Fireborn (6 page)

He grunted. “Who was his running companion?”

“Professor Jake Haslett.”

“Would Baltimore have trusted him enough to mention his research?”

“How the fuck would I know? I ran his research life, not his private one.”

He raised an eyebrow, and just for a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of amusement. But it was too quickly lost to the sea of darkness to be really sure. “And you can think of no one else he interacted with on a regular—or even irregular—basis?”

“No.” I paused, then added, probably a little too hopefully, “So, can I go now?”

“Not until Rochelle gets here.”

I poured my tea, then raised the cup and drew in the rich scent in an attempt to cleanse his smell from my lungs. I might as well have tried to sweep a chimney with a feather. “And who is Rochelle?”

“Our compositor.”

That raised my eyebrows. “She's coming here? Why?”

“Because we are a specialist unit working outside regular police boundaries, and we prefer to keep our location secret. It's safer that way.”

Which made me wonder what in the hell his unit was doing—other than tracking down and killing those infested with the red plague, that is.

“Then how do I contact you if I discover there's anything missing from the lab, office, or home?”

“You don't. I'll meet you again tonight.”

“There are such things as phones, you know.” And if he knew where I now lived, he undoubtedly also knew my phone number.

“We avoid using phones unless they are securely scrambled.”

Wow, his employers were going to
serious
lengths to protect themselves. “Meaning I'll have to put up with you leaning on my doorbell again?”

He hesitated. “Unless you wish to arrange a meeting time now, then yes.”

I drank some more tea and wished I knew what the hell was going on behind his closed blue eyes—although what good it would do me, I had no idea. It wasn't like we could undo the past and the things that had been said.

“Given it's going to take me a good part of the day to go through Mark's things, let's meet at the Magenta,” I said. “It's a bar just down the street from Mark's.”

He nodded; then his gaze slid past me and he
rose. The smile that touched his lips was warm and welcoming, and it briefly lifted the shadows in his gaze. It was also the first true indication that the Sam of old wasn't entirely lost.

He was just lost to me.

A tall amazonian brushed past me and greeted Sam with a kiss on the cheek that was just a shade more friendly than necessary. And her fingers lingered on his arm as she said, “This is a bitch of an hour to be up. I hope you've ordered me coffee.”

She was the same height as Sam—six foot—broad shouldered and muscular, without appearing too much like a bodybuilder. She also emanated a high degree of heat, had thick, strawberry-blond hair that tumbled to her shoulders in waves, and wide, leaf-green-colored eyes. Her clothes were designer.

To say I suddenly felt inadequate in my baggy sweats and old leather coat was something of an understatement.

“I haven't yet,” Sam replied. “I wasn't sure how long it would take you to get here, and if there's one thing worse than an early hour, it's cold coffee.” Warmth fizzed between them, and it was decidedly sexual in its nature. Lovers, it suggested, not just work companions and friends.

Sam's gaze came to mine again. “Rochelle Harmony, meet Emberly Pearson.”

“Emberly,” she said, in a voice every bit as cool as Sam's. “A pleasure to meet you.”

I shook her offered hand and noted it was a whole lot warmer than his. She was, I realized
suddenly, another fire Fae. And maybe
she
was the reason her male counterpart was also here—maybe he was simply waiting for
her
to come into her reproductive period. From what I knew about the Fae, it was a somewhat irregular event that happened only every fifty years or so, and was, in part, the reason why there were so few of them.

She placed a tablet computer on the table and then sat down, firing it up as he placed an order with the waitress.

“Now,” she said, unclipping the stylus from the top of the tablet. “Describe him to me.”

I did so. She worked on the image as I spoke, and within a remarkably short amount of time, we had a composite that looked like the guard I'd spoken to last night.

“I'll get this out to all operatives and see if we can find a match in the system.” She finished the last of her coffee, then glanced at Sam again. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “I'll meet you back at headquarters.”

She nodded, gave me another of those cool smiles, then left. Her scent lingered, all warm exotic spices.

