by Diana Duncan
Mist drifted downward to envelop him in cool, moist clouds, and he sighed. Delaney would break free from her prison soon—in every way. Then the final battle would begin. Only time would reveal the victor.
Rowan had less than two score of nights to make her his.
Before they were all damned.
* * *
Trapped inside the thick prison walls, tremors raced through Delaney as furious thunder clashed overhead. She frowned at her brother. “I don’t understand. Why do you want me to keep away from you?”
“I can’t explain and you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Go straight to Archer’s apartment, deadbolt yourself inside and stay there. No matter what.”
“And how long am I supposed to stay locked up?”
“Until he tells you it’s done. Promise me, Lanie.”
She fought suffocating dread. “Until what’s done?” There had to be a reasonable explanation. Life behind bars had made her cop brother paranoid, and she…she just had the unholy mother of all migraines. Migraines caused odd symptoms, right? “So Archer knows about this…threat?”
“Enough to keep you safe. Don’t trust anyone else.”
“Connor, we’ve never kept secrets from one another. Talk to me. Let me help you.”
Connor’s knuckles whitened on the rim of the table. His voice dropped to a mere breath and he leaned even closer. “Reach your right hand toward me, palm up.”
“We’re not allowed contact,” she murmured back.
“I need you to do it.”
Her brother was the one person she’d always trusted without reservation. Loved without limits. Holding his gaze, she surreptitiously slid her hand across the forbidden space between them.
His glance snagged on her bandaged wrist, and he stiffened. “Who hurt you?”
“Nobody. Just another chapter in Lanie and Van’s Excellent Adventures.”
His smile didn’t disguise lurking grief. “Keep having those adventures, okay?”
“I’m not a child any more. I’ve got your back. Trust me.”
Tender affection warmed those vibrant blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Lanie. I have nothing left to give you. Except this.” He quickly slashed his fingertip on the table’s rough edge. Murmuring a lilting language she’d never heard before, he grabbed her hand and painted three bloodied symbols in the center of her palm.
Delaney stared at her brother’s blood…marking her with symbols exactly like Rowan had marked the cabin.
She gulped. “C-connor—”
The door whipped open, banging into the wall. Three guards barreled inside. Two rushed Connor while the third blockaded the doorway. The biggest man unlocked her brother’s chains from the table, then they hauled him up.
“Dumbass move, punk.” The big officer grabbed Connor’s hair, brutally jerking his head back. “Playtime’s over.”
Connor didn’t protest. Didn’t utter a sound when they savagely jostled his body between them as they dragged him toward the doorway.
One of the guards tripped Connor with his own chains, making him stagger into the wall and hit his head. “Oops.” The trio laughed, but her brother remained silent. Former cops expected abuse in prison.
Delaney leapt from her chair. “He’s not resisting, don’t hurt him!” She rounded the table toward her brother.
“Stay back,” the door guard ordered. Lunging into her path, he shoved her, hard.
She stumbled, fell to her knees.
And Connor lost it. “Don’t touch her!” Even chained, he fought viciously. In the seconds it took Delaney to scramble up, he bucked off both officers, elbowing one in the solar plexus and head-butting the other’s nose.
The gasping guards dropped. The officer who’d shoved her charged Connor.
No! I can’t go through this again!
Delaney threw off paralyzing déjà vu and flung herself at her brother. He feinted left to dodge her, but she anticipated his move. Bulldozing him to the wall, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Connor! Stop!”
From behind her, the officer thrust his fingers into her hair and yanked. Pain tore across Delaney’s scalp, involuntary tears flooded her eyes, but she clung to her brother.
“Lanie!” Connor snarled, trying to dislodge her. “Let go!”
“Won’t!”
Dark blurs shot past her peripheral vision as more guards surged inside. “Get her off,” a man’s voice yelled. “And take him out!”
The agonizing strain on her scalp increased. A fist rammed into her ribs. Her eyes slammed shut on a blinding flash of pain and rage. Keep away from my brother!
