by Cera Daniels
She'd been so close.
Ryan had come for her. Amanda didn't know why her sleeping mind was so ridiculously pleased, but the minute she'd recognized his face, she'd felt settled. Grounded. How a man who'd turned her instincts upside-down and shifted her perception of reality with his talking dog and supernatural ability could be an anchor at a time like this had to be a testament to the way Jackson's appearance left her frozen inside.
Her mind recoiled. Safety shriveled away as she found herself alone with those memories. Her partner was not only alive, he was a serial killer. He'd assaulted her and left her for dead. Amanda battled the memory. They would stop him. The 16th would protect the city and bring Jackson to justice before he could carry out the rest of his plan.
But they didn't know about her research. They didn't know it was Jackson.
She had to wake up.
Stuck on repeat behind her eyes, Jackson's haunting, serious expression and the almost-bored purpose behind his movements took her prisoner. She thrashed in the darkness with silent screams.
"The water will cleanse you."
Taser probes on already shocked nerves.
Frozen, unforgiving water.
Pressure from the stream hammered her spine, bled through her tank top, and encased her muscles in ice as she tried to rouse.
Handcuffs.
Trapped.
Amanda didn't know if she shivered in her head, or with her entire body.
"Spirit-mate his. These thoughts help no one."
Amanda tried to answer, but she couldn't lift her head. She couldn't get free. Pain, exploding in her mind as she called for help that would never arrive.
"Remember. Remember you are safe."
The strength and familiarity of a solid chest. Caring, careful arms. Warmth and sensation, when she'd never thought to feel her fingers again. Hands, gripping hers like a vise, belonging to the man who'd saved her so many times but who couldn't protect himself from the simple tick of a wall clock.
Ryan.
Fault lay with her for his loss of control. He'd reached for her anyway, in pain, suffering. The way to help him, to steady him until he could handle the overload to his super ears, had taken her over like an old, soothing rhythm. Examining the connection too deeply threatened to bury her in emotions. Why was her voice so much safer for him than his brothers'? Amanda needed better questions. Facts.
Ryan was Klepto.
Her heart squeezed so hard she was afraid it would shatter.
He'd let her see beyond his fake glasses. Why had he kept the mask on, when he was innocent of murder? Why had he lied?
Questions she needed to ask him face to face, not hide somewhere in her head. Facts. She should have picked up on the truth sooner.
"He wanted to protect you," Romeo said.
"I could have been doing my job instead of chasing shadows." With the solid thought, her world warmed, and the memories slowed to a trickle. She worked toward consciousness.
"You are angry." Romeo's baritone voice trembled in her mind.
"You can hear me." She could still help them stop Jackson. Amanda struggled, but her eyelids felt stapled shut. "Romeo, tell him. Tell Ryan it was Jackson. My grid is on—"
"They have maps. And now a name as well."
They would stop him. Ryan would call Dale, and Dale would have those hidey-holes and drop locations staked out before morning.
"Rest, Spirit-mate his."
Facts. Pain in her head, before Jackson had used the second cartridge in her Taser.
"Romeo," she thought to him, "When Jackson attacked, I . . . called for you. The same way you talk to me."
Romeo didn't respond.
"You answered, I think." He'd used the strange names he had for her, for Ryan. Spirit-mate his. Spiritwalker. "You were in pain."
Silence from the telepathic dog she'd begun to consider a quirky, impossible friend.
"Do you do this a lot? Not answer questions?"
"You ask a lot of them. It's hard to keep up." A wolfish, mental smile. "But none of those were questions."
She hoped Romeo drove Ryan half as crazy. "Why did I feel your pain?"
"We shared a link, as we do now," he said. "I felt your emotions, and you, in turn, shared mine."
"Physical pain, though?"
"Your rejection hurt."
"I hurt you." Her stomach rolled with shame. She'd blocked him from her head. Had she sent some kind of telepathic punch at the same time?
"It is done, Spirit-mate his."
"Clearly that means something." Not a question. "'Spirit-mate his?' 'Spiritwalker?'"
