by Black, Regan
"I'm sorry if I hurt you."
"You didn't. I know you were intent on finding your dad."
"That's not a very good excuse." Her breath shuddered in and out.
"Shh." His big palm cupped her cheek and his lips landed gently on hers. "We'll get to the bottom of this."
She wished she had as much faith. "I just don't see how."
"That's because you're into fixing and healing, not destruction and chaos."
She wanted to argue that he wasn't the destruction and chaos type either, but more than that, she wanted another kiss. She needed to feel wanted and cherished. By him.
* * *
Jameson held her, soothed her, until her body relaxed against his. Then he hoped like hell Cleveland had deactivated the infrared systems because there was some serious heat building between them here in this dark office.
The absolute devastation on her face when he'd found her worried him, but he decided the details could wait as she launched the most sensual assault on his mouth.
Soft and warm, her tenderness undid him. She was pliant under his hands, arching into his touch. Need spiked with a sizzle that fired just under his skin. If she kept this up, he'd take her right here against the door, to hell with situational awareness.
With more than a little regret, he managed to break away and hold her at arm's length.
"Wait."
"No."
She all but moaned it and he nearly gave in. "Have to." Did he always have such a hard time breathing? "Have to get you out of here first."
"Right."
Was she crying? He couldn't tell in the dark. "The guard just turned this way." He murmured against her ear. "Let's just sit a minute."
Side by side, leaning against the wall, he held her hand on his thigh and tried not to think about all the specific places his body was aching for her. He didn't dare move, couldn't risk letting her hand wander the way his mind wanted to.
His heads up display showed the guard walking by in no hurry. He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her, but the sizzle that was always there flashed to life between their palms and distracted him.
What was inside her that made it possible to see their clutched hands when his should be invisible? His sharp inhale sounded like a truck engine in the quiet and he waited, worried the guard might have heard.
The red light that marked his progress moseyed further away.
"What is that? What are you doing?"
He caught the flutter of breath, that telltale sound that she was battling tears.
"I'm not trying to do anything." She sniffled. "It's new to me too."
"Can you see me?"
"Only a vague outline. I couldn't see you at all in the hallway."
"Interesting." He popped the disc out of his mouth and pocketed it.
"Uh-huh." Another sniff. "I'm sorry if what happened in the lab is affecting you. I'd offer to look closer, but I'm just not sure that's smart."
He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. "I feel great. Whatever happens, we're in this together."
"Yeah."
"You don't have to sound so thrilled," he teased.
"As soon as we're out of here, I'll give my report to Callahan and return to the order. Maybe they'll have answers to help us both."
Nothing she could have said could have worried him more. "One step at a time." He used the voice that had guided more than one newbie through their first enemy contact. "Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Your father?"
"He doesn't want my help. He has Luke."
"Well, that makes it easier for us." He squeezed her hand, just to watch that glow shimmer and change. "Luke's capable. I'm sure your dad –"
"Doesn't need me." She broke the contact and scrambled to her feet. "Lead the way out."
Okay. "Cover story is you got overwhelmed by the smell in the morgue, so we took a walk."
"Practical."
Very. And it would explain her pale skin and red rimmed eyes.
The hallways were deserted, as he'd hoped. He led her past the morgue they'd started in, toward the elevator, and tried not to think about what her silence meant.
What had happened to turn her in such an irrational direction? He felt the anger building up, but getting mad now would only work against them. Without information he wasn't entirely sure where to aim his anger anyway. Much more productive to focus on getting away safely.
He checked his watch, knew Cleveland and Cali were already gone. No disappointment there, he preferred time alone with Mira. She was hurting and he refused to let anyone push her any more than they already had.
Montalbano might have a new toy, but it was only a matter of time before they found a way to counter the bleed-out agent. No it was her order, specifically the unknown enemies working within her order that bothered him most.
They made their way up to the security desk and signed out without incident. He'd have to thank Cleveland later. The man appeared to have the entire system in the palm of his hand.
She was still quiet when they walked into the dark parking lot. "Got a preference?"
"About what?"
He spotted a motorcycle and realized he had a preference. She'd have to hold him, have to actively participate in order to get away safely. In his experience staying engaged in the moment was the best way to avoid post-traumatic stress. He urged her toward the machine and had it rumbling to life within a few seconds. Throwing his leg over, he held out his hand and shot her an "I dare you" look when she hesitated.
She rolled her eyes, but climbed on behind him. With her hands resting lightly on his hips, he revved the engine once. The deep growl of the ready machine matched his dark mood and he was glad she couldn't see his smile when her arms shot around him.
He wasn't exactly happy about starting the inevitable police chase, unhappier still to do it without helmets, but whenever they were close he felt remarkably invincible.
Another evaluation that would have to wait for a quieter moment as he rolled toward the gate.
There was no way they were going to get out of here without some sort of trouble. He gave her hands a quick pat.
