Mender (The Ashport Mender Series Book 2)

by G. K. Lund

  I wasn’t sure yet. I didn’t think he would be. At least not to everyone. Confusion and uncertainty dominated my mindset and I could not see how I expressed that very clearly.

  I’m guessing you’re not sure. Is he difficult?

  “Are you two seriously having a discussion together with your thoughts and feelings?” Hansen interrupted our seemingly silent pause. His voice was pure disbelief.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Dr. Morris was right. He was quick on the uptake. A little too much maybe.

  “To answer your question,” I told Gerard. “He likes things done in a certain way.”

  “I also talk about people to their faces,” Hansen said. “But that’s neither here nor there with you guys, it seems. And speaking of which…what are you?”

  I glanced at him. He seemed almost relaxed seated on the too soft couch, making even him sink down and look smaller than he was. Between wishes for coffee, sleep, and his slippers, I heard Gerard wonder how I hadn’t told him this yet. I broke our connection.

  “We’re only people,” I said. “Like the rest of you.”

  Hansen snorted at this. “Not quite.”

  “We’re not a separate species,” Gerard chimed in, “but we have something…extra…to put it like that.”

  “How is that?”

  Gerard and I looked at each other. No one really knew the answer to this. “It’s hereditary. Runs in families, and manifests in different ways and strengths.”

  “Since when?” Hansen pressed, focused on the big man. He wasn’t used to getting answers this readily. Hell, even I hadn’t expected that from Gerard. But he had a whole community to protect. Right now, he was trying the friendly approach. Different approaches would have to come later, if necessary.

  “Since always, we think.”

  “How is that even possible? How does no one know about this?”

  “But you do know about us. Psychics, healers, mediums, and the like. Most of them are frauds, not all, but most. Those who are real are often disliked by their communities. Exposure puts everyone at risk.”

  “How so? You seem to have some…advantages.”

  Gerard shrugged, his bathrobe tightening over his shoulders. He was sitting in his nightclothes as we had woken him up. For something like what we were dealing with, that wasn’t an issue, though. Not with him.

  “A few perhaps, but there are less of us. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s nature’s way of keeping us in check? Regardless, non-affiliates are no worse than us when it comes to doing harm, and we are usually perceived as a threat. Or as someone who can be used.” He glanced at me. “After what you’ve seen these last days, Detective, you can perhaps understand that?”

  Hansen uncrossed his arms and nodded at this. He understood that most people have the ability to be shitty to others. I might not have liked his people, but I knew there had to be a reason he’d wanted to work as a cop. I guessed they did help regular people.

  “All right,” Hansen continued, “but what about—”

  “Ah, I’m sorry,” Gerard stopped him by holding up a hand in surrender. “I can’t answer any more of your questions now. And I get that it is frustrating. Trust me, I know,” he said emphatically to the detective who had crossed his arms over his chest again. “But I have to go and pay my respects to the poor young men. And I need to talk to Dr. Morris. I can give you something in exchange for my rude departure, though. Any questions you might have about us can be directed at Maggie.” He looked at me, deadly serious, but I could see the mirth in his eyes. He knew I was crap at things like this. “And she will answer them,” he continued, “within reason, of course.”

  Of course. No need to tell the outsider all our secrets. But still…I groaned inwardly, knowing the number of questions he’d already thrown at me.

  “Anyway,” Gerard said as he got up from his chair. “Talk to Annalise and find this attacker. The only thing I do know is that he isn’t one of ours.”

  I nodded, feeling the weight of it all. It didn’t matter, though. Regardless of what I felt about this, it wasn’t even near as bad as it was for the three young men who lay in their beds like living corpses. Or Andrea, chained up and drugged in a basement somewhere.

  Chapter 10

  “I’m not convinced this is a good idea,” Hansen said, sounding…well, like himself when it came to anything I said or did, really.

