She speaks in a hushed voice. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“There’s no one around.” I pull my hand back and face her. “Besides, I don’t have a choice.”
My sugar-coated lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I do have options. I could continue to hide and try to defeat Icarus on my own. Or I could run away again. But I want to stay. I need to see Keenan and pretend, for a few moments, that everything is the way it should be.
She inspects the street. “Do you want me to wait?”
“No, it’s fine. You should return to your house.”
“Be careful, Moira.” Her voice hardens as her suspicion slips into the night. “You don’t know if the Phoenix persuaded the detective to get you here.”
“Don’t worry. That’s exactly what I plan to find out.”
I offer her a reassuring smile and jump down from the motor vehicle. The engine rumbles to life, and she rolls away from the curb. I watch her vanish down the road before strolling toward Keenan’s townhouse. Light, muted by the closed drapes, spills out from his office window. With no one around to distract me, my nerves fray, exposing all of my fears and doubts. Can he really help me? How do I face him after everything that has happened? My feet drag across the ground as I climb the front steps. I lift my hand, but pause as the need to flee threatens to take possession. A jolt of fortitude forces my fist forward. After a quick knock, Mrs. Whitmore appears. I dive inside her mind and insert a quick persuasion, manipulating my features into someone unrecognizable.
You see a blond woman of thirty years old, with a high-pitched, whiny voice.
She peers out and roams her eyes over my face. “May I help you?”
“I’ve come to see Detective Keenan Edwards.”
She winces at the sound of my voice, and her gaze travels the length of me before sweeping the streets. She’s wondering why the detective would see a young woman this late in the night, yet she shuffles aside, allowing me entrance. I step into the foyer and lower my head, peering up through my lashes across the hall. She closes the front door and brushes past, ambling toward Keenan’s office. She knocks twice, and his muffled voice responds from within.
“Come in.”
She turns the knob and enters. “I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Edwards. But there’s someone here to see you.”
My heart thunders, a wild song that drowns out the world. Keenan looks up from the letter in his hand and stills. His eyes widen, and he shoots up from his chair. Fear snakes through the air along with his surprise, a burst of yellow with black threads. His thoughts drift toward me. He doesn’t like the idea of Mrs. Whitmore seeing me yet, considering I’m still a fugitive. My chest rises with relief, even if my thoughts spiral into disbelief. I shake my head and dart my gaze to Mrs. Whitmore, hoping he understands my hidden message.
His gaze slides away from me. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore.”
She nods and retreats down the hall, but not before she shoots me another suspicious glare. The moment her steps fade into the distance, I enter his office and close the door. I pause, with my hand on the doorknob. Another thought of his drifts into the space between us. He wasn’t sure if I’d come. I bite my lip and suck in a nervous breath. The intensity of his gaze burns my back as he approaches. His shoes rap on the hardwood floor, but the sound vanishes as he steps onto the carpet. He’s so close now I can taste his scent on my tongue. My heart skitters, and time slows to a painful halt. A raindrop falls from the rim of my hat and lands on my sleeve.
His voice, soft but firm, fills the silence. “You came.”
I turn, twisting my body just enough to face him. His proximity stirs my unease, forcing me to step back and bump into the door. Everything hangs on uncertainty. My muscles freeze and harden, and my tongue morphs into dead weight. For the first time, I’m incapable of moving or speaking. Dark thoughts flit across my landscape as suspicion encloses me in a familiar embrace. An image of the police storming in and arresting me bombards my mind. Or, worse, Icarus has persuaded Keenan to kill me.
When I fail to respond, Keenan closes the distance and sweeps me into his arms. The scent of soap and liquor crashes into me, and a flutter stirs in the pit of my stomach. Our lips fuse together as heated desire floods through us. The clock resounds in my head as I step onto the grates. The gears slow, yet a warm mist hangs in the air. I explore, searching for any evidence of Icarus’s manipulations. But I find nothing. Everything remains the same as when I’d last been in his mind. My gaze flicks to one gear in particular. Jonathan’s command from earlier mars his mind, a scar that will last several weeks. And, on top, my own persuasion carves a deeper wound.
