Enigma (22 page)

She was admitting it. That was a victory.

Her tongue swept over his lips, aggressive and demanding and
Anna
, so he opened up and let her in, teasing her deeper with taunting licks. She followed, slanting her mouth to his.

Too soon, she broke the kiss, but only to sink her teeth into his lower lip. Patrick groaned and lifted her higher, until her legs wrapped around his hips. “Better?”

Instead of answering, she framed his face with her hands and stared down at him. “Be careful in there.”

He smiled. “I know how to walk lightly around wolves.”

She responded with a soft kiss, another, then rested her forehead against his. “Patrick—”

The door beside them scraped open, and a hulking man with shaggy black hair peered out at them. “I heard, but I didn’t believe it.”

Anna laughed, but kept her arms—and legs—locked around Patrick. “Mitch.”

His stern expression broke into a grin. “Get your asses in here.”

During the long, lazy moment it took for Anna to untangle herself and slide to the ground, Patrick weathered Mitch’s assessment with a lack of concern he had to fake—hard. It was one thing to say he knew how to step lightly around wolves. It was another to dance around dangerous wolves who apparently all knew—and loved—Anna.

And he was about to stroll into a biker bar at her side. With a sword strapped to his back.

Mitch led them into a storage room, but no farther. He stopped among the liquor boxes, leaned against a shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lena’s in the kitchen, honey. She’s waiting for you to come say hi.”

Anna squinted at him. “Come on.”

He waved her toward a side door. “Go. I’ll be gentle. Pinky swear.”

There was a trick to holding a shapeshifter’s gaze without turning it into a challenge—easy stance, relaxed limbs and a friendly smile. He used all three on Mitch. “Go on ahead, Anna. He can’t be any scarier than a stressed-out, pregnant Sera.”

“Truer words.” She brushed a kiss to his cheek and paused long enough to poke Mitch in the side. “Be nice.”

“Only way I know how to be.” He kept staring at Patrick as she slipped through the kitchen door.

When they were alone, Patrick tilted his head to the side without breaking eye contact. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“I heard you two were partnered up.” Mitch reached in his vest pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “But Anna doesn’t do partners, so I figured it was something a little more…personal.”

“And?”

“And I’m not gonna bust your balls. Relax.” He struck a battered silver lighter. “I checked you out, and you’re clean. Which is a damn good thing, Conan, ’cause I don’t want to have to kill you.”

A chill swept over Patrick, and it wasn’t funny or amusing anymore. Anyone who could dig deep enough to surface with his real name was a scary motherfucker—especially since Ben had used his psychic gifts to erase as much of their original identities as he could. “You didn’t find that name in a Google search.”

“No, I didn’t.” Mitch lit his cigarette and snapped the lighter shut with a click.

He hadn’t heard the name in years. God, it seemed like decades. He’d been happy to take new names, happy to discard the ones his mother had lovingly bestowed upon them because he’d started to dread introductions.
I’m Conan, this is my brother Doyle.

He always got the same reply, from every goddamn person, issued with a joking smile like they were the cleverest person on the fucking planet.
So where’s Arthur?

Good damn question, and it had stabbed through Patrick’s heart. Every single time.

“Some things are better off dead and buried,” Patrick said, unable to keep the ice out of his voice. “I’d think a retired member of the Conclave hit squad would appreciate that.”

“I do. But I’m retired, not reformed.” He paused. “I like you, though.”

“Yeah? Then you really
are
busted in the head.”

“Never denied it.” His gaze sharpened. “You can get it done. You can take care of her.”

Patrick knew the right answer to that question, whether it was the one Mitch wanted to hear or not. “I’ll always have her back, no matter who’s coming at it. But Anna takes care of herself.”

“She stays alive. It’s not the same thing.”

“Maybe not, but it’s kinda at the top of our list right now. The rest will shake out when the current crisis has been averted.”

“Seems fair.” Mitch stuffed the pack of cigarettes back into his vest pocket. “Anyway, break her heart and I’ll break your arm. Standard shit.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it a dozen times. Maybe a few of you should tell her that, since she seems pretty fucking convinced her friends are going to rip her up for being careless with my delicate heart.”

The wolf snorted. “We get a couple days a month, if we’re lucky. A couple days a year, if we’re not. And Anna—” He sighed. “Sometimes Anna only hears what she expects to hear.”

Nothing Patrick hadn’t already figured out. The trick with Anna would be saying the same damn thing so many times, in so many ways, that it couldn’t help but sink in.

If they could stay alive long enough. “Do you know this spell caster we’re headed out to see?”

“Kooky bastard. A real fucking Mr. Rogers.” Mitch pulled open a different door than the one Anna had walked through. This one led into the bar, and he waved Patrick through it. “Don’t forget he could fuck you up. Looks nice and square, but he’s not.”

“I never forget that.” Patrick shrugged, and the sword shifted. It already felt like it was part of him, so much that he’d tried to climb into Anna’s car in Wyoming with it still strapped to his back. “Since you know so much, have you heard any rumors about what’s going on with the Southwest council? Has Jorge Ochoa announced his son’s death yet?”

Mitch shook his head. “Not a damn thing. Barely any rumors that he’s missing.”

They’d sent Alec the confirmation of Oscar’s death before driving north, but for all Patrick knew, that damn fetish had wiped away any solid proof. The file could be sitting on Alec’s desk, forgotten, or the Ochoas could be covering up the disappearance.

Too many possibilities, though none of them changed the task at hand. “So I guess we go see a man about a ghost.”

“Better you than me.” Mitch dropped to sit at a table in one corner of the dim room and signaled to a waitress by the bar. “Have a drink first?”

It wasn’t like he could go anywhere without Anna, so Patrick swung a chair around and straddled it. “So you’re Conclave trained, and you can find information that doesn’t have a digital trail. But Anna said this is your bar?”

