Black and Blue oa-2

by Gena Showalter

  She knew what his were—no strings. He could see other people and she couldn’t complain.

  But what were hers?

  She didn’t want to think about it. She thought she might actually cry.

  Apparently, for now, they were just supposed to pretend they hadn’t had their hands in each other’s pants.

  “We’ve got work to do,” he’d said, moments after dropping the chat bomb. “Go and get dressed in something that covers you from neck to toe, then meet me in your office. I want to watch the video feed from the club and listen to audio feed from Star’s house. After that, we can figure out the best way for me to run into Tiffany.”

  Tiffany.

  Gah. He had to charm the girl. Maybe more.

  Evie wanted to kill her.

  See? This is why you can’t get involved with someone like Blue.

  “I protest only one detail of your work plan,” she’d replied, trying to act calm. “Let’s do our watching and listening in the living room, not the office.”

  Now, dressed in a pair of flannel pj’s, she hooked her laptop to her giant holoscreen TV, allowing them both to view the Lucky Horn video feed from the comfort of the couch. Blue already reclined there, gorgeous and shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose slacks.

  He was allowed to show skin. So unfair.

  She wanted to lean into him as she settled beside him. Thankfully, she had a big bowl of popcorn clutched tightly to her middle, preventing her from making a fool of herself.

  She forced herself to concentrate. On the screen, Timothy Mercer, the man who’d tried to burn Blue alive, wandered throughout the Lucky Horn, shaking hands with a few of the patrons, leering at the girls as they paraded past him, and even slapping a few on the ass.

  “Pig,” she said, tossing a handful of popcorn at the screen.

  “Good to know I’m not the only one,” Blue muttered.

  She stiffened as she read between the lines. He claimed he forgave her, but clearly he hadn’t yet forgotten. “You’re not a pig. I was wrong to call you one, and I’m sorry.”

  No response.

  Fine. Back to the video, before she became a needy bag of pleas. Please tell me you’ve truly forgiven me. Please don’t be mad at me. Please like me.

  After hours and hours of watching Mr. Mercer repeat the same routine, she began to feel as though she were on a merry-go-round.

  Finally Blue pressed Pause, the image freezing. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “We’re friends, right?”

  Yes. No. Maybe. After what had happened in her kitchen . . . “Right.”

  “Can I tell you something without getting a lecture about my whoring ways?”

  He’d slept with Pagan after all, and that’s why he hadn’t wanted to go all the way with Evie. “What did you do?”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s not what I did, it’s what I feel.”

  Oh.

  Her guilt became the white elephant in the room. She had to stop thinking the worst about him. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was actually a great guy. And bottom line? She had absolutely no room to judge. It was just easier to acknowledge his faults and ignore her own.

  “Tonight was hard,” he said.

  A pang cut through her chest. “With me?”

  He threw a pillow at her. “No, smarty. I hurt Pagan pretty bad.”

  Finally she understood. The breakup. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You feel bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even though you did the right thing?”

  His gaze was stark. “Yeah. Even though. She cried.”

  A serial bang-and-bailer wouldn’t care. He was so much more than Evie had ever given him credit for, wasn’t he. “Do you love her?” she asked, tensing.

  “No.”

  “Then you gave her a small hurt now to prevent a big hurt later on. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, Mr. Blue. I think I told you something along those lines at our first meeting.”

  Their eyes locked, neither of them willing to look away. The air thickened with awareness, always that awareness, and waves of his power brushed against her skin. Why? Why was this happening? She’d climaxed once tonight. She shouldn’t be gearing up for another.

  Blue jolted to his feet and backed away from her, toward the exit. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. We’ll figure out a plan of action in the morning.” With that, he turned and stomped from the room.

  Thirteen

  M ORNING SUNLIGHT WASHED THROUGH the bedroom, splashed on the bed . . . on Evie, who was sprawled across the entire mattress. And she’d once accused him of being a bed hog, Blue thought with a wry smile.

  He peered down at her, his entire body buzzing with energy—and need.

  It wasn’t going away.

  Surrounded by wisps of white lace hanging from the posts of the bed, and the pale blue fabric of the comforter, she was Snow White after she’d eaten the apple. Or maybe Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince . . . and a kiss. I’ve had my hands in her hair. I’ve had my face pressed against hers. I’ve moved my lips against hers.

  I almost had that pale, soft skin completely bared . . .

  He fisted his hands to stop himself from reaching for her.

  Last night, shortly after leaving her in the living room, he almost said to hell with it and jumped her. The heat of his desire practically scorched his soul. But first he wanted her to want him with the same ferocity he wanted her. Because if he took her, he would disappoint a very good man; a man he loved. He could even lose his job.

  That was a lot to deal with, just for a casual affair.

  Too much, really. And he wasn’t going to do it, he decided.

  Things with Evie had to be platonic from now on.

  For the best.

  Blue gave her a gentle shake. “I need you to wake up now, dewberry.” Unable to sleep, he’d spent the entire night listening to the audio feed from Star’s house. Finally, a few minutes ago, he’d heard something worthwhile.

