Passion (Debt Collector 9)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  “Not interested in the cult, thanks.” I tap my palm recorder off. I have the evidence I need: a record of a debt collector trying to transfer out a kid, as well as his testimony that Candy is involved. Hopefully it will be enough for Flitstrom to get the DA to open an investigation and find out who else in the Agency is dirty with this. I don’t know if any of Moloch’s talk of Gehenna is true, but Flitstrom’s not going to do anything about it without evidence. And this Moloch character could be batshit crazy for all I know.

  But if he’s not… if Gehenna is real…

  I suddenly realize there’s no way I can let Moloch go.

  If I do, he’ll tell whoever he works for that their operation is blown. I could kill him, but his buddies will figure it out just the same. Maybe not before I get the evidence to Flitstrom, but still… the idea of killing him makes me unexpectedly queasy. Part of me wants nothing to do with taking another life again. Any life.

  I’d rather see Moloch live and suffer for what he’s done.

  But if Gehenna is real…Moloch said the Governor is on the take. And maybe even higher. That’s a lot of powerful people who could make this whole thing disappear. Or intimidate a lowly bean counter like Flitstrom or the Los Angeles DA out of prosecuting. Then Gehenna would simply shift their operations, and debt collectors like Moloch would just keep killing children.

  I don’t want to kill Moloch, and I can’t let him go… maybe I can subdue him and drag his ass back to Flitstrom. Maybe Moloch can be my evidence. The DA can force him to testify, offer him immunity or something.

  My silence is too long, and when I raise my gaze to where Moloch sits, propped against the wall, I think he figures it out.

  He moves, fast. I expect him to lunge at me, but instead he pushes backwards, away from me, digging his boots into the floor and sliding along the wall. I think he’s trying to escape, and I scramble for his throat, but before I can get there, he shoves his collecting palm into his mouth and bits down so hard he draws blood.

  Horrified, I stall out and pull my hand back. His eyes roll up into his head, and his mouth foams around where it’s clamped down on his hand. I watch, mouth agape, as he convulses on the floor. His hand flops free of his mouth and smacks repeatedly on the polished tiles, sending spatters of blood and foam all over. Finally, he stops, his body frozen in a cramped position. His wide-open eyes stare at the ceiling, but only the whites show.

  I slowly stand up, unable to tear my gaze from his contorted body.

  Holy shit.

  Moloch just… killed himself. Apparently, he would rather die than be caught. I’m not sure what he thought I was going to do, but instead of letting me take him, he… did this. I’m suddenly a lot more convinced his Gehenna shadow organization is real. Or maybe Moloch was genuinely, severe-mental-illness crazy.

  I rub my hand across my face while my mind races. I can’t leave the body here. That much I know. Beyond that… I look at my scrubs and back at Moloch’s standard debt collector attire.

  I have an idea.

  I take time to pay back the life Moloch stole from Sophie, plus some extra that I stole from him. She wakes briefly, pink shining in her cheeks, but fortunately, she doesn’t have time to ask about the body lying on her hospital room floor before fatigue captures her again.

  Or why a debt collector is feeding her a hit instead of collecting her debt.

  Moloch’s trenchcoat and boots don’t really fit—they’re a size too small—but when you’re wearing the costume of the Grim Reaper, people tend not to stop you to ask what you’re doing. Or why you’re pushing a wheelchair with an unconscious intern out of the pediatric ward.

  I leave Moloch’s body in an alley outside the hospital.

  When someone finds him dressed in hospital scrubs, their first thought shouldn’t be “debt collector suicide.” And the false ID I left with him should throw the police off for a while. By the time they do a DNA check, and it gets back to Candy that her dirty-work collector is dead, I should have the evidence in Flitstrom’s hands.

  I can’t bring it to his office at the Department, for obvious reasons, and a meeting at the café is too public for this business. I told Flitstrom I would call him from a safe location as soon as I had what we needed. The metro ride is short to the run-down neighborhood of Madam A’s safehouse, and soon I’m punching in the code and sliding open the door.

