My Book

by Kells, India

  The hacker wasn’t pleased, but it wasn’t his decision to make.

  Pouring back over his computer again, he completed the download process before unhooking the device. “I’ll forward this information. On a related topic, I’ve got a bit of bad news. My buddies haven’t caught White. At least not yet. Until they do, be really careful. He must have opened the briefcase by now as the GPS has been disabled. You crossed him, and I’m certain he won’t forget that. Ever.

  Years of covering wars across the globe had taught her that much. A wounded predator was at his most lethal, and Mr. White, whoever he was, wouldn’t be any different. “I may have lied, but I’m pretty sure the sudden appearance of your friends infuriated him more.”

  A little smile tugged at his lips. “Will you continue to be our informer?”

  Orla put the scanner back in her bag. “I haven’t decided yet. But I’d rather have a partnership, where you share information with me, too. And so far, I don’t think any of you have held up your end of the bargain.”

  “You’re not fair, Orla.”

  “I know. This is more complicated than I know, yada, yada, yada. You, your boss, and Sam have told me so often enough.”

  Devin had the worst poker face she’d ever seen, and Orla had her confirmation as surprise crossed his features before he blanked his expression. “Don’t worry; he didn’t betray you all. I just connected the dots. And I suppose Sloane is also part of your team. I see no use in revealing any of this to anyone. I owe you all my life. And even more importantly, we’re on the same side. I’ll contact you if I find anything useful. I’ll be careful.” Her hand on the door handle, she hesitated a moment. “And please, pass on the same advice to your team.”

  She was about to twist the door handle, trying to sort thought the confusion in her head as to what to do next, when Devin coughed behind her.

  “Nice pendant. It’s good to know where it came from.”

  That made her pause, her free hand went to her half-crescent moon. “What do you mean?”

  Devin leaned against his overloaded desk, making a pile of papers fall like snow. “I saw him rubbing that thing often when he thought no one was looking. Whatever happened between you two, Sam isn’t a bad man. He’s a thief, and if he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have returned it to you. Or cared so much about you.”

  Orla sighed and opened the door. “I respect his decision, but maybe he should’ve kept the pendant as a lucky charm after all. I fear he needs it more than I do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  His body wanted to collapse, but Sam kept going. Inside the lair’s gym, his only goal was to exhaust himself, to push his body until he found his center again and from what he felt, it wasn’t happening any time soon.

  Josh had sparred with him, giving a good beating before tapping out. Sloane was next, and the vicious former cop gave him a good fight, but still, it wasn’t enough. Others lurked nearby but left him alone. Sam knew he wasn’t his usual, easy-going self and he didn’t yet know how to get him back.

  It was due to White’s escaping. Each time Sam thought how the fucker vanished, red-hot anger rose. They’d been so close, and yet they’d failed.

  Over the last few days, Phantom had hit the streets, it was only a trickle at this stage, but it was another sign they couldn’t prevent its spread. He’d been on standby in case he was needed. His time as a vigilante had ended for now and another had taken his place.

  It wasn’t about Orla. For her, he’d made the best decision. Since that night when he’d last seen her, he’d remained part of the support team and had turned into an angry bear. He didn’t know what was worse, staying away from her or watching what she was doing.

  Devin had informed them that she’d found the molecular scanner and possibly the formula for Phantom. Lance was in the process of securing a chemist to help them on that. His friend not only wanted to unlock the code but work on an antidote, like naloxone for methamphetamines. The authorities would probably do the same, but at a much slower pace.

  For a moment, Sam had thought Orla would step back, especially after being informed that White hadn’t been captured or killed yet. How wrong he was.

  She’d doubled her efforts, scouring the worst of Chicago to find the vendors, trying to find a link up the chain and relaying her findings to Devin.

  Giving one last jab to the punching bag, Sam went to the side wall and sat on the floor. His strength was gone, and peace still eluded him. In the near darkness of the abandoned gym, he reached into his pocket in search of the pendant, but his hand came up empty. Once more, Sam pictured the pendant around Orla’s neck. The image conjured the woman in his mind, her soft, pale skin and curves. He still could taste her, even hear her moans and pleas. His cock stirred, and that longing brought him back to reality.

  “And here I thought I’d have the gym all to myself at this time of night.” Lance closed the door behind him.

  Sam refrained from snarling as it wouldn’t be fair to his friend, and it would be a wasted effort. Instead, he sighed and leaned against the wall. “Has Melina given you the authorization to be here, or do I need to tell on you?”

  The giant blond man huffed his chest. “I’m doing better, almost fully healed. A little jog will do me good. I hope it does me better than it did you, at least. Did you sleep here?”

  Sam ignored him, needing a little more time to make sure he could stand without making a fool of himself. Too bad he wasn’t that lucky when Lance came and carefully sat down beside him. It seemed he wasn’t on the mend as much as he’d said he was. “You smell like a wet dog. When did you shower last, dammit?”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a lecture, Dad. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Any news on finding a chemist?”

  Lance nodded. “I’ve narrowed the search down to a few promising possibilities. Devin is running background checks. As we’ll probably bring them into our fold, I want to make sure we don’t make any mistakes. We were lucky with Orla, and I don’t want to leave our safety to chance again.”

