Captive Heart (35 page)

The one thing she had asked him to do was tell her if he got ready to run. Didn’t he promise he would? Just a little notification.

Fuck
.

Who was she kidding?

This felt like a huge betrayal. She’d thought they were closer than this. He’d told her he loved her. She’d told him the same thing. The time for running should have been long past over, unless—

Unless he didn’t love her like she loved him.

The heat on Andy’s face moved all over her body, and two seconds later she started to drip from her elbows and knees. Sprinkler heads started rattling, and the water main to the townhouse gave a low, stressed groan.

Christ. Reality sucks
.

Andy didn’t know whether to cry or wash away the wing of headquarters where Jack was questioning Simmons. Smoke drifted through the door of Jack’s office, but Andy ignored it. She had to get the hell out of here. Screw Elana. She’d go to Kérkira for a while. She had to go somewhere. It was way friggin’ obvious she had no home here, not with this man.

And I thought …

The emptiness opening inside her hurt too much to bear.

She turned around and walked fast out down the hall, then through a thick cloud of smoke in the main entry room and an even thicker cloud of smoke by the front doors. She was all the way down the steps, out of the gate, and half a block away from the place before she took another breath, before the tears started falling and her head started aching and shit, but she was drawing way too much water in her wake.

She stopped on a small side street and turned to send some of the rushing stream of water back to where it came from, and she thought she saw a movement at the building’s corner.

Andy frowned. Squinted. Saw nothing. Sensed nothing. She walked straight back to the exact spot where she thought she’d seen the flicker of motion, but all she saw was pedestrians trundling past on their way to wherever.

At least the mistake distracted her from crying like an idiot and making impromptu rivers—but her head pounded and her heart ached, and she wanted to get back to the brownstone in the worst way.

Running seemed like a good idea, but she hadn’t gone ten steps when she heard running steps behind her.

This time she whipped around without even slowing—and she definitely caught a quick blur of movement. Something ducking, pushing through a tall wooden gate into a private alley.

She had her SIG and her dart pistol, one in each ankle holster, and she drew them both before sprinting straight to the alley.

The gate’s latch was locked from the inside.

“Whoever you are,” she shouted, “whatever you are, you picked the wrong day to fuck with me.”

She kicked the wooden gate with all of her stored anger and sadness, and sharp pains ricocheted up her leg. The wood splintered and gave. So did at least one of her toes, but Andy didn’t care. She ground her teeth and used her sneaker to shove the gate open hard, intending to smash anybody hiding behind it. The wooden panel banged against the fence and tore loose from its top hinge as Andy plunged into the alley. A tiny figure tried to leap away from her into the shadows, but Andy tracked it easily, grabbed it, brought both weapons to bear—

Dead center on Neala’s little freckled nose.

“Shit!” Andy jerked the weapons skyward as Neala let off a giant puff of smoke and set the broken gate on fire.

“I just wanted battle,” the little girl wailed as Andy jammed her weapons into their holsters, then dropped to her knees in front of Neala. “Play at your house?”

“I had no idea you followed me. That was so dangerous!” Andy grabbed Neala and hugged her tight. “Your mother’s going to kill us both, you know that, right? Where’s your tutor from Motherhouse Ireland? You didn’t hurt her or lock her up in some closet, did you?”

Neala pulled back and started to answer, but her eyes went wide and her mouth came open, and little flames coursed all across her shoulders and arms.

Dread spiked into Andy like so many knives.

She yanked Neala to her again, but before she could turn to see what was behind them, something sharp jabbed into her arm and burned like hell.

“Wha—” Andy tried to ask, doing all she could to keep hold of Neala.

She never finished the word before she hit the pavement.

Simmons looked like a six-foot sniveling weasel with a black crew cut.

Jack hated weasels.

He really wanted to kill this quivering animal, but he couldn’t let himself beat a man chained to a chair no matter how much damage the fucker had caused.

The whole room smelled like sweat, and Simmons had buckets pouring off his forehead.

“Want me to unhook you?” Jack asked, trying to sound polite.

“No.” The asshole’s answer came out too fast.

“Too bad.” Jack leaned forward and folded his arms on the small stretch of table separating him from this jerk he wanted to choke so badly his fingers ached. “Tell me what else we need to know before I go get some Sibyls, and maybe an Astaroth or a Curson.”

Simmons shook his head and slung sweat. “There’s nothing. That’s everything.” His black weasel eyes darted to the interrogation room door. Jack knew he was looking for Saul, praying like hell Saul would get back before Jack went right over the edge.

