Vigilante Mine

by Cera Daniels

  Under the pretense of shoving his body upright against the island she slid her hands around his waist to check discreetly for the bulge of a weapon. Clear. Amanda let go, but Klepto slumped forward. Her hands slammed into strong shoulders, pure muscle under leather. No shoulder holster, either. He was weakened, at her mercy, and she couldn't lock him up before he led her to the stolen showstopper bullets or the gun. Everything that pointed to him as the serial killer so far was, at best, circumstantial. At worst, coincidental.

  "If you're done feeling me up, I could use some Tylenol."

  Amanda braced herself with a palm on the counter. Her fingertips hit something warm. Wet. Blood? Pinprick lights from her security system glinted off a dark smudge.

  She shot an alarmed look between her hand and the man before her. "You're bleeding."

  "Ear," came the disoriented reply.

  She reached for his hood. He didn't look up, but one of his palms connected blindly with her arm, his glove slicked with more of the blood he'd streaked across her countertop.

  "Don't."

  Amanda dropped her hands to the hem of her shameful, tiny dress. Another head wound. Déjà vu kicked at her gut and she canned it viciously. Ryan might tread in some gray areas, but he was absolutely not a murderer, so her brain could just forget about lining him up beside Klepto.

  "Stay put." She stepped around the counter and whipped a few paper towels off the roll by her sink.

  If her quest for evidence proved fruitless and he didn't recover enough to show for the fundraiser, at least she'd have DNA. Awesome. Fantastic.

  Useless. The killer had been so careful at every murder scene, an ID alone wouldn't be enough to tie him to the case.

  Klepto would again walk free.

  Amanda's frustration peaked. She dreaded dealing with the syndicate world but the Jones Group meeting was her best chance to gain this man's confidence—and access to the evidence she sought. She glanced at him. Klepto's shoulders rolled forward, his head hung lower. He either recovered now or her window of opportunity was gone. Rapid-relief painkillers in hand, she yanked on the fridge door. The light stayed off.

  "You better get the power back up before we leave, Klepto. I'm not coming back to a cold house." She grabbed a bottle of water before returning to his side.

  "That attitude of yours really shines when I'm bleeding," he mumbled, then downed the pills without touching the liquid. His hand no longer shook as he reached for the paper towels and shoved them under his hood. "And here I'd even brought my new associate a gift."

  Triumph flared through her veins even as disgust at his first gift resurfaced. She was in. Now she had to get him moving. "Another one? You shouldn't have."

  "What—" He looked right at her as his question choked off, the shadowed maw of his hood giving away nothing of the mysterious man beyond.

  He'd died and won the sex-angel lottery. Through pain-streaked vision, Ryan had an eyeful of black satin and creamy, bare skin. Her nightgown hugged feminine curves and gave way to long, long legs, heels sharp as knives and red enough to set fire to the dark. He longed to trace the smooth fabric with his hands, to crush her to him, every silken curve tucked against his skin and yes, those legs wrapped tight around his waist. Hell, he wasn't picky. She didn't need the nightgown.

  "What. Are. You. Wearing?" The question came out lust-tight, low, and frightfully raw.

  Had she worn it to seduce Klepto, or was that what she wore to bed every night? His ears throbbed counterpoint to his groin, an edgy reminder of his predicament. He wasn't Ryan right now. He was Klepto, and she could never link the two.

  "Your present."

  "Uh." His eyes retraced the length of her legs. "Thank you?"

  "This is what you had in mind, isn't it?" She walked over to the trash can, dug in silence for a moment, then lobbed over a crumpled piece of cardstock.

  Ryan unraveled the paper and squinted at the bold strokes. He'd seen the same handwriting on a few intercepted syndicate contracts. Shiv. Old tobacco wafted from the note in confirmation and anger boiled in hot and fast. Murphy Jones' right-hand thug. "It's not from me."

  She froze. Blinked.

  "Where did you get this? When?" he asked, wadding the note in one hand.

  It should have crinkled. Dizziness rolled over him. An uneasy, disconnected sensation. He unfolded the note, then ripped it straight down the center. The thick paper tore without a sound.

  "My kitchen counter," Amanda said.

  Ryan gripped the island in shock, hearing Amanda's voice, his own breath . . . and nothing else.

