Born to Love (The Vampire Reborn Series) (Entangled Ignite)

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Maggie also appeared pleased, judging from the hint of smile on her lips as they followed him to the war room.

  Inside, he was writing a name on the murder board and tacking a photo of an elegantly groomed male next to the other photos already pinned there.

  Diana motioned to the picture. “I suppose that’s the owner of the brownstone from the fire?”

  David nodded and picked up his papers. “Randall Newark. Fifty-one. Tech sector guru turned cupcake maker.”

  “Seriously?” Diana said, eyes widening with disbelief.

  “Seriously. He owned—and let me just say these are not my words, but a neighbor’s—‘an intimate and precious’ cupcake shop not far from the brownstone.” David made rabbit ears as he quoted.

  “What was Randall’s COD?” Maggie asked, and walked over to the board to examine the dead man’s features more carefully. The photo of him seated at a desk surrounded by computers, smiling into the camera, had obviously been taken during his life as the tech guru. The Armani suit fit his lean body perfectly.

  “Third- and fourth-degree burns over 70 percent of his body. Severe shrapnel wounds and internal injuries. ME says he didn’t stand a chance,” David said.

  “What about the fire? Do we know what started it?” Diana asked.

  David flipped through the papers in his lap. “Fire marshal believes there was a leak in one of the natural gas lines to Randall’s fancy professional oven. Gas had likely been building in the room for some time. It ignited when he hit the lights for the kitchen. The ME thinks he was knocked unconscious by the force of the initial blast, which probably accounted for his severe burns, as well the other injuries.”

  Diana recalled Rafe’s account of the events. “What about the partner who was supposedly in the building on the night of the fire?”

  David smiled. “The neighbor I just spoke with said Randall had a male friend who came by pretty regularly. She suspected the man was Randall’s significant other.”

  “His domestic partner?” Diana asked.

  “More like his boy toy. Neighbor said the man was in his thirties and quite handsome. Unfortunately, all she had was a first name—Brad.”

  “Any chance she could work with one of our sketch artists?” Maggie asked.

  David nodded. “She agreed to come down later to help. We also got another break. Apparently, the city has yet to tear down the burned-out brownstone. I haven’t been able to find out why, but I suggest we get NYPD to secure the scene so we can take a look ourselves.”

  “Good job,” Diana said, pleased by the developments. “Can you call Detective Daly and ask him? After we’re able to check it out, we can decide what our options are. Meanwhile, I’ll pass our report along to Jesus.”

  “Options?” The word burst from Maggie’s mouth. “What options could we possibly have? No sane person will believe what we’ve seen in the last twenty-four hours.”

  Probably not. But it was real, and the team had to deal with the murders, one way or another.

  “Daly can be trusted to keep a secret,” Diana said. “He’ll help in any way he can once we explain. As for the official records, we may never be able to truthfully close this case, but I don’t care about that right now. What I care about is stopping this animal before someone else gets hurt.”

  Maggie nodded and wrapped her arms around herself, almost as if they were the only thing keeping her in one piece. She turned and walked to the murder boards, but Diana could see she was upset. Her arms were trembling and her shoulders stiff.

  Diana met David’s gaze and tipped her head that he should go help Maggie. At his nod, she left to speak to their ADIC.

  …

  David waited until Diana was out of the room before he wheeled over to where Maggie stood, hugging herself tightly. “It’ll be okay, Maggie. We’ll work something out.”

  She looked at him and couldn’t choke back a humorless laugh. “Really? That’s priceless, David. I remember saying the same exact thing to you in the hospital. And then again in our apartment. Even as you rolled out the door a few months ago, I kept on thinking that it could be okay,” she said and her jaw clenched.

  “Mags, I—”

  “So how did that work out for you?” she asked, her voice tight with emotion. Tears shimmered in her emerald green gaze. “Because I’d love to, you know, have some hope.”

  He reached for her, wanting to offer comfort, but she batted his hand away.

  “Don’t. I don’t want you to touch me out of pity.”

  This time he was the one who couldn’t control his pique. “Isn’t that exactly how you touched me?” he snapped. “As if I might break? Wasn’t it a pity fuck each time you came to me?”

  Her head jerked back as if he had slapped her. She narrowed her eyes and regarded him, studying him as if for the first time as she raked her fiery gaze up and down his body.

  “Is that what you really think, David? That I would stay with you just for pity’s sake?” Raw emotion vibrated in her voice, deflating his anger. Making him feel like a fool for ever doubting her.

  But pride made him strike back with the only thing he had left. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice your reaction to Rafe?”

  Once again she peered at him, then she shook her head. “I can’t explain why I was attracted to him.”

  “Maybe because he’s damned good looking. And able-bodied.”

  “And a werewolf. One who bit me. Changed me into something I never even knew existed. Did that never occur to you? That maybe I have no control over any of this? That maybe I don’t want the attraction his bite is creating in me?” she challenged.

  Maybe it had occurred to him in a more reasonable part of his brain, but seeing her reaction to the handsome firefighter had shut off logic and kicked in the caveman who wanted nothing more than to grab Maggie and haul her back to his lair.