As if on cue, Saul came in without knocking, straddled the chair on the opposite side of the table, and gave Jack a where-are-we glance.

“Simmons here just told me the Coven caught some sort of winged creature a few days before we hit their headquarters. They’re keeping it hostage with the Rakshasa in some kind of broken-down old morgue with barely patched-together walls and floors, and they’ve got more beds set aside, like maybe Griffen’s planning to start himself a collection of supernatural hostages.”

“Is he?” Saul asked Simmons, looking as dangerous as Jack felt.

“I don’t know.” The man was talking too fast, very nearly whining. “And I really don’t know where the building’s located. It’s a shit-poor dump, though. I always meet Griffen in Central Park and he takes me there blindfolded. I’m supposed to see him today at two.”

Jack glanced at his watch. About an hour. “Too bad you can’t make that connection. Saul, you want to take him upstairs? I’m sure the Motherhouses will fight over who gets to contain him.”

That really made the weasel squeal. “I don’t want to go to a Motherhouse!”

“We only keep prisoners without paranormal abilities,” Jack told him, enjoying his fear more than he should have. “You got talent, you go to the Mothers. Speak any Russian? Because the wolves at that Motherhouse don’t understand English.”

Saul unlocked the leg and wrist cuffs shackling Simmons to the interrogation room table, but before Jack could play out a full fantasy of kicking the asshole’s ribs through the roof of his mouth, Saul said, “Andy’s waiting for you in your office.”

Jack blinked. He got a big-time head rush, like he’d just downed three shots of whiskey way too fast.

Andy … here
.

Maybe he would have a chance to do some things differently after all.

He turned and banged open the interrogation room door and let Saul and the prisoner into the hallway, then made tracks to his office, brushing past about sixteen people trying to get his attention.

Until they had gotten their hands on Simmons, Jack hadn’t been able to think about anything but Andy, about how he could earn himself a few second chances, if she’d even allow him to try. Now she was here. Now he could try again to talk to her, and this time he wouldn’t make such an abject fucking mess of the whole situation.

He got to his office in about two seconds flat, and he realized instantly that Andy wasn’t there. She had been, because he could still smell the light fragrance of vanilla and ocean. Her scent. So completely female and enticing. It drove him nuts, just the hint of it. He wanted to touch her so badly his arms and hands ached, right along with the rest of him.

Jack clenched his fists and glanced over his office, and reality slowly edged into his thoughts and perceptions.

She had seen the boxes. She knew he was planning to leave, and he hadn’t had the chance to tell her himself. The night they first made love, he’d as much as promised her he’d warn her before he hit the road.

Fuck
.

He hadn’t realized she’d get back before he left. He’d been planning to set up a meeting with her after Saul let him know she and her quad had finally gotten back to the city, but she didn’t know that. She probably thought he was the worst coward she had ever known, to run off before she even got to have her say with him, before she got to take her pound of flesh over Dio and everything else he’d wrecked in her life.

And was he a coward?

No.

But the little voice way back in his brain …

Yes
.

Jack thought about Andy like he’d last seen her in the brownstone, exhausted and grieving and all alone. She’d told him to leave. Hell, she’d as much as thrown him out.

But why did I go?

She had been standing right there in front of him. That had been his chance, and he’d blown it all to hell. The old Jack would have stormed over to her, grabbed her, and tried to make her see reason about letting him give her a little support. He at least would have made damned sure she understood that he wanted to be there for her, whether she accepted his offer or not.

But he’d learned to be more respectful this last year of his life. Maybe too respectful?

“I’m screwing this sideways,” he told himself. “Making it too complicated.”

Because the simple fact was, no matter how badly he’d fucked the whole works, Jack knew he loved Andy. He loved her more than he had ever loved anything in his life.

Mine
. The raw, primitive instinct overtook him for a moment, and he could see himself banging on the brownstone door until she answered.

Not a lot of finesse, but hell. Andy wasn’t much on finesse, was she?

He turned and plowed down the hall toward the front door, almost slamming into a young adept in green robes. The girl was on her knees looking under chairs and tables, and Jack barely caught her before he fell over her and busted his ass.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said as he lifted her to her feet. “Have you seen Neala?”

Jack focused long enough to stare into the adept’s wide, miserable eyes. “Were you playing battle? Because if you were and you let her slip your supervision, you’re hosed. You won’t find her until her mother comes home. She can hide better than any kid I know, and she never, ever loses a game of battle.”

