Midnight Reign (11 page)

“Why is it always me?” she asked. “Why not Breisi? Or—”

“I need you more than anything.”

His admission made her heart clench just as ferociously as the rest of her body. She didn’t like how that made her feel: vulnerable, open to attack.

“Why?” she asked, being difficult, defensive.

His essence stroked and memorized her face, making her feel beautiful. She closed her eyes, taking it in, holding on to it before she had to get back to reality.

“When I’m in you, I’m fortified,” he said. “You surround me in comfort and strength.” He brushed down her body then back up in one, long, endlessly lulling drag. It was almost as if there was something else going on with him though—something so uncharacteristically emotional she couldn’t possibly get a bead on it. “You are the only true safety I’ve known in…years.”

An anchor, she thought. Just like Breisi and Frank.

“In other words,” she said, unwilling to roam into this new territory without at least some armor, “you’re using me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I use you, too.”

It was true, she realized. She’d gone from one-night stands to an even more dangerous form of supposed intimacy with The Voice, an entity she couldn’t even see. But maybe that’s how she wanted the bedroom lies to go: invisible, easy, and addictive. He was so intoxicating because he always made her believe she was one of a kind, more spellbinding than Eva. The fact that he had to ask permission to enter gave her a power unlike any other. She controlled her intake.

He was combing over her wig now, pace melancholy. “This gives you the appearance of a Russian Cold War spy. And these clothes…” He tugged at the long white blouse and Gypsy skirt. “A brilliant disguise.”

“Not as brilliant as yours.”

“Yes.” He seemed to sigh. “You’re right.”

She’d slid farther down to the ground, unbuttoning her blouse, bending and parting her legs and allowing her skirt to rustle down to her hips. He skimmed her inner thighs and she reached down to touch herself, to assuage the buzz of his presence.

“Why don’t you come on and make yourself feel better,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today, but—”

“There it is again. The ‘using’ reference.”

What was he talking about? Ever since they’d found out that she could block him out of her mind, he hadn’t attempted to read her again, so that left their relationship purely physical. As much as it could be anyway. Why did it sound like that wasn’t enough for him? What was going on?

He paused, then laughed a little, a huff of air blowing back the strands of her wig. “I don’t bring flowers, but I hope I offer something…more.”

She flushed with twisted contentment. “You talking about Matt Lonigan again? Why, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t be flippant. Breisi and Kiko are uneasy about him, you realize.”

“And you?”

Instead of answering, he bathed her with swirls of movement, light yet insistent, urging her to stroke herself harder. She bucked, getting wet, slick with vibrating excitement.

Okay…ignoring the whole Matt thing.

Not to be trumped, Dawn reached up with her other hand to part her blouse, showing her undershirt and bra. The last was a pretty standard satin creation, but it didn’t matter. With The Voice’s attentions, she was the hottest lingerie angel on earth.

While still working her, he stretched upward, over her belly, which jumped with his pressure. Fingertip-light sensations traced over her ribs.

Her skin prickled as his touch seemed to go below the skin, saturating it with gnawing heat, flowing to the core of her.

It turned Dawn on so much that she lifted a leg, hooking it under the arm of the chair next to her for balance. Slowly, she opened her legs farther for him, swollen, stiff, aching. Ready. So damned ready.

“How much experience in this”—she blew out a breath—“have you…had?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Why not?” It’d keep her sane, pinned to her old habit of keeping this interaction casual and simple enough to leave behind after she’d gotten what she wanted out of it. “You’ve been in my head. You know I’ve banged a lot of guys.”

“Never say it that way.” His essence went cold. “That’s not what you are to me.”

Power overcame her, building up until it pushed against her skin. It felt good, and bad, to upset him. He’d used her for bait and she could bait him just the same.

“I’ll bet,” she said, shifting her hips and reminding him that she was the one who would or wouldn’t be letting him in, “you’ve had quite a few partners yourself. Your technique tells me you aren’t exactly a virgin.”

Something like a hand came to clasp itself around her throat, harshly, delicately. Body swamped with adrenaline, Dawn swallowed but didn’t back down.

“Many women,” he said, his tone so low it seemed to scratch the surface of hell. “I have had
many
women. Is that what you’d like to hear?”

He squeezed slightly, and she arched her hips against his invisible form, taking in the escalated danger, the chance of losing everything with her need to push him.

And to push herself.

“Yes, I like to hear that,
Jonah
.” His name was a reminder of everything he refused to tell her, and she reveled in using it against him. “I’m not surprised you’ve had many women. You seem to like them.”

She was talking about all his female portraits. A collection.

He squeezed again, and she gasped. Immediately, he released her, as if horrified by what she’d brought out in him.

Fascinated, she pushed it even further. “Who’s Kalin, the Friend you talked to when I came in the room?”

