by Cera Daniels
"Some of us follow rules. Internal Affairs frowns on officers becoming involved in cases where they have a personal stake." Her stomach tightened. She should have been on this case. These murders would mean the stakes were no longer personal. Masks or not, though, she couldn't say for certain this was his work and even if it was, her team would still have to find a shadow.
She shrugged. "Jackson once promised me he'd sneak me onto a ride-along with the SWAT team to track the guy when I got back to work."
"Jackson?"
"My partner." She hadn't been present when Jackson was killed, but Dale's insinuation that anyone who partnered with her now would be a wasted resource stewed in the back corners of her mind. Her voice caught. "Former partner. He was killed while I was on desk duty."
Sympathy edged into Ryan's eyes. "Were you close?"
"Once." She took several controlled breaths and studied the view from the front window before speaking again. "Jackson Price. He had twenty years of experience on me, didn't want anything to do with the sidelines. Dale wouldn't put him back out there without me, so he got the green light to try for a position in another department. He was in transition. I think in his head, he'd already left the team. Jackson wouldn't even talk to me after he passed his exam."
"Jackson Price?" He tapped his fingers on the wheel. "The lead for the Old Town investigation?"
Amanda's eyes widened. As Ryan's expression fell, she wanted to kick herself under the dashboard. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry."
"So much for answers." He shrugged, but tension radiated across the line of his jaw. "It's just as well."
They continued the drive in silence. After a few blocks, the analytical part of her brain circled back to the murder. A puzzle was a puzzle, even when the pieces didn't fit. She wiggled her toes in her boots. "Dale told me not to get involved. But we found the body and I arrested a syndicate member, so that means I am already, right?"
In truth, it was a rhetorical question, but Ryan answered anyway. "Nothing wrong with thinking." He ran a hand through his hair. "Amanda, if that kid was syndicate, he didn't kill the informant."
"I know." She shot him a measuring look. "There's nothing left in Old Town to loot. He was alone and he wasn't alert enough to have been hanging around for a swap. Standing over the vic with a weapon makes him a person of interest, but trading up a gun for a knife? Doesn't fit."
"It's not just that. Old Town is neutral territory." His eyes took on a troubled gleam. "No one wants to claim the ghosts."
She chewed on her bottom lip. Old Town had stood vacant and crime-free since the fire, like a morbid kind of hallowed ground. No body drops—until today—no deals in the crumbling back alleys, no desperate and angry shoot-outs. "I wish I'd taken time to ask why he was out there in the first place."
Ryan made a sound in the back of his throat. "You think he saw someone else, heard the shot?"
"Maybe he was a witness, maybe not." Her mood lightened as she embraced the mental workout. "He had plenty of opportunity to point the blame elsewhere. He didn't."
"Maybe he was afraid of the killer."
Amanda did most of her thinking out loud. At the precinct and at home, she'd bounced ideas off of her partner, her lieutenant, and even her mother. Who knew she'd one day do the same with Ryan McLelas, hopeless flirt of the year? There'd once been as much chance of that happening as there'd been for her to lose her badge.
Back when I wasn't a departmental liability.
If only there was a way to convince Dale to change his mind.
"Hey. You still here?" he asked in a low voice that sent a tremor of temptation up her spine.
She sucked in a deep breath. "I was thinking."
"I liked it better when you did it out loud." He pushed on the edge of his glasses and drew her gaze to a panty-melting smirk that crinkled the corner of his right eye and curved those sensual, take-no-prisoners lips.
So much for his serious, analytical side.
"The other body had a mask, too," she said, focusing on the possibility of linked murders instead of taking the bait. She would never be a one-night stand kind of girl, and he would always be a playboy with a date for dinner and plenty of numbers in his little black book.
Ryan raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as he turned the steering wheel to the left.
"Could it be a signature?" Could the rumor mill be right, and the masked bodies point directly to the man who'd turned her own weapon against her?
The car bucked underneath her and her eyes focused through the windshield. Ryan had driven her straight to her front door. When had she told him where she lived?
