“I know. Come on. I need to see the rest of this building.”
She walked beside him, pointing out which lab belonged to whom until they got to the sixth floor, the top floor. “There’s no one up here. It’s all empty.”
Which made it perfect for his purposes. Lee Enterprises could fund a private research project here and demand whatever security measures necessary. They walked by two large labs and their adjoining offices. It was obvious the space hadn’t been used in years, until they reached the end of the hall. There was a faint, fading psychic scent seconds before he heard a door slam. Judging by the loud clanging sound, it was the door to the stairwell.
“Shit. Stay behind me, Esme,” he ordered.
He was amazed she listened. He couldn’t let the intruder go, but he couldn’t leave her up here alone. Damn it. He should have brought Mason with them or kept Aaron around. They reached the bottom floor in time to see the front door closing, but when Brax started to go after the intruder, Esme grabbed his sleeve. He glanced down at her, wondering if she was finally afraid, and she shook her head once, then lifted her chin to a door across the hall.
Esme knew the intruder hadn’t left. It was a clever ruse, but still just a ruse. She could feel him in the office across the hall. Feel his anger and hate and determination. He was there to capture her, not kill, but in his mind Brax was fair game. The intruder hadn’t received orders about him. She read Brax’s surprise when her pistol was suddenly in her hand, though why she couldn’t fathom. He’d seen Carter give it to her.
They moved together, and she stayed a step behind him. He was bigger. No doubt better trained. She wasn’t a slouch herself, but she hadn’t been on a range in a couple of years. Even if this situation was resolved soon, she’d have to rectify that.
The office was clear, and they entered the lab. She could feel the intruder close by. Watching. Waiting. She opened her senses, trying to locate him, but only got a vague idea. He was good at hiding himself and his mind. Then she felt the briefest spurt of anger, but it was enough. There were several workstations set up around the room, with aisle space around them.
Brax tried to force her to stay behind him but backed off when she snarled. This was her fight, and she wouldn’t be kept from it until they discovered who was after her and why she wouldn’t be safe. She’d made sure years ago that she could take care of herself.
She could feel the stalker hunkered down behind the next lab table and met Brax’s gaze as she paused. There was so much worry in his eyes she almost sighed. Damn it. His attention was divided, and that wasn’t good.
“I’ll cover you. ”
Some of the tension eased from his body, and he gave her a curt nod. They still approached from opposite sides, but she hung back a bit, pistol held loosely in her grip, aimed and ready to fire. She didn’t get the chance.
The stranger jumped Brax as soon he drew close enough. They fell to floor, crashing into tables and stools as each struggled for supremacy. The other man had a gun, and they fought for it. Brax grabbed the barrel and twisted, trying to break the intruder’s grip. Esme cursed as she edged a little closer. She couldn’t get a clear shot without risking Brax, and he kept them rolling away from her so she couldn’t jump in and help.
Brax finally seemed to gain the advantage, straddling the man, pinning him to the floor as he gripped the wrist holding the pistol and slammed it against the floor once, twice, again. It fell from limp fingers, but not before Esme felt a surge of triumph fill the air.
The assailant reached down and pulled a second gun from an ankle holster. She didn’t have time to search for cover, call out, or even think before he fired. She acted on instinct, using her telepathy to thrust into his mind. And wished like hell she hadn’t. His mind was sick, diseased, and she imagined putrid oiliness coating her skin as she jerked her mind free. Her sudden invasion of his thoughts caused him to jerk, so his aim was off. She felt the stinging pain in her arm as the bullet whizzed by.
Brax roared with fury, slapping the small pistol from the man’s grip before brutally striking upward under the intruder’s chin with the heel of his hand. It stunned the assailant. Brax straightened and turned to her, holding his hands up and out, and she realized she was still pointing the gun in his direction. She would have lowered it, but the stranger was already moving again.