“Stop—”

“Do all the other women in your portraits have names, too? Who are they? Why—”

The air rumbled, whipping up a combination of lust and fear around her—
in
her. Did he compel her so much because she didn’t trust him? Was that another part of his appeal?

She was drawn to his danger, needed it inside of her because that’s what had kept her going for most of her life: fury, confusion, and now terror.

“Come in,” she whispered urgently, fully opening herself to his destruction, his intangible power.

He obeyed, crashing into her with such searing rage that she cried out, devastated and completed.

As if reflecting his fury, the lights blinked out, plunging the room into pitch black. He hammered into every cell of her body, stretching them to the point of explosion. He shredded her membranes, pieced them back together, then ripped them apart again. She allowed him the fevered pleasure, her emotions so scrambled she didn’t know what to cling to or who she was anymore.

As she came, shuddering while she strained against the pressure of him, she reached out and grabbed the leg of the chair, holding on, afraid to let go. When she cried out, she yanked at it, toppling it over, the wood crashing to the ground. Brought down. Beaten.

Panting, she opened her eyes, still electrified, even though something inside of her was dying back to its original form. Inner sparks buzzed on, then off, jittering to the occasional flash of something lost as she lay in the dark.

She felt The Voice hovering above her, his essence clenched in what she thought might still be anger.

“Why can’t it be any other way with you?” he said, his tone edged with devastation.

She couldn’t answer, because she really didn’t know herself.

P
OSTORGASM
, Dawn left the office, then methodically shed the wig, cleaned up, and got dressed into regular garb: comfortable jeans, another of Frank’s T-shirts, and her worked-in motorcycle boots.

Of course, while slipping out of the guest room she’d been using as a changing area, she came face-to-face with another portrait. There was no way to avoid them.

This one featured a woman with Chinese features, her head bowed, her body barely covered in a blue silk robe. She looked like she’d just done some questionable canoodling, too.

Who were these ghosts? And how had they gotten into the paintings? More important, why did they stay if they had the freedom to move in and out of them?

Dawn waited a second, just in case anyone—including a freakin’ portrait person—wanted to answer. But there was nothing. Only the sounds of an old house settling into a night of creaks and moans.

“So much for female bonding,” she muttered, leaving the picture to itself.

It was time to get back to work. Sure, The Voice had let her punch out a little steam, probably knowing full well that the interaction made her more limber in both body and mind. And she did feel exercised plus…well, kind of exorcised, too. Even if today’s session had been a little weirder—but hardly more mentally exhausting—than usual.

Beating back all the lingering questions from her time with the boss, she went into the computer room, a bland space lined with dark wood and a stand of work stations. No portraits in here. No distractions while she checked some items off her mental to-do list and forgot about everything else.

Even though she knew she should remember.

Flipping her shower-wet ponytail over her shoulder, Dawn sat and turned on a machine. As it warmed up, she took out her cell phone and accessed the number for Kiko’s therapist.

Before she’d left Jonah, she’d done one of those awkward by-the-way asides that hadn’t erased any of the tension between them. Avoiding any more mention of their sex, she’d told him about her worries regarding Kiko’s pills, but the boss had already been aware of all that. In fact, he’d already called Kiko’s doctor with his concerns, and he agreed that having Dawn get in touch with the therapist, too, could only help.

Then he’d disappeared into the TV, the walls, or whatever. She’d shut the door behind her, moving into the lighted hall, relieved and miffed at the same time.

The call to Kiko’s therapist didn’t rock the earth: Dawn let the woman know about how his medication was affecting his mind and, after asking general questions about his behavior, the other woman promised to conference with Kik’s doctor and look further into it. Afterward, hardly comforted, Dawn clicked onto the Internet, promising herself she’d follow up.

Knowing that’s all she could do for now, she got down to other business, doing a search on Lee Tomlinson, concentrating on the lover angle.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything available that the team hadn’t uncovered before. Premurder, Lee’s PR exposure was low. The highest profile he’d enjoyed was on MySpace.com, where he’d trumpeted his one big commercial. Dawn would bet his legal team—or maybe those Underground connections—had tampered with anything and everything that was currently in the public eye.

Frustrated, she navigated away from all the murder-related hits his name brought up, typing in the name of Lee’s brother, Lane, just to see what that would conjure.

Links were just flashing on the screen when Breisi stuck her head in the room.

“Busy?” she asked.

“Spinning in circles with Lee Tomlinson and…”

A memory of The Voice skimming over her, through her, shot a tingle under her skin.

Yeah,
not
going there with Breisi.

Dawn veered around in her chair to face her coworker. “Can I ask you something?”

Breisi stepped inside, having dressed back into street clothes, too: a black Buzz Lightyear shirt and cargo pants. Her expression remained neutral, telling Dawn that she could ask, but she shouldn’t expect any answers. Huge shock there.

