Night Games

by Crystal Jordan

  “This is good, thanks.” He set his mug down and applied himself to his food.

  “Yeah, it is. Thanks for cooking.” She grinned, but it faded quickly. She sat with her fork poised over her French toast, her coffee still clutched in the other hand, and a flash of guilt darted across her face. “We should hurry. We need to go in.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “We were up early. We have some time first. As you said, running ourselves into exhaustion makes for shitty investigation.”

  “Hoisted by my own petard.” She saluted him with her coffee. “Maybe I’m getting senile in my old age. You can’t hold things I say against me.”

  Her expression said beat that, but he was caught on the age reference. He knew she was a lot older than he was, but that didn’t meant she wouldn’t outlast him by a couple of centuries, too. “So, if you’re getting senile now, how many years do you have left before old age gets you?”

  The look on her face went wary. “If I were to make it to the end of a Magickal lifetime ... maybe fifty or sixty years, give or take.”

  “Same as me. Give or take.”

  She shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to figure out what angle he was working. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”

  “Well, you were talking all crazy about not using what you say against you. As if that might actually happen or something.” He shook his head. “That swift slide into dementia ... it just breaks the heart.”

  “Brat.” She huffed and sipped her coffee.

  Chuckling, he went back to work on his food, and she did the same. They chatted about this and that. Work, clues for the case, his parents, Grim, Tess and Peyton, Tess and Luca. Just whatever came to mind. The normalcy of it was ... nice. Something he hadn’t let himself have with any woman since his wife, and that had only been on the good days. Toward the end, those had been few and far between.

  “Can I ...” Selina hesitated for a moment. “What was her name?”

  His wife. He knew who she was asking about, and knew she had questions. Familiar dread curdled in his belly at the thought of talking about it, but he forced that down. If he wanted to be with Selina, he had to be straight with her. As she’d said when they first began working together, she liked to know what she was dealing with. And whether he liked it or not, what had happened with his wife had defined how he dealt with relationships with women ever since. Keep it light, keep it easy, walk away before it turned serious and anyone got hurt. Never trust a woman with your soul, or she’ll crush it. He took a breath. “Heather. Her name was Heather.”

  Selina remained silent, just watching him, but he could feel her waiting for him to tell her more. Or not. She wouldn’t push, he knew, but he suspected it was more because she understood that to push him to get more personal meant that he’d push her for the same.

  “I was still in the marines when she died, and I think it’s safe to say she hated being a soldier’s wife.” There was bitterness to the smile that twisted his mouth.

  “Being a soldier’s wife is no reason to end it all.” The elf’s fingers tightened on her coffee mug. “She could have just left you for some nine-to-five office stiff.”

  “But she didn’t. She killed herself.” The words came out flat, harsh. There wasn’t a nice way to say it, so he usually didn’t. Suicide was ugly and harsh. “And she blamed me for it.”

  God. He closed eyes that burned, swallowing hard. That truth was one he’d never, ever told anyone. Not even his mother knew. He’d kept it locked inside him, the guilt a thorn that festered and made it impossible to move on.

  “Shit.” Selina’s slim fingers curled into his, holding his hand as she’d protested doing the night before.

  He barked out a laugh. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “I mean, I’m sorry. I mean ... shit.” Her hand tightened, and when he met her eyes, he saw sympathy there that he’d never accepted from anyone else.

  He shook his head, the self-loathing hitting him in a wave that threatened to choke him. “The damnable part is ... I should never have married her. My mother even told me it was a bad idea.”

  Which meant he’d never been able to confess just how right his mom had been. He’d been too ... ashamed. Of himself. Of what had become of his marriage. Of having put Heather and himself in a situation he’d been warned would become a problem.

  “My mother told me Heather wasn’t strong enough to be a military wife. She said it took grit to handle your husband leaving for months or years at a time and knowing he might come home in a body bag.” He gripped Selina’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “She’d lived through that and she hadn’t tried to stop me from joining up, so if anyone knew about that kind of forbearance, it was her, but I was in love and I didn’t listen. And in the end, she was right.”

  Selina snorted a short laugh. “Like that helps.”

  “Not really.” No, it just made him feel more responsible, as if he’d helped put the gun in his wife’s hand. And maybe he had. He didn’t know anymore. He’d obsessed over it for a long time before he’d forced himself to get on with his life. “I thought if my mom could handle it, then any woman could.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if that’s sheer stupidity or just that my mom gave me a lot of faith in the strength of women.”

  “Your mom is a pretty awesome woman, and I only talked to her for an hour.” Selina shrugged. “But people handle things differently. What can break one person won’t break another and vice versa. Did you know Heather wasn’t doing well before it happened?”

  Such a simple question, with such a complicated answer. “The thing about Heather was that when she was up, there was no one happier, no one more fun to be around. But when she was down, there was nothing that could drag her out of it. I felt so damn helpless during those days, and they only got worse and lasted longer as time went on. I just didn’t know what to do for her, and she refused to get help. I tried to push her into therapy, but ...”

  “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” Selina folded her legs up to her chest, more of that tough sympathy reflecting in her gaze.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.” Just that. No pity, no recriminations about whether or not he should have gotten married.