  Somehow he subdued the caveman in him. But just barely. “Don’t hold back on my account,” he ground out. “Whatever you want to do with Rafe Lazaro is fine by me.”

  …

  A haze of angry red shimmered in Maggie’s vision at David’s thoughtless words. She bent down over his chair until she was nose to nose with him. “Get this, David. We’re not together anymore so I don’t need your permission to do whatever the hell I want with Rafe. If I decide to explore the attraction, it’s none of your goddamn business.”

  “You’d probably make some very beautiful fur babies,” he replied, his abrupt tone at odds with the almost teasing nature of his taunt. Before she could reply, he popped a wheelie, swiveled around, and whisked over to the conference table in the middle of the room.

  Maggie fought the temptation to stalk after the big jerk and force him to confront his jealousy and the reason it might exist: because, damn it, he still had feelings for her.

  Not that it changed anything. Fate had turned the tables, making Maggie the different one now. Just as it had done to David nearly three years earlier.

  Still, she understood him better now. Understood the uncertainty of emotion and the overwhelming doubt that came with that change. Unlike David, however, she wasn’t going to take it sitting down.

  But she also realized how difficult it would be for her and David to get together again.

  No, not difficult. Impossible.

  With the likelihood of going furry and violent every month, she no longer had anything to offer a normal man like David. But she also had no interest in being sucked into a world filled with shifters.

  It made her wonder how Diana handled it—being part of two such disparate worlds that might be at odds with one another.

  When the moment was right, she intended to ask her friend about straddling such an insane line.

  Maybe then she could figure out what to do with her suddenly very different life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Maggie and I are meeting Detective Daly at the brownstone. David, I want you to coordinate with the sketch artist—”

  David mutte
red a violent curse and looked sharply away, forcing Diana to confront him.

  “Is something not to your liking, Special Agent?”

  When he met her gaze, a muscle ticked along his tightly clenched jaw. “I’m not your errand boy. I can assist in the field.”

  “You did yesterday on several occasions, remember?” she challenged, earning a flush of color along David’s cheeks.

  “Yeah, and they had to carry me down the stairs like a baby last night,” he muttered.

  “So get on your feet and stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Diana shot back, pulling a surprised gasp from Maggie.

  “Di, that’s not fair!”

  But Diana wasn’t going for fair. She marched over to him and peered down, hands on her hips, feet braced slightly apart. “You’ve been deliberately hiding how much mobility you have,” she accused. “You’ve been so afraid of falling on your face that you won’t take the risk of standing on your own two feet.”

  Instead of backing down, he shakily rose to meet her face on, filled with fury. Every muscle in his body quivered as he placed his hands on the arms of the chair and slowly boosted himself to his feet. The trembling became a powerful shudder as he struggled to maintain that upright position, but he did it, glaring down at her from his greater height. “Fuck you.”

  Maggie walked over to him with a shocked gasp. “Even last night you didn’t give us a clue that you could do this! That you could stand up on your own. Why, David?” she asked with a finger-jab at his chest.

  Painstakingly he turned to face her, fierce pride evident in every line of his body. “This didn’t happen overnight. It’s taken almost three years of therapy and treatments. And hell, yeah, I was afraid,” he admitted, shooting a harsh glance at Diana. “I was afraid because I can’t do much more than this, and shuffle along with crutches.”

  “If you’ve got crutches,” Diana returned, “bring them to the office. I could use a good agent in the field. Until then, I’m still in charge, so we do as I say. Understood?”

  David slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “Understood. I’ll stay and work with the sketch artist.”

  Maggie, however, was not so quick to surrender. “We’re not done with this conversation, David. Not by a long shot.” She whirled on her heel and stomped to Diana’s side. “I’m ready, are you?”

  Diana glanced at the stilettoes that made Maggie tower over her. “You might want to change shoes first. The building is hazardous and I’m in no shape to keep your ass from tumbling down some hole in the floor and ending up like him.”

  Both David and Maggie glared at her.

  But she’d made her point.

  …

  Maggie remained in stomp mode all the way to Diana’s standard FBI-issue gray sedan, wearing the blood-stained hiking boots she’d had on the night of the attack.

  Inside the car, silence loomed, the tension building like the pressure in a storm front until it finally burst, and Maggie’s wrath rained down on her.

  “How did you know about David?” she asked. Simple words filled with accusation and hurt.

  Diana shrugged as she steered the sedan out of the parking spot and headed for the prospective crime scene. “There was something about the way he moved yesterday while he worked at the murder board. Last night, too. It just registered on my radar.”

  “It should have registered on mine, too,” Maggie said reluctantly. “Last night when he got in bed—”

  Diana swung to her with a dramatically raised brow.

  Maggie held her hands up. “Nothing happened. I just needed to be held, only… He got into bed on his own and moved toward me fairly easily. My emotions just had me too shaken up to notice.”

  “Understandable,” Diana offered, and threaded the car through the mid-afternoon traffic heading uptown, hoping not to keep Daly waiting too long.

  “David is jealous of Rafe. Of my reaction to him,” Maggie said.

  Diana chuckled and lightened her tone, hoping to bring some relief to her friend’s distress. “I’d be hard-pressed to find a woman who wouldn’t react, Mags. He’s quite a hottie.”

