The Thief

by J. R. Ward

  Talk about a glower. Her grandmother's eyebrows dropped so low, she looked like she was peering through venetian blinds.

  But there was no argument. Which told Sola she wasn't the only one spooked by what had happened.

  Sola went in and pulled a chair over to the bedside. Taking her vovo's hand, she smiled a little. "I'm really glad you're okay."

  There was a grunt. But then her grandmother sighed. "I am older than I think I am."

  "I pushed you pretty hard with that car ride. In this, I am sorry."

  "I am glad we are here. It was all worth it."

  They sat in silence for a little while. And then her grandmother closed her eyes.

  "If you don't marry him, I'm going to die--"

  "Vovo! What are you saying!"

  Her grandmother opened one lid. "That if you do not marry him, it will kill me and my death will be on your conscience for the rest of your life. That is what I'm saying."

  Just as Sola was about to absolutely-not-fair that one, her grandmother winked at her. "Gotcha."

  "That is not okay, Vovo. And you know it."

  "I will use anything I can."

  "Listen, your message has been received. Okay? There's no need to press anymore. Your job, if you want to look at it like that, is to live long enough to see the ceremony. How's that sound?"

  "But then you will never go down the aisle. Just to keep me here."

  "We'll see about that."

  "Where is he?"

  "Waiting outside."

  "Bring him in. I want to see my grandson-in-law."

  "We aren't married yet, Vovo," Sola said dryly.

  "Not my fault, is it."

  * * *

  --

  Assail stayed outside of that patient room, mired in a skittish, annoying energy that made him want to run laps up and down the training center.

  Indeed, this whole growing-a-conscience thing for him was full of angst. After a lifetime of not caring about anyone over himself, to be this concerned with Mrs. Carvalho was a change--on top of the guilt he was now carrying about--

  When Marisol opened the door abruptly, he stiffened. "Is she okay? Shall I summon the healer?"

  Marisol shook her head and smiled. "She wants to see you."

  Assail straightened the loose cashmere sweater he had pulled on before leaving the house--and found himself wishing that instead of casual slacks, he were in a tuxedo.

  As if formality would somehow increase the older woman's chances of survival.

  Entering the patient room, he had a brief hiccup of dissociation as his brain connected the dots...and came to the realization that Marisol's grandmother was in an identical room to the one he had spent all that time in. But before memories could tackle him and render him useless, he snapped out of it and told himself to smile.

  "Mrs. Carvalho," he said as he approached the bed. "You are looking very well indeed--"

  The elderly lady interrupted him with a weak voice. "If you do no marry my granddaughter, I will die--"

  "Vovo!" Marisol snapped. "Are you even serious right now!"

  The woman put her arm over her forehead. "I am feeling faint. I feel no good--"

  Alarmed, Assail all but lunged for the door. "Madam! I must summon--"

  "Baloney," Marisol said as she put her hands on her hips. "Why aren't any of those machines going off?"

  Mrs. Carvalho dropped her arm and appeared irked by the logic. "They no work. Pieces of junk."

  "You need to stop this right now--"

  Marisol's grandmother looked at Assail. "I must have my granddaughter taken care of and I choose you--"

  "Okay, that's it." Marisol threw her hands up. "We're leaving--"

  Assail approached the bedside and took the old woman's hand. Staring deeply into her eyes, he lowered his voice. "I do not deserve her. You must realize this."

  Mrs. Carvalho smiled so deeply, she glowed with the beauty she must have had when she was young. "And that is why I choose you. You recognize she is best."

  "She is everything. She is the whole world."

  "You make me happy. I sleep now. You a good man."

  As those eyes began to close, Assail rubbed his thumb back and forth on that gnarled hand. The bones were too close to the surface for his comfort, a reminder that this fixture in Marisol's life--and now his own--indeed did not have an eternity in front of her.

  "I am not a good man," he found himself whispering. "Not even close."

