Phoenix Broken (12 page)

"She's good," Scott said. "I didn't even realize it was there until I got off the phone with Dustin. I slipped my phone in my jacket pocket and it fell out."

Jules stared up from the paper to Scott. "This is fucking bullshit. They're trying to set you up."

"What?" Miles's voice snapped out of the speaker.

"She put a note in his pocket, saying she wants Scott to meet her at Centaries in a week. Next Tuesday night. Says she has information 'important to Phoenix's future'."

"What?
She made you?
Putain!
" A stream of pissed-off French flowed through the speakers.

"Yeah, well, that's not all of it. Calimente himself 86'd me last night. And I'm pretty sure the bastard meant permanently."

"What?"
Miles was beginning to sound like a frustrated parrot, albeit with a French accent. "This has to do with Desdemona, doesn't it?
Bon dieu!
I told you demons were dangerous. You have no idea of the forces at work here!"

"Yeah," Scott said, his tone bone-dry. "That's what happens when you cut people out of the loop. Maybe someone should start explaining to me what
exactly
is going on, huh? Why is Desdemona's friend so important?"

There was an ominous silence from the speaker phone. Jules sat back down in his desk chair. "Are you going to tell him, Miles, or should I?"

“Since someone has to before our entire operation goes to shit, I will." The icy tone of Miles' voice made Scott glad there was an ocean between them. "Guido Calimente is already high up in the Convenīre. Very high for his age. In demon years, he's a veritable pup, less than a couple hundred years old. He's also a close friend of Desdemona’s…and her father before her.”

“Like you?” Scott bit out, remembering what Des had said that night in Phoenix.

"I was never any friend to Augustine Chaput
.”
The voice coming out of the speakers turned cold enough to burn. Scott barely resisted the sudden urge to shudder.

Obviously, there was history there, but Scott wasn't feeling crazy enough to press the issue. He might be five thousand miles away, but shaking a stick at Miles Rousseau was still one
hell
of a stupid idea.

"Desdemona agreed to…keep tabs on certain aspects of his activities and business. Like the Docie May issue. If the Society is reaching out, Calimente would be the ideal touchpoint. High up enough to get them a meet, but maybe not so high as to turn his nose up at an overture."

“And she was okay with that? Spying on her friend?” Scott frowned. He may've taken an instant dislike to the big demon, but Calimente and Desdemona had seemed close.

There was a slight pause on the line again. “Demons aren’t trustworthy, you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

It left a tight, sick feeling in his stomach, but why should he be so surprised? Like Miles said, she was demon.

"There's a catch though."

"Of course, there is. What?"

"I agreed to offer her protection."

Scott was baffled. "Protection? She can't exactly spy for you if she's got a goddamn bodyguard on her."

"It's not that. She doesn't seem concerned about Calimente finding her out, it's…a demon issue. I told you, she's a half blood. Well, demons don't do half-bloods, Davidson."

"Sure they do. I've met some."

"Not who dared to live in the Saandon, you haven't. Let alone among the Luuisdon families. When Desdemona's father died, she became a target. Those who've wanted to kill her since she was conceived now have free license to do so. You've no idea the scandal her existence caused in their world. They got to her mother last year," Miles cleared his throat, "and that was with Chaput alive. Now that he's dead… Well, frankly, I'm surprised Desdemona made it to Chicago in one piece."

Scott's hands tightened on the arms of the office chair, his nails scraping leather. "Won't Calimente protect her?"

"I believe so, but she refuses to go to him for this. As far as I know, Desdemona hasn't even told the demon the attempts on her life have increased. I believe she's afraid reaching out to Calimente would do him harm; make them question his loyalty perhaps."

"Yet she'd
spy
on the bastard?"

Miles' voice telegraphed a shrug. "Demons, Davidson."

"And what do you mean by
increased?"

"Like I said, they've been trying to kill her since before she was born. When her father was alive they were subtle about it, but now they've no reason to be. They’ll be sending assassins. She says they already have, multiple times. Without protection, Desdemona will be dead within the year."

Scott leaned back in his chair, stunned. Her words last night as they danced came back to him.

I'm just the spawn of a demon who should've known better
. The fatalism in those big grey eyes.

He looked at Jules, who'd been watching silently, his eyes contemplative.

"Miles has a couple vamps on her now," he said, "but he's having a hard time finding daytime coverage. I was thinking we could help with that, I was gonna have Nolan assemble a team. But…I've just had a better idea. One that might kill two birds with one stone." The big man smiled tightly, "I think
you
should become her bodyguard."

"What?"
Miles again.

