by Starla Night
His brothers stared.
Amber gave a small smile.
“What?” he asked.
“That’s very reasonable of you,” she said.
He snorted and stood. “What did you expect?”
The meeting finished. He worked the rest of the day and into the night finessing the details of the plan as well as conferencing with his individual siblings and company managers to work out minor issues related to running a successful company on the brink of a great precipice.
Then, Amy texted him, and he flew to her for a late night recharge in her deliciously soft arms. She was tired and seemed discouraged so he relaxed her in all the ways he knew how. She purred for him her satisfaction.
With her permission, he crawled out of bed and returned to the office in time to talk with his older brother, Mal, via the 3 AM broadcast to Draconis when atmospheric conditions gave them the clearest connection.
Mal congratulated him on his marriage and refused to review the counter proposal.
“I’ll read it when I get back,” he said with a forced smile.
Then, he mouthed silently, “Send it.”
His wife, shy Cheryl, appeared on the screen as she wrapped her arms around his midsection. “You’re not telling Pyro to send you the contract secretly, are you?”
He fluffed her hair. “I promised no work during our honeymoon.”
“That’s right. And your mom’s blocking your mail so there’d be no point.” She blew the overly long, plain brown hair out of her eyes and smiled at the screen. “Hi, Pyro.”
“Cheryl,” he acknowledged.
It was something of a miracle his workaholic brother Mal had ever looked up from his reports long enough to see a female, but he could have done much worse than the shy former intern, Cheryl. She was one of the few humans who had always treated Pyro normally. Her eyes had only ever focused on Mal. That faithful attention had finally been rewarded when Mal woke up and realized she was there.
Just like Pyro’s faithful attentions would be rewarded by Amy when he kept it together, saved the company, successfully delivered his counter offer to Sard, and introduced her to his mother. All without screwing up.
He just had to make it a few more days...
Cheryl dragged Mal off to finish their honeymoon, and Pyro’s older brother went with a long-suffering but clearly pleased expression.
Pyro pulled a Mal and spent the rest of the night in his office. Finessing the counter offer contract, going over the advice Mal had given him over the years for how to present counter offers, delving deep into his subject. He didn’t mean to spend the whole night, but Thursday dawned and his eyes were gritty when he laid his head down for just a moment…
Amy’s phone call buzzed him awake. “I forgot my bag!”
He squinted at the screen. Midmorning; he’d gotten a few hours on his couch. He stretched and rubbed his kinked neck. “Where is it?”
“On the back of the chair on the dining room table. I called Melody, but she’s not home and neither is Josh. I’m so sorry. It has today’s plan and everything!”
He rose. “The plan for your demonstration lesson?”
“Yes! And for the afternoon class, too.”
He checked the time. Still a few hours before he met with Sard. Alex had set the meeting for earlier. No matter what, Pyro would ensure it was over by the time of Amy’s demonstration class. He wanted to be the kind of reliable male she could count on.
“I’ll get it.”
“Would you?” She sighed on the phone. “You’ll have to come to the school first and get my key. I’m so sorry.”
“No problem.” He rose up the shaft, burst from the building, and flew across the cities split by the Columbia River. The sun fragmented over storm clouds. “I’m on my way.”
“I’ll meet you at the gate.”
She did as she’d promised, pressing her apartment key into his hand with a grateful kiss on his lips. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”
He grinned, warming from her words. “Remember who’s the hero when you’re giving out rewards.”
She laughed, looking brighter and more hopeful than she had in days. Wired. She tasted like sugar and coffee. “You can count on it.”
He hummed under his breath as he flew back across Portland. It was great to be alive. The bitter anger that always chased him with the unfairness of the world faded away under the warmth of the sun.
Only a few more hours and everything would come together. He’d get his reward — all his rewards — and could spend the rest of his life enjoying new contentment and prosperity.
Who would have thought a screw-up, no-good, wretched bastard like him could find a happy ending with a smart, sweet, irresistible woman like Amy?
He landed on Amy’s balcony, and then remembered her key only worked for the front door, and had to enter the building from the lobby, taking the elevator to her floor and crossing the carpet.
Huh. Her door hung conveniently open.
He entered the familiar apartment. Neatly stacked camisoles were now organized by color.
His phone buzzed again. Amy.
“Did you find it?” she asked.
“I just got to your apartment. Your door was open.”
“Melody must have gotten home. The front door hangs unless you pull it hard. But we’re in a good neighborhood and our neighbors are used to it.”
“I’ll close it when I leave.” He shut the door firmly. “Nice stacks.”
“Melody’s convinced that we need to open an eBay store just for— Yes! I’ll be right there! — Okay, I’ve got to go.”
“Go already,” he laughed.
“Hurry up! The teacher can’t have her cell phone out in class.”
“Alright, alright.”
She hung up.
He laughed at the phone and rested his hand on the kitchen counter. There, hanging on the back of a kitchen chair, was Amy’s book bag packed to overflowing with her notepads, pens, and materials. He picked it up. It was as heavy as it looked.
The roommate’s door opened. A man stepped out. Older, gray, and balding, with thick glasses.
