Vigilante Mine

by Cera Daniels

  Amanda tilted a look up and noted how smoothly he kept his face out of the light. A ghost. A mystery. An inside man. No wonder he'd foiled past law enforcement efforts.

  She had to make him believe Dale's dismissal had turned her into a rogue in need of an adrenaline fix. Simple. If he bought it, one cop to another, he'd bring her on board, and the next time he went for the kill she'd be there to catch him. She leaned forward to speak but he shifted fast, hauling her to her feet before she could catch her breath.

  His fingers looped around her wrists. "How good are you at evading bullets?"

  Amanda's pulse zoomed to warp speed, but she thought—hoped—she caught an edge of sarcasm in the question. "Are you planning to shoot me again?"

  "Not tonight." His gruff tone lacked amusement. When he tilted his hood in her direction, she caught a glimpse of his black mask, but nothing more.

  Not promising. She'd have to stop him before she wound up on the news channel infographic herself. A flash of light and the pop of a gun drew her gaze down the side street. Gloved hands trapped her arms behind her and he nudged her in the opposite direction. Who had fired? Were they syndicate? One of his accomplices, committing another murder? "Friend of yours?"

  "Junkies."

  A bullet cleaved the air near her, and another returned the volley. The masked man shoved her into the shelter of a ramshackle covered walkway.

  He held up a hand, spread wide. Five fingers. Five attackers?

  She shifted a look around him, squinting into the darkened street.

  Another round of gunfire.

  "Don't push our luck." His hands flashed to her shoulders and he joined her in a crouch. "Once we're somewhere nice and private, you can tell me more about your . . . proposal."

  "Fine." Nice and private indeed. He'd take her down another alley, then another, deeper still into the shadows, and if he had a gun hidden under that coat . . . she might not return. Amanda's tongue felt thick in her mouth, but she clenched her jaw. He wouldn't get a second shot.

  "I didn't ask for your opinion." He seemed to study her from the shadow of his hood. The hands on her shoulders slid down, gripped her biceps, and pulled her with him as he stood. "Move it, sweetheart."

  Amanda gritted her teeth. "Sure thing—darling."

  He grunted in the back of his throat. "The attitude doesn't help your case."

  As long as she was alive to keep him talking, coerce him into sharing his plot, she was helping her case along just fine.

  They rounded the corner of the next street. He suddenly flattened her to the ground behind a row of green and brown trash bins, his hand over her mouth even as she smothered her own yelp.

  His voice rasped close to her ear, stubble grazing her cheek. "Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't think."

  She went rigid under him as rapid-fire bullets flew up and down the alley.

  "Klepto." His lips brushed her earlobe when the bullets slowed.

  She shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was from fear. "Klepto what?"

  "My name."

  He pulled her to her feet and they crunched through the snow at a jog.

  "Klepto," she said. "Good to finally have a name for the man who tried to kill me."

  "I missed."

  She had to be imagining the regret that tinged his voice, but it felt real enough for a tremor of doubt to creep through her defenses. Had he intended to hit the drunkard who'd used her for a shield?

  With a low, dangerous chuckle by her ear, he steered them down another street. "But I've been practicing."

  Tension slammed into her muscles. So much for doubt. If the bodies he'd left around town—bullet in the chest, bullet in the back of the head—were any indication, this bastard had been doing a lot more than practicing.

  As if on cue, Amanda heard the click of a safety. Her act hadn't fooled him. She whirled and aimed her Taser for his stomach in one smooth motion. He wasn't armed, but the junkie sneaking up behind them was another story.

  Klepto dodged to the side as she fired. The probes collided with the junkie and he writhed, collapsing in snow turned slush.

  "Nice shot." Klepto's voice held humor as he swatted her Taser out of her hands.

  Empty, baited words. The near end of the street filled with thugs and she kicked into a run by his side. She pumped her legs high in the deeper snow of untraveled road, dismay clutching at her throat. He knew she'd aimed at him first. Her entire adrenaline junkie pretense hung on her response.

  "I thought he was you," she gasped out. "Didn't want you to get the idea I'd let you shoot me again."

  "You have trust issues, sweetheart. We'll work on that."

