Chosen by Fate (16 page)

He turned away. “Go. See who you want to see. Given the fact someone’s gunning for you, I’d feel better if you’d wait for me, but I have a feeling that doesn’t make a difference to you, now does it? And believe it or not, I don’t have the energy to argue right now.”

The weariness in his voice made her frown. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe we should take more time before seeing Mahone. You can rest.”

Facing her again, his brow quirked. “Worried about me?”

She was. Very worried. Couldn’t he sense how worried she was? Apparently not. “Worried you’re going to get Lucy or me killed. You’re our backup, remember?”

“The last thing I plan on doing is leaving you hanging. In any manner whatsoever.” With those enigmatic words, he strode into the hotel lobby, leaving her standing on the sidewalk to follow or not. She stood there for several undecided moments before catching the doorman’s eyes.

Caleb made it seem like walking around L.A. was dangerous for her. What, did he think Doug and Emmett were the first individuals to hunt her down? Hell, she had plenty of enemies, and she’d always handled them alone. She couldn’t get used to relying on Caleb now. Didn’t he understand that?

“I need to leave my bag before I check in. Can you take care of it?” She handed the bag to the doorman.

“I can get you a claim ticket—”

She shook her head as she walked away, still troubled by the exhaustion that had suddenly seemed to hang on Caleb, from the lines near his eyes to the slowness of his movements. That wasn’t natural for him. Usually he was so amped up with energy it made her, a creature who didn’t even need to sleep, tired. Was the change related to his death mark? Or maybe she was mistaking the weariness for something different altogether. Maybe he was simply tired of her. Tired of her needling him. Tired of her prickliness and bitchiness. Tired of
her
.

Pressing her lips together, she shrugged before making a right on North Virgil.

After retrieving a pack of her favorite cinnamon gum from her pocket, she popped a piece in her mouth. Then she put on her earphones and switched on her iPod. The tunes of Bob Marley immediately calmed her, and she jacked the volume up even more, knowing from experience that the blaring sound wouldn’t distract her from any potential threats. Soon, her strides lengthened, carrying her away from the human who made her long for things out of her reach and feel an emotion she tried so hard to keep away—regret.

Whatever. If he was tired of her, maybe he’d leave her alone and let her get her head on straight. Finish this damn assignment and move on.

As soon as she knew he was safe, that is.

After all, he still bore that damn death mark, and she didn’t know what the hell that meant anymore. But she wasn’t leaving him until she figured out why the damn thing had appeared and how she could get rid of it.

The contradictory nature of her thoughts had her cursing beneath her breath. Caleb had gotten under her skin just like the damn cat that she’d left with the waitress at the diner. The two of them had seemed happy enough when she’d checked on them, and the waitress had promised to take care of the cat. Wraith knew it wasn’t a promise the waitress intended to break, given Wraith’s threat to come back if she discovered otherwise. Still, it hadn’t been easy driving away from the kitten. She actually missed the comfort of stroking its soft fur.

Again only wearing her leathers, she even missed the coziness of that damn poncho.

She’d miss Caleb even more when he was gone.

She walked a few more blocks until she reached her destination, an isolated area of town under a section of the 101 freeway. The littered streets were lined with auto repair shops, chain-link fences, and taxi cab companies. There were few trees. Nothing resembling a haven or sanctuary.

She pocketed her earphones and stared at the structure to her right.

The familiar brick building was still covered with grids of smoky glass windows. A large maroon awning directed visitors to a front entrance, but there were no signs identifying what they might find inside. From the outside, at least, nothing about the place had changed.

Wraith walked up to the solid black door and yanked. Locked.

She skirted around the building toward the back entrance, walking through a carpet of shrubs that clawed at her leathers. Sure enough, the back door was propped open and she could hear the rattling of dishes and the low murmur of voices from inside.

For a moment, she hesitated, wondering how smart it was to go digging into a past she’d tried so hard to forget. But she was back in L.A. for a reason. She knew perfectly well her ties with this nightclub were why Mahone had sent Caleb after her. It was where the second feline rape victim had been attacked, and there was no way Ramsey would let something like that happen in his place without following up on it. So get your ass up there and talk to him, she told herself.

