Captive Heart (18 page)

Bela’s exotic face got tense, but her words came out gentle and kind. “She’s fine, even though she gave up a lot of energy to help you.”

Jack gazed at her, then at Camille. “You mean the waves in the alley? The water she pulled from all over New York City to try to drown them?”

“That, and she used her power to do some deep healing.” Camille pointed to his bruises and bandages. “It’s why you didn’t die and why you’re already awake and on the mend. Andy doesn’t know how to regulate her healing energy yet, or even how to call it on purpose, so it cost her.”

Jack wanted to smack something. He didn’t like the thought of Andy risking herself to make him feel better, not even a little bit. He’d taken bullets before and gotten better pretty quick on his own. They’d have to talk about this, he and Andy, as soon as he saw her.

And at the thought of seeing her, the rush of stubborn anger faded as fast as it had flared, and he just felt worried again. “After it was over—I’m sorry if I wasn’t … myself.”

Bela shrugged. Her expression seemed casual, but her dark eyes blazed into him, completely intense, like she wanted to be sure he knew she meant what she said. “No harm, no foul.”

Jack glanced at the door. “It was Dio I knocked past trying to get Andy out of there. I’ll apologize to her when I see her again.”

“Not necessary,” Camille said. “Dio didn’t hit you with a knife or a lightning bolt, so I’d say you’re good.”

Bela pointed toward the hospital room window, in the general direction of the brownstone. “We got some blood from the freaks in the alley—yours and Andy’s, too, but a good measure of theirs. They are mostly human, and the DNA matches files on Klopol Pashka, Ari Demelov, and Shada Nour.”

“Seneca’s clan. Ari Seneca, Foucci’s biggest rival.” Jack turned his attention to Saul, then to John and Duncan. “That should have been obvious, given their past association with the Rakshasa and Griffen’s sorcerers—and who they’ve been killing. But our sources and observations indicate there weren’t any Seneca people left in the city. Not after the slaughter in Central Park last year.”

Camille touched the crescent moon charm around her neck “The DNA matches those profiles, but those men have been enhanced. More like a gene splice than demon conversions.” She held the charm for a few seconds, her eyes unfocused. John slipped his arm around her waist, which seemed to help her say the rest of what she needed to tell him. “The demon essence looks like Rakshasa. Jack, it looks like it came from an Eldest.”

For a long moment Jack sat very still, fending off the sneaking tendrils of his war nightmare. The blood. The Valley of the Gods. “That’s not possible. The Eldest are dead.”

“Yet we’ve got an air Sibyl dreaming about Tarek coming back from the grave, and now we’ve got enhanced criminals with Eldest demon essence.” Bela’s no-nonsense voice seemed to fill up the hospital room and all of Jack’s mind. “The Coven’s upped their game. Who knows what they’re capable of doing? Until we’ve got a better explanation, I think we better assume that at least one Eldest made it out of Camille’s molten metal bath, and a few of Seneca’s men survived and were willing to get changed into something … other.”

Jack didn’t want to go there. Not yet. Not at all. His head started to ache because he was clenching his teeth, so he loosened his jaw enough to say, “Supermobsters. Just what the world fucking needs.”

“Supermobsters.” Duncan glanced at his wife, then at Jack. “Great. Look, we’ve got to take those bastards down in a big hurry, before they take over.”

Saul keyed on this, getting serious, which Saul rarely did. “A crime family with supernatural foot soldiers could consolidate enough power to pose a serious risk to the entire NYPD, not to mention the public.”

“Stop right now,” Dio hissed from somewhere in the hall outside Jack’s room, “or so help me, I’ll blow you all the way to Oz.”

“Don’t make me put a dart in your ass, sweetcheeks.” Andy’s voice rang clear and menacing in the hospital quiet, and the sound of it made Jack sit up straighter. He ground his teeth against the pain of shifting his weight and waited, watching the door. Hoping. He wanted a look at her. Needed to see her up and moving. Somehow that would make everything square again, at least for the moment.

From the corner of his eye, Jack noted that Bela was smiling. The expression seemed sincere even though she was also rubbing her temples. “I knew peace and sanity couldn’t last forever. Andy must have taken off from the brownstone and headed here before Dio ever got home—but obviously Dio tracked her down.”

Wind blasted down the hospital hallway, rattling carts and sending paper medication cups dancing past Jack’s door. A split second later came the unmistakable sounds of a sprinkler tearing loose, water splashing everywhere, and raised voices from the nurses’ station.

“Excuse me,” Bela said, hurrying out the door. Camille went right behind her. Jack had no elemental power, but he could have sworn he felt energy humming through him, buzzing all around him.

“Probably our cue to get the hell out, too,” Saul said, and he and John and Duncan followed the women into the hallway.

More raised voices shattered the hospital’s peace. Dio, followed by Bela. The guys said something. Then Andy spoke.