  She blinked open her eyes, her irises a deep, rich brown with striations of gold. He’d never noticed the gold before.

  He really liked the gold.

  Great start there, Platono.

  “Blue?” She batted his arm away and grumbled, “What the flip are you doing in my room? And did you just call me ‘dewberry’? Because I am fully prepared to castrate you with a dull spoon.”

  He grinned. “Get up and get dressed. We have a lead, and I know you want to tag along.”

  “A lead? What lead?”

  “Star’s guards have information about someone matching Solo’s description. Apparently, he was spotted at an abandoned warehouse in No Man’s Land, and they plan to gather the troops and go in guns blazing at dark, since they don’t have the stones to face him in broad daylight. That means we can beat them there.”

  Blinking, she jolted upright. Dark locks tumbled down her shoulders and arms, and he had to force himself to back away from her before he did something stupid.

  He strode to her dresser and pawed through the drawers, throwing a pink T-shirt in her direction, followed by a pair of socks, a bra, pink, like the top, and lace—nice—and a pair of pink panties. Lace as well. Really nice.

  His stomach clenched as his craving for her intensified.

  You respect Michael. You want to keep your job.

  How many times would he have to remind himself?

  She caught every item.

  “I know you like to go commando some of the time, but today you’re going to be a good girl and wear proper undergarments.” He’d never be able to concentrate otherwise.

  “Fine.”

  He strode to her closet and selected a pair of jeans. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”

  “Five minutes. And that’s not girl code for an hour.” She padded to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A second later he heard the whirl of the enzyme shower’s motor.

  He needed something to do with his hands or he was going to go ba
lls to the wall, strip, and join her in that stupid shower. In the kitchen he made a pot of coffee and filled a travel mug for her.

  Mr. Domestic. That’s me. He couldn’t remember doing anything like this for anyone else.

  The creaking of wood snagged his attention. He turned, watching as Evie marched down the stairs; damn it, she was once again so beautiful his chest began to ache. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and her cheeks were bright from the heat of her shower. She wore the garments he’d selected, and looked young and innocent and—

  Not for him. Never for him.

  MICHAEL. JOB.

  He gripped the kitchen counter with tense fingers.

  “What?” she asked, adjusting the purse strap crossing over her middle.

  “Nothing,” he croaked. To distract himself, he used his power to tug that strap over her head, allowing him to grab hold of the bag.

  “Hey!”

  He dug through the contents. “A headlamp, compact, eyedrops, pyre-gun, superglue, brass knuckles, wet wipes, four rings, a mini flare gun, and a whistle.” As he spoke, he held up each item. “Some of this stuff I don’t even recognize.”

  “Give me that,” she said, snatching the purse away and returning it to its rightful place.

  “Why a headlamp?”

  “Why not?”

  Fair enough. He pushed the travel mug in her direction.

  She arched a brow, suspicious. “You made this for me?”

  He returned to gripping the counter, the granite cracking, and nodded.

  “Well.” Her frown had nothing to do with anger but everything to do with confusion. “Thanks. I guess.”

  “Not a morning person, sunshine?”

  A glint of contrition in her eyes. “There are people who would tell you I’m not an anytime person.”

  “Well, those people just don’t know you.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she gazed at him with astonishment.

  Yeah. He’d just astonished himself, too. Time to move on. “You ready?”

  “I need one more minute to send Michael everything we’ve acquired from Star’s, and the Lucky Horn,” she said. “I know he plans to stay at the boathouse another day or two, and he’s got nothing but time on his hands. He can let us know if he finds anything else that’s useful.”

  When she finished, Blue led her to the garage.

  “Let’s take my SUV,” she said. “It’s not registered in my name, so it’s my in-case-all-hell-breaks-loose vehicle. A must-have for any agent of our generation.”

  “Perfect.”

  During the drive, he remained on alert for any tails, and even took several wrong turns, doubled back, and went in circles. No one attempted anything nefarious.

  If that changed, the car’s sensors would know and alert him. More than that, the windows were made of shield armor, and the metal body was impenetrable. He could relax. If only for a little while.

  “How did yesterday’s conversation with Agent Gutierrez go?” he asked.

  “It didn’t. He wasn’t there. And rather than deal with anyone else, I left.”

  “Good call.”

  “Yeah.” She twisted her jeans at the knees. “Hey, Blue?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you created SHOW?”

  He stiffened. He didn’t like that she knew. Hadn’t wanted to alter her opinion of him that way. “How did you find out?”

  “You checked the website from my computer and the data streamed to my phone.”

  “So? I’m not mentioned on the website.”

  “Maybe I did a little digging.”

  He forced his body to relax. “It’s no one’s business, Evie.”

  “I know.” A suspended pause before she whispered, “I’m Anita Huginkis, a longtime donor.”

  He was surprised. He was impressed. He was heart-warmed. His foul mood suddenly lifted. “I knew that was a fake name, but I checked Miss Huginkis out, and her background seemed legit.”

  “Yep, I’m that good.” Preening, Evie fluffed her hair.

  Grinning, he admitted, “I’m Justin Sider.”

