The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2)

by Jamie McLachlan

  He burrows his face into my neck and exhales heavily. As we’re silently lying still in each other’s arms, the darkness chooses that moment to creep up on me. Was that our last time together? If so, does that bother me? He exhales once more, his breath tickling my neck. Of course it does. I can’t pretend anymore that walking away from him will be easy and pain-free. My arms unconsciously wrap around him, pulling him tight into an embrace, as I’m suddenly overcome with the fear of losing him. It’s the same possessive, irrational fear I experienced that night in the bathtub, and it absolutely terrifies me.

  When he speaks, I realize he’s been clutching me just as tightly.

  “Stay,” he whispers, and I hear a thousand promises in that one word.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  He lifts his head and stares down at me, his expression intent. “Stay.”

  Though his voice is firm, there’s no mistaking the imploring tone. It’s a request and a demand—the first he’s ever made. My throat closes up, and I’m incapable of responding. So, instead, I pull him into a deep kiss and hope my lips speak where my voice has failed me. When we break apart, he doesn’t press the issue, but rather helps me back into my corset.

  After we’ve dressed, we leave and head a few blocks west to Constable Jamieson’s townhouse. Rick and his fiancée, Christine, have been expecting us for tea, and we’re running a little late. Thankfully, they don’t live far from Keenan, so it’s not long before we pull up into their street. When we arrive at the house, the young couple greet us enthusiastically. Their smiles are wide, and I can sense a nervous energy surrounding them, which makes me wonder if they don’t get company often.

  “I was just about to call you, sir,” says Rick. “I thought something might have happened at the police station to keep you.”

  Keenan’s eyes flicker in my direction briefly, but his voice doesn’t betray him. “No, just running a little late unfortunately.”

  Christine walks up to me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s so good to see you again, Moira. I’d love to show you a tour of the house.”

  I smile. “Of course.”

  She leans toward me and whispers conspiratorially, “We’ll leave the men to fuss over one another while we get reacquainted. Besides, Patrick is very excited to show off his study and collection of cigars to the detective.”

  “Is that so? I wasn’t even aware Rick smoked.”

  She glances sideways at me and bites down on her smile. “Oh, he doesn’t, but he’s proud of them nonetheless. If I may be frank, I presume it’s to impress the detective.”

  I’m not surprised. The constable is young and has always seemed to admire the detective. Christine continues leading me through each room, talking the whole time, and I barely have a moment to interject a word. She informs me they plan to marry in the summer and hope Keenan and I will attend. I tell her of course I would love to go, even though I’m not sure how my presence will be received by the other guests. She then tells me they hope to have a child soon after, and I smile and nod at the appropriate times. Oh, and remark on her choice of decorating even though I have no idea what I’m talking about. Finally, she stops talking and looks at me guiltily.

  “Sorry, I normally don’t talk this much.”

  She looks so embarrassed, and I’m suddenly struck with an idea. Maybe she’s not the only one who is trying to impress someone. The idea startles me so much that I remain quiet for a long time. In the hierarchy of slaves, I’m the lowest of them all as a concubine. Add the fact I’m an empath and was convicted of murdering my master, and I’m surprised Christine isn’t running away from me. Instead, she’s treating me as if I were her friend or the detective’s wife.

  Could this be my life once the Phoenix case is closed? Helping the police catch criminals during the week and visiting Rick and Christine on the weekend. I can see it now, sipping tea with Christine in the backyard while we talk about the men smoking inside. Their children would be running around the garden, exuberant and carefree. Afterwards, the detective and I would leave to go back to his house, and we’d spend the night together. Some days we might quarrel, but in the end, we’d always manage to reconcile our differences. But could I live with the fact we could never marry even if we wanted to and to everyone else I’d be his mistress?

  Could this be my life if I stayed?

  And what happens if the passion between us fades and we drift apart? Where do I go from there? I absolutely refuse to go back to the pleasure house, so maybe I’d become a blocker for the police. These are all things I never considered until this moment with the potential of the Phoenix being caught. Now they come tumbling to the forefront of my mind, urging me to find answers, and I feel more befuddled than I’ve ever felt. This is the exact reason I didn’t seduce Keenan when we first met, because I knew our emotions would only complicate things. It would be so much easier if I didn’t feel anything toward him.

  Then I could walk away without a backwards glance.

  But now it’s too late. He’s made a demand, and I’m incapable of refusing. If I were to walk away now, I’d be limping with a deep wound—one I have no doubt would take a long time to heal.

  Christine draws my attention to the present by speaking. “Come, the men are probably waiting for us outside on the patio.”

  I follow her through the hallway to the back of the house, and we step outside where Keenan and Rick are already seated, waiting for us. They stand the moment we appear, and Rick ushers Christine into her chair. I automatically reach for the other chair, but Keenan has already pulled it aside for me. I stare at him for a moment, baffled, and his brow lifts in a silent question.

  “Please, sit,” says Christine.