She went for it anyway. “It’s about the Friends.”

“Yes?”

Argh, the calm acceptance of this woman. “Who’s Kalin?”

At the name, Breisi straightened her spine. “Where did you hear that?”

Ah-ha-ha. She was
on
to something. Breisi wouldn’t be quietly having a cow if the name didn’t matter. “I heard The Voice say it. I thought he was addressing one of the Friends, and I just wondered if you knew who she was.”

“I don’t know any of the spirits personally.”

She looked stunned that Dawn had even heard the name, as if the rest of the team were adults who took great pains to spell out things like “h-e-l-l” and “i-c-e c-r-e-a-m” in front of a two-year-old who would end up decoding their efforts anyway.

Was saying the name of a spirit bad? But then why had The Voice done it in front of Dawn?

Breisi looked like she was turning something over in her mind. “Truthfully, I don’t know much about the Friends, only that they protect us.”

You should’ve told that to Kalin when the ghosty messed with me earlier,
Dawn thought.

“I saw one coming back into her frame today,” she said, referring to the Friend in the hall, “like she was being colored onto the canvas.”

“That’s when they return home. You didn’t think they just floated around after chasing down lawyers or monitoring Lee in his cell, did you? They need rest, too.”

Good time for another question. “And how’s
that
going? Lee, I mean.”

“He’s keeping to himself in jail-land. That means no word about any of his vamp connections. He and his lawyers don’t even talk about anything to do with an Underground.”

Not the best of news, but…yee-haw, Dawn could be on her way to an answer about this Kalin. She got even braver.

“There was someone in that fire field picture that’s usually empty, you know the one in The Voice’s office? Has that Friend been away for a while?”

Breisi’s throat worked around a swallow as she merely stared at Dawn.

“Is the subject in that picture Kalin?” Dawn added.

“I can’t answer anything else.”

“Why?”

“Because they help us, and that’s not for us to question. Remember how they defended us at Robby’s house?”

Dawn nodded, then spoke up just in case the Friends were listening in. “And I’m totally thankful, too.”

“Then no more foolishness. We have a lot of other matters to focus on.”

“I can’t even wonder why the spirits don’t know who this murderer is? Don’t they have, like, their own contacts in the ghost world?”

Breisi started looking exasperated. “Many spirits travel in their own realms. It’s not as if they have networking parties.”

“I’m just saying. It’d be useful.”

Under her breath, Breisi muttered something that Dawn suspected was the Spanish equivalent of “bleeping idiot.” “I didn’t come here to have the great debate with you.”

Still, Dawn had to admit she’d gotten a couple of tidbits out of the stone maiden. “What’s up then?”

Breisi narrowed her eyes. “I’m free now to give you the rundown on the case?”

Knowing she wouldn’t get anywhere else for the time being, Dawn nodded.

Her coworker’s eyes gleamed because she loved this part. She was like a spelling bee champion who got to stand up during a dinner with drunk adult relatives and show off the lists of words she’d learned that day at school. “First, I tracked down one or two of Lee’s old roomies.”

“How did you manage that when the Tomlinson family wouldn’t give us names?”

She shrugged modestly. “I did the usual. A buddy with DMV connections got Lee’s old address for me. I used that to find his roomies’ names and current whereabouts.”

Man, Breisi was link central. “Nice.”

“Well, I didn’t find enough to fill a jelly jar. And I haven’t discovered anything that links Jessica Reese to Lee. But then I talked to the roomie Mrs. Tomlinson mentioned, the one who told her about ‘the lov-ah.’” Breisi waved her hand while saying the affected word, just as Coral Tomlinson had done. “Her name is Torrey Sajen-Morgan, a mouthful, and she had kept in contact with Lee until about a month ago, just before he committed the murder and took off. I told her I was a friend of Lee’s and I was planning to stage a rally to support his innocence.”

“And she was all for that.”

“You bet. She gave me names of people here in L.A. who would attend.”

Dawn stood, suspecting what Breisi had found. “Including the name of Lov-ah?” In her excitement she ignored the links her Internet search had brought up for Lane Tomlinson. She’d get to them later.

Breisi made a subtle tah-dah motion. “Sasha Slutskaya. What a name, huh? I’ve got a work address.”

“Damn, you’re good.”

“I try.”

As Dawn made for the door and passed Breisi in her haste to get on with this, the other woman held up a fist.

Oh, Dawn thought. Another bump. Right. Okay.

They lightly smacked knuckles, both of them holding back sort-of smiles as they exited. After weaponing and garlicking up, they jogged down the stairs, just reaching the door when Kiko came up behind them.

“Wait!” He was tugging on his light jacket over a dark top. “Boss said I should go.”

