The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2)

by Jamie McLachlan

  Her lips quirk upwards. “Young constables aren’t the best at keeping their mouths closed. I’m sure that’s something you’ve figured out during your time aiding the detective.” She pauses and lifts a brow. “Of course they didn’t say why you were shot.”

  “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. The bullet merely grazed my shoulder, causing no permanent damage.”

  Her gaze flickers to the open door, and then back at me, her voice lowered in confidentiality. “I also heard something else.”

  My eyes narrow, my suspicion quickly returning, but I can’t subdue my thirst for knowledge. “And what’s that?”

  “Did you really arrest Jonathan Hayes?”

  I sigh and lean back. “You know I can’t tell you that.” Her mouth tightens in annoyance, but she doesn’t make any move to leave. “Is there any particular reason why you’re curious about Jonathan?”

  “No reason,” she says, but I can tell it’s a lie.

  Beneath the poised exterior is fear. It trickles beneath her calm and fills the room, as if it were an awful smell she was trying to mask beneath a cloud of perfume. And that one slip of control informs me she knows Jonathan is tied to the Phoenix. But is she afraid for him or is she afraid of him?

  Any possibility implies her involvement with the Phoenix. But to what extent? How much blood does she have on her hands? I think of Daniel, locked beneath the police station in the underground prison. Surely she must know the Phoenix won’t protect her if she’s caught. She’ll be hanged along with Daniel and any other empath involved. I’m suddenly possessed with the urge to warn her. Perhaps it’s not too late for her to turn away.

  “The Phoenix will be caught, Alyssa. Are you really willing to die for him?”

  Her head snaps up, and her eyes narrow onto me with a frightening intensity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” I lift my brow in a clear challenge. “We’re both empaths, Alyssa, so there’s no point in pretending innocence. I know you’re involved. I just don’t know how much.”

  “I do what I have to in order to survive.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “I can sympathize with that. I really do, but you’re a fool if you think you won’t eventually be caught. And the Phoenix? He won’t be there to save you. You’ll be executed along with Daniel and Jonathan. Do you really want the Phoenix to be another one of your masters?”

  For the first time, her composure cracks, exposing a tentative line of vulnerability. “Freedom doesn’t come without a price. You of all people should know that.”

  “Alyssa, you have a choice.”

  She looks down at her hands, her voice pitched low with uncertainty. “What if it’s too late?”

  I think back to the first two suicides and wonder if she’s responsible. Or is it something more recent, like Mr. Anderson’s death? My eyes widen, and my heart pounds in my chest. Is she the one who persuaded the Chief to kill Keenan? No, please no. I open my mouth with the intention of saying something, but someone knocks on the open door, interrupting us, and the moment to gain further information from Alyssa has ended. I glance up at the doorway, and my heart rate immediately levels out at the sight of Keenan.

  His gaze flickers curiously between me and Alyssa. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Not at all.” Alyssa stands, and her aloof façade falls smoothly back into place. “I was just leaving. Good day, Moira.”

  The moment she leaves, Keenan closes the door and approaches me. He pulls the chair closer to the bed, and then sits down, placing my clothing beside me. When his gaze falls on me, I try not to squirm beneath their intense examination. The idea of seeing him dead, lying on one of Dr. White’s tables, has my heart constricting painfully, and I hastily shove the image away.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  My lips quirk upwards, and I push the blanket aside and hang my legs off the edge of the bed. “Better. Have you come to take me out of here?”

  “Yes.” He pauses, and his eyes narrow in contemplation. “If you hadn’t pushed me, I might be dead.”

  “You hardly need to feel obliged to thank me, Detective.” I pitch my voice in a seductive tone, as I slide my foot up the inner part of his thigh. “But I suppose I can’t stop you if you feel strongly on the matter.”

