Goodbye, Mackenzie.
And her taxi drove away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“THE THING IS smashed to hell. It’s amazing it holds a charge.” Dom leaned in as Cordell Kincade, the Agency’s tech engineer, opened the back of the cell phone and pulled out the data card with a small pair of tweezers.
“Holds a charge? Dom, I’m shocked it even powers up. Look at the damage within the internal casing. The sim card reader assembly is completely shot. Who knows about the circuit board. Let’s hope the read/write flash…”
As Cordell’s voice droned on with a bunch of tech bullshit, Dom thought about a wispy dress, a fragrant hollow behind delicate ears, a flash of spunky green eyes and a pair of long legs that encircled him and refused to let go.
Should he have chased after her? Begged her to come home with him? Would he be with her now, making love to her in his bed? He yearned for the impossible. To see her naked again, but not as her nursemaid or a lascivious spy outside her kitchen window.
Cordell paused, yanking Dom from his daydream.
“Yes, yes. That’s all fine, but can you get the data?”
“I’m afraid the flash memory is corrupt, but let’s see if I can get it fired up enough to extract something.” Cordell plugged the tiny card into a reader device hooked to his computer. “Cross your fingers. I’ll get only one shot. Every time a damaged drive is accessed, it lessens the chance of being able to retrieve the data. I’d have a better chance if they made these next generation flash memory chips—”
Dom pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block out Cordell’s geek-speak.
Although he had felt himself slipping a few times tonight, overall he was pleased he’d been able to control the urge to drink from Mackenzie again, even when she was in his arms. God, she felt so good.
But her reactions were the most shocking. Most humans instinctively reacted with the flight instinct, sensing the innate danger of a predator. When she witnessed his physiological hunger changes, he felt her fear at first, but she shoved it away with anger. He’d never seen a human do that before. And she thought he was having an orgasm? Good God. If she only knew.
But almost more than the desire to drink from her—hell, he’d have that kind of urge around a sweetblooded male—was a deep-seated longing to get to know her on a deeper level. What made her happy? What made her sad? What did she dream of doing one day? If she could travel to anywhere in the world, where would she go and why? He imagined that as she told him these things, she’d be absently twisting a piece of his hair around her fingers because it helped her think. With his eyes closed, he’d listen, letting her words soak in until they became a part of him, too.
God, he really needed to focus here. He straddled an empty chair and tried to listen to the yapping, but it was no use.
“You’re losing me,” Dom said, which got an eyebrow raise from Cordell. “All I want to know is if you can get that data off the phone.”
“Sorry. It’s just that— Okay, here we go.” Cordell punched several keys and they waited as the light on the device blinked red. “Come on, come on. This could take a few moments.”
The big man wheeled back and absently kneaded his thighs. Cordell would be embarrassed to know how much he did that. Dom knew it was from the spinal cord injury he’d suffered as a human. It was only after he changed that the cord had rejuvenated and he was able to walk again. But he still had a sort of phantom limb-like pain. Dom guessed it bothered him more than he let on.
“Sorry, Dom, but it’s not looking good. It’ll blink green if it’s reading the card. Oh, great. This isn’t good at all.” Cordell’s fingers flew across the keyboard and an error message popped up. “‘Inability to read external Drive G.’ I was afraid of that. Okay, okay, I know you’re corrupt. But just give me what I want and I’ll let you roll over and go to sleep.”
Dom managed a grim smile. Cordell talked to his tech devices when he wanted them to do something. Strange thing was they usually complied.
“Don’t ask me why this works, but sometimes it does. In fact, when Lily’s hard drive crashed—” He glanced at Dom. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, I’m unhooking all my peripherals and we’ll see if this puppy fires up.” Cordell disconnected all the other devices attached to the various data ports on his computer. “Here’s where we pray to God, promise to be good from now on and sacrifice our firstborn.”
