by Kate Douglas
“Coming from the Standish family has a lot of duties and strings attached. Lots of expectation. But it also affords me influence most people my age wouldn’t dream of having. The least I can do is use it to try to help my friends, lobby for causes I believe in. So I did.” Her shoulder dipped in a shrug, a wry grin curving her mouth. She waved a hand around the interrogation room. “And here I am.”
“Here you are,” Selina agreed.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. Merek closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass of the two-way mirror in the observation room. It had to be her. Of course, it had to be. It wasn’t his memory he’d seen in Raines’s apartment, but a vision of the actual Chloe who had actually dated the vampire. She’d been there before. He was damn grateful he hadn’t “seen” her fucking the other man. His gut burned at the thought.
“What’s up?” An FBI agent stood beside him, hands in pockets. Agent Rogers.
Merek already didn’t like him. As soon as Selina was done, this asshole was yanking the case away from them. He was just seeing what Merek’s partner could pull from their suspect. Why the FBI was interested, Merek didn’t know. Likely, he would never know. It rankled, but he set that aside and refocused on the interrogation room.
The expression in those wide hazel eyes kicked him in the solar plexus. It was trapped, nervous, worried. Scared. He’d never wanted to see such vulnerability on her face. He’d seen her passionate, joyful, her eyes reflecting a wicked greed that made his blood heat to remember it. He didn’t like seeing her afraid.
He cleared his throat and glanced away from Chloe to the man beside him. “I’m afraid I can’t help in this situation.”
“No?” The slight points to Rogers’s ears declared him an elf, but the officious tone was pure red tape bureaucrat. One of Merek’s least favorite kind of people. “Why is that, Detective Kingston?”
“I can’t read her. It happens occasionally.” It wasn’t strictly true, but he’d be damned if he admitted anything to this pencil-pushing prick.
Because the truth was enough to break him out in cold sweat. The only people Merek couldn’t read were those who would have the deepest impact on his life. Sometimes that meant a close friend or a lover . . . It had definitely included his wife and his parents. And look where that had landed all of them. In the morgue. Because when they’d been in danger, when it had really mattered, Merek hadn’t been able to do shit to help them. He hadn’t known about it, hadn’t sensed a thing. His powers were fallow when it came to them—the only time his abilities could truly rest, the only time he didn’t have to tightly leash his precognition.
A light knock sounded on the door to the observation room. Merek didn’t even bother to look away from the scene before him. “Come on in, Cavalli.”
“You know, having a creepy sense of who’s nearby is supposed to be the purview of howlers and bloodsuckers.” The tall vampire shut the door and settled his shoulder against the wall beside it, crossing his arms over his chest as he, too, watched Selina question Chloe.
Merek flicked his gaze over the other man and grinned. Cavalli was tall, taller than Merek’s six foot three by at least an inch, maybe two. He was whipcord lean, dark haired, dark eyed, olive complexioned, and other than the soul patch decorating his chin, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a catalog for Armani. Or a corporate meeting for a Fortune 500 company. Family money. Vampire money. The kind of man that oozed centuries of charm, good breeding, good looks, excess income, and had women crawling all over him.
Merek arched an eyebrow. “Should I even bother to ask what brings you down to the pedestrian side of law enforcement ?”
The vampire snorted. “What? Your precog doesn’t tell you every little detail of why I’m here?”
Focusing on the other man, Merek tried to get a better bead on the situation. He might not be able to read Chloe, but Cavalli shouldn’t be a problem. Images flashed in his mind, future events, past events, shadowy possibilities, crystal clear certainties. The threads that connected to Luca Cavalli’s near future hit a blank wall, full stop. There didn’t seem to be any getting around his inability to read Chloe’s future. Merek rubbed his forehead and sighed. “This isn’t just about Damien Raines’s death.”
“Got it in one.”
“Do I even want to know what interest the FBI’s Magickal Crimes Unit has in one little scientist?” He shot the vampire a narrow-eyed look.