“It is.”

“Odd credentials for a bartender.”

“Depends on the bartender.” Mitch slanted him a knowing gaze. “You looking for something, Prince Charming?”

If Mitch had been able to find Patrick’s former life, maybe he could find the one thing Patrick had never dared to look for. “Not something so much as some
one
.”

“Like your older brother?”

The waitress deposited a welcome beer in front of Patrick, and he drained half of it before pinning Mitch with a look. “That’s damn unsettling, you know.”

He shrugged. “Why do you think I do it? You’re like Anna—if I don’t put you off your guard first thing, we’ll never cut through the bullshit.”

“Fair enough. Yeah.” Patrick blew out another breath, and with it tried to release the guilt the words brought. Looking for Arthur didn’t mean he was trying to replace Ben—nothing and no one ever could—but it wouldn’t suck to have family out there somewhere. Even if it was just one estranged half-brother.

Mitch filled the silence. “I have a couple of leads. Can’t promise anything’ll pan out, but it’s worth a shot.”

“No hurry. Like I said before, staying alive is the big priority now.” The door behind the bar swung open, and Anna walked out. Her gaze tracked over the room for a mere second before fixing on him, and a slow smile lit her face.

His heart skipped a beat. A literal goddamn beat, like she’d stolen his ability to function on a biological level just by existing.

“Drinks on me, Lenoir.” Mitch pushed out a chair with one huge, booted foot and grinned at her. “Don’t worry. I gave your boyfriend here a stern speech, but that’s it.”

“I bet.” Anna sat down and immediately sought Patrick’s hand under the table.

He squeezed her fingers. “I was right. Not half as scary as Sera.”

Mitch clucked his tongue. “It shouldn’t take a crazed ghost to get you out here. Promise it won’t next time, okay? Both of you.”

It felt like more than an invitation to Patrick. It felt like approval, and it felt good. “You bet.”

Chapter Sixteen

William Lewis looked like a retired high school teacher. English literature, maybe, or physics, something stuffy that went well with sweater vests and bow ties.

Anna blinked at him as the clock above the mantel ticked off the sixth straight minute of silence. William had greeted them, studied Patrick with a covetous interest that set Anna’s teeth on edge, and then plopped them all down around his desk so he could stare silently at the box Michelle had sent with them.

He hadn’t even opened it yet.

Patrick shifted position beside her. The sheath across his back bumped his chair, and he frowned and moved again. The sword wasn’t glowing or doing much of anything today, but that hadn’t stopped William Lewis from staring at it too. The man really liked staring.

Talking, not so much. Anna was beginning to wonder if they’d hit ten straight minutes when the man blew out a breath. “Huh.”

“Huh?” she echoed. “What does
huh
mean?”

“It means that this is most unusual, and that I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. That the Seer has a deft and subtle touch that makes me wish she wasn’t married. Also, that you’re very, very screwed if you want me to retrieve this spirit and pull him into the mortal plane. It encompasses a vast and varied world of bewilderment and amazement, which makes it such a versatile expression.” He popped open the box and spilled the crystal it contained onto the scratched wooden surface of his desk. “
Huh
.”

“You mean you can’t get Oscar out of the crystal?”

“What an imprecise question. Can I remove the spirit? Absolutely.” He brushed the edge of the stone. “Can I do so in a way that will allow you to converse with him? No.”

“Well, why not?” Patrick’s voice had taken on an impatient edge. “Since you know the precise answers, how about you skip the part where we grope around for the questions and just tell us what’s going on?”

William pressed his lips together in clear disapproval. “If I simply hand you the answers, you won’t learn anything.”

Anna leaned forward, her own patience thinning. “It’s not an academic exercise, Lewis. Someone murdered this man. We need to find out who and why.”

“Fine, fine.” He rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “To put a fine point upon it, something is tugging at this spell. In fact, if I were required to make an educated guess, I’d say someone was trying to summon the spirit trapped within. Of course, they won’t be able to. The Seer’s magic is quite impenetrable. Nothing is coming out of there unless I break the spell, which I could—she sent me the key. But the trauma of trying to hold the ghost in place while something else is pulling at him would render him incoherent.”

Her mind whirled. “Can we let him go and trace this—this spell back to its source?”

“Possibly. Though if you’re determined to speak with him…”

When he didn’t finish, Patrick leaned forward. “I’m pretty determined.”

William nodded. “Since I have the key, all it would take is a rudimentary trance and a little spiritual guidance for you to slip into the confines of the spell and speak with him, face-to-face. Or ghost-to-ghost, as it were.”

No way. No fucking way. “I’ll do it,” Anna said quickly.

Patrick frowned, an expression that only deepened when William nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, smart. Fewer chances of something going awry, since your friend is well, shall we say tightly wound? Magically speaking.”

She looked at Patrick. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got my back.”

He didn’t like it. She could see it in the tight set of his shoulders and the tension bracketing his eyes. He didn’t like it, and it wasn’t because they were partners. They’d slid past that in Wyoming, past even pretending it was just work or just play.

This was the moment where it would all fall apart. Where his dick and his ego would overwhelm his brain, and he—

“Okay. I’ve got your back.”

Anna heaved a sigh of relief. “Good.” She needed that, now more than ever. More than he knew.

He held her gaze. “We work and then we play, right?”

Once upon a time, the words had sounded like an excuse. Now, they sounded like a promise. “You know it.”

Patrick turned back to the medium. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lewis pulled an iron stand from the corner. The top was just at eye level to where Anna sat and concave, as if it was meant to hold a sphere, but flat enough. The man placed the crystal in the middle of it, and Anna sucked in a breath as it caught the light and flared red for a split second.