  His ability had blown a fuse.

  More than that, exposure to the alarm while his hearing had been stretched to the limit had toasted his ears completely. He'd never managed to stay conscious through a full-fledged overload before. The novelty was anything but a relief. He'd be in the thick of Murphy's syndicate, beyond powerless. Sure, he could lip-read, but he'd miss nuance. He'd be unable to defend Amanda.

  We are screwed.

  "You need my help."

  Get out of my head, Romeo. Ruthlessly, he shoved the order through their telepathic link. Romeo could be a strength, but the German shepherd's tendency to experiment with their connection could also prove disastrous. What other choice did he have?

  "First thing yesterday morning." She wrapped her arms around her chest then seemed to realize the motion pushed her breasts distractingly higher. Her fingers tugged at the hem of the dress instead, gave up, then fluttered over her bare thighs. "With a dozen roses and the shoes from my closet. This . . . the note, the dress, it's not from you?"

  "No." He took in a deep breath and spread the palms of his gloves out on the kitchen island. Despite his precautions, he'd led Shiv to her front door. "Romeo should have made enough noise to wake you."

  "Your dog is a sound sleeper. He also snores."

  "He slept through a home invasion?" Ryan growled.

  "Listening makes me tired." Romeo, still huddled in the back of his mind.

  I told you to get out.

  Her forehead scrunched. "You know who did this."

  Ryan realized with a start he'd let Klepto's façade slip. She wasn't a partner. Not to Klepto. If he couldn't pull his role together now, he'd never be convincing enough to keep them alive when they faced the Jones Group. "Enough talking. I'll finish cleaning up while you find something else to wear, sweetheart."

  "Oh, I'm wearing the dress," she said with a regal tilt of her head. Moonlight-washed hair slid over one bare shoulder. "Darling."

  Thank God he wasn't wearing jeans. As it was, the purr of challenge in her tone coupled with her distracted tapping of fingers on bare skin tightened his cargo pants to the point of unbearable, his cock craving the taste of her body like an addict.

  "That is not a dress and it came from Shiv. It's meant as a warning. A test. My associate's wardrobe is my business, not his." He'd forget about how much they needed this deal and how important it was to find out more about the syndicate boss's involvement with Old Town. He'd be too busy killing Murphy and Shiv for laying eyes on Amanda.

  "I see. And what would you have me wear instead?"

  Oh. Crap. He hadn't meant—Klepto, not Ryan. Don't take it back. Stay in control.

  Ryan withdrew her current weapon of choice from a trench coat pocket. "You have five minutes to change, or I'm coming in after you and you'll never see your Taser again."

  Amanda's lips thinned and she jerked toward the hallway.

  Romeo huffed in amusement from somewhere in the back of Ryan's mind. "Smooth, Spiritwalker."

  This isn't funny, and I don't want you in my head.

  "Yet clearly, you need me."

  I needed you to keep Shiv away from her, not sleep through it.

  An angry Amanda was better than a half-naked, distracting one—dear lord, she had a luscious rear, the "dress" riding high on the backs of her thighs. Ryan closed his eyes.

  Spirit-mate.

  He'd have her on his terms, not som
e prophecy's. Beyond the kiss. Her lips, curves, the sexual attraction—she'd intoxicated him at first sight, but more than the physical fueled his interest. Ryan was beginning to think he'd never get enough of the steel-blue challenge in her eyes, her fiery displays of courage, the way she viewed the world as a million tiny puzzles to be solved.

  "I will refine the technique so you can Listen."

  No! Ryan jerked his eyelids open. Amanda's kitchen, not some empty, icy nothingness. He sent his urgency and Brennan's translated warnings—sever, grow, link, die—through the link as he grabbed a fresh paper towel and shoved it under the sink faucet. He dabbed it over his ears, jaw, and neck. You'll keep your own ears open, warn me if something threatens us.

  "She can be your ears."

  Ryan's free hand covered the spare earpiece in his other pocket. I'm not sending Amanda in there without me. Besides, she'd recognize the tech.

  Romeo snorted. "Not with that. Your Spirit-mate is meant to hear."

  Not with Amanda. Not up for debate.

  "But I can guide you both."

