by Tes Hilaire
“I’ve got them,” someone else piped up.
“You sure, Mike?” Suit asked.
Guess so because a plainclothes brushed past Buffalo Bill, steam-boating toward them.
“Crap, not him again,” Roland muttered.
Logan blinked, gears clinking. This was Jessica’s Mike? How would Roland…Of course. Mike must be the sensitive cop that took Roland in. Ergo, Jessica’s partner and the man full of all kinds of helpful advice and concern. Despite the direness of their meeting, Logan couldn’t fully suppress a wave of jealousy.
So fucked.
“Gentlemen, if you would step back a bit?” the Mike character said, gesturing down the hall.
“Where’s Jessica,” Logan asked again, grinding the words from between his gritted teeth, though he allowed himself to be ushered. Jessica wasn’t there anyway, and if cooperating would get him her location faster, then so be it.
“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Mike replied.
“Is she at Lenox Hill Hospital?” Bennett asked, his British accent playing with the mix of x, h’s, and l’s.
Mike smiled, his eyes on Roland as he answered. “No.”
Fury slammed through Logan and he grabbed the cop’s shirt, ready to twist him around and smash him against a wall, any wall.
“Logan!” Alex grabbed his arm, using enough steady pressure to keep him from lifting the man.
“Tell me where the fuck she is or I swear to God I’ll—”
“Logan!” Roland snapped from his other side, his hand closing around his and prying Logan’s fingers loose. “We don’t want to make a scene now do we?” he muttered in Logan’s ear, nodding at the cop guarding the door who’d started toward them.
Yeah he wanted to make a scene. A big scene. But his friends were right. This was not the way to make friends and influence people.
Mike cocked his head, his gaze intent as he stared at them. Logan took a steadying breath, consciously reigning in both his temper and the power he felt building deep within him. Alex and Roland both said this cop was a sensitive. He didn’t need to do anything to make the man more inclined to not help them.
Play nice. Fly low. This Mike may be your only ticket to finding Jessica.
“You need assistance, Detective Ward?” The door guard asked, his hand hovering over his issue.
“No. We’re fine here.” Detective Ward arched his eyebrow, his eyes questioning. “Aren’t we gentlemen?”
Logan clenched his teeth but nodded, letting Roland and Alex push him back toward the far side of the hall. The other cop hesitated, but he eased his hand from his gun’s grip, and took a couple steps back toward his post.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Bennett murmured and then walked off down the hall, away from the apartment, already tinkering with his phone. Good, he was on top of it too. Hopefully, Jessica was someplace that could be tracked down with Bennett’s combination of electronic savvy and golden tongue.
The detective cleared his throat, straightening his shirt. “I know your friends,” he said, nodding at Roland and Alexander, “but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet.”
The way the plainclothes said it sounded like he didn’t care to be either—that he viewed them as suspects and not concerned civilians. Logan didn’t give a damn what the man thought other than how it might matter in getting Jessica’s location out of him.
“I’m sorry about…” he nodded at the cop’s rumpled shirt. “I’m just worried about Jessica.”
Okay, and that was a definite no-go on the man’s face.
Suck it up. Logan took another deep breath, offering his hand.
“I’m Logan Calhoun. And you must be Jessica’s partner.”
The cop’s brow winged up, even as he pointedly ignored the hand. Oh yeah, Logan was right, though it was obvious Mike was not all that thrilled with Logan’s advantage.
“Jessica’s mentioned you a couple times,” he gave in explanation.
“Well she didn’t mention you,” Mike said, his voice still laden with suspicion.
“We’re new.”
“Yeah, I gathered. New as in the last week new? Because Jessica has been having an awful lot of problems recently.”
The accusatory tone, the slow drag of the cop’s eyes as he said this made Logan’s jaw tighten and his body still with an ice-cold fury. That anyone would suggest he could harm his mate…“I would give my life to keep her safe.”
“Wow.” Mike rocked back on his heels. “Those are pretty powerful words for being ‘new.’ And something I’m not inclined to believe either.” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small notepad. “Where were you about, oh, forty minutes ago? And while you’re at it you can tell me where you were Thursday evening or better yet, between midnight and 4 a.m. on Wednesday morning.”
“You being a dick because of me?” Roland asked, planting himself between Logan and the cop.
“No. Not just you.” Mike flipped the notebook shut, stuffing it away. His gaze landed on Logan, the sneer saying it all. Mike considered Logan lower than slime and not even worthy enough to breathe the air needed to say his partner’s name. Given that Logan had failed to protect her, twice, Logan might’ve agreed, but in the end it didn’t matter. Jessica was his mate.
Easy on the possessiveness there, Cal. You may be her mate, but you’re not the only one who cares.
Breathing out a deep breath, Logan glanced back at the swarm of cops coming and going from her apartment. Out in force. She was theirs too. One of their own had been attacked and they were going to figure out who and why. Though that might prove difficult if Logan was right and the suspect wasn’t human.