I sigh, releasing my anxiety into the warmth of his embrace. It feels like an eternity since the last time we’ve kissed. Our most recent encounter was when I hadn’t been entirely myself, but he had accepted that part of me, never shying away from it. The need to draw him closer tugs at my limbs, forcing them onto a path of uninhibited desire. With the future so uncertain, desperation spurs me forward. I clutch the collar of his shirt and unbutton the garment.
He pulls away even as his hands lower. “What are you doing? This is hardly the place—”
“Shhh, this is exactly the right place.”
To prove my point, I trail my lips down his throat into the opening of his shirt. Each button slips out with ease. I run my nails over the length of his abdomen as I lower onto my knees and loosen his trousers. His long fingers wrap around my wrists, stopping my progress. His chest expands, and the muscles in his jaw shift as he clenches. When he exhales, a pale pink cloud, rimmed with crimson, billows out from him. A sliver of yellowish brown taints his desire. I lean forward, keeping my eyes on his, and press my lips into his erection. His lids lower, and his hold on me slackens. No longer restrained, I lower the last vestige of clothing.
“Moira.”
The hoarseness in his voice draws my gaze up. My tongue darts out in a languid stroke, eliciting a groan from him. I love the feel of him, the taste of him, and the need for more draws my mouth down. He wrenches me up to my feet, and his lips crash against mine. With deft hands, he removes my blouse and dress, letting the fabric pool at my feet. He lifts me up into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist, securing my weight.
When he reaches one of the chairs, he lowers himself onto his knees and rests my bottom on the cushion. He leaves my mouth and creeps lower to tease my exposed chest. Every suck on my nipples causes my pelvic muscles to clench. He slips lower, hooking my legs over his shoulders, and runs his tongue between my thighs. My back arches, pulled by an invisible string of ecstasy, forcing me to grab the chair for support. Even the slightest touch of his lips threatens to shatter me.
A tremulous plea leaves me. “Please, Keenan. I can’t take anymore. I need you inside me.”
The memory of our last encounter blazes through my mind. Regret mixed with the fear of what tomorrow will bring snaps me out of my haze, enough to make another request. When he lifts from between my legs, I place a halting hand on his chest.
“Wait.” The words rush out in a whisper. “I want to feel all of you.”
His eyes lighten with understanding, and he tears at the strings of my corset. With one tug, he lifts the garment, along with my chemise, and throws them aside. His gaze rakes over my body, devouring every inch of my curves. I draw him closer, and a bittersweet sigh escapes me the second his skin touches my own. His heat pours into me as his mouth possesses mine, and my nipples harden against his chest, sending a zing of sensation straight to my clit.
When he thrusts into me, a blissful cry rips from my lungs. He covers my mouth with his hand, muffling my moans. His whispery breath caresses my cheek as he hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me closer, sliding my ass over the edge of the chair. He plunges deeper and grinds against my clit. My sighs fade in the distance as my orgasm takes control over my body. His own release soon follows.
We crash against the chair, panting, suspended in our pleasure. Th
e fog in my head clears, and the details of his office emerge into view. I blink up at the ceiling and slip my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. As if that were possible. Like thick tar, my thoughts return, a dark mist trailing behind them.
He drags me off the chair and onto the floor.
I nestle on top of him and rest on his chest. “You’re quite the devil for seducing me.”
“I believe it was the other way around.” His fingers pause in their perusal of my hair as he plants a kiss on top of my head. “You and that wicked tongue of yours.”
“Oh, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
I squirm, wiggling my hips against him. When he doesn’t respond, I run my tongue over my lips, teasing. He watches with an intensity I know all too well. His chest rises, pulling me up and then back down again as he exhales. Beneath the heat of his skin, his pulse thumps against my breasts. My mouth curves up as wings of joy stir in the pit of my stomach.
I lower my voice to a sultry whisper. “Now I know your weakness, Detective.”
“And I yours.”
