Vigilante Mine

by Cera Daniels

  News of more death greeted her as murder scenes continued to unfurl throughout the city.

  Listening and breathing through breakfast took the edge off bloodthirsty revenge. Another hour of brisk jogging through clean snow and a stop by an electronics store for a temporary security fixture restored the calm of purpose. She could handle Klepto. She'd handle anything to protect a city from more horror and tragedy, to seek justice for each and every victim. Her line of work danced with the monsters, put the killers behind bars. Accidental, intentional, messy, clinical, icy murders, all of it death, death, more death.

  And then justice.

  She entered her house to find the dog gone and her back door wide open. First order of business—install the new alarm system on that door. Amanda did a sweep of the nooks and crannies before locking up, the front and back doors secure and keyed to blare loudly. She flashed through a blistering shower then dressed with quick, efficient movements. Dreams and desire were in check. Focus ruled. With her heart stonewalled, she couldn't be distracted by emotion or hormones, could simply tackle facts. Like her mother's research and Charlie's intel—and the fact Klepto, since she now had his street name, could be in public record. She slid her laptop onto the kitchen counter and booted it up as she brushed out her hair.

  What she found surprised her. He'd been a thief, a safe-cracker. A pro with a specialty for high-end merch. Never caught. The last theft attributed to his name came two years prior, with only glimpses of him since.

  It made sense; he wouldn't want to be on the radar if he'd started working for the syndicates. Yet, it didn't add up. He'd never gone after the law, sparked a fight, or taken life or limb during his more visible reign. All reports pointed to him having gone out of his way to avoid an assault record. Article after article spoke of Klepto as a non-violent criminal. Not true of the man who'd shot her.

  "People change." Amanda brushed aside a flicker of doubt and chewed on her bottom lip as she scrolled for more articles. "Not always for the better."

  The screen failed to produce more recent news and she was shuffling through Charlie's hastily copied notes when the honk of a car horn in her driveway signaled a break for lunch. She pulled on a light coat and a pair of cute, button-up suede boots, grateful she hadn't canceled with Ryan. Couldn't consider it a date, not in her current mindset, but the lunch interruption would give her the time she needed to recover objectivity . . . and to breathe.

  She glanced back at her rose-free kitchen island before stepping into the snow on her front step. Whoever he had been, Klepto was a changed criminal, a ghost who knew the streets and cut deals with syndicate bosses. Her shoulder was physical proof he'd broken from his former path of non-violence. Far enough to turn a former thief into a cold-blooded killer?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The phone connection was garbled almost beyond recognition with his modulator, further assured by the work he'd undertaken on the region's cell spots in recent weeks. Interference caused irritation, a slow degeneration, not enough to call out the work trucks and dole out man-hours. Not until it had crumbled too far, and too late. By the time it was determined it wasn't a single affected tower or company, but the bulk of the grid, the whole city would be without cell service. Satellite. Wireless transmission. Anything that opened Relek to the outside world.

  No one could be allowed to interfere with the salvation of his city.

  Police frequencies, crumbling by the day, had merely been his first step toward communication blackout. Cell service was a button for another hour.

  He clicked the volume button on the remote and frowned at the television. The president of some company touting his goodwill and bumping up ratings with his shareholders, no doubt.

  Except . . . he wasn't.

  The volume went louder and he leaned toward the TV. A planned benefit dinner for the 16th precinct. A direct counterpoint to his own hard work.

  No. That would never do.

  Money from city-wide businesses and wealthy philanthropists, supporting the very thing he had to eradicate? No, the filth of the city could not be buoyed by the likes of this man.

  Without him, without all of them, the money would go uncollected, the quick fix impossible. Damage must remain, a reminder, an example, until his purge had run its course. Only then could the city be rebuilt from the ashes, with sweat and effort, not words and grand gestures.

  He grabbed his modulator and dialed the phone. He hadn't figured private industry into his original plans. But he was flexible enough to realize when things had to change for the better. And really, wasn't that what all of this effort was for? He smiled as the phone rang.

