Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (3 page)

“Of course,” the judge said. “Ms. Chapman?”

At that moment, Elizabeth’s cell phone pealed. She was surprised she could get a signal behind all the steel doors, but the name that popped up on the screen was Mabel’s.

“Cell phones are supposed to be off,” the judge snapped.

“I have to take this. It’s my little sister. She’s home alone, and she’s worried.”

The judge looked as though nothing had ever harassed her more. “Outside.”

The bailiff unlocked the door. Elizabeth charged out, and Liam quietly followed her.

“Mabel? I can’t talk right now, honey. I’m in court.”

Mabel’s frantic voice cut over hers. “Lizzy, there are men outside, trying to get in. A bunch of them, and they have guns. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared!”

“Call the police,” Elizabeth yelled down the phone, watery fear pouring through her. “Call them now.”

“I tried. They don’t answer.”

“Then you hide. I’m in a courthouse. I’ll get—”

Elizabeth stifled a shriek as Liam Morrissey snatched the phone out of her hand. “Mabel? This is Liam Morrissey. Connor’s uncle, that’s right. You rest easy, now, lass. I’ll take care of this. Stay down, behind a bed, don’t go near the windows. My lads will be there before you can count to ten. All right?”

He clicked off the connection and dialed another with ease of long practice. While Elizabeth stood there with her mouth open, Liam said quietly into the phone, “Sean, get Dad and Spike and go up to Thirty-Fifth Street near MoPac. Mabel Chapman. She’s got armed intruders. Go
now
.”

Whoever was on the other end hung up, but Liam kept hold of the phone. “Now, don’t you worry. My brother will take care of your sister. Let’s go back and get Ronan sprung.”

Elizabeth didn’t move. “I can’t. I have to go home.”

Liam put a warm hand on her shoulder. “You going home would only put you in danger as well. My brother and my trackers can help Mabel better than the police. No one stops my trackers, lass. No one. Come on, now.”

Liam had reassurance down to a science. In spite of her gut-wrenching fear, Elizabeth let him lead her back past the bailiff and once more into the courtroom.

“Oh, I see that you’re still with us, Ms. Chapman,” the judge said. “How nice. Please approach and read the words on the card.”

Elizabeth promised to tell the truth and the whole truth, so help her God, then went over her story, prompted by questions from the prosecutor. It was like being in a play—she might not know her lines, but the prosecutor wanted her to say certain ones, judging from his cues. Ronan, back in the chair, leaned forward, resting his big arms on his knees, watching her closely.

Fear for Mabel gnawed at Elizabeth as she answered the questions. Liam still had her cell phone. He glanced at it from time to time, his face grim.

Elizabeth concluded shakily, “So I know that if Ronan hadn’t been there, Marquez would have killed me.”

“But you don’t actually know that,” the prosecutor said in his condescending way. “That’s only what you guess.”

That did it. The gloves came off. “Look, I grew up with kids like Marquez,” Elizabeth said. “Any guilt or conscience in him went away a long time ago. He only deals in
if
-then questions.
If
I can identify him,
then
he shoots me. In his mind, I was dead as soon as he walked in the door. End of story.”

The prosecutor shrugged apologetically at the judge. “It’s still only what she thinks.”

At that point, Liam got up and went to the door again. He held a murmured exchange with the bailiff, who did not look happy, but the bailiff let him out.

“Defense counsel, any questions for the witness?” the judge asked.

So far Kim had listened with a calm look on her face, not objecting to anything the prosecutor had said. Elizabeth had stood in front of judges before—sometimes as the defendant—and a good defense counsel would have been all over the prosecutor’s overly leading questions.

“I have only one, Your Honor,” Kim said. She turned to Elizabeth, her face expressionless, professional. “Ms. Chapman, tell me, at any time—before, during, or even after the scuffle—did Ronan’s Collar go off?”

Liam reentered the room. Behind the bailiff’s back, he gave Elizabeth a thumb’s up, and Elizabeth somehow knew that Mabel was all right. Her legs nearly buckled in relief. But what had Liam done?

“Ms. Chapman?” Kim asked, waiting.

“Uh—go off? What does that mean?”

Kim said, “When a Shifter tries to attack someone, the Collar around his neck shocks him. It’s very obvious—you’d see a white-blue arc running all the way around the Collar, sparking like those plasma balls. The Collar causes a lot of pain and stops the Shifter. They’re programmed to suppress a Shifter’s instinct to kill.”

