by Jory Strong
He stood abruptly, posturing aggressiveness because he knew they’d understand and respect it. “I’m handling this. As promised. Either you trust me to take care of it or you don’t. Etaín’s my worry, not yours, so stay out of it. Both of you.”
He walked out on them, fear and fury pounding through him with every heartbeat.
Denis waited until the door shut before speaking. “What do you think?”
“The same thing I did when I saw him with her at Aesirs. He feels something for her. Enough to overlook the fact there’s another man in her life. I’m concerned.”
It was an understatement and Denis knew it. He picked up the small golden trophy Brianna had won when she was eight.
“I don’t want you to lose your son over this,” he said, looking up to meet his brother’s eyes. “If Cathal’s not with her and she goes missing later today, people will think the Harlequin Rapist got her. She fits the profile. She’s white where the last one was black. If making her disappear permanently becomes the only option . . .”
He shrugged. “The last victim is dead. Even if the police catch this guy and get a confession out of him for everyone but her, most people will still pin it on him.”
Niall rose from his chair and paced, a rare show of worry making Denis regret letting himself be talked into involving Cathal in the first place. He didn’t speak, just waited his brother out.
“If we step in now, I lose my son anyway,” Niall said, halting behind the chair Cathal had been sitting in and placing his hands on the back of it. “He’ll suspect we’re responsible for her disappearance, but he won’t be certain. And we won’t know going forward whether we can trust him or not.”
Denis nodded in understanding. Strong feelings for a woman could make a man turn his back on his family and betray them, even when betrayal meant death.
Guilt ate at him. He’d been on tilt since Brian’s death. Margo’s he’d been prepared for, braced for, but not his son’s.
Brianna’s rape had spun him into a place where he hadn’t thought beyond his own needs, hadn’t considered what taking care of them might cost his brother. “What do you want to do?”
“We let this play out. For now.”
“I’m fine with that.”
Denis rubbed his thumb over the place where his daughter’s name was on the small gold piano. Tomorrow he’d tell Clara to cut back on the sedation in the hopes Brianna would be one of those to forget after a visit with Etaín.
Eamon glanced up from the paperwork on his desk as Rhys stepped into the room and took a seat across from him. “You’ve learned something?”
“Yes.”
Eamon set his pen down. “What?”
“Rescue workers were called to Lake Merced several weeks ago. Denis Dunne’s daughter was found in a car, overdosed, along with a friend. The other girl lingered in a coma but died and was laid to rest on Monday.”
The sharp spike of suspicion stabbed Eamon. “The same day Cathal sought Etaín out.”
“Yes. Within hours of the funeral service, possibly less.”
“And Denis’s daughter?”
“Home, against the recommendation of the doctors attending her. She attempted suicide as soon as she regained consciousness and was told of her friend’s death.”
“She believes herself responsible?”
“She must, though I think there is more to it than that. Both girls were good students with no history of misbehavior or trouble of any kind. One of the emergency workers was willing to share information. He suggested the girls might have been drugged and raped multiple times by a number of different males.”
A killing offense as far as Eamon was concerned. “The police are involved?”
“Not actively. There wasn’t evidence pointing to anything but bad choices on the girls’ parts, and the Dunnes haven’t brought any pressure to bear on the authorities to investigate further.”
Not surprising if the Dunnes were the type of men he believed them to be. They would see justice done. In that he admired them though it didn’t stop anger from settling around him at having confirmation Cathal had been sent to ensnare Etaín.
He could do nothing about Cathal’s involvement with his future consort at present, and of greater concern was how the Dunnes had known about her gift. None of the possibilities occurring to him were pleasing to consider.
“Did you discover who directed them to her?”
“Not specifically, no. But the history I’ve managed to accumulate provides insight enough. Her mother left her in the care of a San Francisco policeman. There’s some estrangement between the two of them now, but she has actively used her abilities at his request.”
“His name?”
“Captain Chevenier.”
It took a moment for Eamon to place the name, to remember the scandal associated with it. He cursed. If only once the captain and his wife had brought Etaín with them when they’d come to Aesirs, then she could have been made to disappear shortly thereafter, and been raised among her own kind.
“There’s more to it,” Rhys said. “Parker Chevenier is one of the two FBI agents who visited her yesterday.”
Eamon’s half-formed resolve at breakfast firmed. The shelter fund-raiser would mark the end of Etaín’s freedom and her ignorance about her future role as consort-wife to an Elven Lord.
“Perhaps it’s time she disappeared from the human world,” Rhys pressed when the silence stretched into taut moments.
“Not yet.” Though Eamon contemplated whether or not to intercede with respect to the Dunnes, and drive a wedge between Etaín and Cathal by revealing the truth of Cathal’s motives.
He decided against it in favor of letting Etaín’s involvement with the Dunnes proceed to a natural conclusion. If she was made an accessory to murder, then she would have good reason to go into hiding, and he was quite willing to provide it. If she learned Cathal had used her, then the bond forming between them might break naturally.
