Souls Of Fire: Fireborn Part 10

"Are we going to do this in the middle of the street," I interrupted calmly, "or would you at least like some privacy and a cup of coffee?"

"Privacy and coffee," he growled, and headed for the front entrance.

I stepped in front of him and pressed one hand against his chest, stopping him. Once, his body heat would have flowed through my fingertips as sweetly as a kiss. Now, though, there was nothing. It was as if all his heat had been sucked away by whatever had happened to him in the last year.

"I told you before, I don't want you near my apartment. Not any more than necessary." I nodded toward the semi-vacant Portside. "We go over there, or we go back to your station."

"Portside," he snapped, then motioned sharply for me to lead the way.

He followed me across, and it was all I could do not to rub my arms against the fear creeping across my flesh. It wasn't just the force of his anger; it was the intensity of the darkness within it. It felt like he was barely containing it.

And yet, once again, there was also a tiny sliver of emotion that wasn't dark or cold, but rather one that spoke of concern. Or was I simply feeling that because I so desperately wanted it to be true?

I selected a table away from the other patrons and we ordered our drinks when the waitress came.

"Okay," he said, once she'd gone. "Explain what the h.e.l.l you thought you were doing."

"No," I said. "Not until you start answering some questions yourself."

"Emberly-" he growled, that darkness within him crowding even closer.

"No." I crossed my arms and met his gaze calmly, although I was far from calm on the inside. "I want to know what's going on, Sam. I want to know why those things are still after me. I want to know how the h.e.l.l they can even come after me, given they're supposedly infected by a vampirelike virus and should have been crisped by daylight. But most of all, I want to know who the f.u.c.k you're working for."

He stared at me silently. Though there was little change in his expression, I had a notion that a battle was being waged deep within him. I waited, hoping the right side won. Hoping that darkness didn't.

Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. It was a sound of frustration and annoyance combined. "I work for the Paranormal Investigations Team-or PIT, as it is more commonly known. We sit between the police and the military, and we're sent in to deal with problems that involve the paranormal."

"Define problems."

He shrugged. "Any activity involving paranormal beings that sits either within or without the law and provides a potential threat to humanity."

Any activity? That suggested they had scarily wide-ranging powers. Even more than I'd suspected. "How long have you been with them?"

He hesitated. "Just over a year."

I smiled up at the waitress as she delivered his coffee and my tea, then, once she'd left, said, "But you're human. I would have thought a team designed to handle paranormal creatures and crime would consist mainly of paranormal personnel."

A human, even one as fast and as strong as Sam, wouldn't have much hope against a vampire-or most other nonhumans, for that matter-even if he was armed to the teeth. And while white-ash stakes and silver bullets did work, vampires moved so fast they could be on you before you were able to use a weapon-something I knew from experience.

"A good percentage of the team is nonhuman," he said eventually. "But there are humans on the team-although they are generally blessed with extraordinary abilities."

"So telepaths, pyrokinetics, stuff like that?"

He nodded. "They're mostly used in off-field areas, but they are sometimes placed in the less . . . tenuous . . . field operations."

"None of which explains why you're out in the field. You're human, but you certainly haven't any sort of psychic abilities."

"I'm there because I can be." His voice was flat. Obviously, it was a subject he wasn't about to get into. Not yet, anyway. And I very much suspected that if I pushed, he'd clam up totally, and I still had plenty of other questions. "So why are the red cloaks still after me?"

"That I don't know." He frowned as he dumped several sugars into his coffee-which was surprising given he never used to take sugar. "They obviously still want something, but what, I have no idea."

"But even that night I saved your a.s.s, they came after me. And that was before Mark was killed."

He nodded. His gaze, when it met mine, held little of the recent darkness. All I could see was concern-not just about what was happening, but for my safety. It was gone almost as soon as I registered it, but it nevertheless had hope fluttering.

Which was stupid. Even if the man I knew did still exist somewhere beneath the cloak of darkness and anger, he'd certainly shown no desire toward me. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"But," he said, "we're not entirely sure Baltimore's killing is connected to his work on the red plague virus-the way he was killed is not the norm for them."

