by Diana Duncan
She snorted. “We can’t afford to wait around for patience.” She booted up the unit. “Patience is useless, and screws you over every time. Besides, what difference does one more transgression make at this point?”
“Hacking into police files? Probably an additional five years!”
“Connor had a brilliant future at sixteen…scholarships, NFL interest, potential fortune and fame. He abandoned it all for me.” Delaney opened the laptop. “He sacrificed everything, worked his ass off doing menial labor to support us and never complained. Not once. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
Vanessa’s complexion paled another two shades. “I know the hell you both went through as kids. And what happened to him last year was a complete screw job. But your brother didn’t sacrifice his future for you to throw yours away—”
“Ever heard of ‘don’t get mad, get even?’ Fate gave me this chance. Scoot over by the door and tell me when you hear Super Cop returning.”
Van moaned, but complied.
At least being a lookout hopefully kept her friend’s mind off barfing. Delaney pecked keys with her left index finger. One sure thing about stick-to-the-rules-players like Zack…they were predictable. Comforting in a strange way. During their thirteen month relationship, she’d always known where she stood. Even when he’d stomped all over her heart, he’d given her honest reasons.
Which hadn’t made his desertion hurt any less.
She knew enough personal details to figure out his passwords. After only four tries, she guessed correctly. “Got it!”
Van swallowed audibly. “Shh! Keep it down!”
“Let’s see what the bastards are hiding.” Delaney accessed the restricted law enforcement database and tapped in Connor’s social security number. Rapidly scanning the screen, she memorized the scrolling words without digesting them. Analyses could wait until later. She immersed herself in the avalanche of information, unaware of passing minutes.
Until one horrifying sentence stopped her cold, index finger frozen on the arrow key. She read it again.
No! Please…don’t let it be true!
Delaney, Rowan MacLachlan’s rolling burr suddenly warned inside her head. Shut the computer down, lass.
She stood paralyzed, barely able to breathe.
Delaney! Move! Rowan’s sharp mental thrust spiked pain through her temples, blurring her vision. Shut it down! Now!
She blinked, looked up. As the room zoomed back into focus, she started to shake.
“Delaney, what’s wrong with you?” Vanessa whispered frantically. Van had maneuvered her chair back into position and rocked it forward to slap Zack’s desktop, inches from Delaney’s immobile hand. All while Delaney had been zoned out—for how long? “I said four times, Zack and Jason are coming! I hear them talking, they’re at the door now! Shut it down!”
The lock scraped, and the men’s low conversation hummed through the frosted glass panel. The doorknob turned.
Pulse pounding, Delaney punched computer keys. “Not going to make it!” Without conscious effort, her mind reached out toward that deep Scottish brogue. “Help! Need to stall!”
“Stall how?” Vanessa hissed in panic. “It’s too late!”
The doorknob halted mid-turn. “Hang on,” Zack said. “I’m thirsty. I gotta make a pit stop at the water fountain before we go in.”
“Me too,” Jason replied. “That’s what we get for jogging five flights of stairs instead of snagging the elevator.” His voice grew distant. “Keeps you in shape, though, old man.”
Zack’s guffaw echoed from down the hallway. “Fit enough to save your rookie ass.”
Delaney erased all traces of her activity and closed the browser, then clicked log off. She snapped the lid shut.
By the time she wrangled her chair into place, her mouth was drier than a probate law textbook and a rivulet of sweat was trickling down her spine.
The men strode into the room mere seconds later. Neither wore a happy face. Zack’s attention arrowed to Delaney’s cuffed wrist. “What kind of stunt did you try to pull?”
Still in shock, she glanced down, surprised to see raw, bloodied scrapes around her right cuff. She felt nothing. “I…ah…Vanessa got nauseated, and I had to wrestle your garbage can to her.” Her foot nudged Vanessa’s, and Van clutched the can in her lap and groaned.
Jason leaned over Vanessa. “Do you need the restroom, ma’am?”
“Um…” Van eased her head up. “Just give me a minute. I think my stomach is finally settling.”
Jason left and quickly returned with a plastic cup of water for Vanessa, and a first aid kit, which he handed to Zack.