  She felt his gaze sear her body, but a quick glance at his hood didn't give her a hint at his thoughts. Had it been believable enough for him to let her in?

  "Shit." He looped an arm around hers and plowed toward a building.

  "What now?" Alarm cut through her pulse rate. No recognizable landmarks. Rookie move, Werner.

  "Look who made a wrong turn." An amused, nasally voice sliced through the night.

  Klepto jerked them to a stop. Another man stepped into the light, buffered by four muscular guards and some impressive automatic weaponry. He held his hands behind his back as if to puff out his chest and display with pride the metallic blue, fluffy and quilted jacket of someone who'd missed the fashion bus by about thirty years. But the whiny tone of his voice and his garish appearance were at complete odds with his face. Sharp angles, pock marks of years and street brutality. His eyes were beady things with the kind of dead light one saw in maximum security lifers.

  "My employer doesn't like impromptu visits." The man swung his arms out to his sides. In his left hand, he held a machete.

  Real fear struck her veins and sizzled.

  "The lady and I were only going for a midnight run, Shiv," Klepto squeezed her arm, then dropped his grip and stepped in front of her. "You know how Elias can be."

  "Better than you." Shiv gave a solemn nod and rotated the machete in a circle with a flick of his wrist. Then he stepped closer, eyes and teeth glinting like a sewer rat. He snapped his fingers and one of his men handed forward a yellow and black Taser Amanda recognized. "I'm told your associate has good aim."

  "Piss poor," Klepto said. He extended a hand and Shiv dropped the cartridge-less device into his palm. It disappeared in a trench coat pocket. "She was aiming for me."

  Amanda bristled but Shiv tilted back his head and let out a guttural laugh. The harsh sound bounced around the alley and fear soured in her stomach. The criminal wiped at mock tears. Coils of tobacco stuck to the air, itched at her eyes, but she held herself steady and her head high. She'd smelled fouler dregs of humanity in Relek's shipping yard dives. It wasn't a perfect comparison. None of the drunkards and domestic abusers she typically brought in for questioning swung a machete like a child's yo-yo.

  Shiv straightened. "My employer could use another dirty cop on the payroll."

  No. Amanda's chest constricted.

  "She's not a cop."

  Shiv's beady eyes cruised over her body. "Temporary setback."

  Her lungs shrank further. Did he know about her suspension?

  "I don't contract out my associates."

  "You want me to tell him you were on our turf without an appointment?"

  Amanda heard the grind of leather as Klepto's hands clenched into fists.

  "Friday. Dawn. You know the spot." Shiv smiled wide and circled the machete again. He snapped the fingers on his other hand and the men with him jerked to attention. Turning back the way he came, Shiv cast a look laced with menace over his shoulder. "Bring your little spitfire."

  Pride and that damn McLelas stubborn gene kept his fingers latched around her waist and her body pressed into his side when he should have cut her loose. Ryan pressed Amanda into the shadows, retreating to neutral territory. Romeo's warnings had sunk into his brain too slowly to stop from crossing the line into Murphy Jones' backyard, but he knew the signs. How co
uld he have blown past the markers?

  Ryan stifled a blistering curse. Their endgame depended on Murphy, and now Shiv had caught Klepto in a moment of weakness. Inattention on Ryan's part could have cost him and his brothers' dearly. If he'd known Klepto had plans to undermine his power in Murphy's organization, Shiv wouldn't have let them go.

  "Where are we going?" The doubtful waver in her question cut like an accusation.

  Lord, he'd dragged her into a syndicate deal on top of everything else. How many ways could he fail this woman? Frustration came out on a puff of condensed air. He needed shadows. Whispers. A minute to listen and get his bearings.

  "Here," he said, drawing her to a halt behind a vertical sign with more than half of its colored bulbs missing. "He's got someone following us and I need to know where he is."

  Light caught the entrancing scar on her cheek as she nodded. "Wouldn't want to lead him back to your lair."

  "When did we get a lair, Spiritwalker?"

  The smile caught his lips and pulled without mercy. "I have no intention of leading you there, either."