Esme watched as if it was slow motion as he rolled over, grabbed the pistol he’d dropped, and raised it to point at Brax’s head. She felt the man’s intentions. Kill Brax fast and her slow. Her stomach rebelled at the images she picked up from his mind. She didn’t hesitate. She stepped to the side for a clear shot and fired.
She experienced a moment of horror combined with relief as red bloomed over the assailant’s chest. He looked down in disbelief and seemed to fold into himself and collapse to the ground.
He was dead. She’d killed a man.
She stared down at him and tried to feel remorse, but it didn’t come. She just remembered his mind. The badness, the evil. Should she feel guilty for killing someone who hadn’t just wanted to kill her, but torture her, for his own pleasure first? She refused to feel bad about that.
Slowly she became aware of Brax standing next to her. He pried the pistol from her hand and set it aside, and then gingerly examined her upper arm. His anger was a violent pulsing energy in the room, but she couldn’t focus on it. Shaking, panting, she looked around, trying to focus, to regain control of her hammering pulse and the adrenalin surging through her.
“It’s just a graze,” she whispered as he snarled. “Probably doesn’t even need stitches.”
Damn, did it sting, though. She was vaguely aware of him opening his phone and barking orders, but her attention, trying to focus on anything but the body, caught on something else. During the fight, Brax must have ripped off the other guy’s jacket pocket. It lay abandoned a few feet away, a small square business card next to it. She only had time to pick it and shove it in her pocket before Brax hurried her out and back to the car.
“Where are we going?”
“Aaron’s office. Mallory is going to meet us.”
“I thought we were seeing her later.”
“She’s a paramedic, baby. She’s going to check out your arm.”
“I’m fine,” she grumbled, but left it at that.
His worry for her was a discordant clang in her head. She’d submit to an exam if it would stop that. But she stopped at the elevator.
“Wait. We can’t leave. Why isn’t Aaron coming here? Or sending someone here?”
“The Elect will take care of this.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Brax,” she said patiently. “I just killed someone. You can’t make that disappear.”
“Yes, I can, angel.” His voice was soft, gentle, and completely at odds with cold hard look in his eyes. “My job is to protect the Elect. Making this public will only draw attention to us.”
According to the rules of his world, she knew that made perfect sense. It was her world too, she reminded herself. Strange and new and maybe not quite as civilized.
He didn’t say a thing as she thought it over, just watched, patient, waiting. Finally, she nodded, and he gave a long exhale that sounded like relief to her. This time she didn’t argue when he took her hand and led her into the elevator, then out to the car.
The drive didn’t take long, and the desk sergeant gestured them upstairs. If he thought it strange a bleeding woman was going to see a police captain instead of to a hospital emergency room, he kept it to himself.
Aaron was waiting for them when they stepped off the elevator, his fury and concern just as off the charts as Brax’s. She wondered briefly if they felt and magnified each other’s emotions. Brax filled him in while Aaron led the way to a spacious corner office. A pretty young woman in a firefighter’s uniform was waiting for them. Her smile was warm, and she extended her hand to Esme.
“I’m Mallory Littman.” Her grip was strong, confident and brief. N
one of her emotions bled through, but Esme thought she saw a flash of curiosity in the other woman’s eyes as they flicked over the two men who seemed to fill the large space. Esme liked her immediately.
“Esme Durand.”
“Come to the desk, and let’s get this jacket off.”
Esme followed her, shrugging free of the garment and reaching for the edge of her shirt to pull it over her head. Mallory snapped on latex gloves and probed the area carefully.
“Well, the good news is, it looks like a small caliber round and it just nicked you.”
“Bad news?”
“Stitches. Three should do it.” She started pulling supplies out of her bag, starting with a syringe and alcohol swab. “I’m just going to deaden the area. It shouldn’t make you woozy or anything.”
Esme nodded her assent, and it was quickly done. Mallory got ready for the next step with smooth efficiency. “I don’t suppose anyone wants to tell me what happened? Is this related to my arson investigation?”