"Meaning if they'd been involved, he would have died the same way Professor Wilson died?"

His gaze suddenly sharpened, and again a tremor ran down my spine. Yet I wasn't entirely sure that tremor was all fear. Then he all but spat, "Jackson Miller."

"Yes." My voice was noncommittal. "It seems you were right. My meeting him wasn't a coincidence."

"I should break his f.u.c.king neck-"

"Touch him," I warned, "and I'll break yours."

He studied me for several long minutes. "So, it's like that, is it?"

"Yes," I said, though it wasn't. Not yet. "He's at least been honest with me, Sam. Unlike you."

"I'm being more honest right now than I f.u.c.king should be," he growled. "Don't push me, Emberly."

I didn't. "Why didn't those things burn up in daylight?"

"Because the earth's ozone layer blocks ninety-seven to ninety-nine percent of UV radiation from entering the atmosphere."

"But vampires still burn when touched by sunlight."

"Yes, but that's because there's three bands of ultraviolet radiation in sunlight-UVA, UVB, and UVC. It's the combination of all three that kills vampires, whereas the red plague victims seem only affected by UVA-or black light, as it's known."

I frowned. "But from what I understand, UVA is the main source of radiation hitting earth, meaning the red cloaks should burn in sunlight."

"It's the main source, yes, but for some reason, when it's combined with the other two types, the red plague victims are immune. That was the second part of your boss's brief-pinpoint what gave the red plague victims their immunity."

"I bet there are quite a few vamps in town who'd love to get their hands on that sort of research." Especially the sindicati-which was a point in favor of Jackson's suspicions they were involved somewhere along the line.

"Given he was killed at night, it's certainly an option we're exploring. The only flaw is that vampires can't cross thresholds uninvited, and that invitation has to be freely given."

I nodded. "Which doesn't preclude the possibility of vampires hiring human thugs to do their dirty work. Did you find any prints in Mark's apartment?"

"That," he said, somewhat dryly, "is not information I'm about to hand over to someone who is not a police officer. Why did you and Miller drive away from the accident?"

The darkness in him seemed to have receded, but my reaction to his closeness hadn't. It was a constant push-pull of fear and desire that was as confusing as h.e.l.l.

"It wasn't an accident," I said bluntly. "And we both know it. We were intending to question them, but one came at us-"

"There were two?" he interrupted sharply. "We only found one."

I nodded. "The second one was shot and cindered."

He frowned. "Your flames shouldn't stop them."

"They didn't. The bullets in the head did. My flames just rendered his body to ash, which blew away on the wind."

"But why would your flames work in daylight but not at night?"

"Well, technically they did work; it's just that the UV lights burned them quicker."

"But Roch.e.l.le's flames can't render them to ash."

"That would be because a Fae doesn't create flames; they can only use and control them. And a regular fire, however hot, is totally different from the flames of a phoenix." I couldn't quite keep the sarcasm from my voice. "We're spirits and we burn far hotter, trust me."

Just for a moment, the past seemed to echo in the blue of his eyes. Him and me and the heat that had once burned unquenched between us. A heat that could still burn between us if the dying embers were given the slightest chance of rebirth. Then the echoes were gone, and all that was left was the anger of our final words. Words I doubted we could ever get past.

I pulled my gaze from his and drank some tea. "Did you find anything of interest in Baltimore's notes?"

"Not as yet."

"What about Wilson?"

"What about him?"

I frowned at him. "Well, why was he taken out by the red cloaks?"

"We don't know."

"And wouldn't tell me even if you did?"

He half smiled. Or maybe that should be quarter smiled, because it was little more than a ghost, barely there and yet breathtaking nonetheless.

"Jackson Miller is a private investigator who's been hired to investigate Wilson's murder. I'm not about to give him-via you-that sort of information." He paused, and that ghost disappeared. "You should keep away from him, Emberly. This case is far more dangerous than you know, and Miller is renowned for not knowing when to retreat."