Dom held his breath as the device continued to blink red. He was a fool not to have gotten the phone from her earlier. The thing paused for a moment, beeped once, then started to blink green. A bunch of encrypted shit popped up on the screen.
“Is that it? Is that the data?”
“Yep. You got it.”
“Nice work.” Hopefully, they’d be able to determine what those Darkblood idiots had been up to before they shot him. Now maybe Santiago would back off, let Dom do his job.
“That’s my girl.” Cordell patted the top of the huge curved monitor and skimmed over a few more keys.
“Your computer is a she?”
“Hell, yeah. If I’m running my hands over something all day long expecting it to put out, it better be female. It may take me a while to decode this stuff. You going to be around? I’ll call you when I get it up. Well, when I get the data up, that is.”
“Yes, I’ll be home before going out on second shift. Call me when you have something.”
BACK AT THE loft, Dom rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for something to snack on. Nothing. He grabbed a handful of almonds and a beer, plodded down the hallway and flipped on the light to his office. His in-box was probably jammed as he’d not checked email the entire time he’d been in Portland.
He slumped in his desk chair, knowing he should be thrilled the phone data had been recovered, but all he could focus on was a vague sense of emptiness inside.
Amidst the lottery notifications and the penile enlargement offers, an email from the Baja Region caught his eye. He read it quickly—a job offer—and glanced at his wall calendar. Yes, it had been just about five years since he’d been sent up here in forced exile after that mess in Florida. Officially, he wasn’t eligible for a transfer for another couple of months, but evidently others had been waiting for his punishment, or cooling-off period or whatever else they wanted to call it, to end, as well. Maybe they could push it through early, because it was definitely time to move on. He rubbed his chest and told himself the dull ache was simply a beer bubble that hadn’t made it to the surface yet. Maybe Perdido Bay wouldn’t want him back, but it looked like Baja did. He fired off an inquiry about the job description then took another long draught.
His thoughts drifted back to the auction again. He recalled the way Mackenzie stared at him through her impossibly long lashes then bristled when she got caught, how she squared her lovely shoulders against him as if she knew how much he was dying to run the tips of his fingers over her flesh. As he remembered her sweet scent, her fiery green eyes and her silky softness upon his hand, his cock swelled.
The desk chair creaked when he reached into his pants to adjust himself. This was the same hand he’d used to touch her just a short time ago. He hardened further and stroked himself in a slow rhythm, up and down his length, thinking about her sassy spirit, the taste of her mouth and how her body responded to his touch like a beautiful instrument in his hands. He gripped himself tighter. Ah, yes. Naked underneath that flirty skirt with purple panties in her purse. Oh God, and out there in the taxi line. He closed his eyes and imagined pushing himself into her warmth, feeling her tighten around him. As he strained his head back, a powerful surge of pleasure pulsed out over his belly. He held himself a few moments longer as his cock softened in his hand.
Maybe he could— For chrissake, who was he fooling? There was no way any sort of a relationship would work. Just being around her would put her life in danger. He couldn’t possibly take that risk.
He shoved the chair away from the desk, marched down the hallway and took a quick shower to wash away the idiot
ic fantasy. He had retrieved his cell phone from her and had fun doing it. End of story. It would be best if he simply forgot about her. Blood tie or no blood tie. She hadn’t had much of his blood so the effects should fade away quickly for her.
Cordell texted him just as he finished dressing. When he returned to the computer lab a few minutes later, he stared at the data on the large screen, organized into tables and charts.
“What is that?” He had a bad feeling about this.
“It’s a list of known sweetbloods in this sector. Looks like they’re doing blood collections without killing. Or at least that’s what it looks they’re doing,” Cordell said.
“A catch and release?” Since when had they been doing that? An icy chill ran through his body, erasing any of the remaining warmth from his evening memories. This kind of premeditation required planning, organization and restraint. Much more than the haphazard draining and killing the DBs’ cells normally did. This was something new.
“Yeah, and look. It appears they’ve got them on a three-week rotation. That window is much too short. Those people have probably been wondering why they’re always so tired.”