Wraith strode toward the door and stopped just outside. Inside, several Hispanic men stopped washing dishes or prepping food to turn and look at her. By their wide-eyed gazes, it appeared Ramsey had decided inviting one dead chick into his establishment had been more than enough and hadn’t done so again. She wondered if he still had a thing for vamps.

“Hola, señors,” Wraith said, her Spanish accent flawless. “Dónde está su jefe?”

One of the men pointed to a set of interior swinging doors, and Wraith walked past them. “Gracias,” she drawled, grinning darkly when she caught the gaze of one of the men attach to her ass. She might be a freak, but she was sexy enough to warrant a second glance. Some things never changed.

When she pushed open the interior doors, Wraith whistled, impressed despite herself. Apparently, the club scene was doing right by Ramsey. The last time she’d been here, the cavernous interior had been respectable but streamlined. Nothing fancy. Now, the space was highly stylized. Ultramodern. Slick. It sported at least three levels, with travertine floors and glass railings, dark wood, stainless steel, halogen lighting, and plush velvet accents.

Wraith slowly walked the floor. There were two bars, each with a black granite top that reflected the mirror of glasses overhead. Several doors peppered three long corridors, opening to spacious, soundproof rooms where private business could be conducted if that’s what someone had in mind.

All in all, very upscale. Classy.

But it still smelled the same. The rank odor of cigarette smoke and lingering sweat—even blood—made Wraith’s stomach turn.

“Well, well. Do my eyes deceive me, or am I being visited by a ghost? The Ghost of Christmas Past, here to show me the error of my ways? Or perhaps a ghost who’s learned from her own mistakes and decided to come crawling back where she belongs?”

Stiffening, Wraith slowly turned. She smiled at the were standing several feet away from her, but didn’t move to embrace him the way she instinctively wanted to. “Crawling, Ramsey?” She pressed her lips into a pout. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Ah, that’s right.” He leaned casually against one of the bars. “Crawling wasn’t your thing. Usually you were immobile when you were on all fours—isn’t that right, Wraith?”

His soft, taunting words immediately made her want to bash his face in. But even worse, a part of her instantly pictured her in the position he described and felt a hint—the barest hint—of longing. It was pathetic, she knew, but she chalked it up to a Pavlovian response. If Caleb O’Flare tempted her with pleasure, Ramsey Monroe would always be the male who tempted her with pain.

He wasn’t very tall. A little taller than Dex. Shorter than Caleb. Unlike most of his kind, he wasn’t particularly muscular. His body bordered on thin. She knew it was powerful, but a stranger wouldn’t necessarily think so. Even so, Ramsey’s appearance was instantly compelling. His face was equal parts angelic and devilish. He had classically honed features that made him look pretty on first glance until you really looked into his eyes and saw the shadows there. Not shadows of despair but of challenge. Hedonism. Desire. No boundaries. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing every dark, secret fantasy you’d ever had and knowing he was the person who could give it to you. But only, like he’d just said, if you were willing to crawl for him first.

She no longer was. “I’m a different person now, Ramsey. Emotionally balanced. Healthy, some might say. For a wraith, anyway. I’ve even joined forces with the good guys. Can you believe it?”

He straightened and shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I can’t. You never liked taking orders, Wraith, even in the bedroom. I remember how long it took to get you to break. To surrender yourself to me. Do you remember how good it felt when you finally did?”

Wraith tilted her head. “Oddly enough, all I can remember is how good it felt when I finally learned the truth about you. Because it broke the hold you had on me once and for all.”

“Not quite a clean break, I suppose, since here you are. Home once more.”

“I’m not back for long, and I’m only here for information. When I get it, you’ll never see me again.”

He shook his head and tsked. “Now that’s just mean.” He sneered at her and jerked his head toward the raised stage in the center of the room. “I’ve missed you, Wraith. You still dance?”

Dance? Strip, he meant. Memories of leering faces and sweaty palms came at her like a hail of bullets. “Sure,” she snorted. “I still let guys who get off on other people’s pain use me for their own perverted pleasure, too.”