"It's perfect." Jules said, his eyes on Scott's. "She can get him back into Centaries to meet up with Docie May to find out what this bullshit is about, and he can keep an eye on her
and
the demon in the process."

Miles sounded wary. "How would we sell that?"

"The rumor mill has already started to grind here about the two of them, we'll just add to it." Scott's hand tightened at Jules' matter of fact words. "And Foley can watch the demon when Scott's not with her."

"Mags?" Scott felt blank, unable to wrap his head around this plan. His heart was racing.

"Yeah, apparently she and Desdemona are roommates now. Foley scoped her out for Miles and it turns out they hit it off."

Was everyone off their medication today? "If Des is in danger, that puts Mags smack dab in the line of fire."

"She already is, you know that. Thankfully, Mags' house is wired. Just like yours and mine. That should make your job somewhat easier." That bit of high tech security had been put in place after Fannie's death; since the three of them were deemed Cross's most likely targets.

"You also know Foley can handle herself. Jesus, Scott. You trained her yourself. Which reminds me, you're gonna need to check what skills Desdemona has. If any."

Train Des? Hell,
no.

He shook his head, but Jules wasn't done.

"Mags
invited
the woman to live with her, Scott. I, for one, trust Foley's instincts. If she thinks this chick is clean, she's fucking clean." There was a not so thinly veiled hint there, aimed at either him or Miles.

Or both.

"And I sincerely hope she is right." Scott wondered if Miles knew how ambiguous he sounded, and decided he probably did.
Goddamn enigmatic vamp.

Scott's hands clenched even tighter on the arms of his chair, the wood under the leather groaning in protest. "Think what you're asking here, Jules."

Add to the rumor mill, his ass. He wouldn't pretend to be into Desdemona. Couldn't.

Except he already was, wasn't he?

The big man's voice was quiet. "I am. You want Cross, Scott?"

Gritting his teeth, Scott raised his head, his eyes fierce. "You know the answer to that."

"Then you know your answer to this, don't you?"

He did, even as his head started to pound. “Fine. I'll play real fucking nice with the goddamn demon. But I won't like it. And she better do everything I tell her to, or this shit will end pronto."

Scott put his hands on Jules' desk and shoved to his feet. "We also have to make sure she actually
can
get me back into Centaries. You didn't see the look on Calimente's face when I left. I go back there, he might have me served filleted and broiled as bar food. And get her into the gym tomorrow. I'm gonna have to see what she's made of if you expect me to protect her ass." Without a backwards look, Scott stomped out.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he leaned back against it. Eyes closing, his hands fisting tight.

Visions of Des flashed in his head. Spending more time with her was likely to drive him even farther out of his mind than he already was. Whether it was her powers playing him, or his own stupid body, he had to get back in control. Back to that cold, calculated machine that was allowing him to function, and do his damn job.

He could do that. He had to.

Scott opened his eyes.

To catch Fan's killer, he could do fucking
anything.

Music was blasting down the hall. And there it was.
Finally.
The gym.

Des glared at the wide open door in both relief and exasperation.

Phoenix Incorporated was so damn big, with seemingly a dozen different interconnected buildings, GPS was practically a requirement to get around the place. Even though Des had been here once, it hadn't been at all easy to find again. If it hadn’t been for the music, she'd probably
still
be looking.

Loud, angry music. Avenged Sevenfold or Slipknot; one of those scary bands Guido liked. She rolled her eyes. Her trainer must be a real metal head. Yay. As if she wasn't excited enough about being here. Reporting to have her field skills accessed. What a crock. Miles had also implied she'd get some new orders today. And that she was to follow them—or else.

Well, yes sir, fucking sir
.

She scowled, easing closer to the doorway. Des preferred happy music. Rasta music; the Bob Marley beats of her childhood. Any kind of dancing music, really. Like the swing she'd enjoyed with Scott. Get-your-groove-on stuff. Not this head-banging, let's-bloody-our-knuckles-and-pound-whisky scream fest.

If she was required to do these sessions for any length of time, they'd have a
discussion
about the playlist. Her trainer was likely to be some ex-commando type; covered with tattoos, scraggly hair and sporting three gold teeth. Likely not the kind you could easily reason with. Maybe she should just kick his ass and end this little 'training' farce on day one. Sounded good to her. With a smile, Des stepped into the room.

The smile froze on her face. Her trainer
was unrolling a mat, his back to her.

The short, tousled blonde hair that begged to be touched, that ripped body, one she’d remembered as being incredibly powerful—touching him haunted her dreams, after all—but in light blue sweats cut to the knee and a black tank, her Johnny was bigger in real life than in her memory.

She'd remembered sexy, she'd just forgotten intimidating.

