Wuthering Frights (12 page)

I glanced at Knight and watched him looking at the scene before him as if he were taking stock of every detail, deciding the best approach to take. We obviously couldn't just walk down the ramp to the ship single file like we were on a field trip. I guessed we'd probably get back on the road. It disappeared around a hillside just above the cement walkway, leading to the loading docks. There were some old, craggy oak trees along the hillside which would offer us ample cover.

"Let's stick behind those trees," Knight said, motioning to the small hillside. Yep, I'd been right. Point for me.

Neither Trey nor I said anything, but simply followed Knight back up to the road, being careful to stay in the shadows and remain undetected. Once we'd reached the hillside, we continued along the tree line, skulking in the shadows. I glanced down at the goings on in the ship below us. The sailor who had been helping Horatio returned to the other side of the ship where he started helping his fellow sailors unload. Yep, he hadn't been involved in Horatio's business any more than just in helping him unload the crates. I wasn't sure why but somehow that fact was a relief to me.

My gaze fell to Horatio again as I watched him pick up the third crate and start for the Explorer. When we were maybe ten feet away from Horatio, Knight turned toward me and motioned that he was going to take Horatio down. I nodded and clutched my Op 6 even more tightly.

"I'll be right behind you," I whispered.

Then I watched Knight sprint down the hill, landing on the concrete just behind Horatio with a soft thud. Before the shorter, stouter man could respond, Knight knocked him down. Horatio released the crate and it crashed down next to him, the bottles of
Yalkemouth
breaking as the fluorescent liquid began leaking from the broken bottles.

The sailors all turned at the sound of the confrontation and when a few began to walk towards Knight, I stood out before him, pulling open my jacket to reveal my badge.

"This is ANC business," I said sternly.

The sailors nodded and the one who had been helping Horatio glanced at him nervously before facing me again. "I had nothing to do with it," he said, swallowing hard. "I was just helping him unload whatever that stuff was."

I nodded. "It's okay. Just keep going about your business."

The man didn't say anything else but returned to the far side of the ship as I brought my attention back to Knight. Horatio was still on the ground, Knight's knee in his back. Trey was standing at Horatio's head, his Op 6 aimed at the were. I watched as Knight pinned Horatio's arms behind his back and read him his Miranda rights.

Horatio didn't attempt to put up much of a fight for obvious reasons and a few seco
nds later, Knight hoisted him
to his feet and started toward us.

I didn't even glance at Horatio and I noticed he did his damndest not to look at me.

"Where are you parked?" I asked Knight.

"Up the street," Trey answered. "I'll go get the car and meet you at the top of the docks." We both nodded and Trey re-holstered his gun before running up the ramp to the cement walkway and back to the road from which we'd come.

I glanced at Knight and smiled, keeping my Op 6 trained on Horatio. "Not bad."

Knight chuckled. "It's good to have you back."

Seven

When I walked through my door, I was exhausted. After the whole Horatio ordeal and everything that led up to it, I felt like I needed a hot shower and a long nap—as in, sleeping-for-the-next-two-days long. I tore off my jacket, throwing it on the chair beside the door and bemoaned the fact that Blue wasn't around to greet me. I'd have to make a trip to the pound and get Trey a new friend, so he'd relinquish mine.

As I walked into my living room, I thought about getting something to eat, then about taking off my clothes and getting into the shower; but instead, I did nothing. I just stood there like I'd misplaced my brain, like an idiotic zombie. And before I could second guess myself, I suddenly burst into tears.

And it's not like I'm often given to fits of crying. In fact, I could count on one hand the occasions in my life when things have been so bad that I've cried. But even though part of me was shocked by my emotional side, it was in complete control of me. In fact, I wasn't really crying—it was more like sobbing, my entire body was consumed by a convulsion of tears.

It was as if everything that had happened over the last two weeks was suddenly raining down on me, straining my ability to cope. I guess it's true what they say—that everyone has her breaking point. And I was definitely at mine. My entire life had turned upside down and, really, I was living my own worst nightmare. I'd become something I couldn't respect, something that was so unlike me. I was being controlled by someone else, my father, and worse, allowing it. And the mere thought of that sickened me because I'd never subjugated myself before, and always looked down on those who did. Yes, I had to remind myself that my reasons were sound and good—that saving Knight's life meant everything to me, but that didn't mean I wasn't searching for a way out of it. I just needed some time to think, to plan, and in planning, figure out a way to extricate myself and all of my affiliations with Melchior. I just needed time, but so far, time alone was fleeting, if not impossible to find.

Pretty soon, I started hyperventilating and couldn't catch my breath so I told myself to cool it. What good were my tears going to do me anyway? It wasn't like they'd magically flick Melchior O'Neil off the face of the Earth, er, the Netherworld. It wasn't like they'd ensure Knight would
be forever
safe. No, all in all, they were completely useless and as such, I was done with them.