"That is not mine to answer. Listen," Romeo said instead.
Ryan's presence in her kitchen. Low, urgent murmurs, plans that sounded a lot like they dealt with Jackson. She strained to do as Romeo asked, but though she was sure she picked out the gist of the conversation, it wasn't precise enough to know what they were up to.
"I can't hear him clearly," she finally thought to Romeo.
Weariness tugged at the strange link between them and Ryan's voice faded. "I am sorry. Listening is . . . a tiring exercise."
The dog sounded so distressed Amanda sent soothing thoughts and apologies his way. Romeo wanted to help, but he was stuck in recovery right alongside her because of pain she'd caused.
"Can you hear them without pulling me in? What are they doing?" Amanda asked.
"Research."
"For Dale? They aren't going after Jackson without him, are they?" She frowned inside her head. "Romeo, tell him—"
"Tell the Spiritwalker yourself."
That single, odd name. Dozens of questions. For once, Amanda hated a puzzle. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm having trouble getting out of bed."
"Talk to him."
"Talk . . . " Amanda fought for understanding and control of her vocal cords. Exhausting. "I can't."
Frustration, then disappointment, seeped into her mind. As if Romeo honestly believed this was something she should be able to do. She gave a mental shake of her head, but a dreamless sleep beckoned.
"Just make sure he calls Dale," Amanda thought toward the dog before full unconsciousness won.
Ryan jerked a hand through his hair and watched the steady rise and fall of Amanda's chest. Dawn lent a cheery glow to her peaceful expression. He'd spent the night relaying her leads to both Lieutenant Dale and his brothers—who, as Klepto, had the advantage of less official resources—and after casing possible body drop locations based on Amanda's map, everyone was exhausted and short on temper. Ryan didn't want to be sleeping when she came to, but he was reaching the point of no return.
"The grumpy one took your car." Romeo's eyes gleamed from the crack in the doorway.
Ryan made a half-hearted attempt to raise an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific."
"The little one?"
Oh, Jay was going to love that moniker. "I told him he wouldn't find a coffeemaker. Where's Zach?"
"Sleeping."
Romeo nosed the door the rest of the way open and came to Ryan's side before sitting back on his haunches. Ryan automatically dropped his fingers to scratch behind the German shepherd's ears.
"Your Spirit-mate has questions you can't answer. I suggest you call for reinforcements."
"While we're suggesting things, how about you stay out of her head and stop making her Listen to my secrets? We have her research. We know it's Jackson. You're both tired enough as it is. Stop plundering." They didn't have time to deal with Romeo's fascination with Amanda's brain as well as catching a killer.
First things first.
"I didn't pull the name from her mind. She called me."
Ryan paused, glancing down at his companion's intent, furry face. "That's more than Listening."
"Yes." Romeo arched his neck into Ryan's fingertips.
Not good. Amanda, linking on her own with his spirit guide? No wonder she had questions. His brain rattled with an uneasy number of them as well. Like it or not, he needed t
o make time for damage control. She wasn't up yet, and her lieutenant's people were on shifts patrolling for Jackson. His brothers couldn't play Klepto by day. They needed downtime.
Ryan rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "What did you do, Romeo?"
"The Keeper might know. Might not."
"The Keeper?"
"Of the stories," Romeo said, as if it were the most reasonable explanation on the planet.
"Do you mean Brennan? Why can't you ever give me a straight answer?" Any kind of answer was an improvement over the silence he usually got in return, but Ryan was tired, frustrated, and needed something concrete for a change. "You're my spirit guide. So . . . guide."
"I can't read." Romeo's tongue lolled out of his mouth in a grin, but he rose to all fours stiffly, like a far older dog.
Ryan sighed. "Now you're just being difficult. If I call Brennan, I might as well be admitting everything she's translated is true. She'll find out about our abilities, our spirit guides, not just you. I can't do that to my brothers."