  I’m surprised to see Elena there, waiting for me. Or at least I hope she’s waiting for me.

  “Hey,” I say, stepping the rest of the way in and closing the door. “Is everything all right? I didn’t expect…”

  She steps toward me and reaches up to give me a hug. It’s fast, over so quick that I hardly have my arms around her before she steps back again, blinking and looking embarrassed. “I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  I grin. “You were worried about me.”

  A small blush creeps on her cheeks. “Only because you were being stupid by not taking a weapon.”

  My grin fades a little. “I didn’t need it.” I don’t want to tell her that a man is dead anyway.

  “Were you able to stop him in time?” she asks, eyeing the burn mark across my wrist.

  She frowns as I slip my hand into my trenchcoat pocket, hiding the mark.

  “Yeah,” I say, then I remember I’m wearing the dead man’s clothes. Even if I wasn’t the one who killed him directly, it still feels dirty. I shuck off the trenchcoat and toss it to the side. Madam A’s safehouse is bare of furniture, except for the musty mattress in the corner, so the coat just lies in a heap on the floor. “And I got the evidence. I need to call Flitstrom and tell him, so he can come get it.”

  She nods and holds up her palm. “Here. Give me a copy. I’ll upload it to a secure grid.”

  I smile and touch my palm to hers to transfer the record. “Afraid I’m going to lose it?”

  “It’s always good to have a backup,” she says. “Besides, you want to have multiple copies, in case someone tries to destroy the evidence. That way they never can get all of it.” She taps her palm, looking at the recording, and I second guess whether I should have given it to her. I stopped it before Moloch’s death, but I’m not sure I want her to see the parts before that either.

  Well, it’s too late now.

  “I’m going to call Flitstrom,” I tell her as I punch in the number into my phone.

  It takes a couple rings, and when he answers, his voice is hushed. “Flitstrom.”

  “It’s me, Lirium.”

  “How did it go?” He sounds nervous.

  “There were some… complications,” I say. “But the girl is fine, and I have the evidence we need. You should come get it soon. Like now. We might be on a bit of a time table here.” I watched the news on my palm on the metro ride over, but so far, no breaking news flashes about dead interns in alleys.

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  I give him the coordinates, then say, “Look. This thing may be bigger than I thought. Are you sure the DA is the right guy to take this on?” I don’t want to give Flitstrom any more to worry about, but I also don’t want all of this to be for nothing, if the DA is going to be easily intimidated.

  “I’ve already talked to him,” he says. “He’s aware of the situation. Once I get him some real proof, he’ll be ready to issue warrants and move quickly.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Okay. Good. That’s good to hear.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says and hangs up.

  I close my phone and look to Elena. She’s watching me with a strange expression. Intense, but not serious the way she is sometimes. And there’s a hint of a smile that makes her face light up. It makes me smile even though I’m not sure why.

  “Your mom is doing well,” she says, the smile getting clearer on her face. “Dr. Brodsky says the life energy is healing her. At least, her heart is stronger now than any of their other readings.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out. Reli
ef makes my head dizzy. “Thank you. For staying with her for me.” I step closer to Elena, but don’t touch her, even though I’m dying to run my fingers along her hair. “Did you tell her what I said?”

  “That you’re proud of her for risking everything to help others?”

  I smile and give in to the urge to touch her hair, just skimming along the edges that frame her face. “I don’t think I said it exactly that way.”

  “No.” She moves closer and looks up into my eyes. “That’s what she said about you.”

  My fingers stop. “She said that?” My voice is thick.

  “Yes.” She’s so close we’re almost touching. “I told her you were reckless and kind of an idiot for going off unarmed.”

  “Thanks for having my back.” I smile. “And I’ll have you know I’m never truly unarmed.”

  “I know.” Her voice is soft.

  I can’t help staring at her lips and wondering if I can get away with kissing her for no reason other than I desperately want to.

  “And I told her that, in spite of your being somewhat foresight-challenged, I was very proud of what you were doing. And I just wanted you to come back safe so I could tell you...” Her lips stop moving and stay slightly parted.

