Fury of Fire

by Coreene Callahan

  Boots rooted to the pitted floor, Solares’ eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you tell what this is about first?”

  With the one-way mirror behind her, Angela set her notebook down beside the Versace and pointed to the chair opposite her. “Sit.”

  “Holy cr—do you know how long I’ve been here, waiting?” Solares paused, no doubt to unclench her teeth. “Of course, you do. You’re the one who put me here.”

  Angela raised a brow, but stayed silent. If she opened her mouth right now, an apology for the tough-guy routine might fly out. Then where would they be? Eyeballs deep in No-Answersville with a potential suspect riding shotgun, that’s where.

  Mac shifted behind her, the scrape of his boots loud in the quiet, as he used his size to back her up.

  A good thirty seconds ticked past before Solares backed down. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  Taking two steps, she grabbed the chair back and yanked. Metal screeched across wood before being slammed down a few feet from the edge of the table. With a grace that belied her attitude, the woman sank into the plastic seat. Crossing her arms over her chest, she settled in, her chin set at an obstinate angle.

  With a murmured “thank you,” Angela slid into the chair across the table and opened her notebook. She started with the usual questions. Had Ms. Solares seen her friend? Talked to her? Did she know where she might be? When the answers came back no, no, and no, Angela moved on. “Tell me about Myst…habits, history. How long have you known her?”

  “Look, I came down here to file a missing person report.” A crease between her brows, Solares crossed her legs, foot bobbing in the breeze. “I was telling the other officer everything when I got hauled over here. What’s going on?”

  “Just answer the quest—”

  “Please,” she said. “Just…tell me. Myst’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Well, I’m here…here!…in an interrogation room with you.” Worry in her dark eyes, she raised her hands, palms up, the gesture one of helplessness. “I don’t know what happened, but…I spent all day looking for her. I’ve checked her apartment, called her boss, talked to the nurses at the hospital. No one’s seen or heard from her since…oh, God. I knew something would go wrong. Had a feeling, you know? I tried to talk her out of it but…”

  Mac moved into her line of sight as Solares’s voice trailed off. Propping his shoulder against the wall, her partner tipped his chin, telling her he was back online. Thank God. She didn’t like flying solo.

  Angela raised a brow. “But?”

  “She promised to check in…after, you know? Myst never breaks a promise and she always…always…checks in. I waited up. I’ve called and called…but everything goes to voice mail.” Brushing her hair behind her ears, Solares shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. If she could reach me, she would. Something is really wrong. She would never let me worry if she could…”

  The woman’s voice broke, and Angela took pity. “Listen, Tania, we’re—”

  “You don’t have a clue, do you?” Her dark brown eyes filled with tears.

  Angela tightened the grip on her pen to keep from reaching across the table to take the woman’s hand. It was hard. She understood that kind of panic…was too well acquainted with death not to recognize the upheaval of a missing loved one. And as Solares glanced away—crossed her arms, uncrossed her legs, fidgeted, and then recrossed everything to keep the pain at bay—Angela felt herself crack. The woman in front of her wasn’t guilty of anything other than caring about her friend.

  “God,” Solares whispered, wiping beneath her eyes. “I told her not to go out there…to just leave well enough alone.”

  “To the Van Owen house?”

  “Yeah. But Myst wouldn’t listen. She was so worried about Caroline.”

  “Why?”

  “Something about test results and missed appointments.” Glancing up, her gaze sharpened as she met Angela’s. “And that jerk of a boyfriend.”

  “Caroline’s?”

  “He was awful to Caroline, you know? Abusive. Myst didn’t go into detail, but it didn’t sound good and now…”

  “What?”

  “Myst’s dead, isn’t she? That asshole killed her.”

  “There’s no proof of that, Ms. Solares,” Mac said, entering the conversation. “Do you know the boyfriend’s name?”

  “Umm…Ryan something.” Frowning, she chewed on her bottom lip. “Brady, maybe?”