"The Keeper already knows. Things are changing, Spiritwalker. If I had all the answers, I would never have hurt you." He shuffled toward the door but looked back, his preternaturally intelligent eyes loaded with regret. "Or your Spirit-mate."
Change. He thought about Brennan's research, and what few answers he had already. What if Amanda's new connection wasn't Romeo's fault? What if Ryan himself had started this whole disaster, with that cursed—amazing, incredible—kiss? He brushed his fingers over her lips, then decided to find out.
He moved to the living room, flipped on a lamp, and roused Zach.
"This better be good," Zach mumbled from under the wool blanket on Amanda's couch.
Ryan tapped his earpiece to include his youngest brother. "A few days ago, Brennan approached me with a translation. An . . . explanation."
Zach sat up in a rush. The blanket slipped off and his eyes went hard as solid amber.
Ryan pressed ahead. There wasn't enough time to tell them everything, so they got the abridged version.
"A bedtime story about death and fated love and shit, just for you? Yeah, right. I buy that bit of crazy," Zach said.
Jay laughed over the earpiece. "Says the man who puts scarves on his fluffy little pet bat."
"He. Was. Cold." Zach gritted through clenched teeth.
Ryan suppressed a smile, plunging forward. "There are too many coincidences for Brennan to be wrong. And, well, Romeo backed her up."
"Nothing in there says you couldn't tell us this hours ago. Why now?" Jay asked.
Ryan stalked to the kitchen sink to fill a glass with water. He knocked it back, then admitted, "Before, Amanda wasn't hearing Romeo in her head. She talks to him like I do."
"Shit." Zach said. Pacing feet filled Ryan's ears.
"Is she okay?" Jay asked.
"For now. But I have to know what's going on. Brennan's had enough time to dig deeper, and Romeo thinks she might have answers." He shoved the emptied glass onto the counter. "I'm making the call."
Jay agreed without pause, but Zach stopped moving. "Bring her here."
Ryan turned and cocked an eyebrow his way.
"No negotiation" was written on every inch of his brother's tense muscles. "If she's getting full disclosure, and she has answers, I want to hear what she has to say."
Fair enough. Ryan nodded as Jay shot an ETA and approval over the earpiece. He clicked the mic off and turned to Zach. "When I spoke to her last, she hadn't found anything for the two of you."
"Fourteen years has been plenty of time to learn not to get my hopes up." Zach shook his head. "She'll know one of us has a talking dog and a superpower. I want to get a read on what she intends to do with that. Before we see it on the ten o'clock broadcast."
A test. Zach had a point: Brennan enjoyed the limelight. Ryan could only hope her offer to help was sincere as he took the plunge and widened his circle of trust with the press of a button. He wished he'd argued for immediacy. Brennan lived outside city limits.
Answers were hours away.
Ryan returned to the bedroom after ordering and felt a shred of envy. Having taken it upon himself to curl up by her feet, Romeo slept soundly on the bed. So did Amanda. He pulled a chair to her bedside, caught a short nap, then worried more. Mid-morning was on them when he heard laughter and caught a whiff of Chinese food. He emerged from the bedroom to find his brothers lounging at her kitchen island. Smiling. Tossing the more playful insults they shared over most meals, like everything was back to normal.
"For breakfast?" he asked, as Jay pointed at an unopened carton with a post-gallon-plus-of-coffee grin on his face.
Zach shifted to one side and revealed a row of three short glasses and a dark brown bottle of bourbon.
Surprise tugged him closer. "Is that Amanda's?"
"And your girl's got good taste." Zach waggled the bottle at him. "We were just about to make a toast."
"How much have you had already?" Incredulous, he looked between them. "Have you lost your minds? Do you have any idea what she'll do when she wakes up and learns you cleaned out her liquor cabinet?"
Jay rolled his eyes. "Do you? These are the kinds of things you learn before you move in."
"Well, I certainly don't want to find out the hard way." Wait. Whoa. Move in? Ryan narrowed his eyes.
"Personally, I'm more interested in what she'll do when she meets your ex." Zach sent Jay a sly look. "Exes?"