  “Tell me what?” My words are almost nonexistent, because I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

  “That you’re much more than I expected.”

  My heart pounds. She should know better by now about saying things like that. I lean in to kiss her lightly, and whisper, “I like exceeding your expectations.” My lips hover over hers as I speak, brushing them, and I feel her smile curve up. I kiss her for real this time, my hand slipping around her back to pull her close, my lips working against hers, saying things I can’t put into words. I want it to be sweet and tender, but the way her hands dig into my shoulders and pull at my clothes, ignites a fire deep inside me. It’s clean and hot, like a mercy hit, only so much sweeter and filling me with life instead of taking it. My hands slide under the back of her t-shirt, and the softness of her skin makes me ache. My fingers find all the small dips and curves of her body as I work her shirt off. She tugs at mine, and I release her for a split second to lift my shirt free, but that’s all I can stand before I pull her against me again. My hands bunch in her hair, and my mouth is on hers as I breathe in the apple scent that’s released from her hair. Her bare skin against mine sends shivers through my body.

  I don’t realize we’ve backed up to the mattress until she bumps into it and tumbles out of my arms. She gives a half-laugh, lying half-naked on the mattress. The thing is old and musty, but at least it’s better than the carpet. I stare at her for a moment, not quite believing this is happening. Then I hurry to kick off my boots.

  She’s up on her knees, her hands tugging at my clothes, which I shed as fast as possible. I make quick work of hers as well, craving the moment when there will be nothing between us, just skin and air. When we get there, I’m all hands and mouth, touching and tasting her like she’ll disappear if I don’t map out every square inch of her body.

  I take a couple gulps of air and pause my frenzied pace.

  I want to do this right. For all the women I’ve had, for all the moments of ecstasy I’ve had with girls I can’t even name, I’ve never wanted so badly to get this right. Elena deserves better than me in so many ways, I don’t want to give her anything less than the best I have to give.

  I slow my caresses, but hers have picked up speed. She’s touching me and making sounds that override any thoughts of slowness in my brain. I move on instinct now, responding to her as she moves with me, a give and take that soon has us joined together, rocking on the mattress, a tangle of limbs and sensation so complete I don’t know anymore where I end and she begins. I have a faint notion that I should slow down, draw it out, make it better for her, but her soft sounds of pleasure are driving me mad and coiling tension deep within me. When she grabs at the mattress, gasping in air and calling out my name, it tips me over the edge.

  A white rushing noise of pleasure blanks my mind, and the intensity of it stretches, lasts, makes me whole. I’m immersed, floating in a haze of happy. The first sensation I have of the real world again is her fingers digging into my back then releasing, again and again, like she’s trying to pull me closer, even though we couldn’t possibly be any closer than we already are.

  I can’t imagine anything better than this moment. Holding her. Shuddering with the pleasure of being with her. Feeling her tremble around me. I hold onto it as long as I can, afraid to move and disrupt the spell… but eventually our bodies cool. Our breathing slows. The pounding of her heart, which I feel pulsing through me, steadies out.

  When I allow just a whisper of air between us, it’s like being separated from half of myself. I immediately want to press against her again, but instead, I shift so our embrace is more cuddle than heat. I silently curse that our first time together is on a moldy mattress in Madam A’s safehouse. Elena deserves better than that, and I vow to give her better.

  In everything. All the time. As long as she’ll have it from me.

  Her eyes are closed, but her lips are parted. The glow of our lovemaking is on her, and it steals my breath. She makes the dinginess fade, and there’s nothing but her deep brown eyes lazily opening to look up at me.

  “You are so beautiful.” My voice is a reverent whisper, like I’m in a church, worshipping at the altar that is Elena. Something I would happily do again and again.

  “Isn’t that the line you’re supposed to use before you get me in bed?”

  I laugh. It’s a deep, mattress-shaking movement. I have to hold onto her in order not to roll off the edge of the three-inch-high springs that are all that separate us from the floor.

