by Cera Daniels
"That doesn't sound good." Jay hadn't mentioned the little brown bat that followed their brother around like a shadow. "Is he—"
"A little shaken." Zach jerked his chin to the left and Ryan spotted the familiar, mousy lump roosting on a far corner of the curtain track that surrounded the bed. "Landed limp in front of me. I've never seen that before. Well. Your girl, this afternoon."
Ryan frowned. Amanda had collapsed because she'd tapped in to his abilities. Not Zach's. The certainty of that thought ripped through him like lightning. It didn't make sense. He hadn't yanked her consciousness somewhere else. Romeo had. Romeo, with whom Ryan had forged a bond of spirit and soul, who could have hurt the woman he . . . cared for. Deeply. He sucked in a ragged breath. Amanda. A woman whose every word, breath, heartbeat resonated through his filters, in perfect tune with his supernatural hearing.
"Go on," he said, and his voice betrayed an emotion he prayed his brothers didn't catch.
"My brain went haywire. Pain . . . I woke up here. You know I get 'something', but that's all I get. No images, no direction. This though?" His voice cracked. "I thought I'd lost you."
Ryan retrieved the ginger ale can before Zach could crush it. "I'm fine, Z."
"Won't be lucky forever," Zach said.
"McLelas's aren't lucky." Ryan tipped a smile at him. "Just stubborn."
Zach cracked a weak smile for the first time since Ryan had entered the room. He stretched his limbs and Ryan eyed the bandages wrapped over his bicep and down his forearm. Hell of a lot of tape for a couple of "cuts and bruises".
Then he spotted the tube jabbed into Zach's other arm. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
"Oxycodone didn't do shit." Zach thumped his fist down on the mattress. "It's saline."
"Good."
"Easy for you to say."
Ryan blew out a breath and shoved his head into his hands, simultaneously thinking and trying not to think.
The ringing in his ears, Amanda, Romeo—all of it took a back seat. Zach was down. It meant Ryan lost his personal backup for the fundraiser, but Jay would be outside, a lookout. Eyes. But not force. Ryan had planned to be the ears of the operation and listen for the zealot during his social mingling, but the wild fluctuations of his hearing shook his confidence. Zach wouldn't be there to counter an attack if he or Jay missed something vital. If Ryan voiced the doubt, his brother would blame himself. So Ryan lifted his head and put on a smile instead.
The burnished hue of Zach's eyes flashed bright against his pale skin, suspicion mingling with agony. "The fundraiser?"
Too perceptive.
"It's too late to reschedule, and you're not going anywhere, so don't even ask. We'll change up the plan. We will be fine." Ryan shoved himself out of his chair and gripped his brother's unwounded bicep. Zach squeezed his in return and Jay followed suit, a gesture of solidarity, a silent vow to protect each other, their secrets, their city. "I'll make sure this serial killer doesn't surprise us."
Zach grimaced. "You need me."
"We will be fine," he repeated. "You're staying right here until—"
"You don't get it." Zach tugged them both closer. "I don't want to lie around until one of you gets killed. I'm supposed to be your bodyguard—"
"It doesn't seem like you have much choice." Ryan gave his hand a pointed look. "Your arm is shaking."
Zach tried and failed to grip harder, then dropped his arms to the mattress, staring bleakly at the ceiling. "This sucks. I'm fucking worthless."
"Don't you ever say that again," Jay yelled.
At the same time, Ryan slammed his hands around the bedrail and leaned into his brother's face. "I don't give a damn if you're bedridden. I will punch you."
Zach met him glare for glare, his eyes snapping hot. "Try it."
"A worthless man wouldn't have the balls to lie there and still think he could take me hand to hand." Liar. With how dizzy he felt, he'd try to dodge the punch from Zach's bad arm and land on his ass. What would happen if he couldn't get his hearing under control?
Ryan forced a grin as Zach growled. "That's better."
"I can't watch your back," Zach said. He yawned, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. "Jay can't watch your back without compromising civilian security. How good a shot's your cop girlfr—"
His chest gave a jerk and his eyes flew wide.