Jack kept his eyes fixed on the hospital room door.

She stormed into view a second later, her red hair and blousy white shirt damp and her freckled face red like a sunburn. Her jeans slung water with every step, and her sneakers squeaked like chalk on a blackboard.

“They’re fucking nuts,” she bellowed, pointing down the hallway. “There’s
nothing
wrong with me, and I
am
ready to work.”

“You look perfect to me,” Jack said, vaguely aware she might kill him, then have her regrets later. “And your accent gets thicker when you’re angry.”

More water trickled down from her shoulders, but the frenetic red eased out of her cheeks as she faced him. For a moment she just looked at him, like she might be counting toes and fingers and making sure all his body parts were where she expected them to be.

“You talk smooth yourself,” she said with normal volume. “But you’ll take their side.”

Jack had done his own limb counting, but he still couldn’t relax. “Anything broken? Everything moving like it should?”

“Good as new.” She walked toward him, raised her arms over his bed, and flexed her lean, well-toned muscles. Warm water rained all over his bedsheets. “Oh. Sorry.”

He examined her still-outstretched arms, the gentle curve of her neck, and the swell of her breasts. “I’m not sorry.”

“I was worried about you.” She lowered her arms. “I’d have been here sooner, but—”

“But you have good friends who look after you, one of whom makes a mean tornado.” Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off Andy, but he figured if a threat like Dio showed up in the doorway, Andy would react, so they could both duck in time.

“Something like that.” She kept looking at him, her gaze steady.

He gestured to the nearest chair. “You can sit, but it’s a hospital chair. Your butt might cramp.”

Andy’s expression changed several times in the next moment of silence, settling on concern and frustration. “I know you’re sore as hell. I wish I could do more for you. I could try, if you’ll let me.”

Jack wished he could push himself out of the hospital bed and take her in his arms to make sure everything still felt right. To make sure everything was still the same between them. “No. You need all your energy for yourself right now. I’ve taken my share of bullets and I bounce back, no magic required.”

“I’m not magic, Jack.”

“That’s debatable.”

Andy glanced down at her hands and curled her fingers into fists. “I should know more about the healing I’m supposed to do. Sometimes I think I’m getting it, or part of it, and the rest of the time, I don’t have a clue. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Jack could tell the uncertainty and confusion ate at her, and he understood that. She was used to being on top of any job she tackled, used to competence and certainty. He understood that. He also understood that it felt like shit to be up against something you couldn’t even define, much less conquer.

He lifted the arm closest to her, the one free of needles and tubes, and reached for her hand.

She caught his fingers, then pressed both of her palms against his knuckles. So soft, but what a grip. Strong woman. He liked that, and the physical contact solidified the fact that she really had come through the shooting in one piece. He looked at her, surprised by the fact that being with her made him feel stronger even if she didn’t do anything special to enhance his healing.

“Practice on yourself and your fighting group.” Jack kept his hand still so she wouldn’t let him go. “I’ll be on my feet fast enough. Always am.”

She massaged his fingers, and Jack had no idea which kind of magic created the heat creeping up his arms. “You talk to Bela and Camille and the guys about what we saw? Did they tell you about the supermobsters?”

“Yeah. I think we came out pretty good, all things considered.”

Jack shifted his hand so that he caught hold of her fingers instead. He gave her a gentle squeeze, just enough to get her attention. “The rest of the OCU and the other Sibyl groups can handle hunting for them. I don’t want you back on the streets yet.”

“Told you you’d take their side.” Andy frowned, but she didn’t pull her hand away from him. “When I go on patrol again isn’t your call. I don’t work for you, remember?”

Jack knew he should step carefully, but he found himself worrying a little less about offending her. This was too important to him. “I was hoping you were working
with
me.”

She hesitated. Gave him a look probably designed to piss him off. It tickled him instead.

“You use that smile like a weapon, Blackmore. It’s not fair.”

“Is it working?”

“No.” She moved her eyes to the wall. Back to his. Showed him she had her own weapons-grade smile. “Yes, damn it. But you missed our date.”

Jack pulled her closer to his bed. She didn’t resist. “Yeah. I stood you up. Are you going to tell me what I have to do to earn a second chance, or do I have to guess?”

Andy leaned down and kissed him, her soft red curls brushing his cheeks as her lips tasted his, as her tongue slid easily across his mouth. Jack closed his eyes and let himself have the sensation, have every bit of her softness, her smell. Still so new but already familiar.

Mine
.

When Andy lengthened the kiss, when she pressed closer to him, heated but careful of his wounds, he tried to tell himself not to get possessive, not to take a chance on scaring her away, but he gave it up fast. He rested his good arm across the small of her back, holding her to him, enjoying each warm second of the contact. She raised her fingers and stroked his cheeks. Electricity. More heat. Every part of him responded.

