“I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t say anything else that wouldn’t be construed as harsh.
“Me too.” He hesitated, then asked, “Can I at least kiss you goodbye?”
My stomach coiled. Not because I was put off by the idea of kissing him, but because I knew if I kissed him right now it might weaken every resolve I’d made. Still, I also might never get another chance to kiss him. My heart in my throat, forbidding me to speak, I nodded yes.
Carter first reached up to take off my glasses, folding them, tucking them gently into my jacket pocket. This made me giggle half-nervously.
“What are we expecting here?”
“Not expecting anything,” he said, shrugging. “But I sure as hell don’t want anything to get in the way, either.”
I hadn’t come up with a reply before he’d moved in, framing my face with his hands. Hands that could morph from flesh to bronze in an instant. Hands that could kill mercilessly, but had never touched me harshly. He was such a contradiction, this man. Maybe it was the fluid side of his nature, due to his being a shapeshifter. I didn’t know, but I did know there was nothing variable, nothing insubstantial about the way he looked at me as his face lowered towards mine or the way his mouth took mine.
My heart stopped in my chest. Awareness of the ugly, terrible world around us drifted away as I leaned into Carter’s kiss. For a few moments, all of life, with its pain and turmoil and confusion and questions of right and wrong melted away beneath the feeling of his hands on my face, my neck, his fingertips toying with my hair, his lips teasing mine. I pressed against him helplessly, the solidity of his body bringing up explicit, warm memories of the one night we’d spent together. Goosebumps raised on my flesh. My breathing shortened. The heartbeat that had slowed was now pounding so fiercely it was about to break my ribs.
This was supposed to be goodbye, not an invitation to sex. If we didn’t stop soon, that’s what it would turn into, never mind the circumstances. I was weak, and I kind of doubted he was any better, judging from the way he seemed to instinctively press his body against mine, and how his hands fell from my neck to my hips, pulling me in closer.
“Carter…” I tore my mouth away, dropped my forehead to his chest. “This isn’t working. We can’t—”
“I know, kid.”
He eased back a little, wrapping his arms around my shoulder blades, just holding me. “I know, kid. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take it that far. But, damn, girl. You do something to me.”
He paused. “There’s a lot of things I wish you’d do to me.”
How did he always make me laugh with his stupid jokes, even under these conditions?
“You have a problem,” I said, swiping a tear from beneath my eye, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Yeah.” I felt him lower his face into my hair, breathe in, then kiss the top of my head. “I do. But loving you isn’t one of them.”
Loving you…
I know he loved me. But not enough to walk away. Not enough.
That reminded me painfully of what I was supposed to be doing—leaving.
I forced myself to break the circle of his embrace and step back. I was afraid if I so much as looked into his eyes that I’d be lost, but I did it anyway. Seeing the pain mixed with love didn’t make me feel any better, but what was I supposed to do other than what I did?
Whisper, “Goodbye, Carter.”
Then edge around him and walk away, not knowing if I’d ever see him again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ellie was awfully quiet on the ride back to her hotel. Detective Ewing kept glancing into the rearview mirror to check on her, holed up there in the backseat. Each time she did, Candace saw a young woman whose clothes were streaked with soot and spattered with blood, one leg folded under her, staring out the window. Her glasses were off, held in her hands, and Candace had a sneaking suspicion that was due to the tears she kept subtly wiping away. Ellie didn’t speak a word, except when Gary asked her if she were hungry. She wasn’t. Candace inquired where she wanted to go, back to Gary’s place, or to hers with her, or to her family.
“I—I don’t know,” she said. Her voice quivered a little, and Candace felt sorry for her.
Candace had been outside, at her car. She’d witnessed the kiss between Ellie and Sean Costas’s right-hand man. She’d seen Ellie practically stumble away from the guy, doing her best to hide how upset she was. Didn’t take a genius—or a detective—to figure out Ellie had just told her husband goodbye. And it didn’t take a detective to figure out she was wondering if she would ever see him again, torturing herself over whether she’d done the right thing.
“To my family, I guess,” she finally answered.
“Where are they staying?”
Ellie gave the name of a hotel, and Gary nodded. “I know how to get there.”
The rest of the ride was silent. Candace had a lot of things she wanted to say to Gary. She had several things she wanted to say to Ellie. That Ellie was better off without the guy, better off without a man who skirted the law—if not outright flaunted it. Better off without a man who couldn’t help dragging her into his dangerous world of blood and death and inhuman creatures from nightmares. In her heart of hearts, if Candace could have her way, she’d still put them all away. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she was going to get her way. On the other hand, it sounded like maybe they were getting ready to clean house on themselves. That didn’t hurt her feelings any.
A few less killers and hit men and feuding monsters in the world? Sign me up, she thought drily, as her partner pulled up in front of the hotel where Ellie’s family was currently staying. What did hurt, slightly, was watching a young woman who should’ve had such a bright, promising future climb out of the car, thank them, and tell them goodbye, sadness all over her face. Sadness reeked from her posture, the set of her shoulders. Briefly, as Candace observed her walking away, she wondered what Ellie would tell her family. She wasn’t doing a good job hiding the fact that something was bothering her. Maybe she didn’t want to hide it, though. Maybe it was time for her to come clean to her nearest and dearest.
