Broken Heart 06 Come Hell or High Water (20 page)

Or the big, white demon that burst through the floor and captured my demonfire like a beach ball. He landed on the floor with a great
whump
, his wings extended for maximum effect. His roar was fierce, and I wasn't sorry at all when he lobbed my demonfire at Penelope and burned her into ash. I didn't have to ask how he knew she was my tormentor. He was embedded in my thoughts, and I found an odd comfort in knowing he was there. Not that I would ever tell him that, of course. Some thoughts were mine and mine alone.

No one else stayed to play. They screamed and stampeded toward the door, nearly trampling one another to get out. I saw now why Lilith had commanded the sacrifices: Her worshipers were too weak to call her forth. They didn't believe in her. They were just cruel, stupid people who bonded over death and destruction.

Connor stomped to the table and ripped the tape off me, yanking me into his arms. I rested my head on his scaly chest. I felt him shudder, his heartbeat frantic.

"We have to go," I said.

Connor gently released the girl from the tape. Connor carried Ella, and we returned to the parking garage. I watched over Ella while Connor returned to his human form and dressed.

"You hear from the others?"

"No," said Connor. He looked concerned.

"What about the ring? I thought it was all-fired important that we get it tonight and give to Ella."

"Mayhap Larsa and Ren ran into some problems," he said. "We dinnae have time to check. It's gettin' too close to dawn."

"Okay," I said. "We'll follow the plan."

I picked up Scry, Connor hefted the girl, and then I held on to him as we buzzed outta there. We'd already decided to go to Saint Francis, because it was the hospital closest to where Ella had disappeared, and it also had a children's hospital.

Connor and Scry waited outside while I brought the girl inside. Nurses immediately whisked her away. Then I spun a tale to the clerk about finding her unconscious behind the azalea bushes in my backyard. I fuzzed the mind of the woman taking my report so much that the words she wrote made no sense at all.

"She looks like Ella Freeman," I said softly. "The missing girl."

"Oh, my gosh!" She picked up the phone, and before she looked up again, I was gone.

I went outside and met Connor near the entrance doors.

"Sunrise's comin'," said Connor, thrusting the cell into my hand. "Call your boy."

While I dialed Jackson's cell phone number, Connor led me past the parking area for the emergency room and weaved through two parked ambulances. He entered a door marked PERSONNELONLY, and I followed him into the bowels of the hospital.

I got Jackson's voice mail. Disappointment mixed with longing. What was Danny doing? Was it only two days ago that Jackson had sent a picture of Danny wearing a Mickey Mouse hat and another of him next to Shrek? I wasn't sure what he'd been told by the Consortium, so I left a simple message saying I missed Danny and I would call again in the evening.

When I handed the cell back to Connor, he crushed it and dropped the mangled phone into a garbage can we passed. I had no idea how he knew how to navigate the narrow halls, with their windings and turns, but before I knew it, we were standing in front of a set of double doors.

I looked at the word stenciled on the frosted glass, then turned to glare at him. "The morgue? Seriously?"

"It will be safe."

"We really need to discuss the dictionary definition of 'safe,' Connor. I don't want to get an accidental autopsy because I'm snoozing in a cold storage drawer."

He drew one finger down my neck. "I'd hate to see your pretty skin marred."

"Sunrise," I said. That simple touch shot through me like an electric shock.

"C'mon, then." He pushed through the doors, and I followed because I didn't have a choice. At least there were no windows down here. It had been a hell of a night, starting with a conquered demon and ending with a rescued sacrifice.

I'd have to give Connor one thing: He wasn't boring.

He led me down to another level, which I assumed was another parking structure, but it was just a series of storage rooms.

"I get the feeling you've been here before," I said.

"Once." He led me into a room that had several hospital beds, some with mattresses and others just frames, along with teetering piles of boxes. It smelled like dust and stale cigarette smoke.

As I worked a couple of the beds free and rolled them against a wall, Connor melted the handle of the door. Nobody would be getting in, even with a key. While he and Scry prowled through the other end of the room, I found a set of sheets in an opened cabinet. They'd probably been freshly laundered sometime in the 1980s, but the exhaustion of vampire nighty-night was weakening me, so I didn't much care.

I poked at the plastic-lined mattresses. They smelled like old urine. I tossed the sheets over and tucked them around, then clambered onto mine.

"Guard us well, Scrymgeour," said Connor. The Chihuahua barked, then sat in front of the door and watched it carefully.

My Scottish warrior strode toward me, stripping off his T-shirt. I looked at his scarred, muscled chest, then up at him. "What are you doing?"

"Gettin' naked for my wife."

My heart stuttered, and then I remembered it wasn't supposed to be able to do that anymore. "Connor." His name was longing and reproach.

"Dinnae deny me this," he asked.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "Just for now, then."

He nodded. He let me lie, to him and to myself. I'd take it. Because I couldn't think about more than that, about the way this whole thing had begun, and how it would end.

