Temptress (8 page)

“You ready?” Jenny grabbed the cherry-red stilettos she’d left on the balcony and took her time buckling the straps.

“Let’s go.” I tore my gaze from her legs and held the door open. She swept past, smelling like passion fruit shampoo and seven kinds of sin. The girl was driving me crazy.

I glimpsed Seth at the gaming tables as we crossed the lobby, but Jenny didn’t notice him. His eyes hardened. I smiled before I caught myself. We weren’t competing and Jenny wasn’t my girl, whatever it looked like from the outside.

But damn, I couldn’t help messing with him. Did he really think he could handle her?

Jenny strode for the exit, producing a pair of huge red movie-star sunglasses as we stepped into the heat. “Want to walk?”

“You sure?” Even if no one recognized her as Temptress, she looked like someone famous. And I was famous. We’d be spotted before we crossed the street.

“I don’t trust you in a limo.” She smirked.

“You don’t trust me?” I said it with a half laugh.

“Or myself. Shall we?” She strode ahead, leaving me to catch up. I did a lot of that with her.

The afternoon was fading and couples packed the street. It was older Vegas—off the strip—but plenty of people were out. A guy jostled Jenny, bumping her shoulder, and she hissed with pain. I thought about clocking him, but he was already gone. Instead I pulled Jenny close, gently wrapping her fingers around my arm. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Tension pressed through her fingertips, but she let me guide her. We made our way past the lines of guys cracking their strip club cards, but despite Jenny on my arm, they wouldn’t let us go. When one of them elbowed her, Jenny finally lost it. She dragged me down an alleyway, using enough muscle that she had to be channeling Steel. At least she hadn’t blasted the poor bastard.

“Screw this. We’re flying.”

There was no way she could handle that. Not for her, let alone both of us. “You can’t be—”

“Tank? I’ve got it. The flying doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay.” I filed that away for later. “What about the invisibility?”

Jenny shrugged. “What’s another headache?”

“And the super-strength?”

“I won’t use any.” She lowered herself so I could jump on her back. “I’ll piggyback you.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. I’m a girl, you’re a superhero, blah blah blah. Bottom line, these shoes are killing me, and I’m not walking another step. Get on my frickin’ back.”

I’d rather carry her, but she’d have a tooth pulled before she agreed to that. “Can’t we hail a cab?”

“Oh.” Jenny straightened from her crouch. “Right.” She looked like she’d swallowed an ice cube, and I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing.

“Glad you’re having fun,” she said.

“I am.” Against my judgment, but what the hell? Might as well enjoy myself under the circumstances. I waved down a cab, and we passed the ride in surprisingly companionable silence.

Jenny entered the station the same way she entered any other room. She didn’t do anything special, but by being there—by being herself—she attracted attention. A group of detectives was on her before she made it to the desk. Every one of them wanted a piece. I started to follow, but a cop slid in front of me. “Thinktank?”

“Yeah. I’m with—” Before I could finish, half a dozen guys surrounded me for handshakes, wanting to trade war stories. I clapped backs and smiled as I peered over their heads. Where’d she disappear?

“Give our hero some space, boys.” A serious guy with some white in his gray hair stepped through the throng. He was solid, commanding, and I recognized his voice.

“Chief Burgess.”

“Where’d she go now?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I’m just following.”

“Aren’t we all?” The chief let loose a long-suffering sigh and led me down a quiet hallway. “Any progress with your powers?”

“We’re working on it.” We were going to end up sleeping together if we didn’t resolve it soon, but I wasn’t mentioning that to the chief. He obviously thought of Jenny as more daughter than freelance cop.

“She’ll set it right,” he said.

“I hope so.”

The chief opened a doorway to the reverse-mirror side of an interrogation room. Jenny sat at a rickety table, sipping coffee from a foam cup. The two suspects sat opposite. The blond guy she’d taken down at the poker tables looked nauseated and, though Chance was out of his cement suit, he was ten seconds from shitting himself.

Jenny just sipped coffee and smiled. It didn’t sit right. They weren’t cuffed—though she could destroy them before they made a move—but she shouldn’t have been alone with two at once. She must’ve charmed some officers to set it up.

“More paperwork,” Chief said, “but she’ll get the job done. Always does.”

“So tell me about Drake,” Jenny said. Both men flinched. She tilted her head to the side with a sweet smile. “Or don’t tell me about Drake and I’ll get Thinktank to interrogate you.”

“That’s…” Chance started and trailed off.

I grinned. She was clever using me as the threat. She was the one they needed to worry about.

“Don’t talk.” The blond elbowed Chance. “Drake will take care of her.”

“Oh?” Jenny leaned forward. “You go by Minder, right? Or do you prefer Chris Watson?” The guy jerked, and Jenny’s smile grew mischievous. “I saw your file. Mostly petty crimes, but you’ll do time if you don’t cooperate. Is it worth losing your powers to protect him?”

The guy’s eyes hardened, and he gripped the table as he stared Jenny down. “You tell me.”

For a moment, Jenny met his stare. Then she gasped and drew back, knocking her coffee to the floor as her eyes glazed. I recognized the look. It was a mind reader’s deep focus, and Jenny was seeing something she didn’t like.

“We need in.” I rattled the connecting door, but it was locked.

The chief looked on in concern, but didn’t move. “She’ll be fine…” As his voice trailed, the temperature dropped. A foggy haze clouded around Jenny as ice shards crept from her hands and feet. Her eyes were pits of blue glass.

Adrenaline spiked. She could take the building down if she lost control of her powers. And she was going to hurt herself. I wouldn’t watch that again.

I kicked in the door.

Chapter Eight

The interrogation had been going gangbusters until I started dabbling with Tank’s powers. I’d sampled Minder’s too, but they were like Matchbox to Tank’s Ferrari. Not even close.