  “If Will’s awake then you know the fed is as well,” I said, pushing open a door in the basement we were in. “He might be trying to find us, but he’ll never think I’ve gone here.”

  “And Yorov?”

  “They might be watching the place, but would you expect me to come back?”

  There was a pause behind me, but I heard his footsteps following. “I would now,” he said after a little while. I scoffed at him but said nothing.

  We walked through a small parking garage, used by the residents in the building above us. I opened another door, never locked for some reason, and we entered another similar garage, though this one belonged to the building next door. It wasn’t noticeable from the outside, but the two buildings shared the basements.

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he asked.

  “Not a good idea to live anywhere where there isn’t an extra way in,” I said, opening a door that led to the stairs. You learned things over time. Escape routes were dandy and fine, but sometimes you needed to go the other way.

  “It’s nice,” he said as we walked into the apartment a few minutes later, “but small.”

  “You seem surprised,” I said, kicking my shoes off while flipping through the mail I’d brought in. “What were you expecting?” I added, looking defiantly at him. I knew now that my lack of income was one of the things that had aroused his suspicions of me in the first place. He’d probably expected me to occupy one of the larger apartments in the building.

  “Nothing,” he said, but I saw him taking it all in with curiosity.

  It was a tiny apartment. We were, simply by entering, standing in the living room and kitchen, which occupied the biggest room I had. The kitchen covered the wall to our right, except for the door to my immediate right, leading into the bathroom. The living room wasn’t big, but I had a couple of hard chairs and a small mint-green rococo sofa, which faced a cluttered coffee table and a TV in the corner. The couch was a total knock-off, but it reminded me of my grandmother’s, so I had bought the thing despite it not being particularly comfortable. I was always careful with photos, having as many as I could hang on the walls, the ones no one could pinpoint any locations on. Other than that, it was a mix of things I picked up now and then. Things I liked. Plants as well, but I had a knack for killing them. Not because I didn’t know how to water a plant, but because of neglect.

  “I don’t need much,” I told him. “I’m not here that often.”

  He nodded, but there was still a crease of confusion between his eyebrows. “It’s colorful,” he said, looking at me a moment.

  I took his meaning at once. Dressed in black jeans, a gray top, and a brown leather jacket, I was not. The only color I ever really wore was lipstick. I shrugged.

  “I like it,” I said and left it at that. I slung the envelopes on the little shelf by the door. I pulled the tranquilizer gun from my waistband before putting it in the same place, and walked over to the kitchen. I was hungry. Dawn was breaking outside, and it had been a long night so far. Since we couldn’t head over to Annalise yet, it was just as well to eat something.

  I found some cereal, which lifted my hopes. Since I didn’t spend much time in my home, food tended to be scarce or past its expiration date.

  “Hungry?” I asked over my shoulder. With all the faults he found in me I sure wasn’t going to add bad hostess to the list.

  “Yeah,” he said and came over. “That’s what you eat?” he asked immediately upon laying eyes on the cereal box.

  “What’s wrong with it?” I asked while opening the fridge, hoping for drinkable m
ilk.

  “It’s full of sugar.”

  I shrugged. “I like sugar.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Damn it,” I hissed as the sour smell of curdled milk hit my nose. I quickly closed the carton and put it back on the self.

  “Seriously?” he blurted at the sight.

  “What?”

  He shook his head in exasperation. “Move,” he ordered and pushed me aside, looking into the half-empty fridge.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Foraging for food, apparently.”

  So much for being a good hostess. To my surprise, he did manage to find a few edible things in there. A few onions and some eggs. A little cheese. This seemed to please him, so I decided to ruin that feeling.

  “Those have to be expired,” I said, nodding toward the eggs.

  He actually smiled then, which shut me up a moment. Smiling? That was worrisome.

  “Eggs usually last well past their expiration date,” he said as he found a large glass which he filled with water. He put a couple of the eggs in it and watched them sink to the bottom. He looked pleased with this as well. “These will do just fine,” he concluded. I didn’t let my confusion show. I had no idea what the glass of water was for, but I wasn’t going to admit that. I suspected he knew, but a woman had to have some pride.

