Kindred of the Fallen (6 page)

“Forty-two fifty,” the clerk said, bagging her items.

Yanked from her thoughts, she dug in the satchel slung across her body and paid for her supplies. She took the bag and left the store, glancing at her watch. Two-thirty. Evan was probably nose-deep in files on the acquisition in his hotel in London.

The fiery zing she’d felt from Cyrus blurred her clarity about marrying Evan in a haze of heat. The new hunger in her core, the lusty burn between her thighs tortured her. Until the other night, she was convinced either those darn magazine articles in Cosmo were full of horse pucky or she was a freak incapable of feeling genuine desire.

She had tried to talk to Evan and confess her concerns about everything, but he was too wrapped up in the acquisition deal. Every time she looked at the engagement ring the same word repeated in her mind. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

She needed to sketch and paint. Busy hands meant her mind would be preoccupied with something other than Cyrus. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see him again and even if she did, it’d change nothing. Only a calm and cool relationship could be controlled and trusted. By the time Evan returned, everything would be back to normal. She rifled through her bag of art supplies and realized she’d forgotten to buy a packet of charcoal sticks.

With an aggravated shake of the bag, she turned to go back and stand in line for another twenty minutes. At the end of the block, a man closed the door of a shiny black SUV illegally parked in a bus zone and walked in her direction. Wiry and ripped, the tall guy had a thick mustache and dark ball cap. Their eyes met and he looked away, slowing in front of a window display of a store.

Icicles prickled her spine and she froze. She would’ve dismissed him, no cause for concern, if she hadn’t seen the same man on her morning jog through Central Park, and again on her way to the art store. It was probably nothing more than coincidence, but every sixth sense instinct she had screamed:
run
.

The man pressed on his ear, drawing her eyes to a wire that ran down his neck and into his shirt. She wheeled around in a one-eighty and walked away, trying to shake the eerie feeling crawling through her as an overreaction. He couldn’t possibly be following her. Could he?

She glimpsed over her shoulder, and he stared at her.

Her heart skittered as she looked straight ahead. A stinging ripple of energy scraped her core and her stomach ached as if a fist squeezed her intestines. She rushed down the street to the mega department store on the corner. So what if she looked like an idiot and felt like a coward running from the bogeyman. Caution before pride would keep her face off of the side of a milk carton. She yanked open the door to the store, glancing back.

The man moved with a sense of purpose toward her. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, and two doors of the SUV creeping down the block opened. But she wasn’t sticking around to see who got out.

Racing by a cosmetics counter, she darted into an accessories department and ducked behind a jewelry display. What was she doing, other than completely losing her slippery grip on reality? First her father materialized on a train, and now this. A stalker was the cherry on top of a nut sundae she didn’t need. And what was with the earpiece? Seeing that guy three times in one day was probably a fluke, but with her luck, the odds were against it.

Secret agent man marched by, scanning the area. Her pulse spiked as she groped her satchel, checking for the bulge of her pepper spray. Staying crouched low, she scurried to the men’s department, winding through racks of slacks and displays of jeans. She bolted for a door letting her exit on a different block. With a small break in traffic, she dashed across the street.

Tires screeched. A taxi slammed on the brakes less than a foot from hitting her, horn blaring. Sucking in a startled breath as she grabbed her chest, she noticed the medallion light at the top of the yellow cab was on.

“Wait! Please!” She hit the hot hood of the car, ran around the side and hopped in.

“You trying to get killed, lady! My insurance is high enough.”

She slid down in the seat, blurted out an apology and rattled off her address.

I’m not crazy. I am NOT crazy.

“I beg to differ,” the cabbie said, scowling at her from the rearview mirror.

Had she said that out loud?

When the taxi pulled in front of her building, she gave him a generous tip, another mortified apology, and hurried up to the condo. Inside, she threw on the deadbolt and the chain. Pressing her back against the door, she caught her breath, letting the chaos in her mind settle.

The doorbell rang and she whirled in fright. Her heart throbbed in her throat. She took a steady breath and looked through the peephole.

A man wearing a jacket and white collared shirt stood on the other side. He pounded on the door. “Ms. Shaw, I need to speak with you about an urgent matter of National Security.”

National Security?
Were government agents following her? Why didn’t they approach her in a rational way, with a smile and a business card? And what did agents want with her?

She slid off the deadbolt, keeping the chain on, and peeked through the crack. Two other men, who had been standing out of view, came into sight.

The three muscular men sporting buzz cuts crowded in her doorway. Small buds connected to wires protruded from their right ears. The one with a gnarled scar running from his cheek to his chin flashed a badge and put it away before she had chance to see it clearly.

“Ms. Shaw, I’m Russ Stone. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Questions about what?” she stammered.

He held up a picture of Cyrus. “Do you know this man?”

She rocked back on her heels. “Cyrus?”

“How do you know him?”

An acrid taste filled her mouth. “What agency are you with?”

“May we come in?” The man busted through the door, popping the chain, nearly knocking her down. He grabbed her elbow and shoved her backward, forcing her feet to move.

“Hey!” She smacked his arm, but he had her locked in a vise grip.

He threw her onto the sofa. The last one entered and slammed the door.

She popped back to her feet. “You’re not cops. Who are you?”

The scariest one with the scar sucked up her personal space as he advanced, glaring down at her. “It would be wise to remain seated so we can be sure you won’t get hostile,” he said in a low voice, opening his blazer to reveal a gun.

The others fanned out in different directions as he fastened a broad hand on her shoulder and pressed down until her butt hit the cushion. He took a seat across from her and rested his palms on his thighs as he spread his legs, dragging his steel-toed boots across the carpet.