Minder was the problem. “You tell me,” he said, opening his mind.

I slipped deeper into his head, but not his own thoughts. Memories he’d read from someone else.

From Drake.

Drake sprawled on a leather sofa with a bowl of popcorn. He was sculpted and sexy, but something more than the frosted tips irritated me. His attitude. That kind of arrogance looked cheap compared to Tank’s cool confidence. I’d never touch a guy like that.

But then I walked into the memory.

It was Jenny, the college years. A little thinner, a little less worn around the edges, and wearing a lacy red negligee I’d burned ages ago. No man was worth that much itching.

Drake set the popcorn aside and swept me onto his lap. His tongue was halfway down my throat before the vision caught up with the current me.

What the fuck?

I’d never seen Drake before. Never done this. Didn’t even know where it was happening.

But never didn’t mean as much as it used to.

I’d been played. Minder didn’t have the power to fake this shit, and I’d said myself that Drake’s voice sounded familiar.

How?

What was Drake’s power that he could do this? And what else had we done together? The three years between nineteen and twenty-one were starting to seem less like a blur and more like an abyss of secrets and lies.

“Jenny.”

My shoulders shook.

“Jenny!” Tank was an inch from my face, his eyes worried.

I felt cold, spirit and body.

Body?

I looked down. Ice crusted my arms and legs, cementing me to the chair as it spread around my feet. That wasn’t good.

My skin burned where the ice had left me, and I took a deep breath as I tried to reclaim my center. The power pulled back, but my chakras were shot to shit. I’d never spilled like this before. If I didn’t anchor myself to reality, I’d go ballistic and take half the city down with me.

Tank hovered, and I couldn’t help myself. I slipped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his shirt. He smelled like the Polo I used as pillow spray, and his solid reassurance beat back some of the gaping doubt. For now. “Can we get out of here?”

“We better.” Tank shifted his grip and strode over the pulverized door. I bit back a pleased grin. He’d totally done that for me.

“Jenny.” The chief stepped in front of us. “Did you get anything we can use?”

“Drake’s the mastermind. Those two are flunkies.” I’d seen that much. Chance and Minder did the dirty work, but they weren’t in on the grand plan. We needed Drake and Deena. “Call Verity and get a trial set up.”

I tugged Tank’s shirt. He sighed and carried me from the room. Just before we exited the building, he set me on my feet. For once, I wouldn’t have minded if he kept it up. “Thanks. That was….” I shivered.

“What did you see?” Tank asked.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” I still wasn’t sure if I could trust myself.

“Dinner,” Tank said. “Hibachi?”

“Yes.” I liked the way his mind worked. Fried rice would make everything better.

A cab ride and a wink to the host later, we sat at a private griddle-top table at Caesar’s. We ordered sake and split the deluxe surf and turf. I got my seafood, Tank got his filet mignon. It was amazing. The last guy I’d dated couldn’t stand Japanese food.

Wait. Dated?

I almost choked on a scallop. We were
not
dating. Even if we were, it was too smooth. Tank didn’t grill me for information I wouldn’t give him. He didn’t pry. All he did was pass pieces of his steak onto my plate. He ordered dessert, but slid the cake across to me after two bites, insisting I finish the mountain of chocolate and whipped cream.

How could I argue with that?

Tension filled the air on the elevator up to my penthouse, but I wasn’t sure what kind. Tank stood so close I could feel his body heat, but he kept his hands to himself. Was this like a first date? Was I going to have to kiss him at the front door?

Whatever we did, it wouldn’t be without baggage. I still had his powers.

I zapped open the door and Tank tossed his jacket over a chair back.

“Can I borrow your laptop?” he asked. “I want to search for Drake in the federal database.”

The Japanese food roiled, and my mouth felt dry. “Office.” I followed behind. I hadn’t wanted to think about Drake, but the fact that Tank had been worrying meant something. I liked that he was thinking about me. Maybe I liked it too much.

He sank into the chair and keyed his pass code into the database. I peered over his shoulder as he ran a global search on Drake. A few entries popped up. Mandrake. Draken. Some super incidents at the Drake Hotel.

“No last name?” Tank glanced back.

“Never got it if there was one.” Or maybe I had, back in the day. I stretched my mind, but nothing came to me. For now, our past was a one-memory rewind.

My fingers clenched around the chair back. Memory haze was one thing, but could I really have forgotten so much? Drake was a whole person, and one I’d obviously known well. I recognized the New York skyline in the memory, but that was it. Not the building. Definitely not myself.

“Want to talk?” Tank typed without turning from the screen. He wasn’t demanding, just asking.

“Minder showed me something.” Despite our problems, Tank was more in my corner than anyone else. Maybe that was more a comment on my social life than his loyalty, but I needed perspective from someone else. “Drake…and me. In the past. It felt like a real memory. We were together, but I don’t…I don’t remember.”

I could kick Drake’s ass if he appeared in front me, but not even I could find him without a lead. Helplessness was as little fun as I remembered.

Tank sighed. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow. We’ll find him.”

Tension bled from my body. It was nice to have someone on my side.

“Hot tub?” Tank asked.

“You sure you can’t read my mind?” I lifted an eyebrow. He was getting scary good at figuring out what I needed.

Tank smiled.

I snuck off to find a bikini. As I dug through my swimsuit drawer, my stomach fluttered. Did I go sexy? I had a killer black string number, but that might give the wrong impression. I could go the tankini route, but if I was being honest with myself, that wasn’t how I wanted this to play out.

He’d asked for it. String bikini it was. Bandaged arms or not, it was hot.

Tank had beaten me out to the balcony. Ripples rolled over his wide shoulders, and he took a swig from his beer as he gazed over the skyline. A glass of sangria rested on the edge of the tub. Damn, he was good.