by Cera Daniels
Noon came, and Jackson's bombs leveled their first building.
Then the second.
The parking garage of a third.
By midnight, they'd missed a total of seven. Past midnight, no more explosives rocked Relek City. Press releases, building searches, doctor visits, everything passed in a blur.
Until Ryan finally stood on the balcony of his condo two weeks later with his earpiece off and the woman he loved in his arms, watching a luminous red and purple sunset made more stunning by the mere, incredible fact that they were both alive to share its glow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"I can't work for you." Amanda held out a hand for his glasses. "Not private sector. I need this challenge. Besides, it's not just the turf war violence that threatens public safety. The syndicates won't be able to keep silent much longer about the foothold they have on the government, the force, who knows what other key positions in the city. If the rest of us—the officers who care about Relek, its people—break for private security firms and . . . special projects . . . then we'd be handing over control without resistance."
Ryan sighed and slipped the frames off of his face. "They're in deeper than we knew."
Corruption wasn't a surprise. But they now faced the impending consolidation of power into criminal hands. Shaw Family's flunkies had been more than willing to point out informants and plants in exchange for lighter jail time. Unfortunately, covers were extensive and paper trails were clean. Evidence, witnesses, trials—housekeeping could take a decade. At least McLelas luck had made a showing: Klepto's new partner was keen to unseat his competition. Underground resources would help them track blackmailers and discover syndicate players in the ranks sooner.
"You'll fix it." Her palm cooled his cheek. "I'm not sure you know how to do anything else."
He smiled, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. "Careful, sweetheart. Starting to sound an awful lot like you condone my actions."
She leaned into him. "You protect and serve your way; I'll protect and serve mine."
Ryan pressed a long kiss to the side of her neck. "I won't be out late."
"Another night among shadows and thieves. Don't piss off any snipers, okay? I like you alive." She nipped at his now-bare chest. "And in one piece."
"Ten-four, Lieutenant McLelas." Ryan winked, then hauled a black t-shirt over his head. "It's just Murphy. Romeo will be Listening for trouble."
"All the same. One piece, buster."
On went his cargo pants, trench coat, the winter-warm socks and heavy boots. He blew her a kiss, and with it, the telepathic sensation of want. Need. And love. The kind filled with the same snug, perfect warmth he found whenever his arms circled her waist and her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.
"Keep the bed warm." Ryan plucked the last piece of his guise from her open palms, the mask that would never again come between them.
"I love you." Amanda signed the words, too, smiling as she curled in the middle two fingers of her right hand and pressed her thumb, index finger, and pinky over his heart. "Vigilante mine."
I have an overwhelming amount of gratitude for the overwhelming amount of support I had in my corner during the birth of this book. And during its revisions. Revisions and rewrites are a true test of a writer’s support system, and every single one of you hung in to The End: Thank you Carl, for making sure I remembered to eat. Thank you Cindy, for being the best critique partner I could have hoped for. Thank you to my TriMu writing group, for being supportive, wonderful ladies who believed I could tell a story, if only I’d stop accidentally killing off the main characters.
I love you all.
Thank you for giving Ryan's story a read. I hope you enjoyed meeting him, Amanda, and Romeo as much as I enjoyed tormenting them!
My Relek City series is set in a city on the edge of a criminal turf war. Three brothers with supernaturally cursed senses and telepathically connected animal guides pose as the same vigilante. Each book follows a brother's journey to walk the gray line against crime and introduces the strong woman destined to end his personal war between curse and gift with the strongest weapon of all: love.
So which brother gets to meet his Spirit-mate next? Jay! Keep an eye out—pun intended—for him and his owl, late 2015.
If you'd like to know exactly when to expect my next release, you can sign up for my email newsletter at http://www.ceradaniels.com or watch my blog at http://www.ceradaniels.com/blog. New readers on my email list get a free sneak peek of an upcoming tale.
I hang out on Twitter. Follow me at @CeraDaniels for my adventures in writing, mommying, and general mayhem. And drop me a line sometime!
Reviews are always appreciated.