  "God sees what man does not," Mrs. Carvalho murmured.

  As the woman reached out her free hand, a clear beckoning to Marisol, it was a little while before the granddaughter answered the call of her elder. But then Marisol too was holding on, the pair of them united by the frail, fierce spirit on the bed.

  In the thick silence that followed, Assail looked across at Marisol with dread. She was staring at her grandmother, her face sad and serious.

  What the hell am I going to do now, he thought.

  FORTY-SIX

  Qhuinn barely got them all back to the Brotherhood's mansion before dawn's early, ass-kicking light rained down out of the sky. The second the brother hit the brakes on the mobile surgical unit, Vishous opened the side door and hopped out, reaching up to help his Jane. As she accepted his hand, even though she didn't need it, it felt so good to aid her in some small way.

  Shutting things, the three of them jogged over to the entrance and went into the vestibule. As soon as he put his face in the camera, the inner door opened, and Beth let them in.

  "You guys just made it," the Queen said. "We were worried. Come on in and eat."

  The other brothers who had been out at the clinic had dematerialized home, but V had wanted to be on backup for Qhuinn on the drive back. And he hadn't minded the decompression time.

  Some nights were longer than others.

  And some were outright hell.

  As Beth and Qhuinn headed off for the crowded dining room, V hung back. "You want to eat something?"

  Jane looked through the elegant archway to the packed, fancy table and squared her shoulders. "Sure."

  When she started in that direction, he caught her hand and stared into her forest green eyes.

  "Tell me what you really want to do. Be honest."

  "I'm exhausted." She sagged. "But I'm afraid to tell you that because...well, I just don't want you to think it's going back to the way it was--"

  Vishous swooped down and picked her up. "I'm taking you to the Pit. And I'm going to feed you soy packets and ketchup. And it's going to be the best meal you've never had."

  She laughed. "You know, my MSG levels are running a little low."

  "Actually, I lied about the soy sauce. I'm going to call Fritz and have them walk some food over, 'kay?"

  Jane relaxed in his arms, and he loved the loose feel of her body. "That sounds perfect. I love everybody, but I'm just...I can't chitchat right now and I don't want to be rude."

  "I gotchu, true?"

  Feeling strong as a mountain with his female in his arms, V strode off through the majestic, multi-colored foyer to the hidden door underneath the grand staircase. As he took them down into the underground tunnel, his bonded male was front and fucking center--and that protective instinct and purpose was a grounding he hadn't had for a very long time. His shitkickers literally landed differently on the concrete beneath his feet, and his brain was sharp in a way that made him feel like a laser.

  I love this, he thought. So much it scares me.

  But he could trust Jane. He knew that in his soul. She would never abuse this power she had over him--hell, she probably wasn't even aware she had it.

  "Why are you smiling?" she said softly.

  He stopped as they arrived at the door to the Pit. "Do you know what is even more important to me than love?"

  "What's that?"

  V shifted her around so he could look her in the face. "Trust is more important to me. And I realize...that you got my back."

  Jane reac
hed up and stroked his face. Then she ran her fingertips over the symbols that had been tattoo'd into his temple.

  "Trust," she said, "is just another word for love."

  Her smile was so radiant that he had to kiss her. And at first, it was a communion kind of thing, a brush of mouths that was reverent and nonsexual.

  That did not last. Before he knew what was happening, he was licking his way into her, dropping her to her feet, holding her against his hardening body.

  His hands smoothed down her shoulders to her waist, her hips, her ass. And as he curled his greater height around her, his head started to spin.

  "Jane..."

  "Yes," she whispered.

  He was tempted to do it right where the hell they were, but he was worried that Fritz might come and check on them to get a food order. That poor doggen had seen a lot in his centuries of service, but a brother banging his mate in the brightly lit tunnel was pushing the bounds.

  "Come on, let's hurry," V said. "I need to be inside you."