Ryan winced when Amanda cut an accusing look in his direction. "You lied to me. You didn't just happen to pass by, and you weren't on your way to Old Town this morning. You found my address and came out to the North End looking for me."
Despite how relieved he was to see her spark return, he didn't want to argue. So this time, he'd tell the truth.
Ryan parked the car and turned to the—now former—detective. "I was heading to Old Town. But I wanted to pick your brain on the case."
She frowned and pointed to his ear. "You told your brother you changed your mind."
"I would have been wrong to ask, so I didn't." He ran a hand over his jaw. She hadn't overheard the rest. He could handle this. "I still wanted your company."
The "company" part of the morning had been perfect. Melancholy, bitterly cold, and drearier than an autumn rain storm, but otherwise perfect. His other goal—distracting her from the morning's tip about Klepto—had been a total failure. Thanks to the murder and another mask, her attention had come full circle.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and cracked open her door with a sigh. "I hope all your dates don't involve dead bodies."
"A date sounds good. Let's spring for a late, corpse-free lunch."
She chuckled. "You don't know when to give up, do you?"
"Not many people tell me 'no'. You make it an art." The suggestive smile crept slowly across his face, and he wasn't inclined to stop it. "I happen to enjoy art."
She rolled her eyes and scooted off the leather seat, pausing with her heels on the concrete of her driveway. "Do me a favor?"
"Anything."
"Don't lie to me again."
He swallowed hard but she slammed the car door behind her before he could spit out an "okay" to add to the tally.
When she was safely ensconced in those four walls he let out a harsh breath. Every moment with Amanda threatened his resolve. How could it not? The woman was sexy, driven, brilliant as fire. When she discovered the truth, and she would . . . "God, that woman's gonna hate me."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ryan pressed the button for the fourteenth floor of McLelas Financial and rolled his shoulders. Useless. Twin demons of guilt and worry had coiled tight into his muscles.
"She doesn't hear me like you do." A confused sensation accompanied Romeo's check-in.
Who, Amanda?
"She should hear me."
I take it you don't mean barking. Ryan raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the chrome. Zach and Jay don't hear you like this either. You're my guide. Why would Amanda be able to hear you?
The dog retreated into stubborn silence and Ryan shook his head. What on Earth was up with him today?
The elevator doors gave way to a recreation of the Amazon. Heat cranked out at full blast and the oppressive humidity sucked at Ryan's already flagging energy. Water rippled toward the elevator, only to stop at a two-foot high plastic barricade that curved around its entrance. Similar construction surrounded outlets, vents, and the stairwell doors. Green and black granite hallway flooring outside of the barricades had been usurped by an inch-high river of soggy papers and bobbing pens.
"That's it. Enough. I'm going for a cup of tea." He eyed the button for the garage level.
Then he spotted the neon yellow "Caution: Wet Floor" sandwich board.
Floating.
The understateme
nt made his lips twitch, and he let out a startled laugh. Yesterday, he'd survived being burned alive. Today, he'd found a dead body, gotten Amanda suspended, and now his executive suite was flooded. Flooding, he corrected, his eardrums picking up a pattering of light rain too close to his office.
"Who has the voodoo doll, and where are you hiding the camera?" he asked.
"Ryan? Oh, thank heavens." His personal assistant's greeting was followed by a hearty splash and a feminine roar of frustration.
"Lilah?" Alarm thumped at his ribcage. Had she fallen? Was she trapped behind a piece of furniture? He shoved a palm against the elevator door and leaned into the hallway. "Lilah, are you okay? What happened here?"
He reached for his ability, pushing aside the sound of water steadily lapping against the potted trees at the end of the hall, ready to pinpoint her location at the slightest sound. Situations like this left Ryan wondering if his spirit guide should have been a bat, like Zach's.
"Quick, call Payroll and approve my raise," she fired back.
