Stripped Away: Shadow Destroyers Book 2

by Sydney Somers

  Rae planted her hands on the table. “I don’t need to tell any of you to watch your backs. In any situation you could find yourself face to face with a Scion.”

  In her two years as an agent Quinn had only come across a Scion once. Only a handful of them were believed to exist in this realm. Considering the amount of human emotion it took to keep master demons satisfied, it was a wonder they hadn’t gotten more leads before now. But the bastards hadn’t become master demons because they were stupid.

  Quinn registered the rest of the meeting in the back on her head, her mind going back to the scene in the elevator. Since stepping onto the training mat with Jordan, she’d been fighting to find a reason to explain what had set her off, made her panic. The nightmares? Had she dreamt she’d been trapped in an elevator and her subconscious mind had surfaced long enough to fuel the terror-driven adrenaline that had consumed her? Adrenaline that had slowed the second Braxton made her look at him.

  Why was it that her thoughts inevitably drifted to the last few seconds of being trapped in there? Braxton’s arms tight around her, his lips so close that she could have pushed up on her toes to taste the mouth she’d hungered for.

  “What are you doing for lunch?”

  She didn’t know whether to smile or frown at the voice in her head. She glanced over at Braxton, but he pretended to be lost in what Rae was saying.

  Wondering if he’d managed to get a hold on her thoughts in the last few minutes, she waited for him to look at her. He didn’t.

  “My treat,” he added.

  They hadn’t gone to lunch alone together in weeks. Was he feeling sorry for her? No. He wanted to know what set her off. She should be flattered that he cared, but with Braxton it had to be more about the team. How many times had she heard him mention that it only takes one weak link to threaten a team in the field? He would assume any weakness in her could threaten them all, threaten success on assignment, and no doubt he figured some quiet time together might give him an opportunity to probe a bit.

  Not gonna be today.

  “What if I throw in a beer?”

  She waited until he finally looked at her, and shook her head. Purposely projecting her thoughts to Braxton would give him an opening to get a deeper look at where her mind had been moments ago. She’d rather have three shrinks trying to poke around in her head than him.

  Quinn half expected him to press, but with a tip of his head in acknowledgment, he listened to Rae as she told them all where they were headed. Not until Rae stopped talking did Quinn realize Rae hadn’t given her an assignment.

  “What about me?”

  “You haven’t been cleared by Royce yet.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. It would only be a waste of breath where Rae was concerned. Protocol was protocol. If she didn’t know better she’d think Rae and Braxton took turns sleeping with the same rule book under their pillows, while she preferred her daggers. She trusted those pretty shiny pieces of metal—affectionately dubbed Slice and Dice—to save her ass more than any rule book.

  Knowing she had to get it over with, she left the conference room ahead of the others and made her way to Royce’s office. Better to get the head examination over with sooner rather than later.

  “Braxton, hold up for a minute.”

  Only the fact that Rae was the boss stopped him from trailing after Quinn. Maybe the lunch thing hadn’t been his best play. She hadn’t even let him hear her refusal, probably didn’t trust him. He hadn’t figured on sneaking in that time anyway, not with any real hope of getting a fix on what was going through her head. He couldn’t blame her for not opening the door and inviting him in, and he sure as hell hadn’t given her many reasons to lately.

  “What happened in the elevator this morning?” Rae’s fingers slid over the keys of her laptop. She could pretend to be absorbed in what she was doing all she wanted, but Braxton knew she wouldn’t be asking him without Quinn in the room if she didn’t feel the subject warranted more discussion.

  He flipped through the folder on top of the pile he carried, as equally unconcerned as she was pretending to be. “Didn’t we cover that already?”

  She straightened and crossed her arms. “The maintenance guy said you two looked a little cozy in there.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he answered, then cringed inwardly as he realized how guilty that sounded.

  “What am I thinking?” She perched on the edge of the desk, a lioness playing with it prey before it decided whether or not to pounce.

  The look on her face was too schooled to read, and he didn’t even try pushing with her for a glimmer of where she was headed with this discussion. The last time he tried that, as undetectable as he could be at his best, he found himself as her sparring partner for two weeks. He was pretty sure he still had scars. How much easier it would be if Rae and the rest of the agents didn’t have the ability to potentially sense him reading their thoughts, unlike the average person.

  “The maintenance guy likely just misinterpreted.”

  “How so?”

  He wasn’t sure if it would be worse to make it seem like he was covering for a stolen moment between lovers, or telling her the truth about Quinn’s panic attack. Jordan would have his ass for going to Rae before he had any idea what was up with Quinn. He wasn’t about to hide anything, but since he wasn’t even sure what had really happened in there it wouldn’t be worth getting Rae concerned over nothing.

  “I got on Quinn’s nerves this morning and she was ready to take out her frustration in there instead of in the training room.”

  The slow press of her mouth told him Rae didn’t believe a damn word. “Royce has been concerned about Quinn.”

  Royce got concerned when it looked like it was going to rain out, but Braxton didn’t share that particular opinion about the good doctor. “Because of something Quinn’s confided?”