I finished the cooled remnants of my tea, then said, “That it?”

“For now. I'll meet you tonight at the bar—six okay?”

“Uh, no. Not if you want this job done properly. Try something closer to ten.”

He nodded, flipped enough cash onto the table
to pay for everything, then rose. “I'll see you tonight.”

He walked away, and suddenly the morning seemed a whole lot brighter—another sad reminder that he wasn't the man I'd known. At least around me, anyway.

A glance at my watch revealed it was almost eight thirty. If I didn't get to work ASAP, I'd be meeting him a whole lot later than ten. He obviously had no idea just how much crap Mark kept.

I sighed and headed home. Rory hadn't returned to bed, but then, I hadn't really expected him to.

“What did he want?” he said, gathering me close.

I relaxed into him, enjoying the comfort and peace of his arms for several minutes before actually answering. “Mark was murdered last night, and I found the body.”

“Fuck,” he said; then, “You okay?”

“I would have been a whole lot better if the case hadn't been handed over to Sam's unit.”

He snorted, the sound rumbling through my body. “I told you—someone upstairs is pissed at us in this lifetime.”

“It certainly seems that way.” I sighed, then added, “I now have to go through everything in Mark's office and apartment to see what's missing.”

“You're probably the only one who'd have any chance of knowing, given you were his all-around go-to person.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my
head. “You'd better leave before my hormones start acting all desperate again.”

I grinned, then rose up on my toes to kiss him properly. “Given our love life has been a little hit and miss of late, why don't you see if Rosie's free after work tonight?”

Rosie was a divorcée who worked in the office at the fire station. She and Rory had been friends with benefits for almost three years now, with neither of them expecting or wanting more. I liked Rosie. She was human, but she was good for him, and she understood his loss. Her husband had been murdered two years before Rory's fiancée had been. We still had no idea
why
Jody had been killed and, apparently, neither did the police. Rory was in semiregular contact with the officer who'd been in charge of the case, but there'd been no fresh leads for some time now.

Even my dreams were mute on the subject—not that they ever made an appearance when I actually wanted or needed them.

“
That
,” he said heavily, “is a damn good idea.”

“Glad I could help.” I dropped a quick kiss on his cheek, then spun and headed for the shower.

•   •   •

The search through Mark's office and lab was as tedious and long as I figured it would be, and just as useless. I couldn't see anything missing, but it was hard to be absolutely certain. I stacked the final pieces of paper onto the last of the checked piles, then swept my gaze around the small room. The books he'd cared so much about now sat
broken in piles. But at least many of them were salvageable, which was more than could be said about his running trophies. What they thought they'd find in those I had no idea. Hell, even his computers . . .

I stopped suddenly.
His laptop
. Sam's people would have checked whether the institute's system had been compromised, but I doubted they'd have known about either the laptop or the cloud storage Mark cross-copied everything to. Hell, as far as I knew, even Lady Harriet wasn't aware he'd been stashing copies of everything, because he accessed it only from his laptop. I'd once asked him why he was being so secretive about it, and he'd mumbled something about having had research stolen in the past and that this was one way to both ensure its safety and to prove he was the originator.

If someone
was
after his work, then that would be the one place they'd get it all. Although if they had accessed it, why did they then wreck his office, lab, and home?

“One problem at a time,” I muttered, then thrust to my feet, grabbed my jacket, and headed back out.

The last rays of the setting sun painted the gathering clouds with streaks of pink and gray. The wind was cool and thick with the promise of rain. I shoved my hands in my pockets and hoped it held off until I made it home tonight—although getting soaked walking home from the train station would certainly cap off a perfectly shitty day.

It didn't take me long to jog to Mark's. I pulled the door open without really looking where I was going and plowed nose-first into a heated chest.

“Ow,” I said, instinctively jumping back and then rubbing my nose. “Sorry, I wasn't watching—”

I stopped, suddenly recognizing the grinning man in front of me. It was the emerald-eyed Fae I'd talked to yesterday.