"So Ry, you're telling us you've no interest whatsoever at how well a certain spirit guide likes sharing his doghouse when the good detective discovers you're—" Jay aimed a thumb toward the two hanging suits, shaving kit, toothbrush and toothpaste, hairbrush, and open suitcases full of his less formal clothes . . . all parked near Amanda's couch. "—living together."
A pained groan wrenched from Ryan's throat. "I'm already going down for Klepto. You drink that, it's on you. Damn, guys, it's not even noon."
Zach poured a finger in each glass, then lifted his as Jay took up the toast. "To secrets."
Madness.
Necessary.
The closeness, the pranks, the laughter. Family. Necessary, like durable, simple duct tape for his battered spirits.
Amanda chose that moment to stir.
"You're both dead men," Ryan said, their soft laughter bolstering his walk to the bedroom door.
They were crazy, but they were his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Amanda was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders hunched, the silk mask Jackson had tied around her head stretched between her fingers. Framing her collarbone was a thinner, teal and white striped sweater, instead of the bulky orange turtleneck he'd dressed her in for warmth overnight, and her feet were bare.
"There's my hero," she said, her voice disarmingly quiet.
She brushed loose curls of blond from her cheek as Ryan closed the bedroom door behind him. He didn't deserve the title any more from her than he did the rest of the city. For the sake of the people he represented and employed, he could accept the half-truth of the public views. Behind closed doors and out of camera range, however, this woman knew the truth, and from her he wanted—deserved—her ire.
"Pulling you out of that tub doesn't excuse what I've done." His palms itched to hold her, but he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dale's hunting the man who attacked you."
"Let's hope he has more luck than the last time." Her shoulders straightened and she looked up.
Blazing blue. Not iced and walled over but hot, fiery. Sparring ready. The liquor consumption in her kitchen was off the table. This was between the two of them alone. Ryan swallowed past the lump in his throat and moved to the side of the bed.
"You saw the mask by the first body," she said. "You knew where I'd take this."
He nodded. "I suspected."
Amanda scooted off the bed and faced him. "It's why you went looking for me that night."
"Partly."
"You deliberately misled me. You attacke
d me in the street, dragged me through a firefight, told me you'd meant to kill me, that you missed—"
"I never said I wanted you dead!" He narrowed his eyes. "Just because you took it the wrong way—"
"Oh, save it. I took it the way you intended me to." Her lips tightened.
He jerked a hand through his hair. "Misdirection kept you safe."
"You shot me!" Her anger steamrolled, her voice loud enough there was no way the household could miss it.
"And I tried to make amends."
"By taking me straight to the people you're really working for?"
"No." The sting of accusation brought a blaze to life in his gut. "Klepto is a cover. We're not working for—We do not support the syndicates."
"You involve yourself in their thefts. You cut deals with a crime boss. How is that not support?"
"We're keeping them from growing too strong. We're trying to stop the war. Involving you was an accident." How did he make her understand?
"You seem to commit a fair number of accidental crimes," she snapped, and then paced in a fury of motion across the room. "Shooting me, stealing case files, disrupting a police investigation—oh no, wait, that one doesn't count. You were there when Dale took my badge. You knew I was fishing. You knew I couldn't pull you in without evidence, and you let me run around as if you had it the whole time. If you're so innocent, if Klepto's some vigilante character who has no bearing on this case, why didn't you point me in a different direction?"
"Would you have believed me?" he asked.
Her nostrils flared.
"It was too late," he said. "Shiv had already IDed you. I had to keep Klepto's cover intact, protect my family. I'm trying to do the right thing, and I wanted to keep you safe, Amanda."
"I don't need to be coddled! I had—have—a job to do and I'm good at it." She sucked in a harsh breath and her eyes closed for a moment. "I needed you to be honest."
Great job I've done on that front. She'd held more of his truths than almost everyone else in his life, but none that mattered when it came to his identity and his role in destroying her career or endangering her life. He opened his mouth and she cut him off, slicing her hand through the air.
