by Cera Daniels
"You're okay?" her mother asked.
Amanda nodded.
Long, thin fingers reached for hers, squeezed. "Your Prince Charming's been all over the news about the evacuation. You get changed, I'll make you some hot cocoa, and then you come sit with us. Don't even think about scrimping on the details this time."
Amanda hid an inward wince at her nickname for Ryan. "Us, who?"
Squeals emitted from the living room, and the wince crept onto her face. Her mother's fashion-forward knitting circle, probably ogling the night's couture. It would figure, on the night they'd set aside for planning their next yarn challenge, they'd opt instead to be glued to News 9's broadcast. Amanda groaned inwardly. There would be no solace here.
"Can it wait until morning? I just want some rest." Amanda shrugged off her shawl and as it slid off her bare arms, her mother gasped.
Eyes narrowed, her mother then demanded, "Are those bruises?"
Amanda looked down. Hunter. His meaty hands had gripped her hard enough that light blue marks had begun to surface on her skin. Wait until morning? Forget it.
Meredith Werner needed a patent on 'The Look': two parts pinning glare, one part tell-me-now-or-else scowl, blended on high with a spritz of righteous fury à la mother bear.
Amanda ducked her head. "I'll go change."
"I'll put some milk on to boil." Her mother moved with her to the hallway. "Come out when you're ready. And Amanda?"
She turned to face a warm smile.
"I still think you look like a princess."
Amanda felt her own smile falter and hurried into the bedroom before her mother's radar could ping on that, too. "A princess. Too bad my Prince Charming is a fraud."
Renewed anger lent her speed. She stripped out of the gown, the heels, the light makeup, then threw open her mother's closet and rummaged for a cozy sweatshirt. The zealot wouldn't try anything more tonight, not after the failure of his explosives. He'd regroup though, and attack again. Which meant Ryan was still in danger.
Her heart twinged. Why did she still care?
"Duty," she decided aloud. Amanda hauled well-worn sleeves over her arms and wrapped the fabric over her palms. She hugged her middle as hope, brittle and broken like windblown icicles, snapped inside her chest. "Not because I was falling for him."
He wasn't the only one capable of lies.
Amanda raided the kitchen on bare feet to avoid alerting the interrogation department. The sharp women her mother associated with were hungrier than even the News 9 crew and more tenacious than the face-hugging terrier that had scarred her three-year-old self. Milk came to a frothy boil on the stove. A giant red mug lay in wait, filled with fresh chocolate shavings. Delicious fortitude. Mom knew her too well.
She poured the milk into the oversized mug with dread for the question and answer session ahead. "I'd have been better off with the telepathic German shepherd."
Except, the living room was vacant. They'd left the volume on the TV high, and a press conference was underway. McLelas Financial had far exceeded its fundraising goals. Maybe people were more charitable when they'd sidestepped death. But the money report wasn't what stole her breath and wrenched her heart anew. Ryan stood behind the podium. He fielded question after question, a company president and PR whiz, dodging, spinning half-truths with ease while the reporters both touted and criticized McLelas Financial's creative evacuation efforts and the company's cooperation with the Relek City Police Department. He shoved at the corner of his glasses. Self-consciousness? Were the lies getting to him? Did the man have a single remorseful bone in his body?
"Do you want to talk about him?" her mother asked over her shoulder.
Amanda closed her eyes, unable to block his image from her thoughts. "Less now than I did the other day."
"Did he put those bruises on your arms?" Sharp, razor-edged words.
"No." Amanda turned to her with a start. "No, he . . . charged to the rescue. Mom, it's—"
"Complicated?" Her mother clicked the power button on the remote. "Or you'd be there."
Amanda sighed. "You always ask the hard questions."
"I ask the important ones. You have enough of the other kind in your own head." She paused. "I sent the ladies home."
Amanda found her mug lifted out of her hands, a pad of paper taking its place. Names. Addresses. Information she'd thrown away when she'd thought Klepto was the right lead. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline galloped through her veins.
"You kept looking," Amanda said.
"They haven't caught this killer yet, or it would have been in this report. I figured you might prefer to keep busy."
