“Handy.” I followed him up the stairs and tossed my bag toward the bed.
“Very. It’s certainly better than jumping down.” He walked toward what he laughingly called the bathroom—a tiled area tucked into one corner of the vast room that had a shower, bath, and basin sitting in it. With no screen or curtain, it was in full view of the rest of the room, so too damn bad if you wanted privacy while bathing. But at least he did have a separate toilet—there were some things in life and relationships that were better left unshared.
A trapdoor had been built to the right of this area, midway between it and the bathroom area. He pressed a button on the wall; the trapdoor slowly opened, and a metal ladder began to unfold.
He climbed up, opened another door in the roof, and then motioned me up. In very little time, we were jumping across to the blacksmith’s and sliding down a rope into the building.
Though the flames in the old-fashioned brick furnace had been banked for the night, the heat of the embers still called to me.
“Ladies first,” Jackson said, propping himself up on one of the old wooden workbenches.
I stopped beside the furnace and brought the coals back to life, until the roar of the flames was all I could hear and the heat of it washed over my skin. I threw my hands and head back and called it to me, though I didn’t immediately feed, instead allowing the flames to play around my body for several minutes. I was enjoying the fierceness of them, the rush of heat, energy, and pleasure that came with them. Then I sighed and somewhat regretfully drew them in, refueling the inner fires.
My skin still glowing with heat, I broke the connection and stepped away. Jackson’s eyes gleamed, but it had nothing to do with fire and everything to do with desire. But he said only, “Why don’t you go back and eat? I could be a while.”
I didn’t argue; I just shimmied back up the rope and made my way back to our building. The first thing I did was to make a somewhat belated call to Rory.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding sleepy. I’d obviously woken him. “I’m well fed and well protected, although our earth fae is seriously hoping for an attack. I’m beginning to think all fae are mad.”
I grinned. “Make that all sex mad, and you might be right.”
“True. How are things with you? For a while there, I was getting some very troubling vibes.”
“That’s because some nasty shit went down, but I’m here, I’m alive, and the inflictor of said nasty shit is not.”
He hesitated. “Anything we need to talk about?”
“Hunt is no longer a problem,” I replied, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice—and it was infinitely better than hurt or anger. Either emotion would only have alarmed him, and he didn’t need that sort of worry when he was still recovering from rebirth.
“Ah.” He paused. “Did he hurt you too badly?”
“Nothing I haven’t handled before.”
He was silent for a longer stretch this time, telling me he’d guessed what had happened. “I hope his ending was slow and painful.”
“It was.”
“Good. Anything else I need to know?”
“Frederick has been captured and is in PIT custody.”
“I’m surprised he’s not dead.”
“I think they’re hoping he’ll lead them to Rinaldo.”
“A false hope, I rather suspect.”
“Me, too.” I paused. “Do you need me back there soon?”
“No. Not for a day or so. The fire’s enough until then.”
Which meant he really was getting stronger. Relief spun through me.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days, then.”
“Take care.”
“Always do.”
He snorted and hung up. I shoved my phone back into my bag, then set about making something decent to eat. It was nearly two hours before Jackson finally reappeared. By then, I’d not only eaten my way through a box of donuts but also had “potluck” risotto ready on the stove.
“That smells divine.” He leaned past me to scoop up one of the sausage pieces I’d mixed in. “Tastes pretty good, too.”
“I thought it was about time we refueled our bodies with something other than hamburgers and fries.” I grabbed two large bowls and divided the contents between them. “There’s also some buttered toast if you want it.”
“We had bread?”
I grinned. “It had a green spot or two, but I cut them off.”
“The odd green spot has never harmed this cast-iron stomach.”
“I figured that.”
I picked up my bowl and some toast and followed him across to the sofa. For the next ten minutes or so, there was no talking, just consuming.
“That is exactly what I needed. Thanks.” He rose and held out a hand. “You finished?”
I nodded and gave him my bowl. “Have you any suggestion as to which hotel we should use to book the two rooms and do our PIT mole test?”
He shook his head. “Just Google something with ground-floor access.”
He washed the dishes while I did just that. “There’s a Best Western not too far from the airport that has ground-floor accommodation.”
“Ring up and book a room with the ID we snatched from the vamps Rory crisped,” he said. “Then I’ll book another in my name.”
I rose, grabbed my purse to fish out the appropriate wallet, then rang up the hotel and booked a deluxe room under the name of Margaret Jones—the name on the stolen credit card.
Jackson made his call, and then we packed fresh clothes and toiletries into a bag because who knew how long we were likely to be at the hotel. On the way out, Jackson grabbed a wireless motion-sensor alarm from his “odd bods” storage unit—the same unit that held the imagining radar device he’d used at Rosen Senior’s apartment.
It didn’t take us all that long to drive across to Attwood. The hotel was also a conference center, which meant there was plenty of parking. We walked down to reception and requested adjoining rooms, then grabbed our bags and headed into the room Jackson had booked.
