by Anna Windsor
Dio tensed and Bela stood, even as Camille got to her feet and backed off a step. He figured they were getting ready for the flash wave that would finally crack Jack’s skull, but all Andy said was, “Took you long enough.”
Her slight drawl made each word longer. Sweeter.
Bela, Camille, and Dio let out a collective breath, though none of them seemed to relax. When Jack couldn’t form any proper words, Andy pointed to the folder. “New case?”
“New case,” Jack managed, handing the folder to Bela.
As she opened the jacket and frowned at the photos, he got himself in gear enough to say, “Another murder. We need to get to the scene while the energy might be traceable.”
Once he finally got that out of his mouth, almost everybody moved at once, gathering papers and weapons and tossing away soda cans and chip bags. Saul moved past him to go over the location and victim with Duncan and John, and the Sibyls started talking about which other fighting groups to notify, and in what order.
Andy stayed on the couch, eyes locked on Jack. Her hair had gone damp in a matter of seconds, and the sleeves of her tunic dripped steadily on the floor. Aquakinesis. She was drawing water to her, moving it from nearby pipes or sprinklers. Jack had studied all the Sibyl abilities during his time at the Motherhouses. Water Sibyls had better control of their element than most fire Sibyls—but not by much. Water energy could be powerful. All-consuming.
Jack was beginning to understand that in ways he’d never expected. He wanted to peel off her wet clothing and see everything underneath, and there was nothing he could do to stop the wanting.
It’s just physical. Ignore it and it’ll pass.
His better sense talking again. Funny how quiet that rational voice seemed.
On the beach, Andy had seemed amused by him. Now she seemed distant, almost angry—or maybe this was how Andy did unsettled and afraid.
Did he unsettle her?
Jack thought he did, and he didn’t believe he was just being nice to himself because she rattled him so completely. God, he’d been out of this game too long. One-nighters and quick meaningless encounters met his physical needs, and given his past, his life now, that was the best he could hope to achieve. This kind of thrust and parry, this kind of unspoken emotional sparking that could end up being meaningful, he remembered it from way too long ago, and suddenly realized he had missed it.
The lines of Andy’s beautiful face tightened. “Don’t think me saying yes to your little favor means anything.”
Her firm assertion hit him like a slap. That should have restored his sanity, but his next words were, “It means something.”
He heard himself talking, heard the loaded, suggestive tone and the way his rough voice cut under the chatter and activity. He’d made a statement of fact, born from instinct and a steaming, building certainty deep in his gut.
Her lips parted and her mouth came open. Her expression was supposed to be incredulous and mocking, but he saw it as sexy anyway. She knew that. Must have seen it on his face. He could tell by how fast she frowned at him.
“Think what you want, you egotistical jackass.” She pointed at him, and the sprinkler over his head rattled like it was about to turn loose and douse him. The green highlights in her eyes came alive. Passion? Fury? He couldn’t tell. Not much difference between the two sometimes. “I came back here to help my quad and the OCU. You—I don’t give a fuck about you, so don’t push me.”
Jack couldn’t move his eyes away from hers, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her. “I won’t push you.”
And again, he could tell they both understood his meaning.
I won’t push you because I won’t have to.
She stood so fast he readied himself for the blast of water that would break his ribs and crush his lungs.
He probably deserved it, but it never came.
She walked straight to him even though she could have gone around him on either side, put her hands on his chest, shoved him out of her way, and kept walking toward the stairs. She didn’t look back as she climbed the steps, loosening the laces on her tunic.
“She’s changing into her battle leathers,” somebody said from behind him. Bela, Jack thought. Good timing, because he had almost followed Andy with zero memory of why he was here, what he was supposed to be doing, and how many other people were counting on him to keep a level head.
Instead of irritation over his lack of focus on the mission at hand, he felt impatience with the situation. Something was getting in the way of him going to have another word with that fascinating, infuriating woman, maybe daring her to tell him she felt no interest in him at all.