Jack thought he might have to take the damned IV out himself if she didn’t stop, because bullet holes or no, he couldn’t take this much longer.

A second shy of the point of no return, Andy moved back, trailing her fingers down the bare skin of his neck and chest, giving him a little push back against the bed. “Easy. I don’t want to set off any alarms.”

“Too late for that, sweetheart.”

She smiled again, and he watched her, enjoying her even as he felt her thoughts slip away from him again. Her gaze wandered, then she seemed to come back and pull her focus together. “You said I don’t have to censor with you, right?”

Jack raised his arm and managed to touch her cheek. “I meant that.”

“Then I have a question I want to ask you, not for public consumption.” Her eyes went clear and her features sharpened. Work stuff again. He could tell. That was fine with him—a relief, actually. He’d never met anybody else whose mind worked on two tracks all the time—life, sure, but also the job, always the job, whatever case seemed most pressing.

“Shoot,” he told her. “Ah, not literally, please.”

She moved out of range of his touch, folded her arms, and turned to look out the window. Jack figured she had to be hunting for words, trying to pull something together in her own head.

She didn’t sound tentative at all when she asked, “Did that attack feel personal to you?”

Jack’s eyebrows drew together, and pain flickered in his temples. “I hadn’t given that any thought. I assumed the assholes went after us because I’m OCU and you’re a Sibyl, and they were ready to show off their new muscle.”

“Maybe I’m off.” Andy kept her arms folded and kept looking out the window. “Maybe we were just a grand example, a first volley.”

“But you think it was more than that.” Jack could tell from the rigid lines of her stance that she had gone deep into her instincts, police-born or Sibyl-bred, he didn’t know, but he felt inclined to listen no matter what the source. “Is this all instinct, or did you see or sense something more specific?”

“I felt like they were coming after me.” She let her arms relax, but she still didn’t look at him. “Before the attack, I picked up some kind of strange energy, but I also thought I heard something. Maybe it’s more like I heard it in my head, my mind. My name. Like those mobsters had been wound up and sent out with me as their goal—like Asmodai, remember? How the Legion created their demons, then gave them some sort of talisman to target people?”

“And they’d go until they destroyed the target, or got destroyed.” Jack didn’t like what she was saying, but he had to give it credence. “It doesn’t hold totally, because they did retreat when overwhelming force arrived—but if you felt targeted, then we have to assume you were. Ever have any dealings with Seneca’s family?”

Andy let out a little groan. “Not that I know of, but it’s possible I arrested somebody’s uncle’s cousin or girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever. Who knows? I’ve been doing this for a while.”

This felt too fucking familiar. Somebody he cared about in the sights of a soulless, heartless bunch of mobsters. Jack’s head reached the pounding stage. He had to lean against his pillows for support, which pissed him off. “If they were targeting you specifically, that’s another good reason for you to stay in the background.”

Until I’m out of this friggin’ bed. Until I can watch your six
.

She turned to face him again. “I was thinking exactly the opposite. If it’s me they want, then I’m the one who can draw them out. Only with a lot more firepower on my side this time.”

“You. As bait.” Jack’s head got fuzzy, but he stayed upright and looked at her, even though her image seemed divided as he squinted against the burning ache in his head, his bruises, and the freshly healing holes in his neck and arm. “That’s not happening.”

“What if I wait until you’re better?” Another smile, this one teasing, but Jack didn’t think any of this was funny.

“We’re not negotiating here, Andy.”

The smile went away, replaced by a stern, stubborn look he recognized all too quickly. “No, we aren’t.”

Jack sat up straighter, clenching the sheets in both fists to fight back the misery in his body. A thousand orders and commands shot through his head, but just as fast his better sense told him each of those would just make her more determined to do something dangerous and get herself killed faster.

He started to tell her no way, no how, that he’d order the entire OCU to stand guard over her, but when he got his mouth open, he said, “Please. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Andy’s face softened and she came toward him again, closer, until she pressed her hip against his bedrail and rested her fingertips against his shoulder. The contact soothed him, calmed him, eased the pain, but Jack kept his eyes locked on hers.

“That’s mutual, you know.” She leaned down and kissed him again, even softer this time, her lips warm silk against his. She smelled so good, so fresh, driving back the stink of hospitals and illness and stuff Jack didn’t want to think about.

Jack moved his lips to her ear. “Not while I’m like this. If you have to do this thing, wait for me. Let me be there with you.”

She shifted against him, and her lips touched his ear. Her breath whispered across his awareness. “I can make that deal, if it’ll help you get better.”

He relaxed, hearing the commitment. Not a promise, but good enough. “It helps.”

“Fine. I’ll lie low and be careful until you’re full force again—not that I can’t take care of myself, but just because I feel like doing you a favor. It’s all the bruises. I always feel sorry for handsome men with a shitload of bruises.”