Muscles rippled under golden skin as he worked the mat flat. His biceps flexed and rolled, making her want to run her fingers down them, to feel that power as he moved. His back was a wide flared V that tapered down to a hard waist and one hell of a fine ass. She wondered what it would feel like to have both her hands on that ass. Her nails digging into the hard curves. To be under all that strength.

The focus of every inch of it.

Des swallowed as he bent over, her knees going weak. This was gonna be all kinds of fun.

Not.

“Is this your boss’s idea of a joke?” Des said, moving forward, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach.

Scott straightened, those muscles she'd admired going taut. “If it is, I’m not laughing.”

“Of course not.” She stopped behind him. “Do you ever?”

He twisted around to look at her over one huge shoulder, frowning. “Do I ever
what?”

“Laugh. Smile even.” He had the night they’d danced. But it had all been different then. He hadn’t known what she
was.

His jaw tightened. “I only relax around people I can trust. You're not one of them.”

“Ah, yes. I’m nothing more than demon scum.” She said it lightly, with a bright smile. All while the knot grew tighter in her stomach. Why did her stupid body persist in being attracted to someone who obviously hated the very thought of her?

“If you’re gonna give me crap the entire time we’re here, this is gonna be painful.”

For both of us,
his expression warned as he faced her fully. She wasn't that short and Scott wasn't overly tall, but he seemed to loom over her, blocking out the midday sun coming through the windows.

“I thought that’s what the music was for.” She wrinkled her nose at the speakers blaring in the corner. “Gotta say after seeing you dance, I thought your taste would run a bit more old-fashioned.”

“Different music for different moods.”

“Lovely. So basically, this is your 'kick Desdemona's ass' music?”

His lips twitched, but the smile she was hoping for didn’t break free.

Instead, that sensual mouth firmed. “Yours
is
the only ass in sight.”

“At least you’re checking out my ass,” she said wanly. “It’s a pretty nice one, yeah?” Des tapped her fingers over the generous curve of her backside in the black yoga pants.

His eyes dropped to follow the movement and instantly narrowed, making her shiver. When he raised them back to hers, though, the knot inside her twisted deeper yet. “Trying to tease me is a very bad idea, Des. I’m not falling for that shit again, so you’re only gonna piss me off.”

“And you're in such a good mood already,” she said softly. “My bad.”

"Damn it, just quit. I'm supposed to tell you why you're here." He studied her, an expression on that handsome face that she couldn't read at all.

Unease threaded down her spine. "It's not just to check out my mad fighting skills?"

His lips didn’t even twitch this time. "That's one reason. But there's more. I'm gonna be your new bodyguard…and main squeeze. At least that's what we're gonna pretend."

She took a step back, wobbling as her knees went weak for real. "You're fucking kidding, right?"

He gave her a look that could've flash froze hell. Nope. Definitely not kidding, and definitely not happy about it.

"Main squeeze?"
She raised an eyebrow, trying to process this delightful piece of news. "I thought
paras
were normal humans; you sound like a vamp stuck in the wrong century."

He rolled his eyes, but the mask of anger stayed firmly in place. "What should I've said, Desdemona, we're gonna fake being fuck buddies? That modern enough for you?"

She shrugged. It was more honest, as she dearly wanted to fuck the hell out of this man. Or at least her demon did. Her human brain, though, was screaming at her to run far and fast. But both sides of her were stuck with Johnny for the duration. Something beyond the obvious bugged her about this set up.

"How'd they get you to agree to this?"

"I actually haven't.
Yet.
I need the answer to a question first."

She folded her arms, waiting. He was looking her right in the eye, as if he wanted to be sure and catch every nuance of her expression.

"Tell me, Desdemona," she tried not to shiver at the sound of her full name coming out of his mouth, "if we pretend to be together, can you get me back into Centaries? Despite Calimente saying I'm
persona non grata
and all that
?"

She was puzzled, but the question itself was easy. "Sure."

"He'll do anything you want, won't he?" For some reason he sounded even more irritated.

Despite the feelings churning inside her, Des retorted in kind. "You'll find most males do."

"Not this one." Scott rolled his shoulders, the edge of his tank slipping up, giving her a glimpse of that golden six pack. Her mouth went dry.

Delicious men shouldn't be allowed to be such assholes. There needed to be a law.

His stern voice pulled her eyes back to his face. "We may play at being lovers, but I'm warning you, don't you ever pull your demon crap on me again, Desdemona. Or there'll be consequences. Now—"

"Wait." She held up a hand, not to argue her innocence again, but because his assumption pissed her off. "Who says I'll agree to this insanity?"

