Fireborn (28 page)

I didn't. I might be occasionally reckless, but even
I
wasn't that foolish.

“Not long.” I leaned back in my chair, though it didn't really improve the distance between us or diminish the desire to kiss him. “Rory said it would take him twenty minutes to get here, so unless the traffic is hideous, he should only be a few minutes away.”

Sam pulled his gaze from mine. After a second, he said, “When you meet with the sindicati, watch
your back. They have a liking for sharpshooters perched up high.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

He shrugged. “I don't want you dead, Red, no matter how much I hate what you did to us.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was no point in trying to explain. Not anymore.

“I don't want me dead, either,” I said instead. “It would be damnably inconvenient to die early in two consecutive lifetimes.”

He glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “You get to live again, so why does it matter?”

“Because dying before your allotted time makes rebirth a bitch.” I glanced toward the door and saw Rory. His gaze met mine, flicked briefly to the man sitting beside me, then returned. His expression didn't alter, but tension rode him. It was evident in the set of his shoulders, in the brief clenching of his free hand as he made his way toward us.

I cleared my throat, but before I could say anything, Sam murmured, “Well, well, the boyfriend arrives.”

“And
that
statement proves just how little you understand about phoenixes—and Emberly.” Rory came to a halt in front of us, bright sunshine against the darkness of the man beside me.

“So you deny you're her boyfriend?” Sam growled. “That you were—and still are—lovers?”

“I deny nothing.”

Rory's voice was as even as Sam's, yet it hinted
at the anger that burned just beneath the calm exterior. The heat of it rolled over me, as fierce and as frightening as the darkness that lurked within Sam, but for a very different reason. I knew that anger, knew what it was capable of. Knew that if there was one flaw in the control Rory had over his fire, then it was me. Or rather, his desire to protect me from whatever life and fate threw at us. As much as he ever could, anyway.

And though he'd promised long ago to never again retaliate against those who were destined to hurt me, he'd been itching for a chance to confront Sam. Because he knew, just as I knew, that Sam had somehow been different. That the hurt this time had been deeper and harder to handle.

“But I
am
a necessity,” he continued softly. “Without me, she cannot be, and vice versa. And if you cannot understand that, if you cannot accept that, then you are more of a fool than I thought.”

Sam thrust to his feet, his fist clenched and very obviously close to losing control.

“Damn it. Get a grip, both of you!” I stepped in front of Rory, forcing him back with my body as I thrust my hands on my hips and glared at Sam. “This is neither the time nor the damn place to get into this sort of shit. Not when we have a deadline to meet and lives to save.”

Sam didn't immediately move or react, but the muscle along his jaw was back in action. After a moment, he nodded and sat back down.

“Give me the computer.”

I held out my hand. Rory placed the computer in it, and I handed it across to Sam.

“How do we get the Trojan onto it?” I said as Sam opened the laptop.

He didn't answer, simply fired it up and, after a few seconds, said, “Password?”

I told him. With the computer unlocked, he got onto the Internet, using his phone as a hot spot, and download a file from an e-mail account. After a few more minutes, he shut the computer down and handed it back.

“Now,” he said, voice little more than a growl. “The notebook.”

“You've installed the Trojan?”

“Of course.” He held out his hand. “The notebook, Emberly.”

I handed it over. He rose, his expression as still as stone but the darkness within thicker—more dangerous—than ever before. And again, it allured as much as it repelled, and I had to fight to remain exactly where I was. Though whether I would have stepped forward or back, I wasn't entirely sure.

“As I've said before, be careful when you meet the sindicati. They tend not to stick to deals made with the likes of you and me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, the honest, law-abiding types.” His mouth twisted into a smile, but it was a bitter thing to behold. “Obviously, they don't know either of us too well.”

And with that, he walked out. I didn't watch
him leave. I didn't need to. I could feel the deep gloom of his presence as surely as Rory's heat at my back. When he'd gone, I released the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding, then turned around and melted into Rory's waiting arms.

He kissed the top of my head and said, “At least it's over with, Em. At least you don't have to see him again.”

“I can only hope.” But I had a bad feeling fate wasn't about to let me off that easily. “But that's not what matters right now. We have a Fae to save.”

“Well, I do agree with your bastard of an ex about one thing—the sindicati are not to be trusted. We need to meet them on our terms, not theirs, if we want any chance of pulling off this rescue.”

I grimaced and pulled free from his grip as a waitress finally approached. After ordering a green tea for myself and a coffee for Rory, I sat back down and said, “I'm not sure they'll agree to a change of plans. They hold the cards, not us.”

“If they want what we have, they'll play the game. At least until we hand over the laptop.”

“Maybe.” I wasn't too confident, but I guess we really had nothing to lose by trying. “Sam said they have a liking for marksmen placed on high, so we need to factor that in.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down. “We could always go up to the rock. While it does provide plenty of places for a marksman to hide, I can easily keep watch from the sky.”

The rock he meant was Hanging Rock, a recreational reserve that featured a large mamelon formation. Rory often went up there after hours for some flight time during the long golden sunsets of the summer months, because the surrounding areas were farmlands and the chances of being seen were few. While I did go up there occasionally, he was far more familiar with the area than I was.

I frowned. “Do you think they'll agree to meet that far out of town?”

“We're dealing with the vampire mafia, remember. Trust me when I say they won't want anything too public, especially if they're planning a few nasty surprises of their own.” He smiled up at the waitress as she delivered our drinks, then added, once she'd left, “Our main problem will be getting them to agree to dusk rather than night.”

“True.” I dunked my tea bag into the mug of hot water and watched the bubbles rise as it sank. And hoped like hell it wasn't an omen for things to come.

Rory's hand slid across mine, his grip warm, comforting. “It'll be all right, Em.”

