by Cera Daniels
The bulbs embedded in the ceiling gave a loud fizzle. They dimmed twice before returning to full strength. She slapped a palm on the wall and sighed when the lights dimmed a third time. The look she sent him was not a happy one, and his gut said it wasn't because of the elevator.
The truths locked inside the Old Town file had to be worth this torment.
"Elevator's out again, Werner." A muscular officer in plainclothes passed them with a grin. "I think she's stuck down by Evidence."
Amanda groaned. "Thanks, Hunter."
Ryan cleared his throat. "This happen often?"
"She takes a lunch break between 11 and 2." She pivoted on her toes, her brown-gold hair whipping over her good shoulder. Still no sign of the injury. "Stairs."
Amanda brushed past him toward the opposite end of the hall and his whole body seemed to remember at once that she kissed like a vixen. When had timing ever been convenient around this woman? Ryan tugged his suit jacket down, a vain attempt to hide interest that distance had never quite squelched in the first place.
Forget it. Forget her.
Right. If out-of-sight, out-of-mind hadn't worked after all this time, how could he expect to shake his thoughts free of her now? Now that she stood an arm's length away, now that he'd breathed her in again—sweet, sweet caramel—he needed to be even closer, needed to know if she was truly okay. He didn't deserve it, could never have a clean slate, but she was right here. Maybe this was his chance to do penance.
Too bad he hadn't considered that before asking for the file. She didn't like him, and she would never tell him about her recovery. He'd have to get her to open up first. Perhaps he could merely look at the file and return it, rather than remove it from the building. Then, unmasked, he could win her over the way he did everyone else in the city: charm.
"May I call you Amanda?"
Her sneakers squeaked, fumbling on the next step. Amanda righted herself before he could intervene.
Ryan threw her an improvised grin to cover a wince. Lieutenant Dale had never mentioned her first name, and the narrowed blue eyes staring up at him were loaded with suspicion.
"Detective Werner will suffice." She continued to the landing and shoved open the door painted with a giant, red number three.
"Detective." He palmed the edge of the door and she faced him, impatience flitting through her eyes. Chocolate and caramel tap-danced over his libido. "We weren't formally introduced." Ryan forced his breath to stay steady and stuck out his other hand. "Ryan McLelas."
She walked away.
Then she disappeared around a corner.
The universe thought to hand him a chance to redeem himself and then throw it in his face? No. So redemption wouldn't come easily. Fine. Determination to make her see beyond his latest mistake shoved his guilty conscience into a corner of his mind.
His family didn't give up, back down, or step aside.
"This way, McLelas."
"Ryan." He rounded the corner with his most endearing smile.
"Still can't call me Amanda." But her gaze softened before she hurried onward.
Small victories, Ryan. Charm had always been his best weapon.
Amanda was a dozen yards ahead at the other end of the hallway when he caught her self-chiding, "Do not flirt with him."
He gaped after her lovely, jean-clad rear then forced himself to close in on her heels. Ryan tapped into his supernatural hearing and found it locked up tight. He shouldn't have heard her whisper at that distance. Not without using his power.
"He likes bimbos. Lots and lots of bimbos," she continued.
A smile tugged at his lips. Not entirely accurate, but fair. He'd allowed the playboy image to run rampant. The press loved him all the more for it, and it gave him a good cover for his Klepto escapades at night. Ryan hesitated. She wouldn't have said that for anyone's ears but her own.
Were his filters caving again?
The secure file room had an encoded lock. He listened as her fingers hit the keypad. Individual pitches would register if his power were unleashed. His filters seemed fine. Nothing registered beyond the light taps a person with average hearing would pick up.
"Why a case file?"
Except her voice. For some reason, his ears had tuned to the all-Amanda, all-the-time channel.
At least she's entertaining.
She spun around, her hands on her hips, those piercing blues hot on his face.
Ryan's shoulders twitched in surprise. "What?"