“Meeting in this doorway seems to be our destiny,” he said, idly rubbing his chest. Though I'd hit him with some force, I doubted I'd actually done any real damage. He was too muscular—too hard-looking—to be injured by a short woman in a hurry. “How's your nose?”

“Sore, but that's what I get for not looking where I was going.” I shrugged, my cheeks heating. Only I very much suspected its cause wasn't embarrassment, but the rather intense way he was watching me. Like I'd suddenly become prey he very much intended to hunt. I might not be an innocent, but—if his expression was anything to go by—he very much intended to explore some of the more sensual pursuits with me.

“Well, I'm afraid it's not entirely your fault.” He raised his left hand, revealing a phone. “I was texting rather than looking.”

He was also blocking my entry into the building and showed little inclination to move.

“Do you live here?” I asked, more to break the silence than any real need to know.

His gaze dropped to my lips as I spoke, and the
waves of heat rolling from him sharpened abruptly. Desire flared deep within me. Heat—any sort of heat—was a siren call we found hard to resist.

“No. But a friend rents an apartment on the second floor.” His gaze scanned me, and it felt like I was standing naked before him. It was a rather pleasant sensation. “You?”

“My boss lives here, but he's a forgetful old sod and I'm always having to retrieve stuff.”

He laughed. It was a rich, strong sound that rumbled across my senses and fueled those inner flames. “I've known a few bosses like that. Sounds like you might need a drink to recover.”

“Possibly,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Depends on who's offering.”

“Ah, of course.” He held out his hand. “Jackson Miller, at your service.”

“Emberly Pearson.”

His big hand enclosed mine, and a tremor ran through me. God, his skin was so deliciously warm it was all I could do not to close my eyes and draw it into me.

“Well, Ms. Pearson, I do think I need to buy you a drink to apologize for my clumsiness.” He drew my hand to his lips and lightly kissed my fingers. It felt like a caress of flame. “What are you doing tonight?”

I couldn't help smiling. He was a fast worker, that was for sure.

“Sadly, I'm working tonight.”

“Well,
technically
, so am I, but I can always find
time for a pretty lady.” He pursed his lips, amusement and desire making his bright eyes glow. “What about breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” I repeated, all sorts of exciting possibilities running through my mind.

“Yeah, breakfast.” He paused, his grin widening. “Nothing else, just breakfast. Fae prefer to savor the chase, so the rest will come with our second date.”

Second date? I didn't know if I'd survive the first one without at least exploring
some
of his unrestrained heat. But I raised my eyebrows and drawled, “And what if the first date bombs?”

“Given what's burning between us, my sweet, I very much suspect the first date will be hot and heavy and that our second date will be
sooner
rather than later.” He took a business card out of his wallet and handed it to me. “Ring me whenever you've finished work, and we'll go from there.”

I accepted the card.
Jackson Miller, Miller Engineering,
it read, with a cell number underneath. I tucked it into the top pocket of my jacket. “It could be very late by the time I've finished tonight.”

He shrugged and finally stepped to one side. “I'll be awake.”

“Then I'll call.” With a smile, I brushed past him and made my way up the stairs. His hungry, heavy gaze followed me until I was out of sight.

Damn, but he was
hot
.

I blew out a somewhat shaky breath and tried to pull the scattered remnants of my thoughts together. Work first, then Sam, then pleasure.

Although once upon a time Sam would have been my pleasure, instead of an unknown but sexy fire Fae.

I shoved the thought back into its box. Sam had moved on to the amazonian, and maybe, just maybe, I'd run nose-first into her male counterpart.

I coded myself into Mark's apartment and then ducked under the police tape and went inside. The mess was much the same, only this time there was fingerprinting dust everywhere. I ignored the empty but bloodied chair and walked over to his desk. After feeling around for a couple of seconds, I found the little latch and pressed it. There was a click; then a drawer popped out from the base of the old table. I grabbed the laptop, plonked it down onto the desk, then hit the on button. After a moment, it fired up.