Fireborn (25 page)

Apparently not.

Because the door opened and a man climbed out. It wasn't a stranger and it wasn't a vampire.

It was Sam.

S
ilently cursing my luck, I stepped out from behind the tree and said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Rescuing your stupid ass, obviously.” His voice was clipped, frosty. “Why else would I be out here in the middle of goddamn nowhere?”

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “And just how do you know I need rescuing?”

He snorted, his gaze sweeping me. Though his expression remained hostile, there was the tiniest spark of relief in his eyes when his gaze met mine again. “Anyone with half a brain can see that you need help, even if you're too stubborn to admit it.”

“And
why
might that be? Care to take a fucking guess?”

He raised an imperious eyebrow. “Because you didn't step away from the investigation when you were told to?”

My fists clenched and, for the first time in hours I was glad I didn't have much in the way of flames. It would have been entirely
too
tempting to burn his arrogant ass to hell and back.

“And maybe, just maybe, it was the drugs you gave me that all but handed me over to the sindicati.”

He stiffened abruptly. “When did you land in the sindicati's hands?”

“Like you didn't know.” Sarcasm rode my voice. “Isn't that why you're out here, to gloat and say I told you so?”

“No. I'm out here because the tail we'd placed on you reported the incident with the van, and we've been searching for you ever since.”

“And you
just
happened
to be assigned to the very area I was dumped.” I snorted. “That suggests either dumb luck
or
connection to me, Sam.”

“If,” he said, voice low and barely controlled, “you're suggesting I'm connected to the sindicati, you would be well advised to take it back.”

The darkness and fury in him was so fierce, the blood drained from my face and I couldn't help retreating a step. “So it was dumb luck?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “It was just an odd hunch.”

An odd hunch. Very convenient. And yet I
did
believe his statement that he wasn't involved with the sindicati. Had it been Luke saying those words, it would have been another matter.

I frowned, wondering why Luke had even entered my thoughts, then said, “And why would you and PIT even bother looking for me, given I'm nothing but a nuisance getting in the way of your investigation?”

“Because,” he said, voice tight, “you're a key
player in that investigation—and one we certainly
don't
want in the hands of the sindicati.”

“Yeah, well, shame you didn't think about that
before
you gave me the drug and left me defenseless.”

He snorted. “You could still use that tongue of yours. It's sharp enough to cut glass, after all.”

“Just fuck off, Sam,” I said. “I don't need—or want—your help.”

With that, I marched through the scrub and headed down the road again. After several seconds, a door slammed and the car continued on up the hill. Surprise flitted through me. Despite my words, I really
hadn't
expected him to go.

The surprise was short-lived, however. A few minutes later, the car pulled up alongside me. Obviously, he'd left only to find somewhere to turn around.

“Red,” he said as the passenger-side window slid down. “Get in the car.”

“What, are you going deaf or something? Didn't I just tell you to fuck off?”

“And we both know I'm not going to.
Get
in the car.”

I stopped. So did he. For several seconds we simply glared at each other. But the truth of the matter was, I
did
need help, and it was stupid not to accept his just because I was madder than hell at him at this particular moment. Besides, being stubborn wouldn't help Jackson, but Sam just might.

I opened the door and got in. He planted his foot on the gas and the car took off.

“So,” he said, once we were on a main road again. I could see the city skyline in the distance but had no idea where we were in relation to it. “What did the sindicati want?”

“What do you think they wanted?” I couldn't help the annoyance in my voice because, well, it
was
a stupid question.

“Obviously, it was related to Baltimore's research, but all indications suggest they have that already.” The darkness in him briefly rose, touching his eyes and sending chills down my spine. Thankfully, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. I wished I could say the same about the desire that always stirred when he was this close. He added, “Unless, of course, you're holding additional information you haven't told anyone about.”

“I'm not. Baltimore gave me five notebooks to transcribe the night he was murdered, and that's all the information I had.”

“Well, they didn't snatch you for the hell of it, so what did they want?”

“The fifth notebook.”

He frowned. “But they snatched all the notebooks from your apartment, didn't they?”

“Well,
someone
did. There's no evidence it was actually the sindicati.”

“I can't imagine it being anyone else.”

I shifted slightly in the seat and studied him for several seconds. He didn't react in any way to my scrutiny, though I had no doubt he was aware of it.

Eventually, I said, “Can't you?”

He frowned. “Can't I what?”

“Imagine anyone else wanting the research?”

“Well, yeah, the government. But the government wasn't involved in the raid of your apartment.” He paused, giving me a dark look. “And before you say it, neither were we.”

“Of course, I have only your word on that.” It probably wasn't the wisest comment in the world, but it was out before I could stop it. The inner bitch, it seemed, was alive and kicking, even if the rest of me felt like doing nothing more than rolling over and having a good sleep.

“Of the two people in this car,” he growled, “there's only one with a history of lying—and it's
not
me.”

“I didn't lie,” I snapped back. “I just didn't tell you the entire truth.”

He snorted. “
That's
a cop-out, and you know it.”

“What
I
know,” I said, voice icy, “is that I believed you couldn't and wouldn't understand the situation with Rory. I still think that. Hell, you can't even hear his name without exploding in anger.”

“
And
for a damn good reason.”

“Did it never occur to you that I might also have had a good reason?”

“You were sleeping with
another
man,” he growled, “even as you were professing to
love
me. What more is there to understand than that?”

“Far more than you will now ever know,” I bit back. “Life isn't black-and-white, Sam. Not when you're dealing with someone who isn't human.”