His dimple appears, sending my heart aflutter. The happiness etched on his face tears at my insides. Everything I have yet to say will shatter this moment, forever tainting it with my mistakes. Words, a jumbled mix of truth and lies, scramble up my throat and into my mouth. My lips part, and I try to utter the phrases. No sound escapes. Only silence.
His smile vanishes.
He rolls me onto my side and lifts onto his elbow. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I press my lips together and wait for him to speak.
“After you left the Legislature building, I managed to convince the Elite that Jonathan had been the one to attack and try to kill Mr. Hayes. I’ve also mentioned Jonathan has been the Phoenix all along, and he set you up. I think I can persuade them of your innocence, but I need to know why you were at the Legislature building.” He pauses, and his eyes pin me to the floor. “I need the truth, Moira.”
Beneath his gaze, I feel naked, my raw vulnerability exposed for his scrutiny. Truth. The word resounds in my head, calling forth a wave of fear. I could tell him everything, let him decide if I deserve to live or die. But I refuse to leave that decision in someone else’s hands, even if that person is Keenan. I’m not ready yet for him to see my darkness. A crease forms between his brows, a reminder that my time is up, and every second I waste in silence diminishes my credibility. And I need him to believe me.
I clear my throat and swallow the lump of nerves. “Remember when Mr. Hayes invited me to his estate?”
Black tendrils snake out from him and hook into my flesh.
“Yes, unfortunately.”
I lick my lips, suddenly parched. “What I’m about to tell you requires more than words. If you’re to believe me, I need to show you what happened that night.”
The corners of his eyes tighten, yet his curiosity winds around me. After a quick nod, I ease into his mind. The gears drone in my ears, louder than usual. I place my palm on the metal and focus on my memories. An image of me sitting beside Icarus plays. I show him only what I want him to see: the moment when Icarus uses persuasion on me, and when he orders me to kill Mr. Harrison. As the remnants of the memories fade, I lower my hand and retreat from his mind.
His eyes remain guarded beneath the heavy furrow of his brows as he shifts his gaze from my blue eye to my hazel one. After several seconds tick by, I open my mouth, prepared to speak, to ask for forgiveness—anything to get him to say something. But before I can utter a word, he springs up to his feet. He buttons his trousers and rushes toward the liquor cabinet where he pours dark amber liquid into his glass. When he lifts the crystal to his lips, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
I sit up and hug my knees. “Keenan? Please, say something.”
“Did you do it? Did you persuade Mr. Harrison?”
The accusation in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. The urge to scream builds. I want to tell him I’d had no choice, that Icarus would have killed him anyway. A growl of frustration tickles the base of my throat, yet I quell my temper. It would only prove my guilt. And, right now, I need him to understand, as much as someone of the law can.
I lower my voice to match his volume. “Mr. Hayes threatened to kill me and you. He would have hurt others, too.”
He slams the glass on the table. “Answer me.”
“Yes, I persuaded Mr. Harrison, because I saw no other choice.”
He spins on his heel, spilling liquor on the floor. “You could have told me.”
“No, I couldn’t have.” I bolt up to my feet and stomp toward him. “Icarus was watching my every move. He was watching you. He still is! And even if I could have told you, what could you have possibly done? Arrest him? He’d use persuasion on you, and we’d both be in jail before you could even get a pair of handcuffs on him.”
He marches away and slumps behind his desk. With his glass in one hand, he taps the side of his chair with the other. He stares straight ahead, a deep furrow between his brows, and sips his liquor. The gears inside his mind turn, and his emotions darken until a thick cloud hovers around him. I preoccupy myself with dressing and avoid looking at him.
He lifts his gaze. “So that’s why you were at the Legislature building. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
A spark of pain spears through the mist above him, reminding me of lightning splitting the sky. I swallow the unease rising within as the need to expose the whole truth, not just part of it, presses against my skull. I open my mouth, trying to find the words. But how can I tell him that I had managed to lock a part of myself because I couldn’t face reality? And how do I admit that I had wanted to persuade Mr. Harrison, to help in the destruction of the Elite?