“Yes, until one day when they don’t return home. When the DBs fuck up and drain them completely like they normally do. Scroll down.”
Dom held his breath as Cordell clicked through the list of names, ages, addresses and collection dates. Shit. They were all so young. Decker, Marsha, age 21; Dinsmore, Scott, age 17; Grant, Crystal, age 14. No Foster-Shaw. He blew the air out in a quiet breath of relief. The Darkbloods didn’t know about her. “Wait. Keep going.” Cordell paged through the rest of the list. No Shaws, either. Thank God. “We’ll set up regular patrols around these people in order to catch the DBs who come to pick them up. What do you think—twenty or thirty of them in the Seattle area?”
Cordell clicked through the list and said something about the team being spread too thin, but Dom ignored him.
“Let Santiago know what’s going on,” Dom said. “The other regions need to know about this change in Darkblood operations. I’ve never heard of them doing this before. They usually just sell the blood when they get their hands on a sweetblood. This is way too organized. If they’re doing it up here, they’re probably either doing it or planning to in other regions.”
Down in the weapons center, Dom grabbed a couple of handguns, a set of silver-tipped brass knuckles and several pairs of silver-lined handcuffs, taking care to handle them only from their steel clips. The downtown clubs were closing soon and a whole horde of losers would be out looking for trouble. Or at least that’s why he told himself he was going out. To put his mind at ease, he wanted to run up to the Northend and double-check she made it home, before he focused on what his team needed to do.
On his way out the door, he paused. What the hell. He grabbed his protection vest then hit the lights.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“MACKENZIE, BE A peach.” Martin crooned over the phone. “Please? For me?”
“You know I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I’ve been feeling like crap lately.” Not really, but she didn’t know how else to explain it. Restless maybe? “I think I’m coming down with something. You can’t find anyone else to do it?”
“Although I love these installation guys, I don’t trust them to hang the piece correctly. They need supervision, otherwise the thing will be slapped up on any old wall. I’d do it, but I completely forgot my teaching schedule is different this term. I’m in class in less than an hour.” She heard him sniff away a couple of fake tears through the phone connection.
“Yeah, Martin, talk about embarrassing. I’m helping hang a picture of my naked self.”
“If you’re not up to it, I understand. I’ll just reschedule.”
It would give her a chance to see the painting one last time. To see its new home. “Oh, all right. So if I need you to cover for one of my classes, you won’t bitch about it, will you?”
“Of course not. I knew I could count on you.”
“Where do they live? One of the suburbs? Traffic getting over there will be a nightmare at this time of the morning.”
“Nope. One of the artist lofts in Pioneer Square. Shouldn’t take you too long to get there from the studio.”
She hung up the phone and finished getting ready. She’d planned to shoot some pictures of the docks this afternoon anyway, and Pioneer Square wasn’t far. She packed her camera into the Triumph’s saddlebag and met the workers at the studio. When the painting was loaded into the delivery van, she followed them over the Ballard Bridge and along the waterfront into the downtown area.
The loft was located in one of the oldest and most historic parts of the city, near the sports stadiums and overlooking Elliott Bay. Since many of the buildings were in the National Historic Register, none were very tall. This was an artsy part of town with trendy stores, art galleries and a funky coffee shop every few feet or so.
Her heart beat with anticipation. She’d always wondered what the lofts looked like from the inside and imagined how exciting it would be to live in the heart of everything. Forgetting how out of sorts she had been feeling, she practically skipped into the building foyer.
The doorman, though polite, evaluated her with the efficiency and no-bullshit air of a seasoned security professional as he checked a logbook, punched something on his keyboard and made a phone call. Although she wasn’t positive, she thought she passed through at least two different metal detectors and the guy put her bag through an X-ray machine. It felt like the airport.
