Vigilante Mine

by Cera Daniels

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "You're wrong." Ryan re-corralled the russet strands of his ponytail into a silver clasp and swiveled a confident look in her direction. "This zealot isn't after me."

  Amanda frowned. "You won't take the threat seriously?"

  "Did he mention me by name?"

  "No, but—"

  "If he thinks the benefit dinner is supporting a syndicate-led police department, that'd be a whole lot of supposed syndicate supporters under one roof."

  "With you running the show," Zach said.

  Ryan smiled. "Someone has to."

  "Shooting into a crowd doesn't fit his M.O." Amanda chewed on the inside of her cheek. She'd banked on the killer's two-shots to a single victim routine. What if he'd changed not only his targets, but his method as well?

  Ryan shook his head. "If he really wants to make a point, if he's really escalating, he'll see tomorrow night's fundraiser as a much better target."

  Amanda's muscles locked. Ryan had a point. The killer identified victims with new criteria now. His methods could stay the same, but chances were better he'd change the presentation as well. The first victim had been shot, then blown up to cover the killer's grab for ammunition. The fact he'd used explosives once meant he wouldn't necessarily stop with bullets. Her gut insisted Ryan, as host for the event, remained the primary target, but the fundraiser did present a major draw.

  "Let's assume for a moment you're right," she said. "He could attack the benefit itself. But it'll also be dark. Visibility will be low. He could strike at the edge of the parking lot, inside the parking garage. He could stake out the front door."

  Zach let out a low curse. "Shut the benefit down."

  "It's too important to cancel," Ryan said. "Good people need this money. We drop the ball now, we alienate support."

  "Reschedule it until he's behind bars, then."

  "No. We'll increase security, put up extra cameras. He won't get past the guards."

  Zach blanched and set a shaking hand down on a keyboard to his right. A set of schematics flashed onto the white wall across the room. He pointed toward the projection. "The ballroom has upper windows, a skylight, doors on the ground level, doors on the balcony level—too many ways to get in, too many places for shots to be fired from. We can't defend it. If you're too stubborn to hear anything else, at least admit you have to change the venue."

  Ryan's eyebrows dipped as he studied his brother. "I'm stubborn?"

  The argument devolved from there. Amanda left them to it and stepped closer to the blueprints. She sighed. Riddled with access points. The place was a tactical nightmare. Even hallways branching into the rest of the building could be perfect places for guests to sneak out for a breath—and never return. If Ryan wouldn't cancel, the killer would certainly show.

  Her mouth dropped open. Instinct, feral and hungry for justice, popped through her veins like an energy drink. "Gentlemen."

  Both men, now toe to toe, turned questioning looks her way.

  The possibility of trapping the serial murderer on their own terms brought a grim smile to her lips. "We know he's planning another string of attacks. If he doesn't hit the fundraiser itself, he'll be after the guest list." He could confirm his targets when the event went public on News 9's exclusive. She ran her finger over the perimeter line on the wall. "I need that list. This could be the best chance we have to catch him. Now, before he kills anyone else."

  "I'm not using my brother as bait." Zach crossed his arms, but Ryan was already heading for the door.

  "I'd rather help than hide." Ryan motioned for them to follow. "Lilah's the only one with the list. She padded my invites with her own. We'll call your lieutenant on the way up."

  An hour later, Ryan had cleared his schedule and he, Zach, and Amanda sat in the 14th floor's conference room pouring through hundreds of names. Invitations had been issued both from Ryan's assistant and the police department, the latter on Lieutenant Dale's recommendation. Her mentor had wasted no time filling out event staff and security with undercover men and women he'd cleared of suspicion, and he'd increased the number of uniformed police officers who would be in attendance.

  Amanda rubbed her nose. The overpowering smell of new carpet glue wasn't far from giving her a splitting headache, but she persisted. They had a little over 24 hours to assign teams strategically throughout the ballroom. Officially, representatives of the police force would be honored guests. Unofficially, they would be armed and on-duty, charged with protecting the elite of the city.

  She tapped her pen on the table. "I don't want civilians there. Not when this guy could open fire on a crowd."