  Silence fell between them, and Sam hoped Lance would start with his workout and leave him alone, but it seemed it wasn’t to be. “Have you read Orla’s piece on the spread of Phantom and her related conspiracy theory? Fascinating article. Very well written. I’m impressed.”

  Sam had read it. Several times. Orla had a way with words that hooked her readers, although he didn’t need it to have her haunt his mind. “She’s a journalist, of course she can write.”

  What was Lance doing? “Never thought you’d be the one complementing Orla considering you were the one who told me to keep away. If I didn’t know your tastes went the other way, I’d think you were about to propose to her.”

  His deep laughter boomed in the empty space. “She’s not my type. Not because she’s a woman, but because she’s yours. It just took me some time to see it.”

  His words took a moment to sink in and make sense. “She’s not mine, Lance. I made that clear to her the last time I saw her. I’m part of Noctem. She’s an outsider. You said it yourself; it can’t be. I’ve accepted the life I live as a criminal who spends half his time wearing a mask.”

  With a snort, Lance leaned his head on the wall. “I said no such thing. I only said it wasn’t a good idea. But Orla isn’t just anybody. She could’ve made headway on a second Pulitzer by revealing what she knew of us, but instead, she’s feeding us a lot of useful information. It’s only a matter of time before she breaks this case.

  “She shouldn’t put herself in danger like that. White is still out there, and she’s strolling the worst neighborhoods of Chicago trying to get him.”

  Even if he wanted to stay factual, Sam sounded rather angry, and Lance raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, I don’t think she’ll stop even if she’s ordered to. We’re keeping an eye on her.”

  Would it be enough? Time and time again, Sam had followed her from afar, invisible, unable to keep away and praying she’d be safe.

  “I just sai
d Orla is exceptional, and a potential addition to Noctem, and you’re still here. I thought you’d be out the door and running to her place before I’d finished speaking. So there must be something else.”

  Head bowed; Sam sighed. “It’s something you said. I heard what you told her when we were trying to catch White. Who we are can’t be overlooked.”

  “It can’t. It’s what we are and what we do and choose to be, Sam. I have to admit I said those words with the intent of keeping her away from us. And from you at the same time. Wasn’t it what you wanted? The thing is, do you still want that now?”

  “It’s not about what I want. I’m a thief, a murderer, and a vigilante. God help me.”

  “Yes, you are. And you’re so much more. Nobody in this group can deny what they’ve done in the past. Not even me. It’s what led us here. By founding Noctem with you and Sloane, I found purpose again. We channeled our skills and put them to good use. I won’t put that aside. I need this, maybe forever.”

  Sam got to his feet and offered Lance a hand and they moved to the center of the room. “And that’s the reason I can’t ask Orla to explore what we have together and bring her in. I need this job and know I’d regret it if I abandoned Noctem, even for Orla.”

  “Did she ask you to step down? As for being part of this, she already is, my friend. If she didn’t want anything to do with you, or us, she would’ve already cut all ties. Instead, each time she works the Phantom case, she becomes more connected to us. We can certainly use her as our informant until this is over. But I won’t bring her fully in unless it’s what you want. It’s your call, and your call only.”

  Lance took a step away before turning back to Sam. “I suspect the woman knows you come with baggage. If I were you, I’d take a shot. True connections are rare nowadays.”

  “I didn’t know you were a romantic, Lance.”

  The half-crooked smile his friend gave him revealed very little. “Not anymore. But I’m still hopeful. It’s in your hands now. The decision is up to you. As far as Sloane and I are concerned, Orla has earned her stripes and is welcomed into Noctem.”

  Lance went to the treadmill and programmed his run; Sam stood still for a moment, processing Lance’s words before shaking his head and heading to the shower.

  Was he thinking straight? Had he been alone for too long? He craved her, that was undeniable. But could she accept who he was when she deserved so much more? Since Phantom had brought them on the same path, something had changed; she made him want more.

  Dressed, Sam knew he had to act, one way or another. He’d told her she shouldn’t expect anything from him. Maybe he could show himself and see. She’d remember his face, and then, maybe foolishly, he’d hope for the best.

  Chapter Twenty

  Where the hell was he? Not only had Freckles made her wait in the middle of the night at the back of a bar, but with the sub-zero temperature, it had started snowing. If it didn’t smell like piss and wet cat, the setting would almost seem romantic.

  Half-hiding behind a dumpster, Orla dreamed about a hot soak and a hamburger. The only reason she was still waiting was that he had called and had to see her. Despite her plea to him to disappear for a while, he’d ignored her, and had even wormed his way into the mess, as he tried to get information for her from his sources.

  She couldn’t do anything more to protect him, and she wasn’t in a position to turn down any tip that came her way. A quick look told her it was past three a.m., and ten minutes past the meeting time. Freckles wasn’t known for his punctuality, and that was the only reason she was still freezing her butt off waiting for him.

  Most of the party crowd was long gone, and with a last shiver, Orla decided she’d had enough. With one last look at her phone, she confirmed Freckles hadn’t left her a message before walking up to the boulevard.

