The Yearning (12 page)

“She blamed me. I tried to fight it and stop, but…” She shook her head, unable or unwilling to go on.

Mike inhaled as deeply as he could, forcing himself to remain composed. “Did you take a drug while I slept?”

Her eyes glistened with tears. One slipped down her cheek.

“Jasmine, it’s all right.” He wasn’t worried about the cuff. If he couldn’t convince her to unlock it, there was always his telekinesis, a lousy, fucking gift he’d sworn never to use again, especially to save his sorry ass. Shit. If she saw the cuffs opening on their own, what would she do? Think she’d lost her mind and really freak out? Go totally nuts and hurt herself? As long as she didn’t pull out his gun, he told himself to wait. To talk her down like a normal person would and leave the supernatural stuff buried where it belonged. “Just tell me what you took.” Another tear followed the last, dripping from her chin. He fought the urge to push. “Was it a street drug? Ecstasy? Meth? Coke—”

“No! I didn’t take anything!” She stepped back with her shout.

Behind her, the door to the bath flew open, the knob smacking the wall. A man in his mid-twenties stalked out. His barbed blond hair, bronze tan and toned frame gave him the look of a surfer. His glare and Mike’s Glock in his hand said he wasn’t so laid-back. He meant fucking business.

The pistol changed everything, urging Mike to use his gift. Just as quickly, his mind warned him not to make another wrong move as he’d had with Tommy, which could result in someone else dying this time. If not him, then Jasmine.

She shouted, “Ben, no!”

Footsteps pounded in the hall, heading this way. A young female voice yelled, “Jas! What’s wrong?”

“Stay out there!” she cried.

Another young voice hollered, “No!”

Two women hurried into the room dressed for bed in dark boxer shorts and stretchy pastel camisoles. Their complexions were far too pale for the Keys. The youngest one had shockingly white hair.

Instantly, Mike recognized them as the two from the alley outside the club. He remembered thinking it odd how they’d remained beneath the gas lamp, whispering. Jasmine had talked it away. Just like everything else. His mind ticked off the warning signs he hadn’t heeded, beginning with her questions about his parents and siblings. She’d wanted to know if anyone would miss him when she lured him to this house. Upon their arrival, she insisted he park his bike in the garage. So the neighbors wouldn’t see it? And what about the paintings on the stairway wall not quite matching the spaces where the original photos had hung? Were those pictures of her and the two young women? He would have bet several years of his life on it and more. She’d made certain his gun was always one room away where he wouldn’t be able to get it. Even the CD player had a role in her plan. She’d turned it on so he couldn’t hear the others here. And when he’d sensed someone watching, it had been Mr. Surfer, slinking into the bath from the other room.

“Stop it.” Jasmine’s voice cut off the younger women’s continuing questions about what had happened. She pulled on her silk robe, holding it closed with her fists. “I want you to leave. Now.”

They didn’t budge.

“Please,” she begged. “I don’t want you guys involved.”

In what? Mike wondered. He managed a swallow and a deeper breath as he watched the dynamics between the three. Their devotion went far beyond friendship and living together. Although neither of the women resembled Jasmine, they had to be her cousins or sisters. The wild card was the guy. Ben. He wasn’t the meth-addict boyfriend she’d talked about, if her story was true. He had the look of health about him, provided by a steady diet of carrots and sprouts. He also appeared murderously protective, possibly jealous of another man in her bed. A muscle in his jaw jumped as their eyes met.

He lifted the gun’s barrel. “Cover yourself.”

The girl with the platinum hair looked over. Mike used his free hand to pull the sheet to his hips before his nudity caused Ben to fire a round he’d be afraid to divert. Even if he used his power to push the boy into the wall or wrench the gun from his hand, Ben might still be able to squeeze off a shot with possibly tragic results. Mike warned himself to remain calm and consider his options. To think, not react.

He couldn’t imagine why they were doing this. Desiree, Jasmine had said. The yearning. Ramblings of a druggie? A moment ago, he’d thought so. Not now. She appeared exceptionally lucid. Which left the same questions—what in the hell was going on? Why coax him here and keep him prisoner?