"You okay?" Ryan leaned in, concerned. Had he had a fresh bout of pain?
Zach flicked a surprised look at him. "You're taking Amanda, right?"
"Of course." He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Zach ignored the question. "Let's make sure the new plans won't get you killed."
Hijacking notebooks from the nurse's station, they drew up contingency plans. Much still depended on their abilities, but with a man down keeping the event secure meant heavier reliance on local law enforcement. Ryan hoped he was right about the 16th, that Lieutenant Dale would be up to the task. When Zach had fallen into a restless sleep, Ryan and Jay slipped from the suite.
Ryan's temples pounded, his power pushing its limits for too long. "I need to hunt down some hot water. You want coffee?"
Jay gave a weary nod and sagged against the doorjamb. Ryan empathized, but some luxuries weren't his to indulge. His public face locked around him like a suit of armor. Sharp blue-gray eyes watched him and saw too much, Jay's lips suddenly compressing.
Ryan shrugged. "You in a sugar or straight-up kind of mood?"
His brother stepped forward, his movement and his eyes cautious in a way that made Ryan's eyebrows dip. Jay stopped with a nod at Ryan's weather-beaten suit pants.
"Leave it. The state of my wardrobe will get the rumor mill off Zach's behind. I'll change at the office."
"Your cell phone is ringing."
Icy realization slid down his spine. Ryan pulled the device from his pocket and though it lit with an incoming call from the office and the ringer was set to full volume, he couldn't hear it ring. He didn't dare meet his brother's piercing look, so he answered.
"Evening, boss." Lilah's voice echoed hollowly in his ears as though he were standing in a tunnel. "How's our security chief holding up?"
"He'll make it," Ryan said.
"I hate to drag you away from them, but Miss Leblanc is here." A ruffling sound came over the line, like she was shaking her head. Then silence.
"Brennan's there?" His stomach took a tumble as he eyed the door to Zach's suite. What did she want at this hour?
More silence.
"Lilah?"
" . . . and who knows what they'd do," Lilah finished, her voice creeping back into his ears.
Ryan's jaw tightened. She'd said more, but either the phone had cut out or—more likely—his filters and his power were broken to the point where a whispered word no longer reached him.
Great.
"The weather might slow me down, but I'll be there soon." Ryan hung up and nodded to Jay. "Keys?"
Jay dug into his pockets. "Zach's never wrong." He released his grip on the car keys, mumbling something under his breath.
Ryan dipped his chin in defeat. The Mustang's keys jangled as he pounded the fingertips of his right hand into his left palm. Repeat.
"You need to rest." Jay's concern was plain even in rapid-fire sign language. "I'll wear the mask. You get an earpiece that works. And sleep."
"She'd know you're not me. We stick to the plan."
"I don't like the plan."
"Tough."
Jay sighed and flung his hands skyward. "Then be careful. Please, Ry."
"Scare up some cards. I'll thrash you both in poker after my appointment," Ryan said with a confident smile he hoped would set his brother at ease.
If Zach had a premonition bad enough to cause a seizure, one of them was going to be on the other end of some serious hurt. Ryan didn't want to think about what that could mean for Klepto's chat with Murphy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lilah had mint tea ready for him when he emerged from elevator,
but he wasn't the only one with a steaming mug. Sporting a short, arrow-straight cut of platinum blond hair and a troubled pitch to her lips, Brennan leaned on his assistant's desk. What could have brought her out after curfew?
"A little late for gossip," Ryan said.
"I called first." Brennan hesitated, but lifted her gaze from her drink. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. "Ryan, I need to talk to you."
"What's wrong?" He'd never seen her so unguarded.
The corners of her lips pinched so hard they turned white, but she pulled her shoulders back and shook her head. The motion revealed at least a dozen small, fresh scratches on the side of her face, half-concealed by the makeup she usually took great pains to apply. His eyebrows furrowed as she swept past and he shut the door to the conference room behind them. What else was her makeup covering? Bruises? Had she been attacked?
Concerned, Ryan dropped a hand over the packet she placed on the table. "Brennan, what happened?"