Better to let it happen that way, and far, far safer. He respected the old magic filling her too much to interfere in its course, though as he’d discovered this morning when he saw Etaín and Cathal together, he wasn’t averse to having her to himself. Later, should he still desire it, or the magic filling her require it, then he’d prefer sharing her with a lover of his choice.
“Where is she now?”
“At Denis’s home.”
“Notify me when she leaves and settles in a place where I can collect her. I believe it’s also time to learn everything that can be learned about Denis and Niall Dunne.”
“In case you become responsible for them?”
“A reality I still have some hope of avoiding. It’s possible their actions will compel me to send Liam to them. I want to know what ripples their deaths would cause in the human world.”
Etaín barely made it to the bathroom down the hall from Brianna’s room in time. Nausea rolled through her in waves like a drinking binge ending in bed spins and puke.
She vomited repeatedly and even after her stomach had finally calmed, it took a long time for the clamminess to leave her skin. She sat on the floor, hunched over, shaking, Eamon’s words finding her when even standing was beyond her, whispering that he had the answers she needed, not just to control her gift but to survive it.
Her head ached and she felt chilled. It didn’t help that Cathal was waiting for her, his concern practically chewing through the door.
She felt worse than she’d ever felt after touching a victim. And though her strength came back slowly, her heart continued to beat fast and erratically.
She knew she’d call the clients on the calendar for the evening and reschedule. She couldn’t handle ink tonight.
With effort she stood and splashed water on her face, then went through the cabinets and drawers until she found toothpaste and mouthwash. It took longer to feel well enough to leave the bathroom.
She opened the door to find Cathal standing right in front of it. His gaze dropped t
o the tablet and she caught a glimpse of haunted guilt in his eyes.
Her bout of nausea made the situation worse. But she couldn’t set his mind at ease by explaining the reason for it, though she knew it left him to imagine the worst when it came to what had happened to his cousin.
“I need to leave,” she said, giving them both an out.
“I’ll walk you to your bike.”
He took her in his arms when they reached it. She relaxed against him, soaking in his warmth, the comforting hum of desire like soothing background music.
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning, after the drawings are done,” she said, anticipating he might want another night like the one they’d just shared and heading it off.
He stiffened. Too late she remembered Eamon’s appearance at the breakfast table.
She tensed as well, bracing herself for what he might say. Then found she preferred not to get into a discussion with him about Eamon, not now, not when she was without answers herself about what she wanted and what she could have. “I can’t draw the pictures of Brianna’s rapists if I’m with you,” she told him.
His arms tightened around her, the silence around them growing heavy and fraught with warring emotions. “Are you going to be with him tonight?”
“I don’t intend to be.”
Cathal wanted her to say no. He wanted to know that if she refused to be with him, then she would spend the night alone.
Frustration, anger, and jealousy churned inside him but once again they were trumped by fear. His father and uncle expected him to remain with her, to ensure no one else saw or knew about the drawings.
He could follow her or have her followed by someone independent of Sean. He could have a record of her phone calls dumped, again by an independent contractor, though the name would come from Sean. Doing those things, and telling his father and uncle about them, would provide a buffer of safety—assuming she didn’t have contact with her brother or father.
He wanted to ask her to promise she wouldn’t show anyone the drawings, but doing it might lead to her asking questions, and to the very danger he was desperate to keep her from. He settled for saying, “Promise you’ll call me when they’re done.”
“It could be two or three in the morning.”
Her quick answer, with its unconscious implication she’d be alone, had the anger and jealousy flowing out of him. Guilt over his own subterfuge replaced them.
He closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against hers and wondering when he’d lost control of the situation, only to realize it had never been his to begin with. The moment he’d seen her, he’d been lost in a haze of desire that had thickened rather than thinned as he spent time with her.
He touched his mouth to hers, hating their impending separation though he knew he needed it in order to pay Sean a visit. Some things couldn’t be risked except in person. Setting a plan in motion to keep Etaín from becoming tainted by his father and uncle’s actions was one of them.
“Just call me as soon as the drawings are done, Etaín. Promise you’ll do it.”
“I promise.”
Eighteen
Don’t recognize the work,” Juan said, handing the copy of the drawing back to Etaín. It was heavily creased from being folded and unfolded so many times, the white dingy.
Still usable, Etaín thought, putting it in her pocket, though if she carried it on her much longer, she’d have to ask for a new one or open the doorway between her memories and Tyra’s to redraw it.
A shiver went through her at the prospect, a wave of cold radiating from her core. She hadn’t felt warm since puking her guts out after the session with Brianna.
“You okay?” Juan asked. “You don’t look so good.”
“Just need to get home and go to bed.”
His smile guaranteed he never slept alone. “Another day I’d be hoping that was an invite, chica.”
“And if I slept with other tattoo artists, I’d be tempted to make the offer.”
“Give me one date to change your mind.”
She thought of Eamon and Cathal and shook her head. Two men complicating her life was enough. “A date with you and I’d probably have trouble riding the bike.”