  His earache had begun to subside, but the series of images Romeo sent him next made his pulse speed and his temples pound like miniature jackhammers. You will absolutely not hijack her brain.

  Another snort. "Of course not, Spiritwalker."

  Ryan growled aloud.

  "Fine. Do this alone. I'll guard your back and relay the shadow voices."

  Thank you.

  Subtext, threats, lies, the undercurrent Ryan's faulty ears would miss. Shadow voices exhausted Romeo. The German shepherd hadn't offered to guide so intensely since Ryan's spirit search, their initial bonding. A twinge of fear slid across the telepathic link, and Ryan sent a second volley of gratitude.

  He slid the back door open and Romeo prowled through. Amanda's breathing left his ears. Her heartbeat amplified. Clad in a tame sweater and jeans, she stood by the front closet, one boot in a motionless hand. She brought out a streak of tenderness in him he didn't know existed. When had he ever wanted to pull a woman into his arms and simply . . . be whatever she needed?

  Shield, shoulder, friend.

  "Relax. He's coming with us, so you might as well get used to him now." Ryan reached past her and shook a wool coat free of its hanger. "He won't hurt you."

  "So you've said."

  Then, he'd believed it.

  He draped the coat around her shoulders. "Murphy, on the other hand, likes to shoot people who show fear."

  "I'm not afraid of Murphy." She laced up her other boot and followed him into the snow, but her eyes never left the dog.

  Refined oil and the too-close scent of mint swamped her senses for over an hour, and her legs ached from lack of motion. Every metal-girded warehouse in sight was a front for shady money. No doubt a few held weapons for the ongoing war. Violent, red-orange tendrils of dawn crept across the bleak sky, the burgundy shadows it cast disturbing Amanda on a primal level.

  "How long do we wait?" she asked, shaking thoughts of blood and fire.

  "Be patient." His voice rasped against her temple. "I need your scarf."

  Warm breath combined with the sensual slide of leather-covered knuckles over her cheek. His fingers curved around her neck and slowly unwound the length of brown wool. Brisk, cutting wind had a moment to seep into the skin Klepto bared before memory of his lips sent a flush through her entire body.

  Her toes curled. "Stop that."

  She wasn't sure if she meant him, or her hormones.

  "Cold?" He moved beside her as if to block the wind, the small shift placing him in deeper shadows. Her scarf hid the lower half of his face from the eerie rays of sunlight. "Or just excited, sweetheart?"

  One word, but Klepto savored it when he spoke, growled it low and inviting, and yanked her hormones into a frenzy. She ground her teeth. Damn him. "Brown doesn't match your coat, darling. I'll bring a pink and fluffy one for next time."

  His shoulders twitched. "Here he comes. Follow my lead, or there won't be a next time."

  For a brief instant, she caught a glimpse of dark, troubled eyes. Her confusion ratcheted up a notch. More and more, this criminal's brutal arrogance and control cracked and splintered in her presence. His injury, or was he intimidated by Murphy?

  "Why don't you take off your coat and stay a while?" Shiv led a pack of goons into the warehouse proper and smirked at her, a leer Amanda wanted to punch clean off his face.

  "You crossed a line last night, Shiv," Klepto said. "Where's Murphy?"

  "Ooh, a line. She liked it, didn't she?" Shiv leaned toward her. "You're working under the wrong man, sweetheart."

  Amanda's whole back crawled as if he'd doused her in spiders. Curbing the instinctive shudder strained her muscles, but she managed an air of indifference. "I'm not your sweetheart."

  A smile as oily as the air around them spread over his lips as he nodded at Klepto. "I'll cross the line for this firecracker any day."

  "Like I'd share with the likes of you." Klepto insinuated far more than "associate" status.

  Her eyebrows lifted before she could catch her expression. Gloved fingertips brushed her jacket sleeve.

  "Come now, sharing is what we're here to discuss, is it not?" A man in high-end, fresh-pressed business attire stepped around Shiv's thugs. A vivid purple handkerchief was folded crisply in one breast pocket. He cocked his head to one side and a disarming smile spread across his face. "Give the nice officer some space, Shiv."

  "Of course, Sir." The rat-faced bastard stripped her bare with his eyes as he took a handful of steps backward. "Always business before pleasure."

  Amanda slammed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. What had she gotten herself into?