  Angela scribbled down the name, hope blooming hard. An abusive boyfriend equaled a solid lead. The guy had a history of violence and a motive—the baby. So, where did the missing nurse fit in? Was it a wrong time, wrong place scenario? Was she a hostage or the next victim? Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing for sure? Myst Munroe needed finding.

  “This is such a nightmare.” Solares rubbed her upper arms. “Just like before.”

  Before? Angela tossed a loaded look at her partner. “Come again?”

  The J. Lo look-alike blew out a shaky breath. “It’s like what happened to her mom…except, well, Myst isn’t dead in her kitchen.”

  “What?” both she and Mac said, echoing each other.

  “Yeah.” Her gaze bounced from Angela to Mac then back again. “You didn’t know?”

  Mac shifted. Pushing away from the wall, he crossed the room, pulled out a chair, and joined them at the table. His gaze riveted on Solares, he murmured, “Fill us in.”

  “Her mom was murdered three years ago,” she said. “The cops said it was a robbery. A bunch of Dana’s important papers, her computer, and backup files were stolen. Research. From her work at the biotech.”

  A scientist. Wow. Another piece to fit into the Myst Munroe puzzle. “What was her mother researching?”

  “Genetics, I think. Something to do with DNA splicing and gender. I didn’t understand any of it. I’m a landscape designer…my world revolves around plants, not science.” Playing with her ring, Solares spun it around her middle finger. “Myst came home from work and found her. Dana had been…sliced up…tortured, the detective said.”

  Angela sat back in her chair, analyzing the new information. Was it important to their case? God only knew, but honestly? Every little bit counted. Sooner or later, all the pieces would come together to give her what she needed, a trail of facts that led to a murderer. “Was the killer ever caught?”

  She shook her head. “I think that’s been the hardest part for Myst…the not knowing. No closure. The constant wondering. Do you think her mom’s murder has anything to do with her…being missing?”

  “We’re running down every lead.” Pushing his chair back, Mac stood, a clear indication the interview was over. “Thank you for coming in, Tania.”

  Solares snorted and got to her feet. “Like I had choice?”

  Angela’s lips twitched as she joined the pair. Whatever the brunette’s shortcomings, courage wasn’t among them. Taking a card from her notebook, she handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, call me.”

  With a nod, Solares accepted her offering. “Will you let me know if anyth—”

  “Don’t leave town.” Mac gestured toward the door. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Sticking the card in the top of her bag, Solares grabbed the straps and, high heels clicking, skirted the table on her way to the exit. As she opened the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “Whatever you think she’s done, detectives, you’re wrong. Myst would never hurt anyone. She doesn’t have it in her. She still has nightmares about her mom’s death.”

  Uh-huh. Well, that remained to be seen, but at least talking to Solares hadn’t wasted their time. As the brunette disappeared from view, Angela let her killer instincts out of the box. She had new leads…two good ones to chase down.

  The boyfriend was priority one, but checking him out wouldn’t take long. And then? The biotech thing. Genetic research, DNA splicing coupled with a missing baby. Coincidence? Angela’s gut told her no. So many things about the case didn�
�t add up: not the murders or the ashes. Throw in the science angle and…yeah. Those pieces were related. All she needed to do now was find the link, the string that connected the whole.

  She glanced at Mac. “Feel like a trip down to Archives after we check out Ryan Brady?”

  “You know me…cold cases turn me on.”

  “Not curvy brunettes?”

  “Them, too,” he said, grinning.

  Angela rolled her eyes and, snatching her notebook off the table, whacked him in the arm. As he recoiled and went “Ow” with feigned injury, she headed for the door. The big goof had no shame. Then again, most men didn’t—

  The screech of guitars erupted, blaring from Mac’s back pocket. Digging out his iPhone, he brought it to his ear. “MacCord.”

  She stepped over the threshold. Mac growled, “What the hell do you mean lost?”

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

  Putting on the brakes, Angela swung back into the room.

  “Well, find it. Or I’m coming down there.” Mac disconnected and shoved the phone into his pocket.

  Yikes. Now, there was a threat and a half. No one wanted Mac coming to see him, especially unhappy. “What’s up?”