The ground-floor room was clean and rather spacious, fitted out with a king-sized bed, a TV sitting on a storage unit, a small desk, and a couple of chairs. The bonus, however, was the glass sliding door that led out to a patio area—very handy if we wanted to be sneaky about our comings and goings.
Jackson handed me his bag and began setting up the motion-sensor alarm. I continued on through the adjoining door; the second room was the mirror image of his. I dumped both bags onto the bed, then headed into the bathroom for a shower—a long and very hot shower that eventually managed to erase Hunt’s scent from my skin.
I wished it could do the same for my memories.
By the time I’d finished, Jackson was already in bed and asleep. I climbed in beside him, snuggled up to his back, and very quickly joined him in slumber.
I was woken hours later by his body twitching and shuddering. I blinked sleep from my eyes and then, as a cyclone of hurt and horror swirled through my mind—emotions that were his rather than mine—realized abruptly that he was dreaming about the assault.
I cursed softly and half reached out to wake him, then paused. I wasn’t entirely sure he’d talk to me about the dreams, let alone the assault, so maybe it was better if I used the link rather than make any attempt to discuss what he’d experienced because of it.
I closed my eyes and reached to him mentally, sending wave after wave of soothing thoughts. As his movements finally began to calm down, I added the belief—the need—to express his feelings, to give them voice and, as a consequence, give the experience less power to hurt him in the future. I had no idea if it would help, but I also had nothing to lose by trying. He might have only felt echoes of what had been happening to me, but that didn’t make his sense of defilement any les
s real.
It took me a while to drift back to sleep, and I wasn’t entirely sure my dreams were any less traumatic than Jackson’s, because I woke up feeling less than refreshed.
A knock at the door in the other room jerked me awake. I sat upright, sparks instinctively flying from my fingertips. A murmur of voices followed; then the smell of bacon and toast hit my nostrils, and my stomach rumbled in response. I threw off the sheets, dragged some fresh clothes from my bag, and got dressed.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jackson said as he came back into the room. “It would appear we didn’t have any uninvited guests last night.”
“I gathered that, given the alarm didn’t go off.” I tucked one leg under me as I sat down at the small table. “How did you sleep last night?”
He shrugged. “Had a few dreams but nothing too bad.”
Right. “Jackson, we need to talk—”
“As a certain redhead keeps insisting, I’m okay.” He placed the tray on the table between us, then pulled the covers off the plates, revealing not only bacon and toast, but eggs and beans as well.
“I don’t think that’s exactly true—”
“Fae don’t do emotions—”
“Fae don’t do love,” I cut in. “But you have the full quota of everything else.”
He grinned. “That I do.”
I picked up the napkin and tossed it at him. “I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Then I seriously don’t want to talk about it.”
I hesitated, but there was little point in going on about it. It’d only annoy him, and possibly make him even more reluctant to talk. “I’m here when you do.”
“Good.” He took one of the plates and a couple of slices of toast. “So what is our plan of attack today?”
“Well, I never did get to search Janice’s place, so maybe we should go back there. She must know something. Otherwise, why would Amanda have tried to get rid of her?”
“Maybe she was simply cleaning up after herself—getting rid of anyone who could pin a connection between her and Rosen Pharmaceuticals.”
“Maybe.” I slapped a couple of pieces of bacon between two slices of toast and took a bite. “Janice had a photo of Amanda and Rinaldo on her phone—and that photo just happened to show the car’s number plate.”
Jackson’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting that you didn’t give that piece of information to PIT.”
“I actually did. But there’s no reason we can’t also pursue it.” I took another bite of my sandwich. “Especially given the inspector didn’t tell me not to.”
“I’m gathering you still have that photo?”
“Yeah, I do.” I rummaged around in my handbag until I found Janice’s phone, then brought up the pic and handed the phone to Jackson. “I’m guessing your police source will be able to trace it for us.”
“No need to use her,” he said. “Not when I have a contact at VicRoads.”
Which was the other name for the Roads Corporation of Victoria. “Is this another one of your stable ladies?”
“No, it’s a male friend. I do have them, you know.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll send him a text, as personal calls are somewhat frowned upon during working hours these days, apparently.”
“Huh.” I waited until he’d sent the text, then said, “It might also be worth talking to Janice again. I did question her, but she’d been drugged, and while she was answering all my questions truthfully, I’m not entirely sure the drug wasn’t also messing with her mind. She might remember more with a clearer head.”
“Given who she was sleeping with, it’s more likely that Amanda, not the drug, was messing with her memories.” Jackson sat back in the chair and scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. He’d obviously been up long enough to shower before breakfast had arrived. “Let’s try her house first. It’s a long shot, but if Amanda was using her to steal information, it’s possible she was bringing files home.”
“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time in history someone had been used by his or her lover to gather information.”
He raised an eyebrow, amusement once again touching the corners of his eyes. “And is that personal experience speaking?”