  “It’s more what she’s not saying I think. Has she spoken to you about anything out of the ordinary, any problems?”

  At least there he could be perfectly honest. “Not a thing.”

  She nodded slowly, turned and closed her laptop, and tidied the few loose sheets of printouts. “I’ve noticed some tension between you two. Should I be worried?”

  “Not at all.” He hadn’t busted his ass to keep his distance from Quinn to have the effort make things even more uncomfortable for everyone. It had been easier to steer clear of Quinn than have to face her knowing the truth. A truth he’d always believed would cause the very same awkward relationship he’d stuck them with in trying to act as though nothing happened. That hadn’t been part of the plan, and looking at it now he realized just what his own idiotic behavior had cost them. Like it or not, he and Quinn needed to talk about more than just what happened in the elevator. Not a conversation he was looking forward to. He just had to get her to talk to him first. With her turning him down for lunch, he knew she wasn’t going to make talking to him a priority or even a consideration. Too bad he wasn’t going to sit back and give her the space he’d been happy to offer up for weeks now.

  Expecting the usual, “If anything comes up, let me know,” Braxton was surprised when Rae said, “Don’t be too hard on her.”

  For a moment he thought he heard disapproval in her voice, but before he could pinpoint if it had to do with them in the elevator or him giving Quinn the cold shoulder, Rae sailed past him. Her confident strides clicked out a dire warning for anyone not smart enough to read between the heel taps. Rae was forever a force to be reckoned with and never one to underestimate.

  Frowning, he waited until the sound of her brisk steps faded down the hall, then left through the side door, hoping to catch Quinn before she reached Royce’s office. The door to the shrink’s outer office was open, and Quinn stared unseeing at one of the blurry watercolors Royce had up on the wall.

  “How about dinner then?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the painting. “I have plans.”

  He lea
ned against the jamb. “You wouldn’t be avoiding me, would you?”

  “The same way you’ve been dodging me for the last two months?”

  “You still need to eat.” There was no point in denying what they both knew was the truth. And pathetically all it took was the time in the elevator to prove to him how flawed his plan was. Mostly because staying away hadn’t done a damn thing to lessen his desire for her.

  “Worried I’m not getting all my vitamins?”

  “I just think it wouldn’t hurt to share a meal and just…talk.”

  Her brows scrunched together as she spared him a glance. “Talk? As in that thing where words come from each other’s mouths. Questions, comments, sarcasm and the like?”

  “That would be a fairly accurate description.”

  She went back to staring at the painting. “I’m not interested in a one-sided conversation, so I’ll pass, thanks.”

  “Who said anything about it being one-sided? Apart from when I stop to put food in my mouth, naturally.”

  Quinn sighed, and he sensed she was contemplating giving in.

  “All set?” Royce edged past him, the coffee in the mug he carried sloshing precariously over the rim. He glanced at Braxton, offered the customary professional smile, but one that revealed his surprise at finding Braxton there. “Need another tête à tête, Agent Murphy?”

  “Rain-check, Doc. Find me later,” Braxton said to Quinn before she followed Royce inside without comment.

  A waste of breath. Her nodding in agreement would have been as surprising as her reaching out to jerk loose the seam of Royce’s pants that looked to be riding up the shrink’s ass.

  Braxton contemplated parking his butt in the waiting area until the session ended, but Quinn would hear him out here, and would likely emerge ready to chew him a new one for it. Better to make use of the bit of time he had before he headed out for assignment by attacking some of the paperwork he was supposed to have finished when he came in this morning. He’d made a pitiful attempt at it, but there hadn’t been much time before his own appointment with Royce that morning. And his attention kept returning to the memory of Quinn’s body tucked against him, her breasts warm against his chest, her heart racing.

  At this rate he wouldn’t be getting any paperwork done even now. Maybe a spin in the training room would help him focus. Let him work off whatever the tightness in his gut was. Concern for Quinn? Or just recognition that his decision to let her believe nothing happened between them had been the wrong one?

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and turned back down the hall towards the training room.

  Now, where the hell was Drew hiding?

  * * *

  “Up for some relaxation techniques today?”

  “No.” Quinn didn’t slouch into the leather sofa, as was her usual habit. She was too keyed up, her heel tapping furiously on the floor.

  “Any more nightmares?” When she didn’t answer right away he continued. “One last night then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any more details this time?”

  With a deep breath, she tried to reel in the images that continued to blur into the background of her memory. “Not really.”

  “I heard about this morning.”

  “I didn’t realize that elevator mishaps were worthy of a memo to staff.”

  Royce chuckled in that preschool teacher way of his. “They’re not usually, no.”

  “Braxton and I managed to pass the short time we were in there.” Forced to recall her stint in the dark, she felt her throat tighten.

  “How are things between the two of you?”

  “Fine.”

  He nodded. “I’ve never seen him in here waiting for you before.”

  “He wasn’t waiting.”

  He nodded again, and she felt the little pressure that indicated someone was trying to push at the mental barriers that kept everyone, especially the telepaths, out of her head.

