Bound Guardian Angel

by Donya Lynne

  Cordray could feel the frustrated, helpless aggression rolling off Micah, and for once, she kept herself out of his thoughts. She didn’t need to see inside his head to know what he was thinking, and she didn’t want to risk setting him off again. He was already pissed, and right now they had more important things to worry about than fighting each other. Such as finding out Skeletor’s identity.

  “Trace,” Micah said, tilting his head toward his sidekick.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get these people out of here.”

  Using his tongue to slide a matchstick from one side of his mouth to the other, Trace acknowledged Micah’s request with a quick nod then turned toward the humans still milling around the apartment. Barely lifting his hand, he captured every one of them under compulsion. Instant silence replaced the nonstop chatter.

  She’d only seen Trace use his freakshow influence once before. Inside Bain’s courtroom, when he’d held the guards under his control to protect Micah. God help her, but seeing him wield his power again turned her on as much now as it had then.

  As the humans began moving robotically toward the door, waves of energy wafted around her like ribbons of silk. They circled her, caressed her, and lit her senses on fire.

  She drew in a long, trembling breath as his energy touched every part of her. Her pulse hitched. Her nipples tightened. Her core clenched. If just the energy he put off was enough to make her feel this way, how would it feel to actually have him against her body, inside her, licking her nipples with his tongue instead of his aura?

  It was suddenly too hot inside the apartment. Too sultry. Too so-help-me-God-but-I-need-to-come. She shrugged out of her coat and pressed her fingers to her brow as she fought the arousal building inside her like the impending eruption of a volcano. She hadn’t had an orgasm since Gideon, and she didn’t want her first one since to be in front of Micah and Trace while they were supposed to be investigating a crime scene.

  She sat down in a side chair and pressed her legs together, but that didn’t help. Trace’s energy was invading her like a Viking hoard, pillaging her body indiscriminately, and all she could do was pray he would get those humans out of there in the next ten seconds before she humiliated herself.

  “Jesus, can’t you hurry it up already?” she barked.

  The door slammed shut as the last human exited the apartment.

  Trace lowered his hand, and the unbearably pleasurable sensations shut off. Thank God! She’d only been seconds away from the most incredible cataclysmic orgasm she’d ever had. Not that she wouldn’t mind that kind of pleasure, just not in front of an audience. Not in front of him.

  Trace turned toward her and plucked the matchstick from between his sensual lips. “What’s your problem?” His strong brow scrunched over his heavily lidded eyes.

  Why did his eyes always make him look like he was seducing someone? Trace rocked bedroom eyes like no one she’d ever met.

  She gathered herself against the fading sensations as they released her nerves then stood, brushing her hands down the front of her black shirt. “Nothing. You just move like molasses. You’d think with all that fancy power you could get the job done a little faster.”

  Any faster, and she might actually have splintered into a million euphoric pieces.

  Trace’s sexy mouth twisted into a knowing smirk. “Sometimes slower is better, baby.”

  Bastard! Had he used his energy on her on purpose?

  “You son of a—”

  “Stop it, both of you,” Micah said, turning away from the heavily tarped window to face them.

  Cordray squared her shoulders and set her jaw. If Trace thought that little stunt had been cute, she had news for him. Just wait until they got to her ranch. She would make him pay for his repugnant antics.

  “Cordray,” Micah said sternly, snapping her attention back to him. “Spill. Now. I want to know what happened here.”

  With human ears no longer invading the space, they could finally talk openly.

  She glared at Trace then paced away from them, more to get out of his circle of influence than anything. “I don’t know who he was or why he targeted you, but one thing was clear. He gets off on the thrill of the chase. He’s an adrenaline junkie. The greater the risk, the more interested he is.”

  “Good.” Micah toed a shard of glass. His eyes were narrow, angry slits.

  “Good?” she asked.

  His malevolent gaze shot toward her as if he wanted to use her as a replacement for the real thief and expend his aggression on her. “Yeah, good. Is something wrong with your hearing?”

