Dev saw red.
Joss stepped in front of him. “I knew you were just a few minutes away so I made him go ahead and put in a call to the cop who brought him in on the mess. Let’s not lose sight of the prize here.”
As far as Dev was concerned, the prize was the dirty cop sitting in the middle of Nyrene’s living.
Nyrene—
He turned his head, seeking her out.
She was curled up in the corner of her couch, clutching her purse to her chest in a familiar way. Her normally golden skin was pale and she gave him a wan smile. “He was going to shoot me in the knee,” she said, her voice wobbling. “He told me we were going for a ride and I wouldn’t go so he threatened to shoot me in the knee. I wouldn’t go with him, though.”
She delivered those words all without blinking an eye, and Dev was torn between rushing to her and turning on the cop who had put that look on her face.
“I ought to fucking kill you,” he said in a low voice, not looking at Morell. If he did, his control would snap.
From the corner of his eye, he saw both the captain and Joss shift toward him. He laughed hollowly, shaking his head. “Eye on the prize, I know.”
He retreated to a spot by the window, one that offered a clear view of the street while providing a decent level of obscurity for him. “Just when does this party get started?”
* * * * *
Larry Oman wasn’t a happy man.
Not at all.
Morell had given him a terse call and told him there was a problem at the target’s house and he needed Oman on site, ASAP. Then he’d hung up, refusing to answer Oman’s two subsequent phone calls and then the single text he’d replied to had been as terse as the phone call.
Would you just get the fuck over here? There’s a fucking mess.
Part of Oman was hoping the girl had gone and offed herself. Or maybe Dev had lost it and offed her. Or whoever had been feeding her intel, although none of those options were really the best, because he needed to know what the fuck she knew why Dev had been willing to risk his life to keep her with him and just what the general fuck was going on.
Without having those answers, he was in something of a mess himself.
And that was the only reason he was letting some dumbass, shit-for-brains uniform jerk him around.
Morell needed to watch himself.
Oman parked his car at the end of the driveway, effectively blocking the car in front of his. He took a quick look around the neighborhood, if one could call it that. There was a car down the street, parked on the side of the road. At the very far end, he caught sight of the front end of some sort of SUV on the cross street, but he couldn’t make it out clearly. He did see the unmarked car that Morell drove, just a few doors down, and he had to shake his head. If that was where Morell had been watching her from, he’d probably been noticed.
Either by the girl or Deverall, although why in the hell either one of them was here, he didn’t know. It was just another thing to worry about. As if he didn’t have enough.
Grim, he mounted the steps as he cast one more look around the perimeter.
It was quiet, not even a bird calling to break the mid-afternoon silence. No cars driving down the street. Nothing.
Too quiet.
Uneasy, he reached down to try the door.
He found it unlocked and that didn’t do shit to relieve his nerves.
Hinges creaked as the door swung open and he went for the weapon he carried in a holster secured under his left arm. As he nudged the door open wider, he drew his Glock and peered inside.
He caught sight of Morell’s broad, muscled back in the middle of the room, standing there staring down at…something. Furniture blocked Oman’s view and he couldn’t see anything.
He didn’t want to go inside, but it was too conspicuous to stand out here, so he slid in and shut the door, pressing his back to it after a quick look to make sure nobody waited there.
“Morell, what the fuck…”
Morell turned.
Oman swore at the sight of the man’s hands, cuffed in front of him. There was also a piece of duct tape over his mouth, but judging by the look in Morell’s eyes, neither the tape, nor the cuffs were necessary. Morell looked at Oman with seething hate, the same way he’d looked at him when Oman had threatened his wife if he fucked up the job.
“Guess me and your bitch are going to have some fun,” Oman said without thinking.
A floorboard creaking had Oman looking away from Morell for the briefest moment. His gaze flicked back to Morell, but then slowly slid back to the doorway as Officer Bennett Deverall stepped through.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Dev said. “How about you and me have some fun…bitch?”
Chapter Seventeen
Oman immediately turned on him, his weapon jerking up. Dev didn’t blink. He had no doubt that Oman would kill him if he had the chance, but Oman hadn’t yet figured out that he was looking at three-on-one, and the odds weren’t stacked in his favor.
Stepping deeper into the room, he kept Oman’s attention on him, giving Joss a chance to come out of the bathroom down the hall.
He needed the cop to take just a step or two forward…
Oman took one.
It was a small step, but it should get him out of line of sight of the small bathroom just off the main room. If he could keep the man’s attention on him.
Nyrene was tucked away in her bedroom on the far side of the house and as long no bullets started flying, she should be safe.
Safe.
He had less belief in that word now than ever before, but he was determined to do what he could to ensure her safety.
“Why did you kill Meredith, Oman?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the other cop said, an easy smile on his face. “You really shouldn’t have your gun drawn.”
Dev didn’t so much as blink. “You and me both know my weapon is holstered, Oman. You’re the only one with a weapon out.” Dev had intentionally left his weapon in the holster under his arm and he had no intention of drawing it unless he had to. Let Oman get cocky. Let him get stupid.