She heard screams, guttural grunts. Then the room went silent.
“Christ, baby sister,” Connor whispered.
Delaney opened her eyes. For a panicked moment, all she saw was blackness. Finally, her vision wavered into focus and she glanced over her shoulder. The stunned guards lay sprawled on the floor—several with blood leaking from their noses.
Scared and bewildered, she looked back at Connor.
He shook his head, eyes wide. “What have I done?”
Boot steps pounded through the doorway. “Get them both down!” a hoarse shout demanded.
“Need a Taser in room one!” another guard yelled.
Connor went rigid. “No! I’m rolled up, Boss. It’s cool. I’m rolled up.”
Everything’s fine. Delaney instinctively projected the thought. “Everybody relax,” she croaked.
Nothing happened here.
Sudden calmness blanketed the crackling violence.
“Step away from the inmate,” the first gruff voice demanded.
“Don’t hurt him.” Holding her brother’s gaze, she slid her arms from around his neck. “I was stupid. You stay smart.”
Still appearing dazed, he nodded.
She eased aside. Four officers crowded past to seize him, then muscled him around the other three guards who were just gaining their feet, and toward the exit.
“Connor!” she cried. “What I tried to tell you before— Your parole is going be denied next week.” She shakily blurted the rest. “And they’re taking you out of isolation and putting you into general population!”
He flashed a final, resigned smile, meant to reassure. Instead it broke her heart. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Love you, Lanie. What was mine now belongs to you.”
Then they dragged him from the room.
The rest of the guards staggered out, locking her inside.
Left alone, torment worse than any physical beating lanced through Delaney. Who knew when she’d be allowed to see Connor again? If ever. Grief punched into her. Damn you, Judge Zinter! You and all your corrupt flunkies can fry in hell.
Ninety seconds slowly circled around the clock over the mirror.
Shouting, male roars, slamming metal and running feet broke the uneasy silence. Alarm bells jangled, sirens wailed.
The female officer darted inside. “Inmates are rioting, they’re taking hostages! C’mon!” She grabbed Delaney’s arm and towed her down the corridor, back through locked thick glass panels, and into a receiving room. “Detective,” she yelled at Zack. “Get her outside!”
He snatched her from the guard and hauled her through more hallways, more doorways, the metal detectors, then out the front door. He didn’t stop until they reached his rain-dappled car in the parking lot. “What the hell, Lanie? You start a riot?”
I don’t know.
What had she done?
More importantly, how?
Freezing, she wrapped her arms around herself. If she could somehow inspire destruction, perhaps…
Keep my brother safe. She envisioned golden light surrounding him in a bright Kevlar shield. Protect Connor.
Her body temperature plummeted as the throbbing in her temples grew unbearable. She was so cold the misty rain felt warm on her chilled skin, wrapping her in a soft, heated cocoon. For a moment, she was comforted.
Aye, you’ll be all right, lass.
Rowan’s voice.
She snapped her head up. Was that him in the distance, silhouetted against the fog-draped hills?
Her stomach heaved, then she bent double and was beastly sick.
Supporting her, Zack held her hair back and murmured soothing words. Finally the horrible episode ended. “Okay now?”
“Yeah,” she lied. I might never be okay.
Zack wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. “Did they rough you up in there?”
All she could manage was a negative head-shake.
“Honey,” Zack said softly. “If someone hurt you, you need to tell me.”
The thick walls masked any sounds from inside. She prayed her brother was safe inside the rioting prison. “The guards abused Connor. I got stupid.”
“Did you see name badges?”
The quick glimpses burned in her memory. At her nod, his jaw tightened. “It won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t put yourself on the line for him before. Why now?” She shoved unsteadily out of his embrace. “Captain Luis told you to bring me here so Connor could order me to quit investigating, correct? Did you know they’re moving him into gen-pop? An ex-cop won’t live a week!”
His cop face was so good she couldn’t tell if she’d surprised him or not. “How do you know they’re moving him?”
“It doesn’t matter. Can you stop them?”