Esme huffed. “Hell. It must be.”
“What I’d like to know is how they knew where you were,” Brax snarled, exchanging a speaking glance with his brother, who nodded.
“We’ll check the car, but I can’t believe Mason missed something.”
She may not be able to read Brax’s thoughts unless her let her, but Aaron’s were loud and clear. It was the first stray thought she’d caught from him. She wondered if it was because he was talking to Brax or was just pissed off.
“You think there’s a tracking device on Brax’s car?”
Aaron met her gaze, as steady and strong as his brother. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out before you leave here.”
“Do you check for that kind of thing often?” she asked Brax.
He shook his head. “Not normally, but Mason did check all the vehicles that have been outside the compound since you joined us. We could have missed something, though. The only time a tracker could have been added is when we went to Dr. Franklin’s house. We thought there were two people hiding nearby, but there could have been a third.”
Then she remembered the business card. She pulled it from her jeans pocket and turned it over. It read The Stirling Institution and nothing else. No contact name, number, or address. The card stock was a rich cream color and heavy. Expensive. She scowled and muttered. “Weird.”
“What?” Mallory asked, voice heavy with curiosity as she took the card. “Where did you get that?”
“The shooter must have dropped it when he was fighting with Brax.”
Both men had drawn closer as they spoke, Aaron careful not to look at her sitting in just her jeans and bra. She might have found his discomfort amusing, even endearing, under other circumstances.
“You’ve heard of it?” Brax asked Mallory.
He couldn’t keep the scowl from his voice or shield the protectiveness he was feeling from his thoughts. Man, they took defending their women just a little too seriously. Mallory apparently knew how to take it stride, though. She smirked.
“And you haven’t.”
“Mallory.” His voice was low, almost gentle, but the warning and demand were easy to read. The younger woman’s smile widened.
“It’s about an hour northeast. It’s a very exclusive, very expensive mental health facility. Where the well-heeled and influential send their family to dry out or get them back on their meds and stable.”
Brax frowned. “How do you know about it? I’ve never heard of this place.”
“I have a friend from school who went to work there.” She shrugged. “Apparently the security is insane. Permanent lockdown. But the pay is so good staff turnover is nonexistent.”
“Aaron, you know anything about it?”
“Not really. It’s well outside our jurisdiction. And the kind of people who can afford care like that expect total discretion from the facility. If they have any problems I’m sure they handle it in house or with mediators.”
Why on earth would a place like that be interested in her? Brax apparently wondered the same thing. His expression was thoughtful, considering.
“Mallory?” Brax asked. “Can you ask your friend about this place? Discreetly.”
She nodded. “Sure. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
While she’d spoken, Mallory had done the sutures. She covered it with a large bandage and backed up.
“All done. Keep it cleaned and bandaged, and get it looked at in a few days.”
Esme nodded she understood. Mallory gave her a sympathetic look and pulled a notepad from her shirt pocket. “I need to ask you about the fire.”
“I wasn’t there. I can’t imagine I’ll be any help.”
“You never know,” Mallory said. “Tell me what Sunday morning is normally like in the building.”
Her condo was one of four in what had once been a stately Victorian mansion. All of the units were three stories and roughly the same size, about two-thousand square feet. The place had as much character as the rest of its residents: the artist who lived behind her, the young goth couple next store, and the retired judge who lived behind them.
“Was anyone hurt?” she asked and felt awful that she hadn’t thought about them before.
“No, everyone got out fine.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “What happened?”
Mallory gave her a slight smile. “Tell me about Sunday mornings first.”
She wasn’t sure what was behind the request, but didn’t see the harm in it. “Nothing special. I get up about eight and sit on the porch with a drink and the paper. Sometimes one of the neighbors will join me.”
“No breakfast?” Mallory asked lightly.
“Not me. Star cooks breakfast every morning, really early. She likes to be done before dawn. Something about painting in the morning light.”