  She wasn’t above taking her lumps for forgetting to tell him about the burglary the moment she saw him, but she’d be damned if she was going to continue letting him treat her like a verbal punching bag. “How about you cool out? I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Fuck you, Micah.”

  Micah was in her face in two seconds flat. “I don’t like you. The only reason you’re here is so you can tell me everything you know about who broke into my apartment and why, and then you’re outta here. Got that? So talk before I lose the last thread of my patience and throw you out that window.” He jacked his thumb over his shoulder to the blue plastic tarp billowing in the wind.

  She met his gaze glare-for-glare. “I’m shaking.”

  “You should be.”

  “We’re getting nowhere,” Trace said flatly as he stepped between them.

  How about that? For once, the voice of reason came from Trace.

  Micah’s expression hardened briefly then lost its rough edges as he took a step back. Cordray held her ground, not ready to give in. Then again, she’d conditioned herself for eight hundred years to be a tough-assed bitch who refused to give an inch. It was the only way she’d survived.

  Strained silence stretched between them.

  “Fine,” Micah said a moment later. “Truce . . . for now. Let’s just get through this.”

  Cordray scrutinized him and Trace for a moment. “Agreed.”

  “All right then.” Micah toed a shard of glass and let out a perturbed breath. “So, tell me what happened here.”

  She told him about how she’d spotted Skeletor scaling the side of the building, the high-tech gadget he’d used to shatter the window, and how she’d decided to investigate, only to realize after she got there that this was his apartment. “That’s why I was late last night,” she said. “I was here, trying to ascertain exactly what this asshole wanted.”

  “So what did you find out?”

  She sighed and turned toward the hall leading to the master bedroom. “Not as much as I would have liked, but my gut says this guy knows you.”

  “Why would you think that?” Trace asked, chewing on his wooden matchstick as if it were a toothpick.

  She looked from him to Micah. “Women’s intuition and centuries of bounty hunting.” She let that sink in for a moment then added, “That, and he seemed to know right where to look.”

  “Look for what?”

  “You tell me.” She led them into the bedroom. “I found him in here. He didn’t go anywhere else. Passed right by all the priceless art in the living room—the antique sword on the wall. He went straight for the safe.”

  Micah flipped on the light, entered the closet, then knelt in front of the wooden box still sitting on the floor in front of the open safe. With a frustrated sigh, he plucked the empty purple pouch off the floor. “He took the ankh?” His voice held a stab of concern. He stuffed his hand inside, even though the pouch was obviously empty.

  “That’s what it looked like to me.”

  Trace brushed past her, sending up her sensory hackles, and lowered to his haunches to peer inside the box. Cordray could see from where she stood that it was filled with gemstones, antique gold jewelry, and dozens of small, priceless trinkets.

  “All this, and the only thing he took was an ankh?” Trace said. “That must be some ankh.”

  Cordray
brushed her hand up and down her arm where he’d touched her as he passed. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Why did he take it?” Trace looked at Micah. “And why didn’t he take any of this?” He gestured toward what had to be at least a quarter-of-a-million dollars’ worth of precious gemstones and gold in the box. “What’s so important about an ankh when he had all this to choose from?”

  Micah shook his head. “I don’t know. My father gave me the ankh right before he died.”

  Both Cordray and Trace bobbed backward, eyebrows shooting high in their foreheads. Hearing Micah mention his father was like hearing Satan talk about his dad. You just didn’t associate a paternal connection with someone like Micah, who seemed to have been conceived from the same midi-chlorians responsible for Anakin Skywalker’s birth in Star Wars.

  “What was it for?” Cordray asked, exchanging glances with Trace.

  Micah’s eyebrows furrowed harshly. “He never had a chance to tell me. But it felt important, so I kept it. I figured someday I would learn why he wanted me to have it.”