  I wink at him and hope he recalls the time he had said the same thing to me. His eyes flicker from my hazel eye to my blue one, and for a moment I worry he doesn’t remember. But then his gaze slides down the length of my bare leg, and he reaches out to caress my ankle, his thumb skimming along the inner part of my foot. A shiver trails up my leg and settles deep between my thighs.

  “Are you flirting with me, Moira?” His hand creeps farther up my calf, his long fingers trailing behind my knee.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I am.”

  Suddenly, his lips are on my skin, and his hand slips beneath the hem of my chemise. Just when I believe he’ll touch me where I’m desperate for his attention, he simply brushes his thumb tantalizingly close and then pulls his hand away. He stands and grabs hold of my face between his hands, his eyes bright with desire.

  “Thank you, Moira.” He kisses me deeply, his tongue sliding against mine with promises of more. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

  I’m a little disappointed, but when he helps me dress, I have the feeling he only intends to bring me back to his place so we can be with each other in private. As soon as I’m fully clothed, we head out of the hospital and into his motor vehicle. My suspicion is proven correct when he drives into the west district toward his townhouse. The moment we step inside, Mrs. Whitmore greets us. If it were up to me, I’d skip the pleasantries and drag Keenan upstairs. But he politely greets her and even engages in the usual chatter, making specific requests for dinner. It’s agonizing, and the pain in my arm begins to creep up.

  “We’ll have supper a little later than usual,” he says to Mrs. Whitmore. “In the meantime, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  Her gaze flickers to me, and I can sense her disapproval. “Of course, sir.”

  The moment she leaves, I look at Keenan. He holds out his hand, and I take it and follow him upstairs. His barriers are carefully intact, so I can’t sense anything through the touch besides his emotions. They swirl in an intoxicating mix of lust and excitement, and I wonder what he’s planning inside that mind of his. He leads me to the bathroom, and my curiosity heightens. After closing the door behind him, he approaches the bathtub and starts running the water.

  My lips quirk upwards as he advances on me and begins unbuttoning my blouse. “I’m not exactly in the mood to bathe, Detective. I was hoping we would retire to your bedroom instead.”

  He leans forward, his nose trailing softly against my cheek, and whispers into my ear, “Silly women—always thinking about sex.”

  His hands slide down my arms, trailing my shirt down with them, as he explores the tender area below my earlobe with his tongue and lips. I moan and begin removing his clothes. My skirt drops to pool around my feet, and he pulls away to stand behind me. The next item to fall is my corset, and I lift my arms to help him remove my chemise. The sharp sting of the stitches pulling tight reminds me of the wound on my arm, but I force it away to the back of my mind. The only sensation I want to think about at the moment is pleasure, not pain.

  When I turn around, I’m completely naked, while he still has his pants on. He slips out of them and steps into the bath, pulling me along with him. He positions us so we’re both facing the door, with him behind me, and I lean back against his chest. The water creeps past my stomach to settle around my breasts, my nipples peaking above the surface.

  I moan and rest my head on his shoulder. “I could get used to this.”

  “Me too.” His fingers trail along my collarbone, dipping momentarily between my floating breasts. “We need to talk, Moira.”

  “Okay.” My ease immediately vanishes, replaced by a terrifying fear that knots
in my chest. “If it’s something bad, then you shouldn’t have pulled me into a bath with you.”

  He sighs, his breath travelling across my neck. “It’s not bad, or at least I don’t think it is.”

  “Well, I’m certain it’s a general rule that when someone says “we need to talk” it’s inherently bad news.”

  His hand pauses, tantalizingly close to my left nipple, as he deliberates on his next words. “I have something important to tell you, Moira.”

  My brows furrow, but I nod slightly. “I suppose that’s better. Alright, what is it then?”

  “It would be best if you didn’t interrupt me until I’m finished. Promise?”

  I smile. “I promise.”

  He inhales deeply, and I’m grateful we’re not facing each other. Whatever he has to say will be easier to swallow if I don’t have to look into his eyes, and he wasn’t lying when he said it was important. I can feel it in the quickening of his pulse behind me, and sense it in the erratic ticking of his mind.

