The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles) (12 page)

Chapter 21

A video dropped on Alexi’s desk diverting her attention from the case file she held.

“Beckett said you requested this.” The officer shoved a slip of paper across the desk. “Sign here.”

Alexi slid the tape into the desk drawer and scribbled her initials on the sign-out sheet. “Tell him thanks.”

“Ready to roll?” Rhys’ voice behind her startled Alexi, and she banged the desk drawer shut like a kid caught with her hand in a candy jar. She flashed a smile at Rhys. “Been ready all morning.”

“You hiding something?” He eyed the drawer as he placed his Stetson on his head.

“Just your birthday gift. With everything that’s happened, I forgot to give it to you.”

He held out his hand.

“Later.” She inched closer and whispered, “Remember? It’s embarrassing.”

The heady scent of Old Spice tickled her nose as Rhys bent toward her, evoking memories of his cologne rising under the bedcovers as their passion heated the nights. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, holding on to the memory. Rhys brushed closer to her as he moved back from the desk—a slow, deliberate movement she recognized even with her eyes shut. She opened her eyes, ready to rebuke him for such open seduction. The words caught in her throat when his gaze fixed on her, the smoldering passion glittering in the golden flecks in his eyes.

“We’re past the embarrassment stage,” he whispered. “Unless you’ve got something really kinky in that box.”

She scooted her chair away from him so fast it slammed into the desk. The embarrassment factor of the gold-plated handcuffs she’d engraved with the date of their first bust skyrocketed. She never intended kinky—only sentimental. And now he was going to think . . .

“No,” she stammered. “It’s not . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Heat flooded her face.

At her obvious distress, his mouth curled at the corner in an amused smile. “Must be one helluva gift.” His hand moved toward the desk drawer. “Can’t wait to open it.”

“It’s not meant to be kinky.” She slapped his hand away and shot up from the chair. “So don’t get any ideas.”

“Too bad.”

She removed her gun from the other drawer and placed it into her small-of-the-back holster. “Are you ready to go, Temple?” she asked testily.

“Been ready all morning, Jordan. Just waiting on you.”

Alexi closed the drawer, grabbed her jacket, and stormed out the precinct door. Rhys trailed behind, his chuckling adding to her discomfort.

The call crackled over the car radio. “Armed robbery in progress at American Bank, Ridge Road and Virginia Avenue. All available units proceed to location.”

Alexi wheeled the car into a U-turn and headed toward Ridge Road.

Rhys held onto the dash. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I’m responding. We’re only a couple of blocks away.”

“Not our jurisdiction, Lexi.”

The dispatcher’s voice came over the radio again. “Witness ID’d robber as white male, in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper beard. Shots have been fired.”

Alexi slapped the bubble lights on the dash, hit the car’s siren, and floored the gas pedal. “It’s him, Rhys.”

“Who?”

“Baron’s impersonator. Remember? The guy who mugged the jogger.”

“Not our jurisdiction,” Rhys repeated.

“Screw jurisdiction.”

“Williams won’t like this.”

“If I get a chance to catch the guy impersonating Baron, it’ll be worth the flack Williams will give me. I don’t want Baron’s face continuing to appear on the television, maligned as a criminal.” She tore her gaze from the street for a quick glance at Rhys. His jaw worked sideways in a tight clench, disapproval evident in every taut facial muscle. “You want out? I’ll slow down enough for you to jump, but I’m not stopping.”

Rhys tilted toward her as the car careened around a red pickup truck. “Somebody’s gotta keep you in line,” he said, shaking his head. “But I hope you’re right about this.”

“Trust me. I am.”

A patrol car beat them to the bank. Alexi parked at the curb and they got out, flashing their badges at the cop keeping curious onlookers away from the doors. A knot of officers stood in the center of the bank questioning someone. She scanned the auras in the room. Everyone seemed normal. She approached the ring of men, trying to get past them to the man in the center.

“Like I told you,” the man said, “I was in the john taking a whiz and this guy ran in and shoved me against the wall. By the time I got off the floor, he was gone.”

One of the officers held out a smallish blue sweatshirt. Alexi’s pulse quickened. The sweatshirt appeared to be the same as the one the jewelry thief wore.

“This yours?” the officer asked.

The man in the center raised his arm, the fatty skin dangling below the extra-large tee shirt sleeve. “Does it look like mine?”

The ring of men parted, exposing a rotund man with sandy-colored hair, his eyes two spots of piercing blue in a green and red aura.

“It’s him, Rhys,” Alexi shouted.