His lousy net worth made him a poor ransom choice. Only his mom would have bothered to bail him out, using the meager insurance she got from his dad. He had no value, unless he counted his time with the service. Maybe they wanted to know the new identity and location of a former witness. Maybe Desiree paid or ordered them to do it, which would have required them to connect him with the individual, then follow and bait him into coming here. An elaborate scheme he knew they didn’t have the chops to pull off. Ben appeared uncertain what to do as Jasmine and the other women argued, with nothing being resolved.

Finally, Mike interrupted. “I hope you’re aware the Blue Bliss has security cameras at all of its entrances and exits, including the alley. Everyone is videotaped going into the building and out.”

Ben’s eyes darted to Jasmine for confirmation. The two younger women turned to the bed, plainly surprised by his comment.

Good. He had their attention. If by some miracle they could keep him here, all the cops needed to do was view those security tapes and, if necessary, play Jasmine’s and his picture on every local TV station. To make certain she and the others understood what would happen, he added, “I’m a regular at the club. If I don’t keep my appointments today, it’s the first place the police will think to check out.”

Jasmine exchanged a look with the other women. She spoke to him. “You said you had errands to run this morning, not appointments.” She stepped closer. “At the club you said you didn’t have anything planned for the next couple of days or nights.”

He didn’t. Not that she had to know. His voice cut through the room. “I lied.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re lying now. I can hear it in your voice. I see it on your face.”

His gut twisted. “Jasmine, listen to me.”

The one with the platinum hair looked at her with shock and anger. “You told him your real name?”

Mike’s worry ratcheted up a notch. What would they do if they thought that compromised their plan? He spoke to Jasmine. “You don’t want to go through with whatever you intended. Stop this now and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

“Not a chance,” the one with the platinum hair said.

Jasmine grabbed her arm, trying to turn her around. “Lily, please.”

“No.” She argued, “You can’t let him go now. I won’t let you. Violet and Ben won’t let you.”

Mike raised his voice so they’d hear him above the roaring thunder. “Why not?”

The one with the light brown hair, presumably Violet, cried, “Can’t you see that Jas is dying!”

He stared, not expecting or understanding what she’d said. His head swung to Jasmine, the smudges beneath her eyes. She seemed markedly tired, but dying? How? And why would it have anything to do with him? “From what?”

Ben snapped, “What do you care?”

Ignoring him, Mike spoke to Jasmine. “What’s wrong with you? If you’re ill, why aren’t you in a hospital?”

“She’s not ill, she’s dying.” The icy remark came from Lily. She strode to the bed, close enough for him to see she had light brown or hazel eyes, far enough away to stay out of his reach. “What Desiree did to her can’t be cured by any doctor.”

Again, that name. “Who’s Desiree?” he asked Jasmine.

She wrapped her arms around her middle. It didn’t stop her shiver. “A Wanderer. A witch.”

He could see she believed it. So did the others. Even so, he asked, “You mean in the literal sense?”

Ben made a sound between a derisive laugh and a snort of disgust. “It’s obvious he doesn’t believe you, Jas. Quit wasting your energy trying to explain. You,” he said to Mike, “keep it zipped, got it?”

“Ben, please.” She put out her hand to stop him from saying anything further. “Yes, I mean it in the literal sense.” Her voice shuddered from fatigue or a horror she couldn’t quite explain. “She’s one of the Wanderers.”

Mike shook his head, edginess creeping up his spine. “I don’t understand. Who or what are they?”

Violet mumbled, “You wouldn’t believe it if we told you.”

“He doesn’t have to believe it,” Lily countered. “That’s not why Jas brought him here.”

“So why did you?” he asked Jasmine. “And why choose me instead of one of the other men at the club?”

Shame passed over her face. Her lower lip quivered. “What I told you in the alley at the Blue Bliss was true. I wasn’t lying.”

She expected him to still swallow her story about finding him ultra-attractive and the perfect gentleman? Yeah, right. She’d had to have been lying.

He looked for it in her eyes and saw anguish so deep it startled him.

She pleaded, “Mike, I wasn’t lying then. I swear to you. If you can’t believe anything else, please believe that.”

He didn’t know what to think. Either she had to be the world’s greatest actress or in a shitload of trouble he couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Why am I here?”

Lily snapped, “What difference does it make? She didn’t have a choice.”

“About what?”

“Lil, please,” Jasmine said, her voice barely audible. “He deserves an explanation. He needs to know what this is about.” She looked at Violet. “Please get my notes and the photos.”