The adept let out a short groan. “She was right with me in the basement. I turned my back for five seconds to stop some exercise balls from exploding—and poof. Do you think she went with that Andy woman she adores so much?”

“No way. Andy wouldn’t take her out of the townhouse. Too much risk.” Right about the same moment, Jack saw the patrol officers that should have been Andy’s escort back to the brownstone talking to Saul by the main steps.

His pulse slowed even as it beat louder in his ears. He stepped away from the still talking adept, jerked his cell out of his pocket, and punched the speed dial for the unit still stationed at the brownstone.

When one of the officers answered, Jack asked, “Any activity?”

“No, sir.”

“Andy didn’t come back there?”

“Haven’t seen her, sir. Brown and Davis haven’t called to tell us they’re on the way, so we thought they were still with you at the townhouse.”

Jack’s heart beat harder. Louder. “Call immediately if she shows.”

He hung up before the officer could acknowledge. About a minute later, Jack had established that Brown and Davis thought Andy was in Jack’s office, just like Saul did.

Saul must have seen the look on his face because he came toward him fast, eyebrows raised.

“Something’s wrong,” Jack said. “Andy’s not here and she’s lost her escort.”

Saul frowned. “It’s a big townhouse. She’s here somewhere.”

“No.” Jack swiped his hand across his eyes and made himself say it. “She saw my boxes.”

“I thought—you didn’t say anything to her about leaving?” Saul’s expression darkened. “You son of a bitch. I think I’ll help the Lowell brothers tear you apart.”

“She probably blew out of here pissed as hell.” Jack felt tried and convicted by Saul’s glare, and he knew he deserved it. “So pissed she might not have noticed she had a tail.”

“Neala. Shit. Shit!” Saul slammed his fist into the paneled wall, cracking wood.

“I’m getting a raid together.” Jack glanced at his watch. “Everybody who can hold a weapon. We’ve got exactly one hour before Simmons doesn’t make his rendezvous with Griffen and the bastard realizes we’re on to him. You hit the panic button and coordinate from here. Search any building that might have an abandoned morgue. And get Bela and Camille in the mirrors
now.”

Where is here?

Neala’s voice. Tiny. Afraid.

Andy tried to wake but couldn’t open her eyes. She wondered how she’d gotten to the bottom of the ocean, with millions of tons of water holding her tight against shifting layers of sand and silt.

You must be quiet, little one
. That voice Andy didn’t recognize. Female. It had secrets in it, maybe a lie—not in the words but in the tone. The creature sounded normal enough on the surface, but whatever she was, she was no more human than a slowly trolling shark.

And no matter what happens, you must not touch me
, the shark-thing whispered.

But you have fire like me
. Neala again. She sounded so real and so close. Andy fought harder against the weight of the water holding her prisoner.

The shark-thing kept its voice low and sly.
Our people are related, but my energy would swallow yours and leave you with nothing
.

Neala gave a frightened sniff.
You take my fire away?

I wouldn’t want to, but yes, little one. I could
.

Andy fought the water even harder.

Lost the battle.

She drifted away in her own mind, and time passed.

Aaandy …

Neala’s sweet little voice called her back.

No sense of the shark-thing this time, but Neala felt hot and real and near enough to touch. The child was so frightened she whimpered, and Andy caught the light scent of smoke, enough to let Andy know the little girl was giving off sparks and flames in distress.

Andy wanted to wake up and punch the shark-thing in the face. How could she scare Neala like that? Neala was just a kid. Andy shoved her mind to the surface of the water. Currents shifted in her soul, threatening to wash her farther out to sea, but she doubled her effort, breathing hard through her mouth, grasping, pulling, rising, rising—

Somebody slapped her in the face.

Andy’s eyes popped open. Her cheek stung and her left eye watered. She tried to jump up and punch the shit out of the bastard who just hit her, but the most she could do was strain against what felt like iron chains securing her to some sort of metal table. She couldn’t even turn her head—but she could see the asshole who was laughing at her.

Black jeans and T-shirt, stylish but plain. White-blond hair, eyes like blue ice, and a tiger-tooth necklace dangling from around his neck, along with what looked like one of Camille’s golden crescent moon charms.

Griffen.

Andy had seen him before a couple of times, usually from a distance. Easy to recognize with his sharp, pale features. Now that he was up close, though—something about those eyes made her think about the Keres and the black moonlight of Káto Ólimbos—and the Leviathan, right before she planted darts in its evil demon brain.