“But you live in a human world, and you were with someone who at the time held very human beliefs. How the hell did you expect me to react?”

There was anger in his voice, but there was also hurt and pain. It was a reminder that while his reaction had hurt me to the core, it was
my
actions that had truly ended our relationship. It was my refusal to trust, to share what I was and what that meant, to believe that someone could love me once they knew, that had doomed us from the very beginning.

Even so, I couldn't help saying, “What I expected was a
chance.
But you couldn't even look me in the eye once I told you what I was.”

“Because when I looked at you, all I saw was a
lie
. You, me, everything. It was all a lie.”

I closed my eyes against the sudden sting of tears. It wasn't a lie. Not then, not now. “If you believe that,” I said quietly, “then you're an even bigger fool than I thought.”

“Well,
that
, at least, is something we can agree on.” His voice was bitter. “Who else do you think could have taken the notebooks, if not the sindicati or us?”

I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath and fleetingly wished I could turn my emotions on and off as easily as he seemed able to. “It could be the very same people who took Professor Wilson's body.”

A lone muscle along his jawline ticked, but other than that, I might as well have been staring at a blank canvas. “And why would you think that?”

“Well, it's hardly likely the red cloaks snatched Wilson's body for the sole purpose of getting rid of any DNA evidence that might be found on it. An attack as public as that one suggests it was a very deliberate choice—and
that
means there's another reason. One that's a whole lot scarier.”

“That Professor Wilson is alive and now one of the red cloaks.” He briefly met my gaze. “We are aware of that possibility.”

“Then why not at least mention it when you knew Jackson and I were investigating Wilson's death?”

“Why would I, when fruitlessly pursuing information on Wilson at least kept you away from Baltimore's investigation?”

“What? You didn't trust your own drugs to do the job for you?”

“I ordered you away from Morretti, and for a damn good reason. He's not someone you want to tangle with, in
any
way, shape, or form.
Especially
now.”

I frowned. “Why especially now?”

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Obviously, he hadn't meant to add that little tidbit. “Because the sindicati is on the verge of a factional war, and it's not something you want to be caught in the middle of.”

No, it certainly wasn't. But if that was the case, which faction had questioned me? Morretti, or the other? And did it even matter in this particular case?

“Yeah, well, I'm not exactly defenseless,” I
muttered. “Or at least I wasn't until you snatched any recourse I had of self-defense.”

“Let's not get overly dramatic,” Sam all but growled. “The drugs only dampen psychic capabilities and shape-shifting for forty-eight hours. I'd foolishly hoped that you might come to your senses within that time and leave the investigation to the experts, but I should have known better.”

“It's kind of hard to walk away from something when vampire goons and their werewolf buddies seem intent on either tracking me down or beating me up.” I shook my head. “But that's not the only reason drugging me was dangerous, Sam. I'm spirit, not flesh, and no matter how much you and your organization think they know about phoenixes, trust me, it's little more than a drop in the ocean.”

“And
I
will do whatever is necessary to protect the people I work with against forces that could destroy us, Em. And if that means risking the effects of a drug on an unknown entity to prevent an attack, then so be it.”

But that entity was someone you'd once professed to love.
The words echoed through me, bitter and filled with hurt. Damn it,
no.
I wouldn't go there.
Couldn't
go there. This man might be the love of
this
lifetime, but that love was now a part of my past. It needed to remain there, no matter how much pain, regret, and anger lingered in the present.

No matter how much the occasional glimpse of the old Sam fanned the embers of hope.

“You know what? This is getting us nowhere. Just stop the car and let me out. Rory can—”

“Your damn lover can
wait.
” The darkness within him was suddenly so close to the surface it was a living thing that crowded the car's cabin. “You've got a notebook to find and hand over first.”

I somehow resisted the urge to inch away from him. In this confined space, that darkness—whatever the hell it was—was far too close, far too real, and
far
too dangerous. And, oddly enough, it reminded me a little of the man who'd silently watched me from the shadows.

“Rory is as vital to my life as the air I breathe in this form,” I replied, the bitterness within me evident in my voice despite my best efforts of control. “And the very least
you
could have done was listen. What we had deserved—”

“Enough.”
It was an order and a warning, all in one. “We've studied your building's security tapes. It wasn't red cloaks who broke into your apartment, but a thief with a long history of subcontracting to the sindicati.”

I took yet another of those deep, steadying breaths, but it had as much of an effect as the rest of them. “I gather you've a warrant out on him?”

“Of course.”

He flicked on the blinker, and I realized with a start that we were now on the Tullamarine Freeway. Whether Sam was heading to PIT's headquarters or my home was very much up in the air, but I suspected the latter given he wouldn't want
to risk me finding the notebook and handing it over to the sindicati.

“Unsurprisingly,” he continued, “he's made himself scarce, but we have people checking his usual hangouts, just in case. The question, however, is why—if the sindicati have all the notebooks—do they now believe they are missing one?”

“That I can't tell you.”

“Were there four or five on the USB you gave me?”

“Four, as I told you when I handed it over. I'd typed up the remaining one, but hadn't gotten around to transferring it.”

I still had those notes, thanks to Rory. But I wasn't about to tell Sam that. Not yet. I might need it as a bargaining chip for Jackson's life.

“And you have no idea what happened to the final notebook?” Sam said.

“No. As I've told both you
and
them, as far as I was aware, all five had been stolen.”

His gaze narrowed, and just for a moment it felt as if he were trying to read my mind and unpick truth from lies. Eventually, he said, “Well, obviously
not
by the sindicati if they were willing to go to such lengths to secure it.”