The younger woman left the room and bolted down the hall.

Chapter Seven

Jasmine noted how Ben took charge immediately, the young lion trying to oust the virile male who ruled.

“Move your legs to the left,” he ordered Mike, gesturing with the gun as he would with his hand. “Jas needs to sit down.”

“I’m fine.” Jasmine took another halting breath and turned toward Ben so Mike couldn’t hear her. “Give me the gun.”

“I can’t do that.” He held it out of her reach, nearly poking Lily with the barrel. Lightning streaked across the sky, fainter now. Several seconds passed before thunder followed. “You’ll let him go.”

“And you’ll hurt him, me, Lil, or yourself if you keep swinging it. It’s not a toy, Ben. Put it down, away, I don’t care. Just get rid of it.”

“I’ll be careful. Promise.” He touched her cheek. Rain and wind buffeted the roof. “Go on and sit down, please. Help her,” he ordered Lily.

She leveled her gaze on him. “Knock it off, Ben. You’re here to help Jas, not prove how macho you are.”

The corners of his mouth turned down in indignation and embarrassment. “I just thought you should help.”

“I can get there myself,” Jasmine said. Reluctantly, she turned to Mike, expecting to see more fury or disgust. He observed her and Ben with a dispassionate expression. She sensed he was trying to figure out their relationship or his next move. Worried, she sat at the footboard, resting her head on her arm.

He drew his legs up, away.

Heart aching, she pressed her fingers to her forehead, struggling not to cry. As she’d feared, he couldn’t bear to be near her now. Who could blame him?

“Are you feeling ill?” he asked.

Lily answered. “She’s exhausted.”

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” he asked Jasmine.

“She can’t,” Lily insisted.

“Let her answer,” he ordered the girl. “Jasmine, tell me—why can’t you rest?”

The unexpected worry in his voice shamed her further. He should be yelling, calling her a damned liar, threatening to bring the wrath of the federal government down on all of them. It would have been easier for her to accept his rage than his kindness. “It won’t let me.”

“What won’t?”

Lust. It roiled through her blood, insistent and grinding. “The yearning.”

“What’s that?”

Ben’s feet smacked the floor with his quick approach. “Leave her alone.”

Jasmine dropped her hand.

“Fine,” Mike said in an unshaken voice. “You have the Glock. I’ll do exactly what you want.”

“You better or you’ll regret it.”

She straightened and hollered at Ben, “Stop it! Lower the gun and get away from him!”

He didn’t move. “Now!” she warned.

Lily fisted her fingers in Ben’s tee and pulled him toward the bath. “Okay, okay,” he said, shaking her off and pointing the gun’s barrel at Lily’s feet. “I’m not near him, all right? I’ll stay here, but I am not leaving.”

Violet ran into the room, a stack of photos and Jasmine’s laptop in her hands. Her head swiveled from one to the other. She huffed out her words. “What’s wrong now? What happened?”

Lily muttered, “Ben had a testosterone attack.”

“Violet.” Jasmine paused to swallow. She inclined her head toward Mike. “Give him the pictures and bring up what I found on the Wanderers.”

From the corner of his eye, Mike watched Ben lift the pistol’s barrel. The muzzle stayed trained on him as Violet got close enough to drop the pictures near his knee. She opened the laptop, hit numerous keys, and put the computer near his cuffed hand. With the items delivered, she backed away quickly.

“Ben,” Jasmine said.

Like a good boy who didn’t want to piss her off, he lowered the barrel. It pointed at the bed frame. Mike knew if Ben fired now, the round could ricochet and hit him or one of the women.

“Lil, Violet,” Jasmine said next. “I want you to leave.”

They shared a quick look and shook their heads.

Jasmine’s eyes closed. She remained so still, not even seeming to breathe, Mike wasn’t certain if she’d fallen asleep or passed out. He expected her to slump over. She did not. Her lids opened slowly. He stared. In the bleak gray light, he saw desire, hunger, lust flaring in her blue-green eyes.

She whispered to the women. “It’s building again. I don’t want either of you to see.”

“Go on,” Ben said to them in a gentle voice. “I’ll stay and make sure she’s safe.”

“She’s our sister,” Lily countered.

“Then do as I ask,” Jasmine snapped. Thunder rumbled rather than roared, its force subdued by distance. “Ben, lock the door when they leave.”