Zack freed and gently bandaged Delaney’s wrist as she battled silent agony. Not because of her injury. Other than a throbbing headache, her body was still numb. Connor. Her brother was in terrible danger. And unaware of it.
And she was either seriously sick…or losing her grip on sanity.
Jason unlocked Vanessa’s cuffs. “Ms. Clare, Mr. Dumont has been persuaded not to press charges against you in lieu of being cited for soliciting sexual acts. Since you weren’t in actual possession of the gun, and your fingerprints weren’t found on it, you’re free to go.”
Delaney surged upright on jellied legs. Thank heaven! “Van, when you get downstairs can you post my bail on the weapons charge? I’ll pay you back. Zack, I need my purse, my phone—”
“No bail, Delaney.” Graven-faced, the usually unfazeable cop clamped a not-quite-steady hand on her shoulder. “You can’t leave. I’ve been ordered to take you to Wilsonville Correctional Institution.”
Vanessa gasped. “The prison? Ohmigod, what happened in that briefing?”
Shock leaked through Delaney’s numbness. The new super-max penitentiary housed dangerous offenders and prisoners the court deemed likely to attempt escape. Who was pulling strings behind the scenes? And why? “It’s okay, Van.”
“I am not leaving you to face this by yourself—”
“Go. I’ll be fine, really. It’s easier for me to do it alone.”
Vanessa embraced her in a hard hug. “Is there anybody I can call, anything I can do?”
“Call Archer. Have him pick you up, then please go home and get some rest. And no more World Series today, all right?”
Vanessa stepped back, shot Zack a killer glare. “If anything happens to her, Chad’s isn’t the only grill my bat can dent.”
He visually returned fire. “I wouldn’t let Delaney get hurt.”
“Could’ve fooled me, you dick.” Van reluctantly accompanied Detective Kim out of the room.
Zack shook his head. “Sorry, Delaney.”
Just get this ordeal over with. “I know.”
During the taut thirty-minute drive, she listened to tires thumping the asphalt in time with her pounding head. Neither she nor Zack spoke.
Everything between them had already been said.
Her first sight of the forbidding gray structure was always of wicked razor wire curled atop towering walls. Spiked iron gates parted to let Zack’s Ferrari through, then clanked shut behind it.
Zack grimly escorted her through the main door metal detectors, down a passageway and inside a small “receiving room.” A stern female guard strode in, and Delaney propped her palms on the rough, cold cinder block wall to endure the by now familiar pat-down. The fact that Zack was watching this time made it only slightly more degrading.
Cleared, Delaney turned.
The guard pointed at her necklace. “Nothing around the neck. That has to come off.”
“Right.” When Delaney tried to remove the Celtic charm, she couldn’t. “The clasp is stuck.”
The guard circled behind her and fumbled with the clasp. “I’ll have to find wire cutters. Hope we have a pair somewhere. Wait here.”
“Officer...” Zack motioned the guard into a hurried, intense private conference. The only words Delaney caught were “Captain Luis” and “urgent.”
The guard brusquely strode
back to Delaney. “Tuck the necklace out of sight inside your sweater.”
“I’ll be in the main intake area,” Zack said.
As Delaney preceded the woman down the long, dim hallway, she swallowed an icy backlash of fear. This definitely wasn’t routine.
She was ushered into a windowless interrogation chamber. The walls were gray, the temperature cold, and the cloying smell of desperation hung in the air. Two empty chairs flanked opposite sides of a metal table. The guard ordered Delaney to sit in the chair facing the door, then stalked out.
Shivering, she stared at the mirrored wall to her left. Goosebumps pebbled her skin. Who was watching, listening, on the other side?
She’d waited mere minutes when the door opened a crack. A burly male guard eased his head inside. Wary dark eyes assessed the room, swept over her. The guard withdrew. The door swung wide and Connor shuffled in. His wrists and ankles were shackled to clanking belly chains and he wore a prison-issue orange jumpsuit atop black slip-on sneakers.