“You planning on killing me in cold blood?” Dev curled his lip at the other cop. “That ought to make the upcoming IAB investigation really interesting.”
Oman’s eyes flickered.
A floorboard creaked just as Joss appeared behind the dirty cop.
Oman went to spin around but Joss had already moved, putting the muzzle of his Glock snug against Oman’s temple. “You don’t want to be doing whatever it is you’re thinking there,” Joss said, his voice soft and easy. “If you do, I’ll pull this trigger, and trust me, I’ll have a much easier time explaining things to IAB than you will. After all, I’m not the one holding a gun on an unarmed man.”
“Okay, I lied,” Bennett said. “Maybe you’re not the only one who is armed.”
Oman had started to sweat.
It got even worse as Captain Amana revealed herself, stepping out of the kitchen, her own weapon in her hand and leveled at Oman. “Lower the weapon, Lieutenant,” she said gently. “This is over.”
“No.” Oman sucked in a breath, then another, just shy of hyperventilating, it seemed.
What happened next happened so fast that Dev’s mind went into overdrive just to handle it.
Oman shouted at him, the words a jumbled mess. Then he threw himself backward and sideways toward the door, away from the weapon Joss pointed at him. Dev didn’t even remember drawing his own, but he found himself staring at Oman over the matte-black length of his Glock, his breathing slow, steady, heart slowing down as he prepared himself to pull the trigger.
But Oman was doing the same thing.
Only Oman had the muzzle of his gun pressed against the underside of his own chin.
“You think you’re going to win this?” he said, panting.
“You dumb shit,” Joss said.
Heavy tension filled the air in the next moment.
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Face going purple, Oman started to lower his hand. But it was slow, like something was forcing the hand down.
“Son of a bitch,” Dev muttered, recalling how something had grabbed him by the throat when he’d tried to get Joss to stop doing…whatever he’d been doing to Nyrene. It was the same tension in the air now that he’d felt then.
And, sure enough, when he looked at Oman’s wrist, there were indentations, like a hand gripped him.
Those indentations pressed tighter and tighter as Oman’s weapon hand was forced lower.
In a voice tense with strain, Joss said, “Do me a favor, Deverall. Relieve him of his weapon.”
Amana, unaware of what was really happening, stirred next to him.
“What the fuck is happening?” Oman shouted.
Ignoring him, Dev took the weapon from a rigid hand. It was like prying something from the frozen grip of a corpse. Once he had it, he reversed the weapon in his hand and used it as a club, smacking Oman across the temple.
He dropped like a stone and Dev stood over him, breathing hard. “You don’t get the easy way out, you chickenshit son of a bitch.”
* * * * *
Amana was in the middle of arguing with Joss, insisting that Nyrene needed to come in and give a statement.
Dev didn’t like the idea of her not being where he could watch over her, but he knew what Amana didn’t—Nyrene had people looking out for her that regular cops just couldn’t deal with.
He was trying to figure out how he was supposed to turn around and walk away from her now that his part in this fiasco was almost done.
He didn’t know how he could.
Silently, he leaned against the counter in the kitchen while Nyrene sat at the table.
Four cop cars were parked out front. Morell was in one. Oman was in another.
An edgy tension filled Joss, something that Dev had picked up on the moment the cop cars had arrived. Nyrene was oddly quiet.
He didn’t think he liked any of it.
He liked it even less when a knock sounded at the front door.
Nyrene tensed, looking up from her cup of tea with an odd, almost mechanical movement. She got up and he watched as she made her way into the small living room, one made even smaller by the dynamic presences of Amana and Joss Crawford.
Nyrene stood there in the doorway and smoothed her hands down her pants.
“It’s Taige,” she said, the words coming out dull and listless.
“About fucking time,” Joss muttered. He gestured to the door.
Nyrene shifted from foot to foot, her reluctance so obvious Dev wanted to tell all of them to get the hell out of her house.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he edged around her and paused at her side, brushing his fingers down her arm. “Why don’t you sit? I’ll get it.”
Night was coming on now and while he didn’t know what it was that had tension vibrating inside her, he suspected it had to do with the woman on the other side of the door. He knew Taige wanted Nyrene to help them lure in some of the people from this so-called Psychic Portal, but he thought she’d already done enough.
As he opened the door, he searched for the right phrase to make the woman standing on the porch see that.
But he took one look at her and realized it was a waste of time.
She met his eyes levelly, the gray hard and uncompromising. To his surprise, she didn’t force her way inside. “She has done enough, but they don’t care.”
Delivered as simply as that, and he knew.
“They’re coming, aren’t they?” he asked.
Taige inclined her chin.
“Fuck.” Stepping aside, he let Taige enter.
He could tell the captain recognized Taige Morgan by the way Amana’s jaw dropped, her normal unflappable attitude completely…well, flapped. Amana’s blue eyes blinked rapidly as she locked on Taige’s face and she reached up to smooth her hair back before, finally, she took a step forward, one hand outstretched.