Recommending this book to a friend? First: I am so, so grateful for your support; word of mouth referrals are terrific compliments! Second: Please send an email to [email protected] or a tweet to @CeraDaniels to let me know you've helped someone else find my books. I'll send you a fun little deleted scene with Ryan and Amanda—my way of saying thanks.
Up Next: Vigilante's Dare
Relek City's number one crime boss will not be denied: Emily Barton, an animal empath and owner of a successful therapy clinic, will heal his son's terminal cancer, or she will die. But masked vigilante Jay McLelas, a man with supernatural night vision and an owl companion, will relentlessly protect the woman he's inexplicably drawn to. Though Emily's growing empathic abilities threaten to unmask her nighttime guardian, risking the brittle trust between them, she and Jay must battle blackmail, drugs, dirty cops—and their own conflicted hearts.
For an excerpt from Vigilante's Dare, please turn the page.
Excerpt from Vigilante's Dare:
Jay McLelas tapped the button on his earbud communicator. "I'm in." Frowning at the broken chain lock dangling from the back of the door, he twisted the deadbolt. Cinnamon and a hint of apple hit his nose as his silent feet padded through the darkness of apartment 504's tiny kitchen.
Lack of intel made caution imperative. He brushed a hand over his eyes. The leather mask concealing the top half of his face remained in place. Calling to his power, Jay dilated his pupils to amplify his night vision and his gaze swept the room. On the counter, a single repeated name glittered on a stack of unopened mail—"Emily Barton. A woman's apartment, Zach." Library books on bird care lay scattered across the surface of a battered, round table and a pair of worn binoculars hung from a nylon strap over the back of the lone wooden chair.
"Civilian. You're clear." His brother's familiar baritone rumbled over the earpiece. "Set all three bugs on Tyrel's place. Nine feet of wire. I want every word, nice and crisp. And make it fast. I've got a bad vibe with this one."
Zach's danger-meter was never wrong.
"Care to be a little more specific?" Jay flipped open a leather bag at his waist and snagged a screwdriver.
"Just keep your exits open, bro."
He'd no sooner knelt to loosen the vent on the hallway wall when Zach's voice crackled again at his ear.
"Company's comin'! Murphy's got a contract kidnapping out for Ms. Barton."
Jay's attention flicked back to the kitchen counter. "How much time?"
The sound of fingers tapping across a keyboard skipped over the line. "They're already in the elevator."
"Shit." He tucked the equipment back into his belt pouch and headed for the door at the end of the hall. Murphy expected his masked partner to scope out the La Plaza hotel for the next evening's art heist. If the man's thugs caught him somewhere else, Jay would have a whole hell of a lot of explaining to do. "I'm taking the north exit," he whispered, slipping into the small bedroom.
Sprawled across a slim mattress and box spring combo that nearly filled the space lay the apartment's sole occupant. A defenseless target.
Why does Murphy want her? Is he trafficking women now, too?
Fury throbbed behind Jay's temples. The bastard ran half of Relek City's underground; there seemed no end to Murphy's evening activities. A woman
who lived alone in this neighborhood, too poor to afford a safer complex—let alone sensible front door locks—the syndicate boss probably figured no one would miss her.
Jay gritted his teeth and crept to the bedroom window, pressing his leather-clad palms against the frame. Summer humidity brushed at his jaw as he eased the lower pane upward, the heated breeze tainted with a sour hint of uncollected refuse from the parking lot Dumpster. Nights like these made him rue the need for a disguise that involved a trench coat and jeans. Dark feathers swooped to block the exit and an angry barred owl pecked at his gloved hand.
"Torpedo, get out of the way," Jay hissed at his surly spirit guide, shooing the bird.
Torpedo bobbed his head and flapped his wings wide, adopting a decidedly perturbed expression on his flat face. He let out a low whistle, owl-speak that Jay translated as, save her. The owl swiveled to stare at the bed with wide, brown eyes and Jay followed his gaze.
The thin cover rose and fell in the slow, deliberate pattern of deep sleep.
Why did she have to be home?
If Murphy was running a new business, Jay could let the thugs take her. He'd follow them into the night and they'd lead him to—What am I doing? I can't just leave her to them. The syndicate boss's lackeys could hurt her if he didn't act now. Jay swore under his breath.