  "I assume you've considered my proposal," Klepto said.

  "I have. And though this offering is pleasant," he gestured to Amanda, "it's unnecessary. I have a counter-proposal. Tonight, there will be a fundraiser at the McLelas Financial tower."

  Her heart vaulted forward, eager but dreading Murphy's next words.

  "Many wealthy people will be there," the syndicate boss continued.

  Klepto hadn't chosen his targets alone. Unexpected, but now she knew without a doubt—

  "And their home security will be lax."

  Her racing pulse sputtered. Home security?

  He wanted Klepto to steal?

  "You have a shopping list?" Klepto asked.

  Not kill?

  "I do." Murphy flicked an envelope onto the ground. "If you've still got it, these shouldn't be too much trouble for you to obtain for my personal collection."

  Disappointment slammed home.

  "He wants to protect you, but he's not whole. He can't hear the danger."

  Amanda drew in a careful, measured breath as the baritone voice sank into her mind. I need to hear Murphy, not imaginary voices. She took in a second breath and pushed away the onset of panic. She could still see the exchange, still feel the lurid stain of Shiv's many glances.

  "I'm not imaginary, and you're not crazy." An amused sensation spread inside her mind. "Did I forget to introduce myself last time?"

  A brush of fur against her fingertips. Klepto's dog. Oh, good. Now she could be mauled instead of fired on by syndicate thugs.

  "I would never bite you." Hurt ridged the dog's voice. It bumped her knee, then sat back on its haunches. "He only sees their words. I can't reach him."

  Her lungs quaked. Temporary insanity. The shock of losing her badge. Klepto's dog is not inside my head.

  "I am," Romeo said, lifting his nose to peer at her. "There is danger. Listen."

  Her vision went black.

  No! No, not again. Not now. Passing out in Ryan's conference room had been bad enough, but here, faltering for an instant meant death.

  "Sorry," Romeo said.

  Amanda's hearing rebounded.

  "Partnership or nothing. I'm not willing to be another pet on a chain," Klepto said.

  "Chain?" Murphy laughed. "If Shiv decides to take offense, I won't
haul him back."

  Romeo nudged her leg and a stream of reassurance flooded her mind. She was still standing. From the way the conversation flowed around her, no one had noticed her departure from reality.

  "Up high. Danger."

  Every instinct in her body claimed this impossible delusion was real. And if it was real, she and Klepto were in someone's line of fire. She had to act. Psych would have a field day with her when this was over.

  Amanda stopped fighting. Klepto's dog directed her enhanced senses to the clanking of footsteps on metal. A fire escape? Snaps on a case of some kind. The shift of something heavy.

  "Sniper rifle."

  Unassembled? She recognized it then, equipment wiggled piecemeal out of its case. Click, slide, twist. High and to the left, a would-be shooter had eyes on them. Who did he belong to?

  Romeo languidly pawed at her boot. "The ugly one with the knives. Hurry, Spirit-mate his."

  Her vision returned. Muted rage blazed on Shiv's face and facts aligned in seconds. A partnership with Murphy would put Klepto above Shiv in the syndicate hierarchy. The other man could have put a sniper in the wings to both take out his enemy and keep his position secure.

  Confusion pummeled her mind and roiled in her stomach. She strove to keep her expression bland as Klepto's hand clasped her wrist. Did he know Romeo had spoken to her? Had he told his dog to warn her? Could he . . . could he hear the same way?

  "There are other syndicates," Klepto said.

  Murphy shrugged, containing every emotion within a consummate, professional persona. "I'll let you choose one gig, and then we'll talk profit-sharing. A single act of good faith, just as I've shown you by meeting like this."

  Romeo leaned into her leg. Amanda had waited long enough.

  "How . . . generous of you." She angled her head toward the syndicate boss as Klepto's grip on her wrist tightened. "And does your good faith always include a sniper?"

  A near-imperceptible narrowing of Murphy's eyes. "What sniper?"

  Amanda pointed, and Shiv took a step backward. His eyes widened as Klepto stepped around her. Blocking the sniper's line of fire.

  What serial killer would put his life on the line before completing his "mission"? Amanda started. The sniper existed in reality. She glanced down, a knot twisting in her throat. Romeo rested his chin on her boot.