Elizabeth replayed the awful scene in her mind, remembering the swift silence with which Ronan had burst through her office door. She closed her eyes and made herself remember every detail. Ronan’s huge face, the Collar clasping his big neck, the power in his gigantic body as he knocked Marquez to the ground.

She opened her eyes. “No. I didn’t see anything like that. The gun went off and hit Ronan, but his Collar never sparked. I think Ronan was just trying to take the weapon away from Marquez.”

Kim turned back to the judge, looking as professional as ever, but with a sparkle of triumph in her eyes. “There’s a whole ream of scientific data on Shifters as to why they can’t commit an act of violence while they wear Collars. If the Collar didn’t go off in Ms. Chapman’s store, that means my client had no malicious intent toward Marquez. My client saw the danger to Ms. Chapman and stepped in to make sure she wasn’t hurt, and in the scuffle to keep the gun away from Marquez, Marquez was knocked unconscious. If my client had any intent to hurt or kill, the Collar would have had him in agony, even a big man like him.” Kim walked to the judge’s bench, rose on tiptoe, and laid a thick folder on it. “Here are a few of the many studies done on the Collars. I can produce more if Your Honor needs them.”

The judge looked irritated. She flipped the file open, flipped it closed, gave Kim a dirty look, and sent a nastier one to Ronan.

“I’m going to let your client go,” she said. “Not because you make a good point, Ms. Fraser. Partly it’s because Marquez has previous arrests for armed robbery, and Ms. Chapman’s story is plausible, but mostly because it’s late and I want you all out of my courtroom. But I’m going to tell you, Mr. Ronan, to confine yourself to Shiftertown and not leave it for one month. I don’t want you anywhere near humans, understand? If you leave Shiftertown, I will have your carcass hauled in front of me again, and then you won’t walk out of here so easily.”

“Begging Your Honor’s pardon.” Liam Morrissey shot her his charming grin. “Ronan’s job lies outside Shiftertown, just outside the gates, in fact. He works for me, and he supports three kiddies with his salary. It would be a great hardship on his family if he couldn’t go to his job.”

“Fine.” The judge scowled, but even she wasn’t immune to Liam’s smile. “He goes to work, then right back home. Consider him under house arrest. I’m holding you responsible for him.” The judge pointed her gavel at Liam then banged it on the bench. She got up, robes swirling, and stalked out through the door behind the bench, which closed with a bang.

Elizabeth was bursting to ask Liam what had happened at her house, but she had to wait for the bailiff to unlock Ronan from his shackles and then unlock the doors to let them out. Both Ronan and Kim had to sign things after that, and then they all had to walk out of the courthouse, back to the dark streets outside.

“What about my sister?” Elizabeth nearly shouted at Liam as soon as they cleared the front door.

Ronan put a large hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, but it was comforting, not heavy. Kim walked close to her other side.

“Mabel’s fine, lass,” Liam said. “My brother and dad got there in time. They and my trackers scared the bad guys away.”

“What bad guys? Why were they trying to break into my house?”

They started down the street to the nearly deserted parking lot a half block away. Only two vehicles stood in the lot: Elizabeth’s small pickup and a sweet-looking Harley.

“I don’t know,” Liam said. “Sean only told me that your sister was safe and that the trackers were sniffing around, seeing what they can find out.”

“Trackers—you said that before. What trackers?”

“The trackers work for Liam,” Ronan said. “They’re guards, finders, warriors. Some of them can be complete assholes, but they’re the best at what they do.”

“Nothing will happen to Mabel with my trackers looking out for her,” Liam said. “I promise you that.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes a brief moment in relief. “Thank you, Mr. Morrissey.”

“Yeah, thanks, Liam,” Ronan said. “And you, Kim. Especially you.”

Ronan shouldered Liam out of the way and snatched Kim into a big hug.
A bear hug,
Elizabeth thought, feeling a little hysterical. Kim hugged him in return, and Liam stood by, not seeming to mind the large man holding on to his wife.

Kim patted Ronan’s back. “You’re welcome, big guy. Can I breathe now?”

Ronan released her and stepped back, then damned if he didn’t turn and enclose Liam in the same kind of hug. Elizabeth watched, eyes widening, as Liam wrapped his arms around the bigger man and held him close.

“You get used to it after a while,” Kim said. Her nose wrinkled with her smile. “Sort of.”