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Have fun.”

  Which, it turned out, he seemed to have. Not fun, exactly, but he seemed to enjoy cooking up what turned out to be scrambled eggs, making use of the herbs in the kitchen window that had managed to survive my absence.

  For lack of anything better to do, I tidied up the clutter on the coffee table, really just stuffing it underneath. I was aware that Hansen was likely living in a tidy place, everything in order. He did seem the type.

  The hiss of the frying pan was the only sound in the apartment. I considered turning on the TV, but what would be on at this time? We didn’t turn any lights on as we didn’t want anyone outside who might be watching this place to know we were in there. Daylight was enough.

  “It’s ready,” he said after a little while.

  I jumped up, my stomach growling now there was an actual smell of food in the place. Liz and Will’s vegetables weren’t staving off hunger hours later. He handed me a plate and a cup. Scrambled eggs and tea.

  Tea?

  “I didn’t know I had tea,” I pointed out.

  He filled his own plate and grabbed another cup before heading for the couch where he sat down. “In your window,” he said.

  I looked at the herbs, smelling them now that he’d made use of them. Despite using several of them, there was a dominating smell of mint. Peppermint, to be exact. I tasted the tea finding it both soothing and fresh. Then I tried the eggs. They were also good, tasty with spice and onions, not the bland mix I made myself. There was a reason I preferred going out to buy food. I turned to look at him where he sat eating.

  “I get it,” I said walking over to the couch.

  “What?”

  “You actually like to cook.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said without looking up at me.

  I smiled. He looked oversized in my place, tall and broad-shouldered. The couch–a two-seater–also seemed small with him on it. I smiled viciously behind his back, and went and sat down next to him on the couch, a movement that made him try to move to his left, to no avail. The couch wasn’t big enough for our thighs not to touch. I could have sat down in one of the hard chairs, but out of the two of us, I was not the easily disconcerted one. I knew he wanted me to move, or to move himself, but he wouldn’t do that. That would be admitting he was fazed.

  I bit my cheek to keep from smiling and focused on the food, which went down fast. My hunger and the taste being a perfect combination.

  “I asked you why you didn’t call the police after Andrea was kidnapped,” he said after a little while. “Do you remember that?”

  I swallowed while nodding. He had asked me that after I’d tried running from him the first time.

  “You misspoke a little then,” he continued. “I almost thought you’d been about to say that you actually had called them.”

  I snorted. “Fat chance.”

  He looked at me with something akin to disappointment at that, but went on nonetheless. “You called Gerard, didn’t you?”

  I lowered my plate a moment, considering what to say. Then I remembered Gerard had told me to be helpful. “Yes,” I said.

  “I get he’s your leader or something,” Hansen said, chewing around the eggs. “Is he the equivalent of police to you?”

  I hadn’t told him much more than that before we went over to Gerard’s, and that had only been to make sure he showed the Judge some respect. But some sort of affiliate police?

  “No,” I answered. “We don’t have that. If we don’t trust you guys, why would we have any of our own?”

  “Then—”

  “He’s our judge. He’s elected. He will stay that way until he fucks up, steps down, or dies. That makes him a leader, not the leader.” I raised my plate again and continued eating while he mulled this information over in his head. We didn’t talk much for the rest of the meal, and for once it wasn’t too uncomfortable. Afterwards, when we sat nipping at the hot tea I thanked him for the food.

  He looked at me with obvious skepticism.

  “What? I can’t be thankful now?” I smiled behind my teacup.

  “You don’t cook much food, do you?” he said instead, not buying my being polite. Or trying to be at least.

  “What gave you that idea, Sherlock?”

  “I mean…you’re one of those people who only cook because you need nutrition. Tell me, do you make anything?”