  His voice is grave, heavy with the unpleasant truth. “I do want a wife and children.”

  My heart starts racing at the sound of those words, and I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s exactly what I thought, but I never expected him to admit it. I try to clear the haze in my head, wondering why he would wait to tell me this when we’re naked. This sort of conversation is meant to be expressed with clothes on and with a little distance between us.

  His hand trails down my arm, and he laces his fingers with mine. “But I want that woman to be you.”

  “Keenan–”

  “You promised you wouldn’t interrupt.” He pauses and waits to see if I’ll say anything else. When I don’t, he continues. “I know that might not be a possibility, but I’d rather have you in my life than not at all. I can’t promise it’ll be easy and I’m not exactly sure how it’ll work. All I know is I want you, Moira, in any way I can.”

  He squeezes my hand, and his voice is low with vulnerability when he speaks next. “Please, stay.”

  “Keenan…” I trail off, not sure of what to say.

  Could I stay?

  “I love you, Moira.”

  “Oh, no,” I breathe, sitting up in one fluid motion. “No, don’t you dare say that.”

  I turn around and don’t realize I’m violently shaking my head until Keenan grabs hold of my face between his hands. His expression is a mixture of bemusement and affront. His brows are pulled tight, but his gaze is steady as he watches me with his usual intentness. He thinks I don’t believe him, and I honestly don’t know if I do. No one has ever said those words to me before, and hearing them instills a mixture of emotions inside me. The prominent one is fear, while the others are anger and disbelief.

  “It’s true, Moira.”

  I grab hold of his hands and push them away, my voice frantic. “No, you don’t! You can’t! We’ve only known each other for two months, Keenan. Besides, I’m a–”

  He grabs hold of my face once again, but this time his hold on me is secure. “I don’t care if you make me say it a thousand times, it doesn’t change how I feel.” His gaze slides from my blue eye to my hazel one. “I love you.”

  Instead of waiting for me to speak, he grabs me behind the neck and presses his lips against mine. His mouth tastes sweet from the words he said, and I greedily consume the emotion, eternalizing this moment forever in my mind. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and I run my fingers through his hair. For some reason, my mind chooses this moment to think about Rachel and Constable Evans. Rachel had said they were in love, and she would have done anything for him. I chose to sacrifice my safety for Keenan today in the Chief’s office, and I would do it again. Does that make me any different from Rachel?

  “Fuck,” I breathe, pulling away from him slightly.

  The profanity was muttered in a combination of disbelief and dawning realization, as my mind understands what my heart has been trying to say all along. Our breaths mingle, and his gaze pierces through me. I rest my fingers lightly on his cheek, my thumb caressing the curve of his upper lip, and I can no longer deny the extent of my feelings for him, especially after everything he’s said. I might be a fool, and our relationship might be doomed. But, God, do I love him.

  I plant a soft kiss on his lips and then look him in the eyes, my heart completely exposed for his taking. “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  2034 Stanton Drive, Ward Twenty

  Mr. Hayes’s estate

  May 7, 1903

  According to Icarus, there was something satisfying about patience. It was an attribute not many people possessed, and, as a result, their lives were drastically affected by their deficiency. Instead of leisurely strolling through the park, these people rushed past the gardens, their gazes locked either on the ground or the sky above them. They never noticed the intricate flowers budding beneath the sun’s rays, or the careful way in which each section was planned. The idea each plant was specifically chosen never crossed their minds, because they were too preoccupied with moving beyond the garden or gossiping with other members of society. The gardener—the mastermind behind the garden’s creation—was far from their minds and, in fact, was as insignificant as the bee that bounces from blossom to blossom.