“Shit!” the man hissed, then bolted through the ring of men.

Shoving people left and right, he dashed for the door. She sprinted after him, jumping over a woman who crashed to the floor in front of her. For a fat man, the fellow ran like the devil was after him. But she knew inside that fat disguise lay a thin, wiry man. A fast runner. The same runner she’d chased earlier. She had to keep pace with him. Keep him in sight so he couldn’t slip away. Evidently he’d learned how to mimic shift into more than Baron. That upped the stakes considerably. How could she investigate every robbery call made in the city?

The man zigzagged through the crowd getting further away from her. Pouring every ounce of energy into her legs, she pumped them as fast as possible. Her lungs burned with the effort. Suddenly, he dashed into the street. Tires squealed. Metal crashed against metal as a taxi T-boned into the luxury sedan the man dodged. She jumped on the vehicle’s hood and slid down the other side. Farther away now, she redoubled her effort, closing the distance. He reeled around a corner into an alley. Alexi followed, but found no one.

At the end of the alley, a neon sign blinked the words ‘Rogueman’s Bar’ over a scarred doorway. She bent forward, her hands on her knees, and gasped for breath. Rising slowly, she scanned the alley. There appeared to be no other way out except the door.

She curled her left hand into a fist and laid her other hand over the bloodstone ring. If she had to follow him in there, she would do it as someone else. She pictured her dead brother’s face in her mind and reminded herself she was chasing a robber. This was not for her benefit.

The ring warmed against her fingers as the familiar tingle of transformation began. She faced the building wall in case anyone exited the bar. Heat coursed through her veins and then her muscles, as bone and sinew twisted and reformed from female to male.

When the tingling stopped, she moved to the bar door and checked her reflection in the dirty glass window. Her brother stared back at her. An ache filled her heart upon seeing his face.
Maybe I should have chosen a different mimic.
Caressing her reflection, she mused on the irony of hunting Baron’s killer using her brother’s identity. Although it made her sad, she didn’t feel as alone wearing his face. She shook her head, then opened the door. This disguise would do just fine.

The minute she opened the door Alexi knew she was in trouble. The bar was full of men and women—all surrounded by dark red auras streaked with forest green and black. The air hung heavy with a sense of evil she had only come into contact with in prisons.

Shifters. Probably rogues.
She backed out of the door as quickly as possible.
What were so many shifters doing in one place?

Shaw watched the man retreat out the bar door and breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe . . . for the moment. He backed against the wall and took in his surroundings. He’d never been in this bar before, and he’d frequented nearly every one in the city at some time or another. The air practically hummed with something that made his skin jumpy, heightening his awareness to a level he’d never experienced. The ring on his finger felt warm. Shaw glanced at it, hoping the damned lines were still. Nothing moved. He relaxed. No unexpected changing—for now.

A server approached, dragging his bar towel off his shoulder. “What’ll it be, mate? Beer? Whiskey?” He wiped the tabletop, flicking peanut shells onto the floor.

Shaw watched the server’s hand swish the towel over the table, and his gaze caught a familiar sight on the man’s finger.
He’s wearing a ring like mine. Is he a . . .? What the hell would he be called anyway? A morpher? A were-person?

The server flipped his towel over his shoulder. “If ya’ll not be buying, mister, ya’ll be leaving.”

“Sorry,” Shaw stammered. “I was just admiring your ring.”

Two vertical furrows appeared between the server’s reddish eyebrows, and he slid his hand down to his side. “Ya were, were ya?” His voice lost its friendliness, the Irish brogue deepening.

“I was wondering where you got it.”

“Ya do, do ya?”

Shaw’d heard that tone before—right before his nose got broke.
Definitely not friendly.
He laid his right hand on the table. “I do.”

The server gave him the once-over and then glanced around the room. He bent forward and swiped at the table again. “I can tell yer new to the group,” he whispered. “Ya don’t wear it on yer shaking hand.”

Shaw started to take off the ring.

“Stop,” the server hissed. “If ya drop it or lose contact with the ring when yer shifted—and I think ya are—you’ll lose yer form. And yer better off in here if no one knows who ya really are.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Now git outta here while the gitting’s good. The rest aren’t as nice as I am.”

“But I got questions.”

“Ask yer mentor.”

Mentor? What the hell was he talking about?

The server rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell! Ya just came on the thing, didn’t ya?” He stepped closer. “Take my advice. Throw the damned ring in the river before it’s too late. Get rid of it before Samhain.”

“Samhain?”