Pyro sighed. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any trouble. “I’m a friend of Amy’s. She asked me to pick up her bag.”
He pushed his glasses up on his nose. There was something in his other hand. “Are you a lizard alien?”
Lizard alien? People didn’t tend to describe dragons as lizards. “Why are you—”
The man lifted his hand.
Electricity arced across the room and jolted into Pyro. His teeth snapped together hard enough to ache. Hot claws slashed his skin, forcing his scales to the surface and underneath his human skin again. He collapsed, paralyzed.
The man stood over him and pressed the device to his forehead.
He tried to tense but his muscles didn’t respond. They felt solid as lead.
Don’t screw up…
Chapter Twenty-Six
Where was Pyro?
Amy angled her phone under the teacher’s desk and surreptitiously checked her screen. Nothing. She shut it off, fighting the urge to immediately look at the screen again. Her kids were going to notice.
How long did it take to pick up a bag? Pyro had been in her apartment for half a class period at least.
A dark shadow passed her window.
Finally!
She jumped up. Pyro knew better than to come onto campus, so something must have…
Wait. Shadows seemed to pull closer to the hulking shape even in broad daylight… It wasn’t Pyro outside her window.
Dread filled her stomach.
Some readers looked up.
She told them, “I’ll be right back. Keep reading,” and headed to the courtyard where Kyan landed.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Where’s Pyro?”
The scarred dragon shifter didn’t mince his words. “You tell me.”
“You don’t know?”
He turned away.
She grabbed him, stopping him. “Kyan! Is he okay?”
“Why do you care?”
Anger warred with her fear. She released him and crossed her arms. “Pyro said you don’t dislike me, but when you ask a question like that, I have a hard time believing it.”
He blinked. “How should I ask?”
Was he actually trying not to be rude? She sucked in a deep breath. “Well, he’s my husband. Of course I care. Why even ask?”
“You told Pyro many times you didn’t want to see him. It caused him hurt. Why change your mind?”
“Because I love him.”
He stared at her like he didn’t know the meaning of her phrase.
Whatever. That was her reason. She grilled him. “What do you know?”
“His last known location was your apartment.”
“He was picking up my bag.” She bit her lip. Something was wrong; if Kyan thought so too, then she needed to find Pyro. Now. “What do you mean, his ‘last known location’?”
“The tracker in his cell phone became non-functional.” He waited for a beat, and then added, “As did the tracker embedded behind his jaw.”
“Behind his — what?”
The teacher from the classroom next to hers exited the building. “Amy, what’s this? Who’s that — and where is his guest pass?”
“It’s an emergency.” She lifted her arms.
Kyan stared at her. “What?”
“Take me with you.”
His gaze narrowed.
“What?” the other teacher said.
“My husband’s missing,” she told the teacher over her shoulder. “Can you watch my class?”
“Certainly. But who is this?”
She ignored the teacher and returned to Kyan, who was still regarding her with disagreement. “You’re going back to my apartment, aren’t you? To investigate? It’s my apartment so I might notice things you don’t.”
He acquiesced, lifting her into the air to the teacher’s shocked gasp.
“Thank you!” she called out to the teacher.
They flew across the city.
She peppered him with questions as they traveled. “Did you contact everyone? His siblings? Sard?”
“I have only just become aware of the issue.”
Was it her, or did he growl like she was telling him his job? Whatever. In this case, it seemed justified. “What about his other friend? The guy he’s always getting a drink with.”
“Darcy.” Kyan held a phone to his ear. “I am with Pyro’s wife. Is Pyro there? … He is. Good. We will join you. … He was? When did he leave? … Your answers are unsatisfying. Speak more concisely and less human.”
“Oh, give me that.” She took the phone. “Hi, is this Pyro’s friend that always got a drink at the bar next to the art school?”
A slight hesitation, and then a pleasant male voice said, “It is. Are you Amy? Don’t worry about a thing. Pyro was here a minute ago. Whatever he’s late for, I’m sure he’ll get there soon.”
Her teacher-honed BS meter pinged. “Are you covering for him?”
“No,” Darcy said smoothly, a salesman’s smile clearly audible in his voice. “He’s on his way.”
“We think he’s in real trouble,” she said. “If you’re lying, it’s only going to delay us from calling the police.”
Darcy was silent for a moment. “Does Kyan believe he’s in trouble?”
She glanced at the stone-faced security officer. “Kyan is the one who came to me.”
Darcy sighed. “I haven’t seen Pyro all week.”
Kyan’s jaw clenched.
“Thank you for your honesty,” she said. “We’ll contact you when we know more.”
“Amy. You shouldn’t worry. This happens all the time.”
“What happens?”
“Pyro up and leaves. It’s his way of blowing off steam. Give him space. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
No. That was untrue.
Looking at the facts, Pyro had disappeared on her suddenly three times. But each time, he’d done so with good intentions.
He’d abandoned her fighting his way out of Sard’s warehouse but had intended to carry her to safety too. He’d abandoned her on her wedding morning to meet with Sard and save his company. And he’d abandoned her in Turkey only after making sure she’d have a ride back home and because he’d been clearing his record.