“But the sun’s setting,” Dawn said while scanning him. He seemed lucid enough and even kind of perky. Good signs, but she didn’t trust her prognosis, seeing as she wasn’t a professional.

Kiko shrugged off her amateur opinion. “I’m going straight into Sasha’s place with you two, and I promised I wouldn’t pull anything heroic. Besides, I’ll have the usual cover.”

Friends, Dawn thought. Which ones would be with them, hanging back, watching, waiting, just in case?

Then he turned to Breisi, who didn’t look any more convinced than Dawn was.

“Get off it, Breez. The boss just took some convincing is all. He knows I can handle myself. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

Proving it, he kicked out with a tiny leg. The only sign of back agitation was his tight, smug smile.

“You slept off the last pill?” Breisi asked.

“Of course.” Kiko widened his eyes so his coworkers could peer into them. “See?”

Breisi looked into his gaze, and when Dawn had her turn, she supposed he was focusing well enough.

“We don’t want you to be in any discomfort, Kik,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

At his casualness, Breisi gave him one last, long glance, then powered out the door. The outside UV lights blared on, swallowing her up.

Dawn started to follow, but Kiko grabbed her jacket, stopping her.

“About earlier,” he said, sheepish.

Her mind rewound.
Blur-de-blur-de-whir
. Past what she’d done with The Voice, past Kiko telling her off on the way home, past their meeting with the Tomlinsons. Then she fast-forwarded a bit, landing on Kiko saying,
“I guess my painkillers are safer than yours any day. So back off, okay?”

“What about it?” she asked, not wanting to go there with him, either.

“I…I wasn’t in the best of moods. Sorry about getting on your case.”

“We just…” She cleared her throat. “I guess we just worry about each other. That’s all. Now let’s—”

“Because you’ve gotten a lot better about sleeping around lately.” Kiko had clearly been rehearsing this speech and he was hell-bent on delivering it. “When I first met you, I couldn’t help reading you because you were putting off such strong, needy vibes.”

Awk. Ward. “But you stopped reading me after that because I’m not the massive ho you fear anymore, so no worries. ’Kay?” Rolling her eyes, she started toward the door.

“No, wait. You’re right.” He got red in the face. “I can tell that you’re doing real good…. I mean, you’re trying real hard to…”

A flash of The Voice inside of her, filling her, made Dawn flush with guilt.

Kiko sighed. “What I’m saying is that I admire how you’ve controlled yourself. And I can do the exact same thing.” He gave her an admiring glance, then looked down as he shuffled his oversized shoes.

Oh. But, ah, hell, she could’ve told him that the only reason she wasn’t going around slammin’ half the town was because she was limited on time. A lot had changed about her, but she doubted she’d ever be able to give up sex. She’d just changed her own prescriptions, that’s all.

Wanting this conversation to be over, she fidgeted. “Thanks” was all she could say without incriminating herself.

“So we’re cool?” he asked.

“We’re cool.”

She offered him a white-flag grin, and he broke into a full-fledged smile, clearly Happy Kiko resurrected.

He headed out the door, leaving a blare of UV lighting in his wake. The chill of it swept into the foyer, bathing the portrait of Fire Woman over the mantel.

She peered straight through Dawn, as if to say, “If only he knew the truth, because
I
do.”

Impulsively, Dawn flew the bird at her, then left the house, protected by the lights until she reached the SUV.

As they drove into the twilight, Dawn kicked it in the backseat. A shade-wearing Kiko had grabbed the front, which meant he was back to normal. Thank God.

While driving, Breisi said they were heading toward Santa Monica Boulevard, like yesterday, but tonight they’d be stopping in West Hollywood to intercept Sasha Slutskaya at work.

“Did you say we’re going to the eight-thousand block of the boulevard?” Dawn asked.

“Yes.”

Kiko glanced at Dawn in the backseat, and both of them seemed to come to an understanding at the same time.

“Boystown,” they both said.

“Hot dog,” Kiko added. “
Mr
. Sasha?”

When they finally reached the address, their suspicions were confirmed.

After parking in the street, which wasn’t too challenging during an early weeknight, they stood in front of a bar called Red Five. It was innocent enough on the outside, wedged between a sampling of other gay Boystown bars, but on the inside…

Na-ht
so innocent.

Dawn had never seen Kiko shut up so completely as he did when they strolled into the blue-lit building. Happy Hour was advertised on every neon-markered black sign, which explained the unexpected crowd. Oversized golden cages held boy babes in go-go gear. Gargantuan screens played scenes from a cool-attitude movie; Dawn thought it might be
The Usual Suspects
. Large metal buckets attached to the ceiling near the walls sluiced water over cavorting patrons every few minutes, much to their yelps of delight. It seemed like every man was holding a martini, creating a rainbow of alcohol-drenched streamers. Tight shirts, no shirts—it didn’t matter as they all danced with their arms around each other.