He laughed and cupped the front of his jeans. “Es verdad. But I haven’t had any complaints yet.”
“I bet.” She zipped the Harley jacket, the iciness deep inside her intensifying at the prospect of stepping out into the night. Summer in San Francisco could be as cold as winter when the fog rolled in off a bay full of water that reached up the coastline to Alaska.
“Take care of yourself,” Juan said, his frown saying she must really look like shit. “Big day Saturday.”
“Definitely a big day. See you there.”
“No way I’d miss it. Should be a huge turnout. You managed to get some hot talent. And I’m not meaning just tattoo artists like my magnificent self. I’m talking about the music. People have been texting me about it all day.”
“Cool. Justine can use the funds.”
She turned to leave. He slowed her by asking, “You want me to ask around about the tat? I could run a copy and show it to some guys I know who work outside the shop scene.”
It wasn’t the first offer she’d gotten. “Thanks. I’m not ready to go that far yet.”
“No problemo. Swing by anytime if you change your mind.”
“Will do.” She left, mentally checking Juan off the list of artists she could approach casually, without drawing attention to or suspicion about what she was doing. Unless Parker wanted her to branch out into making cold calls or handing out copies of the demon tattoo, there were only two people left, Bryce and Jamaal.
She called Stylin’ Ink. Neither was there.
Time to go home. She wasn’t up to chasing down Bryce and Jamaal and if she showed up looking terrible, she’d never get out of their places much less avoid the third degree over why she was so rundown.
A glance toward Oakland and she shivered again, hard. It felt as if thin fingers of a cold fog reached out and touched her, sliding through the leather of her jacket and into the tattoos along her forearms.
Usually she found the fog refreshing. Tonight it seemed full of foreboding.
She decided to swing by Stylin’ Ink anyway but as she drew closer to the shop, she realized the route she’d chosen would take her past Aesirs. It made her wonder if her true destination had been Eamon all along.
A red light stopped her.
Go to him? Or don’t?
She was undecided as the light changed.
Eamon moved through Aesirs with quick strides, his aggravation matched by his anticipation. He wasn’t accustomed to dangling himself in front of a woman like bait on a fisherman’s hook. This made twice he’d done it in order to draw Etaín to him when there was the chance she might shy away at the last moment.
The front doors opened as he reached them, the men stationed there clearing the way, though he could have done it using will alone. He stepped outside, the wet chill of the air doing nothing to cool the fire raging inside him.
He heard the bike before he saw her on it. And used the time between to tamp his emotion so it would appear as though he’d come out for fresh air and happened to be there as she passed, when in truth, before Etaín, he’d rarely allowed himself to be seen at Aesirs by humans.
The sound of the engine changed. She slowed and stopped next to the curb, forcing him to come to her as she had when she entered his estate.
He hid a smile. He would always come to her. For her. She was his, and he would do what it took to keep her.
She removed her helmet though the bike idled as if she hadn’t decided to remain with him. That didn’t concern him nearly as much as her paleness and the slight tremors he felt when he cupped her cheek.
“Have you eaten dinner yet?” he asked, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip and feeling a tug at his core, as if she needed some of his magic to sustain her.
She was changeling with a link to the old m
agic of Elfhome so it was entirely possible she did. Especially if he guessed correctly and she had used her gift earlier in the day when she went to Denis Dunne’s home.
He touched his mouth to hers, giving her what she needed, the sensation like fire spreading from him to her, flames of magic and lust merging to become indistinguishable from one another.
Satisfaction replaced his earlier aggravation when she melted into him, her arms going around his waist. Though worry for her safety soon edged out the pleasure that came with her return.
Wards and glamour wouldn’t hide his interest in her should there be spies watching. He ended the kiss, reluctant despite the wisdom of it.
In the distance Liam made his presence known, a deadly assassin emerging from darkness just long enough to smile in ripe amusement.
Eamon forced himself from her embrace though he couldn’t draw his hand away from its resting place against her cheek.
Her color was better, her eyelids lowered by desire rather than exhaustion or illness. “Let me feed you dinner, Etaín.”
A chauffeured limousine chose that moment to stop near them and disgorge its passengers, women in furs and men in five-thousand-dollar suits, among them several state senators. He saw the no in her eyes as she took note of the diners bound for Aesirs, felt it begin to take form against the thumb he stroked over her bottom lip.
Before she could utter it he deflected it by once again closing the distance between them, this time touching his mouth to her ear. “Say yes and I’ll give you a demonstration of the magic you’re not sure you believe in. I have a private suite. No one will bother us.”
It was temptation enough for Etaín, given her earlier suspicion that she’d subconsciously intended to seek Eamon out when she came this way instead of going home. The headache and chills that had steadily gotten worse since leaving Denis’s house were gone now that she was with Eamon. It had to mean something, and if not, the respite from them was welcome given the dreams she’d soon face, the reality she’d soon live.
“I’ve got to park the bike.”
His laugh was a confident, warm caress against her ear. “I’ll have it taken care of.”