  “You didn’t react. But then again, you’ve got Ryder,” Maggie teased.

  Diana smiled. “I do have Ryder. And men, whether wolf or not, all have that top-dog thing going in varying degrees. Until now, David never had a challenge for that position with you.”

  “I’m not interested in Rafe,” Maggie denied, a shade too quickly.

  “It’s okay, Mags. No one expects you to mourn David permanently.”

  “I’m not mourning,” she parried, then blew out a harsh sigh and shook her head. “Okay, maybe I have been a little, although I thought we might be able to work things out. But that’s impossible now.”

  Diana looked at her friend. “Why?”

  Maggie snorted. “Why? Because I’m a fricking werewolf, Di. Hell, I don’t even know what that means. What that will do to my life.”

  Diana understood all too well what Maggie was feeling. “What it means is that you take each day at a time and try to figure out how to balance both worlds, and who you can count on to be at your side.”

  “Like Rafe, you mean?” Maggie said.

  Diana shrugged again. “Maybe. You can’t deny you had a reaction to him.”

  Maggie shook her head as if trying to sort out those emotions. “The way he makes me feel is not like anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

  “It’s primal and instinctive. If you think too much about it, you’ll logic yourself out of it,” Diana said, recognizing the cellular-level reaction all too well. It was exactly what she’d experienced with Ryder the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

  “Says the voice of experience,” Maggie drawled.

  Diana smiled and changed lanes, using the opportunity to examine her friend. She seemed calmer. More in control. More herself. That was good.

  “While I would love for you and David to get back together,” she ventured, “don’t turn down the possibility for something new.”

  Maggie said nothing, only nodded.

  Healing took time.

  But so did the letting go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Diana found a spot to park at the eastern end of the street where there were a number of squat residential buildings, a multi-story brick correctional facility known to house celebrity inmates, and some retail stores.

  In the chill of the mid-afternoon, they walked westward toward a large, upscale condo complex rising high into the skyline to offer multimillion-dollar views of Central Park. From here, residents could get glimpses of the Conservatory Garden along Fifth Avenue and the serene waters of the Harlem Meer. In the far distance, the Plaza and other hotels along Central Park South marked the furthest edge of the park.

  Randall Newark, the former tech sector wizard and now dead cupcake chef, had been one of the pioneers to risk renovating an older brownstone in the area. The four-story brick walkup was tucked at the westernmost end of the street now being pushed as Central Park North as gentrification encroached into what most New Yorkers would call the fringes of Harlem.

  Daly was standing outside the building, breathing warm air into his hands to combat the damp cold. He wore a black leather duster over his suit, and as he turned to face them the gold of his lieutenant’s shield gleamed against the dark leather.

  “About time, Reyes. I’m freezing my ass off out here. What’s your interest in this case, anyway? The fire marshal ruled it accidental.” He jerked his head at the burned-out ruins of Randall Newark’s brownstone.

  Diana studied the blackened walls and rubble along one side of the skeletal structure, clearly the area where the gas explosion had occurred. On the ground beneath, bits of wood, brick, and glass still littered a staircase leading down to a lower level. On the street by the stairwell, well-meaning friends and neighbors had placed flowers and candles, the remnants of which lingered in memoriam.

  “The report says it was likely due to a leak in a gas line
, but we both know leaks can be intentional,” Diana said.

  “The report also says they couldn’t find the source of the leak due to the explosion, so there’s no way to confirm if it was intentional or not,” Maggie added.

  Daly shoved his hands in his pockets and jiggled some loose change as he looked consideringly from the building to the park. “This place is not far from the jogger’s murder site. Not too far from the earlier killing, either, if we’re adding that one to the mix.”

  “We are. The attacks are similar, and the bite marks match,” Maggie said with an uneasy glance at Diana.

  Daly immediately registered their tension. He looked between the two of them, raked a hand through his longish blond hair, and said, “Let me guess. You’d rather not say what made those bites.”

  Diana nodded, and out of deference to their long friendship, she said, “I’ve got some ammo you might want to keep handy.” She unclipped a magazine from her belt and handed it to Daly. Although human, he’d been involved in several of their otherworldly cases over the years, and was married to a vampiress who ran a shelter for abused women in Spanish Harlem. Diana wasn’t sure if he knew about shifters, but he was a smart man, and had to know something was not normal about all of this.

  He popped out one of the bullets and, with a curse, muttered, “Silver bullets. I guess I got my answer as to what we’re dealing with.”

  He shoved the bullet back in and clipped the magazine to his belt. “Do I need these now?” he asked, but required no answer as Diana swapped out the magazine in her own weapon.

  Daly followed her lead and together they headed up the steps. Turning to her and Maggie as they reached the door, he said, “Be careful where you step. The structure was seriously compromised by the blast, the fire, and the water from the fire hoses.”

  “We’re interested in the basement level,” Diana said, nodding. “We think our unsub may have been kept down there…but I’d rather not find out by falling through the floor.”

  Daly opened the door into a narrow hallway. Vandals had gotten in and spray-painted their tags over what remained of the soot-blackened plaster walls.