Main conference room. Ryan stepped into the shielded zone and glanced at the water on the other side. Not too deep, but his on-site supply of clothing and footwear was running low. Off came his socks and shoes. He hooked his fingers into the horizontal lacing, then slung the Oxfords over his shoulder and stepped barefoot into the stream.
The taut cord of a phone base led the way from the reception desk through the conference room doors, where it sat on top of a file cabinet. The recessed room—perfect for presentations and tiered seating, not so much for floods—was lit from the exterior office, vid-conference screens devoid of their usual standby lights.
Lilah sat tailor fashion on top of the massive wooden table, inches above the water, phone receiver cradled in the nook of one arm and a notepad dangling from her fingers. Her pants were soaked from cuff to knee and she'd pulled a dry sweater over her red blouse, the burgundy hem underneath dripping onto the wood.
"Ping Maintenance again for me, will you?" At 5'2" in flat pumps instead of the weaponized heels other businesswomen preferred, his personal assistant was a feisty little powerhouse of let's-get-shit-done. Even while trapped on top of a table. "Should just be redial."
He obliged, depositing his shoes on the file cabinet and wisely stifling another laugh as she rapped out orders for shop-vacs.
"I don't remember ordering a pool," he said when she'd finished the call.
"Your brother is a menace." She let the receiver drop into her lap and pulled a blue fountain pen from her now-limp and disheveled updo.
"Remodeling?" Ryan didn't need to ask which brother.
Jay and Zach were forever tinkering—Zach with tiny, computerized designs, and Jay, well, anything with moving metal bits he thought he could "improve" generally got a tune-up of doom. What Ryan couldn't guess, however, was how the McLelas Financial plumbing system fit into one of his youngest brother's interests.
"He swears this isn't his fault but it's been raining since he started." Lilah held up a hand to cut herself off. With closed eyelids, she gave a small shake of her head and took in a deliberate breath. Green eyes flashed open with none of the frustration and all of the calm, no-nonsense vigor he'd hired her for. "We can't cut the water completely without sending everyone home."
He frowned. "It must not be like this all over the building. You'd have already sent them on their way."
McLelas Financial serviced clients and investors internationally, which required extended hours and an accessible staff. Lilah understood he cared far more about his employees' immediate health than slower response times and longer queues. Ryan could soothe disgruntled patrons without sacrificing company morale.
She nodded and fanned herself with her notepad. "Not a drop downstairs. We tried to, well, contain it."
"I noticed."
"I had both the twelfth and thirteenth floors vacated as a precaution—Maintenance has a guy checking for drips, but so far even this room is holding," she added.
"I'll take a look. Maybe we can track down the leak before your lounge chair drops on his head." He leaned against the doorframe with a wry smile. "Busy day, huh?"
Lilah's eyes crinkled in the corners. "Would you like your messages?"
"Depends." He folded his arms. "Are they more important than the story behind your choice of high ground?"
Lilah nibbled on the end of her pen for a moment, then shoved it back into her hair. "I climbed up to re-angle the cameras for your meeting tomorrow night—the international deal—so they won't see the floor."
"Efficient." The big screen was probably lost, but Lilah's adjustments meant they'd manage. If they dried the place out in time.
"Thanks, boss, I try. Unfortunately, the water followed me in." She shook her head. "Even if we shut this off and Maintenance gets through, the carpet is going to be . . . "
"Wet?" Ryan grinned.
She made a small, exasperated noise. "Moldier than a loaf of year-old bread. It'll all need to be replaced."
"Fair enough." He waded down the submerged stairs. "Let's get you out of here."
Her eyes twinkled but her mouth pinched with a stern expression. "Messages. Miss Leblanc had bus trouble. News 9 called twice regarding an interview. You did agree to an interview?" He nodded, and the tiny woman didn't miss a beat as he lifted her to safety. "Good, because they have your schedule. I've got theme ideas and a catering menu for you to sign off on for Saturday night's fundraiser—cutting it close, by the way—"
He raised a hand to stop her. "Sign off on? You've planned these things before, Lilah. I know you're capable of picking out a color scheme without my approval."