"Hang on." He approached the guard shack as if he meant to stop, relieved as the gate started to roll back. At the last second, he ducked his head and gunned it, shooting through the narrow opening.
The wind was a bitch battering against his face as they raced away. He kept his mind off the discomfort by focusing on the end game. If they were lucky, one of the security cameras had a good view of her face somewhere between the elevator and the parking lot guard shack. The best way to keep her out of reach of the threat from her order, in his opinion, was to make her a target of legitimate law enforcement.
When he heard the first siren he hunched down, ready to play.
Chapter 12
Mira couldn't imagine what he was playing at. Stealing the motorcycle was bad enough, but jumping the gate? She was surprised they made it off federal property before the first siren sounded.
His shoulders were curled as he leaned low and forward, giving her no choice but to press closer. Molding her body to his, she used the subtle cues to help him stay balanced and upright as he dodged traffic, evading the police behind them.
The vibration from the engine became a part of her as he roared back to the city. She'd never felt quite so connected with a machine. It made for a heady experience combined with the ever-present zing she felt whenever Jameson was close.
She peeked over his shoulder and abruptly changed her mind, tucking her head back behind his. He could navigate and she would do her best not to hinder him. From the feel of it, he knew what he was doing as he zigged and zagged, staying just out of reach of their pursuers.
It was impossible to ask where they were headed and easy enough to reason Slick Micky's place was off the list. No way Jameson would lead the cops right to one of the smuggler's doors.
As first rides on motorcycles went, she supposed it didn't get more exci
ting than riding hell-bent with the man you loved.
The errant thought caught her off guard. She felt the truth of it deep inside, deeper even than the rumble of the engine shaking up her pulse.
Of course she'd known she could love him from their first kiss in the prison infirmary. She'd also known instant attraction was a weak foundation for any sort of relationship. Especially when she couldn't risk putting down roots anywhere. And how crazy was it to analyze her life on the back of a motorcycle?
Distracted, she almost missed the timing as he leaned into a turn. His hands did something with the clutch or throttle – she had no idea – but the bike felt different beneath them.
He glanced over his shoulder and swerved into a rather busy street that wasn't much more than an alley. He cut the engine as the crowd closed in behind them and patted her leg, signaling her to climb off.
The pavement felt boring and her knees wobbled, but she managed to keep pace as he jogged deeper into the maze of streets and pathways, pushing the bike ahead of them.
This was a side of Chicago she didn't know. Based on the smells and clothing that ranged from classic Goth to garish, she didn't want to stay and get acquainted.
War zones and hospital politics were familiar landscapes. In need of medical attention, people were nearly interchangeable. She stubbed her toe when uncomfortable sentiment reminded her too much of the philosophy of the Five. Except that she wanted to help the 'interchangeable' people and the Five wanted them to struggle without intervention from gifted healers.
Jameson paused and glanced back at her. "We're almost there."
She didn't bother to ask where he was headed. The spark between them flared just with the eye contact. What could that mean?
He steadied her somehow. It was there before the explosion but now it seemed as though the more time they spent together the stronger she felt on both the emotional and physical levels.
He pushed on, taking a couple more turns until he stopped in front of a club. She stared, never having been to such a place. The heavy bass beat pounding out of the open door surely violated more than one noise ordinance, but no one in this area was likely to report it.
"Let's get lost in the crowd." He offered his hand.
She took it and after a cursory, automatic exam, she enjoyed the quick sizzle of his heat along her nerves. Whatever he was up to, she was so far out of her element the only option was forward. "Your face and hands should be chapped from the wind."
"Probably." He turned his hands over. "They look good to me. Your sweet nature must be rubbing off."
She couldn't argue, with that kind of smooth, even if it had been the time or place. She kind of liked it when he teased her. "Lead on."
Inside, the music was nearly as oppressing as the crowd. Jameson tucked her close and wound his way toward the closest end of the long bar. She let him order while she watched the visual carnival. It only took a few minutes to pick out the professionals, men and women, working the room. When she spotted a familiar face, she tapped Jameson's arm.
"Your friend," she said, sliding her gaze to the left.
"Yeah?" He gave her a wolfish grin and a wink. "Great timing. Let me do the talking."
As if she had a choice. She didn't know the first thing about negotiating with a prostitute when you weren't actually wanting to hire said prostitute.
While Jameson and Julia exchanged information with an ease and code she couldn't hope to follow, Mira let her mind drift back over her discoveries at the Army hospital so she could deliver a coherent report to Callahan when it was her turn.
"Tell Julia what you found out. She'll get the info up the line for us."
Mira went still, gathering her thoughts and putting them into the right order. "Montalbano has a faulty product. By design I believe. I'm not sure how my father weaponized a synthetic hemophilia, but the formula used in the gang slaying was already breaking down. That same batch would no longer be effective."
Julia's eyes went wide at Mira's explanation. "That's not good news."
"I believe a vaccine is in the works, but again, with a faulty formula it won't matter much." She told Julia about the lab and where she found her father. His utter rejection of her she kept to herself.
