Storm's Heart (8 page)

In the meantime Tiago triangulated with the gargoyle sentinel Grym, who was head of security back in New York, and the Chicago police commissioner, until they came up with a list of senior level police officers they could all agree upon for a task force specifically set up for Niniane’s protection.

Once the list was solidified, Tiago began to work with the leader of the CPD task force. Lieutenant Cameron Rogers, a twenty-year veteran of the Chicago police, arrived at the Regent within the hour. She was a tall, sandy-haired, freckled woman in her early forties with the strong, bright energy of a self-confident athlete, and she combined sturdy efficiency with a sense of humor. Once the hotel floor was locked down with more than just two undercover cops posing as hotel guards, Tiago turned his attention to other things.

Tiago refused to leave Niniane’s bedroom door unguarded. After Tucker delivered his duffle bag and Cameron brought it up to him, he dragged the kitchen table over so that he could set up the laptop and work.

The next item on his list was to look over the personnel files of the staff Hughes chose to cook and houseclean. He rejected a few, sent the rest to Grym to screen, and by the afternoon they had settled on four staff that would, along with Dr. Weylan, occupy the two neighboring suites. Weylan volunteered to magically screen all the delivered food supplies for poison. The CPD task force dealt with the details of settling in the hotel staff and developing a secure food delivery system.

Tiago ran into a snag when the Dark Fae delegation, located on the penthouse floor, refused to “legitimize his interference” and send any of Niniane’s possessions down. Rogers was the one to knock on the suite door and inform him.

She said, “Incomprehensible bastards. Why would they refuse to send her some pajamas, for God’s sake?”

Tiago stared at the long-limbed lieutenant without really seeing her. “They’re maintaining a precedent for when the representative of the Elder tribunal arrives,” he said. “They’re going to claim I am holding her here illegally. If they cooperate, it will weaken their argument. They’re going to try to get rid of me.”

Stupid Fae. He would blow up the hotel before that happened. Preferably with the delegation still in it.

“Whatever they’re doing, the result is kind of cruel. It leaves her without anything but complimentary hotel crap,” said Rogers. The policewoman folded her arms as she stood hipshot. “I’ll go out and get her some stuff. Just give me her clothes size.”

He gave her a blank stare. “I have no idea,” he muttered. “Hold on.” He slipped through the silent bedroom to dig the ruined T-shirts out of the bathroom trash then moved back to the suite door. He told the lieutenant, “She’s an extra small.”

“Christ, she’s just a teeny-tiny thing,” the other woman swore. “Who could knife somebody like that?”

“Kinda like kicking a puppy,” he agreed. He dug a money clip out of his pocket and handed a wad of bills to her.

Her sandy eyebrows twitched as she did a quick count of the cash. “You do realize you just gave me five thousand dollars, right?”

“What?” he said with a scowl. “Is that not enough?”

“No, I’d say that’s quite sufficient.” She grinned and turned to go.

“Wait,” he said. When the policewoman paused and looked an inquiry at him, he rubbed the back of his neck and glared at the carpet as he tried to navigate in his head the foreign concepts involved in female frippery. “She likes pretty clothes. And lipstick, she likes lipstick and dangly earrings and things like that, with all the colors matching. And chocolate—could you buy her a box of chocolates? Maybe some of the stuff could be gift wrapped.”

Rogers’s gaze softened. Tiago’s face darkened as the policewoman gave him a kind smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She asked, “Anything else?”

He scowled as he thought. What was all the stuff that Dragos’s mate got when she was convalescing? Well, aside from the diamond ring and shit. “Froufrou magazines,” he muttered. “You know, the girly stuff.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go shopping for her yourself?”

His gaze jerked up to meet Rogers’s, and he shook his head. Unless it involved the word
semiautomatic
somewhere, he wouldn’t have the first clue. “I’m not leaving her,” he said. “You’ll have to do it. I’m sure what you pick out will be fine. I just want you to make sure it’s nice.”

“I will,” she promised. “The hotel’s surrounded by the best shops and department stores in Chicago. I’ll stay close and be back soon.”

“You do that,” he said.