  “I put a call in to the lab…wanted the results on the ash evidence.” Blue eyes full of pissed off, Mac ran a hand through his hair. A bad feeling hit her gut level. She nodded anyway, needing to hear his news. “It’s gone. The fuckheads down at the lab can’t find it.”

  “Goddamn it.” Every time they caught a break, the case whiplashed, throwing them from bad to worse.

  Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The frosty air hit Bastian like whiplash. His head jerked, throwing his body into cramping lockdown. The spasm rippled, screaming down his spine as consciousness flickered. Fuck him. He was on sensory overload, a jagged piece of real estate no dragon wanted to occupy.

  An abrupt shift yanked his chain. Agony spun him around, stretched him thin, shackling him to the whipping post in his mind. The lashing pain came fast and furious, and, with a groan, he reached for something solid. His hands found warm scales. Bastian tightened his grip on the claw wrapped around his ribcage. It wasn’t his own. At least, he knew that much, but…

  God. He couldn’t breathe.

  Clawing through the haze fracturing his thoughts, Bastian forced his chest to expand. Oxygen. He needed some. Right now.

  Sucking wind, he fought for purchase, shifted in the talon and tried to open his eyes. Jesus. What the hell was wrong with his eyes? The fuckers wouldn’t open.

  He tried again. His eyelids lifted, giving him a nothing but blur. “Fuck.”

  “Almost there, B,” the familiar voice came through mind-speak.

  “Rikar?”

  “I gotcha.”

  His best friend’s voice steadied him. Memory rushed in, surfing on a wave of information. The rail yard, the explosion…and that purple SOB. Bastian growled. The bastard had gotten the drop on them. The thought pushed another forward. They’d made a run for it. He and—

  “Wick?”

  “Here.” The deep growl came from his right.

  Fighting the need to vomit, Bastian forced his eyes open again. He was flying. Correction…Rikar was flying. He and Wick were dangling, passengers in a one-dragon parade.

  Bastian’s vision flickered, black spots playing connect the dots. “You…all right?”

  “Fuck, no. And you’re a fricking train wreck.”

  Stood to reason. He’d been ass-planted by a fleet of railcars.

  And a truckload of fire-acid.

  White wings stretched wide above them, Rikar changed course, coming down through thick clouds. The dip jarred Bastian, firing up his pain receptors. He bit down on a groan. His broken leg really hadn’t liked that, but…God. The burns were worse. With each flight shift, his side screamed, drawing more energy from his center.

  Not that he had much left.

  He was dangerously weak, so close to going under it scared him. Not something he wanted to acknowledge, but he’d never been here before: injured and reliant on another. Didn’t matter that it was Rikar. Best friend or not, Bastian always looked after himself.

  The weakness took him out and weighed him down. Without assistance, he’d never make it back to the lair…where another problem existed.

  Myst.

  He craved her. Needed to touch her. Wanted her hands on him and the soothing comfort of her voice in his ear. Hmm, he could already taste her. Bastian swallowed, the movement compulsive, like an addict imagining his next fix. And he was addicted. In need of his female’s energy to the point of gluttony.

  Shit. He was way too hungry. Had fallen off the edge into energy-greed.

  The state was beyond dangerous. One all his kind feared. And no female wanted to encounter. Not if she wished to keep breathing.

  “Rikar.”

  “Hang tough, B. Waterfall in thirty seconds.”

  “No…not…” Bastian shuddered, desperate to make his friend understand. He didn’t want to hurt Myst, but if he touched her…Jesus. He’d drain her dry, take her life force to preserve his own. It was simple biology, survival of the fittest bred into all Dragonkind males. “Don’t let me…don’t let—”

  His best friend banked right. The motion swung Bastian around and anguish bit deep, sucking the air from his lungs. He gagged, fighting his stomach’s one-way tide to refocus. But the rough flight wasn’t making it easy and, as treetops gave way to the river and Rikar turned north toward the waterfall and Black Diamond, Bastian knew he was in trouble.