Somber hazel eyes darkened. “It’s complicated, Delaney. Listen to Connor and back off. Before someone gets seriously injured…or worse.”
After the past hour’s events, she was too afraid to verbalize her gut response to that. She clamped her lips together. If Zack had chosen the wrong side in this battle, he’d get his…along with depraved Judge Zinter and her crew.
Sadly, the utter depths to which humanity would sink was no longer surprising. “Just take me back to Central Precinct.”
Take her home. Rowan’s deep demand echoed around the empty parking lot. Drop the charges.
Delaney started. She watched Zack intently. How could he possibly not have heard?
“How about if I take you home instead?” Zack asked quietly.
“Did you…” She swallowed hard. “Happen to…hear anyone say something just now?”
His puzzled glanced roamed the parking lot. “Like who, my Ferrari?”
“Never mind. Why are you taking me home instead of back to jail?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll ensure the weapons charge is dropped—as long as you agree to permanently shelve your investigation. Deal?”
“Do I have a choice? Under duress, but okay.” Just another lie added to her roster of sins. She didn’t owe Detective Walker anything. Her limbs wobblier than Jell-O, she ignored his outstretched hand and crawled into the back of the Ferrari under her own steam. Curled on the midget seats, eyes closed, she gave into the agony pealing inside her skull,
That last goodbye with her brother had felt too eerily final. He’d bequeathed her all his worldly goods.
Every muscle cramped in rebellion. I will not cry.
Let me in, Delaney, Rowan urged, pushing against her bruised brain.
No! She blunted his painful mental thrust with dwindling strength.
Stop resisting, and I’ll turn your pain to pleasure.
She bit back a groan. Stay. Away. From me. Blocking out Rowan MacLachlan—or the illusion of him—was getting harder. And hurt worse with each strained effort.
Eventually, the car cruised to a stop. Zack’s door opened, slammed shut. Moments later, her door snicked open, and cool, damp air drifted over her. “Delaney, you’re home.”
She sat up and winced. The pulsing behind her eyes made black spots dance in her vision. Hopefully, Archer could make some sense out of all the insanity.
Again rebuffing Zack’s outstretched hand—she’d fall flat on her face in the street before accepting his help—she staggered to the curb in front of the centuries old five-story brick building. The entire bottom level encompassed Archer’s club, Starry Night. The building was rumored to be sitting atop one of the gateways to Portland’s infamous, supposedly haunted Shanghai Tunnels that catacombed beneath the city. Archer was slowly renovating the top floors into club storage and apartments.
“Delaney…” Zack licked his lower lip, and something that looked very much like regret softened his features as he reached for her. “I’m not the bad guy, here. Why can’t we be—”
“Only about ten months too late, and fifty grand in attorney’s fees short, Detective Walker.” She stumbled back another step. “If the next word out of your mouth is ‘friends,’ I will not be responsible for your dental bills.”
The heavy smoked-glass double doors exploded outward, and Archer stalked outside, long legs covered by his customary bad-ass motorcycle leathers, flawless café au lait shoulders bare beneath a white tank top. She’d never seen the man wear a coat, in any weather. “Hey, Del—”
He checked mid-stride, swiveling from side to side. His nostrils flared…a predator scenting prey.
Zack’s hand snaked inside his jacket and his gaze tracked the horizon. “You spot something?”
All the fine hairs on Delaney’s body tingled as she slowly turned to stare across the street. Indistinct and hazy, Rowan stood enveloped in a cloud of vapor. Watching her.
She tried to speak, to point, but her reflexes refused to cooperate.
Rowan met her gaze, shook his head in warning. Be ready, lass. Tomorrow it begins. He vanished.
Archer frowned. “Nah, it’s nothing. I’ve got Delaney from here.” His midnight velvet baritone soothed her raging headache somewhat. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Walker.”
Zack scowled. “I’ll check on Connor, and be in touch, Lanie.” He opened the trunk and returned her purse, minus the confiscated gun, before ducking into the Ferrari and roaring off.