  “Damn!” I say. “I knew I would find a way to mess this up.” I smirk and shift again so that I’m in no danger of sliding off, then gently smooth down her passion-mussed hair. “Let me start over. Hi. My name is Joe.”

  “Hello, Joe.” She smiles wide. It’s the most gorgeous thing.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Will you come to bed with me?”

  She ducks her head into my shoulder, and her soft puffs of laughter tickle my neck. It gives me a warm glow feeling inside that rounds out the settling heat of our bodies. She runs a hand up my neck and into my hair. It’s a caress and a tug and makes me think of her fingers dancing in the air and how that made me ache for her touch on my skin. I lean in for a kiss, thinking less about tickles and more about all the ways I want to make her ache as well. Then I remember…

  Shit. “Flitstrom!” It’s a curse that I whisper into her neck where I just kissed her.

  She pulls back, the same look of alarm dawning on her face that I feel running shock waves through my body. “When is he supposed to be here?”

  “He was coming right over. I don’t know! He could be here any minute.”

  She scrambles for her clothes, and I scoop her t-shirt off the floor and toss it to her. As she catches it, I point to the back. “There’s a bathroom over there.”

  She scurries off, naked and clutching her clothes, and disappears behind the bathroom door. It’s cute and funny, and I can’t help chuckling as I hastily pull on my pants. I’m half-way through buttoning my shirt and have one boot on when there’s pounding on the door.

  “Shit!” I say under my breath. I step into the second boot and grab Moloch’s trenchcoat off the floor, hoping that my half-unbuttoned shirt won’t stand out so much if I’m dressed like a collector ought to be. I shuffle to the door and punch the button to open it.

  It’s not Flitstrom.

  I don’t know these two men.

  I fling a hand toward the taller one’s face, but just as I make contact with his forehead, something explodes. The sound cracks the air in half. Then it’s like the world’s most powerful fist punches me in the side. I curl into the man. Twin pains hit me simultaneously: a searing burn from my hand on his forehead where I’m pulling life energy fr
om him, and a wave of pain in my side that reaches my brain like a second bomb going off. It turns my vision into a crazed circus of stars and light streaks. The man and I both crumple to the ground. I have a brief realization that he’s not a debt collector, and that I’ve been shot, but then his body pins mine down, and the crush of pain makes it impossible to think. Everything goes black, then the circus of light surges again. I blink through it to see the second man’s gun pointed at my head. He grabs his partner’s jacket with his gun-free hand and tries to wrench him away. We fight for possession of the body. I vaguely sense the only thing keeping him from firing is that he’d have to shoot through his partner to get me.

  Pain kicks my brain like a bronco. My grip weakens, and the second man wrenches his partner’s body free. Just as he swings his gun to me, a high-pitched scream jerks his attention away. His gun jumps toward the sound and fires. The sound cracks through me, and my body jolts from it, but I take that moment of distraction to reach toward him and shove my hand up his pants leg. I find bare flesh and pull hard. The fresh pain from the burn brings back the dancing lightshow, but I keep hold of him, draining, as he slumps to the ground.

  I pull until he’s dead.

  When I release him and roll back, my hand instinctively goes to the wound in my side. Everything is wet. Too wet. Like I’ve turned to liquid, and I’m melting in the middle. I can’t pull in a breath, like the weight of a hundred feet of water sits on my chest.

  A thought fights through the suffocation and pain. He wasn’t pointing the gun at me. And I can only think of one other person he would shoot.

  Elena.

  No! I don’t say anything out loud, because my lungs aren’t working, but a moaning sound echoes around my body as I twist on the ground. I see her, lying with one leg sticking up from the floor, bent from when she fell.

  When she was shot.

  With a bullet meant for me.

  An animal sound crawls from the very depths of me and gurgles up through my throat. Pain eviscerates my stomach, but I pull myself across the carpet toward her. Each motion of the crawl is a fresh lance through my body, but I get closer. There’s nothing but silence and the wheezing gasps of my own half-breaths. My vision tunnels to her. My arms weaken and shake, but I reach her.