“Hmmm.” He walked toward the stage and vaulted up to palm one of the poles. “I’ve never found another wraith who could move like you do. Show me.”

Wraith conjured up an image of herself gyrating against a pole, completely naked. But instead of remembering the way Ramsey and his customers had watched her, she imagined Caleb as the sole member of the audience. She felt a thrill of arousal, but it disappeared when Ramsey focused his gaze on her crotch. She shook her head.

“Tell you what. You strip and do a little dance for me. Then when you’re done, you can tell me what you know about felines being raped. And don’t even try telling me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Three victims, three clubs, all within a ten-mile radius of this place. You know something, all right.”

One side of Ramsey’s mouth curved up as he rested his cheek against the pole. “Still as smart as ever, my dear. And of course I know something. The question is, why on earth would I tell you?”

A
n hour and a half after checking into his hotel room, Caleb was at the Bureau’s Los Angeles headquarters, in a private conference room with Mahone and Dex. Wraith still hadn’t shown up.

“It’s too damn dangerous. I don’t like it,” Dex said for what seemed the hundredth time. His persistence wasn’t half as surprising, however, as the message he was trying to jam down their throats. Caleb wondered not for the first time if he’d misjudged the were—his blatant flirting with Felicia aside, Caleb had truly believed Dex viewed the Para-Ops team’s three female members in a platonic manner. Even when he’d rubbed himself all over Wraith in Korea, Caleb had suspected it had been just to get a rise out of him. Which it had.

Mahone sighed. “It’s not like I’m thrilled, either, but I don’t think you’re giving Lucy enough credit. She can handle herself. Hell, she can psychically push someone away if he gets too close.”

“You know as well as I do that her powers are limited when it comes to living matter. What more if she’s drugged up on something someone slips into her drink?”

“We won’t let someone get close enough to hurt her,” Caleb insisted, talking over both Mahone and the were. “Either physically or by spiking her damn drink with some drug.” He turned to Dex. “Besides, do you have any other suggestions? Are you going to try and pass yourself off as a female feline? Because that’s about as likely as Wraith or me being able to pull it off.”

Dex’s answer was to flip him off.

The sound of the door opening made them all jerk around. Wraith shot each of them a reproving glare. “You’re lucky Lucy isn’t hearing this conversation, or she’d knock all your heads together.” She shut the door with an audible click. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at each of them in turn.

Wraith looked as cool and confident as she always did. Under her gaze, Mahone flushed. Dex wouldn’t quite meet Wraith’s gaze. Caleb wanted to smile at Wraith’s effect on them.

“What exactly is the problem here?” Wraith drawled. “Lucy can handle parachuting into North Korea, but she’ll be in mortal danger if she goes into an L.A. nightclub? If that’s how little you think of her, why the hell did you put her on the team in the first place?”

“These aren’t just any clubs, Wraith. You know that better than any of us,” Dex growled.

Wraith feigned shock. Then she narrowed her eyes and strode brashly toward Dex. “That’s right, Dex. It’s a sex club.” Leaning toward him, she made a big show of talking in his ear, pseudo-whispering, “Where people do the
nasty
in all kinds of
wicked
ways.” Straightening, she stepped back and planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t act like the thought shocks you down to your lily-white core, you hypocrite.” Her gaze shot to Mahone and then to Caleb. He struggled to stifle a grin. “That goes double for you two morally upstanding angels, as well.”

Caleb’s amusement vanished at the pure disdain in Wraith’s voice. Sure, he’d boasted at being an unrepentant lady’s man, and would often fall back on that as his cover, but he wasn’t sexually immoral. Not by a long shot.

“We’re not talking about shocking me,” Dex said. His fangs, unlike a vamp’s, didn’t retract, and his long incisors made for an interesting sight when coupled with his fierce glower. “We’re talking about shocking Lucy.”

Openmouthed, Wraith stared at him. “You are shitting me.” She looked at Caleb. “Am I actually having this conversation? You boneheads are afraid of shocking Lucy? Where do you think she’s been living her whole life?”