Shattered Spirits

by C. I. Black

  * * *

  Ryan pulled into his sister’s driveway, cut the engine, and squeezed the steering wheel. He couldn’t remember leaving Pete’s—no, Andy Reynolds’s house. He also couldn’t remember getting into his car, or the drive to this side of Newgate. But he could remember the kiss. Oh, God, could he remember the kiss.

  His body burned at the memory. It hadn’t stopped burning. Even when Jones had pulled away and the cold had shot through his face, he’d still burned. The ferocious fire in her eyes had fueled his internal inferno. He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to do more with her.

  Thank goodness he’d somehow regained his senses and left. Except he wasn’t sure that’s what had really happened.

  The fog in his head billowed, a chilly swell that seeped into his sinuses just like it had at the house, but then receded. Kissing her again would only create problems. Yep, that was it. She was FBI and he was a cop who shouldn’t even be in town. He couldn’t kiss her and lie about Pete or Andy or whoever the hell he was. Relationships were built on trust and—

  Relationships! When had he jumped from kissing her to a relationship?

  Oh jeez, he had to get his head back into the game. One kiss didn’t mean anything, even if it was clear the attraction went both ways. Both sizzling ways. He’d known Special Agent Jones was a force to be reckoned with the moment he’d met her in Elmsville, but he’d never imagined he’d be the focus of all that ferocity.

  And he wanted more.

  This was bad. So very very bad. He had to get a grip. The only person who’d be worse for him than Capri—no, keep it impersonal, use her last name. Jones. The only person worse for him than Jones was his ex.

  Someone rapped on the car window. “Ryan?”

  He jerked toward the voice. Soft, feminine. For a moment he thought it was Capri—Jones—and desire shot through him.

  Get. A. Grip.

  He focused on the face behind the glass. Brown hair, perfectly coiffed. Crap. Definitely not Jones.

  “Come on, Ryan. Roll down your window,” Melissa said.

  This had to be his punishment for kissing Jones. But fate didn’t work that way. It was just his punishment for returning to Newgate. A man could run away from his old life, but it seemed that life never forgot him. It would be easy if Melissa thought he wasn’t worth her time anymore. But nothing with that woman was ever easy. He’d been at the M.E.’s office and had talked to the FBI. According to that, he had to know something, and if their engagement hadn’t meant anything to her in the face of career advancement, then respecting his privacy meant even less. Clearly that was true, since she was standing in his sister’s driveway in the middle of the night.

  He opened the door, forcing Melissa to step back. “What? No camera guy?”

  “I’m not here on business.”

  Yeah, right. “Then why are you here?”

  “I thought—” She dropped her gaze and dug her toe into the snow.

  Nice try. Acting meek and contrite wasn’t going to work. “What do you want?”

  She sighed, her breath billowing around her face. “I don’t like how we left things.”

  Something they had in common.

  “I’ve been wanting to call you.” She slid her dark gaze up to his.

  He’d loved those eyes, loved how she’d looked at him. He’d loved her. But now the looks she’d used to give him didn’t seem so sincere. A reporter with a cop. That kind of relationship was doomed from the start. Probably just as doomed as a small town detective with a cloud hanging over his career and an FBI agent.

  “I’ve been wondering how you’ve been doing.” She offered a hint of a smile. Her genuine one, not the one she gave the camera.

  Maybe she really did regret what had happened. There had been something between them before the I.A. investigation. They’d been together for over a year. He’d been thinking of proposing that Valentine’s Day.

  “How have you been doing?” she asked, and he realized he hadn’t answered any of her questions.

  “Fine—” He cleared the frog in his throat. “I’ve been fine.”

  “We should do coffee.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Her gaze jumped to his car then back to him. “I’m not doing anything now. You?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not?” She inched closer. “We can talk about the good old days and what brings you back to town.”

  Everything within him froze. “What brings me back to town?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m visiting my sister.” Could Melissa be any more obvious? She didn’t want to catch up or make amends. She wanted a scoop.

  “And your trip to the morgue? That was what?”

  “Me visiting a friend.”

  “Special Agent Jones?” Melissa asked. “Is she this friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really.”

  “How much of a friend?” Melissa’s tone turned dark, the implication that friend equaled lover.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “What was Jones doing at the M.E.’s office?”

  “That’s even less of your business.” This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t even be talking to this woman. She’d twist his words, and he’d be back where he started, neck deep in an I.A. investigation—and there really wasn’t a town smaller than Elmsville where they could send him. The next step would be to fire him.

  “Come on, Ryan. Surely she told you something. What’s going on with the decapitation case?”

  “Nothing is going on with the decapitation case.” He shoved past her, heading to the porch.

  “I won’t spoil your girlfriend’s case.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” And Melissa sure as hell would spoil everything.

  “Didn’t look like that to me.”

  “Then you need to get your eyes checked.” He took the porch steps in two giant leaps and shoved his key into the lock. “Go chase an ambulance or something.”

  “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll have to report my own conclusions.”

  He jerked around. “Are you threatening me?”

  She sneered at him. “People deserve to know what’s going on.”

  “Even if it’s a lie?”