  "Lieutenant Dale speaking."

  "It's good to hear your voice again, Sir," he said.

  "You."

  "Yes."

  "You said you were after elected officials."

  "The rot is deep. I gave you the honor of delivering my promise. Instead, I had to do so myself. Time-consuming, but we all make sacrifices." His arm was still sore from the repetitive kickback on the Sigs. A minor irritant. Nothing more. Certainly nothing to dissuade him from seeing this blessed mission to its end. "So you see, Lieutenant, this is your fault."

  "You've got every cop in the city after you. We'll stop you."

  "No, you won't. But I'd watch those cops closely if I were you. So many are actors. Pawns in a game."

  "There are no dirty cops on my payroll." A growl of such certainty.

  "You're a fool. Their numbers dwindle, but they remain like weeds." He smiled wider and turned up the volume on the television. "Is it so difficult to believe the syndicate arms stretch so far?" He paused. "Are you tracing this call, Lieutenant?"

  "Would you believe me if I said no?"

  "Before you head for wherever you think I am, I'll leave you with a final thought."

  "What's that?"

  "Just as my hand is forced against these syndicate plants, it is forced against those who seek to undo my work. The great mission cannot be stopped by something as paltry as money." He chuckled. What better example to start with than a man who thought to celebrate corruption? His path would not falter, his plans well in motion. "Let them try to undermine my promise. It's already too late."

  He hung up and turned off the TV. A calculated risk. His thumb and forefinger pressed together in a pinch, the electrical tape residue from the handset pulling at his skin as he pried them apart. The stinging sensation reminded him of his constant pain. His betrayal. This round required more finesse. Whatever the final outcome, even at the cost of the messenger—his own life—they'd never stop the rebirth.

  Destiny didn't allow failure.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Where are you, Amanda? Ryan watched her fingers wander to the glass pane instead of her plate.

  Fanciful snowflake etchings on the bistro's enormous windows brought winter ambiance indoors without the chill. They sat high above the city, overlooking the world at a cozy table for two. She may as well have been on the other side of the planet, for all the attention she'd given their date.

  "Such intricate work." Her voice slid under his filters like a gentle massage. "They've got an artist on staff."

  "The interior panes are interchangeable by the season." He set his fork down and pointed to a hidden slide-hinge on the frame. "In the spring, you'd see blossoms."

  "Elegant."

  Ryan echoed the word silently. It suited his detective, a lethal grace outside the bounds of high society. She'd donned a tight knit sweater in cream and emerald and dark gray slacks, the deliciously clingy fit emphasizing toned muscles and promising curves. Amanda was quiet, straightforward intensity, coupled with a to-hell-with-social-circles attitude. She'd survived a bullet and faced hardened criminals with a spine of steel. He smiled. The universe had brought this woman into his world and he'd be a fool to deny she belonged. Amanda had claws to fend off those who'd claim otherwise.

  Claws she'd turn on him the instant she learned his other identity.

&nb
sp; She closed her eyes and long lashes fanned over her cheeks, her face still tilted toward the windows. "Why are you staring at me?"

  "I don't know you that well." He shrugged and reached for the crystal water pitcher. "But I'd like to."

  "This is just lunch, Ryan." Her arms crossed over generous breasts. "I thought we—Are you honestly coming on to me again?"

  "Again? I never stopped." Under her sweater was sexy, tantalizing lace—he'd bet on it.

  Too bad he'd never find out.

  Amanda's gaze landed on him, measuring, thoughtful. But so very distant, a glacial wall he hadn't seen even as Klepto. She'd sounded amenable, if nervous, on the phone that morning. What was wrong? What had happened to close her off so thoroughly? He didn't deserve trust, but that didn't stop him from wishing she'd lean on him. Just a little.

  Ryan topped off his drink and set the pitcher to the side. It disappeared an instant later, spirited away by attentive wait staff. "Talk to me, Amanda. It's clear something's bothering you."