Cavalli pushed away from the wall, opened the door, and waved an elegant hand at the pencil pusher. “Agent Rogers, thank you so much for looking in on this case for me, but I think my team can handle things from here.”
An ugly flush mottled the little man’s face, and his mouth moved stiffly when he spoke. “Of course, sir. Good luck.”
Merek turned back to the interrogation room to hide his smirk. The bureaucrat didn’t like when someone else pulled rank on him, did he? Served him right. Merek slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as Cavalli shut the door behind the other agent. “So . . . care to share? Off the record, of course.”
“Of course.” The vampire grinned, and a bit of fang showed. “The murder was only the start of something we think is much bigger.”
If it wasn’t personal issues that motivated the murder, then it was professional. “Something about the werewolf project both of them are working on.”
“Yes.” Cavalli sighed and copied Merek’s pose, hands in pockets, half his attention on Chloe’s questioning and half on the conversation at hand. “I just got back from Desmodus Industries. The third lead in their project—Ivan Nemov—didn’t show up to work today. He hasn’t missed a single day for the entire length of the project—no vacation, not even a sick day.”
Obsessed, just as Chloe had said. “That’s more information than they gave us about anything.”
“I’m a vampire.” That elegant wave again. “They’re owned by the Conclave.”
Merek grunted. “What else?”
With a tired sigh, Cavalli shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Someone tried to hack your little scientist’s project files . . . unsuccessfully, but that’s apparently not unusual when a company is involved in multi-billion dollar research. My tech geniuses are impressed with Desmodus’s encryption and security.”
Which also fit with the information Chloe had revealed in her interview. “Why kill Dr. Raines if they’re just wanting access to the research?”
“Hell if I know,” Cavalli’s voice roughened, showing a hint of the Italian accent of the vampire’s homeland. “What I do know is that this is involved with Leonard Smith and his network.”
The blood froze in Merek’s veins, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. No one in Magickal law enforcement hadn’t heard that name. The werewolf terrorist had been trying to start a revolution in pack politics—hell, all Magickal politics—for the better part of a century. Rumor was he had people planted in every Magickal branch of every government agency. With the number of times he’d slipped between their fingers, Merek wouldn’t be surprised if that rumor were true.
And somehow, someway, Chloe was now involved with one of the most wanted men alive.
Merek’s stomach did a slow pitch and roll. “Shit.”
“Yeah, that was my thought, too.” The fangs were fully bared this time, and pure predatory hunter flashed in the vampire’s eyes.
“How does she figure into this?” Merek didn’t want to ask the question, didn’t want the answer. He’d thought of her too often in the last couple of months, and his mind absolutely rebelled at thinking she might be the only person left standing on the project’s R & D team for a reason. A cop couldn’t help but be a cynic, and while he knew the possibility was there, he damn well didn’t want to consider it, which wasn’t like him. He didn’t like his knee-jerk reactions to this woman.
The vampire cast a glance in his direction, but he avoided it. “We don’t think she has any ties with Smith, if that’s what you’re asking. The woman is squeaky clean,
and a Standish witch on top of that. More likely the connection is this missing Nemov werewolf. He’s fanatical, spent every waking moment since his wife died trying to find a way to manage lycanthropy. His coworkers say he’s constantly pushing things faster than their regulations can go, gets irate about red tape.” Cavalli nodded toward Chloe. “As far as we know, she just happens to be working on a project that Smith wants to control.”
“If they haven’t found a treatment yet . . . shit.” They’d found a treatment or were close enough to it that someone—maybe Nemov—jumped the gun. Gods, but a treatment for lycanthropy. What werewolf wouldn’t give damn near anything to be rid of the life-threatening aspects of the disease? And that was why Smith had to want it. With that drug, he could trump every leader of every pack on the planet, create total revolution or anarchy, if he wanted. The idea of rampaging werewolves unchecked by the packs and the All-Magickal Council sent a shudder through Merek. Smith could be more powerful than any one person should ever be.
