by Anna Windsor
As for the upside …
“No upside,” he said out loud.
But Andy flickered through his mind anyway. Not the underwear- or leather-clad version, but the Andy who wore bright, obnoxious tunics and jeans. The Andy who smiled and teased and seemed to see right into his soul. The Andy who looked so soft when she slept that it had taken every bit of his self-control not to lean down and kiss her.
That Andy felt totally new to him, and even more exciting.
Jack opened the last box. Right on top was a framed photo of the only two people he had ever loved with no strings and no regrets. His mom and sister stared out at him with their big brown eyes, and their matching chestnut curls made them look more like siblings than parent and child.
The sudden ache in his chest didn’t surprise him. It never got any easier, losing Mom and Ginger. Even after all these years, he’d give anything to see them again, just for five minutes—but that wasn’t possible. They were dead to him.
They had to be.
Jack unlocked a drawer in his desk, put the photo inside, then closed the drawer and locked it again. It was the best he could do and the most he could let himself have, and seeing the family he’d lost reminded him of yet another reason why he didn’t need to hang around New York City. Too damned close to bad memories.
Cal Brent stopped in the office doorway, smoothing his brown suit. “The Sibyls still don’t have anything on the hairs they recovered from the warehouse body?”
Jack wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to face Cal. “Even with supernaturally advanced science, genetic analysis takes time. I expect they’ll let us know when they’re ready, and I’m not pushing the issue. If you want to bug ’em, have at it.”
Cal’s grin filled up his whole face. “Nah. I’m impatient, but I’m not crazy. And you—jeans at work? Is there something I need to know?”
Jack gestured to the office. “Moving day. I dressed for the job.”
“Uh-huh. I’m not crazy, like I said, but something’s definitely up with you.”
Crazy.
Now there was a word that resonated for Jack. It had been more than seventy-two hours since he’d let himself get near Andy, and she was still filling his thoughts more than the cases at hand. More than that, he hadn’t expected to lose his mind when he saw her at the brownstone after she came back. Until he got a grip on the attraction he felt to her, he needed to keep his distance. Stay clear.
Saul joined his brother in the office doorway and pushed his way inside, glancing around. “Not bad. You really are an old maid at heart.”
“Fuck you.” Jack glared at Saul. He had on jeans full of holes and a battered Giants T-shirt, and he’d left his long hair loose for the day, making him look so different from Cal that only their similar build and hair color gave away any relationship.
“By the way, nobody can stand your mood anymore, Jack.” Saul acted like he was studying Jack’s library, but Jack saw the conspiratorial look Saul gave Cal. “Please go see your honey soon so we can live with you.”
Jack tensed all over, heat rising to his face. Saul hadn’t really disrespected Andy, but … almost, and Jack didn’t like it. “She’s not my honey. Christ, we’re not in boot camp anymore, Saul.”
This time Saul didn’t hide the look he gave Cal or the smirk he turned on Jack. “I’m not the one acting like a teenager with a crush.”
“He’s got a point,” Cal said, his tone pitch-perfect with Saul’s.
Jack didn’t bother to go at either one of them because he knew when he was outnumbered. Instead, he went with, “What do you think about a sketch artist?”
Saul’s teasing expression faltered as he tried to add the question to the conversation and failed. “Excuse me?”
“We’ve had our heads crammed into the world of weird so long, it’s easy to forget about regular law enforcement tools.” Jack reached into the last box on the floor and pulled out some books. He walked past Saul and situated them on one of the bookshelves as Cal leaned against the doorframe. “Andy saw something in her mind at the warehouse. She couldn’t describe it with words, but maybe she could lead a sketch artist through creating a reasonable image.”
Silence ruled as Jack went back to the box, but then Cal said, “It’s got potential.”
Saul said, “Great. Now you’ve got a good excuse to call her.”
“Call who?” Jack got the last of the books and slid them into place.
Saul laughed at him outright. “A certain hot water Sibyl.”