Amanda wrapped her in a tight hug.
Fresh slate. Priorities.
She'd set this pointless confusion and hurt aside and channel her anger alone into a clean perspective on the case.
"What else do you need? More chocolate?" Her mother extracted herself from the embrace with a grin.
"I have to start from scratch." Amanda scooted onto the couch and spread out the property tax information for the newest victim locations on the coffee table. "All of my other research is at home."
"It's no trouble to bring up the others again. I still have the saved list."
Amanda bobbed her head gratefully. "Have an atlas?"
Her mother smiled. "Maps from the tourism department?"
Mere minutes later, Amanda draped the huge sheet of paper over the tabletop. A collection of highlighters and pens were scattered in the middle of the work area. The last map she'd defaced had targeted Klepto. She had to shrug off his influence on this case. Her personal life had no bearing on finding the real zealot. For now, she'd set aside Ryan's alter ego, Klepto's profile and his haunts, and abandon her hunches.
Popping the top of a chunky, blue permanent marker first, she scribbled on her new grid with fast, furious writing. This time, the evidence would speak for itself.
Sleepless hours of damage control had given Ryan a never-ending headache and boosted the fundraising totals enough to fuel the department's few cruisers for years. For the night's excitement, his team and the police department had been painted as heroes. He'd never felt like less of one.
"Are you hiding in the office because you're afraid she'll arrest you?" Romeo asked.
Ryan crumpled the top page of the flowery speech he'd scribbled on his legal pad and pitched it toward his trash can. I'm not hiding. I'm doing my job. Right now, it's the one thing keeping me from screwing up more.
It didn't help that he couldn't get Amanda out of his brain. The urge to see her again, to talk to her, to try to reason this out, rode every nerve in his body. Ryan frowned. Why couldn't he convince himself he didn't get another chance?
He'd blown the second one. He didn't get a third.
He couldn't negotiate with inevitabilities, and he couldn't let idiotic thoughts of what might have been bleed into his business hours today. The shoes he filled demanded more than a public explanation. His father would have followed up with personal house calls to every single guest. Ryan wouldn't take a moment to rest or sleep until he'd paid visits to Relek's upscale neighborhoods and smoothed rumpled feathers.
"Speaking of feathers," Ryan murmured, then tapped on his intercom. "Lilah, you haven't seen Jay around, have you?"
"He's here, Sir. I'll send him in."
Jay shuffled into the room and nudged the door shut. "You rang?"
"Detective Hunter Williams." Ryan slid over a folder. "Except for his obsession with vodka,"—and the way he'd touched Amanda—"he's promising. Take your seeing-eye bird and drop the Shaw Family bust in this guy's lap."
"Torpedo will love that." Jay crossed his arms.
Ryan rubbed at his temples. "Did you need something?"
"You should have gone after her last night."
"And said what?"
His brother shrugged. "'Hey, babe, I'm not a serial killer'?"
"I have work to do, Jay."
"Come on, Ry. You cut Brennan's airtime for this woman." Jay's forehe
ad crinkled. "You don't plan to let her keep walking, do you?"
"The zealot has been killing people with police-issue bullets. Klepto had her gun—I—had her gun. I fired a bullet into her shoulder and started a fucking war. What makes you think she'd give me another chance?"
Jay laughed. "She hasn't arrested you yet."
"All that means is she doesn't have enough evidence to charge me with anything."
"Ry. It happened months ago. She won't forget it, but forgiveness? You can't assume she'll lock you up for asking."
Ryan gestured futilely to the safe embedded in his office wall. "Why did you break into my safe?"
"You told me to go in armed!" Jay planted his fists in the middle of Ryan's paperwork. "How was I supposed to know you kept souvenirs?"
Slowly, Ryan set his palms on the desk surface. "You have your own gun."
Guilt lit his brother's face, a shimmer of silver crisping the edges of his super-powered corneas. "It was still wet from the DIY coffee bar incident. I . . . it was just for the night. I didn't think—"
"Obviously."
Jay's jaw flexed. "I came here to talk sense into your brain, not to pick a fight."