  “Me too. It may not sound like it, but she was a really nice girl. Normal ... and we never told her about Darren and Mom being werewolves. I think somewhere deep down, I knew Heather wouldn’t handle it well. I met her sophomore year of college. I was in ROTC and she was a sorority girl.” He grinned, and it was bittersweet. “I loved her.”

  What had started out so well had ended so badly. It was hard to remember that shining beginning sometimes. He’d spent years telling himself he never should have proposed, and he sometimes forgot how he’d imagined having a life with her. Kids, grandkids, the whole works. It was difficult for the good not to be buried under the onslaught of ugliness.

  “Please tell me she wasn’t selfish enough to do it while you were there. Tell me someone else found her.”

  “Someone else found her.” Which always made it a little bit worse. It had been three days before anyone had noticed that she wasn’t around. He’d seen pictures of the scene, had forced himself to look at how the flies and the summer heat had gotten to her body, how the bullet had caved in one side of her skull, how her blood and brains had dried in dark splatters on their bathroom walls. How her blood had pooled around her in the tub. He’d made himself look at what his choices had wrought. “Even that made a point, didn’t it? All the way to the bitter end, I wasn’t really there for her. I was deployed overseas, and I didn’t give her what she needed or wanted.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Selina’s grip was almost painful on his hand, pulling him out of his memories.

  “She blamed me, though. It’s hard to ignore that. And part of her reasoning was true.” He winced. “I didn’t even make it home in time for the funeral. She’d left a suicide note for me to find in our safety deposit box. Along w
ith her wedding ring. Before she blew her brains out with one of my pistols.”

  “Oh, fuck me.” Her jaw clenched hard enough that the tendons stood out on her neck. She shook her head as if she had no other words for him. And, really, what could she say? What could anyone say? Nothing would ever make it better.

  Selina stood and came around the table to cup her hands around his face, her dark gaze compelling. “It was not your fault. You didn’t put a gun to her head and you sure as hell didn’t pull the trigger. I want to hear you say it out loud, Jack. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Her fierceness made something snap inside his chest, made hot moisture burn the backs of his eyes. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “A part of me ...” He cleared his throat, looked down, and scuffed his shoe against the floor. “A part of me will always wonder if things might have gone differently for her if she’d chosen another guy. Some nice nine-to-five office stiff who would come home to her every night and push her into therapy when or if things ever got bad. She could always blow me off because I had one foot out the door. Once I was gone again, she didn’t have anyone there to try to get her help.”

  “If she had wanted help, it would have been available to her. She didn’t want it.” Selina’s voice went soft, her fingers still curved around his face. He snagged them with his hands and brought them to his lips to kiss them. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, and shook his head.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll never know now.”

  And that was the worst part, the speculation, the second-guessing, the never knowing. He’d learned to let go of some of the guilt, because he’d done what he thought was best, but in the end, Heather was dead. And if he’d been there for her, maybe she wouldn’t be. If he wasn’t who and what he was, she might still be alive.

  He couldn’t take that kind of responsibility for someone’s happiness like that again. He wouldn’t. With Selina, he had some small amount of hope that he wouldn’t have to. She’d managed to survive whatever had put the shadows in her gaze, and maybe he could help her with those. Maybe since she was a cop, she could handle being with someone who had the same lifestyle.

  Maybe. Maybe not. He’d never know unless he tried, so no matter how terrifying the prospect, he had to see what came of this. He had to know if his wife was right—if he really was incapable of giving a woman what she needed in a relationship or if he’d crash and burn a second time. Until Selina, no one had even come close to making him want to go another round with real relationships. All he knew was that when it came to her, he wanted more. He wanted everything. And even letting that thought form in his head was enough to break him out in a cold sweat.

  But he’d be a fool to let go of something this good without a fight.

  Selina sat in Jack’s office, her laptop plugged in before her, a stack of papers at her elbow while he worked on his half of the desk. After telling her about what had happened to his wife, he’d helped her clean up breakfast, kissed her good-bye, and drove back to his place to get dressed for work. He hadn’t said much since he’d arrived at his office, just went to work sorting through the massive amounts of information they’d found about their many victims. It was late afternoon, and they’d worked in silence all day. Companionable silence, but still.

  She wasn’t sure how to take it. Silence now after he’d gone from insisting they were dating last night to telling her about his wife blaming him for blowing her brains out this morning.

  What a selfish bitch. The thought was reflexive, as was the spurt of anger that ripped through her on Jack’s behalf. He was a good man, and he had absorbed too much responsibility for Heather’s weaknesses. But to blame him for all her unhappiness? To put all her shit on him when she was unwilling to seek some help ... what a selfish bitch. Selina knew it was a horrible thought to have about a dead woman. There were probably a lot of extenuating circumstances involved—law enforcement had taught her nothing if not that there were a million shades of gray in the blame game. Things were rarely black or white, right or wrong. But she’d still like the chance to bitch-slap the little sorority girl.