  They scrambled their way up the shallow steps, burst into the little hall, and started taking their clothes off before they hit their bedroom. With a sloppy kick, V shut the door behind them and then they were doing a whole lot of strip-kissing.

  "I love you naked," he gritted out against his mate's mouth as they finally stood against each other with no barriers.

  The whole vertical shit did not last. Next thing he knew--thank fuck--he was on top of Jane on the bed, and even though there were so many other things he wanted to do, so many places he wanted his mouth, his tongue, his hands, he really needed to be inside of her.

  For a male who existed separately from everyone, even his brothers, he had to have this unity with his female, with Jane. She and she alone was the one who he could be both strong and vulnerable with, his brilliant, beautiful, full-of-compassion female.

  She was right.

  At the end of the day, absolute trust was the working definition of true love.

  * * *

  --

  As Jane looked up at Vishous, she tilted her pelvis so he could go in deep and she braced herself for a wild onslaught of passion. Not this time. Instead of pounding into her--which she would have been totally fine with--V moved in a slow wave, his erection sliding in and out, the passion more like lighting a lovely candle instead of burning the house down.

  And he stared at her the entire time, those diamond eyes, those wonderful, cynical, often chilly but never cruel, diamond eyes with their navy blue rims boring into her own.

  For some reason, just before she began to climax, she found herself reaching up to his face once again.

  "You're going to be okay," she heard herself say. "That shadow is not in you. You're not that civilian, I promise you. That is not going to happen to you."

  Vishous froze, his eyes growing wide. "What?"

  "It's all right. Look at your arm. Go on."

  He blinked quick a number of times. And then instead of checking the wound, he said in a voice that cracked, "How did you know."

  "Why wouldn't you wonder?" She shrugged. "How could you not? If I were you, that's what would go through my mind. You were wounded in the same way that civilian was, just to a much lesser extent. I would be worried it might spread or something might be harbored inside of me, but that is not what's going on."

  As he shifted and looked at his arm muscle, his stare narrowed. "It is getting better."

  "I agree. And even though we don't know for sure, it is logical to assume that is a favorable sign. Also, you have been acting no different, and honestly, that civilian's wounds were over half his body--more than half."

  V refocused on her eyes. "I want it gone. I don't want that shit in my skin anymore."

  "Those shadows are so much more dangerous than we thought."

  "The fucking Omega has to go."

  "I agree."

  After a moment, he dropped his head and started to kiss her again, and she kissed him right back, giving him everything she had, trying to reassure him not just about his own injury, but the very future of the race. Which was maybe nuts. But sometimes that was all you could do--just pour your hope and love into your partner because they needed the support, even though it arguably wasn't going to change or improve what was really going on.

  With a luscious sigh, Jane arched into her release, the tide cresting in a quiet, profound way, the warmth, the tightening around his arousal, the sweet, sweet relief cleansing her, wiping out, at least for the time being, all the ugliness that she had seen tonight.

  "Oh, God, Jane..." V groaned as he, too, found his orgasm.

  The pleasure seemed to last forever, and then they were spooning in a warm cocoon, the duvet yanked over their bodies, his head on his pillow, hers on the inside of his arm.

  As they lay there in the dark, Jane closed her eyes.

  "What about food," she mumbled as she started to fall asleep.

  "This is all I need," V replied.

  "Me, too..."

  Her last thought before she drifted off was that no, in fact this was not like it had been previously when she'd come back exhausted from work. She was tired, it was true, and it was from her job. But instead of being in here alone, she was very much in this together.

  With the one she loved.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  "Detective de la Cruz, how nice to see you again."

  As Vitoria came forward across the gallery space, she offered the man her hand. "I didn't expect you so soon. It's not even ten in the morning."

  "Traffic was light."

  He was dressed in a version of what he'd had been in the day before, the blazer dark brown this time, the pants black, the shoes slush-worthy and streaked with dried salt stains. He had something in his hand, but not a notebook. A clipboard? No, it was a thin laptop.