Jack figured Andy might do anything on a dare. She seemed the type. She seemed his type, and he wanted to know a lot more about her. He wanted to know everything about her, especially how she’d feel stretched out beneath him, giving him hell as he teased her with his mouth, his hands, his whispers in her ear, until she dug her nails into his back and demanded exactly what she wanted.
Bad, his rational mind told him.
But the rest of his mind had another thought.
Soon.
Bela drove her black SUV toward the warehouse, cutting around cabs and buses with a fluid grace developed over years of New York City driving. Camille rode shotgun with Dio and Andy in the backseat, and Duncan, John, Saul, and Jack followed behind them in one of the OCU’s panel vans.
Andy never got nervous with Bela driving, but she often got nervous when Dio stared at her. At the moment, Dio was staring so hard Andy wanted to crawl out her tinted window. Her leathers would probably protect her if she jumped, right?
“What the hell was that little drama between you and Jack Blackmore?” Dio’s tone didn’t quite reach accusatory, but it got close.
“Nothing.” Andy almost shouted the word because she was still so pissed over that—over the—over him. Just him. Unbelievable that she hadn’t tried to drown the bastard all over again. Her own self-control amazed her.
Dio kept her chin high and turned her eyes forward, but Andy felt wave after wave of something coming off her despite the elementally treated leather suit that should have contained at least a portion of Dio’s power. Some sort of energy that reminded her vaguely of the movements of water and the sea. Andy had no idea what it was or why she was sensing it, but the urge to say something about it grew like an itch until she had to scratch it.
“What’s your problem, Dio?”
“My problem?” A sharp burst of air blew through the backseat, stirring Dio’s wispy blond hair all across her delicate face. She squeezed the door handle with one hand, and with the other she toyed with the vicious three-clawed African throwing knives forming her belt and hanging in long strips down both legs. “That whole scene back at the brownstone—too weird.”
The energy surging from Dio increased. Anger, Andy’s instincts told her. She felt like she was gazing into a pool, seeing layers of water flowing with different shades and temperatures. Mistrust. Suspicion. Worry. But at base, deep in the well, the source is … confusion.
“You felt surprised and confused by the undercurrents you picked up between Jack and me.” Andy took a breath, trying not to let her thoughts speed up to match Dio’s air energy. “Well, welcome to the club.”
Dio let off another hair-raising burst of wind. “Surpr—confused? No way.” She glared at Andy all over again, and this time suspicion crept into her storm-gray eyes. “Dear Goddess. Did Elana finally manage to teach you how to read emotions?”
Andy couldn’t look away from Dio even though she knew it was probably a good idea. Her first instinct was to lie, but as usual, she reverted to honesty. “She’s been trying to make me learn, but I didn’t think I was getting it. I’m not sure—but yeah, I think I’m picking up feelings from you.”
Dio’s eyes darkened. From off in the distance came the ominous rumble of thunder out of a clear sky. “Stay out of my head.”
Andy could almost smell the acrid ligh
tning threatening to explode thanks to Dio’s unusual and definitely unsanctioned weather-making talent. Dio had almost been denied the chance to join a fighting group because the talent had proved so dangerous in the past that the Mothers feared it, and she was absolutely forbidden to use it in battle. That wouldn’t stop her from bursting Andy’s eardrums with thunder or planting a crackle of lightning across Andy’s forehead. There, in the back of the SUV with Dio quivering from anger and discomfort, Andy understood why the Mothers wanted nothing to do with weather making.
“Emotion reading is one of her jobs, Dio.” Camille, the most level-headed fire Sibyl on the planet, weighed in from the front seat, trying to calm things down. “Flow. As in the emotional flow of the fighting group. She’s supposed to sense our emotions and help us work through them—not that your feelings are so hard to sense anyway.”
More thunder turned loose, this time right above the SUV. “Bullshit!” Dio’s hands stayed in her lap. Her fingers twitched. “Nobody gets to poke around inside me like I’m some sort of child who needs soothing.”