"Why a case file? Why not a future pardon? A frame job of a competitor for something vile? Personal bodyguards?"
"I have my own team of those." He tapped absently on his earpiece and flashed a press-worthy smile. "What constitutes 'something vile'?"
The pale scar on her cheek jerked. "You did just bribe my commanding officer."
Ouch. "It wasn't a bribe. McLelas Financial is in a position to help."
Amanda's eyes narrowed to slivers before she turned and swiped her ID badge. The light on the keypad flashed green.
The steel door clamped shut behind them and rotated its locks to the tune of Zach's voice over his earpiece speaker. "What's this about a bribe?"
Ryan's chest tightened. He didn't think he'd tapped hard enough to activate his comm. Dinner table conversation would be interesting tonight. "It was an accident." He made sure to cut the mic off this time.
Amanda gave an endearing and unladylike snort as she dodged out of view around a tower of shelves which stretched to the ceiling. "Which part? The offering of funds or the request for this particular file?"
Ryan shut his eyes and took a deep, centering breath. "No, I was talking to my—"
"Your team of bodyguards?" A folder slammed into his abs.
His eyes sprang open and he clutched the pages before they could scatter. He stared at his hands, suddenly trapped in the past. Red, orange, roaring death, and God! So much screaming.
"Old Town. Take it and go, hotshot." Amanda propped one hand on her hip and pointed a finger toward the reinforced door. "I don't want to see you around here again."
"Benefit dinner, remember? This," he hefted the overstuffed manila folder, his heart shuddering with pain despite his light words, "doesn't get rid of me."
Her eyes narrowed again. Ryan tucked the folder to his side. So much wasted, innocent life. His much younger eyes had burned with it. Even now his lungs seized at the loss. He eyed the implacable expression on her face, the folder once more. Charm died in his throat. He hadn't wanted to ask for this. But now? Answers that his father hadn't bothered to look for could be under his fingertips. Now that he had the file, he damn sure wouldn't let it go. "I'd like to look it over before I leave."
Amanda made a sound of exasperation. "Sure, why not?" She threw her hands up. "It's not like I have anything better to do than babysit an 'accidental' extortionist."
All he could manage was a distracted smile. Holding the case file, a piece of horrific family history, brought back too much reality to return the volley. He swallowed hard a second time and hunted for a work space. Amanda's steps came closer, hesitated, then did a squeaky about-face.
"There's a file cabinet over here."
He turned to face her and Amanda pointed.
She dropped her arm and her fingers fisted, then opened wide. "Don't let me catch you rifling through it or anything, but you can use it for a table."
"Thanks." Ryan spread the case file over the metal surface.
Official document after official document signed off by the investigator who marked the whole thing an "unfortunate" accident. God, there were pictures. Bodies. Grief surged up, clogged his throat.
"You okay?" She moved closer, her hesitant, curious steps ruffling Ryan's filters.
"My mother died in Old Town." He couldn't lose it here. It cost him precious time, but he reversed his power and blasted the white noise levels in his earpiece, a self-destructive attempt to mute the ambient noise altogether. Focus came through a world drowned in static, broken only by
his own breathing.
And her voice. Her sincere, "I'm sorry," sliced right through the programming on his earpiece.
How? Zach had upgraded his equipment after the last system failure. Ryan froze. She'd been there then, too. He snuck a look at her face. Amanda's head was tipped to the right, her hair sliding over her shoulder. He couldn't read her expression. Not sympathy. Concern?
"Why now? The investigation has been over for years," she said.
"A week of poking at ashes with a stick is not an investigation."
The Old Town blaze had fast been declared "undetermined." Too fast. Then it had been sealed away where justice would never touch it. Too-raw flames crackled in his memory, as if they still had the power to singe his skin. The words on the next official document blurred in his vision. He shoved his memories away, away and back, and back further still, caging the pain in his mind, fierce willpower steadying his breath.
She came to his side, another question lighting her expression. Or maybe the same one. Leave it to the real detective not to let it go.