  She was debating if she should go to West Englewood and put her boot up the dealer’s ass when a shadowy figure entered the alley like something out of a bad thriller. With the distance and the low light, it was impossible for her to know if the person was a threat, and she decided to backtrack.

  “Where are you going, little lady?”

  When two men walked out of the club’s back door, Orla began to think she was jinxed. On the bright side, the two dumbasses didn’t look like White’s men. And if they were as wasted as they appeared, she’d be able to get away.

  The shortest of the two men licked his lips. “Blond and ready to go.”

  The second man was a bit bigger, but more inebriated when he half stumbled over her while grabbing her shoulders. Orla barely had time to sidestep before the man fell like a log. The other man didn’t have time to move before she kneed him hard. The sound he made as he crumbled and started puking over his buddy was almost enough to have her follow suit.

  Adrenaline spiking, she swerved to see where the shadowy figure was, but the alley was clear.

  With one man puking his guts out and the other heaving as he realized what was going on, it was Orla’s cue to disappear.

  * * *

  By the time she made her way home, Orla was not only soaked but also ready to spit glass. She hated wasting her time. Freckles had told her he’d met a vendor who’d seen the Phantom lab. It was probably a dead end, but she wasn’t turning down any bit of information nowadays. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so pissed if it wasn’t for those two drunks and that lurking shadow. As if on cue, her cell phone buzzed with Freckles giving her some empty excuse for not meeting her on time. And even worse, it seemed that his urgent information was a dud. That was the trouble with Freckles; sometimes he dug out a gem, but much too often, he slid through your fingers or offered garbage. She shouldn’t be surprised, but couldn’t turn down any source of information, as inconsistent as it may be. Maybe next time he would give her the key to stopping this madness.

  When she locked the door behind her, Orla was glad her nervous system was mostly stable. She made sure she consistently took her medication, which had prevented sudden spikes of panic and unmanageable anxiety. She’d learned her lesson after the party.

  Discarding her wet coat, she flung her bag to the sofa. After making herself some soup and a coffee, she’d go through her notes and her messages. Since the Phantom outbreak, she’d tagged every possible informer she had in the city, and that meant sifting through various leads that went nowhere.

  Shivering, she went through her dark kitchen and opened the fridge door. The trouble with being someone who was always on the job, her fridge was always empty. A sudden movement to her right when she closed the door reminded her of another cliché she wished didn’t exist—someone breaking into the helpless female reporter’s apartment.

  She reached for the counter, hoping to grab anything that might help to defend herself when the shadow slammed her into the kitchen window.

  The noise of shattering glass and a wet gust of wind registered before anything else. Even with the light coming in from outside, Orla saw a masked man wearing the same outfit from the party, and realized she was going to die.

  The man jerked her back inside, and Orla’s hip felt like it had caught on fire. From the corner of her eye, she noticed blood on the shards of the windowpane and knew pieces of it were embedded in her skin. However, adrenaline took over and instead of resisting, she threw her entire body weight at him, for once glad she had curves to spare. The man tumbled back, and as they crashed to the floor, his gun dug into her ribs so hard it stole her breath away before he lost his grip from the impact and it skidded under the table.

  Survival mode running high, she rolled away, but her attacker wasn’t about to let her out of his grasp. He slapped her, and before she could move, he’d picked up a kitchen knife and held it to her throat.

  “Enough!” And to make a point, he applied pressure on her wound and Orla immediately howled, feeling the blood dampening her pants. “We know you still have the data. We know you’re smart enough to have cracked it, and Mr. White wants it. You’re going to die; on
ly you get to decide if it will be quick and painless or if you’re going to scream the whole time.”

  Orla fought to keep her wits and not fall into the black hole lurking on the edge of her mind.

  There was a movement from above. “Hurry, man. We’re on the clock here.”

  “Yeah, right.” His hand moved over her side. “What do we have here?”

  And before she could react, the man closed his fingers over her injured hip again. This time, the level of pain that exploded inside her body almost made her faint. He spoke, but she couldn’t hear anything.

  The only clear thought was that she had to fight. Even if she didn’t know how, she had to channel the vigilante, and do whatever it took to get free.

  Arms and legs flying, and about to vomit from the pain, Orla summoned everything she had to regain a clear head and survive.

  The man grabbed her wrists and pulled her up, as she fought the fog that was beginning to descend. The attacker twisted so she couldn’t knee him, and pushed her against the counter.

  The pain was unbearable, and despite her fear, Orla conjured Sam’s smiling face in her mind. The bad guys couldn’t take that from her at least. Her last thought would be a happy one. She waited for the feel of the knife slicing her throat, instead, the pressure abruptly lessened. When she felt a hand touching her, she reacted instinctively, hitting out at her new attacker.

  “Orla! Easy, it’s me.”

  The voice took a while to make sense. “Sam?”

  The hands holding her were gentle when they turned her, and there he was, mask and all, standing before her. Sam. She could see her two attackers on the floor, unmoving and probably dead.

  “We need to go. Now. We’re not safe here.” He pulled at her hand, but she faltered. His hand went to her hip and returned covered with blood. “Fucking hell, what did they do to you?”