“Yeah, about that, Jack. Seriously.” Cal’s voice changed from ribbing to more professional. “Some of the guys around here really are worried about what you’re planning with Andy. The Lowell brothers, for example—”
“Can speak for ourselves, thanks.” Nick Lowell’s deep voice cut across Cal, chopping off any further discussion.
With a sorry-pal grimace in Jack’s direction, Cal got out of the doorway, leaving room for Nick and Creed Lowell, a matched set of half-demon muscle and lots of combined years in law enforcement. On top of that, they had both married powerful Sibyls. They had black hair, black eyes, and similar dark expressions. Behind them stood Jake Lowell, the younger brother, nothing like the rest of his family with his blond hair and fair features, though he, too, had married a Sibyl.
At the moment, Jake seemed benign enough, especially since he had Creed’s son, Ethan, propped on one hip and Nick’s daughter, Neala, resting on the other. The children, both three years old, stared at him with too-wise and mischievous expressions. As for Mr. Uncle Demon, the look on Jake’s face stayed neutral, but Jack read that as more menacing than the other two brothers put together. Jake had been turned into a full-blooded Astaroth demon by his psychotic parents, but he’d found his way back to his brothers, to sanity, to a pretty good life with his air Sibyl wife—and of course to the Lowell family profession of police work.
Saul didn’t have the decency to leave like Cal did. He took a seat in one of the two leather armchairs on the visitor side of Jack’s desk, and his amused expression carried an unmistakable message. You’re on your own with this one, too, and I get to laugh if you get your face busted.
Creed Lowell came into the room first, followed by Nick.
Jake stayed in the doorway like he was standing guard, moving only to amuse the children and keep them calm. Good thing, because Jack was pretty sure the little girl could burn down the townhouse if she got riled.
Jack didn’t flex or tense or get ready for battle, but his pulse was definitely up a few beats.
Creed fixed him with a hard stare, and one of his hands clenched into a fist. “Andy was my partner before she—you know—had the change. It’s sort of my fault that it happened to her. She got attacked—”
“I know.” Jack nodded. “By a low-level Legion cult bastard with water talent that activated hers. While she was out in the field with you. I studied everything I could in my time at the Motherhouses.”
This seemed to ease Creed a fraction, the fact that Jack had taken the time to learn about Andy’s past when he had the opportunity, but he still had a point to make. “I let her down then, but I won’t let her down now.”
“I’ve got her back, too.” Nick Lowell always managed to sound like an angry prick, but Jack knew he was a good man and a first-rate officer. “Andy’s special and I won’t see her mistreated.”
“What they’re trying to say is, leave the lady alone.” Jake Lowell, as usual, said the least, but his words carried more impact because he let his demon fangs and claws show when he spoke. Both children giggled and tugged at him, obviously amused by his demon essence coming forward.
Jack wasn’t so amused. Even though Jake was standing behind his brothers, Jack caught the clear outline of Jake’s full demon presence—white hair, shining golden eyes, translucent pearl skin, a double set of huge leathery wings, and yeah, those claws and fangs. Nick and Creed, if they shifted to their Curson demon forms, would be huge, hulking golden monsters, barely
able to tell friend from foe. Jake, on the other hand, retained every bit of his sense of self, his purpose, and his cunning.
The thought of getting shredded by demons didn’t bother Jack, but the possibility that the Lowell brothers hadn’t come here of their own accord made his gut churn. When he glanced at Saul, he could tell Saul was wondering the same thing, because all the goading had drained out of Saul’s expression. The man seemed concerned now, for Jack and maybe for Andy, too.
Jack looked the Lowell brothers in the face, one at a time, as he asked what he needed to know. “Did Andy send you here?”
Nick, Creed, and Jake gave away nothing in their stone-cold gazes for a few seconds, then Creed looked away and Nick glanced at the ceiling. Jake kept his gaze leveled on Jack, and he was the one who spoke. “No. Andy hasn’t said anything to us about you.”
“Andy!” Neala’s gleeful shout echoed through the hall. “Andy soon?”
“Andy soon,” Jake answered her, smooth as ever.