Ryan slapped the file closed. "How does a whole city block go up in flames without a reason?"
What had started as a mistake now churned up an unquenchable need for answers. He shoved the papers into their folder, then tucked the whole mess into his jacket as he pivoted toward the exit. Amanda grabbed his arm. Slowly, Ryan turned and raised an eyebrow at the fingers closed around his wrist, then hoped none of the casual expression reflected his more recent memories. His gaze collided with hers and she flushed, releasing him like his jacket had burned her palm. As she looked away, her tongue swept across a perfect, rosy set of lips. Ryan's mouth went dry. He'd forgotten how easily that tantalizing little move could destroy his control, but he more than remembered those lips.
"Why play at detective now? Why pull a sealed file?"
Zach would have to retune the software again. Nothing was normal around Amanda. Not his ability. Not this driving attraction. The siren's call of a second chance returned to drum inside his chest and he tried to block it out. This wasn't the time or the place to gain her confidence.
She jumped backward with a start. "Did you hear that?"
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he resisted the urge to release his mute filters. "Hear what?"
Wide, blue eyes jerked his way. "I don't know. It sounded—"
"Protect her, Spiritwalker."
Romeo's warning came to him a split second before the laminate flooring rolled under Ryan's feet.
Amanda screamed. He leapt forward, slammed into her, his hands seeking her arms as boxes slid from their moorings. In desperation, he pulled her body under his.
Shield. Protect.
Safe.
And then Ryan smelled smoke.
CHAPTER THREE
"Detective?" McLelas's voice joined the fire alarm, from somewhere over her face. "Amanda?"
"Detective," she corrected. Her eyelids cracked open to a pair of positively edible lips hovering above her nose. "I take it you're the one who hit me like the express rail."
An uneasy smile confirmed his guilt.
"Thank you." Amanda pushed up on aching elbows and squinted, blinking away the onslaught of dust from long-abandoned files.
Two explosions; the brief rumbling of the second had taken the ill-weighted storage containers down like a champion game of Dominoes. Twisted metal and snapped plastic of overburdened storage shelves, ripped cardboard boxes, sprawled manila folders, and a scattering of papers littered the floor. Interns would be excavating mixed up files for months.
What had happened? A gas line leak? A bomb?
"Let's get out of here." He rocked backward onto his heels and held out a hand as he stood.
From the sound of the sirens blaring around them, they wouldn't get out of the room anytime soon. She gave him a rueful smile and slipped her hand into his. "Leaving will be tricky."
"It won't take me long to unblock the door." McLelas's palm was strong, calloused. Not at all the hand of a privileged social climber.
She stumbled and he shoved his bicep against her left shoulder. Her bracing grip found solid muscle. A flush of foolhardy desire crept up from her toes. Amanda bit her cheek.
Do not look at him.
Turning her head would put her in dangerous proximity to lip-locking territory, and police detectives simply didn't go there with someone like Ryan McLelas.
Mr. Extortionist.
But damn it, the man was 400% hotter than a TV on Brookes Street.
"It's locked." She peeled her fingers from his arm. "Triggered by the explosion. It's designed to hard-seal to protect our documents in case of a breakout or a raid. No one gets in or out."
"We will." McLelas headed for the reinforced door with a stride so confident Amanda wondered if he planned to demand it open.
"Your 'express rail' technique won't work on steel plating. I'll call for help on the two-way." She sucked in a calming breath and thought she caught a faint whiff of smoke.
They were in the safest area in the building. The secure file room had a two hour fire-resistance rating. They'd be fine until the cavalry arrived. Shrugging it off, she rummaged for her bag in the debris. She surfaced, victorious, with the handheld radio. "Dispatch, I've got a 10-66 on three."
Static.
"The third floor is on fire." McLelas stooped by the door and growled. Actually growled. Then he took up pacing along the walls.
His mother had died in a massive fire. Had he been there too?