Nobody said a word in response, because that was exactly how Dio often behaved. They all knew it—even Dio. Andy tried to make herself watch Manhattan’s scenery flow by outside her window, but the buildings, sidewalks, and people all seemed like a sun-drenched blur.
“Something did go down between you and Jack Blackmore back at the brownstone, Andy.” Bela’s words carried the subtle power and force of her earth element, and her dark eyes seemed both kind and understanding as she glanced at Andy in the rearview. “I was afraid the air between you might catch on fire.”
Andy felt her jeans and shirt get damp, both from sweat and from a surge of her water energy. “He made me madder than hell. You got that part right.”
Bela and Camille and Dio waited, saying nothing, and Andy thought about Elana. Had the old woman been giving Andy’s quad lessons on being silent until Andy spilled her guts?
Andy had no idea what to say because she wasn’t ready to think too hard about Jack—not that he or anybody else was giving her that choice—but she knew she had to come up with something. “Okay, okay. Jack seemed more intense than usual. I don’t know why.” She took another breath when she finished talking, and this time she caught hints of earth, fire, and hot summer winds as the elemental energy mingled with her own to help her calm herself.
“Looked like interest to me,” Camille said. “Something too raw and powerful for Jack to cover up, so he just went with it.”
Andy absorbed the water soaking into her jeans, but she had nowhere to send it. She slipped her hand to her side and let it flow onto the SUV’s floor, intending to deal with it after they parked. “When he saw me on the island this morning, he acted a little goofy, but I thought it was because I was in my underwear.”
“Oh, shit.” Bela banged her hand on the steering wheel. “You didn’t say anything about him catching you half dressed. I’m so sorry. If we’d had any idea he was planning to show up on the beach today to confront you, we would have warned you.”
“Look, whether or not he’s interested in me, I really don’t care. It’s not mutual.” There. Andy felt triumphant, getting that out of her mouth. Nice and firm and definitive. A boundary. A limit. She tried to ignore the sudden silence and the furtive glances from three separate pairs of eyes that threatened to take away her victory, but that was hard.
Sometimes, living with three intuitive women who noticed everything sucked as much as the chaotic construction of Motherhouse Kérkira.
“Elana wants us to build a new Motherhouse,” Andy said to change the subject, hoping like hell everyone would let her. “Just the water Sibyls.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dio whipped toward Andy, mouth open. “Where?”
Andy shrugged. “No idea.”
“How?” Bela and Camille asked the question at the same time, almost in harmony. They looked as stunned as Dio, but not nearly as angry.
Relief began to trickle through Andy. She could hardly believe this was easier to talk about than Jack, but it definitely didn’t make her feel like she was losing her mind. “Elana acts like Motherhouse Wherever will just rise from the sea fully formed. Maybe she’s finally going around the bend. She’s too old to even think about the actual number of years she’s lived.”
Bela gripped the SUV’s steering wheel so tight her fingers seemed to pale. “Sibyls don’t go senile. At least I don’t think they do. Elana and Ona are the oldest ones I know.”
“Ona’s a nutcase, so that’s comforting.” Andy went back to staring out the window. “And, for the record, I’m not attracted to Jack Blackmore.”
“Yes, you are,” Camille said.
“He’s so handsome he’s almost pretty,” Bela added.
Andy’s jaw clenched, and she had to make herself relax before she could answer. “Pretty on the outside doesn’t make up for asshole on the inside.”
“I don’t think he’s a complete waste of skin,” Camille said. “John considers him a close friend, and so does Duncan. And the Brent brothers stay close to him. He’s got to have some redeeming qualities.”
“He keeps them well hidden,” Dio muttered, and when she made eye contact with Andy, Andy felt their tentative bond reestablishing itself. Andy nodded, agreeing with her, and Dio’s air energy settled into little breezes.
Because of the air Sibyl–water Sibyl teaching connection, Andy shared living space with Dio upstairs in the brownstone. They had always managed to get along even though Dio was anything but the laid-back, supportive team member most air Sibyls strove to be. Like all of her fighting group, Dio was important to Andy, and Andy didn’t relish the thought of ongoing conflict with her sister Sibyl.