“Please, just tell me where she is,” he said, forcing his tone to be calm, reasonable, even soothing. See? Even on the brink of totally losing it he could be polite.
“Why?” Mike retorted. “So you can go and fuck her life up more?”
“No, but I’m going to fuck you up if you don’t tell me where she is,” he snapped, anger licking the edges of his sanity.
The detective’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Threatening an officer of the law. Nice. And the perfect excuse for me to bring you in.”
Logan clenched his teeth, running through the list of reasons why he shouldn’t let loose and show Mike all the inventive ways his power could be used to send the asshole to kingdom come. There were witnesses. Exposure. Jessica wouldn’t want him to kill her partner. Okay, that last one worked. Sort of.
Mike rocked back on his heels, his lips parting in a cocky, cat-got-your-tongue smirk. Logan began chanting to himself as he tried to cap his power. I will not kill Jessica’s partner. I will not kill Jessica’s partner. The smirk slid off the cop’s face. He made an odd sound and scratched at the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders. Oh yeah, he was a sensitive. Logan wondered what the cop would do if Logan took the lid back off and lit up this hallway like a supernova.
“Logan, might want to check that.”
Alex, always the voice of reason, even when the shit was hitting the fan. Logan didn’t care. He’d had enough and was about to retry the physical method of persuasion—not killing, just a bit of maiming—but Roland cut him off again, his voice low and cajoling as he tried to strike a deal.
“Tell you what. You tell my buddy where his girl is and I’ll come down to the station with you, give you the statement you wanted the other day.”
“She’s not his girl,” Mike snipped back.
Roland merely raised a whatever-you-want-to-believe eyebrow at that.
Mike ran his tongue over his teeth, his gaze shifting to Alex before settling back on Roland. “You’re really going to go against council’s advice?”
“He’s my lawyer, not my babysitter.”
&n
bsp; That got a growl from Alex, but he otherwise held his tongue.
“You’ll confess everything?” Mike pressed.
“There’s nothing to confess,” Roland said tightly. “But I’ll give you a statement.”
“One that can be proved?”
“Well, that depends on how open-minded you are.” Roland eased in closer, his gaze moving pointedly to the hand that still rubbed the back of Mike’s neck. But you’re not very open-minded, are you, Mikey?”
“Roland, stop,” Alex said sharply. “He’s not ready for this.”
But Mike was already eyeing them again, his brow furrowed as if either trying to work out a puzzle or trying to fend off a massive headache. He opened his mouth, ready to either ask what the heck Roland was talking about, or tell them to go to Hell, but he never got the chance.
“I got it!” Bennett called, causing four heads to swivel as he hurried back down the hall to them. “St. Luke’s,” he announced triumphantly.
Roland turned back to Mike “Sorry. Guess our deal is off.” He smiled, showing just the barest hint of fang. “But call me if you ever want to hear the truth.”
Chapter 18
I am so fucked, Logan thought as he analyzed the silken skin beneath his hand.
Though Jessica was a tall woman, and practically took up the entire length of the hospital bed, she looked dainty compared to him. So sweet, her lips parted slightly as she breathed, her slender rib cage rising and falling just enough to remind him of her fragile humanity.
Human. Vulnerable. And his mate.
His hand tingled against the delicate skin at the base of her smooth throat. A soul-eating desire pressing at him from the inside out, urging him to begin the ceremony that would mark her as his mate. That would bond them body, heart, and soul.
Do it. Mark her. It’s the best way to protect her.
But he couldn’t. Every time he began to center his power. Every time he opened his mouth, ready to let free the words that would begin the formal bond between them, was the moment that fear clamped down around him, stifling his power.
They were already too close. Their night together allowed him a window into her soul. A connection that he both feared and desired from the very beginning. If he marked her, opening that connection completely, he would feel everything. He would know her inside and out. All her wants and desires. Where she was. What she was doing. How she felt at any given moment in time. And though he’d been told by other bonded Paladin that those things, though alarmingly invasive, still brought with them a fucked-up sort of comfort, it wasn’t that which stayed his hand.
She was human, vulnerable. And, if fully bonded, he’d feel her die.
So what are you going to do, Calhoun? Let her run around out there unprotected? Let your enemies take her for their pleasure and your pain?
No. He caressed her throat, the place where his mark should be, but never would be. He couldn’t mark her. But he would stay close. Watch over her. Keep her safe. She’d live a long life because of it. And if he was lucky, she would allow him to be part of it. She’d allow him to love her with every bit of his being that he could give her, and still keep enough safe to stay sane when she passed.
And is anything short of everything really going to be enough?
“It has to be,” he said aloud, forcing his hand to lift from her throat. His voice, or perhaps the removal of the slight pressure of his hand, changed the atmosphere of the hospital room. He watched Jessica’s eyelids flutter, her breathing hitch slightly as she drew in her waking breath. She blinked up at him, opening her mouth, then smacked her dry lips.