  She snorted. “Just inside her? Nice. A few years ago, I was Sherwood Lovett.”

  “Holden Mylode.”

  “Nealanne Licket.”

  “Iva Woody.”

  She burst into laughter, and he marveled anew at the beauty of her. Eyes bright. Cheeks aglow. She was the epitome of radiance, flooding the dark places inside him with light.

  Need to make her laugh every day for the rest of her life.

  Rest of her life? Don’t be ridiculous.

  When she quieted, the tension was so thick, he doubted a knife could cut through it. He was turned on, verging on desperate.

  “Ever been to No Man’s Land?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “No. You?”

  “Yeah.” There, the air was sharp from ongoing acid rains, and stung the skin and nostrils. Humans had moved into the city, out of the country lands, decades ago, so several alien races had then moved into the abandoned areas and taken over. “I would have guessed you’d worked out here with Eden. You guys are close, and Michael’s always sending her on the worst jobs . . . Can I ask you something personal?”

  After a slight pause, she said, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

  Here goes. “What happened to Claire?”

  Sadness and remorse filled the vehicle. “Blue . . .”

  “Still not ready to talk about it?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be,” she admitted.

  The wind began to beat against the car, even throwing pieces of gravel into the hood. Grime thickened the air outside as the paved road gave way to dirt.

  Unsure why he was so determined to get her to open up to him, especially now that he’d decided to keep things friendly, but unwilling to back down, he said, “Why did your mom and Michael split?”

  “She used to work for him.”

  He nearly swallowed his tongue. “Michael dated a subordinate?”

  “Yes, and it was quite the scandal in their day. She got pregnant and he refused to marry her. I think deep down she wanted to punish him for it. So she packed up and returned to her family in Westminster.”

  “What about Claire’s father?”

  “I was a year old when she married him, and Claire came two years after that. He stuck around till just after my sixth birthday. I was devastated by his abandonment. He was a good man, sweet to Claire and me, and our only real source of doting.”

  “He never came around after that?”

  “No.”

  Then he wasn’t a good man, Blue thought darkly. He’d kiboshed his kids. He was a bastard.

  Blue had done a lot of shitty things in his life, but ripping out a kid’s heart wasn’t one of them.

  And now he hated that he’d once called Evie spoiled rotten. She wasn’t. Not at all. She’d faced rejection time and time again, and had built a wall around herself. Probably the only way she’d been able to survive.

  “How about you?” she asked. “What about your parents?”

  “I don’t remember my biological parents. I was adopted at the age of four.”

  “Were your adoptive parents good to you?”

  He’d never talked about this with anyone, not even Solo and John. Still, he found myself saying, “They tried to be.”

  “Tried?”

  “I wouldn’t let them.” He told her about his brothers and sisters, how they’d saved him. “I was so broken up about losing them, I shut everyone else out. When my new parents tried to hug me, I threw a tantrum. When they asked me to come eat at the table with them, I turned my back and went silent.”

  “You were an emotionally traumatized kid. I’m sure they understood and hold no grudge.”

  “You’re probably right, but I can’t ask them because they’re dead.”

  She reached over, squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief when a town came
into view. “We’re close to the warehouse.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to this kind, generous side of her.

  With spotted fur and catlike movements, the Bree Lians looked like animals stuck on human legs. The Cortaz were far more delicate in appearance, with glittery skin and bright lights seeping from their pores.

  Everyone stopped whatever they were doing—shopping, selling food from wheeled carts, talking, and laughing—to watch as the car passed through. Blue gripped the handle of a pyre-gun, ready, just in case. But no one chased after them as they turned one corner, then another and another, leaving the center of town and entering a deserted area.

  Finally, the vehicle stopped at the entrance of a metal building that looked as if it had been beaten by wind and weather, and seemed to bend at several odd angles.

  Any other time he would have parked farther away, but he wanted the car as close to his location as possible.

  “We’re here.”

  “You think Star’s men are nearby?”

  “No. They were pretty adamant about not coming to the area until dark, because they were afraid to face the otherworlders that live here, as well as Solo himself—if that’s who is actually here. But we’re still going to act as if they’re surrounding the place.”

  “You going to power surge?”

  “No. Too many innocents. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way. With guns.” He checked his pyre’s crystal. “Here. Put this on.” He handed her a black leather mask with clear, malleable plastic in the eyeholes.

  After she pulled the thing over her head, he gently untangled her hair from the ear hooks. She went utterly still, as if anticipating his next move, and the moisture in his mouth dried.

  He couldn’t dare a next move. His arms fell away.

  He threw a pair of gloves at her. “These, too.”

  She yanked the material over her hands, and withdrew the pyre from her purse. “Don’t you need a mask?” she asked, dialing the weapon to its hottest setting.

  He did, but he’d only been able to find the one. “I’ll be fine.”

  He held his breath and exited the vehicle in sync with Evie. They raced inside the building together, and in the short time it took, Blue’s face was pelted with thousands of stinging grains of dirt. As he shut the door to the warehouse, blocking the wind, Evie trained her weapon on the space behind him.