"Of course I'm capable. Barring a nod on the budget, I can arrange a lovely evening. Now, if only someone would answer their emails . . . "
He'd been too focused on cleaning up his messes to worry about the benefit's price tag. "Let's reschedule with Brennan."
"Miss Leblanc's already on her way in. She pushed tonight's 'date' to 7:30." She aborted a partial eye roll. "You could just pay her money."
"She didn't want it, and I need her research." Ryan pulled off his costume glasses and rubbed at his eyes. The arrangement with Brennan afforded him a convenient cover for his real nighttime activities, but the last thing he wanted tonight was more media attention. "Let me fix the pipes and we'll talk expenses before I leave for dinner, then."
The elevator pinged in the hallway. Maintenance wouldn't get far with their cleanup before the hallway refilled. As he settled the frames back onto his nose he claimed Lilah's notepad. One after another, he scribbled the names of Relek City's most influential people.
"In the meantime," he added, "get an afternoon spot for me, tomorrow, News 9. The benefit's closed to the public, but I've given them an exclusive."
Lilah stared at him. "An exclusive. To News 9."
He shook his head and handed her back the pen and pad. "Long story. Just make it happen. And call the people on this list. Tell them anything you have to. I want a yes from every single one and I don't care that it's last minute."
The culprit wasn't a pipe at all. A suspicious, hose-sized hole in the floor above—Jay's domain—had trickled water down and through the ceiling tiles of the waiting area connected to his personal office. One foot to the left and the panic room Ryan had turned into an inner sanctum would have needed more than new carpet.
"You sure we can't add a line item for a human-sized aquarium in the event budget?" Lilah asked as the number-crunching session came to a close.
"As tempting as that sounds," Ryan flashed a quick smile, "I don't think the IRS allows write-offs for revenge."
"So you are paying attention." Lilah capped her pen and slid it over her ear, a puzzled expression sliding over her features. "You realize you agreed to a formal ball."
"I did." He canted his head to the side.
The phone clamored and she flipped it to her ear before adding, "And puke-green conference room carpet?"
Lilah was sharp, and the loo
k in her eyes meant questions he didn't want to face. Ryan used the reprieve to bolt for his office. The waiting room floor oozed cool traces of water under his bare feet as he swiped his thumbprint.
"Yes, he's in. Well, you better wade faster—he's got a hot date so he'll be running out as soon as he grabs a dry pair of pants." Lilah covered the receiver and stage-whispered, "Chief of security."
A groan escaped him. Zach was on his way up, and Ryan's comm had been out of commission since morning. He forced his fists to uncurl.
It wouldn't come to blows today.
He'd done nothing that called for penance. Not toward family, anyway. Ryan shook off the way his body primed for battle and stepped into the pristine condition of his private office. The same shielding that made it a safe zone for his ability had sealed the room and protected it from flooding. His on-site wardrobe remained blessedly dry. One suit left. If he wanted clean clothes past morning, he'd have to visit the condo. His stomach highlighted that realization with a slow roll of dread as Ryan snapped the closet shut.
He'd buttoned up a fresh shirt by the time Zach arrived. The middle McLelas brother squished across the waiting area, barging in with Ryan's new earpiece in one hand and a plainly visible gun on his hip. He elbowed the door closed without breaking stride. "Got anything to say to me, bro?"
Ryan tried a lopsided grin. "Not the face?"
"Try this on and tell me about the body." Zach lobbed the small device his way and crossed his arms, his expression stony. "You know, the one you and your no-longer-a-detective called in."
"Leave her out of this," Ryan grumbled, dropping onto the cordovan sofa he so often used for a bed. "This morning's rumor panned out tangentially. We've got two bodies. Both masked."
"Damn it, Ryan. Why didn't you call me?" His brother's knuckles cracked as he flattened his palms on the mahogany desk in the center of the room.
Ryan shrugged. "Police had it handled. I needed you on data. It's not a big deal."
After a rude gesture, Zach snapped off the light and stepped to the thick-paned window. He shoved his hands into his pockets and didn't say a word.