"Trust me, this," and she plucked his hand off of her folder, spreading out pages full of Ohanzee glyphs that blurred the instant he glanced at them, "is more important."
"Research?" Ryan asked.
"Prophecies." Her smile ended with a wince, as if her jaw hurt.
A whip of anger sped through his muscles. "Did someone hit you?"
"Leave it alone, Spiritwalker," she snapped. "I know you have secrets. Let me have mine."
The ringing in his ears lifted on a swell of sound and Ryan closed his eyes until the wave passed. Brennan had used the term before. This time, more than a simple translation lay behind the word.
"I'm sorry." She blew out a breath. "And I'm sorry for coming to you like this. I just didn't want to be too late."
"I'm listening," Ryan said.
She pushed a piece of paper forward. "The prophecy starts roughly with forcing two people together. 'A spiritwalker is fated to meet the key to true potential.'" She looked up. "A spirit-mate."
His mouth went dry.
"The way the symbols line up, it's supposed to be a meeting sealed with a kiss. But I was wrong earlier. It's a kiss of violent change, not death—"
Ryan stopped her, feeling as though all the blood had left his body. Fate. Violent change. Sealed with a kiss. Coincidence. It had nothing to do with the night he shot Amanda and ignited a war. "What does the rest of it say?"
"This page, here." She slid him another set of pictographs. "This says, 'Two are one when evil controls the scale of life and death.' And this one is badly smudged but I was able to get a few words, 'Sever, grow, link, die.' Nasty stuff, I think."
"Link, die. Sounds bad." Ryan repeated the words numbly, struggling to accept the concept. Was this new Listening connection with his spirit guide dangerous enough to kill? "Why are you telling me this tonight? Now?"
"Well," she paused, leaning back in her chair, "I know you met someone."
Sealed with a kiss.
His Spirit-mate. Amanda. He laughed, but it came out hollow. "So you thought I should know she's part of some crazy mystic soulmate thing from my mother's people?"
Her eyebrows disappeared under pale bangs. "Please. Like you need relationship advice. It's a meeting, not a wedding. These Ohanzee legends are all about choice anyway, not destiny. It was the timing, that's all. The scale of life and death bit, with the murders around town every night. When I found the pages your father dog-eared for you—"
"Back up." His temples throbbed harder. "My father did what?"
"The cipher I found in his journals helped me finish the translation. Didn't seem like he was ever able to make heads or tails of the text, but he never wavered on the point that those passages belonged to you. Really, the how isn't as important as the end result. The whole dying thing feels pertinent. It is pertinent. The 'evil' it's talking about is happening now. Or hadn't you noticed there's a serial killer running around outside?" She re-stacked the pages neatly in front of her, bold curiosity flickering like a candle to light up her face. "It's all real, isn't it? Everything I've been reading. You've met this Spirit-mate woman."
Did that mean what he felt for Amanda wasn't real, the attraction no more than a new quirk to his out-of-control ability?
Ryan stared at Brennan. "Legends are just that. Stories."
Her bloodshot eyes sharpened with disbelief. "Ryan, you're a good friend. I respect you. But I've also had a really, really long night. Don't get dodgy with me."
He pointedly studied the side of her face.
"Right. Fine. Keep your secrets." She flung herself back in her chair. "I'm patient."
Sever, grow, link, die.
He smacked the table with a fist. His emotions were his own, not some prophesied obsession. "I'm not letting a story give me relationship advice, either."
"She's gotten under your skin, huh?"
"Brennan."
Her lips tipped up on one side and she held up her hands. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."
The zealot's timeline, Zach's seizure, Brennan's prophecy, even the digital display on the wall clock said he was running out of time. Dawn was fast approaching, and Klepto had to get to Amanda. Ryan pushed out of his chair and winced as the scrape of wood on carpet abraded his eardrums. "You said those pages were for me. What about my brothers?"
"I haven't gone through all the boxes. Things should go much faster now that I've got the cipher." She dropped her gaze to the table. "I understand if you want me to stop looking." Her head came up, determined hazel eyes locking on his. "But for the record, whatever you're up against, whatever trouble she's in, I'd prefer to help."