My voice leaves me in a whisper. “I already told you he threatened to kill you.”
“I’m not talking about then.” His aggravation taints the air. “I meant when we stood in the alley of the Pleasure House.”
I flop into the chair across from him. “I don’t know. I suppose I thought I could deal with Icarus on my own.”
“And now?”
I meet his gaze. “I’m willing to accept help now that my name is cleared.”
He rises and steps around his desk. My eyes trail after him until the moment he withdraws behind me. I shift and straighten my spine, resisting the urge to twist in my seat. His footsteps reverberate, an accusing echo pounding against my heart. I wait, wondering if he can ever find it in himself to forgive me. The clink of glass disrupts my thoughts. Sharp bursts of air seep from my nose as he approaches.
He sits and rests the glass of liquor on his desk, a veil of professionalism over him. “Revealing Mr. Hayes’s identity isn’t an option. The Elite think Jonathan is the Phoenix, and exposing the truth about Icarus would shatter the foundation of our society. None of them would accept that an empath has lived freely under their noses.”
Your society, Detective.
I don’t dare utter my thoughts out loud, because, in a way, he’s right. The Elite want easy answers they can grasp. Jonathan, an empath, is the perfect fit. Icarus, an outstanding member of civilization and the Chief Elite Member, isn’t. The Elite had elected him as their leader, even if they might have been under Icarus’s persuasion. They would never accept the truth, nor would they allow the public to know about his true identity.
I stare at the liquid in his glass. “Then we have to get rid of him quietly.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I’m not exactly sure, at the moment. But I would need the help of another empath.”
Silence descends as I pause to think. The majority of the empaths at the Pleasure House are only skilled with mild persuasion; none of them are trained for a mental battle. A blocker might help protect my mind, but they can’t assist me with breaking through Icarus’s barrier. A memory blocker would have to erase a lifetime of his memories, an impossible feat. We can’t kill him, because we’d have to explain his death to the
Elite. My mind churns as ideas whip around my landscape, frantic in its search.
We only have one option left.
My head snaps up. “I have an idea that may work, but I’ll need Evan.”
His voice roughens, reminding me of a time when he’d refer to me as Del Mar. “We’re not in a position to deal with uncertainties, Moira.”
“That’s all we have, unless you want to tell everyone he’s the Phoenix and an empath.”
His chest rises as he draws in a deep breath. “Alright. We’ll deal with the details tomorrow morning. For now, we should rest.”
He swallows the rest of his liquor in one gulp. When he stands, I rise as well. He crosses his office, unlocks the door, and steps out into the foyer. I follow behind him, wary of his silence. I can tell he expects me to sleep in his home, and the idea fills me with potential hope. Maybe my fear of rejection was only an illusion, and he understands why I had to persuade Mr. Harrison, even if I had failed to provide him with the entire truth. Without a word, he leads me upstairs, the boards squeaking beneath our weight. I wonder how he intends to explain my presence to Mrs. Whitmore.
When we arrive at the top, he gestures to my old room. “Everything is as it was before your imprisonment. Goodnight, Moira.”
“Goodnight.”
The word barely leaves my mouth. He turns and strolls toward his bedroom. Without a backward glance, he rushes inside and closes the door behind him. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was afraid of me. But I know he’s not. A part of him believes me; otherwise, he would have called the police. Of course, they could always arrest me tomorrow morning, but his emotions didn’t leave me with that impression. He understands necessity, yet suspicion has a way of twisting even the most altruistic motives.
I enter my room and lock the door behind me, drawing in a sharp breath before turning around. The chamber looks as if I hadn’t left—or rather, as if no one had lived here at all. The idea fails to comfort me, considering my lack of possessions. Most of my clothes hang in his armoire, leaving mine sparsely occupied. A hairbrush lies on the empty shelf, and the bed remains untouched, the sheets folded underneath the mattress. I’d believed I had something worth fighting for, and that belief had led me back to Keenan. Now, I’m not so sure. I might as well be a figment of his imagination.
Rise of the Phoenix Page 17
