Vigilante Mine

by Cera Daniels

  "Don't. You've done nothing but lie, steal, and play these games from the moment we met. You hide behind a mask at night, you hide behind glasses during the day. What else was a lie? The kiss? The first one? All of them?" She balled the ribbon of silk in one fist and threw it in his face. The mask fluttered to the floor between them. "The sex?"

  "No, Amanda."

  "I need a truth, Ryan. One truth."

  I love you.

  "The women," came out of his mouth instead. "The women were—"

  "The women?" Her voice cracked around the edges. "So on top of everything else, I was just another easy—"

  "The women were a lie!" He pinned her fiery gaze with one of his own. "I lied for the camera, Amanda. Not a single one of those dates in the press, on the news, has ever been real."

  Until Amanda.

  Her eyes widened and she clenched her fists. "You lied to an entire city about your love life?"

  Ryan gave a slow nod. "A show for the press."

  "Why would you do that? And don't you dare tell me for your investors, like your glasses—playboy doesn't exactly scream responsible." She blew out a harsh breath. "Why do you have to shut everyone out? Where do the lies end?"

  "Where would you like to start?" he asked.

  Amanda cocked her head to the side and nibbled on her bottom lip.

  A knock cracked on the bedroom door. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's someone here who'd like to see Detective Werner."

  Jay. Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn it, no. They needed time to work through this.

  "We're not done. We'll be out in a minute," he said as Amanda's cheeks flushed.

  "Your brother is here?" she hissed.

  A sigh escaped him. "They're camped out in your kitchen. We've worked through your maps with Dale all night."

  The door swung open and Ryan turned with a jerk to see a tall, polished woman with blond hair and a thunderous expression to match what Amanda's had been just minutes before. "No, you should come out now. Just you, young man. Out. Now. I need a word with my daughter before you finish moving in."

  "Mom?" Amanda's expression wasn't angry now. It morphed from chagrin to shock, and then to confusion in an instant. She turned those blue, blue eyes his way. "What do you mean, 'moving in'?"

  "I haven't moved in." Defeat welled in his chest. "There are suitcases in your living room. My brothers' idea of a joke. Just a misunderstanding."

  "Another one?" Amanda asked, her voice thin.

  He shot her a desperate look. "Sweetheart—"

  "Don't." She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together. "Call Dale and let him know I'm up."

  The door shut behind the man her heart couldn't forget.

  She didn't want him to go.

  Her knees threatened to give out and Amanda would've dropped onto the bed, but her mother wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

  She would not cry. She wouldn't.

  "Do you want him here?" her mother asked softly.

  Amanda met her penetrating look and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She wasn't done with him. They were far from done. Ryan had answers, and she wanted to understand his actions. She wanted him to trust her with every single truth. Was that what he'd been offering?

  She nodded at her mother.

  At the very least, they needed to talk about his dog. Romeo, I need to talk to my mother. Please get him out of the house.

  "Spirit-mate his?"

  I want him out of earshot. That's all. Don't—don't let him leave.

  The warm hug slipped away and her mother gave her a restrained smile. "I thought you might be lost in work and forget to eat, so I whipped you up something and brought it over."

  "You made breakfast?" Amusement welled up like a newly uncorked champagne bottle. "Should I warn them?"

  "Have you seen what they've done to your house?" Her mother's smile widened.

  "It's bad enough to be poisoned over?"

  "Don't ever say I didn't teach you anything useful in the kitchen."

  Amanda laughed. "Tell Mrs. B I appreciate it."

  "I would, but . . . "

  The hesitation brought Amanda's eyebrows up. "What's wrong?"

  "It's not from her. It's from Theresa Dale. 'Tell my mija to get up and stop this man.'" Her mother mimicked the accent to perfection and despite her smile, the wounded expression flitting over her face said she knew of the attack. "She called me as I was leaving. Said at least it wasn't bad enough this time to land you in the hospital."

  Geez, Theresa. Her lieutenant's wife would have sent her mother screaming for a cab with that little gem. Intentional, perhaps. To send support, even while Amanda was still off-limits.