  She let out a long, slow breath, the ice in her eyes wavering so slightly he could have imagined it. "And that bothers you?"

  "Sitting across from a beautiful woman, unable to fix what haunts her? Yes. Yes, that bothers me."

  There. The corner of her mouth crept up and she lowered her hands to the tablecloth. "Okay, Mr. Fix-it. If you were fired, what's the first thing you'd do?"

  He wasn't in danger of a pink slip, but Klepto's syndicate deals could very well pull McLelas Financial into the red. A mistake of such magnitude would destroy them. Ryan locked that mental door. He would not entertain more failure.

  "You mean if my baby brother wasn't head of HR?"

  Her smile evened out and she toyed with her salad fork. "Assuming you didn't own the place, yeah. You lose your job. What then?"

  "I'd take it back." Realization darted through his veins and he pinned her with his most solemn look. "That wasn't advice."

  "Being a cop is the only thing I know how to do."

  "I doubt that. But you are damned good at it." Ryan hid a frown at the sudden droop of her shoulders. Playful overtures wouldn't be enough to bridge the distance she'd put between them. Not today. He leaned forward. "Amanda, I was there yesterday. I saw you take that kid down for running, heard everyone condemn him on the spot but you. You're reasonable, fast. Talented. The city's on the edge of panic and our police force needs all the capable hands it can get right now. If you ask me, your lieutenant's made an incredible mistake. The minute he comes to his senses, he'll beg you to return."

  "I didn't ask you." Blue captured his gaze, sparking with challenge. Then her eyes refocused, lingering on a droplet of condensation sliding down the side of her drink. She wrapped her fingers around the water glass. "But I appreciate the vote."

  "You wanted honesty. Besides, a woman with your skill—"

  She waved him off. "Don't oversell it, Romeo."

  Ryan found himself chuckling. If she only knew. "Not everything I say is a line."

  "There is a God." Amanda smiled then gulped her water.

  His answering laugh melted in his throat when she finished with a lick of her lips. He'd tried not to focus on them, but his eyes were helpless now. Pink, glossy, perfect. The need to claim them, a taste after so long, clung to him like a demon.

  Never should have looked. His willpower shredded, Ryan eyed the fresh pitcher the waiter slid onto the table. If he dumped it straight into his lap . . .

  "Ryan?" Stark curiosity. He lifted an eyebrow but she shook her head. "No, forget it. I start asking questions and I won't stop."

  For you, I'd answer anything. The silent admission surprised him, burrowing into his chest, an ache borne as much from guilt as desire. If the words escaped, she'd think it another line. So he waited. And prayed he didn't have to stand up anytime soon.

  "Why did I think lunch with you would help me breathe?" she whispered. A curious bloom of pink danced up her cheekbones.

  His detective—blushing? More than ever, he wanted to touch her, to take her in his arms and protect her from the world's dangers. A laugh, really. The only danger Amanda needed protection from—the only person she had ever needed protection from—was Ryan. Guilt rose to throb in his chest even as his gaze traced her lips.

  "You're staring." Her voice came out with a hoarse edge.

  Ryan slid his palm over the back of her hand.

  She didn't pull away. A boon, since he could no longer move, talk, or think. Her eyes blazed into his, desire unhidden.

  He'd been wrong.

  Redemption needed distance.

  After confirming she now thrived—despite his power nearly costing her life—he should have walked. Now it was too late. The city itself seemed determined to thrust them together. She'd become entwined with Klepto in a single evening, and unmasked, sitting with his knees an inch from hers sharing this casual meal he had found a connection he didn't want to end.

  "Amanda, I want to kiss you."

  Her eyes burned hotter still. Yes. She wanted the same thing. Ryan squeezed her hand under his and her fingers jerked. The blue fire went wide and Amanda's hands zipped off the table onto her lap, leaving him reaching, his palm bereft of her heat.

  Ryan pulled his arm back slowly. "That's a no."

  "We're in the middle of a restaurant." She dropped her gaze to her plate. "I can't."