What was it Andy had told Elana on the beach—that Jack Blackmore was a tension-creating machine?
Yeah.
That was accurate, wasn’t it?
When they reached the curb in front of the warehouse, Andy finally got to bail out of the SUV. Thank God for the space, the warm summer air, the chaos of traffic and pedestrians. The normalcy of the New York City day, at least on the surface, did more to settle her nerves than anything in a long time, but her thoughts still spun like a big whirlpool, sloshing in her mind until she couldn’t focus on the walkway, the surrounding pavement, or even the warehouse door to see if there were subtle traces of debris or energy that might be important.
I’m not attracted to Jack Blackmore. But if I am, it’s only physical and I will never take it past looking and admiring.
She didn’t even admire him that much.
Okay, he was handsome, but good looks didn’t wash away months of him shouting orders and ignoring the fact that nobody else thought he was God’s gift to anything.
“You okay, honey?” A hand gripped Andy’s shoulder, and she jumped a foot before she realized it was Bela—and that she’d been standing, spaced out, her hand on the warehouse door handle.
“Fine, fine. Sorry.” Andy let herself close her eyes for a second and imagine Bela, Dio, and Camille standing quietly behind her, waiting for her and counting on her to be at her best. The whole conversation from the SUV—it needed to be tabled now, especially in Andy’s own mind. If she didn’t settle down, she might wash the whole scene clean by accident, and she definitely wouldn’t be doing her best job as a Sibyl.
She checked the Heckler and Koch P-11 underwater pistol she carried when she was suited up for Sibyl work. The weapon felt cool and solid in its holster. It wasn’t a SIG, but it handled moisture a lot better. She tried to breathe, tried to think about the ocean, the beach, or any of Elana’s dozens of wise statements and mantras.
Not so easy.
It took a few seconds, but she found the rhythm, and a few seconds later she settled into the focus she needed to be safe and walk into the crime scene fully aware. After a slow count to three, she pushed open the warehouse door.
The OCU officer on guard stepped aside to let her and her fighting group pass, and as the d
oor closed behind them, Andy heard another vehicle pulling up outside.
Jack and the guys. Not waiting. They can catch up. Then, a few steps into the building, she had another irritating thought. I should have listened better when Elana tried to teach me to shut out distractions in the ocean.
As she walked farther into the crime scene, older and more comfortable instincts took over. Reality edged across her worries and confusion like a bloody shadow, and the details of the warehouse got a lot more salient—especially the fact that the place was empty except for the pile of body parts in the center of the concrete floor.
“I’ve seen gross before,” Andy muttered, “but that’s definitely a contender for Most Disgusting Ever.”
Bela stopped short of the corpse pieces and glanced around the warehouse again. “This place could have housed an automotive showroom. It’s huge.”
Andy estimated four stories and noted the reinforced ceiling—more floors on top. OCU would be determining ownership and working on access to those floors.
“Offices to the left,” Camille said. “One door’s open and taped off.”
“No unusual scents. Just blood and decay and old moldy warehouse.” Dio gave her report from a distance, and Andy knew she was keeping a broad perspective and paying close attention to everything. While the rest of them worked, Dio would make sure nothing snuck up on them. Even with the OCU presence, Dio would never trust the safety of her fighting group to outsiders. She was the broom, and she’d be the one sweeping up—or planting a throwing knife between the eyes of—any threat.
Bela put her palm over the copper crescent moon charm Camille had forged especially to enhance her awareness of earth energy, and Andy sensed Bela’s power flowing into the sand and rock making up the concrete floor. Her eyebrows immediately came together. “Something came into the building and made contact with the ground there.” She pointed to a spot under a smashed window around the three-story level.
Andy stared at the window, then at the floor. “Whatever it was scaled the building or climbed down its façade from the roof, broke through, and what—rappelled to the floor? Jumped?”