Lilah's voice crackled over the intercom. "Chief of security is—"
"Don't warn him," Zach's gruff voice rumbled at the edge of Ryan's hearing.
"Oh, sure, just walk on in. Ignore the talking scenery."
Zach barreled through the office door and slammed it behind him with a frustrated roar that sent Jay backing around the side of the desk like an overcautious lion tamer.
"I am not going to hit you," Zach growled.
"You sure?" Jay asked with an uneasy, lop-sided grin. "You've got that vein poking out of your forehead again. Last time I checked, not a good sign."
Ryan would have growled himself, if he wasn't wincing from the volume control. "Could you two go dance somewhere else? Some of us are recovering from ear trauma."
Jay's glance snapped his way. "I thought they were better."
"Ninety-eight percent or so. I'm just out of patience." He tipped a look at Zach. "Say what you need to say, and when you next encounter my assistant, pretend you come from the same polite society as the rest of us."
Zach rammed his hands through his hair. "None of the sellers I know have laid eyes on the kind of components the zealot used last night. I've been tracking through back channels, the underbelly markets—nothing."
"Did you try tapping our new partner's resources?"
"Not in person. Didn't want to push it with your girlfriend out for blood." Zach's eyes glittered. "Murphy's interest in her is another reason cops shouldn't date vigilantes."
"You think I wanted this for her?" He ground his teeth to keep his temper in check.
"I think for a guy with a head for business, your math sucks." Zach fisted his hands. "Lucky for you, there's nothing wrong with her ability to put two and two together. You complement each other, really."
Cooped up in the hospital, and then his office doing research, had taken a toll on Zach's temper as well. He was frustrated, wound up, and spoiling for a fight.
A plan crept into his mind, and Ryan found a smile. "If you have energy to burn on weak insults, you can suit up with us tonight."
Jay started. "You don't think OC can catch them at the docks?"
"They have the manpower, and if they team up with the departments I think they will, they'll net anyone who shows up for the drop. But Shaw runs a small, intense syndicate with the lowest overhead I've ever seen. Family ties make him efficient. He's no burned-out street thug; he's smart. This investment could change the tide of the war, so while he may have funneled in every liquid resource he has, Shaw knows how to play the risk game. He's still dealing a lucrative business on the personal weapons market. The man's not going to be stupid enough to dump all of his people at the drop point. Some will stay behind to guard the warehouse stock."
Zach narrowed bronze eyes his direction. "We tie his hounds up and use their own drop site for a dumping ground."
"Exactly. They go to jail, the streets are that much safer, and Murphy'll be thrilled to have one less competitor," Ryan said.
"What about the warehouses?" Jay asked.
The corner of Ryan's mouth twitched and gave him away. "Obviously we can't leave dangerous toys lying about. Someone might get hurt."
They shared a fierce grin and Zach nodded with approval. "All three of us. Klepto everywhere they turn. I like it. Who's going after Shaw?"
"Nobody," Ryan said. "He'll find he's played the risk game too high. We remove the ship, his employees, his backstock from the equation, he winds up with nothing, and, if we're lucky, someone'll put a price on his head."
"You intend to let him slip away during the bust," Jay said.
Ryan nodded. "He doesn't have a public persona like Murphy. We won't have time to find him, much less dig him out of whatever hole he's hiding in."
"And you think Shaw takes risks?" Shoving his hands in his pockets, Zach shook his head. "I'm not in the market to start racking up nemeses here. Shiv's bad enough."
"The risk is minimal. Shaw Family will be dissolved overnight. Bankrupt, no shot at bail, owing some hefty loan payments." Ryan rapped his knuckles on the desk. "No one rescues rats from a sinking ship."
Zach rolled his shoulders back. "That's because the rats usually rescue themselves."
"This isn't a dictatorship, Z. You have a better idea, speak up," Ryan said.
"I think my fists would rather talk to couple of his men, while you and Jay deliver Klepto's packages to the nice, helpful officers."
"You could do that. And assuming they don't lie to Klepto about where Shaw's hiding, you'd still have to track him down." Ryan resisted the urge to massage his temples.