  "Then where—"

  "Station eight," he said. If their tail was close enough, he'd hear.

  Her body remained motionless but her eyes came alive with possibilities. He could see the detective's mind at work through her cloudy blue gaze, loaded down with questions, working through reasons why he'd drop her at the nearest rail station.

  Ryan stepped behind her and pulled her to his chest, his chin and the side of his hood pressed against her cheek. "No more talking. I need to think, sweetheart."

  She shoved backward with her elbows, a wordless objection to . . . what? The endearment? The order? Their new position? Ryan's train of thought veered for his bedroom, where the night could have ended willingly in any number of positions. He spread his palm over the front of her coat, trying to brace his imagination against the fantasies. Unfortunately, his cock didn't take cease and desist orders from his brain.

  Romeo gave a little cough inside Ryan's head. The doggie version of clearing his throat? Ryan closed his eyes and locked his hands around her waist.

  He bent his head to her ear to whisper. "I let you go, the Jones' Group syndicate follows you home. Is that really what you want?"

  She tilted her head back. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip while she studied the side of his hood. She lowered her gaze and her rigid stance loosened slightly. "No."

  "Then give me a minute." A terse nod against his hood. "Not a word until I say it's clear."

  Ryan needed silence, and if Zach's adjustments hadn't fixed his filters regarding Amanda, pushing his ability too hard with her by his side could cripple him. She nodded again and he spun his hearing into the night.

  Too close, he found their tails. Three of them. Ryan frowned. He would have to pinpoint and evade them to see Amanda home safely. Pushing harder, he let the sounds of shifting fabric and breathing wash over his filters. He had them. Ryan reached to the edge of his comfort zone and encountered the residual junkie skirmishes. He abandoned the sounds of fists and curses to the background and narrowed his focus to quieter targets. Sneakier ones.

  "What's Murph gonna do 'bout the bodies?" Barely audible, the question tugged at Ryan's curiosity, but syndicate boss business wasn't what he needed.

  He heard a fourth tail snap the safety on his weapon. Shiv did have a passion for overkill.

  Just as he was about to hone in on hired monkey number four, the low response came, "They ain't even reporting 'em all. You know there was more'n one up in OT?"

  Ryan tensed. OT. A body. Old Town? He shoved his power toward the conversation.

  "Only one on TV," the first speaker confirmed.

  "So why else those cops and newsies all hot 'n' bothered up there tonight?"

  "Old Town's dead, man."

  "You high?" A low hiss from the second man. "Someone hears you name it, you're the dead man."

  "What, Old Town?"

  "Christ." Slow footsteps, toed into the snow, as if the second man had backed away. "You know he gots rules. He don't like it brought up."

  The strain to hear pinched Ryan's temples, but he couldn't pull back now. Old Town was neutral, sure, avoided by most, but not feared. What did Murphy Jones have to do with Old Town?

  "Maybe I ain't chickenshit."

  "Maybe I ain't dyin' tonight."

  "Sadly, you're both wrong," Shiv said.

  A sickening slice, followed by a gurgling noise and a heavy crunch of snow. Ryan's gut twisted. Shiv had gone after someone's throat with one of the myriad daggers he hid under that damned ridiculous jacket.

  "I didn't say nothin' . . . I—"

  A second compression of snow hit Ryan's ears and a shudder ran up his spine. Bodies lost to the night were commonplace in the treacherous syndicate world. What made the mere mention of Old Town worth killing for?

  "Some things are best left dead, gentlemen."

  Zach and Jay need to know—

  "Nice doggie," Amanda said.

  Ryan reacted with a jerk of his arms, squeezing her too tight. His fingers unlocked in a hurry as he released her, but her yelp punched his eardrums. He slapped his hand against the sign to keep himself upright. The ringing in his ears solidified into a single, loud tone, drowning out everything else. Including Amanda. Her mouth moved as she gripped his forearm and pointed to Romeo. The German shepherd sat on his haunches a few feet away.

  "She fears me."

  You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? Ryan drew in a deep breath and tried to untangle his power. He tossed his spirit guide a warning look. Your teeth are showing.

  "I'm only smiling."

  Ryan snorted aloud. "He's harmless."