  Ryan looked to his brother, who nodded. When he looked back at Amanda, it was with warm, brown eyes, aimed to reassure. "Nothing like that's going to happen."

  Putting innocents in harm's way sat like a boulder in her stomach. McLelas Financial's reputation aside, the social faux pas of uninvites could tip off the killer, rendering the trap useless, with the added bonus of pissing off some powerful, wealthy people. And if he didn't show in person, the killer would know the instant the exclusive failed to air on News 9. For thwarting his plans, he could escalate even further.

  "It's a good plan, Amanda. Lieutenant Dale's providing plenty of backup, and we're doing everything we can to ensure Relek City's wealthy and famous will be safe." Ryan slid his hand over hers and his thumb rubbed over her wrist. "Trust us. Trust me."

  The boulder became butterflies. Amanda gripped her pen harder. "It doesn't matter what I think. It's Dale's call, not mine."

  "It matters to me." His voice came out so low Amanda was certain Zach hadn't heard. "Money alone wouldn't be worth this. He's playing with lives and it has to stop."

  Amanda studied his expression, part pleading, part surety, until his hand squeezed hers. She nodded.

  "What kept you, Jay?" Ryan asked without looking away.

  Amanda reclaimed her hand and turned in her chair. A moment later, another man strode through the open double doors, sporting a gray suit with dark blue accents. He had sneakers on his feet and two tall mugs in his hands.

  "Paperwork." An easy smile lit his gray eyes.

  With long, brown hair and broad cheekbones, a familiar self-assurance in his step, he could have been Ryan's twin. The comparison failed when Ryan stood to pull over a seat for him. Jay McLelas was a couple of inches shorter than his older brothers.

  "Lilah wasn't thirsty, so someone else should drink this before it gets cold." Jay slid one of the mugs onto the conference table and Ryan automatically shoved it toward the opposite end.

  Zach gripped the handle, sniffed, then turned up his nose. "You poisoned it."

  "It's just sugar," Jay said with a shrug.

  "Ugh." Zach shoved it in front of Amanda.

  "Try it." Jay pulled a pen from an interior suit pocket and began making notes on his photocopy of the blueprint.

  "I don't do caffeine," Amanda said.

  Ryan flashed a genuine smile her way, but Jay . . . His bottom lip snuck out and his eyes became huge.

  Amanda laughed. "Seriously? What are you, four?"

  Jay McLelas, it turned out, had the most convincing, adorable pout Amanda had ever seen. Maybe it was gratitude for breaking the grim mood she'd returned to, or maybe it was the rapid blinking of big puppy eyes, but whatever the cause, she found herself sipping from the mug anyway. And because the coffee was actually decent, less like the bitter break room goop at the precinct and more like hot, sweetened tea, she sent him an appreciative nod.

  Jay looked far too pleased with himself. "It's fresh. Roasted, ground, and brewed above your head."

  "Are you kidding me?" Ryan crumpled a piece of paper.

  Amanda looked up, then between them as amusement flashed from Jay's end of the long table. Jay shrugged and scribbled something in his notes.

  "Jay, I want you to look at me and tell me my office didn't flood because you put in a coffee bar."

  Ryan's office had flooded? Amanda s
miled into her mug. Charming troublemakers, the lot of them.

  Jay didn't say anything at first, his smile inching onto his face until he was flat-out grinning at his brother. "I get thirsty."

  "Oh? Here, let me go wring you some water out of the old carpet."

  "You should try some, Ry. Look, your girlfriend likes it."

  Fighting an eye roll, Amanda picked up the guest list rather than responding. Girlfriend. A lie, and Jay had only used it to fuel sibling banter, but the word sent a secret thrill trembling through her veins. She wouldn't be deluded by the flippant comment. Girlfriend meant more than one lunch, and Ryan was a one-night stand kind of man. So why had her chest tightened and her throat gone dry?

  "You flooded my office!"

  "For a good cause."

  "You told Lilah it wasn't you."

  "I thought I was more skilled with plumbing, to be honest, but everything worked out in the end."