Mallory didn’t say anything as she scribbled down what Esme said. “Does anyone have visitors?”
Esme arched an eyebrow. “You mean the overnight kind?”
“Any kind,” Mallory said. “Regulars?”
“The judge’s kids visit him. My brother and nephew. The others have a bunch of friends, but I couldn’t tell you names.”
It was quiet for several long seconds. “So what happened?” Esme asked.
“It looks like a kitchen fire. It started in your friend Star’s apartment and spread through the rest of the building. Her turpentine supply probably accelerated it.”
“You don’t sound convinced. What did Star say?” she asked suspiciously.
“She says she was asleep when the fire started. The stove knobs were all on when the scene was investigated.”
“So it was intentional,” Esme said softly.
“Could have been,” Mallory said. “Or it could have been an accident your neighbor doesn’t want to admit to.”
“But why? If it was an accident?”
Mallory shrugged. “People do weird things. If you figure out why, let me know.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Aaron answered, spoke softly to whoever was on the other side, and sent the messenger on his way. When he returned he handed Brax a small plastic bag. Esme stepped closer to see the small object inside. It was square, flat, and less than half an inch square.
“That’s a tracker?” she asked, curious but unconvinced. Surely something that small couldn’t do what he claimed.
“Not only is this baby not on the market yet, but we have no idea who made it,” Aaron told her. He looked at his brother. “You have better resources and a much bigger budget than I do. Maybe you can find out something.”
Brax folded the baggie up and put it in the purse Esme had slung over her shoulder. “Where did you find it?” he asked.
Aaron snorted. “That’s the interesting part. It was wrapped under the car antenna. The tech thought it was tape at first. It’s really ingenious,” he said admiringly. “The Elect could use this kind of technology.”
Brax didn’t look as excited as Aaron, though.
He had paled and his eyes were dark, filled with worry. “You’d need deep pockets for this.”
“Yeah.” His brother sobered instantly and shifted his gaze to Mallory a moment before returning to Brax. “Be careful.”
Chapter Seven
Brax didn’t say a word when they left and started the drive home. He had no idea what to say or even think. He’d never felt helpless before and he didn’t like it one fucking bit. Mason and Carter would check the local sellers for tracking devices and try to find the buyer, but Brax doubted they’d find anything. It wasn’t a model he’d seen before, wasn’t common or cheap.
That wasn’t why he remained quiet, though. He didn’t trust himself. If he looked at her, if he spoke to her, he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to find a secluded dirt road, strip her and prove to himself that she was okay. He’d never allow her to be in such danger again.
“The silent treatment isn’t helping,” she mumbled when they pulled onto the highway.
His hands clenched around the wheel until his knuckles popped. “Unless you’ve decided getting naked and making out in a car like a couple of teenagers is a good idea, silence is the only option.”
He felt her shock, her disbelief at his statement, wrap around him, but it was the surge of arousal, hot and sweet and only for him that made him groan. “I mean it, Esme. Get it under control.”
He glanced over to see her lace her fingers together and place them in her lap. “I don’t know if I can. What the hell have you done to me?”
Wrong time, definitely wrong place, but it didn’t matter. That hint of confused acceptance was irresistible. And he knew just the place to go, a little-used section of the compound’s property but much closer than the main gate and house. Two miles later he took the exit.
“Where are we going?”
Was it alarm he heard in her voice? He looked over and had to smile. Not alarm. Lust. Need. She was flushed, her eyes almost feverish.
“Just a few more minutes, baby. Someplace safe. And private.”
He turned on the gravel road, drove a mile to the gate and entered his code, waiting seconds while it closed behind them. It might be an excess of caution since he’d seen no one following them, but he made sure no one snuck in anyway. He drove to a small hunting cabin he used when he needed space from the pressures of his duty to the Elect. The place he went to recharge.
Protector: The Elect, Book 1 Page 8