  Shock rolled through Amanda and she shoved up her sleeves. "Mom. I'm fine. Just some cuts and bruises, see? Nothing to worry about."

  Her eyes held tears. "You're your father's daughter."

  Amanda's forehead pinched as she tried to understand the hardness to her words. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  "He used to tell me the same thing after every fire."

  Except his last one.

  Amanda's throat closed off and she pulled her mother into a far longer hug.

  "Baby," her mother began after swiping tissues and Amanda's hairbrush from her dresser, "I want you to know I'm proud of you. And I want you to catch this madman. Do you understand me?"

  "I can't put him away myself. The lieutenant has my badge. But I'm going to help where I can."

  Her mother worked the knots out of her hair with short, careful tugs. "This one gets off the streets, and I bet you get right back to doing what you were born to do."

  "I love you, Mom." Amanda stared at the mirror. With the heat cranked in the house, all she'd cared about when she'd rolled out of bed was changing into something comfortable. Her hair was matted to one side of her face and stuck up in knotted tufts on the other side. Frightful. Her stomach flip-flopped. "Tell me he didn't see me like this."

  "Oh, yes. And he stayed to fight instead of running away screaming." Her mother smiled over her shoulder, then braced a hand on her shoulder. "Is he worth it?"

  "Was Dad, when you met?" The hairbrush paused, then picked up again. "Can I ask that? I mean, the man tried to steal your car, but we both know it worked out. What made you give him a second chance?"

  "Jail time did that. I just beat him with a tire iron and paid his hospital bill." Her mother chuckled at the expression on her face and the hairbrush clacked as it hit her dresser. "He got out and stuck around to cook me breakfast. He stuck around, and he filled a home with love and laughter. Every day. You know the rest. Your father more than broke even."

  "Yeah, he did." Every day. She wanted that. She didn't want Ryan to leave. But an officer of the law? With a vigilante, even one trying to do good? Could she dare try to find an "every day" with Ryan? "Thanks, Mom."

  Amanda flipped her hair into a neat updo and pinned it in place, then turned to leave the bedroom. Romeo, tell him we need to get back to work.

  Her mother shifted her hands to her hips. "Not so fast, my little question-dodger. Should I be shopping for reception halls? Or do I haul him out by his ear?"

  "Neither. We still have work to do. But if we do figure this out and . . . " Amanda sent her a wry smile. "Ryan stuck around to save my life and catch a serial killer. I really hope that's not going to be our every day thing."

  Calling Dale brought marching orders, and they centered around Ryan's detective. So when the front door opened to blanket him in heat from her home, and Amanda emerged to see her mother to her cab, "Oh good. We need your brain," were the first words out of his mouth.

  "You say the sweetest things sometimes," Amanda said, and led him back into the house. "What did Dale say?"

  "He wants you building a grid. There are officers from every department, all over the city, more eyes on the politician's other properties, but your lieutenant thinks the ultimatum means he'll move on to buildings next. Escalation, targeting places instead of p
eople."

  "More bombs? Did he get another phone call?" She swiped a piece of bacon off the plate of breakfast food that Jay extended and nibbled as she flipped through the stack of notes on her counter.

  "I didn't ask." Ryan shoved a glass of orange juice toward her elbow and poured a second one for himself. "What I do know is he's short on resources, short on time. He already has his hands full. He can't search everywhere. He said you had years with Jackson. You'd figure out the patterns and plans fastest."

  "Any sweeper team will need direction, especially if they're looking for the tiny things he tried out at the fundraiser," she said around a mouthful of biscuit. Her fingers rifled through maps, then repeated the motion.

  "Syndicate plants were his targets first," Zach added. "Then syndicate informers, supporters. Where would he go from there?"

  Amanda nodded, an absent jerk of her head. Her detective mode was in full swing. "How far did Dale get on the hideout front? I don't see my map. Should have big blue marks . . . "

  "I didn't see one," Ryan said. Neither had his brothers.