Jack’s insides uncoiled so fast he wanted to shout from the relief. Instead, he settled for bargaining with the Lowells. “I don’t plan to harass Andy or do her any harm. Is that enough for you three?”
“I’m not sure.” Creed kept one fist tightly clenched. “What are you planning, Jack?”
The other two didn’t speak, and Jack couldn’t help seeing them as a posse of big brothers. Once upon a time, before his childhood went to shit and he lost his mother and sister to federal marshals and the witness protection program, he’d been a big brother. It didn’t take much to dust off the memory, but it took a lot to handle the sudden chasm of loss that reopened when he thought about his father’s death and the only two surviving members of his family.
“If she ever, and I mean ever, for any reason, lets on that I’ve done anything she didn’t want, you know where to find me.” Jack looked at them again in the order in which they stood, Creed, Nick, and Jake. He understood what they needed now, and he could give it to them, one big brother to another. “All three of you. And I won’t bring any backup to the fight.”
For a few seconds, nobody said anything. Then Creed’s fist loosened, and Nick’s body posture relaxed. Even Jake seemed to reel himself back enough to be fully human.
“That’ll work,” Nick said. “For now.”
“What are you idiots talking about?” Andy’s voice rang out in the hall behind Jake, loud and laced with curiosity.
“Andy!” Neala strained to get down from Jake’s arms, and Ethan tried to climb over Jake’s shoulder, shouting her name along with his cousin.
Andy called back to the children, and Jack caught a glimpse of her as she gave hugs and kisses.
Jake stood fast despite the wriggling of his niece and nephew. He and his brothers had gone instantly mute when Andy spoke, so it was Saul who had to save the day. “Ah, just … the weather.” He got to his feet, smiling but looking ready to exit in a hurry.
“Yeah.” Nick cleared his throat. “Hot as a bi—” He looked at the children, cleared his throat again. “Hot outside, isn’t it? Well, we’ll take the kids up and feed them. See you when you’re done.”
And with that, the Lowell brothers made themselves scarce so fast Jack could have sworn all three were Astaroth demons with the ability to go invisible and fly away. Saul didn’t stick around, either, and Jack followed him as he hightailed it into the hallway.
Saul gave Andy a mock salute as he passed by her, then took off toward the conference room, probably pretending he had some kind of patrol report to give or receive. She stared at him, then turned her gaze to Jack, asking questions with her gorgeous two-tone eyes.
Jeans. She’s wearing jeans, and this time, the tunic’s rainbow-colored with great big sleeves. A pair of huge sunglasses had been propped in her unruly red hair, and she was eating the last of some freaky-smelling sandwich—artichokes and goat cheese on rye, if his nose wasn’t lying to him. She looked like a glorious, happy mess.
It struck Jack that he could fall in love with her.
He made himself stop an arm’s length from her even though he wanted to go closer. What he really wanted to do was smooth her hair and help her lose the sunglasses. Then he’d kiss her and drink in that feminine scent of vanilla and ocean wind mixed with the tang of that weird sandwich—but she was probably packing her SIG and a backup weapon. Even if she didn’t drown him, bullets could do some damage.
A second or so ticked by before Jack realized Andy had finished eating. She licked her fingers and appraised him, too.
“Well, well.” Her eyes moved from his face to his feet, and he felt every inch of that stare. “Look at you. Jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. I’d have bet money you didn’t even own clothes like that, Jack.”
Jack really liked listening to that soft Southern accent, especially when she wasn’t swearing at him. “You don’t like my suits. Flaming Bunch of Idiots gear, right?”
The corners of her mouth turned upward, and her smile came slowly. Surprised. Maybe curious. “I didn’t figure you for the kind of guy to change anything about yourself because of somebody else’s opinion.”
“No changes.” He pulled up the neck of his black T-shirt. “This is as much me as the FBI costume. I just don’t let my casual side come out to play too often.”
“You play?”
“Yeah.” Jack heard his voice drop. Damn, but she teased as well as she tortured. “I can play.”
“The surprises just don’t stop.” The most beautiful blush fanned across her freckled cheeks. She looked away from him and a few drops of water spilled off the hem of her jeans.