  Amanda's gaze never left the dog. "He's . . . yours?"

  He heard her now, her sultry voice carrying over the mash of sound clamoring for center stage in his head. Ryan laid his free hand on her shoulder and felt a fine tremble despite the extra layer of her coat. Concern bolstered his adrenaline and Ryan wrapped his arms around Amanda. To his surprise, she leaned into him. Away from his spirit guide.

  "He won't hurt you." Ryan used the opportunity to blast his white noise filters, counteracting the constant drone of sound. It worked. Pressure lifted from his head and his feet were surer underneath him.

  "Okay." Her teeth chattered.

  Cold? Fear? Ryan paused. The mute had worked. His ears weren't overwhelmed by ambient noise, but he'd heard her again. Just Amanda.

  So much for Zach's new filters.

  Romeo lowered his head and stood. "I will guard her way home."

  Ryan almost protested, sure he could do so himself. But the news about Old Town couldn't wait. Jay and Zach needed to know, and Amanda needed to be seen home safely. His original escort service to the rail would have to suffice.

  When the dog inched into shadow, Amanda relaxed.

  Ryan tilted his lips to her ear. "Breathe."

  She pulled away with a start and he let her go. For a long moment, she looked at the spot where Romeo had been sitting. Definite fear of dogs. Strong enough to override her need to stop a serial killer. Ryan waited for her to say something. Anything.

  When she turned around and still didn't speak, he shrugged and started walking.

  She fell into step beside him. "Did our stalker give up?"

  Ryan tried easing his hearing back to normal. The ringing had subsided. His ears tagged each remaining gunman's location. "No."

  Fifteen minutes later, they'd lost all but one by dodging behind station eight and pressing forward to nine. Amanda seemed to recover somewhat as they picked up to a jog through the snow, but when they passed station nine at a slow trot, Ryan knew they'd both resorted to energy reserves. Fumes, and little else.

  He circled around behind station nine to avoid the cameras. Klepto had to remain a ghost. He couldn't accompany her on the railcar, and he couldn't be seen on the security footage. When their final follower rushed past, Ryan pulled Amanda close.

 
"Which station's your stop, sweetheart?"

  She hit him with a look heated enough to flash-boil water, and Ryan suppressed a grin. The endearment drove her crazy. Mad, Amanda got a sexy little glint in her eye full of promised retribution. Her lips pursed in a plump, bitable fashion. Her whole body simmered with aggressive energy Ryan wanted to sweep into bed and put to good use. He jotted a note in a mental file: Drive her crazy more often. When he was more awake, and not dressed as Klepto.

  "Sixteen L."

  Truth.

  "Lovely neighborhood." He paused for effect. "You will wait for me there and we'll discuss our arrangement. Free of prying ears."

  She stared at him for a moment, nodded, and strolled through the turnstile. Ryan's unease rose, but he let her walk away. As he headed for the old motorcycle he'd selected for the evening he tapped on his mic and relayed Jones' possible involvement in Old Town. His brothers had stopped swearing by the time he'd ditched the bike and caught up with Amanda. She seemed to sense his mood. Sharp looks came his way, but the walk to her house remained silent. Murphy warranted closer study. They'd picked him because he ran one of the weakest syndicates in the city, but if Murphy had something to do with their mother's death . . . Ryan shook his head. Whether or not Jones' Group was involved, he and his brothers still had to put an end to the war. Friday morning didn't leave them much time to make alternate plans.

  He might very well turn to coffee at this rate.

  "Coming in, Klepto?"

  He tipped his chin down. Amanda braced herself in her front doorway. Seductive, with a casual lean and half-lidded eyes. She had to be chilled, exhausted, but her determination won over everything else. Admiration tugged in his chest. He could walk through that door, taste her once more before Friday . . . No. His brothers needed him working. "We part ways here."

  "No discussion about our arrangement?" Her eyebrows furrowed and her feet shuffled uneasily.

  "You wanted in. We have a date with a syndicate boss in a little over 24 hours." When she didn't retreat into her house, his hands slid up her biceps. He brushed his lips over her earlobe. "How much more of a rush does my new associate need?"