  "Because I'm the one who fixed it."

  Jay fell into a stony silence that made Amanda furrow her eyebrows.

  Zach put down his pen and pushed his chair back. "You're not the only one who can fix things."

  She looked up from a listed name that had caught her attention in time to see Ryan's eyes flash with hurt. Their playful exchange had fled for something deeper. The implied accusation felt worn, like they'd repeated it many times over the years. Perhaps as children.

  The name pinged in her memory. Amanda dropped the guest list onto the desk and tapped it with a fingertip, daring to break the heavy silence. "You've got young people on here."

  Ryan slid her pages over and shook his head. "The Cooke twins. A track record for generosity, just like their aunt. She wouldn't attend without them. They're both 18."

  Zach rose, walking over to peer at the list with Ryan. "Uninviting them would damage their reputations and ours."

  "This is a bad time to be making new enemies," Ryan said. He shoved his hands into his hair and hung his head over the table. "I hate this. The timeline's too short. News 9 will be there, and everyone will want to be seen."

  Amanda frowned. "The reporters."

  "I took care of it," Zach said. "We had special security passes made up, so we've got everyone accounted for on that front."

  "Security passes can be forged. Stolen," Amanda said.

  Zach shook his head. "Not these."

  So arrogant. Amanda hoped his confidence was well-warranted.

  Jay leaned back in his chair. "It's a shame there's a killer hanging over this. The ball concept took off. I saw some of our RSVPs on the news."

  An alarm shrieked in Amanda's head and for an instant her vision swam. "On the news? Already?"

  "Bragging rights." Ryan grimaced at the list in his hand. "I sat through one of those segments at the studio. At this point I believe I've been well-schooled in the art of last minute dress design."

  "Stop." She gripped the edge of the table. "You told me the guest list was private."

  "I meant Lilah was the only one with the whole thing. The minute News 9 got involved, attending became trendy," Ryan said.

  "You're talking about people who practically live under a spotlight," Jay put in, his brow furrowed in confusion. "No way would they wait for the exclusive to air to get some attention, especially if it means lording their invite over someone else."

  "The fundraiser's tomorrow night." Amanda pushed away from the table to walk the length of the conference room. "There's a whole night between now and then, and the killer has more than Ryan's name on his primary list."

  "Tonight's a non-issue." Zach straightened, then leaned against the wall. "The difference is that these people have security teams and they've been on alert since the killings began. He won't get a shot at them in their homes. Tomorrow night . . . there's where my worry lies." His shoulders lifted.

  "Tomorrow night, all bets are off. We can't be absolutely sure these people are safe." Unless . . . if she wore Klepto's "gift," played his game afterhours, would she stand a chance of getting the evidence she needed to shut him down first? Her headache punched at the spot between her eyes as she considered options.

  Ryan stood, pressing his thumbs against the top of the table. "Sit, Amanda."

  "I'm thinking."

  Those maddening lips turned slightly upward. "You're pacing."

  She stopped with her foot in the air, stared down at it, and tried to think past the pressure in her head. Slowly, she lowered her foot to the floor. Amanda fixed a look on Ryan and the room did an abrupt 360 degree spin in both directions at once.

  "Why won't she Listen?"

  The room around Amanda had gone black as pitch, and the masculine voice wasn't one of the McLelas's. It took effort to spread her fingers. The gravelly press of ice-cold pavement rasped across her palms. When had she left Ryan's conference room?

  "The link is there. Broken? Blocked?" The strange baritone voice gave an impatient grumble. "His Spirit-mate comes to us closed off and afraid."

  Amanda's head blazed with pain. Blind and unable to move further, it seemed she had little choice. "Who are you? What do you want?"

  "You are Listening?" The voice hitched in surprise.

  "I will if you answer my questions."

  "I've watched you. You always have questions." Amusement. "I won't do answers."

  Why weren't her eyes working? "Then why should I listen?"

  A soft snort. Then an answer in a mock booming voice, "Because you are his. Linked beyond time, burdened by choice."

  "Who is he? What choice?"