  "So Dale's only been looking at the politician lead?" She blew out a frustrated breath. "Jackson. Damn him. I put a lot of work into that."

  "Have they been wasting time on the wrong stakeouts?" Ryan's gut twisted with an echo of her frustration.

  "If we find his base of operations, we'll have a better angle to use for these bigger targets. They haven't been wasting time, but there were better ways to spend it. Okay. Dale can't search everywhere in time. Most of the kills had personal connection to his caseload while he was with Homicide, so maybe his next targets . . . Okay. It'll take time, and it'll be a big list." She pulled out a new, folded street map from the stack.

  Ryan took a map from her hands and spread it out on the faux marble. "Call locations out. Jay and Zach are ready to search, too."

  His brothers murmured assent and Amanda sent them both a sharp look, then passed one over him as well. "What about you?"

  "I'm staying." Ryan paused, swallowed hard, and gripped the edge of her kitchen island. "If you'll have me."

  She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "All three of you need sleep. You'll be more use to the city, and me, when you get it."

  "Ryan and I caught naps, and Jay's on coffee," Zach said, returning a recently washed glass to her cabinet.

  "No sleep means mistakes." Her gaze flashed from the glass to the empty bottle on the counter and a tiny growl rumbled in her throat. "And no one's driving anywhere loaded up on my good whiskey. Go. Let me think."

  She shoved them out of her workspace. Knowing Amanda was awake, churning at the work she did best and no longer furious with him, helped rest come immediately after he'd stripped off his shirt and tumbled into the bed, and before he'd bothered with his shoes. It was hours later when he bolted out of a dreamless sleep to the sound of loud, feminine exclamations from the front door of her home.

  Brennan.

  Ryan groaned and pounded down the hallway.

  His brothers blinked sleepily from the living room floor and couch, and two pairs of female eyes gave him an appreciative once-over from the entryway. Brennan whistled.

  "Lucky gal." Brick-red hair curled over Brennan's shoulders today. No trace of the lowered defenses she'd had at his office. Instead, she grinned as she walked in, Romeo right behind her, and she lifted a large file box to the counter. "I dated him for years and never got to see that."

  Dear lord, what had he done by bringing her here?

  "Coffee table's better," Amanda pointed over her shoulder. "I'm still working."

  "Got it." Brennan's mile-high heels clicked over the kitchen tile.

  A long-sleeved t-shirt hit him in the back of the head and he tugged it on in a rush. "Amanda, this is—"

  "Relax," Brennan cut in. "Your Spirit-mate got the scoop at the door."

  Amanda bit her lower lip, but couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching.

  Ryan eyed them both with suspicion. "Dare I ask how much of one?"

  "You don't want to know." Romeo sent pity through their shared link.

  That's promising.

  "You didn't hear?" Plucked and crimson-dyed eyebrows shot toward the ceiling, her eyes bright with knowledge.

  Zach growled. He'd leaned against the back wall of the house, his arms crossed over his chest and a glower on his face.

  Brennan's lips pursed, and humor bled from her expression.

  Ryan sighed. "Is this going to be a problem?"

  "No." Brennan popped the lid off the box and she pulled out several clipped stacks of paper. "I'll make it quick and painless for everybody. Amanda, can you multi-task from over there or you need a spot on the couch?"

  Amanda waved from behind the kitchen island, where she'd returned to jotting notes on a pad of paper. Ryan sat on the edge of the couch and his gaze dropped to the coffee table, hoping it held answers for both of them. Ohanzee glyphs shifted, blurring the top pages. They changed so subtly, and so rapidly, that his eyes ached from trying to look at them. Zach and Jay had the same problem.

  "How are we supposed to understand it if we can't read it?" Jay asked after a brief attempt to use his super-vision on it ended with him sprawled over the seat cushions and begging painkillers from Amanda.

  Their ancestors had a damned twisted sense of humor.

  "If you'll exercise some patience," Brennan said, then began to read.

  There were more words this time. Some about his ability, some about Romeo. Levels of change, natural progressions of power. He'd been through it all. The Listening wasn't even on the list. But by the time she got around to his Spirit-mate, the words were far different than he'd expected.