  "Would you like to go somewhere to talk?" he said.

  "But of course. This way."

  As she led him over to the stairs to Ricardo's office, she was aware of a curling anxiety. She hid it by reminding herself that if she couldn't handle this kind of heat, she had no business thinking that she could run her brothers' illegal empire.

  And no, she was not going down to the station to meet de la Cruz. He had given her a choice of that or him coming to her. Not a tough decision.

  When they were in her brother's expansive bowling alley of an office, she walked forward to the desk--but stopped halfway there and turned on her heel.

  "Here I am again, being rude. I've forgotten to offer you something to drink once more."

  "I'm good. Thanks."

  "As you do."

  She went the rest of the way, noting that she'd left that chair she'd sat in the previous day still out of place and turned around. Ricardo would not have approved, and she had to resettle it back where it belonged.

  Smoothing her pink and black Chanel suit, she faced him. "So tell me, Detective, have you found something on the security tapes?"

  "Yes. I have."

  As she stared at him, she trained her face to slowly disintegrate into an expression that approximated fear and worry. "Are my brothers okay?"

  "Do you mind if I bring that other chair around so we can sit together?"

  "No. Not at all."

  Feigning like she had to take a seat or she would fall down, she swept her hair over her shoulder, lowered herself into the chair she'd rearranged, and crossed her legs.

  Beneath that show of femininity, she was all calculation.

  De la Cruz joined her on the right side and put the laptop on his knees. "So we were able to gain access to the security footage thanks to the laptop you allowed us to take from that security room. We were very surprised how far back the recordings went."

  "How far did they?"

  "Over a year."

  "A year?"

  She made a show of tracing his face with her eyes, as if she were attempting to read his features. "So what did you find?" she asked in a weak voice.

  "We though
t that isolating the relevant footage would be a challenge, but your brother was very regimented. Every morning--right about this time, actually--he walked the gallery space below. We discovered this when we started watching the footage, and because of this habit, we were able to zero in on the night in question with some efficiency."

  "What happened to him," she asked in a flat voice.

  His brown eyes became grave. "These images are going to be difficult for you to watch. But I have to ask you if you recognize anyone in them."

  Bracing her palms on her knees, she pulled her skirt down a number of times and made a show of swallowing hard--which was in truth not an act. She was suddenly quite emotional. "I find I am nervous."

  "I'm sorry. I really am. But if we're going to catch your brothers' killers, we need to pursue every avenue we have. And you are one of them."

  "I don't know anything about their business, though."

  "I understand that. But sometimes things get jogged." The detective touched himself on the head. "The mind can recall things that we're not aware of knowing."

  "Show me."

  He flipped open the cover of the laptop. After typing some commands, he swiveled the thing around so it faced her.

  "The relevant images have been copied and merged from the various cameras. You'll see the time counter and feed number change in the lower right-hand corner as a result of this. But just concentrate on what's happening, okay?"

  Vitoria leaned in. There was a video box in the center of the screen, showing a black-and-white depiction of the outside stoop of the back entrance of the gallery. Just as de la Cruz had said, there was a time counter in white with a roman numeral "I" next to it off to the side.

  "You ready?"

  "Yes."

  He hit something, and the counter started to move. "You'll note that--"

  "Shh," she said as two figures came into view.

  Men. Tall and big, with one of them dressed nicely in a fine overcoat. The other was wearing a leather jacket of sorts. It was difficult to see their faces as both were looking downward, and they stood before the closed door for just a moment before it was opened for them. They paused, evidently to converse with someone, and then they were inside--and the camera view changed, switching to out in the gallery space proper.

  A man without any outerwear on walked them into where the art was and must have told them to stop where they were, as he went alone to the door to Ricardo's office. There were two guards on either side, and after a momentary discussion, the first guard disappeared, clearly to take a message upstairs.