"The gang members bled out but the serum had been breaking down already. If Montalbano had waited even another day for his demonstration, it wouldn't have been successful."
"I'll be sure Callahan protects your dad," Julia said, laying a hand on Mira's shoulder.
Mira couldn't dredge up a proper response.
"All right," Jameson said. "Can you work with that?" When Julia gave him the expected affirmative, he motioned for Mira. "Great, we have our own problems to fix."
She looked up at him, baffled. Julia nudged her. "Trust him."
Jameson smiled, but it had a hard, dangerous edge. Butterflies launched into barrel rolls in her belly. Being attracted to him and that dangerous edge was a completely ridiculous reaction.
"Time to go," he said. "You need to be seen before they give up."
She moved toward him, her body more than happy to follow him regardless of the questions her mind wrestled with.
He swept her into the collection of bodies gyrating on the dance floor. "What are you talking about?"
They were close enough she knew he could hear her despite the noise. He just put his hands on her hips, guiding her into the moves he wanted, much as he'd pushed her into the new experience on the motorcycle.
Mira felt the slow burn of frustration, the way he was manufacturing these opportunities to touch her and encourage her to try new things. Except part of her enjoyed feeling like a real person living a real life. None of the people bumping against her knew her, judged her, or needed anything from her. There was great freedom in that. Bodies bumped along with the rhythm of the music. She could join the party and touch strangers, or press closer and touch Jameson.
The easiest choice of the night. She wasn't sure if it was the thudding bass beat or her heart pounding in her ears. Didn't matter. The music wasn't nearly as electric as his touch. She was starting to feel like an addict, craving him this way, but when they were close she felt better. About everything.
"I've never been clubbing," she admitted. "I like it."
"I'm sorry it has to end badly." He slid a glance at the door. She saw the Chicago uniforms scanning the crowd. "Let them haul you in. The police will make it harder for the enforcers to get to you. Brian pulled some strings and I'll be right behind you. You won't actually wind up in jail."
"Gee thanks. Do you know what I'm charged with too?"
He had the audacity to wink at her. "Accessory to motorcycle theft." He blended into the crowd and was gone. She cursed her father and his stealth suit as the crowd parted and the uniformed officers headed straight for her.
* * *
Jacob believed in the cause. He knew the risks and with every fiber of his being was willing to do whatever was required. He'd trained for years for this sole purpose. The healer orders needed to be united. A radiant healer would do that.
The road had not been easy and a few of his actions haunted him, but not often. And certainly not this one.
Hunting Miranda Luther, bringing her home to secure the future of their order, was an honor and a privilege. He knew every line of her face, knew how to recognize her specific energy in a patient she'd healed. He'd been trained extensively on how to mute her new energy if necessary.
He was human enough to hope that wasn't necessary.
She'd disappeared after the change in the lab and he'd scoured hospitals and hotels looking for any sign of her.
He'd found traces of her work before her change, but nothing after. Not since the online order.
Over the past days he'd developed a route through Chicago based on the extensive intel and thorough reports from the enforcers who served with him. He'd paid a significant sum of money to several people keeping watch at the college and other areas around town.
&nbs
p; She must have found sanctuary somewhere. With patience and persistence he would find her.
Sitting at Leanore's watching people come and go would be tedious if the coffee wasn't so good. He'd become somewhat of a regular since learning of the delivery. The bartender had signed for the package, but Mira had yet to claim it.
Jacob considered it a positive sign when he discovered she'd healed a waitress here. When the woman waited on him, he tipped her well, in case he needed information later. Unfortunately, he knew she hadn't been in contact with Mira since her transformation.
He walked to the bar to pay his bill and saw his target's face on the monitor in the corner. A motorcycle chase. How daring, he thought, thoroughly irritated.
Focusing on the positive, he decided it was convenient to know her precise location as the report continued with news of her arrest. Breaking her out of jail might prove a challenge.
"And a coffee to go, please." It was looking to be a long, chilly night.
His concern hit a new peak a moment later when they gave the name of the club where they'd found her. Montalbano's crew owned that one and most of the seedier property around it.
The club was only a few blocks away from where he stood in the restored and highly polished Financial District. His high end suit would hardly blend in, but plenty of executives went slumming on occasion. He sighed, pretending to be one of the many put-upon junior executives as he sent the information to his mentor and waited for any alteration to his orders.
The reply came back instantly. "Do not let the police have her."
He walked out with the coffee he no longer had time to enjoy properly with no small measure of regret.
* * *
Mira let them take her away, grateful they hadn't made more of a scene in the crowded club.
Cuffed in the back of the patrol car, she evaded their questions to the best of her ability and waited patiently for Jameson's promised intervention. She wished he'd shared a few more details of his plan.
If the surly interrogation was a result of Brian pulling strings, she had to wonder at the real extent of his influence. Maybe these two just had to make it look good.