  "So . . . not no? Just . . . "

  "Turns out, I don't want to share a kiss with the entire city. When I kiss you, I—" She caught herself, her lips still parted around the next word. Her eyes locked on to his.

  "'When' sounds promising." Ryan grinned, wide and unstoppable. "Please, continue."

  Instead of replying, she reached for the pitcher.

  He intercepted and entwined their fingers. "What do you want, Amanda?"

  "More than one night." Her lips barely moved, a murmur of words never intended for his ears.

  How did he tell her she had it right? That he suspected one night would never be enough? Lightly squeezing her hand tipped the face of his watch toward the light. He glimpsed the time and cursed inside his head. Unfortunately, Amanda caught his hesitation.

  "You need to go." She pulled her hand free.

  He sighed. "News 9 has me booked with more exclusives until four."

  "What about? Yesterday?" Her tone was casual, but she scooted away from the table and tossed her white linen napkin next to her barely-touched meal.

  "I keep my word." Ryan consciously eased his teeth apart.

  "So does Dale." She shimmied into her coat, a softer expression on her face. "You're growing on me. I'd hate to see you on his bad side."

  Not suspicion. A warning? Concern? And she'd wanted him to kiss her. Progress. Nodding to the waiter to add the bill to his account, Ryan stood to escort Amanda out.

  "I'll be announcing the benefit dinner," he said. "Gala, really. Red carpet. My assistant kind of ran away with the idea. Lilah . . . you spoke to her on the phone this morning."

  Her face scrunched like she'd bitten into a fresh lemon. "The morning person."

  He grinned. "A shame, isn't it? I think she comes by the ailment naturally." To his surprise, her face lit with a delightful smile and she took the arm he offered.

  When they returned to the garage level, she spotted the freshly-waxed pickup truck he'd taken to maneuver the snow. "Just how many shiny vehicles do you own?"

  "Should I tell the chauffeur to skip the sedan next time?" There was an answering gleam in her eyes as she stared at his ride, longing mixed with a guarded sort of hope, and impulse had him unlocking the passenger side door. "Hop in. I'll drive you home."

  "You'll be late for your interview." She shook her head, but like the day before she seemed unable to resist the lure of a powerful engine and leather seats. "Could you drop me somewhere on your way?"

  Amanda was smiling as she let him help her up into the cab of his Ford F-150. He had to adjust his suit pants at the intense, guilty pleasure etched across her face an
d the way her lean fingers stroked the interior. "When," she'd said, and Ryan had made his choice. There were only so many times a man could face temptation and walk away unscathed. The next time the universe gave him an opportunity to kiss this woman, he sure as hell would grab it with both hands.

  Ryan swept a look down her front that sent heat bubbling up from her toes. Then he spotted her destination, and confusion overtook his features. "You want me to leave you at a bar?"

  "I saw the cruiser out front on my ride to the bistro," she said. "It's the middle of the day. Whoever's in there, drinking already, probably needs an ear."

  He raised a critical eyebrow. "Your lieutenant's inside."

  Amanda knew of three officers who'd have driven the car on the curb, none of whom were Dale. Still, his certainty rattled her intuition.

  "That's not his cruiser." She hopped out of the truck and turned to face him. "Cops were murdered. I've lost a partner, I know what it's like. Definitely drinking before noon territory."

  "Tangling with him in public might not be wise."

  Afternoon sunlight brought out flecks of gold in the deep brown of his eyes, glittering with heat and erotic promises his schedule wasn't clear enough to deliver. If she climbed back into the truck, that damned "when" blazing between them would be a "now", and they'd more than lock lips. She wasn't about to land on the news for making him late for his interview.

  "I'll take that under advisement, but I'm telling you, he's not here." She forced herself to take a step backward.

  His lips curved like he sensed the depth of her craving for him. Exquisite temptation. "Do you have a dress for the benefit dinner, Amanda?"

  Her heartbeat fumbled, then raced ahead. "I wasn't aware I was on the invitee list."