"Which sounds a whole lot like someone I once knew." And it was what had made him such a good cop. But was it also responsible for the darkness I sensed in him today? Had he finally run into a situation that went way beyond his control? A situation far worse than having to shoot his own brother?

"Which is why I'm giving you a warning, Red. I know just how badly things can go." He half reached out, as if to caress my cheek; then his fingers clenched and he abruptly stood up. "Please be sensible. Don't stick your nose into the investigation, and don't skip out on your tail again."

I leaned back in my chair and met his gaze for several heartbeats. "Fine," I said eventually. "I'll be sensible."

Relief sparked in his blue eyes, but there was also a touch of disbelief-understandable, I guess, given he saw me as nothing more than a lying adulteress. "One of us will be in contact if we need anything else from you."

"What if I need to contact you for some reason?"

He hesitated, then reluctantly reached into his pocket and drew out a card. On it was a cell number. Nothing else, not even his name.

"Use that. It's a central number, unconnected to me or the team, but any message you leave will be shunted to me as a matter of priority."

Which was better than nothing, I supposed. I accepted the card and shoved it into my purse. "Thanks."

He nodded and left. No good-bye, no nothing. He just turned around and walked away. Like it was easy.

I rubbed my eyes wearily and wondered when the h.e.l.l this stupid, irrational pining would stop. He might be the love of this life span, but that just meant he was the one destined to burn my heart to ashes. The sooner I accepted it and got over him, the better.

Which is always easier to say than do, my inner voice whispered.

I sighed, flicked out some cash for our drinks, then made my way home. Rory was getting ready for his evening s.h.i.+ft at the fire station.

"Hey," he said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. His night with Rosie had obviously gone well. "What's happening?"

"It seems the G.o.ds are still p.i.s.sed off with me." I dropped down onto the sofa and gave him a brief update on everything that had happened over the course of the day.

"Christ," he said, handing me a cup of tea. "You've well and truly jumped out of your staid and boring existence, haven't you?"

"Yeah," I muttered, and lightly blew on the tea to cool it.

He sat down on the coffee table, his arms crossed on his knees. "I'm gathering you're intending to ignore Sam's warning and meet with Jackson tonight?"

And therein lay the difference between Sam and Rory-Rory knew immediately what I'd do. Sam, even after all that had happened between us, wanted to believe I'd keep my word. But then, what chance had Sam ever had to really understand me? I'd been too fearful of his reaction, too desperate to enjoy my time with him before fate stepped in to once again destroy everything, to tell him what I was. And by the time I'd tried, it was altogether too late.

"Sam's got people watching me, so I'm planning to sneak off at sunset. Is the roof code still the same?"

Rory nodded. He was more attached to his firebird form than I was and tended to risk evening flights at least a couple of times a week-some of them from the rooftop and some out in the country. "Just be careful. And if you and Jackson need some extra muscle, you know where to find me."

"Thanks."

He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead. "Have fun. And don't be surprised if Sam discovers your absence sooner rather than later. Whatever I might think of him otherwise, he's a very good cop."

"I know." I shrugged. "But I just can't sit around and do nothing."

"Well, you could. But you've always liked a challenge, and that's what this has turned into." He paused, then added, a wry edge in his voice, "And with this case, there's both a mystery and a man."

"I'm not interested in Sam-"

"Did I specify which man I was talking about?" he interrupted mildly.

"No." I tore my gaze away from the amus.e.m.e.nt in his. d.a.m.n him to h.e.l.l for knowing me too well.

"As I said, just be careful. I'd hate to see him hurt you again."

"He won't." It was said with determination. After all, a phoenix's heart was supposed to break only once each lifetime, and I'd already had my turn.

"Good." He squeezed my knee, then rose and continued getting ready for work.

By the time I'd finished my drink, he'd left. I stripped off my clothes and had a shower, but as I was heading into my bedroom, my phone beeped. I walked into the living room and dug it out of my purse, noting in the process the glint in the window opposite. The old guy was watching again.

I shook my head at his persistence and looked at the text. It was from Jackson, and all it said was Rubbish.