"Fine by me," Zach agreed.
Jay nodded. "I'm in, too."
"Then Jay, you, me, Romeo, and Torpedo will sweep up the Shaw warehouses tonight, and Zach, you'll take Drak with you for your . . . " Ryan paused to give his brother a wry grin. " . . . interrogations."
"I knew he wanted to hit something." Jay scooped up Hunter's file with a smile.
It quickly turned into a frown as his youngest brother caught a glimpse of the Ohanzee glyphs marking the packet underneath. Brennan's research. Their ancestors' stories about Spirit-mates existed only to mock his failure. Ryan sucked in a breath as he met Jay's hard stare.
"What is this?" Jay's eyes watched carefully, gauging his reaction.
A knock sounded on the door, then Lilah bustled in with an ice pack and a cup of mint and lavender tea he could smell from across the room.
How many raises could he give his assistant in one week?
"No one's bleeding." Ryan put a smile behind the tease.
Her half-hearted laughter made him realize how tired she must be. He should have sent her home with a security escort long ago. Another failure, but this one he could remedy immediately.
"When was the last time you left the building?" he asked. "I'll have someone drive you home so you can get some rest."
Both saucer and mug of tea rattled onto his desk. "Please excuse us, gentlemen."
Dark eyebrows slid up his brothers' foreheads in unison, but they filed out of the room in short order.
"Lilah, one of us should sleep, and we both know I don't have the time," Ryan said.
"Who will field your calls? You don't want News 9 to say you couldn't be reached for comment, do you? They love to stir up a fuss." Her look softened and she waved a memo in front of his nose. "They're asking about your newest fling. Why she wasn't at the press conferences."
"She's not a fling, and my personal life is not up for perusal."
"Since when?"
He tossed his glasses onto the desk and rubbed his eyes. "I screwed up."
She gave an indelicate snort. "So apologize."
"It's bigger than that, Lilah."
"Better to start somewhere than let it slip through your fingers without a fight." She shrugged and
headed for the door. "The trophy wives and high-profile customers are always going to be there. You're always so eager to fix things. You're good at it, Ryan. Go to your detective. Make things right."
She opened the door and collided with Zach.
"I'm sorry," Zach said, making a loose grab for Lilah's arms to steady her balance.
Lilah tossed a satisfied smirk over her shoulder. "See how easy it is?"
Ryan shoved his head into his hands as his brothers headed downstairs to review the data and the door snicked closed to leave him alone once more. How did Lilah manage to make it sound so simple?
I'm not desperate to hold her again. I'm not in love with her. The sex was just sex, the kisses were . . .
"Liar," Ryan said to an empty office.
He could fool most people with a smile, but lying to himself had never been a strong suit. Amanda was in his heart, as immoveable as his brothers and nearly as close. Closer, in some ways. He never let Zach and Jay see his doubts, but his detective had dug her way in, stripping away his defenses and secrets from the beginning.
He wanted her there. Is she okay, Romeo?
"She's working. You two have a lot in common."
Ryan gave a bitter laugh. Enough with the matchmaking.
Pretending to court the many faces of Brennan had given him a major handicap in the relationship game, but he doubted more experience with wooing women would have helped. Flowers, jewelry, charm, pretty words—Amanda wouldn't accept any of the above as reparation.
But then there was the small matter of putting her life at risk every time he came near. Even if he apologized, even though he only wanted her to be safe, Romeo was a hazard to her mind, Klepto and his associations put her body in mortal danger, and if Brennan's research could be believed, Ryan's own ancestors and ability imperiled her soul, her spirit.
"She's tough. I bet she can handle it."
I didn't ask you. Ryan snapped the connection to his spirit guide without pause.
Poking around in his non-directed thoughts, now? Romeo could mind his own damned business, and Ryan would too. He pulled over his legal pad and started another speech. He had nothing to offer Amanda but trouble. Everyone would be safer, better off, if he stopped playing at things he had no business dealing with and stuck what he was good at fixing. Public relations, not fated relationships.