  "There must always be choice, for without you are mere slaves to fate." Again with the cheesy dramatics. She caught a strong impression of a wolfish smile in the blackness of her dream. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

  "Fate. Uh-huh. I've lost my mind." Memory of arguing with Ryan flitted past, the dizziness, the rising of the floor. The coffee. Of course. She'd passed out, and the toasty drink had warped her dream-state. "Caffeine, bad."

  "Listen now."

  Amanda's bones felt as though they could push from her skin, her world pulsing and pushing and colliding with motion, yet no motion at all. Then she heard everything. Sharp, focused points of sound: the express rail, church bells, a creaking screen door.

  "Hey, hey what are you doing, man? Put the gun away. You trying to get us killed?" Jackson.

  A shot fired.

  Amanda convulsed. "No!"

  An impossible dream. It was Jackson. Her partner. She was remembering his murder, the night he was killed.

  Remembering? No. She hadn't been there.

  Footsteps crunched on brittle snow.

  Another shot.

  "No." Her second protest came out a whimper.

  With time on her hands during recovery, she'd memorized the incident and M.E. reports, but she hadn't witnessed the cold, precise attack.

  She'd only imagined this scene in her head many times.

  Never in winter.

  The thump of a body hitting ice over snow, cracking the top, sinking.

  Murder.

  Her hand clutched the plush carpeting of a rug and she held on for dear life as the world pitched anew. Dimly she registered someone calling her name. She was cradled in strong arms, arms she longed to bolster her against the tide of memory, arms that made her feel safe, wanted. Ryan.

  If caffeine was going to imbue her dreams with realistic elements, why couldn't she return to last night's forbidden fantasies—or her new elevator one? Anything, as long as the kisses were full-contact and courtesy of one handsome businessman who walked a line of gray and who, she suspected, hid a heart of gold. Why did she have to dream instead about death?

  Those protective arms deposited her onto something soft and cloud-like. A cool compress on her forehead filled her nose with scents of pine and lavender.

  Comforting reality snapped away as a new, modulated voice spoke. "Relek City will be cleansed."

  Him.

  The killer.

  Her conscious mind threate
ned to shatter with dark clarity. Images curled around her, but she wasn't truly seeing, imprisoned inside nightmares.

  A figure cloaked in a dark trench coat leaned over the body. Red blood oozed its way over the white ground. The victim spread out like a macabre snow angel. And the cold. So bitter, bitter cold.

  "Spirit-mate his, when the time comes, will you choose to Listen then?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "I knew something wasn't right about that coffee." Zach grated out the accusation like it was his sole defense when faced with an unconscious woman.

  "This wasn't my fault!"

  Ryan deposited Amanda on the leather couch then tipped a pained look at his brothers. Zach and Jay stood nose to nose, arguing less from real anger and more from a need to act. Helplessness didn't suit a McLelas. Give them a syndicate drug deal and they could take it down in minutes. Give them a beautiful, strong woman shivering, crying out in her unconscious state, however—Ryan ran a hand through his hair. Why had she collapsed?

  "Should I dial the hospital?" Lilah called from her desk.

  "Yeah, and tell them to bring a stomach pump," Zach said.

  Jay flipped him off.

  "Spiritwalker. She did it. She heard me."

  Ryan jerked his fingers free and braced himself on the cushions. The dog sounded excited, happy even, that Amanda had collapsed in the middle of his conference room. What the fuck, Romeo?

  "I found him, and she Listened."

  Found who? His companion didn't answer. Leather groaned under his clenching fingers. What happened to Amanda?

  Amanda whimpered and Ryan's heart contracted painfully. This had nothing to do with coffee. Romeo knew something, but though Ryan continued to push at him mentally, the dog wouldn't speak unless he felt it necessary. How the hell was Ryan supposed to help her if he didn't know what was wrong?

  "Enough." He pitched his voice low as he checked his detective's cheeks for heat. "It was probably the fumes from the new carpet glue. Take our plans to the security office and keep working. I'll handle this."

  Romeo, I need answers. I'm counting to five . . .