“My techs have confirmed the company files were not accessed. Because Smith couldn’t get the files, he appears to have gone the human route. So. We have to assume Smith got the information he wanted, what with Nemov unaccounted for and Raines dead.... Dr. Standish is the only thing standing between Smith and the lycanthropy treatment.”
A hot burst of relief ran through Merek that he hadn’t been fixating on someone who’d sell out to a terrorist cell, but the thought that she was the only one between Leonard Smith and what he wanted turned that hot burst to a frigid chill.
“We’re putting her in protective custody, of course. The last thing we want is Smith getting his hands on her, but the fact that we know he wants her so badly could prove very useful to us. I’ll exploit any advantage I can get.” Cavalli ran a finger down his little soul patch. “One of my men—Peyton—is handling arrangements for her now.”
“Good.” But Merek didn’t like it. He didn’t like that this woman was disappearing from his life again, and especially when he knew she was in danger. Peyton he knew only by reputation, but Cavalli was good at his job, the best. Merek had crossed paths with him before, had been assigned to him once or twice when his precog skills came in handy to the FBI, and nothing he’d ever seen or heard had ever made him doubt the other man’s abilities. He was legend.
And Merek still didn’t want to let Chloe out of his sight.
The cell phone on Cavalli’s belt vibrated, and he checked it. “That’ll be Peyton. Keep an eye on her for twenty, maybe thirty minutes, and we’ll get her out of your hair.”
“She’ll be in my office.”
“Thanks. And don’t tell her anything. That’s my job.” Cavalli waved over his shoulder, the phone already pressed to his ear as he spoke quietly to the person on the other end.
Merek heard muffled feminine conversation as Selina left Chloe at his office door and told her to go in and wait. His partner hadn’t asked him why he’d wanted her to do so, and he was damn grateful. He didn’t have an explanation. Cavalli could just as easily have picked Chloe up from the interrogation room, but Merek wanted a few minutes alone with her before she was gone again.
She came in, shut the door behind her, leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and sighed. Intense relief crossed her expression, and he felt the tiniest twinge of guilt that he was going to upset her, but he had some questions he wanted answered that had nothing to do with work. Starting with why she’d cast a deep sleep spell on him in order to sneak out of his bed. Anger he didn’t want to feel burned in his gut at that, along with worry and . . . fear . . . for what she was about to be thrown into. A terrorist was after her, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
His jaw clenched, and he growled, “Hello again, Chloe.”
She startled, her eyes flying open, and her gaze snapped to his face. The color fled her face in a quick rush. “Oh, fuck me.”
“I tried that once, remember?” Steel edged his voice, and he realized exactly how pissed he’d been that she’d bailed on him. Denial. He didn’t like that either. He was brutally honest with himself about everything. He had to be. Denial got people killed in his line of work. He sat back in his chair, laced his fingers over his flat belly, and stared at her. “You ran from me.”
She twitched as if to dart for the door.
His eyes narrowed, and he tensed, ready to spring. “I wouldn’t do it again. You won’t like my reaction this time.”
Chin lifted, she stared down her nose at him. “You didn’t have a reaction last time. I haven’t seen or heard from you since that night.”
“Exactly. You wanted to go, and I let you. I didn’t make an effort to find you, didn’t invade your privacy, and we both know I’m in a position to do so.” He flicked his fingers to indicate the teeming police department beyond the walls of his office. “But you’ve dropped back into my life, and now I know your name; I know what you do for a living; I know where you live. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Not really.” Now her chin jutted stubbornly, and something unholy lit within him at the challenge she presented. “Look, it’s been a bad day. I’d like to go home now.”
He arched one eyebrow. “My partner had to have told you that’s not going to happen.”
“Detective Grayson is your partner?” She swallowed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She licked her lips, and he got hard, his body reacting as strongly as it had the first moment her gaze had met his. He wanted those lush lips moving under his, and something primitive snapped inside his chest.
Rising from his seat, he slowly stalked her across the small room, watching to see if she tried to bolt, ready to pounce, and almost relishing the thought of how that would force him to have his hands all over her. “Yes, she’s my partner. I thought it best to excuse myself from questioning you. Conflict of interest.”