Her gaze ricocheted around the room.

One guy wore a leather vest, revealing python arms and a tattoo of an eagle clutching an anchor, pistol and trident on his bulging biceps. He hovered to her left near the balcony door with a cell phone to his ear. “We’re in,” he said to whoever was on the other end as he strummed a black baton strapped to his utility pants.

The third one, clad in all black, disappeared into the bedroom.

“You storm into my apartment with a gun, and you’re concerned about me getting hostile? Who are you?”

“Russ Stone,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“What in the hell do you want?”

He scooted to the edge of the chair. His shins hit the coffee table, the only barrier between them. He held up the picture of Cyrus. “How do you know him?”

Something heavy was knocked to the floor in the bedroom. The sound of drawers opening and closing echoed. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer and her chin trembled.

The man on the phone paced, not taking his eyes from her.

“Ms. Shaw, I don’t like to repeat myself. It’s in your best interest to answer my questions the first time. If I have to ask a third time, pain will follow. Do you understand?”

“My boyfriend works for him. He’s his lawyer.” Her fragile voice wavered.

“How did you meet him?”

She tried to swallow, but her tongue had turned to a clump of sawdust. Cyrus was too perfect. He was probably into dealing drugs or some seedy black market business.

The man snapped his fingers twice. “I’m in short supply of patience.”

“I met him at a party two nights ago.” She curled her arms around her belly, reeled in her wits and regained her bearings. “Who are you? And what do you want from me?”

He slipped the picture into his pocket and formed a steeple with his fingers. “My employer wants to know why he’s interested in you.”

“Your employer? Who do you work for?”

“This will go faster if I’m the only one asking the questions. What is his interest in you?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I guess I’m just a pretty face that caught his eye. He wanted to take me to dinner.” But how did they know he was interested in her?

The one on the phone repeated everything she said.

Stone cracked a predatory smile. “Ms. Shaw, if you’re honest with us, we’ll leave you alone.”

Life with Evan might be dull and empty, but at least she’d be safe and alive. “Why would I lie? I swear, he only asked me out on a date.”

“He comes across pretty faces and cute asses all the time. Although I’ll admit,”—his gaze bounced from her breasts to her legs—“you are exceptional, but he’s never taken an interest in a human woman before.”

What?
“You said human as if…he’s
not
.”

He tilted his head to the side. “You have no idea
what
he is, do you?”

Her fingernails dug into the leather cushions. She felt more normal with Cyrus than anyone else, as though she finally belonged. The sound of his voice and the way he looked at her felt right, his touch felt right, connecting to his flowing current of energy felt completely right.

How could he not be human?

Stone stepped over the table and plunked down beside her. “You like him, don’t you?”

He put his arm across the back of the sofa. She shivered, like glass ready to shatter against the gust of a tempest.

With his index finger, he drew circles on her shoulder, working his way across her chest. She swallowed a lump of ice forming in her throat and turned her head away from him.

“Did you let him touch you?” he whispered in her ear. His finger weaved down across her sternum, inching toward her breasts. “Answer me.”

She jumped to her feet, but he snatched her forearm and forced her back down. Without thinking, she slapped him so hard her hand stung.

He growled and cocked his fist, ready to smash into her face.

“Stone,”—the man holding the phone shook his head—“stay focused.”

Her chest heaved and her stomach did somersaults as she struggled to take deep breaths. “You’re insane.”

“What is his interest in you? This is the last time I’ll ask nicely.”

She slid back into the corner of the sofa. “I told you. He only asked me out to dinner.”

“I don’t think he’s just interested in dinner and a fuck. That red-haired bitch of his started following you long before he sidled up to Evan Wade.”

Her heart contracted. Talus had been following her? Why? And how did he know about her before he met Evan? It didn’t make any sense. “I don’t understand. Why would he have me followed?”

The third one reemerged from the bedroom and wandered into the alcove that served as storage space for her artwork. The top of a sheathed sword extended above his black shirt collar.

Intimate drawings of her dreams crammed the walls. He stood facing an incomplete sketch of a falcon, the left eye the sun and the right a crescent moon.

The burly one on the phone gripped the handle of his baton and faced her. “Ms. Shaw, do you have any birthmarks? Any peculiar blemishes?”

Restraining an impulse to put her hand over the back of her neck, she shook her head, grateful for her long, thick ponytail. “No.”

The beast beside her ran a finger from her knee up to her hip. “Maybe we should strip you and check?”

He licked his lips and she squirmed, forcing her breakfast to stay down.

“Easy, Stone.” The guy closed the phone. “Artemis is going to come back today. We have instructions to take her in,”—he nodded at Serenity—“and determine if she’s friend or foe.”

“Take me in?” She clutched her satchel. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“What if one of
them
shows up?” Stone asked.

“We’re cleared hot to use lethal force.”

Stone gave a sidelong grin. “About time.” He whipped out his gun.

Damn thing was a mini cannon. He turned a dial and lights briefly danced along the side. One square illuminated, then a second, like the gun was powering up.

“Bingo!” called the one from the alcove.

Stone stood and Serenity looked over the back of the sofa.

Holding her drawing of the dark angel, the man approached. “She’s seen one.”

“One what?” she asked. The picture of the sapphire angel was a side profile, his wings hung low in an unassuming manner, draping his shoulders and back. Her charcoal sketch couldn’t capture the splendor of his skin, midnight blue with the soft iridescence of the ocean in moonlight. But angels didn’t exist, especially blue ones. “I dreamt about him. He’s not real.”