  “You’re usually much smoother than that, Doc.” With thoughts of Braxton teasing the corners of her mind, she was even more determined to keep Royce out of her head. Just because Royce’s ability to read thoughts might make his job a smidge easier, didn’t mean Quinn had to concede to it. The higher-ups demanded these regular sessions and so she tolerated them. Two months ago, when the most she had to talk about was a demon getting a sucker punch in, she didn’t hate sitting here so much.

  “You’re more tight-lipped than usual, Quinn. Out of all the agents here, you’ve always been the hardest to get a handle on.”

  “Always keep them guessing.”

  “Keep who guessing?”

  She shrugged, and glanced at her watch. Another twenty minutes to go.

  “How about we just talk about your last assignment?”

  Quinn nodded and felt some of the tension drain from her spine, relieved he was letting the elevator subject drop. It was far easier to talk about the last demon’s head she had severed than to explain why she was dreaming the things she was, or why she’d flipped out in the elevator.

  Sometimes it was just safer to stick with the familiar and pretend the other stuff didn’t matter so much. Even if it was tearing her apart inside, one piece at a time.

  * * *

  She was starved. There wasn’t anything in the fridge—nothing worth touching anyway. She needed groceries. Instead she dialed for a pizza and snapped up the latest season of Dawson’s Creek that she’d picked up on DVD. Nothing like a few hours of teenage purple prose and melodrama to unwind from one hell of a day.

  And thank God she still had beer in the fridge. She poured one in a glass and headed for the tub with the intention of a quick soak before the delivery guy arrived. While she waited for the tub to fill, she dialed her twin sister and left a short message for Cass to call her back when she got in.

  Overhead the married couple that still hadn’t clued into the fact they needed a divorce started going at it again—the third time in the last fifteen minutes. Tuning out their pissed-off voices, Quinn focused on the classical music playing on the floor below hers.

  Her next day off she really was going to make that appointment about applying for a mortgage. She needed space, a place at the edge of town like Braxton had where the most excitement she’d hear at night would be the song of dozens of…crickets.

  Maybe the divorced couple wasn’t really so bad.

  By the time she got out of the tub and changed into her favorite pair of jeans and a hot pink T-shirt, the pizza guy hit the door intercom.

  “The usual, Quinn.”

  She handed him a twenty when he made his way up to her apartment door, then waved off the change. “See you next time.”

  An hour and four slices of pizza later, she stared mindlessly at the television, her attention occasionally drifting to Mr. Murphy swimming circles in his goldfish bowl on the corner shelf. She wondered if Braxton would be amused that she’d named her twelfth goldfish after him. She smiled, her eyes feeling heavy.

  Only when her body jolted from sleep, a familiar nightmare hovering in the back of her mind, did she realize she’d drifted off. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, as if to erase the blurred images she couldn’t see clearly, but didn’t want to have to face anyway.

  Almost midnight.

  She was set to leave for assignment to track down a mimic demon with Braxton in the morning. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to being trapped with him on a plane for even a few minutes—forget hours—and couldn’t imagine what inspired Rae to pair them together after assigning them separate destinations for the better part of the last two months.

  She glanced down the hall, deciding it wasn’t worth trying to sleep just yet. Not with the nightmares waiting for her to drop into a deep sleep so they could strike.

  Instead she retrieved her daggers from the island in the kitchen, and after strapping them to her thighs, tied a sweater at her waist to hide them. She wasn’t expecting to find any demons skulking in her favorite local hunting ground tonight.
She wouldn’t be that lucky. Not to mention temporal activity had been null in the area lately, which unfortunately meant zero new gateway openings. Still, the air and a walk might do her good. Maybe if she tired herself out she’d be too exhausted to dream at all.

  On the way home from the ten block radius she often circled when she was too keyed up to sleep, she got lucky. The low timber of the voice, the way it rattled distinctly over the voice box brought her up short.

  She shook her head. The demon would just have to be in Jake’s. The western bar wasn’t her favorite hangout, and seeing as how one of the bartenders never failed to make a big deal whenever she poked her head in there, stopping tonight would be an inconvenience. It wasn’t her fault that a war demon had once started a fight inside just to “feel” the raw aggressive emotions and violence that came with a good bar brawl. And she certainly hadn’t expected to become a legend of sorts for putting the hostile’s head through a jukebox before taking the fight outside to finish the job more discreetly.

  Maybe she’d get lucky and Wally wouldn’t be working. She couldn’t walk away when the Shadow Demon inside could do more damage to an innocent if she even thought to turn a blind eye. She never had, and she wasn’t about to make tonight the exception.

  Inside, smoke floated on the warm air and Shania Twain was belting out what didn’t impress her much as Quinn was waved past one of the bouncers she knew. Her eyesight didn’t need any time to adjust to the dim light, her gaze immediately sliding through the crowd to pinpoint what she was looking for.

  A female—blonde and wearing a crimson bustier and painted-on black leather pants—was perched on the edge of a stool, sandwiched between two burly men.

  Quinn cocked her head, identifying the human-looking hostile as a telepath demon. She groaned. She was damn sick of the mind readers.