W
hen Niniane fell asleep the second time, she tumbled back into the deep, dreamless rest of profound exhaustion.

Then she turned her head. What was that noise? She looked around. She was standing in one of the many hallways of the Dark Fae palace, its spare elegant familiarity turned strange in the dark, blue-shadowed night. A full moon shone through tall windows and threw glints of silver on dark, heavy furniture.

A single set of unhurried footsteps echoed through the silent halls, a quiet yet defined click of booted heels on hard polished floors. It was a small, ordinary, utterly grotesque sound. Death walked through her home and left no one alive. Dread and adrenaline pulsed through her, shaking her limbs and drying out her mouth. The owner of those footsteps was hunting for her.

She had to run. She had to escape from the charnel house that had once been her home, but she couldn’t remember the way out. She ran down the hall, silent in bare feet, frantic to find an escape from the building. She slipped in a pool of warm, sticky blood and fell to her hands and knees. It was her twin brothers’ blood. She looked up. Their small, lifeless five-year-old bodies had been flung into a corner like abandoned dolls.

There were so many windows. She could see the familiar silver-edged roll of landscape outside, but she didn’t dare break the glass, because it would make noise and draw the attention of the monstrous thing that hunted her in the shadows. She couldn’t find a door. She knew this place. Why couldn’t she remember where the doors were?

The footsteps came closer. A chill Power ghosted through the rooms, curling around furniture, slipping under doors, tightening in the air like the coils of a boa constrictor wrapped around its prey. She blundered into a closet and fought through clothing to get to the back. She sank into a shivering ball in the suffocating dark as a scream built up in the back of her throat, but she couldn’t make a sound. She would be slaughtered if she made so much as a whimper. She clapped both hands over her mouth. Her rattled breathing sounded in her own ears as loud as a shout. The footsteps drew closer, and she drowned in her own panic.

She plunged awake, both hands clapped over her mouth. She was shaking all over and drenched in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with her injury. For a few pulse-pounding moments the shadowed hotel bedroom was as grotesque and terrifying as the dreamscape she had just exited. Then reality re-formed and settled into place.

She forced her rigid body to relax, muscle by muscle, and lay with a hand over her eyes as her heart rate slowed and her breathing quieted. It had been a long time since she had dreamed of suffocating in her own panic as her uncle Urien hunted her. The nightmare had once been a nightly occurrence. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised at its return, but she sure as hell didn’t welcome it.

Finally thirst spurred her to movement. She fumbled for a bottle of water, broke the seal and drank most of the contents before coming up for air. She sank back onto the pillows, cradling the water bottle as she yawned so hard her jaw popped.

If the doctor hadn’t already warned her, she would have been alarmed at how lethargy weighed down her body. The wound still hurt but not with the same kind of inflamed throbbing it had when it had been infected. At least her skin no longer felt like someone had scored it with tiny razor blades. It felt like the fever was gone.

The bedroom was dark and cool. A band of light from the partially closed door shone across the foot of the bed. The television was playing in the other room. It sounded like a news channel. She yawned again and finished her water. She felt hollowed out, and still tired and shaky, but she didn’t think she could sleep any longer.

She clicked on the bedside light, and a moment later Tiago appeared. His long, powerful body filled up the doorway, his lean hawkish features alert. He had changed at some point into a black T-shirt, jeans and boots. The cotton of his shirt strained across the wide muscles of his chest and arms. He wore a shoulder holster and gun. His Power filled the room as he glanced around, and then he looked at her.

She glowered as she remembered how he had helped her to the bathroom. He had shown no sign of unease or self-consciousness but instead had helped her with calm practicality. Still, she pulled the sheet up and tucked it under her arms. She was an earthy person. She wasn’t used to being embarrassed by her body. Why was this any different? All she knew was he was so damn big and overwhelming, and she had an extreme awareness of her own vulnerability around him.

He strode over to her and sat on the edge of the bed, and she fought to keep from cringing from him. A couple of lines appeared between the dark slash of his brows. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

She ducked her head. “Tired and hungry. A little disoriented.”

“Your wound?”

“It hurts, but nothing like it did before. How long did I sleep?”

“Almost twenty-four hours,” he told her.