“Maybe.” A grin twitched my lips. “And maybe not.”
“I’m beginning to think it’d be easier to get blood from a stone than information about your past from you.” He drained his coffee, then rose. “Shall we go?”
“Just let me do my teeth first.”
“Good idea. Grotty green teeth on a redhead would not be a great look.”
I snorted, tossed a bit of crust at him, and then headed into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, we were on our way.
Janice’s street was once again jammed with cars. As Jackson squeezed the SUV past several of them, a cab pulled into Janice’s driveway. A few seconds later, she got out and strode toward the front door.
“Why the hell is she out of the hospital so soon?” I said.
“Maybe she wasn’t actually released.” Jackson pulled up behind a Ford. “Maybe she simply signed herself out.”
“Surely PIT would have stopped that. They know she was targeted.”
“Maybe that’s the exact reason why she’s been let loose. Maybe they’re hoping Amanda will come a-calling again.”
“In which case, there’d be an agent somewhere.” I glanced around. “And I’m not seeing one.”
“PIT employs shifters. You probably wouldn’t.” He unclipped his seat belt. “We might as well go talk to her.”
“I guess so.” I climbed out of the car, waited for another vehicle to squeeze past ours, and then walked across to the other pavement. “What happened yesterday, when you were following Amanda?” I asked Jackson.
“We ended up at an apartment complex in Docklands. According to the security guard I questioned, she lives on the eighth floor.” He paused. “Interestingly, she was registered under the name of Felicity Hocking.”
Which was the name Janice had given me earlier. “Did you go question her?”
His smile held little in the way of amusement. “No. It was about that time I got the feeling you were in big trouble. But by the time I got back here, you were gone and PIT were here.” He paused. “It might be wise to contact Baker and let him know Hunt no longer exists.”
The cab reversed out of the driveway and drove past us. I gave it a cursory glance, then did something of a double take and stopped.
“What?” Jackson said immediately.
“I’ve seen that driver before—and not in a cab.” I frowned, trying to remember where, but the memory was decidedly elusive.
Jackson grabbed his phone and took a quick snap of the disappearing cab. “Maybe PIT can run a plate check and see if it’s legit.”
“The cab’s legit. It’s the driver that might not be.” I continued on, hurrying toward Janice’s. “And it might be that I’m wrong. Janice did get home safely, after all.”
But even as I said that, part of me knew the future was whispering of death.
We were three steps away from the drive when the entire house blew up.
CHAPTER 10
The blast was so intense it sent us both tumbling. I ended up halfway under a nearby SUV and drew my body into a tight ball as bits of wood, metal, and god knows what else speared all around me. The SUV took the brunt of the debris, but the twinges of pain in my spine told me I hadn’t escaped unscathed.
Heat quickly followed, and with it came the roar of flames—although I would have thought that after the power of such a blast there’d be little left to burn.
I twisted around, looking for Jackson, and spotted him half kneeling behind the driver’s side rear wheel.
“I’m okay,” he said, “but I’m guessing Janice won’t be.”
I looked over at the house. Though the air was thick with dust
and smoke, it didn’t do much to hide the devastation. The house was one huge pile of debris. Only one exterior rear wall remained upright, and flames were already beginning to consume that. Metal carport supports were embedded in one neighbor’s wall and holes were punched into his roof, and Janice’s little Honda was now sitting in the same neighbor’s yard, on its back and on fire. The house on the other side had enough blast damage to expose the front interior wall, and the fence between the two properties was on fire.
I climbed out from under the SUV, then pulled off my jacket and shook it free of rubbish. “Amanda—or someone else in Rinaldo’s employ—obviously came back to finish what she’d started.”
“Yeah.” Jackson stopped beside me, his expression glum. There were scratches on his face, a chunk taken out of his chin, and his jeans were torn and somewhat bloody. But all in all, there wasn’t much damage, considering how close we’d been.
“I’ll ring PIT,” he said. “You want to douse those flames and see if you can spot anything in the mess?”
“I’m not sure the police or even PIT will appreciate us contaminating a crime scene.” And there wasn’t much left to find—not without carefully sifting through that pile of remnants, anyway.
“I’m not really caring what they think right now.” His voice held an angry edge. “Not when they could have kept Janice safe and didn’t.”
“That’s a bit harsh, Jackson. They do have bigger problems right now.” Not to mention a lack of staff to cope with it all. As priorities went, it wasn’t really surprising Janice had been low on the list.
“Except Janice may have been the key they needed,” he said. “Rinaldo obviously feared she could tell us something, given he came back for a second shot at her.”
Which was true enough. I glanced around at the sound of approaching footsteps and spotted a number of people hurrying down the street toward us. There was no reaction or movement from whoever owned the houses on either side of Janice’s. They were going to get one hell of a surprise when they returned from wherever they were.
“Go,” Jackson said. “I’ll stop those people from coming too close.”