Jack’s blood surged like he’d just won something, but he didn’t think he’d better try to claim any prizes.
“I’m due to babysit Neala and Ethan so Nick and Creed get a breather, but I thought I’d drop off what we’ve got on the hairs so far, and what the Mothers told us about the coins.” She managed to look him in the face again and held out an envelope.
He took it, exercising every bit of his willpower not to brush her fingers with his own and push his luck.
“It’s not much,” she continued, the color slowly fading from her cheeks. “So far, all we know is whatever shed the hairs is definitely part human—or it used to be. The human cells have been altered. Strengthened somehow. Even our technology can’t get a fix on them. As for the coins, they’re definitely Coven work, but more advanced than we’ve seen in the past.”
“The Coven. Part human.” Jack glanced over the lab reports, picking out what he understood after years of studying analyses of paranormal creatures. “And the part that’s not human?”
“The closest we can come is Rakshasa, or some kind of new Rakshasa mix, first generation, but with the Eldest all dead, that’s not possible. Besides, this combination looks nothing like the demon infection we analyzed when the Rakshasa attacked Duncan. The Coven’s up to something else, developing some other method for transforming fighters, but God only knows what it is.”
Jack nodded, still studying the reports.
When the Rakshasa Eldest had been alive, they had created half-breeds that almost always went mad. A few managed to control themselves and preserve their human essence, and they called themselves Bengals. Duncan Sharp was a Bengal, and in some ways, so was John Cole. Bengals could make other Bengals by biting or scratching humans, but second-generation infections were weaker, and third- and fourth-generation hybrids would be weaker still—more human than tiger-demon, and maybe not even able to access their demon essence. Whatever the Coven was doing, it had to be different from the usual methods the Rakshasa had always used—but what kind of infection were they working with? How could it even come close to Rakshasa essence?
Jack looked up to find Andy glancing from her watch to the townhouse stairs.
“How long will you be here?” he asked.
“A few hours, then I’ve got to hit the channels and head to Greece, then get back in time for patrol tonight.” Andy’s expression turned wry. “No
rest for the wicked.”
Jack didn’t find the humor in her spreading herself so thin. “No time off?”
“Not this week. We’re pretty certain the Coven’s a part of all this, and we’ll have to hunt hard every night to have a prayer of finding them.”
He didn’t like the sound of that at all, and his mind started churning out ways to divide patrol duties so that Andy’s group didn’t carry too much of the burden. “You need to rest.”
Wry turned to sarcastic as Andy said, “Thanks, Dad. I’ll manage.”
Jack tucked the lab reports back in the envelope, more worried about her than about the case. “I know I’m the one who asked you to come back here, but I assumed you’d ease up on the Kérkira responsibilities. How are you going to manage both sets of duties?”
She gave a little shrug. “I’ll be going back and forth.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“I’m up for it.” Her smile made him want to grab her and kiss her—or shake her. He’d never seen a woman who could pull off half-vixen, half-stuff-it-up-your-ass so easily.
“I meant—I hate to see you exhaust yourself. If it gets to be too much, just say something.” Jack folded the envelope and tucked it in his pocket. “Maybe Saul and I can do some of the commuting instead of running you ragged.”
“Thanks.” Her smile slipped away, replaced by an expression Jack couldn’t read. Professional, maybe. Certainly a lot more distant—meaning he didn’t trust the casual note of her tone when she asked, “So, you’re definitely planning to stay in New York City now that the Rakshasa are dead?”
Was she hopeful? Pissed off? He wished he had a clue. He kept his own voice level as he said, “Seems like most of the action is here. Since we’re asking questions, I’ve got one for you.”
She moved away from him, not much, but enough to underscore the limit she set. “As long as it’s not too personal.”
“Fair enough. I don’t think it is.” He took a breath and cued up the first of the hundreds of things he wanted her to tell him about herself, about Sibyls, about anything she’d talk about. “If water Sibyls have so much control over water, how did they get wiped out by a tidal wave?”