Responsible. Faithful. Dedicated.
“You don’t know,” she said finally. “It’s unlike Pyro to drop out of contact like this.”
“Most wouldn’t say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pyro drops out of contact all the time.”
She gritted her teeth and squinted into the wind. “Not when it matters. And not with me.”
Kyan glanced at her. Darcy, while still clearly believing Pyro was fine, asked for an update when she found him and hung up.
They landed on her steps and she led Kyan up to the apartment. The door hung ajar.
“He said he was going to close it.” She entered the apartment.
Kyan followed silently.
Things looked normal. A couple of her clothing stacks had fallen over, but they weren’t perfectly balanced.
In the kitchen, her book bag spilled across on the linoleum. She scooped it up. “He was definitely here.”
“How do you know?”
“This is what he came here for. It was hanging on the back of the chair.” She pointed across the kitchen. No way it could tumble so far naturally.
Kyan touched his ear. A near-invisible ear bud blinked subtle yellow. “Widen the search. Covert. Notify Amber.”
Amy rose and searched the apartment for clues. The door to Melody’s room was also ajar. She normally shut it after she left. Amy started toward Melody’s room.
Her phone buzzed stopping her. A text from her mom read, “Come over right away.”
Ominous.
Instead of replying by text, Amy opened her phone app and called. “Do you have information about Pyro?”
Her mother hesitated an instant. “Yes.”
“Is he there with you?” There was a small, strange possibility that he had suddenly gotten the urge to patch up his reputation with her parents instead of bringing her book bag. It was possible. “Is he okay?”
“Come over. I’ll tell you everything.”
She looked at Kyan. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Hanging up on her mother’s flustered response, she opened the balcony door, left it unlocked for an easy return, and Kyan flew her the short hop to her parents’ house without directions. Meaning, he knew where it was.
At the moment, she was grateful he knew what he was doing.
She settled on the doorstep and knocked.
Her mother answered the door, surprise changing to concern. “Five minutes! You weren’t kidding. Who’s this?”
“Pyro’s brother.” She pushed past her mother, into the house. Kyan moved lithely behind her. “Where is he?”
Her mother shrank back. “Not here.”
“But you know where he is?”
She lifted her chin. “Amy, we have to talk.”
So, no, she didn’t. A wasted trip. Amy looked at Kyan with a subtle shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Mom. We’re in the middle of something.”
Her mother sharpened her tone. “Sit down.”
“Mom—”
“Now.”
Okay. She didn’t have any ideas. Maybe a frank conversation with her mom would give her some.
She looked at Kyan. “Will you check with Sard?”
“I’ll contact you.” He ducked out the front door and disappeared.
Amy closed the front door and faced her mother.
Her mother’s back was turned as she arranged pillows on the couch. “I thought you had class today.”
“I do.”
“Sit.”
Amy obediently took a seat on the couch. But she left her shoes
on.
Her mother stared at her shoes and then raised her voice. “Barry? Amy’s here.”
“Already?” His voice grew louder as he meandered down the hall from his den. “I thought she had class.”
“I left,” she said shortly. “Pyro’s in trouble.”
Her mom looked at her dad.
He sighed, knelt, and took her hand. “Someone like that will always be in trouble.”
She jerked her hand free and stood. “You don’t know.”
Her father looked up at her, older suddenly than he had seemed. “Yes, we do. Don’t we, Fiona?”
Her mother nodded. “Amy. Take a seat.”
She sank onto the edge of the couch, crossed her arms, and one leg over her knee. Kyan would call her as soon as he found Pyro. She had a few minutes to sit.
Her dad rose and stood beside her mother. Just like he always did when Amy was in trouble. Two against one. The wall.
Her mother started. “The truth is, Amy, we don’t just say ‘one decision will ruin your life’ lightly. Your father used to be in an Irish gang.”
She looked at her mild-mannered, self-effacing, quiet father. “Excuse me?”
“In Boston,” he said. “In the 70s.”
“Uh… But we’re not Irish.”
Her parents looked at each other and smiled.
Her mom told her, “We are, actually.”
“Our last name is Adamson.”
“The FBI agent chose that when we went into the Witness Protection Program. I’m Rourke and he’s O’Shaughnessy.”
She had no idea what to say. Her parents were making a joke. Telling her this bizarre crazy story to use as leverage to convince her not to stay married to Pyro.
“I was bartending at the pub,” her mother said. “He drove out to Vegas with the bosses for the weekend and, because my family was against it, I met him there secretly and we married. On the way back to tell the news, we drove up in time to see his bosses gunned down, right in front of us. We were the only witnesses.”
“That night in the motel room, your mom found out she was pregnant with you,” her father added. “It changed everything. So, on the advice of my brother, we went to the FBI.”
“Are you actually serious?” Amy rubbed her head. “I thought you were an only child. You’re both only children.”
“I’ve got four brothers and your mother has six. There’s a whole passel of cousins back in Boston. Your great grandad’s still alive.” He shook his head. “He never wanted me to go to Vegas.”