  “Oh, I never lie. I gather evidence and report on it. FBI agent in a relationship with a disgraced detective.”

  “We are not in a relationship.”

  “I’ve cut some video of you two talking that would prove otherwise.”

  Son of a—The bitch was going to destroy Capri, just like she’d destroyed him. His breath clouded the air around him with each rushed exhalation. His muscles burned with the effort to stay on the porch. Grabbing Melissa wouldn’t help. There wasn’t anything physically he could do. “What do you want?”

  “Give me an exclusive, and I’ll make sure your new girlfriend gets positive press.”

  “We don’t have anything yet.” He needed to stall, give himself time to figure out how to deal with this.

  “You’ve been to the morgue. I’m sure you have something.”

  “Not enough for a story.”

  “I’ll be the one to determine that.”

  God dammit. Just take the stall. “You want it to be good, don’t you? Jones and I will have more tomorrow evening.”

  Melissa narrowed her eyes. Her breath curled around her face like demon smoke. She was calculating her best move, the best way to destroy or manipulate him. How had he ever loved this woman?

  “Fine,” she said. “Tomorrow. Midnight at the—” She chuckled. “At the boat house.”

  “You really are a cold-hearted bitch.” The boat house was where they used to have midnight trysts when they were first dating.

  “Now, now. Name calling isn’t nice. Tomorrow at the boat house or I run my story on you and the FBI agent.” She flipped her perfect hair and strode down the driveway to her car, her boots crunching in the snow.

  What was he going to tell her? He couldn’t c
ompromise Jones’s investigation. He probably already had compromised it. Melissa would twist whatever he told her to suit her agenda, and that agenda would ruin Jones’s career. He couldn’t even step away from the investigation. Melissa would never accept that. And, irrationally, he didn’t want to stop seeing Capri.

  CHAPTER 14

  Hiro lived in an old converted warehouse on the top of a hill near the Medical Examiner’s office. The spacious loft took up half of the third floor with the living room on the end, giving it three walls of floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked the city. The view was spectacular, all shimmering streetlights and illuminated windows in office towers, but Capri couldn’t focus on it. She could barely focus on Hiro, sitting across from her on the couch, shaking a bottle of nail polish and preparing to paint her toenails. Capri’s thoughts kept going back, over and over again, to Miller and their kiss.

  “Jeez, Capri. Are you going to drink that or just wait for the ice to melt?” Hiro pointed her polish bottle at the margarita in Capri’s hand.

  Capri dragged her attention to the glass. The drink was more liquid than slushy, and water beaded on the outside of the glass and was about to drip into her lap. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

  “About anyone in particular?”

  “No. The case.”

  “You sure you’re not really thinking about a hot detective who happened to walk into my morgue this morning?”

  “No.” Heat raced over Capri’s cheeks, and she took a gulp of her margarita to hide her reaction. The ice hit her sinuses with an agonizing bite. “Shit.”

  Hiro chuckled. “Well, that was slick. I was sure you had more game than that.”

  “I have lots of game and none of it involves Detective Miller.” Not anymore, at least. There would be no more kisses. None. Even if they could have a relationship, it wouldn’t be fair to him because he wasn’t Eric. And who she really wanted was Eric. Honestly. “Did your autopsy offer any insights into our latest victim?”

  “You don’t get to change the subject that easily.”

  “Sure I do.”

  Hiro flashed a wicked grin. “Pick a color for your toes. You’ll want them to be pretty for the detective.”

  “You did not just say that.” Capri wasn’t that kind of girl. And yet a part of her really did want to paint her toenails for him. Mother of All, she really shouldn’t have kissed him.

  “Pick a color, paint your toes, and I’ll talk about the case.”

  “We need to discuss the case regardless.” Blood red, or a sassy blue to go with her name?

  “We should probably also discuss Ryan.” All playfulness disappeared from Hiro’s tone.

  Capri’s heart skipped a beat. “If it’s that bad, why are you encouraging me to paint my nails for him?”

  “Because it’s been, what? A century? You need a fling. And for a fling, Ryan’s an excellent choice. Longer term… well, that might get challenging. He has a history.”

  “You realize you’re doing a terrible job of convincing me that anything with Miller is a good idea.” And yet, she didn’t care—

  No. She cared. No more relationships with humans. She couldn’t leave Eric all over again even if she just had a one-night stand. Hundreds of years of getting to know herself proved she just didn’t work that way. She wasn’t a promiscuous drake.

  “What kind of history are we talking about?” she asked. Because his history might affect her investigation. That’s all she cared about. Really.

  “Internal Affairs kind of history and Ryan leaving Newgate for Elmsville.”

  “What was he charged with?”

  “He wasn’t officially charged. But there was talk about arson and murder.”

  “Do you think it was true?” She couldn’t believe Miller would purposefully start fires, but she didn’t really know the man.

  “I don’t. But a local reporter jumped all over the charges and used it to further her career. It didn’t matter what anyone thought, she’d already charged him in the court of public opinion. He had to leave town.”

  “And this is the human you’re trying to set me up with?”

  “Well, you’re obviously not interested in a drake.” Hiro nudged the bottle of blue polish toward Capri. “Grey has been in love with you for centuries, and you don’t even give him a second glance.”