Ambient light from the apartment complex's parking lot brushed across Emily's soft, peaceful features. Her shapely body lay cocooned in a layer of almost sheer fabric; a thicker blanket had wormed its way down to her calves and Jay's fingers were close enough to graze the floral print of the heavy comforter crumpled at the foot of the bed.
"What do you want me to do? Kidnap her first? I'm not a magician, Tor." Jay glanced between the bird and Emily, puzzled by Torpedo's determination to protect Murphy's target. He pushed harder on his companion-granted ability to get a better look. Colors sharpened in the dark, rich tones which cast away the shadows, and his vision homed in on the tinge of pink highlighting the pixie-like curves of her face. "If they catch me here—"
Sharp possessiveness curved without warning like a raptor's beak at his gut, shredding through his protests. Innocent. Vulnerable. Save her, Torpedo insisted again, and Jay couldn't refuse. Three years of undercover work in the syndicate, everything he and his brothers were building toward—none of it mattered. Murphy wasn't getting his hands on this woman.
A confrontation with the thugs would wake her; she'd panic. He needed to give his partner's underlings a reason, any excuse to nullify their contract and to keep Emily out of Murphy's grasp. Jay frantically worked through mental scenarios, searching for one that wouldn't blow his cover. They'd easily believe his feigned ignorance over the contract, and maybe that he'd finished early at La Plaza. But the woman?
He stepped forward, pulling off a glove, sudden inspiration overriding his brain. Would they buy a relationship? Common sense leapt out the window as his fingers halted a whisper away from her cheek. Diving into an intimate scene with the apartment tenant wasn't quite what he'd had in mind when he'd snuck in for recon.
"Why're you still there?" Zach sounded ready to pounce through the earpiece.
Startled from his thoughts, Jay jerked back and bumped into the floor lamp in the corner. It wobbled dangerously and the clatter of metal thundered against the walls. Jay grabbed the pole, cringing as Emily rolled to her right side and faced the door, but the rhythm of her breathing remained unbroken. A mercifully sound sleeper. Jay laid a hand on the shade to rebalance it and took a judicious step away from the fixture.
"Get moving! They're on your floor—"
"Don't wait up for me." With a quick jerk, he pushed back his hood and shrugged out of his black trench coat. "And tell Ryan I'll be late."
The jacket flared on an invisible breeze from the window as he kicked off his boots and stripped the glove from his other hand. Yanking off his t-shirt and tool belt, Jay used a bare toe to nudge the latter under the bed where it wouldn't be visible from the doorway. He shoved his pistol into his waistband as an afterthought. If the lie worked, he wouldn't need the gun.
Although I might need a therapist.
"Jay—"
Pulling the earpiece out and tossing it with his belt, Jay caught a muffled string of huffing noises coming from Torpedo's perch on the sill. Jay threw a sideways look at his companion, stifling a groan at the almost human laughter. Even the bird knew this was a bad idea. "This was your idea, feather-head."
The owl took to wing with a hoot that said, too slow, too slow. Jay grabbed an edge of the neglected blankets and slipped underneath, pulling them over the pants he still wore. He wrapped his arms on the outside of Emily's sheet, leaving only a meager layer of protection between them when he pinned her back to his chest.
Jay's groin pulsed with a rhythm of inconvenient attraction as Emily woke and squirmed in panic. Her lips were like ribbons of velvet against the palm he clasped over her mouth.
"I'm not gonna hurt you." His voice came out a husky whisper and Jay fought to curb his body's reaction to her movements and the spicy scent of cinnamon that wrapped around his brain. He plunged ahead with the reckless plan. "Follow my lead and play along so we don't get shot."
The woman's body twitched and he loosened his grip around her waist so she could turn. Two fists shot out, striking his chest. So she doesn't intend to be reasonable. Emily's hazel eyes were wild with fear and fury.
"Stop fighting me," Jay growled low in his throat, rewrapping her limbs in the thin cotton fabric with one hand. "I'm here to stop the men with the guns and nasty tempers and I can't do that if—" Wood splintered in the kitchen.
They were out of time.