I shook my head, wiping the water from my eyes and threw myself into my couch, waiting for my breathing to return to normal again. I could feel my tears drying and hoped it would only be a matter of seconds before I could respirate like a completely collected, rational and normal person. Before I had the chance to fully regain control of myself, my cell phone buzzed in my jacket pocket; that is, my
personal
cell phone, not the one Quillan gave me. Standing up, I grabbed it and I held it up to my face, trying to make out the name through my glassy vision.

It was Knight.

I took a deep breath to feel more calm and a little more in control of myself before I answered. "Hi."

"Dulce," Knight started and his rich baritone warmed my entire being like hot fudge. "Just wanted to check in and see how you were feeling about things."

"Things?" I asked, testing my voice more than his comment. I sounded okay. Maybe a little tired but not like I'd just had a crying fit alone in my living room.

"Yeah, you know—your first bust now that you're back as a Regulator for the ANC ..." I could hear the smile in his voice. Then his tone became a bit quieter. "And everything that's happened between us." I was about to respond when he interrupted me. "Are you going to be up for a while?"

"I guess," I answered, thinking that even though I was more than exhausted, I probably wouldn't be able to sleep. I'd been suffering from sleep deprivation ever since I'
d found out Melchior was my father
and more, that I was working for him.

"Do you want company?" Knight asked, his voice sounding hesitant. That stuck in my gut because "hesitant" was not a word to describe Knightley Vander. He was outgoing, confident, strong. Sometimes annoyingly so.

"Sure," I said as warmly as I could, but inside me something was about to wither and die as I realized it wasn't right to continue pretending things were fine between us. I knew what I had to do and pretty soon, things wouldn't be fine between us.

"I'll be there soon. Want me to pick anything up?" His tone was warm, happy.

"At two a.m.?" I asked, surprised. "Nothing will be open."

"Shit," he laughed. "Sometimes this job makes me forget what time of day or night it is." He sighed. "I'll see you soon."

Then he hung up the phone and I collapsed onto my couch again, trying to quell the tears that were threatening to re-emerge, but now for a different reason. Now, something within me was snapping at the realization of what I was about to tell Knight—that we were through, that we couldn't date anymore. Of course, I couldn't tell him the real reason—that reason being that my father coerced me into his control by holding Knight's life on the line. Instead, I planned to tell him that things had gotten too complicated for me and that I wasn't comfortable throwing myself into a relationship. I'd buffer that excuse with another one—that since I was now working as a Regulator for the ANC again, I wasn't comfortable carrying on a relationship with my boss. Besides, a relationship between Knight and me
was
against ANC policy, seeing how he was my manager. I had to admit that I was surprised Knight had never mentioned as much. Sometimes, he definitely bent the rules to suit himself. At any rate, given my past, my reasons for breaking up with him wouldn't seem so farfetched. He always knew I had commitment issues. I'd been so badly hurt by my last relationship, I'd basically given up on men.

I was spared further soliloquies when Knight knocked on the door, a purposeful sound. I stood up and quickly glanced at the mirror on the wall above my couch. I checked my reflection to ensure I didn't look blotchy and red-eyed, or that I’d completely hit rock bottom and been crying my eyes out. I looked okay actually. Maybe a little red, but I could explain that away with allergies. 'Course, as a fairy, I didn't get allergies—being a creature of nature and all—but whatever.

I pulled the door open and greeted Knight with a small smile. He was wearing dark blue jeans and an untucked, long-sleeved, black T-shirt that matched the blackness of his hair. His hair was a little longish, curling around his ears and it gave him a certain unkempt ruggedness that was sexy as all get out. He smiled at me, his full lips spreading into one of the most breathtaking grins I'd ever seen and I felt my entire body deflate on itself. Not only was he beautiful, but he was all around a wonderful person. I felt the exact opposite of a wonderful person—like I was a huge, steaming, stinking dog turd on the bottom of his shoe.

"Come in," I said in a near whisper, opening the door wide. He walked past me and threw himself into the chair beside the couch, propping his large feet on my coffee table. He looked so comfortable, as if he'd just come home from a long day of busting criminal ass, and planned to forget the day’s events in my armchair. Although he dwarfed my chair, he looked as though he was exactly where he belonged.

"Long night," he offered and I closed the door, locking it, before taking a seat on the couch.

"Did you take care of locking him up?" I asked, referring to Horatio.

"Trey did while I wrote up the paperwork. He was one of Baron's guys. Horatio something or other." After Knight had taken Horatio into custody, he'd let me go home, explaining that he and Trey could take care of things and I looked like I needed to get some z's. Knight knew me well because he obviously assumed I wasn't going to sleep, which was why he was sitting in my living room now.

"When are the cauldrons coming?" I asked, referring to the shipment in which we disposed of our illegal narcotics busts. Until then, they were kept locked up in the vault. I'd already promised myself to personally see to it that the
Yalkemouth
was destroyed.

"This week," he answered, eyeing me curiously. "So, Dulce, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" I asked, feeling taken aback and sounding just as surprised. Was I wearing my emotions on my sleeve again?

He nodded with a stern expression—like I wasn't going to schmooze myself out of this one. "You look like you've lost ten pounds over the last week and you have bags under your eyes."