  I hastily cover up my confusion by looking away and sitting down as Keenan pushes the chair closer behind me. It’s a silly thing, I know. But it’s rare I’m treated with such civility that I’m wholly unprepared, and my bitterness threatens to make an appearance. I can feel Keenan’s eyes on me as he takes his seat, but I know better now than to look. If I look into his eyes, I’ll say yes without a moment’s hesitation. And right now it’s best if I consider my options.

  “Patrick has told me about the riots,” says Christine. “I don’t know how you three have managed to deal with that these past few weeks.”

  The detective takes a sip of his tea before speaking. “It’s more of an inconvenience than anything else.”

  “That’s quite the understatement,” I scoff and resist the urge to glare at him. “Unless you’ve forgotten the time they attacked me.”

  Christine’s eyes widen and she lowers her cup. “You were attacked?”

  At that moment, I can feel all of their eyes on me. Christine is staring at me in horror, while the two men look at me with disapproval. I would have expected the expression from Keenan, but not from Rick. It isn’t until he speaks that I realize my error. Christine isn’t aware of the danger, and the two men have kept her in the dark for a reason. While Keenan doesn’t want citizens to worry, Rick’s motive is a little more personal. He doesn’t want his fiancée to fear for his life every time he leaves the house more than she already does.

  “They’re just a little restless,” he says, placing a placating hand on her arm. “They haven’t hurt anyone.”

  “He’s right,” I quickly interject. “I’m being dramatic. When I say attacked, I only mean they called me names. And it’s only because I’m an empath. They don’t bother anyone else.”

  Her brows furrow in a disapproving frown, but I can sense she’s relieved. “They shouldn’t say those things. You’re helping the police. If anything, they should be grateful.”

  “Well, you’re one of the few who carry that sentiment.”

  “It’s not right.” She sighs and places her cup delicately onto the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if the refreshments are ready.”

  The moment she’s gone, Rick gives me an appreciative smile. “Thank you for that. She worries so much al
ready.”

  “It’s the least I could do for making the mistake in the first place.”

  The housekeeper steps outside and informs Rick there’s a call for him. He politely excuses himself and leaves, and I’m once again alone with the detective. I sip my tea and pretend I don’t feel his gaze on me, but the intensity of his stare causes me to squirm in my seat. So, instead, I stand and walk over to the porch’s railing. When I sense him stand as well, I wrap my arms around my torso and carefully keep my eyes on the garden before me. I can just imagine Rick and Christine’s children running around, weaving their way through the flowers and screaming in excitement. I smile, knowing they’ll most likely be spoiled little brats, but I have no doubt they’ll also be cute.

  “They have a beautiful home,” I say quietly, and I hate that my voice wavers slightly. “And they look so happy together.”

  “They do.”

  I inhale deeply before speaking. “You could have that, too.” This time he doesn’t respond, so I continue even if the words threaten to choke me. “You could have a wife and a beautiful home.” I pause and close my eyes, forcing the tears back inside. “You could have children.”

  I think of how devastated he was when he remembered his deceased wife and child. Those are things he once desired—things he once had. A desire like that doesn’t just fade after time, and I don’t blame him for wanting them. He has every right to wish for that sort of life, whereas I don’t. I could never be his wife, and, without the Elite’s permission, I could never give him a child. All I have to offer is myself, and I’m not so arrogant to think that’s enough. Of course I would only be his mistress, so he could choose to still marry. Could I stay, knowing one day I might have to share him with another woman?

  When he still fails to respond, I ask him the question that’s been on my mind recently. “Don’t you want that?”

  The silence continues to fill between us, spoken and unspoken words enhancing the tension that hangs in the air. I scowl and turn to face him, my irritation resurfacing, but the moment I see his face, my annoyance evaporates. Splotches of red have blossomed on his cleanly shaven face and his lips are pressed into a firm line. His eyes, though, are what render me frozen. They’re absolutely livid, pinning me unrepentantly in one spot. His control slips momentarily, and I stumble back from the wave of anger radiating from him. With my past experience with men, I would expect him to lash out at me physically. But he won’t.

  He inhales deeply, struggling to contain his fury. “What exactly are you trying to say, Moira?”

  I swallow, trying to regain my composure. “I–”

  “Sir,” says Rick, appearing behind the detective. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but that was the Chief on the phone. He’s asking for you and Moira to go to the police station immediately.”

  “Thank you, Jamieson.” Even though he addresses Rick, his eyes remain on me with an unrelenting hardness. He then adds in a quieter voice, “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “Fine by me,” I mutter, quickly looking away.

  Before we leave, I extend my apologies to Christine and assure her we’ll see each other again soon. Then I follow the detective to the motor vehicle, my heart pulsing with the nervousness I desperately try to hide. Yet, true to his word, he doesn’t mention our discussion on our drive to the police station. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, but it’s not necessary. His hostility speaks volumes, as it wraps around me in a suffocating embrace, and I begin to restlessly bounce my foot.

  When we reach the police station, I’m surprised to find the rioters are nowhere in sight. The constables and the Chief must have successfully reminded them of who is in control. I follow the detective into the station, wondering if a blocker has finally managed to enter Jonathan’s mind. When we step into the Chief’s office, the burly man closes the door behind us.