Liam and Ronan broke apart. Liam reached for his wife—no, his
mate
. Elizabeth was never going to get used to these terms. Liam hugged Kim and kissed her firmly on the mouth, and then he turned to Elizabeth and Ronan, one arm securely around Kim.

“Take her home, Ronan.”

Elizabeth blinked. “What? He can’t. He was put under house arrest ten minutes ago. That doesn’t include driving across town to my house.”

Ronan stood very close to Elizabeth. She could feel the heat from his body, remembered the feel of the powerful bear rushing past her in his intense and deadly charge. Ronan had saved her life, tonight. His Collar might not have gone off, but no matter what Elizabeth had told the judge, the bear in him had been ready to kill. Elizabeth had seen the need for murder in men’s eyes before, and Ronan had definitely had it.

“No room for me on Liam’s Harley,” Ronan said. “I’ll have to go with you.”

Liam and Kim had already mounted the motorcycle, Liam leaving the rest of the arrangements up to Ronan and Elizabeth.

“All right, you have a point,” Elizabeth said. “But I’ll take
you
back to Shiftertown and then drive myself home.”

“Whatever.” Ronan held out his hand. “Keys.”

“What? No. It’s not like I’m drunk.”
Yet
.

“After the night you’ve had? Nope. I’m driving you. “

Elizabeth felt sick and stretched, her head ached, and her eyes felt hollow. She needed about a gallon of water and then one of coffee, a long bath, a hot toddy, and a really good night’s sleep.
After
she made sure Mabel was safe.

“Fine.” She dropped the keys into Ronan’s hand.

“Cool.” He snapped his fingers around them. “I’ve always wanted to drive one of these little pickups. Don’t tell anyone.”

The Harley roared to life. Liam lifted his hand and so did Kim, then Liam pulled out into the night. Kim, helmeted, leaned into Liam’s back, as though she loved him body and soul. A human and a Shifter. What a crazy night.

Ronan opened the passenger door and got Elizabeth inside. “I’m supposed to like muscle cars. Strongman, macho cars.” He shut her door and went around to the driver’s side. He barely fit behind the wheel and had to slide the seat all the way back. “Monster trucks. Bad-ass motorcycles. Anything big and chunky that makes a lot of noise. Nothing cute and girlie. So keep this quiet. Deal?”

Now he was making her laugh. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Not that Ronan could ever be mistaken for cute and girlie. He was huge but solid, like a pro wrestler, tall but perfectly proportional. His face wasn’t exactly handsome—too hard for that, and he’d had his nose and right cheekbone broken at some time in his past. But his face was striking. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, but not cold. They were warm, very warm.

Ronan started up the truck and peeled out of the parking lot. Elizabeth held on as he raced around a corner and pulled onto Seventh heading due east.

Elizabeth wanted to talk to Mabel, to reassure her sister that she was on her way home. She reached for her phone and found an empty place on her belt. “Oh, crap. Liam still has my cell phone.”

“Not surprised. Liam likes gadgets. He’ll give it back to you when he’s done with it.”

“Doesn’t he have his own?”

“Sure, but Shifters don’t get to have fancy smart phones. Our phones call and hang up, that’s it. I bet he’s texting every human he knows, or playing games, or taking pictures. He’s like a cub when he gets a new gadget in his hand. But I’ll make him give it back.”

Ronan drove through the sparse traffic as he spoke, flashed under the I-35, and sped on in entirely the opposite direction from Elizabeth’s house.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “I live northwest of downtown.”

“You’re not going home,” Ronan said, gripping the wheel as he spun the truck around another corner.

“I’m not?” Her trepidation returned. “Why not?”

Ronan looked over at her and grinned. It was a warm grin, making his eyes twinkle. “Because I’m taking you to my home, Elizabeth Chapman.
Shiftertown
.”

Ronan felt Elizabeth’s fear pouring off her as they neared the streets of Shiftertown. But there was nothing frightening about Shiftertown—at least, not these days.

When Ronan had first arrived from Alaska, though, he’d been scared as hell. Bears liked solitude, and Ronan had never lived near more than one or two people at a time in his life. In Shiftertown, scores of Shifters surrounded him, always. And then the human government had told him he had to let other bears live in the same
house
with him.

Ronan’s shyness had nearly killed him. Learning to survive the discomfort of being in a crowd, training himself to not react—either by running away or driving the others off—had been the hardest thing Ronan had done. People who derided shyness, or called it self-centeredness, didn’t understand it. Shyness was instinct. In the wild, the need for personal space—a lot of personal space—could spell the difference between survival and death.