  I shook my head. No time in my life to sit still long enough. “It’s like some meditation for you?” I asked him, shifting my position a little, noting his eyes looking down at our thighs touching. I knew what he was trying desperately hard not to think about. He’d eased up on me a little after discovering the world I lived in. After realizing he had been wrong. That didn’t mean he was happy with the new truths, though.

  He shrugged. “It’s relaxing, I guess.”

  I put my cup down on the table as he drained his. I turned toward him as much as possible in the tight space on the couch. I knew what I wanted to know. Knew how to agitate him, to try and get at the truth.

  “Soo…” I said, drumming my fingers on the top of the couch as he leaned forward to put down his cup. The dark polished wood created a hard tapping sound under my fingertips. “What is it about me that makes you hate me so much, only to turn around and want me in your bed the next moment?”

  He lost his grip on the cup, making it slam down on the table. It barely managed not to break.

  “Damn it, Evans,” he snapped. Any good mood he’d built up over the last hour looked like it drained from his face.

  “What?” I asked. “It’s interesting.”

  “No, it’s not.” He straightened up but was not relaxed in the least. “I told you. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “That was when you thought I was a criminal—”

  “You still are.”

  “Gray areas,” I said, waving it off.

  “What?” he almost shouted, then composed himself a little. I watched him with interest. His handsome face softening as he drew breath, trying to remain calm. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

  I looked at him with curiosity. Not responding straight away. He really was trying to apologize. Like he’d done the morning after our night in the safe house. Still, it struck me as odd, since it contrasted so much with what I had learned about him that day at Rob’s.

  “If you regret it so much,” I asked, “why do you want to do it again? We both know you do.” I had heard his thoughts. How could he deny it?

  My words sparked something I hadn’t quite expected, though. There was fury in his eyes at the reminder of me reading him, the sam
e dark look he’d had when we slept together. The sight suddenly made me aware of that night on a physical level rather than a theoretical one. I could feel my pulse quickening, saw his pupils dilating. Knew I was right. Knew in the same instant that it wasn’t only him this time, either. Gingerly, I reached a hand out to him but never had time to touch him as he grabbed me first, pushing me back on the couch.

  “How dare you use that against me?” he growled, his face inches from mine. His breath smelled pleasantly of peppermint tea. “You might be able to read minds, but that doesn’t mean you understand everything you hear.”

  “No it doesn’t,” I said, “it’s not your mind telling me this…it’s your body.”

  Confusion flickered across his eyes a moment as he looked at our current position. Pressed together on the little couch, close together, my legs around him for lack of space. I could feel the warmth of his body, heavy, yet reassuring as he pushed me back into the armrest. He smelled so good. I saw the anger returning to his face, anger at himself, I thought, more than me this time. I didn’t want him to change his mind. I wanted him. I realized that without bothering to deny it anymore. The thought of the safe house not doing anything to diminish that want. I could already feel the pleasant sensations that would build and build.

  I arched my neck, and kissed him. Light pressure against his lips first, my tongue searching his. He wouldn’t back off then, and I sighed in contentment, relaxing a bit. Or trying to at least.

  I broke free of the kiss, feeling him move on to my neck, lips both tender and fiery against my skin.

  “Okay,” I gasped, “this can’t happen here.”

  There came a muffled “what?” from him.

  “This couch isn’t built for people like you,” I clarified. “There’s no room.”

  He looked up then, a mischievous look in his eyes as he took in the couch. No doubt imagining what he could do to me pinned down there. At least he’d quickly come to terms with what he wanted as well.

  “Bedroom,” I said, starting to push him back. He hesitated a moment, before getting up, smiling down at me as I followed. No, not smiling. That was a definite smirk. Oh yes…I had forgotten that part. I smiled back, moved closer now that we were standing and started to take off his jacket. He focused one moment on removing his gun, which was all the distraction I needed, my hands going around him, swiping what I was looking for. He wanted me at his mercy, but I wasn’t going to give him that. Not last time, not this time.