“All Hallows Eve . . . Halloween,” the server said when he didn’t answer. “Git outta here before someone else figures ya out. I don’t need the cops coming here because someone killed ya for that ring.”

Shaw rose to leave.

“And don’t let yer fat ass touch anyone as ya go.”

Shaw wished he’d chosen a different body. Squeezing through the growing crowd without touching was not going to be easy. But since his life depended on it, he’d do whatever was necessary.

Chapter 22

“Are you nuts or just stupid?” Captain Williams asked. “I told you to leave the reports about Baron, and Baron impersonators, alone.”

Alexi considered the options. Nuts would put her back on admin leave. Stupid might get her reprimanded.

“Stupid, Sir.”

Rhys directed an angry stare toward her. “You’re nuts.”

“Shut up, Temple,” the captain and Alexi said in unison.

“You jumped into traffic chasing some guy all because you’ve got this obsession over someone impersonating Baron. You could have been hit.” Rhys appealed to the captain. “I think she needs more time off.”

“I think you need to shut up,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Knock it off! Both of you!” Captain Williams’ booming voice set the glass office walls trembling. Every head in the common area swiveled toward the noise. The captain snapped one set of office blinds down, and then the other, as workers scurried around pretending they hadn’t heard his outburst.

Alexi cringed. It was one thing to be reamed over, but quite another to be publicly humiliated. She’d expected the captain to be angry, just not this angry.

“I should put you on leave for this stunt, but you’re a good cop, Jordan, and I need you right now.”

“But—”

The captain pointed his finger at Rhys. “Not another word, Temple.”

Rhys clamped his mouth shut. Alexi fought to keep the smile off her face. At least the captain was keeping Rhys at bay.

“But,” Captain Williams continued, “if I catch you doing anything else like this, I will put you on leave. Read my lips, Jordan. Stay. Away. From. Burglary. You’re a homicide cop. Start acting like one and solve some murders. Got it?”

She bit her lips together and nodded. “Got it.” But the captain didn’t. Baron’s murder was not solved. She’d risk everything to find the murderer . . . and the ring.

The captain hooked his thumb toward the door. “Both of you, get outta here.”

As the door closed behind them with a bang, Alexi faced Rhys, her hands braced on her hips. “I expected more support. Were you trying to get me suspended?”

“He should have.”

She hit Rhys’ shoulder with the heel of her hand. “I’m just doing my job, Rhys. Running down the bad guys.”

“More like running a vendetta,” Rhys said as he rubbed the shoulder.

His words pierced her. “I am not.” Her voice had less conviction than she hoped.

“Baron’s killer confessed. What’s driving you now?”

“Like I said before, I’m tired of having some impersonator using Baron’s face. I want to catch this guy.” For all her efforts to keep the killer search on professional ground, she couldn’t seem to crush the anger over Baron’s murder.

“It seems like a vendetta to me and, after today’s events, I’d say it’s running you.”

“And what if it is?” The words came out as a challenge, daring him to do anything. “You’d do the same if the situation were reversed.”

“But it’s not and it’s getting out of hand.” He steered her into an empty conference room and closed the door. “The man you chased didn’t look like Baron.” He gently settled her on a chair and perched on the corner of the conference table. “I’m worried about you, Lexi. I think you might need to talk to someone.”

She popped out of the chair. “You think I’m nuts. Imagining things.”

“He was young. And fat. He had no beard. Yeah, I think you’re imagining things.”

“That’s why you said that to Williams?”

“You’re my partner and I want to protect you. Besides, he’ll read it in the report.”

So much for protecting me. When the captain reads the report, he’ll send me to a psychiatrist.
Alexi dropped back on the chair. “I know things don’t make sense, but you’ve got to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it from here.” He stood. “Let’s forget about this. We’ve got a case to work.”

“Before Williams puts us both on suspension?”

“Somebody’s got to pay the rent.”

“It’s a mortgage.”

“Not for me—unless you’ve got something else in mind.”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Don’t push your luck, buster. You can’t call me nuts in one breath and angle for a house key in the next.”

“Dang.” Rhys snapped his fingers and twisted his features into mock disappointment. “And I thought I had you wrapped around my pinky.”

“In your dreams.”

A sensual smile lit his face. “It’s other parts in my dreams.”

The heat of a blush crept across her neck. She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. “I don’t know how you manage to do it, but you always sweet talk me out of bad moods.”

“Temple charm.” He gave her a quick, surreptitious pat on her backside. You’re not immune to it now.”

That’s an understatement.
For both their sakes, she had to figure out some new defenses before the “charm” sucked her into a pit so deep she couldn’t climb out.