  If these people would have been in charge of constructing the garden, they would have randomly selected the foliage. They would have chosen purely on colour preferences, but by the end their decisions would have been blindly made. And instead of artfully arranging the different species, they would have hurriedly dug a hole for each and disregarded the plant’s specific requirements. The plants would then soon die, or most would be suffocated by more dominant species. In the end, the garden wouldn’t be a garden at all.

  The gardener, on the other hand, possessed patience. He waited. He planned. And he carried out each movement with purpose. In the end, his patience was rewarded with the growth and beauty of each seed he sowed into the earth. Icarus considered himself such a man, possessing endless perseverance. He could sit still for as long as was needed to vigilantly construct the plans necessary for success, and once his strategy was in place, he could wait even more until the time proved beneficial and guaranteed his victory.

  Yes, Mr. Hayes was a very patient man.

  Yet for the first time in his life, he found himself anxiously pacing before the fireplace in his parlour room. There was one thing—or, more specifically, one person—who had finally managed to grate against his nerves and use up all his patience. This person was stomping all over his garden, moving things around and pulling out flowers from their roots. She was ruining everything, turning all the plans he had worked all his life to formulate into nothingness. He had waited a long time for her, and there was a moment when he was convinced he had her.

  Icarus’s face twisted in silent rage, remembering the night when his courier had returned only to relay Moira’s rejection. The words had caused his face to heat with rage and his fists to clench in suppressed violence. But as much as he resented the concubine for her harsh refusal, Mr. Hayes knew it was the detective’s fault. If it weren’t for that man, Moira would be his. He should have listened to Jonathan when he had warned him, and he had underestimated Moira’s feelings. He brought his glass up to his mouth and took a long swallow of the amber liquid, vowing to not make that mistake again.

  His butler appeared in the doorway and informed him of Moira’s arrival. Mr. Hayes smoothed his face, his expression shifting from fury to polite friendliness, and he quickly stopped his pacing to stand before the couch. The moment Moira entered the room, Icarus’s lips curved up into an alluring smile.

  “Ah, Moira, I’m glad you decided to see me after all.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit.”

  Moira’s gaze flickered around the room before finally settling on him. She was uncertain like the first time she had come to his place alone, but the other time she had also been aroused and interested in him. Now, everything had changed. When her diffe
rent coloured eyes regarded him, they held wariness and discomfort, even if she tried her best to hide her feelings. Icarus saw it all, as if her heart were exposed to him. Yet he didn’t let that deter him from his plan. He was a patient man, but sometimes outside forces required him to act before scheduled.

  “I couldn’t exactly refuse.” She approached him and took a seat on the sofa, carefully keeping her distance. “You said it was important and involved Jonathan, but I was to come alone.”

  He sat down beside her, resting his glass on the table. “Yes, it’s very important. Forgive me if I don’t feel comfortable conversing with the detective.” His lips curved playfully. “Besides, you’re much more beautiful and pleasing to look at.”

  Her discomfort increased, uncertain of how to respond. “Icarus–”

  “Relax, Moira.” He leaned against the couch and rested his arm along the back. “I have no intention of being rejected more than once. Unlike some people, I know when I’m not desired.”

  “About that–”

  He quickly interrupted her. “Shh, there’s no need to explain. I understand completely.”

  Her brows pinched together, and her puzzlement clouded the air around them. “You do?”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling wider. “Your interests have diverted your attention elsewhere. It’s only natural and to be expected, though I have to admit I thought it wouldn’t happen as soon as it had.”

  She considered him for a moment. “That’s very understanding of you.”

  “I’m an understanding man.” His gaze lowered to her arm. “How is your wound, by the way? Has it healed yet?”

  “Not entirely. It’s still sore, and I’ll have a scar. How did you know?”

  “Word travels fast.” He cocked his head to one side, evaluating her emotions. “What exactly happened?”

  Her mind immediately closed at his question, and she answered him evasively. “It was an accident and not an interesting story at all. I’d much rather discuss what you mentioned in your letter.”