  “Great. Does everyone know about Grey?” His courtship had actually been an anti-courtship. He flirted like mad with every other woman, but never with her. That’s how she knew he was serious.

  “I’m more observant than your average drake,” Hiro said. “Makes me good at my job.”

  “Among other things.” Like snooping and noticing that moment between Capri and Ryan in the exam room.

  Hiro leaned forward, her gaze locking on Capri’s. “I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that.”

  Heat seeped up Capri’s neck. Just the thought of that look made her heart thrum. And she’d done more than just look at him tonight.

  “Now I know you’re thinking of him. Man, when you blush it goes right to your roots.”

  Capri jerked to her feet, sloshing her margarita over the lip of her glass onto her hand. “Damn it.” She shoved her hand over the coffee table before she dripped on the carpet.

  Hiro chuckled. “He’s really gotten under your skin. With just one look, too.”

  “It wasn’t just one look.” Mother of All, Capri couldn’t focus. She wanted to roar and rage, vent her frustration somehow. For the love of—he was just one man. One human, at that.

  “Oh, my God. Have you—? But you just met.” Hiro grabbed some tissue and handed it to Capri. “Do share.”

  Capri wiped her hand, her glass, and the table. “It’s not—we haven’t—” Oh, jeez. “You’re not going to give up until you have all the details?”

  “All the juicy details. Details are my thing.”

  If Capri hadn’t known Hiro hoarded dragon figurines, she’d have guessed the drake collected details. Big details, small details, anything she could observe, gather, or correlate.

  Capri sank back onto the couch. “Fine, but you have to swear this stays between us.” The request was useless. If Hiro was going to use it against Capri, there was nothing she could do about it, but surely their friendship meant something. “No political maneuverings, no telling your doyen, or lover, or best friend.”

  “You are my best friend.” She said it as if Capri not knowing that was ridiculous.

  Something eased in Capri’s chest, a tension she hadn’t known was there. “I met Detective Miller two weeks ago, cleaning up Hunter’s mess in Elmsville, and—”

  “And you had a night of wild passion?” Hiro asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “Would you just listen! I can’t have a relationship with Miller because he’s a dead ringer for someone else I had to give up.”

  Hiro gasped. “Your mystery man?”

  “Yeah.” She and Hiro had been friends for hundreds of years until Capri had met Eric. Then she’d withdrawn from everything dragon to keep him safe. All Hiro had known was there’d been a man, and then there wasn’t.

  “You’re saying Miller looks like mystery man?”

  “They could be twins.”

  “You disappeared for years,” Hiro said. She was putting it all together.

  “I really loved him, Hiro.” Capri’s insides twisted. “I wasn’t inamorated, but I loved him.”

  “And he was human.”

  “I had to obey the law. He wouldn’t have understood how I stayed young while he aged.”

  “Oh, honey.” Hiro held out a hand.

  Capri took it, her throat tightening. She’d left Eric almost a century ago, and it still hurt. How could something so old still be so raw? “Looking at Miller brings up all those emotions. All that pain.” All that yearning.

  “I’ll get rid of him,” Hiro said.

  “No.” Please no, and yet, please yes. Yes would make it easy.
He’d be gone. Except it wouldn’t be easy. It was never easy. She’d know he was out there. “I think he knows something about our second victim.”

  “Andy Reynolds?”

  “Yes. I need to figure out what, exactly.” It was the best way to deal with a bad situation.

  Hiro sighed. “At least it won’t be for long. I have to report everything to Tobias tomorrow night.”

  Which only gave Capri twenty-four hours to figure out what was going on.

  * * *

  Diablo gated from his kitchen to his living room and back again, fury burning through him. His whole body shook with it. The need to move, to take action, consumed him.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, gated back into his living room to the bank of windows overlooking the river, and ground his teeth against summoning his magic and gating anywhere else.

  He needed to hit something, kill someone, do something. Andy was dead and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t even ask any of the drakes in the Newgate P.D. because he wasn’t supposed to care about humans. But someone needed to pay.

  A roar bubbled deep within him. He fought it, every muscle burning with the effort. He would not lose his temper. He. Would. Not.

  Except Andy was dead.

  The roar burst through, and he slammed his fists into the cinder block wall beside the windows.

  He wrenched around to face the room. His drake needed to break, tear, claw something, anything, to pieces. Whatever it took to satisfy the beast. But nothing could satisfy it. Not even ripping out the throat of whoever had killed his best friend.

  Diablo’s gaze jumped to the pale blue vase on the spindly-legged table, close to the front door of his apartment. They were the only things in his place that were new and delicate. Everything else was old and solid and had been repaired numerous times—it was too embarrassing to always buy new furniture after his beast raged.

  He snorted. Other drakes joked about this drake or that going on a rampage, but they didn’t know what that really meant. They were all beasts trapped in their fragile human bodies, but his beast was so much more. It was as if there were two of him, one sane and normal—or at least normal for a dragon—and the other a monster that turned the world red and destroyed everything in its path. It always burned within him, ready to roar to life at a moment’s notice. A monster he couldn’t control.