The night Romeo had first spoken to him, a series of barks Ryan suddenly understood like a second language, the dog had helped him prevent Zach from running headlong into a burning building. So when Drak and then Torpedo had followed in Romeo's footsteps, Ryan had known what to expect. Bark, growl, and yip translation for him and Romeo had grown into full-blown, mind-to-mind telepathy though. One day soon, his brothers would hear their spirit guides, clear as human speech, inside their heads. Tying Brennan's research to truth was his chance to get ahead and stop playing guinea pig.
But these weren't his secrets alone.
"City's under curfew. Stick around here for the night." He was stretched too thin to protect everyone he cared about, 24-7, but McLelas Financial would provide safe haven. If she'd accept help.
"And the translations?" she asked.
Ryan jerked open the conference room door. "Stay until morning, and I'll think about it."
Reasonable priority number one: Catch Klepto in the act. Reasonable priority number two: Put a serial killer away for good. Amanda sighed. Dutiful reminders weren't enough to stop the worry over Ryan's head injury, the wish his brother hadn't been hurt, nor the less-altruistic, irresponsible dreams of a night ending in the condo. Her flirtatious troublemaker had been so still for long, long minutes as she tried to pry the doors open and break the useless, shatter-proof windshield. It had taken both her and Jay to rouse him. What if Ryan had a concussion?
She wanted hours just to touch him. Every inch of skin bared, massaged in a 100% innocent post-truck accident inspection. Her fingers curled as fantasies surrounded her like a heated blanket. Ryan's arms would have been far more accommodating than her cold, lumpy couch.
And the sex?
Amanda caught her breath at a tangle of wanton memories that made the apex of her thighs heat and clench. She'd never hear jazz music the same way again.
"Play Klepto's game, secure his trust, find the evidence before dinner. That's what matters," she whispered to the dark. "How can you be thinking about a romp under the covers while the city's under attack by a psycho who likes to break into your house and leave you roses?"
Klepto wouldn't catch her unaware and in bed a second time.
Bed. Ryan. That wild look in his eyes when he came with her name on his lips. He'd asked her to be his date for the fundraiser. Ryan, infamous for parading around a different woman on a daily basis, had admitted he w
anted her for more than one night.
She swallowed hard. How many more? With the cameras rolling, how long would it take the playboy to become bored with his new lover?
Every light in the living room and kitchen went out, leaving only the half moon to drench her house in shadows. Instinct blotted out her unsettling questions. She slid to the floor, her high heels sinking into the carpet as the back door cracked open. A masculine silhouette entered the kitchen with slow, quiet footsteps.
A split second later, her security system wailed.
Klepto went down like he'd been shot.
She crouched lower, scooting around the couch to get a line of sight on his attacker. Back door intact and closed. No one else in sight. Klepto was sprawled on the tile, his hands over his hood, his body shuddering as if the strident tone of the alarm had dealt him a physical blow.
"Turn it off!" A growl, a plea, a howl of such animalistic pain she almost couldn't recognize the words.
Amanda flung herself at the alarm panel but when the blaring siren died his attempt to rise ended with him swaying on his hands and knees. She had a ridiculous urge to make sure he was okay. To apologize, when she could have been sprinting for the phone. Not that calling the police was the best option. Breaking and entering wasn't the evidence she needed to ensure his life sentence.
Amanda crouched by his side and pressed her palm to his still-quaking shoulder. "Klepto? What happened?"
"Alarm," he groaned.
Her intuition was broken. It had to be. Compassion had no place in her plan to send this man to prison.
"You're not allowed to die on my kitchen floor." Amanda dropped to her knees, the tile frigid against her bare skin as she draped his arm over her shoulder. "Felled by an alarm. What kind of master thief are you, anyway?"
Impartiality wavered as the intimate position shoved her ear against his chest, his breath warm on the back of her neck. This man, mint and danger, should not interest her hormones in the slightest.
Should not have been waiting for Klepto while thinking about Ryan.