“Connor!” Heart lodged in her throat, she shoved to her feet. Her arms ached to hug him. For the past year, she’d been allotted only a single visit per month with her brother. And always separated behind a thick glass partition, their communication restricted through monitored telephones bolted to the wall.
“Stay in your chair,” the guard barked. “Or he goes back to lockdown.”
Biting her lip, she sank into her seat. She studied Connor’s inscrutable expression while he shambled awkwardly to the opposite chair. Other than his dark chestnut hair, they shared a strong resemblance. He was awfully pallid – understandable since he was only allowed one hour a day outside in a tiny concrete exercise pit. But his lean body was still hard and toned. Not much to do in his ten foot square cell except read and work out.
Connor sat and the guard locked the jangling chains to a metal ring beneath the table. For an ex-cop who loved sports and the outdoors, having every movement, every breath restricted was the worst possible punishment.
Her brother waited until the door clanged behind the departing guard. “Lanie,” he growled. “What’s going on?”
“Ask your former partner, Benedict Walker. He was ordered to bring me here by your former captain.”
“Because they hoped you might listen to me.” Cobalt blue eyes, so much like her own, fired. “You were seen prowling around Judge Zinter’s beach house in Cape Hope this weekend. You were arrested packing my piece—without a permit. What were you thinking? Or are you?”
“Who told you? And why?” Though vibrating with fury, her voice stayed as low as his. This conversation wasn’t for the spying assholes behind the mirror. “What am I thinking? I’m thinking you trapped in this hellhole for twenty-five to life is a mockery of justice! And after ten months of investigation, I’m thinking I have a strong suspicion who framed you for narcotics possession, extortion, and murder!”
He blanched. “Tell me you’re not investigating. I warned you to stay out of it!”
“How can I?” She, who never cried, dammit, fought scalding tears. “Am I supposed to leave you to rot, after everything you did—”
Her brother bit off a curse. She’d always found it endearing that he tried not to swear around her. “I’ve said a million times, and now a million and one, the past is done. Over. You don’t owe me a thing.”
“You’re a decorated officer who risked your life to save so many others. You don’t deserve this. You’re innocent!”
“I am. But this is my reality now.”
“So you’re just quitting? I don’t believe it. Where’s the Connor Morgan who cleaned filthy toilets, and shoveled cement, and picked up garbage to put food on our table? Who started with nothing, and against all odds, earned admission to the police academy?” She swallowed the lump that threatened to render her mute. “You promised we’d never be separated, that you’d do whatever it took to give us happy lives.”
He spread his hands as far as possible with the chains. “Stop investigating and go live your life. Be happy. That’s what I want for you. All I ever wanted.” Urgency edged his plea. “You have to know when to fight, and when to cut your losses. We lost. Be smart, Delaney, please. I’m begging you.”
“I can never be happy when you’re locked up like an animal! It’s never over until it’s all over.” Her breath jammed in her lungs, and she paused to regroup. “And, oh, my God, I have to tell you what I found out—” She leaned farther over the table, and the necklace fell out of her sweater.
Gaze locked on the dangling charm, Connor went utterly still. “Where—” His whisper emerged a hoarse croak. “Where did you get that amulet?”
“A raven showed it to me, on the beach at Cape Hope. It’s pretty, huh?” It wasn’t the only gorgeous Celtic thing she’d found. “The guard wanted to confiscate it before I could see you, but it doesn’t seem to want come off.”
“I never thought—” His voice trembled. “Even after… I never really believed…” His entire body was shaking.
“Connor?” Delaney’s pulse kicked into triple time. Terror roiled in her brother’s eyes. Her brother, who’d remained calm when he’d been arrested, was composed throughout his trial, who’d stayed stoic even when sentenced to living hell in a supermax prison, was afraid! “What’s wrong?”
He inhaled unsteadily. “Have you noticed anyone following you? Has anyone…strange…contacted you?”
You mean like a mysterious Scotsman whose eyes change color, and who somehow seems to be able to get inside my head? She never could lie to Connor worth a whit. Her expression gave her away without a word.
“Fuck.” His fist slammed onto the tabletop, making her jump. “It’s all been for nothing! How am I supposed to protect you now—”
“Protect me? What’s all been for nothing?” Shocked realization punched into her, sent her reeling. “Is that what you’re doing? Did someone threaten me to coerce you to quit fighting to clear your name?”