I smiled, but it felt tight. Fake. “Will it? I have a bad feeling about all this, and it's a real risk for both of us to be there.”

“Vampires can't fly,” he said reasonably. “So as long as I keep to the skies, we'll be fine.”

Yeah, we would, but we both knew that he wouldn't keep to the skies, not if things started going bad on the ground—just as I wouldn't, if the
situation were reversed. It was one of the reasons we'd agreed that the two of us should never again get jointly involved in dangerous situations—the need to protect each other was so much a part of our psyche that we not only placed our very existence at risk, but the chance of rebirth. As he'd noted to Sam, one could not be without the other.

I leaned back in the chair and regarded him for several seconds. “Promise me you'll keep to the skies. That you won't get involved in the fight if things go to hell on the ground.”

He hesitated. “I promise I'll keep to the skies unless I see a sharpshooter. Them, I'll take out. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

“Then ring them and make the meet.”

I took a deep, somewhat quivery breath that didn't do a whole lot to calm the butterflies suddenly going nutso in my stomach. I might have lived many lifetimes, but I'd never been one to march boldly into dangerous situations. “Avoidance was the better part of valor” tended to be the code I lived by.

But I dug out my phone and made the call regardless. After all, this wasn't about me. It was about Jackson. About saving his life if it was at all possible.

“Well, well,” a cool and familiar voice said. “You report in far earlier than any of us predicted.”

“That's because I have no desire to prolong these proceedings any more than necessary.” My
voice was surprisingly calm given all I could suddenly think about was his teeth tearing into my neck. “I've looked for the notebook and I can't find it. I do, however, have the laptop on which the notes were typed.”

“And is the file on said laptop untampered with?”

“I haven't opened it,” I replied, and thanked the stars I'd listened to Sam and hadn't tried to tamper with the notes themselves. “You can check the date it was last accessed when we do the swap, if you want.”

“Oh, I will,” he murmured. “Now, as to the swap—”

“Not so fast,” I cut in. “I want proof that Jackson Miller is alive first.”

“I gave you my word that he would be.”

“You did,” I said. “But past dealings with vampires have left me a little less inclined to trust a promise given by one.”

“That
is
unfortunate.” Though there was still little in the way of emotion to be heard in the vamp's tone, trepidation stepped through me. He really
didn't
like having his integrity questioned in
any
way, and I had a feeling doing so was a bad,
bad
idea.

I reached for my cup of tea, but my hands were trembling so much that liquid splashed over the sides and scalded my fingers. Rory plucked the cup from my hand, discarded the tea bag, then, with a wry smile, brought it up to my lips. I took a sip, but
it helped with neither the dryness in my throat nor the butterflies doing a tango in my stomach.

For several—very long—minutes, there was nothing but silence. Then came the sound of a click—the sort of sound that came from a light being turned on—and a muffled curse. The voice was Jackson's. But the surge of relief was tempered by the knowledge that while he was alive right now, it didn't mean he would be when the time for the exchange came.

“The lady of fire wishes to confirm you're alive, Fae.” The vampire's cool tones echoed slightly over the phone. Wherever they were, it was somewhere cavernous. “Please assure her that you are.”

His choice of words had alarm shooting through me. I glanced sharply at Rory and mouthed, “How the hell could they know what I am?”

But even as he shrugged, I remembered Rawlings, and the fire I'd encaged him with. Obviously, he'd reported events to the sindicati, something I hadn't counted on but surely should have. And while it meant the sindicati now knew some of what I was capable of, they didn't know it all. Didn't know I was a fire spirit and capable of a whole lot more than just calling forth fire from the earth itself.

Unless, of course, they'd beaten the information out of Jackson. He not only knew what I was, but he'd witnessed my transformation from flesh to fire.

“Emberly,” Jackson croaked, “I'm alive.”

“And you sound like shit,” I replied, trying not to envision what had been done to him.

“I have had better days.” Amusement briefly overrode the pain so evident in his gruff tones. “But it's nothing a good barbeque can't fix up.”

“Except both of us know that controlling any sort of barbeque is not on the list of things you are currently capable of, Fae,” came the amused comment. “So let us not wish for something that cannot be.”

Once again his comment had alarm stirring. If the sindicati knew Jackson couldn't control fire, then that could mean only one thing—PIT had been infiltrated. There was no way they could have known that otherwise.

“And you, dear Emberly, have your confirmation that the Fae still survives,” the vampire continued. “If you wish him to remain that way, you will meet—”

“No,” I cut in. “Sorry, but we're back to that whole trust issue again. We meet at a time and a place specified by me, not you.”

There was a long pause. “When and where?”

“Hanging Rock, central parking lot, at dusk.”

After another long pause—during which I had no doubt he was consulting someone—he said, “As you wish.”

His agreement only ratcheted up my tension. I'd expected at least
some
argument, especially given they were vamps and night would suit them better than dusk. That there was none could only mean the meeting point suited them just as
much as it suited us. Still, I had one advantage—they didn't know about Rory.

Or at least I hoped they didn't. The shit could really hit the fan if they did.

“Fine. I'll see you then.”

“You will indeed,” he murmured, and hung up.

I breathed a sigh of relief, then plucked my tea from Rory's grip and downed it in several gulps, hoping it would at least drown the butterflies. It didn't.

I glanced at my watch, then met Rory's understanding gaze. “We have three hours.”

“Which gives us time enough to eat before we have to head up to Macedon.” He caught my hand and kissed my fingertips. “You need to fuel this body, Em, not just the fire spirit.”

“I know.” I scrubbed a hand across tired eyes. After everything that had happened, I felt like shit, and I very much suspected it was a feeling that wouldn't go away, even after I'd eaten. “It's just that I'm—”