Not that they’d believe her, though.
Candace, herself had been in on this for months and still had a hard time believing it.
“That kid’s been through a lot,” Gary observed aloud. He had yet to put the car in drive. Instead, he sat there, engine idling, also watching Ellie pass through the sliding glass doors and disappear down the main corridor.
“It’s too bad she ever got mixed up in this,” Candace agreed. She drummed her fingertips on the armrest. “Came from a good family. Has a good head on her shoulders. Studying to be a nurse. Good work ethic. She should’ve had a nice, normal, quiet life. Instead, she’s caught in a world of monsters, and torn up over some guy who can’t pull his head out of his butt long enough to see what’s right in front of him.”
“Ballis, you mean?”
“Of course, Ballis,” Candace said, a little too sharply. “Not sure what she sees in him, but I guess after everything they’ve been through there is an attachment. And I did see him willingly die for her—almost die,” she amended, recalling that ugly scene in the gardens of the Chesterfield Country Club. “I think he loves her too, but he’s so caught up in the drama of his people, or whatever, that he doesn’t have enough sense to walk away and go to her. Not walk away—run away. Take her, and get the hell out of Dodge.”
Gary remained silent a few moments as he maneuvered the car back into motion, leaving the hotel parking lot, and heading back into Fort Worth traffic. Finally, soberly, he said, “Some loyalties run deep.”
“True. And some loyalties will get you killed when you don’t have to get killed.”
Her partner had nothing to say to that, and the rest of the ride back to his place was quiet. Once inside, he offered, “More coffee? Before I take you home?”
Candace shrugged. “Why not? It’s been a hell of a few days.”
Gary ch
uckled. “Need a shot of something a little stronger in your coffee?”
“Wouldn’t hurt my feelings any. I already called in and told them I was taking a vacation day. That means I can drink if I want.”
Gary set to brewing a fresh pot, while Candace wandered around the kitchen, the dining area, the living room, tweaking this and that, picking up a knickknack, turning it over, putting it down. She caught Gary’s glance once or twice, but he didn’t say anything. She felt agitated and knew it showed in her sporadic movements. She felt like she should be doing something, looking for something, but didn’t know what or why. This wasn’t her fight. This wasn’t her problem. She’d signed up to be a cop and bring killers to justice. She hadn’t signed up to get dragged into a war between monsters.
However, she wasn’t the type to sit on the sidelines, either. It went against every instinct her Type A personality possessed. Problem was, she didn’t know what to do, short of barging in, trying to arrest them all before they killed each other and burned down half of Dallas and Fort Worth in the process. But arrest them for what? A war that hadn’t happened? Killings she couldn’t prove?
Been down that road already. She chuckled humorlessly to herself.
All the little odds and ends of the past months added up to something big, but it was something big she couldn’t try in a court of law. Even if she could, Candace had a feeling there would be plenty of lawyers and judges on Sean Costas’s take to block every step of the road towards true justice. Not to mention the media nightmare if she dared to go up against Elia without substantial proof—which she certainly lacked.
Frustrated, she walked back into the kitchen, the scent of the gurgling coffee pot pulling her in like a moth to a flame. She’d barely placed her butt in the chair, heard Gary ask, “The usual? Or do you actually want a shot of something stronger?” when a thought struck, struck so hard her head snapped up.
“Gary!” she exclaimed.
Her partner jerked, surprised. “What?”
“The sword!” She bolted up from the chair, head already swiveling, searching desperately. “He forgot it. Ellie must have too. Have you seen it? Where did he put it?”
“The sword?”
“The sword!” she snapped. “The one I told you about. He had it in the warehouse last night. Remember? The one that looks plain, but when he touches it, it flames.”
“Sounds like a helluva weapon,” her partner observed wryly. She heard the splash of rich, Columbian coffee being poured into a mug, but didn’t stop searching, her hands questing, pulling books off the shelf, picking up afghans and blankets, tossing aside throw pillows. “I don’t remember seeing him bring anything like that inside,” Gary added. “I don’t know what you’d do with it anyway.”
“Me? I’m not doing anything with it. From what Ballis told me, he’s the only one who can.”
“Then why are you getting so worked up about it? Let it go, Candace. Coffee’s ready.”
“Forget the coffee!” she barked. Frustrated, she rose, shoving her hair back out of her face with both palms. “What if it’s important? What if it’s a dealbreaker? What if it’s the difference between life and death, or even preventing an all-out war?”
“War is coming,” Gary observed mildly. Mildly, but seriously. “No way around it. Not after Sean’s wife decided to betray him and jump ship for Elia’s side.”
“Yes, but what if—” Candace paused, bit her lower lip. She couldn’t explain to her partner the sense of urgency she felt about the weapon, not when she barely understood it herself.
Memory struck. The car!