“Here.” He reached over to the side table, pouring some water from the pitcher into a cup. It was warm now but he didn’t dare go out to track down the ice machine. He was lucky to be in here at all, and wasn’t about to risk being kicked out.
He had to use all his charm, flashing dimples left and right, to gain access to her room. Not that anything could have barred his way. He didn’t exactly want to start wiping the minds of nurses, doctors, and staff alike, but if there had been no other way to get to Jessica, he would have.
Good thing he hadn’t had to. Who knows if he might have inadvertently wiped something important? Another patient’s well-being was not something he wanted to gamble with, and the Big Guy probably wouldn’t have been too pleased with him either.
Yeah, and He’s obviously so happy with you right now. Sending you a human for a mate.
Shoving aside the irreverent thought, Logan carefully handed Jessica the half-full cup. She took it, and he watched her sip, her hand trembling enough that water dribbled down her chin. The urge to take the cup from her and help her was great but he didn’t dare. Not after their last parting.
She drank every drop then handed the cup back to him. As she did her eyes narrowed on the IV stuck in her hand. The bandages were bloody, indicating they’d probably had to search for a vein.
“Wow. This is surreal.”
“How so?” he asked carefully.
“You know how you’re having a nightmare and you think that all you have to do is think one good thought and it will end?”
“Mine are normally the other way around. I’ll be having a good dream, then one bad thought sends it to Hell,” he explained at her puzzled look.
She sighed. “Mine do that a lot too, actually.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again, smiling. “You really are here though, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“It’s just…How did you find me—I mean, how did you know?”
“I’ll always find you,” he replied solemnly.
He half expected her to freak at that, but she didn’t, instead locked gazes with him.
Something had changed. Some sort of shift between them. Like maybe staring death in its face had made her more accepting of the crazy things he’d told her, or at least not care about them so much. He would have rejoiced but for one irrefutable fact: She was in a hospital bed because he hadn’t protected her.
“Hey. Don’t look so much like you’re at a funeral. I’m okay.”
“You consider being stabbed okay?”
Her gaze flitted guiltily to her bandaged arm. “It was just a scratch.”
“That needed twenty-six stitches and a blood transfusion!” Fear clamped around his chest, squeezing the words out forcefully.
She laid her good hand on his arm. His gaze followed. His skin tingled from the simple touch, but even that pang of basic lust couldn’t break him from his terror.
She could have been killed. The defense wound across her forearm could have dug a fraction of an inch deeper, hitting artery instead of just veins, or worse, she could have not gotten her arm up in time. Then she would have had a knife buried in her chest instead—no, not just any knife, the knife he fucking gave her.
The hurried presurgery scratches on her chart spiked the back of his retina again. Stab wound. Massive blood loss. At risk for cardiac arrest.
How had her attacker been able to handle the Paladin blade? None of Lucifer’s creatures should have been able to touch the thing, let alone use it against one of His children. Unless…maybe it had been a human possessed? Or even simpler, a thug or druggie recruited for the vampires’ cause of eliminating her?
Or maybe an ex-con bent on revenge? Ever think of that, Logan?
“Why in the hell did you open the door?” he found himself demanding, his voice rising as he went on. “Do you let just anybody in?”
“I didn’t know he was there. I’d gotten a call from an informant and was on my way out. When I opened the door, whammo, there he was. Only…” she looked away from him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Cold seeped all the way through him, his heart stuttering at the deep chill. “You just pulled another informant from a Dumpster less than
twenty-four hours ago. You were attacked the night before. Do you think maybe someth—one has decided to target you?”
Her chin lifted. “If so, then it means I’m getting close to the truth, now doesn’t it?”
“And the truth is worth this?” He gestured at the bandages, the IV plugged into her arm.
Her jaw squared off stubbornly. “Yes.”
He started to swear, but stopped himself midstream. He had to tone it down unless he wanted to have the room full of hospital staff.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I was…” What? Angry? Not exactly.
Scared. Scared to death.
They sat in silence for a while. Jessica fiddled with the IV tube as if it irritated her, but then she dropped it, exhaling. “Grim, my informant,” she explained, “was in trouble. He begged for my help. Should I have just hung up and gone to bed?”
“I’m not saying that. Just…” he took a deep breath. “What sort of trouble?”
“I’m not sure. The connection was bad, breaking up. I got his location and that he was hiding from trouble but that was about it.”
“Where?”
“Manida Street.”
A lot of old, rundown warehouses there. Three blocks from where her other informant had died. “And you had to run right over there to see. Even knowing the situation could be dangerous.”
She gave a slight lift and drop of her shoulders. “It was Grim. Punk or not, Grim’s a good kid. I couldn’t turn my back on him.”
“So you decided to save him. Grab your badge, grab your gun, and off you go to save the day.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to go alone. I had my cell and was about to call Mike but then…” Her breath hitched, air rasping through a constricted throat. A second later the machines started beeping as her heart rate spiked, the oxygen monitor screaming.
Crap, she was hyperventilating. And here he was without a paper bag.