  He sits behind his desk and releases a heavy sigh. “Well, I don’t have good news.”

  My excitement immediately deflates at the sound of those words, dread quickly filling its place. Either there’s been another murder or the blockers have been unsuccessful with Jonathan. Both would be unwelcome, but at least the latter one has the potential to close the case once and for all.

  “We’ve had several blockers try to read Jonathan’s mind, but none of them have succeeded.”

  “I was expecting that,” says the detective, drumming his fingers along the side of his chair.

  I glance back at the Chief, annoyed. “But doesn’t that just prove his guilt. Why would he refuse to cooperate unless he has something to hide?”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Moira,” says the detective.

  My previous cynicism returns at the idea that all my efforts have been wasted. “So, what? You’re just going to set him free?”

  “Of course not.” The Chief leans back into his chair and fidgets with his mustache. “He did use illegal persuasion on you. It just means he won’t be persecuted for anything regarding the Phoenix case.”

  I clench my fists and try to remain calm. “I know he’s the Phoenix.”

  The Chief lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug, and I can see he wishes the case to be over just as much as I do. “We’ll keep trying, of course. We still have yet to bring the Chief Blocker in.”

  As much as I hate what I’m about to say next, I have to at least try. “What if I went into his mind?” Both men look at me, but before either one of them can speak, I quickly continue. “I’m serious. I could give it a try.”

  “Moira–”

  “I don’t see why she can’t,” interjects the Chief.

  Keenan opens his mouth to respond, but a knock on the door interrupts him. The Chief orders the constable to enter, and I try to ignore the detective’s gaze as Constable Smith appears behind the door. His eyes flicker to the detective and then to me, and his uneasiness only adds to the tension in the room. He quickly looks away, his fingers fidgeting with an envelope as he speaks.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but a letter has arrived from Mr. Harrison.” He offers the Chief the medium sized envelope. “The courier said it was urgent.”

  “Thank you, Smith.”

  The Constable nods and quietly exits the office, closing the door behind him.

  The Chief begins to open the envelope, but then pauses and glances up at us. “You two go on ahead. I’ll be out shortly.”

  “Of course,” says the detective, rising from his seat.

  I stand as well and head toward the door, and it’s only then I’m struck with the full realization of what I’m about to do. The last time I saw Jonathan was four days ago when we arrested him, and I admit our encounter didn’t exactly play out the way I wanted. He was in chains, yet he still possessed some sort of power over me. I can feel Keenan close behind me, and his agitation scratches against my spine, insistent in its attempt to gain my attention. My hand is on the doorknob when he finally voices what’s on his mind.

  “I don’t like this at all,” he mutters.

  “You don’t have to like it, but I’m going to try anyway.”

  “Moira.” He grabs hold of my arm as I yank the door open, and with that one touch I can also sense his fear. “What happens if he gets inside your mind and uses persuasion?”

  I pause, having not thought of that possibility. He’s done it before, so there’s a chance he could do it again. Yet this time I won’t be alone. The detective and the Chief could stop me from doing anything that might endanger one of us, but it’s not the only thing I’m worried about. I would do anything to avoid having Jonathan inside my head again, and I involuntarily shudder at the idea. Hopefully, Scott had trained me well enough that I’m capable of fighting off any trap Jonathan could possibly throw at me. But my physical response has only given Keenan leverage, and he’s convinced I’m prepared to acquiesce.

  I turn to face him, primed to offer him assurance, but the sight of the Chief pointing a revolver in our direction catches my eye. The man’s expression is blank,
but his eyes are on Keenan with determination. My heart thuds once in my chest—the sound deafening to my ears—and my body reacts instinctively before my mind has managed to process the scene.

  “No!” I cry, my voice a mixture of anguish and a snarl.

  I propel my body sideways, forcing all of my strength into pushing Keenan aside. His eyes widen in surprise as he stumbles sideways into the wall, and I have a moment to feel satisfied that I could catch him off guard. Otherwise, he would have only merely taken a step back to catch his balance. But my relief is cut short when the sound of a revolver going off resounds in the small space and something sharp pierces my shoulder, the pain spreading down my arm with an agonizing clarity.

  18

  I’m no stranger to pain, but I’d be lying if I said I was immune to it. Rather than embedding into my shoulder, the bullet has merely grazed my arm. It stings, reminding me of the lacerations that once split the skin on my back open, and I can feel the warmth of my blood oozing down my arm. I ignore it all, and focus on the man behind the desk.

  The Chief doesn’t even blink as he turns slightly to adjust his aim back on the detective, and I know without a doubt he’s under an empath’s persuasion. My gaze flickers to the abandoned letter on his desk, knowing the Phoenix is responsible. Without a moment’s hesitation, I storm into the Chief’s mind, shattering his weak defences. There are shouts behind me, and somewhere to my left I can hear the detective calling out my name. I quickly block the sounds out and plant a seed of persuasion in the Chief’s mind.