  "Once upon a time," and her eyes crinkled with humor, "a great evil came upon the world. A controller of death and bringer of silence. A," she drew the page closer, "chosen spirit stood alone against the silence, walked a path against the evil. The spirit was led by a warrior of the past, one who knew all the ways of the world."

  Ryan cut a look to Romeo and his eyes narrowed as the dog's tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. All the ways of the world, huh? And you couldn't tell me this story yourself?

  "Pay attention, Spiritwalker."

  "The spirit lost to the silence and died."

  "Cheery," Jay said, but Zach choked out his next breath.

  He'd gone pale, a sickly shade of green. Ryan stood, but Zach waved him off.

  Brennan stared at his brother for a moment, then dropped her gaze to the page. She squinted. "Maybe it's not 'died', but 'changed'. Like with the kiss, Ryan."

  "The kiss?" Amanda's pen clattered on the counter.

  He moved to the other side of the kitchen island as Brennan read the part of the story that entangled his ability with Amanda and had brought them together at the start.

  "Kiss of change" again, then "Spirit-mate", and more alarmingly, now: "Silent words".

  "Telepathy," Ryan and Amanda said at the same time.

  "Romeo?" Her eyes were wide, and he reached to take her hands.

  Again and again, "silent". Without a doubt, this one legend spoke to him. His ability resonated with sound, he could manipulate the volume controls, and drown out the world around him—when his power was getting along with Zach's software filters. Romeo, Amanda, and he were connected. Inseparable, even without forgiveness between them.

  "It's all true," Brennan whispered from the living room. "The three of you."

  Ryan stared at the counter. "I had trouble hearing from birth."

  For once, Zach didn't protest what he was about to do.

  "Dad sprang for cochlear implants early. Slim-line series. They gave me headaches, but they worked well enough until I hit my teens." Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face. "Our mother's people, the Ohanzee, they held the traditional spirit search for me. I met Romeo, and my ears . . . got better.

  "My headaches stopped and my hearing improved so fast the tech in my head couldn't keep up; they couldn't remove t
he implants completely. If it weren't for that, I might be stable now." He waved at his earpiece, then nodded at his electronically-minded younger brother. "More tech was the only way to give me control once the ability went into overdrive."

  "The earpiece doesn't always work." Amanda stepped forward and her hand hovered near his jaw.

  "It has limits," he said.

  Ryan brought his Spirit-mate into his arms. He held her as tight as he dared, and she crushed herself against him, tighter still. Amanda's heart sped where it beat alongside his. Her eyes squeezed shut. Together, they listened to Brennan as she finished the story.

  "The spirit listened, and the silence reigned. Two spirits became one. Then each without the other, died. Changed?" Brennan clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Each without the other, the world became dust."

  "That sucks." Zach, king of understatements, was sitting on the floor now, his legs crossed and his eyes closed.

  Brennan's sympathy-laced look drifted over his brother before she seemed to catch herself and return to the pages.

  "I'm sorry I didn't come with better news, guys." Her fingers glided over the symbols on the paper, poking at what were apparently emphasized notes. "This is the storyteller's mark. He was called the Weaver. I think most of these tales were oral tradition. I'm sure when he told the story in Old Town there were hand motions, maybe a dance or something, that would explain the things in here that don't make sense. Or at least make the depressing stuff more . . . lively."

  "Old Town," Amanda whispered into his chest. Her fingers squeezed the cotton of his shirt and turned white at the knuckles. "You lost so much, Ryan."

  He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. "We're not going to lose anything—or anyone—else."

  Ryan carried Brennan's box to her beat up, ancient Miata. As she unlocked the door, he asked, "What happened to the bit about severing the link?"

  "Hmm?" She jerked a look toward him and her unnaturally colored hair caught the wind like the tattered banners from his childhood home.

  Nothing short of a ruthless hold on his past kept it from slipping into his voice. "Sever, grow, link, die. That's what you said at the office, but you didn't mention it today."