She wheeled and dashed outside, out to the vehicle she and Carter had stolen—borrowed—to get away from the carnage at the warehouse last night. Could it be? Could they really have been so intent on getting here, getting inside, getting their needs met that they’d both forgotten? Candace opened the back door, praying, holding her breath, eyes roving the interior as she bent to stick her head inside…
And there it was, resting on the back seat. Looking as simple and underwhelming as a sword could look. Especially a sword capable of turning into a weapon that could wield flame and possibly magic, too.
The detective’s hands almost trembled as she seized it, gathering it close to carry inside the house.
Got to get ahold of Ballis. He’s got to have this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I was sitting on my bed, a cup of Mom’s sleepy time hot tea—some sort of lavender and chamomile concoction—in my hands when the hotel phone next to my bed rang. I didn’t particularly care for the smell of chamomile, and I didn’t like hot tea much better than I liked coffee, but my mind seemed incapable of shutting down.
First, I’d had to fend off my parents’ inquiries about where I’d been the past couple days. I’d already come up with a plan, and that was simply to tell them I’d been with Carter, phones off, working on our marriage. Instantly, I was forgiven any worries they may have had about my absence. Mom couldn’t hide her smug expression. Dad had looked less pleased, but he didn’t say much. Mom then asked if I thought there was a good chance for reconciliation between the two of us. Or, translation, she wanted to know if a divorce was still pending. I told her yes, there was a good chance of reconciliation. I didn’t add that we planned to stay together…if Carter survived the coming war.
That was the sticking point. My brain now wanted to play and replay today’s events, as well as last’s nights, like a movie reel stuck on repeat. Over and over again I asked myself if I’d done the right thing. Over and over, I reassured myself that I hadn’t had any choice. Yet when it came to the scene of telling Carter goodbye, knowing I was possibly sending him off to die while refusing to go with him or even try to help…
Groaning, I dropped my head against the headboard, lifting the mug for a sip. The tea didn’t seem to be doing much to calm me down, but I planned to keep drinking it in the hopes that it would. At least until the phone rang.
When the first chimes sounded, I jumped, then stared at it in surprise.
Who’s calling me? On that thing?
I couldn’t think of a soul, and that disturbed me. However, curiosity got the better of me, and by the second ring I’d set down the tea, scooted a little closer to the nightstand, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Ellie?”
“Detective Ewing?” I recognized her voice right away. “Is something wrong?”
Worry churned in my stomach, setting the tea to sloshing. This couldn’t be good.
“No, no, nothing’s wrong. I don’t think,” the police detective hastened to assure me, quieting my anxiety a little. “I’m sorry to surprise you, but I didn’t have your cell number. I had to call the hotel and have the front desk put me through to your room.”
“That’s fine,” I said. Then, “So, what’s going on?”
“Well, I think I have something that Carter might—might need. I didn’t have his number, either, and trying to call the Costas home didn’t get me anywhere. I’m guessing, with all the chaos there, answering phones is the last thing on their minds. Or else the explosion tore up their phone lines. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call except you.”
The rest of her explanation fell on deaf ears. All I heard was something Carter might need. My mind drew a blank. His gun? No doubt he had plenty of those, or access to them. What could the detective possibly have, and why would she care…
“The sword,” she said, putting an end to my mental guessing game.
The two words struck me mentally, emotionally like a pin pricking a balloon. The air went out of me. I sank back against the pillows. Of course. The sword that the angel—I believed it was an angel—had given Carter. How could we have forgotten it? As I recalled the sword and its giver, I recalled the strange adventure, the mini quest, in that other world. Of the value every creature I’d encountered had placed on Carter, calling him the Repairer of the Breach, making sure he survived. Making sure he returned ho
me.
“Ellie? Are you there?”
“I—I’m sorry. Yes, I’m still here. I was thinking.”
“About?”
I swallowed hard. “About the sword and what it means to Carter. About this war he and Sean Costas are heading up. About the angel calling him the Repairer of the Breach.”
“The angel? Repairer of the Breach? What?”
So. The detective knew some things and not others.
“It’s a long story,” I said, pushing my body upright. Energy coursed through my veins. “Can you pick me up in about a half-hour? I’ll be ready to go then. Bring the sword, of course.”
“You’ll be ready to go where?” I heard the hesitancy in her voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I paused in trying to work my foot into my shoe, which had been on the floor next to my bed.
“I think we’re going to take the sword to Carter. He needs it.”
“I thought you were done with him and his war.”
“I was,” I admitted. “I thought I’d walked away for good. But I forgot about the sword.”
“You really think it’s that important? That it can change what’s going to happen?”
“Maybe not just change it,” I said soberly. “Maybe stop it—avoid the fight altogether. That title, Detective Ewing. It has to mean something. Everything we went through in the world the Stones sent us to—it has to mean something. If it wasn’t talking about this, then what?”
“I can’t answer that, because I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” the cop grumbled.
I half-laughed. “I know. If you can pick me up, I’ll tell you on the way to the Costas home.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she agreed, and hung up.
My earlier anger and anguish were forgotten. Renewed with hope, hope that perhaps I could stop a war, prevent bloodshed, and save lives—possibly even save Carter’s life—I flew to get dressed.
Repairer of the Breach (Stones of Fire Book 4) Page 15