  Sighing, she tried to refocus on the case. This was what she should be living and breathing right now, not worrying about Jack and his painful past. He didn’t seem to want pity or even sympathy. He’d never even told anyone about his wife’s suicide note. He’d carried that guilt around for decades.

  She could relate. And that was the crux of the problem for her, wasn’t it? She could relate to everything with Jack. He drove her crazy, he made her think, he made her question herself and what she took for granted just by being himself. He was dangerous, just as he’d said about her. Why ... why did she have to find him now?

  Her foot bounced against the floor as she tried to keep her thoughts from going in sickening circles. Focus, Selina. Focus on the damn case. She didn’t have time for man drama. Pinning her gaze to the screen in front of her, she got back to looking for any Magickal who might have been in all of the cities where the murders had taken place. Jack was doing the same. Every now and then, she glanced up at the lineup of victim photos on the walls. Every time they put another one up, she felt sick to her stomach. The ones from New Orleans weren’t even there. Yet.

  A tiny voice in the back of her mind told her to tell Jack about her cousin. He’d told her about his wife, so he’d understand how she felt. He’d understand why she had to stay on this case, why she had it to see it through. She hoped. “Jack ...”

  “Yeah?” His blue gaze moved from his computer to her face. “Did you find something?”

  She shook her head, her heart thumping against her ribs, her palms slick with sudden sweat. She opened her mouth to give him more of herself than she’d given any man in close to forever.

  “Damn, that’s some gruesome décor you’ve gone with, Laramie.” Delta’s drawl preceded her through the door, a stack of paperwork clutched haphazardly in her arms. She dumped it on the desk, several sheets spinning out to scatter on the floor, which she bent to retrieve. “This came for you guys, and I’ve been working on coming up with a better profile for your vampire. If you’ve got a few minutes, I can go over it with you.”

  Selina sat back, deflated. She’d never know what she would have told Jack, but the moment had passed. Maybe work wasn’t the best place for that conversation anyway. It was related to the case, but it was also deeply personal to her. Tonight, when they were alone, she’d tell him.

  Pushing away from his desk, Jack stood and stretched. “Should we get Peyton?”

  “He’ll be along soon—he told me to go ahead and get started without him.” The blonde shrugged. “He helped me work most of this out last night anyway. I think the buildup to the full moon tomorrow night is messing with his sleep. It gets bad for a lot of wolves.”

  “Bad is a relative term, especially around the full moon.” Peyton came in, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He held up a finger to ask for silence as he spoke to the person on the other end. “Right. Yeah, I owe you. Thanks.”

  “What’s going on?” Selina leaned forward, tension winding through her at the expression on the wolf’s face.

  “That was one of my contacts. I have a location on Gregor. He’s at Sanguine.” The wolf clipped his phone to his belt, pulled his weapon free, and checked the clip. “Suit up. Let’s go get him.”

  “The Magickal nightclub? He’s out partying?” Jack shook his head, and she could see his body all but humming with the anticipation of the hunt.

  Delta cleared her throat. “Actually, I have my doubts about Gregor being your guy. He doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “He’s a vampire who likes to kill people, and we have a witness who can positively place him at one of my crime scenes standing over the dead body.” Jack grabbed his bulletproof vest. “Even if you’re right, I want to know why he was there.”

  Selina rose and swung toward the door. “He’s got some questions to answer. I’m not convinced yet either way
, but his answers may bury him.”

  Her pulse sped at the thought of possibly finding Bess’s killer, of bringing him to justice. This could be him, this could be the moment she found out the truth, this could be when all of her questions were answered. If they could catch him. She didn’t put it past Gregor to get by them. He was a slippery bastard, always had been.

  “I’ll drive.” She grabbed her bag. “I want to have the place surrounded when we go in for him. If he gets past us, I want enough backup there to dog pile him.”

  “He’s a vampire. Too much and he’ll sense you coming,” Delta interjected. “You’d do better with a smaller team. Trust me, I know how Gregor operates.”

  “I still want backup.” Selina looked to Jack. “Who are your best guys? Bring them along.”

  He nodded, his phone already pressed to his ear. She led the way out to her car, her hands trembling a little as the adrenaline rush hit her hard. She controlled it, channeled it, as she had for the many years she’d been a cop. Now wasn’t the time to get sloppy, not when she might be so close.

  “I’ll have my people cover the rear and side entrances; we’ll go in the front.” Jack strapped himself into his flak jacket, then pulled his weapon free of its holster. “There are civilians in there, so let’s keep this as bloodless as possible.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Selina muttered, her pistol gripped snugly in her hands. Her face was set, her mouth a grim line.

  “He knows our scents, so surprise is going to be pretty pointless.” Peyton grunted. “If you’re in Magickal law enforcement, you’ve run into Gregor. He knows everyone’s scent.”

  Jack cued his ear comm. “Is everyone in position?”

  “Ready when you are, boss,” replied one of his agents, a Fae with a sharp tongue and even sharper eye with a rifle.

  Motioning Selina and Peyton forward, Jack pulled in a breath and let it ease out. His muscles vibrated with the need for action. “This is like the start of a bad joke.”

  The elf shot him a look that said he was losing his marbles. “What?”