seem to be a little prickly when it comes to that subject.”
“Then let’s change the subject.” He waited a beat. “Want to play some blackjack?”
Why not? She certainly wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight.
“Okay,” she said. She started to push the quilt aside, intending to stand and put on her robe.
“No need to get up.” He glided into the room, pausing long enough to switch on the bedside lamp. He left it on its lowest setting. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. “We can play right here.”
Based on previous experience, playing cards in a room that contained a bed was probably not a good idea, she thought. But Zack was already dealing.
“Are we going to play with real money again?” she asked.
“I can think of only two things that make a game of cards interesting.” He gave her a slow, wickedly sexy smile. “Money’s one of them.”
She awoke to the gray light of a rainy morning and the sensation of a warm, heavy weight pressed against her back. Not Batman or Robin. She could feel the cats at her feet. Also, neither of them possessed a long arm like the one wrapped around her waist. She looked down. That was not a cat’s paw positioned just south of her right breast, either. It was a very large, very powerful, very masculine hand.
She spent a few seconds exploring memories. There had been several games of blackjack. She had been on a winning streak for quite a while. They had kept score on a pad of paper.
At some point Zack had gone into the kitchen and brought back the bottle of scotch that she kept in a cupboard for Andrew and Gordon. She recalled drinking one or two glasses, possibly three. Shortly afterward things had gone pleasantly vague.
She levered herself up on her elbows and looked at Zack. He had pulled the bedspread up to his waist for warmth but he was still on top of the quilt and still wearing his pants. She could see the broad expanse of his bare chest.
Shock jolted through her. “Zack.”
He opened his eyes and regarded her with lazy, masculine appreciation.
“We didn’t play strip poker last night, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he said.
She surged to her knees to survey his chest more closely. “My God, you look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”
He looked down and grimaced when he saw the bruises. “Purple isn’t my color but it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“That’s hard to imagine. I had no idea it was this bad. We should have taken you to the emergency room last night.” She started to scramble off the bed. “I’ll get dressed and drive you there right now.”
He caught hold of her wrist, chaining her easily. “Relax. Nothing’s broken.”
“Are you sure?”
He seemed amused by her concern.
“I’m a little sore, that’s all.”
“A little.” She looked at him in disbelief.
“Okay, kind of sore.” He touched his ribs in a gingerly manner. “A few anti-inflammatory tablets will take care of the worst of it. How’s my face look?”
She scrutinized him carefully. “No black eye, amazingly enough.”
“Good. That will save answering a lot of questions today. Black eyes always draw a lot of attention.” He used the grip on her wrist to tug her slowly toward him. “You know, if you’re sincerely interested in speeding my recovery, I have a suggestion.”
A kiss was not a good idea but she could not seem to stop herself from leaning toward him.
She brushed her mouth lightly against his.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, eyes darkening. “That’s the magic cure, all right.”
His arm started to tighten around her.
She resisted. “I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of an injured man.”
“It’s okay. I know you’ll be gentle with me.”
“You don’t need sex,” she said sternly, enjoying the banter more than she wanted to admit. “What you need is a good breakfast and those anti-inflammatories.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He raised a finger and assumed a lecturing tone. “Sex releases all sorts of endorphins into th
e bloodstream. It makes you feel good. Like a tonic.”
Laughing, she got to her feet, found her glasses and pulled on her robe. “Breakfast sounds safer.”
“You gamble for big money in Vegas and you hunt bad guys for a hobby, lady. Since when do you play it safe?”
She stopped short at that. She had always thought of herself as risk-averse, having spent her entire adult life concealing her talents from all but a tiny, close-knit circle of acquaintances. She had played it safe, just as Aunt Vella had taught her, so that others would not label her crazy. Until Zack she had never even experienced anything close to genuine intimacy with a lover because she had been afraid to reveal the truth about herself.
The concept of herself as a woman who was not afraid to take a few risks was nothing short of dazzling.
She was about to give Zack the sort of snappy comeback a bold, assertive, risk-taking woman might make to the man she had allowed into her bed when she noticed the notepad on the nightstand.
She stared at the numbers written on the top sheet of paper, outraged.
“What’s this?” She snatched up the pad and held it right in front of his eyes.
He pushed himself up on his elbows and studied the numbers on the pad, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he smiled.
“That’s the result of our friendly little game of blackjack last night,” he said.
“According to this I owe you ten thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars.”
“My luck turned after you drank those three glasses of scotch.”
“The heck it did. I never lose at blackjack. You got me drunk and took advantage of me.”
“Three itty-bitty glasses of scotch are enough to put you under the table? I’ll have to remember that.”
“It was the scotch on top of the stress that did it,” she shot back indignantly. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
“I dunno.” He shook his head, unconvinced. “Sounds like an excuse to me.”
“Hah.” She tossed the notepad onto the nightstand and fitted her hands to her hips. “There is only one other possible explanation.”
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