“Lanie, listen to me.” The torment gravelling her brother’s voice, the anguish stamped on his beloved face, tore her apart. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“You’ve got to stop investigating. And no matter what anyone tells you, no matter what happens—”
He inhaled another trembling breath. “No matter what kind of freaky shit goes down during the next forty-eight hours…stay far, far away from me.”
Chapter 4
Rowan MacLachlan stalked the perimeter of the mammoth prison, avoiding the watchtowers’ spotting scopes. He’d raided an emergency cash stash and bought jeans, a black T-shirt, and heavy boots that sheathed a tactical Ka-Bar knife. A long black duster concealed the new Beretta Storm stuck in his back waistband.
A hunter needed camouflage, and he hunted among unsuspecting mortals.
No use cloaking himself to get closer. At five hundred meters, his enhanced eyesight clearly saw details…and healing his internal injuries consumed all his spare energy. His long-term memory was perfect. He just couldn’t recall who’d recently tried to off him, or exactly why. Hell, someone—or something—was always trying to kill him.
Detective Walker had taken Delaney into the penitentiary over thirty minutes ago. For an untutored novice, she was surprisingly adept at barring Rowan from her mind. Although she couldn’t hide from him. Yet.
But Delaney Morgan was no average novice. Humans couldn’t feel the push when his Power touched their thoughts…and no one had ever connected with him telepathically. The bonny, spirited redhead also aroused dangerous desires he’d long-ago strangled and buried.
He shook his head. Been there, done that…this time he was bulletproof. Any time his cock wanted to take the lead, the echoing screams of his dying family would ice him out, fast.
Delaney was the key to his redemption, nothing more.
When he’d awakened on the beach and seen her bending over him, even his concussed brain hadn’t failed to recognize a rare Gift from the Otherworld. She didn
’t seem to realize the talisman locked around her neck belonged to the Morrigan. And the vanquished goddess of prophecy and war possessed the only weapons that could avenge the savage betrayal of his Clan. His hands fisted at his sides. Overhead, the sky darkened and thunder cannoned.
His cousin Braden’s memory taunted him. A wee slip of that arctic control, eh, mo bràthair?” Rowan’s lips slanted wryly. He commanded his knotted muscles to relax, and the horizon lightened from black to battleship gray. Of his three cousins who’d been closer than brothers, Braden had experienced the harshest lessons in learning to maintain control.
With every heartbeat, Rowan’s chest ached at the barbaric deaths of his brothers-in-arms.
All his fault. A flood of rage forced a second thunderous blast. He would make self-appointed “King” Balor and his sorceress whore Ceard bleed thrice-fold for every murder. Or die trying.
Half a klick ahead, malevolence billowed off the structure in a cloud of oily smoke. The thick veil of evil nearly obscured random shimmers of power. But not completely. Delaney wasn’t the only mortal within who possessed the Aillidh. The Shining. However, hers was unique, and the strongest he’d ever encountered. The other lights were the customary nebulous white. Delaney’s aura glowed brilliant gold. Her pure burnished light had pierced his despair from thousands of kilometers away, enticed him to the rocky Pacific shore.
Rowan glanced up as a raven’s graceful silhouette swooped across the leaden sky. He loved Oregon’s green hills, rainy climate, and snow-capped mountains, so much like his native Highlands. Homesickness twisted inside. Too long since he’d set foot on Scottish soil. But nothing would be the same.
He was all alone now.
Besides, he had to stay because of Delaney. If she didn’t get help learning control soon, she could kill someone. Perhaps kill herself. Or if God forbid, one of the Fomorii obtained her powers... He shuddered.
Like his own, Delaney Morgan’s future had already been cast. They couldn’t fight destiny.
He stopped pacing and offered both palms skyward, chanting a refrain as familiar to him as breathing. That bitch Paiton had cost him nearly a year of imprisonment in a scorching hell on earth before he’d summoned enough of the ancient Magic to escape. How he’d longed for rain. His throat still burned with constant thirst.