He stripped off his jeans and boots, then climbed onto the narrow bed with me. He kissed me tenderly, slowly divesting me of my clothes until I was naked, too.

We lay side by side, and I let Connor seduce me.

He kissed me, and it wasn't a gentle exploration, either. It was hard and possessive and it thrilled me in a dark, needy way.

"Mine," he said as he trailed his lips over my jaw to nibble my ear. "You're mine."

I relished the tiny, hot flicks of his tongue. Regret stole through me as his hand slid under the sheet to cup my breast.

I threaded my fingers into his hair. After a moment, I threw off my sheet and pushed him onto his back. He went easily, his gaze glittering up at me.

I kissed him, stroking down his chest, touching the hard planes, the funnels of scarring, the hair narrowing beguilingly.

I knelt between his legs and touched his hard-on. He was big and thick. I squeezed the base, then settled my lips over the bulbous head.

He groaned, his hands fisting in my hair.

I alternated between sucking and flicking my tongue against the sensitive underside. I squeezed the base, stroking up. Soon, Connor was my prisoner.

Until he grabbed my shoulders and hauled me up to kiss me senseless.

Then I was his prisoner.

His hands were all over me, starting fires in my breasts, my belly, my thighs.

"Phoebe," he whispered. "Take me, lass. Make me yours."

I settled myself over him and guided his cock inside me. I didn't look away from his gaze, though I could see so easily that his passion was tempered by sorrow.

Then I was moving, moving, and his hands cupped my ass and helped with the rhythm. Neither of us lasted long. He cried out my name, and I plunged over the edge with him, collapsing onto his chest, filmed with sweat.

"Connor," I said, and my voice broke.

He held me forever, drawing patterns on my back, and whispered sweet nothings.

I fell asleep curled against him, feeling as though I belonged next to him, someone who was mine.

Connor found an abandoned showering facility down the hall. There wasn't any soap or shampoo, but the warm water felt good. Without speaking, we gave each other space and made the showers quick. Connor managed to scrounge up towels, and after we dried off, we re-dressed. I braided my hair so I wouldn't have to worry about drying it, too.

I paced the room, waiting for Connor to return with another cell phone. We were trying to keep off the grid. Scry had gone off on a perimeter check, and I was alone with my thoughts.

Connor and Scry returned at the same time. He gave me the cell phone and I called Jackson's number again.

I got voice mail.

Was he not picking up because he didn't recognize the number?

"Hey, Jackson. It's Phoebe. Just wanted to check in on Danny. I'll try back later."

I didn't have the hotel number memorized, but the cell Connor had stolen had Web access. I tracked down the number via the hotel's Web site and called on the direct line.

"I'm sorry, miss," said the clerk. "Mr. Tate checked out yesterday."

"What? I thought he had a two-week stay."

"It seems Mr. Tate had a family emergency and had to cancel the rest of his vacation."

"The boy who was with him," I said, suddenly feeling choked. "He's hurt?"

"Oh, no, miss," she chirped. "His little boy was just fine. Seems there was an emergency at home." She paused as she realized she was giving information to a complete stranger. "Who are you, miss?"

I hung up.

"Phoebe?"

"Jackson took Danny; he left the hotel. Probably left Florida." I was trembling so badly, I shoved the phone into my pants pocket before I dropped it. "He would never steal Danny. That's not like him. Something must've happened."

Jackson's parents were among the humans the Consortium had relocated. They'd moved up to Maine to be near his mother 's relatives, and they took cruises year-round. They were always sending Danny trinkets from their trips. Maybe something had happened to them. Jackson was an only child, and as far as I knew he wasn't particularly close to his extended family.

Had his schoolteacher girlfriend gotten into trouble?

"Phoebe?" asked Connor.

I shook my head, panic so thick inside me I felt like I might sink into the floor from the weight of it. I grabbed the phone and dialed Jackson over and over and over until he finally picked up.

"
What?
" Jackson yelled.

I was so relieved to hear his voice that I didn't take issue with his attitude. "Jackson! Where the hell are you? Why did you leave Florida?"

"I don't know who you are," he growled, "but I suggest you stop calling me."

His venomous tone stalled my voice. "W-what are you talking about?"

"Goddamn it! Who is this?"

"It's Phoebe." I felt as though I'd swallowed slivers of ice that pricked me with cold all the way to my stomach.

"Try again."

"Jackson..."

"I'm reporting you to the police," he said. "And they'll find you, you sick bitch."

"I won't let you take Danny. He's my son, too!"

"No," he said, his voice cracking. "He's Phoebe Allen's son. And she's dead."

Jackson hung up on me.

The cell phone slipped out of my nerveless fingers as my gaze lifted to Connor. He swept me up, which was good, because I thought I was on my way to collapsing. My knees felt like pudding.

He sat on the bed with me on his lap and asked, "What happened?"