“You’re Taige Morgan.”
Taige glanced at her, then accepted the offered hand. “I am. Captain, I hate to be blunt, but I need you and your cops to get the hell out of here.”
Amana blinked at the terse delivery.
Then she skimmed her eyes around the room, let her gaze linger on Joss before she slanted it back to Taige. After a moment, she nodded. But before she turned for the door, she looked at Deverall. “I expect some sort of explanation.”
“I don’t know how much I can tell you.”
“Just…” She waved a hand. “Tell me something.”
Chapter Eighteen
After everything that had happened, it all ended with very little fanfare.
Nyrene had expected…something. Some sort of climactic build-up.
Dev had left to go with his captain, and that had been with a lot more fanfare than with what later happened. He’d only left because Taige bluntly said, “We can hide the fact that we’re here. But you can’t. Your presence, even now, could be fucking things up. You want her safe or not?”
So he’d left, not even saying a word to Nyrene and damn if that didn’t hurt.
Joss and Taige were in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter and talking quietly.
Nyrene was in her room, pretending to pack.
She had no idea where she was supposed to be going, but it wasn’t like she was going to sit around waiting for people to come and grab her. Taige had told her to act natural, do what she’d have done under normal circumstances. She’d told Taige that under normal circumstances, she’d have been packing up and hauling ass.
So Taige told her to do it.
It wasn’t hard to feign what was almost panicked motions as she went through her wardrobe and took out what was the most important, putting it in a suitcase. She’d been at it for almost an hour.
When she had the suitcase full and nobody showed up, she’d go to Taige, give her a look and Taige would just shake her head. So she’d start all over again.
She had no idea how long this was supposed to take and although she was feeling panicky, it was hard to maintain that level of energy for too long.
She was about ready to crash.
Or so she thought.
Something rolled across her senses. She had no idea what it was. The only way she could describe it was like a knock—somebody tap, tap, tapping against the window of her soul, just checking to see if she was there.
Panic, true panic exploded inside her and she rushed to the door, mouth open.
Joss was already there and he lifted a hand, covered her mouth.
He shook his head in warning and then nodded back to the bedroom. She gave him a pained look. If she was supposed to be doing what her instincts said, then she should be hauling ass—like now.
But Joss shook his head and gave her another hard glare.
She withdrew, her gaze flicking to meet Taige’s.
Taige gave her a reassuring smile and held up a note. The writing on it was a scrawl and Nyrene had the impression it had been written quickly.
Take a suitcase. Go into the living room. Act like you’re leaving. Wait until the time is right. You’ll know.
Taige had a lot more confidence in her than Nyrene had in herself, but she nodded, feeling defeated.
The suitcase was about as full as it needed to be, so she zipped it shut.
That odd tension had settled into a vibration of sorts at the base of her skull. It all but hummed. Be ready, be ready, be ready…
Nyrene hefted the suitcase off the bed, watched as Taige slipped into her room to take her place, turning off the light and closing the door until only a couple of inches remained open.
Joss hit the lights in the kitchen and remained in there, lurking in the shadows.
Nyrene turned to look at him, mouth opening to ask him a question.
But it froze on her lips as a trail of ice seemed to trip up her spine.
Slowly, she turned toward the door.
&n
bsp; You’ll know.
Her breathing hitched in her lungs.
She wanted to run.
Everything inside her screamed it.
Although her instincts, now in full-on panic mode, chittered at her and insisted there might not be any time left to run. He’ll hurt you, they whispered. They told him he could hurt you if you didn’t come. He likes hurting people.
She had no idea who he was.
Then a fist hit the door.
“Nyrene?”
A man’s voice called out her name.
She couldn’t speak.
He knocked again, louder this time. “Open up, Nyrene. I can feel you in there.”
Feel me? Panic screamed louder.
Joss’s voice drifted to her. “Say something,” he whispered, almost soundlessly. “It’s okay. You’re not alone.”
She sure as hell felt like it.
Gripping the handle of her suitcase, she said in a wavering voice, “Who is it?”
“A friend, Nyrene. I’m a friend. I’m here to help with this problem of yours.”
She wanted to scream out she didn’t have a problem, that her only problem was all the people who wouldn’t quit following her, but she said nothing.
She didn’t know what to say. There was nothing that wouldn’t sound like a bald-faced lie.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she backed away from the door instinctively. She had barely lifted her foot when the doorknob rattled a little.
“Oh, honey,” the man said on the other side of the door. “Locks are useless with me.”
Her fingers tightened until the plastic grip of the suitcase handle was biting into her skin. She made it two more steps as she watched, mesmerized, while the lock slowly twisted in the other direction, going from the locked position to the unlocked. Heart pounding, she backed up one more step as the doorknob turned and the door started to squeak open.
A couple of low murmurs were exchanged and she realized for the first time that he wasn’t alone.
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