Her head came up. “You’re kidding.”

“You got up that once to complain about the IV and go to the bathroom, but other than that, you slept a day away. No wonder you’re hungry. I don’t think you’ve had anything to eat for over two days except for vodka and Cheetos.” His frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said.

Those sharp dark eyes dissected her defensive, hunched figure. “I don’t believe you. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t start poking at me until I’ve at least had a cup of coffee and a hot shower,” she said on a spurt of irritation.

For a moment she thought he was going to keep digging at her, but then he smiled a little. “Fair enough. Do you think you can shower by yourself, or are you too shaky?”

“I’ll manage,” she growled as she clutched the sheet tighter to her chest.

“Okay,” he said in a mild enough tone. “I’ll make fresh coffee and order some food. Call if you need anything.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Need anything, that is.”

“Right.” He contemplated her for another moment, as if she was a piece of museum art he didn’t comprehend. Then he stood and walked out. He left the bedroom door ajar again.

She wobbled to her feet and steadied herself with one hand against the wall until she was sure she wouldn’t pass out. When she felt steady enough she went to shut the bedroom door. She took a complimentary hotel bathrobe into the bathroom, shut and locked the door and showered. The doctor had covered her wound with a waterproof dressing. Her side gave a twinge if she didn’t remember to move carefully, but otherwise it gave her little trouble.

Afterward she considered herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. The dramatic purple circles under her eyes had faded to dark smudges. After a cursory examination she ignored her depressed face. There wasn’t anything she could do about her appearance anyway. She finger-combed her damp glistening hair, shrugged on the bathrobe and walked into the living room.

She hadn’t been able to retain many details when they had arrived, so she took a moment to appreciate the understated decor before curling up at one end of the sofa. With a simple color scheme of blues and tans, the suite was plain but well-appointed with sturdy comfortable furniture that had good lines, along with dark wood tables and lamps that provided indirect lighting.

They were in a business suite suitable for someone staying for several days or weeks. It was complete with a small kitchen, or so she surmised from what Scott had said earlier and from what she could see from where she sat. The suite seemed very small compared to the $30,000-a-night rooftop penthouse where she had been staying with the Dark Fae delegation. That sixbedroom penthouse took up the entire top floor of the hotel and came complete with its own kitchen and staff, rooftop garden patio, indoor pool, library, an original Tiffany stained-glass window and a grand piano in the crystal-chandelier-lit foyer. It was very grand and luxurious, but she liked this one’s coziness and functionality.

The living room had a disarranged appearance. A table with a laptop and chair was near the bedroom door. Shopping bags were piled against one wall. Weapon parts were laid out neatly on the coffee table. It looked like she had interrupted Tiago at cleaning his guns.

Headline News was playing on the television. The logo at the bottom of the flat-screen said it was 5:00 A.M. “Five o’clock,” she muttered. “No wonder my body is still whimpering. I’m allergic to early mornings, but I couldn’t stay in bed any longer.”

Tiago approached with two steaming coffee mugs. “What a crabby little monkey you are,” he said as he handed her a mug. “Are you always this way when you wake up?”

“I am when I wake up at 5:00 A.M.,” she told him. She buried her nose in her mug and inhaled the rich aroma, using her coffee as a way to avoid looking at him as he settled on the sofa beside her. “Have you slept at all?”

“No, I’ve been too busy,” he said.

She looked at him sidelong as she sipped the hot coffee. Busy with what? He was sitting so close she could smell his clean masculine scent and feel the warmth of his muscled denim-clad thigh. He seemed well rested enough, even relaxed, whereas she had to fight to keep from fidgeting.

She felt miserable, tied up in knots inside. She was affectionate by nature, a touchy-feely kind of chick who loved hugs and cuddling. She wanted to scoot closer and curl against his side, to soak up the comfort of his warmth and strength again, to lay her head on his shoulder and let him keep the world at bay.

She swallowed hard. Last night all her guards had dropped with a shattering crash. She had said things to him in the dark and had cried in his arms. Apparently he was fine with what happened, but now she didn’t know how to act. A craven part of her wanted to keep leaning on him, even though she knew it couldn’t last.