Her heart started to thump and squeeze in her chest. Where the hell was Neala? And why couldn’t she get her mouth to work well enough to say anything to this bastard?

Perverted energy radiated off Griffen in twisted waves, and Andy wanted to draw weapons she couldn’t reach and probably didn’t have. She tried to use her elemental powers, but the chains covering her chest, arms, legs, and belly grew instantly heavier. Her head spun and she almost passed out again.

“Elegant elemental locks, aren’t they?” Griffen’s smile made Andy want to hit him five more times, right in the face. She realized she had a foul flavor in her mouth, some cross between dog shit and sour milk, and she gagged.

Griffen’s smile got even bigger. “The drug I used to neutralize you, that was my own concoction, too. A tranquilizer mixed with elemental components. All natural, quite harmless in the long run, but yes, it does cause a wicked aftertaste.”

Andy couldn’t have said anything if she wanted to, and she couldn’t spit at him, either.

Just wait, asshole. My muscles will work sooner or later
.

“The locks have a projective component.” He stroked the chain over Andy’s breasts, and she tried to jerk her hands up to choke him. The best she could manage was a feeble thump and rattle.

“That kind of expenditure won’t hurt you, even if it’s useless,” Griffen said. “If you use elemental energy, however, the chains will absorb it and take strength from it. We have your quad to thank for our improved technology. The necklaces you’ve been wearing.” He touched his crescent moon charm. “Impressive bits of work. We were glad to get a sample to study.”

He pointed to Andy’s right.

She managed to turn her head far enough to a badly patched board floor with big metal plates over the rougher parts, paint peeling off walls, impossibly high ceilings with construction lights dangling from newly hammered support beams, a new-looking sink and counter, and another metal table. Old-fashioned, obviously heavily used, but polished.

Morgue table …

On it was a dark-haired, pale woman with pointed ears. She lay so still Andy couldn’t even tell if she was breathing, but somehow she sensed the woman’s life force. Strong and dark and sneaky, and absolutely furious.

One of the Host. Shit. They caught one of the Host, and she had one of Camille’s charms
. Andy wanted to scream and curse. That’s why Griffen had been able to find her. Bela had been right when she theorized that her quad would be able to track each other since they were wearing similar charms. Another bad twist from that stock scam raid. She never should have let her quad go along with that crap. If they hadn’t been in that cursed basement, if they hadn’t surprised the Host—

But that was in the past. She needed to be in the now, think in the now, and think damned fast. Andy realized her own charm was still around her neck, and it occurred to her that Griffen assumed the charm had the same properties as the sample he captured. He knew she couldn’t use it without the projective chains draining her literally to death—or at least that’s what he believed. She made a brief effort to send energy through her Sibyl tattoo, some kind of alarm or alert or beacon—but instantly knew it was useless, as the projective energy in the chains drained the message to nothing before it could be sent.

She moved her mouth again, and this time her lips and tongue cooperated enough to slur out a single word. “Neala.”

“The child. Yes. We didn’t bind her.” Griffen’s frigid eyes shifted again, this time to a spot behind Andy’s head. “That would have been barbaric. We don’t plan to hurt her, and we’ll keep her in good enough health to serve our purposes.”

Andy looked at his pupils, his teeth, even the metal wrappings on his tiger-tooth necklace, trying to catch any hint of reflection that would let her estimate Neala’s location. She got nothing but soft, half-demented laughter, and another pat on the boob chain.

“I’m really glad I didn’t kill you after all. You’re one of the only fully functional water Sibyls in the world, so your blood might be worth something in the formulas I’m creating. I know Neala’s blood will be of great benefit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”

Griffen slapped Andy again so hard she saw black.

Some time later, maybe minutes, maybe hours, she came back to herself again, her jaw aching from the bastard’s latest blow. Whatever. That fucker would get his, and soon enough.

Tightening all her muscles against the pain and pinch of the chains, Andy tried turning her head to the left, then to the right again. She couldn’t see Neala anywhere. She could fight her chains with her physical energy, but not her elemental powers. The second she tried even the slightest elemental manipulation, the energy bindings sucked her absolutely dry.

“You have been here for part of a day,” the woman on the metal table whispered. “I believe it is early evening now. They’re doing experiements with viral genetics. DNA-based, perhaps RNA. Griffen believes he can create injectable elemental powers—mix and match until he discovers the most effective and advantageous formulas, then alter the basic essence of the creature who receives one of his little potions. They’ve taken blood from me daily, trying to create the Goddess only knows what.”

