Fireborn (27 page)

I crossed my arms and stared out the window. Heartbreak might be our destiny, but it would be a whole lot easier to deal with if only fate would clear out our memory banks at each rebirth. At least it would have allowed hope to burn bright. But after all this time, there was little enough of that left.

And yet, somehow, it survived—even if the flame was growing smaller and smaller.

It wasn't long before Sam returned. In fact, little more than ten minutes had passed. I frowned and watched him approach, a slender, powerful figure that moved with the grace of a predator. He didn't appear to be carrying anything and his expression gave little away.

“Well?” I said the minute he slammed the driver's door closed.

“Your place is being watched,” he said. “It's lucky for the both of us I parked so far from your building; otherwise your presence in my company would be immediately reported.”

“The sindicati?”

“Yes.”

Meaning it wasn't just lucky for us, but lucky for Jackson. I had no doubt they'd kill him if they had the slightest inkling I'd talked to Sam. And though it wasn't at all surprising that they were watching me, it was damn inconvenient.

“I'm gathering you didn't bother doing anything about him?”

“No. They'd simply put another in his place. At least we're now aware of this one.”

I frowned. “He can't be very good if you picked him out so easily.”

“A comment that suggests you think my policing and observation skills aren't up to scratch.”

“No, that's not what I meant—”

He waved the rest of my comment away. “As it turned out, I didn't spot him. Not at first. It was his brief attempt to read me that gave the game away.”

“So was he a vamp or a psychic?”

“Vamp. He was wearing too many layers for a warm building.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why would a vamp be pulling watch duty during the day? Surely a wolf would be more suited?”

“They would, but telepathic wolves are rare.”

“Even so, there's twenty-four-hour security in the foyer. I can't imagine any of the guards—”

“It
was
the guard,” he cut in.

“No—”

“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or are you saying you know them all personally?”

“Well, of course not, but after so many years of seeing the same faces, I have formed a casual, how're-the-kids-type friendship.”

“And yet you noticed neither the new guard nor that he'd appeared one day after your boss was killed. Which doesn't say a lot about
your
observation skills.”

No, it didn't. But then, why would I be on the lookout for something like that? It wasn't until very recently that I'd even become
aware
of the sindicati's involvement in all this crap.

“I'm not the cop in this little game. You are,” I snapped back. “And I would have thought—given your goons are still following me about—that background checks would have been performed on all those I interacted with.”

“They are. Unfortunately, that vampire is using an assumed name—Michael Venton. And Venton checked out.”

He might have checked out, but he wasn't one of the guards I was familiar with—and I probably wouldn't have any chance to do so now, given the remains of the real Venton were probably buried deep in the countryside somewhere. Maybe even the same countryside in which I'd woken.

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes again. The hobnailed folk had calmed down a little, but I was still in serious need of some painkillers. And a hot shower. And several decent mugs of green tea followed by the biggest block of chocolate I could buy. It had been that sort of day. Unfortunately, it wasn't over yet.

“So how did you explain your presence there?”

“I didn't. I simply flashed the badge, said I needed to talk to you, and asked if he knew whether you were home. When he said he wasn't sure, I went up and banged on your door. Naturally enough, you didn't answer.”

I half smiled. “A fact he would have seen on the security cams.”

“No doubt. It does mean we have a problem, however. I can't get in there to get that notebook and—if you do—you can bet your life that vamp is going to find a way to relieve you of it.”

I frowned. “Why would they do that when we've already made a deal to exchange the book for Jackson?”

“They're a
crime
syndicate.” Sarcasm filled his voice. “They don't give a rat's ass about convention or rules, and they
always
stack the odds in their favor.”

They might be the biggest, baddest things out there—other than the red cloaks, that was—but that didn't mean they were without their own rules and laws. Hell, the vampire who'd been sent to collect me from Sherman Jones had been courteous to
a fault, and even the vamp who'd tasted me in that darkness had been nothing other than polite.

But being polite didn't mean they couldn't also be double-crossing bastards.

“Which has left us with only one course of action, and it means we're both going to have to take a bit of a risk.”

“I'm not letting you go—”

“But you already have.” Once again the comment was out before I could stop it, and it was filled with the bitterness that still lurked deep inside. I silently cursed myself and quickly added, “We both know you—or at least your department—could make my life hell, so the sooner this is over with, the quicker we can go our separate ways.”

“But that vampire—”

“Look,” I cut in, a touch impatiently. “The sindicati will be expecting me to go home. If I don't, it'll only raise suspicions and perhaps endanger Jackson.”

He snorted. “That's not exactly a winning argument. Not given my already-expressed feelings where the Fae and the notebook is concerned.”

“Maybe, but they're not likely to do anything until I've found the notebook and made contact. Until I do that, we have time to maneuver.”

“And just how do you plan to get back here with the notebook? If you attempt to leave, you can bet your ass that vamp will try to grab it.”

“Only if he sees me leave, which he won't. Security cams monitor the inside of the building,
not the outside, remember. I'll simply take fire or firebird form and leave from the balcony.”

“Which means exposing your true self to possibly hundreds of people in nearby buildings, as you said before.”

“I'm well aware of that, Sam.” But it was worth the risk if it saved Jackson's life.

He studied me for several seconds, then tore his gaze away. The muscle along his jaw had gone into serious overtime, but there was little other emotion to be seen.

“Okay,” he said, voice flat. “We do it your way. But if you're not back in twenty minutes, I'm coming in.”

“Make it an hour, because I need a damn shower.” I got out. It was pointless to do anything else, and arguing with him wasn't going to get me anywhere. It never had.