  Cordray searched her memory for anything she might have missed. Anything that could provide some clue as to the importance of an Egyptian ankh. She recalled reading something a long time ago in one of Bain’s historical texts about ankhs, but she couldn’t recall specifics.

  “Did your father say anything that might hint at its purpose?”

  Micah shot her an angry glare. “If he had, don’t you think I would have told you?”

  She took a deep breath and bit back her usual, snarky reply. Now wasn’t the time to add insult to injury. “I’m just trying to help, Micah. I thought maybe I could help you remember something he might have said or—”

  “He said it was important that I keep it safe. That the ankh couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. That’s all he had time to tell me. Our village was under attack by a dreck raiding party. Then he and my mother died, and he never got the chance to tell me the full story. You happy now?” He flung the purple pouch into the box, pushed himself to his feet, and paced past her into the room as he combed his fingers through his hair. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That he never got to finish telling me the ankh’s purpose because he was murdered?”

  “Of course not.” Cordray’s heart hurt for him. No one should lose someone they loved like that.

  Micah spun and scowled into the closet at the open safe. “Yeah well, I figured if I waited long enough, I’d eventually find someone who could fill in the blanks my dad never had the chance to.”

  Trace stood. “Looks like you did.”

  “Yeah,” Cordray said, “and I bet Skeletor’s hands are exactly what your dad referred to as the wrong ones.”

  “He’s going to be lucky to have hands after I get through with him,” Micah said, marching into the hall.

  She and Trace exchanged concerned but wary glances then followed him.

  Their investigation had uncovered more questions than answers, but what Cordray wanted to know more than anything else was, who was Skeletor, and what did he know about that ankh they didn’t?

  Chapter 12

  After investigating the apartment and not learning much about the thief who’d taken Micah’s ankh, Cordray took them to the location where she and Skeletor had fought.

  Trace tried to follow Skeletor’s trail, but it was practically nonexistent then went completely cold the moment he exited the alley and turned in the direction the thief had gone. It was almost as if the guy hadn’t been there at all.

  Perplexing. Trace could follow just about any trail as long as it was less than forty-eight hours old, sometimes even older. But Skeletor had fallen off the face of the planet the moment he left the alley. It didn’t make sense.

  They scoured the area for hours, searching for any trace of Mr. Sticky Fingers, but the only clue they found that he’d even existed was his discarded mask. Just north of the river, near the Trump Tower, they found it in a dumpster in a small parking lot between buildings. The left cheek and jaw were smashed from where Cordray had struck it.

  “Do you think he left it to mock us?” Cordray said, eyeing the mask with a look of vengeance.

  Trace sniffed the inside, picking up Skeletor’s scent for the first time since the alleyway. He shrugged and tossed it toward her. “Who knows?”

  She caught it and took a whiff, probably locking in his scent the same as he had before handing it over to Micah so he could do the same.

  “He won’t stay hidden forever.” Trace swept his gaze around the surrounding buildings and along the Riverwalk. “We’ll find him eventually.”

  And when they did, Trace would have a little fun with the fucker. After all, Skeletor had messed with his best friend. His keeper. His master. No one fucked with Micah without fucking with him, too.

  “Cool that shit, Trace,” Cordray said, obviously inside his head.

  How the hell did she do that without him feeling her?

  She shrugged one shoulder almost coquettishly then turned away. “It’s a gift.”

  “Yeah well, stop gifting me with your gift.” He didn’t like his thoughts invaded, but ever since the incident back at Micah’s, when she’d seen his memories about his mother and hadn’t peeped a word about them, some of his animosity toward her mind-stripping habits had fizzled.

  “What are you two talking about?” Micah said, tossing the mask back in the dumpster.

  “Trace wants to take a crack at Skeletor’s nog for making you a target,” Cordray said.

  “Good for him.” Micah began scouring the rest of the parking lot for clues. “It’s nice that someone has my back.”

  “Not good,” Cordray said before Trace could second Micah’s sentiment.