“Archer…” Relief overwhelmed Delaney and her knees buckled.
“Hey, my girl.” Lunging, he scooped her up. The most ripped guy she’d ever known—at least until she’d met Rowan—Archer was also the most contradictory. His upper arms were immense, and his abs could probably break steel beams. His close-cropped hair and lethal umber gaze appeared intimidating, while his crooked grin was sweet and without guile. She’d seen him unhesitatingly flatten obnoxious mashers in the club, then gently comfort upset patrons.
“I can walk.”
“Humor me. I haven’t worked out yet today.”
As he strode into the club and kicked the glass panels shut behind them, Delaney slung her arms around his neck…and caught an envious look from a passing blonde on the street. Archer exuded barely-leashed sexual energy that lured both men and women like moths to a propane torch. But if he had relationships of either sex, he was extraordinarily discreet. She’d never spotted him with anyone. He was always alone.
“Had yourself one bodacious day, huh?” Scorning the elevator, he loped up three flights of stairs as if he was merely carrying a kitten, his booted feet pounding the sturdy wooden treads. “I repo’ed your car. It’s snug and sound in the parking garage.”
“Thanks!” She rested her check against his chest. “Just wait until you hear everything about my day.” Once, after Zack’s desertion to Phoenix had instigated a solo pomegranate mojito pity party, Archer had caught her sniveling in a corner of the nightclub. He’d carried her up to bed…exactly like this…and tucked her in. There were no sexual vibes between them. Archer had been remarkably wise and compassionate as a mere twenty-two-year-old when he’d taken in thirteen year-old Delaney and her sixteen year-old brother eleven years ago. No doubts, no questions, no strings.
He was the only one who knew the whole ugly truth about their past, and the trio shared an unbreakable bond.
Speaking of friends… Delaney shifted. “Where’s Van, is she okay?”
“Thelma is dandy. She’s snoring away on my couch. How about you, Louise?” His endearingly lopsided grin flashed in the dim light from the antique hallway sco
nces. “Your place or mine?”
He’d leased her a utilities-included apartment down the hall from his own top-floor penthouse for ridiculously cheap while she’d been paying for law school classes. The building was old, but loaded with character, and the two of them had had a blast furnishing her place in garage sale shabby chic. Archer, Delaney, and Archer’s assistant Rini were the building’s only tenants, and it was private and secure.
Since she’d tanked her career, Delaney waitressed for him at Starry Night in lieu of rent. Her tips kept her in gas and groceries while her days were free to follow leads on Connor’s case.
“Yours. You have better food. And coffee.”
Connor had cautioned her to stay close to Archer. Until she figured out what was going on, it wasn’t a bad idea. If, Lord forbid, she did have a brain disorder and suffered a seizure or something, at least he could call 9-1-1. Her arms tightened around his neck. “Archer, we need to talk.”
He glanced down at her. “So I gathered.” Not even breathing hard, he opened his apartment door and whisked her inside. He carried Delaney past where Vanessa slept on his plum velvet Victorian sofa in front of a crackling fire, and deposited her on a stool at the countertop eating area that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Van filled me in on her end. How’s Connor hangin’ in?”
“You know him, always trying to be upbeat for me. But it’s bad.” She clung to the shiny black granite in front of her, cold and firm beneath her clammy fingers. “The past forty-eight hours have been down-the-rabbit-hole strange. I don’t even know where to start.”
He stalked to the huge espresso maker that had more gauges than her car. When he turned his back to flip switches, she caught a glimpse of the elaborate red, yellow, and orange sun tattoo emblazoned across his left shoulder-blade. The one other thing he wouldn’t discuss, besides his last name. “Basics, first. When was the last time you ate? Real food.”
“Hey, Cheetos are soul food. And it was this morning.” In her car, after she’d seen the eerie blood markings Rowan had left on her door. Like the symbols Connor had put on her palm. She forced her right hand to unclench, and stared down at it. Shock stole her breath.