She deliberately widened her stance, though her heart hammered in her chest. Memories were powerful and trauma was indiscriminate. It could turn normal, composed behavior violent in an instant. She caught her breath as he whirled around and paced the other way. Was her sexy businessman about to panic?
Amanda held up a palm. "They'll come. Don't freak out on me, McLelas."
"I don't 'freak out'." Despite the curt assurance, the way he stalked around the perimeter reminded her of a caged wildcat.
She could handle wild. Now. Post-bullet hole, she'd talked Charlie into unarmed take-down drills until one too many grueling sessions had ended with him on the mat and her knee at his throat. Wrestling McLelas to the ground with a few dirty moves—any means necessary—held more appeal than it should have.
Amanda crossed her arms and leaned against a worn file cabinet. "Good. I left my Taser in my other pair of jeans."
"Why the hell would you need a Taser?" Deep brown eyes focused on her face and his forehead crinkled. The manic edge in his stare gave way to comprehension. "I was just thinking."
"Intense."
A wolfish smile swept across his lips. "Always."
What a piece of work. But with his return to flirting, McLelas was well out of any danger zone she'd sensed.
Amanda brushed her concern over his mental state aside and dropped her arms. "This room will hold against fire long enough for the local fire department to get us out, if it comes to that."
He raised an eyebrow. "And how long might that be?"
"The walls are rated for two hours. We'll be fine."
"Of course we will," he said. McLelas tugged on the corner of his glasses then tapped hard at the discreet receiver looped over his right ear. "We just need a way out."
"Trust the firefighters to do their job." Amanda tried her radio again.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I trust three people in this world. I'm one of them."
All playfulness left his eyes and she knew his mistrust lay in memory. Old Town had burned fast and hot; the city's fire crews hadn't stood a chance. But one tragedy, no matter how massive, didn't mean there weren't good people behind the uniforms, doing their best to save lives. She didn't regret her words. A world incapable of trust was a world without hope, and in Relek City Amanda needed to store up all the hope she could wrap her hands around.
When her emergency call received static a second time he added, "We're not waiting."
They were trapped and her
radio continued to crackle like no one was home. A sick feeling invaded her calm. What if other areas of the building hadn't been so lucky? What if the men and women she worked side by side every day were injured? Dead? Dying?
"No, Zach, I do not have a sledgehammer," McLelas said. He was staring down the door again, a half-smile on his lips and his hand to his ear.
The two-way dropped to her side. Sure. His team of bodyguards would save them. Unease started in her right shoulder, and this time the phantom pain refused to be ignored. Amanda rubbed at it with her fingertips. She'd lost a former partner already this year; neither she nor the department was prepared for another loss. She retrieved a water bottle from her workout bag, letting the cool liquid battle her edgy nerves.
She came to her companion's side. "Either the whole building's on lock-down or they can't reply over that migraine-inducing excuse for an alarm."
McLelas turned a dismayed expression up at her.
She offered a drink. "You okay?"
He blinked, flicked a look at the door, and then pushed off his knees to stand. "Zach says the ceiling's not steel. All the fire has to do is climb. And it will. Quickly."
"Your bodyguard is wrong. The whole room is reinforced." Amanda tilted her chin up, but as he took the water bottle, her gaze slid past his face and over his head. She hadn't imagined the smoke. Rolling white clouds obscured the sound-dampening ceiling tiles. "Ah."
McLelas followed her wide eyes and swore. "Still want to hang around for your trusty fire department pals?"
"Unless you're planning to teleport us out of this room." She rummaged through her bag for a towel. "Or has this 'Zach' found a back door?"
"Not yet." The sound of ripping fabric followed by the swish of liquid came from his direction. He shoved a soggy piece of thousand dollar suit into her hands. "Cover your nose, mouth."
She pushed the makeshift filter against her face then narrowed her eyes, searching for the telltale metal of a vent in the wall. The smoke was trickling in from somewhere. A slow leak. Blocking it would buy more time for the rescue team. Would it be enough?