  Micah stopped scanning the pavement and frowned at her. “Why the hell not?”

  “Don’t you get it? That’s what this guy wants.” Cordray waved her hand toward the surrounding skyscrapers. “For all we know, he’s watching us right now, listening to everything we say. And he’s probably getting a Skeletor boner at the idea that Trace wants to turn his brains into worm food. Remember, this guy is an adrenaline junkie. He loves the risk for the simple fact that it raises the stakes and gives him something real to play for. And what’s more real than his own life?”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Micah said.

  “No, but I’ve chased enough bounties to know the type. He fits the profile.” She let out a derisive breath. “Hell, he exceeds the profile.”

  “So, what do you propose?” Trace said. “That we invite him for tea and cupcakes?”

  “I’m not big into cupcakes,” Micah added with a smirk as he knelt to investigate what appeared to be burnout from a motorcycle tire. “I vote for Trace’s plan.”

  “Worm food it is,” Trace said. “Sorry, C. You’re outvoted.”

  Cordray sighed and shook her head. “Males,” she muttered. “Always thinking with your fists or your dicks, but never with your brains.” She joined Micah and nodded toward the black skid mark on the pavement. “That’s from his bike. It had a fat rear tire like that. I bet he left it as a calling card to let us know he was here. He knew we’d find the mask. Cocky bastard. He’s playing with us.”

  Trace studied her as she stood next to Micah, her long braid draped over her shoulder, her eyes sharp as she took in the surroundings. Under all that makeup she usually wore, he’d never noticed how pristine her skin was. How smooth and flawless. Without a smoky layer of eyeliner shaping her eyes and dark-red lipstick coating her lips, she appeared youthful, even innocent, and he liked the natural, pink shade of her lips. It made them appear dewy and lush . . . beckoning.

  For the first time, he noticed her rounded, high cheekbones and gently upturned nose, like a bunny’s. It was a kissable nose, if a nose could be considered kissable. Hell, her whole face was kissable. Even her elegantly arched eyebrows, which perfectly framed her almond-shaped eyes, begged to be tasted.

  “What are you staring at?” she said, frowning.
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  Trace snapped out of his thoughts and blinked, realizing she was glaring at him. “Nothing. Just realized this was the first time I’ve seen you without your mask on.”

  “My mask?” Her eyebrows cut more sharply toward the bridge of her nose.

  “Yeah. All that Gothic shit you wear on your face.” He waved his hand in her general direction and shrugged indifferently. “You might actually be able to pass for a female now instead of an ogre.”

  “Aw,” Cordray tilted her head sarcastically. “Such sweet words. I’m not sure what’s better, a compliment from you or coming down with Ebola.”

  “Would you two stop bickering,” Micah said, standing. “I thought we’d called a truce.”

  Trace kept his gaze locked on Cordray’s. Something was different about her. Or maybe he was just beginning to feel differently toward her. Either way, something between them had changed in the past eight hours. And, to be honest, he kind of liked how it felt.

  His gaze slid to Micah’s. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.” He glanced back toward Cordray, who was looking at him as if she didn’t know what to make of his behavior.

  Something about Cordray made it impossible not to insult her, but only because he wanted her to insult him back. He actually enjoyed the verbal sparring. It was like they were competing to see who could one-up the other. To see who could throw the greatest insult. But this competition had no play clock, no final whistle. Life was the playing field, and any time they were near each other, it was game on.

  The eastern sky was beginning to turn from inky black to midnight blue. Dawn wasn’t far behind. “It’s getting late,” Micah said. “The sun’s going to be up soon. I’ll talk to Io about hacking into the city’s security cameras to see if I can uncover anything else.”

  They began making their way out of the parking lot.

  “Good idea,” Cordray said. “While you’re doing that, I’ll look through Bain’s records to see if I can find out anything about that ankh. I seem to remember reading something about ankhs somewhere in his archives.”