“We had a one-night thing, so your interest was pretty limited.” She tilted her head back to meet his gaze as he drew closer. Awareness flashed in those hazel depths, and he could feel his control stripping away. He wanted her. Gods, he’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted this one. He couldn’t even remember wanting his wife with this kind of desperation, but he slammed the brakes on that guilt-ridden thought and any other about his dead spouse. He shoved away the past and focused on the present. Chloe.
His grin was just this side of feral. “Right, because when I have limited interest, I manage to stay hard all night long.”
A flush stained her cheeks, and she sucked in a breath. “I don’t know what this conversation is accomplishing. We were both looking to score that night. Touchdown.”
Only he hadn’t been looking to score that night. He’d gone to Sanguine to wash the bad taste of a shitty premonition out of his mouth. He definitely hadn’t been trying to hook up with a woman who was blank to his clairvoyance. It wasn’t a fluke either. No visions assaulted him in her presence. She was still unreadable. The reminder alone made his insides cramp. Being anywhere near someone like her was a mistake he’d sworn he’d never make again. Yet, here he was, hot and horny and angry because everything about her was beyond his control.
“Detective . . . Kingston, isn’t it? I don’t think—” She fumbled with the door handle behind her, and his fingers snapped around her wrist.
The feel of her soft, soft skin against his made him grit his teeth as his cock throbbed. Insanity. The way he responded to her, it was pure insanity. The lust that pulsed through him twisted with annoyance because she tried to escape him. Again. “Merek. You’ll call me Merek. And you have an appointment with the FBI, Dr. Standish—Chloe—so you aren’t going anywhere until they get here.”
He planted his hands on either side of her, trapped her with his body, and leaned down to her level. He could feel her breath rush against his skin. She was panting, her breasts rising and falling. Her eyes looked glazed as her gaze moved over his features. “You’re mad at me.”
“Hell, yeah, I’m mad.” He got right in her face, until his
lips were no more than a hairsbreadth from hers. Gods, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to see if she was as good as he remembered. He snarled. “Two months later, and I haven’t gotten the taste of you out of my mouth, the sound of your voice moaning my name out of my head—”
“Stop.” Her breath caught, her eyes darkening with passion.
His laugh grated from his throat, a rusty sound of lust, self-derision, and rage. “I wish to hell I could, Chloe, but I can’t. Can you?”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Tell me you never think about it.” He moved one hand to let his fingers stroke over the inside of her wrist, and he felt her tremble. Good. “Tell me you walked away as cleanly as you’re pretending. Tell me you don’t remember clawing my back while I slid my cock inside you. Tell me you don’t care that I made you scream and sob and sigh. Tell me—”
She dropped her purse to the floor, clapped her hands over his ears, and dragged his mouth down to hers, cutting him off. Just like that, he had her pinned to the wall. His tongue was between her lips, and she struggled for control of the kiss, her tongue twining with his, her teeth nipping and sucking at his lower lip. Her breasts pressed to his chest, and he wanted his mouth on them too. Soon. He’d have her again soon.
He growled, picked her up, and turned away from the door. With a mere thought, he cast a spell to muffle the sound coming in and out of the room. He couldn’t make out the voices and footsteps passing his door, and no one outside would hear what he and Chloe were doing.
He could make her scream, and no one would know.
A groan of pure satisfaction dragged from his throat. He set her down, backed her up against his desk, crowded her, bracketed her hips with his fingers, and held her in place. Her jaw set in an obstinate line, and her eyes narrowed. “This is crazy.”
“Yeah. So?” His smile was more a baring of teeth, and he didn’t care. “That didn’t stop you from kissing me a second ago.”
“Don’t remind me.” She wedged her palms between them and pushed at his chest. He fought another groan at just that nonsexual touch. Gods, but he loved her hands on him. It fed a craving that went far, far deeper than mere pleasure. Though the pleasure was undeniable, and his cock chafed against his fly. He leaned even closer to her, into those small, slender palms.