Andy didn’t know what to say. She thought about Jack with the needles in his leg. Damn it. What had Griffen pumped into the man’s body? The Mothers thought Jack was okay, no lasting negative effects—but what if his DNA suddenly misfired and turned him into a walking monster? Could that even happen?

She was no scientist. Guns felt better than beakers as far as she was concerned.

“Andy,” she muttered. “That’s my name.”

“Siobhán,” said the Host woman. “They have a Rakshasa, and me, and now you and the child. I think they’re planning to continue renovating this pit, and I think they plan to collect more.”

“Collecting.” Andy stared at the ancient-looking elevated ceiling with the new beams and construction lights. Christ, but her brain didn’t want to work. “Collecting more what?”

“More supernatural captures. They brought in more metal beds last night.”

Siobhán’s low, angry voice gave Andy the shivers, and so did the thought of freaks rolling morgue tables into this creepy, moldy vault. Where the hell were they, anyway?

Andy rotated her head carefully beneath the chains. “Where’s Neala?”

“The child is in a newly constructed cell against the far wall, directly behind your head.” Siobhán kept herself very still on her table. “She struggled against her bars and the energy trap drained her. She’s sleeping. Her bed, at least, is not metal.”

Tears threatened, and Andy jammed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. What a fucking idiot she was to get so caught up in her own mind, her own crap, that she hadn’t noticed Neala following her out of the townhouse.

“I’ll die to save her,” she warned Siobhán. “When the time comes, don’t get in my way.”

“I, too, pledge my life to save the child. She is innocent. To do any less would be a crime against the universe.”

Andy had no idea if the Host woman’s pledge was for real, but it sounded like the truth. “How did they catch you?”

Siobhán gave a furious snort. “The cowards shot holes in my wings. Automatic weapons fire. I couldn’t heal myself fast enough to stay aloft, and my fellow warriors couldn’t come after me for fear of meeting the same fate.”

Slowly, slowly, Andy’s thoughts gathered themselves and started flowing in a straight line. She started noticing details, like the slight damp chill in the air and the scents of mold and bleach and alcohol, with hints of freshly sawed wood. Siobhán’s admission worked its way through her sputtering, fitful mind, and she muttered, “You and your people were hunting the Coven and you found them.”

“Yes.”

“Then they’re the ones who have something that belongs to you.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still not going to tell me what it is.”

Silence from the Host woman. Then, “Griffen believes me to be unconscious. I give him that appearance whenever he is present, even when he strikes me or takes my blood. Perhaps we can use his assumptions to our advantage.”

Andy stared at the rickety walls and ceiling. “Do you have any ability to fight the bindings?”

“No, but you might,” Siobhán said. “Your charm has different properties. I can sense them from here.”

Andy rolled her head back and forth in frustration. “I’ve tried, but the chains drain me every time I use my elemental energy.”

“Direct it through the charm only.” Siobhán sounded excited, like she knew she was on to something. “Focus it like a beam.”

More frustration. Andy knew what she meant, but she also knew she sucked at that. “My sister Sibyl Camille is good at focusing her energy. Me, not so much.”

“I see.” Disappointment filled the Host woman’s voice. “Water is a difficult element to control.”

“Aaaandy,” Neala whimpered in her sleep.

Damn it
. Andy wanted to break her chains in half. “I’m right here, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Andy heard a few sniffles, then caught the slightest whiff of smoke. “A bad man with lizard eyes stucked me with a needle. You, too. Why?”

Andy thought about the syringes Jack had taken in the leg and wondered if he’d gotten a good dose of some mixture containing Siobhán’s blood. “Because he’s a jerk. But we’ll get him. Don’t you worry.”

And now, somewhere in this lab, Griffen’s storing syringes full of my blood, and Neala’s, too. Asshole. What’s he trying to do?

“Is the tiger sick?” Neala asked, obviously fearful. “I been sick before.”

Andy managed to turn her head toward Siobhán, who directed her own gaze to a spot near the room’s new stainless-steel door. “The Rakshasa Tarek is to your right, but behind you. The child has a clear view of him.”

Andy’s stomach lurched. She remembered the horrific sight of Tarek impaled on the bed in the warehouse, nothing but a zombie-demon hovering at the edges of life. She’d give anything if Neala didn’t have to see that.

“I don’t know where it will go, or what it might do, but I’m going to try to use my charm to direct my energy. Neala, if any of my water power touches you or hurts you, tell me. I’ll stop.” To Siobhán she said, “Same for you.”

“Pain is no issue for me, Sibyl. Do what you must.”