It didn't take me long to get home, but it took every ounce of willpower I had to do nothing more than give the guard a polite nod in greeting as I walked by.

But I could feel his gaze boring into my spine long after I'd entered the elevator, and I had no doubt his gaze was glued to the monitor screens as I headed for my apartment.

“Rory? You here?” I said as I opened the door.

“Certainly am.” He appeared around the corner, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. “You didn't pass Sam on the way up, did you? He was here banging on the door a few minutes ago, but disappeared before I could answer.”

“That's because it was a ruse for the guard downstairs.”

He frowned. “Why?”

I locked the door and began stripping as I walked toward our flameproof room. “Because the guard downstairs is sindicati. If they see me with Sam, or believe he's working with me, they'll kill Jackson.”

“And is Sam working with you?”

I half smiled. “No. Quite the opposite. He wants the missing notebook, as does the sindicati.”

“So who are you giving the notebook to? Sam or the sindicati?”

“Sam's getting the notebook. The sindicati are getting the laptop.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him into the room. “But right now, you and I need to flame.”

“Your wish is my command,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around me and swept us both into fire.

•   •   •

“So, let's retrace your steps,” Rory said, half an hour later. “After you typed the notebooks up, what did you do with them?”

“Nothing. I left them all on the coffee table.” I thrust my hands on my hips and glared at the room in frustration. It wasn't offering up any clues. “You didn't move them, did you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Me? Tidy something up? Are you serious?”

“Okay, silly question.” But if neither of us had moved them, what the hell had happened? Why
would anyone steal four notebooks when five had been sitting there? It didn't make any sense.

“You didn't knock them over or anything, did you?” Rory said. “I have a vague memory of you running into something and swearing like a trooper one morning.”

I blinked, suddenly remembering hitting the coffee table and scattering the notebooks the morning Sam had woken us early. I'd picked them all up and thrown them back on the table, but I certainly hadn't taken the time to count them. Had I missed one?

I scrambled over to the coffee table and began searching under both it and the nearby sofas. Rory joined in, and five minutes later, we found the damn notebook. It had somehow slid all the way into the kitchen and was resting under one of the cabinets.

Relief slithered through me, but it was tempered by the knowledge that the game wasn't over yet. Jackson was still in the hands of the sindicati, and who knew whether this new and darker Sam would uphold his end of the deal.

“So what happens now?” Rory said.

I tucked the notebook inside the waist of my jeans, making sure it was not only secure, but touching skin. “I go back to Sam, and you go get the laptop. I'll ring and let you know where to meet us.”

His expression was dubious. “Do you really think you can trust Sam?”

I half shrugged. “I have no other choice.”

He caught my hand, tugged me closer, and dropped a sweet kiss on my lips. “Be careful. And take flame form, not firebird. There's a chance people will think we've simply thrown something burning out of the window.”

I nodded, stepped back, and called to the fire. In very little time, I was back on the street and walking back to Sam's car.

“So?” he said, the minute I dropped into the passenger seat.

I pulled the notebook out of the waist of my pants, but flipped it away from him as he tried to take it. “I want you to promise you'll uphold up your end of the deal once I hand this over.”

“Red,” he growled, eyes narrowed. “I said I would, and I will. Now stop playing stupid games when lives are at risk.”

“It's the whole lives-at-risk bit that's making me play them,” I replied. “We both know PIT is working on the bigger picture and wouldn't really care if the smaller elements—like Jackson—fall by the wayside.”

“As I've already said, if you want to risk your neck saving Miller's useless ass, then go for it. Neither PIT nor I will interfere, as long as we can ensure the information on that computer is secure. Now, give me the notebook.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “
After
we meet Rory and you've put the virus onto the computer.”

He glared at me, his expression so savage it was all I could do not to shrink back in fear. But fire
flickered across my fingertips, touching but not burning the notebook. For several seconds, neither of us moved; then he tore his gaze away and I started breathing again.

“Fine,” he said, voice clipped. “Where are we meeting him?”

I released a somewhat shaky breath and doused the flames. “Head for Spencer Street.”

He started the car and did a quick U-turn, wheels spinning. I grabbed my phone and sent Rory a text, asking him to meet us at Black Sugar, a café a stone's throw away from Southern Cross Station. Putting Sam and Rory in the same small space probably wasn't a great idea, but it wasn't like I had much choice. Besides, I doubted Sam would start something in public—not given how much he and PIT seemed to value their anonymity.

Sam stopped in the parking lot near Southern Cross Rail Station, and in silence we walked down to Black Sugar. The place was packed, but we managed to find a spare table at the back of the room. Sam took the chair closest to the wall—a position that allowed him to see not only the entire room, but the entrance as well—leaving me either the chair opposite or the one to his left. Both were entirely too close to the man for my liking, but I chose the latter, simply because I didn't want to have my back to the entrance.

But as I sat, his scent spun around me, warm and enticing. And even the darker notes so
evident within it couldn't stop desire from spinning through me.

I closed my eyes and fought the wash of useless regret. This was my life. This would
always
be my life. It was no use wishing for anything else, because—as far as I knew—no phoenix had ever been able to break the curse and live a happy life. Not with the love of their life. Not ever.

It certainly wasn't about to happen in this life, with this man.

You'd think after spending so many lives in the exact same position, I'd be used to it. But there was something about this man that called to me in a way few others had. Even with that darkness.

“Red,” he said, voice holding a slight edge. “How long do we have to wait?”

My gaze met his. The edge, I realized, was desire, barely controlled. It made me want to lean closer, to see if it was possible to kiss away the ash and the darkness and unveil the man that still lay beneath them somewhere.