As she waited for more direction from him, she scanned her surroundings. All the high-tech security gadgetry couldn’t hide the rich old-world beauty of the building itself, with its gleaming inlaid marble floors, ornately carved moldings and corbels and intricate wrought-iron details.
Things went from a little odd to downright bizarre when she stepped through a narrow opening into a cylindrical-shaped mini-room and the door slammed shut behind her.
“One moment, miss.” The guard’s voice piped through a speaker.
Good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic. Little lights bordering the edges flashed orange before a short burst of dry mist surrounded her and she coughed. When they blinked green, a door in front opened and the man motioned her forward, handing her the satchel.
What would he have done if she had strapped on her handgun today? Hauled her ass to a holding area for interrogation? Her knife—
She dug into her bag, her fingers sifting through the loose contents at the bottom. Where was her Kershaw folding knife?
As if reading her mind, the doorman—no—guard held it up for her to see.
“Sorry, ma’am. You’ll get it back when you leave.”
I don’t care if Martin pays me for overtime. He is so going to owe me for this.
As she rode the slow, clunky elevator to the top floor, she wondered what kind of important paranoid people lived here. Pulling out her paperwork, she examined Martin’s chicken scratch. For a talented artist, he had the handwriting of a doctor.
Would she be able to see any of the San Juan Islands from up here? With a ding, the elevator doors opened into an expansive hallway. She glanced around but saw no windows and walked toward the only door. Guess she’d have to wait to see the view until she got inside. The building might not be quite tall enough, but she’d surely be able to see West Seattle and maybe even Vashon Island. She wondered if the Olympic Mountains on the peninsula were visible. Sunsets had to be—
“Goddamn it.” Although the voice was somewhat muffled, obviously coming from deep inside the loft, it still boomed through the cracked door. “Does everyone in San Diego have to follow every damn procedure like they were friggin’ boy scouts?”
A prickly heat started in her toes and rushed upwards with the force of a broken fire hydrant, burning her cheeks and setting every hair on edge.
Martin. I’m going to positively kill him this time.
“It’s open,” the voice called. “I’ll be right there.
”
Like electricity in the air before a lightning storm, the atmosphere felt charged as she pushed the door wider with her foot. She stood frozen as heavy footsteps echoed on the planks of the wood floor.
“Have Gibson call me back, then.” A cell phone clicked shut.
Clad only in a pair of low-riding jeans clearly pulled on in haste as the top of his fly hung open, Dom was towel-drying his hair when he emerged from the hallway into the foyer. “Martin, thanks so much for coming on short notice. I—” He hesitated midstep when their eyes met, and Mackenzie could smell the cedarlike scent of a man’s soap.
Wrinkling her nose, she tried not to notice his bare, well-developed upper body, the hanks of dark wet hair hanging in clumps around his face, and the ridges of his stomach muscles making a pathway into the waistband of his black boxer-briefs. No, she desperately tried not to notice any of these things.
“Mackenzie.” He expelled her name like an expletive.
“You.” Her voice sounded too breathy and the thin fabric of her T-shirt fluttered with her pounding heart. The memory of what he’d done to her on the terrace made her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She’d been intimate with a man—this man—though she hardly knew him. Many times over the past week, thoughts of him had invaded her head, and she wished he was more than just a stranger who’d shown her a good time. She’d wondered if she’d ever see him again but doubted she ever would. “I didn’t know…how did you—” Totally unprepared, she willed the floor to swallow her up and disappear.
She clamped her eyes shut, sucked a deep breath through her teeth and tried to get ahold of herself. Then it dawned on her. Was this what he meant by “not tonight” when they were on the terrace, because he knew she’d be coming here later? Had he set this whole damn thing up? Mortification gave way as a flood of anger roared in her ears.
Steeling herself for a confrontation, her eyes flew open. But now he was on the other side of the foyer. She blinked a few times, wondering how he could’ve moved so fast. With white knuckles, he clutched the wrought-iron railing and his towel-draped head hung down between the straining muscles of his shoulders.
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