"Who says you have a choice?" In one stride he was in her face. Close enough she could feel the heat coming off of him, smell the scent of his skin; pine trees, a hint of male sweat, and something fresh, like sunshine on cut grass. The tension in his muscles hummed like a live wire. If she made contact right now, Des knew she'd get zapped. "From what I understand,
you
don't have much of one. Not if you want to live."

Her face fell. How much did Scott know about her situation? Had Miles told him the truth…or just a portion of it?

It didn't matter. The vampire was right, and so was Scott. She didn't have a choice. Lifting her chin, she said nothing, which only seemed to piss him off further.

“Enough of this bullshit. Do you know anything about hand to hand? Or about self-defense at all?”

“Looks like that's your job to find out, right, Johnny?” She snapped it, suddenly pissed as hell. Her life had always been a kind of jumbled madness, never quite in her control, but this was too goddamn much.

“Fine. You asked for it.” He moved so fast, so fluidly it took her breath away, making her stupid and slow. One big hand reached for her hip as he moved in close, the other seemed to just brush her shoulder. Des felt like she was flying. Then she slammed into the mat. Flat on her back.

Hard.

“Oomph,”
she said, watching the ceiling fan chopping air over her head, everything from her shoulder blades to her ass stinging, reminding her of Guido and those goddamn bees.

“So basically you don’t know shit.” Scott stood over her, a grim look on his face. “That is just gr—“

Looking up at him, her anger resurfaced with a vengeance.

A light handspring brought Des back to her feet. She whirled left before Scott could blink. Snapping her body around, her heel caught his chin hard enough to whip around that thick head of his. He staggered, surprise on his face as he wriggled his jaw.

“You were saying?” Des asked sweetly.

She wasn’t half bad.

Nowhere near his level, of course, but good enough for government work. Someone had trained her. Someone pretty freaking skilled. One guess who
that
would be.

His stomach tightened as he watched her. Even after their little warmup, she looked good.
Too damn good.
Beads of sweat trickled down the hollow above her collarbone as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. She’d contained that heavy fall of honey brown into a thick braid down her back, but bits were coming free, sparkling like spun gold as she panted, her cheeks bright with color.

He continued to push her pretty hard, wanting to see what she was made of. Scott hadn’t intended that to make him respect her a little. And turn him on a lot.

Goddamnit.
Scott brought up a subject bound to keep him firmly pissed off. “Who trained you?”

Des cocked her head, those grey eyes sharp before they darted away. “A friend.”

“Calimente.”

“He’s not my
only
friend, Johnny.”

“I
bet,”
he said, hating himself for the snideness his gut insisted she didn’t deserve, but that he intended to use to keep her at a distance. Des caught her bottom lip in her teeth, then looked him straight in the face.

“I got trained in a lot of things, by a lot of different demons. Not one of them anything like what you'd call a friend." Darkness flitted through her grey eyes and a brief flash of pain tightened her face before it was wiped smooth. "But yeah, the hand to hand was pretty much all Guido. Father was afraid I'd get killed in a convenient
accident
with anyone else.”

Curiosity overrode his irritation. “If they wanted to kill you so bad, how did you go to school, date or have any kind of life at all?"

"You're assuming I did." Her face was calm, utterly smooth. The way he was beginning to realize it looked when she was hiding something that hurt her. This half breed wasn't nearly as detached as she pretended to be. Life had obviously taught her weakness would be punished, but her heart had never caught up to the notion. Yet.

It would though. She'd have to get hard one way or the other, if she were to survive. Of course, if what Miles said was true, she probably wouldn't get a chance to. The thought of someone hurting her, killing her … Something leapt inside Scott's chest. Vicious and dark and ugly at the very thought. He shook it off, listening to her words as they circled each other.

"My father's reputation did force them to be careful. And it wasn't like I ever had much to do with the Saandon anyway. He got tired of me being spit on and worse every time he turned his back, so Father stopped taking me or my mother into the city when I was quite small. I went to a human school on the island until I was older."

"And then?"

She shuddered. "For secondary school, he got a wild hair and decided to try and put me in the Luuisdon school. It's a word for the echelon of demon society," she explained at his puzzled look. "It was his right…well, my right, as his daughter—mixed blood or not. I was legitimate, after all. Had I been a bastard
and
a half-breed…well," she smiled at him serenely. "We wouldn't be having this conversation. They'd have drowned me at birth before letting me live there. Let alone allow me to attend that awful school. As it was, plenty of demons were not happy with father's decision. They made their wishes quite clear to their darling offspring, who took matters into their own hands. I survived two attempted poisonings and a knife attack."