  He could feel her now. Sensed her essence as strongly as he did his own. Ravenous with thirst, his dragon rose deep inside him and zeroed in, marking its prey. Bastian fought the instinctive response, tried to shackle the need. The beast overrode reason—rearing, snarling, declaring its intent.

  Bastian closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, started to pray. He asked for strength and, cursing his nature, dug deep to find his humanity. Myst needed his protection. Deserved lightness and good, not the shadows he’d given her.

  Or the pain he was about to inflict.

  Bastian could go to hell if he thought Rikar would choose a female over him. No way would he let his best friend die. It didn’t matter that neither of them liked the game plan. Or that he felt badly for Myst. Reality was a ball-breaker with a big attitude.

  Bastian needed her. So, yeah. Myst was on the hook.

  Banking like an F-18, Rikar came around the last bend in the river. The tumbling roar of the waterfall met him, spraying a cloud of mist into the night air. Without slowing, he sliced through the cascade into the tunnel beyond. Water wicking from his wing tips, his sonar lit up like the Fourth of July, pinging off the rock face as he navigated the narrow passageway. The LZ lay just ahead. Beyond that? The underground lair…and his friend’s salvation.

  Coming in fast, he drew up short, floated above the landing zone for a second, then touched down softly. His back claws scraped granite, throwing up stone dust. Wick cursed as his bare feet met stone. The male stumbled sideways into the hatchback. Bastian’s legs buckled, sending him to the cavern floor.

  Rikar shifted, moving from dragon to human form. Concern riding him hard, he crouched, coming down beside Bastian. The male groaned and, planting his palms, pushed away from the ground. Careful of his injuries, Rikar slid to his friend’s good side and helped him up.

  Electricity sparked as Venom came through the cavern wall. Ruby eyes aglow, the male swept the scene and, giving the f-bomb a workout, ran toward Wick.

  Rikar slung Bastian’s arm around his shoulders and turned them toward the lair’s entrance. “Where is she?”

  “The clinic.” Wick in his arms, Venom met his gaze over-top of his buddy’s head. “I didn’t warn her.”

  “Don’t…” In obvious pain, Bastian groaned. “Rikar…don’t…”

  “You need her.”

&nbs
p; “I’m too…hungry.” He recoiled, struggling as Rikar half-carried, half-dragged him across the LZ. “Don’t…please. I’ll…kill her…can’t…”

  “I’ll stay with you. If shit gets critical, I’ll pull her free.”

  “Bull…shit. You won’t be able—”

  “Fuck off.” With a snarl, Rikar muscled his best friend through the invisible barrier. Static electricity surged, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Another step and he was through, boots planted on the polished concrete of the interior corridor. Thank God. He was seconds away from getting Bastian what he needed. The clinic was up the hall. Myst was in there, waiting for her male. “I’m not letting you die.”

  Chin to his chest, Bastian shook his head. “Rikar, please. Please.”

  Rikar ignored the begging. In that moment, he didn’t care. He would give his best friend what he needed…risk of a dead female or not.

  The double-wide glass doors to the clinic slid open, and—

  “Oh, my God!” Wide-eyed, Myst sucked in a quick breath seconds before her bare feet took flight. “Rikar, we need to get him into the clinic. I’ve got—”

  “No! Stay away!”

  The desperate denial echoed against concrete, but Myst didn’t slow. Like a female hurricane, she raced down the hallway, her eyes riveted on Bastian. Thank Christ. The faster she got to him, the faster he’d lose the battle and stop fighting. Still, as she came within range, Bastian reared, trying to retreat. Rikar held firm, strong-arming his best friend into the female’s path.

  Her proximity wrecked Bastian.

  Deep-seated instinct surged, shoving B toward his female. With a snarl, he lunged at her. Rikar let him go, watched his friend wrap her up hard. As his broken leg gave out and sent them sideways, Myst gasped. The shocked sound lasted less than a second before Bastian caged her: pressed her back against the wall, put his mouth to her throat, his hands searching beneath her tank top. As skin met skin, she arched and energy surged. Wild heat exploded, knocking Rikar back a step and…