Touch of Darkness (21 page)

“We’d better get moving,” Tom said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

We were out at the curb in nine minutes, what clothes and toiletries we had on hand stuffed into plastic grocery sacks. A cab was on its way. Bryan had slept through the disaster, but not the ensuing commotion. He’d slipped me enough money to cover our needs for a few days and made me promise to call him when I knew where we’d be staying. It was the best he could do. Everybody was walking on pins and needles, trying not to make the wolf pacing upstairs any more unhappy than she already was. Dusty was in tears and kept saying over and over that it was her fault, and how sorry she was. Tom and I both told her not to worry. “Just take care of the baby. We’ll get this all sorted out eventually.”

Of course, eventually seemed a hell of a long ways away as we stood in the cold waiting for a cab without any clue where we’d be spending the night.

“Would you like to explain just exactly what did happen back there?” Tom’s voice was colder than the wind blowing back my tangled hair. He was pissed. He’d stood by me in front of everybody else, but now that we were alone he felt free to have an argument. It might not have made sense to anybody else, but I understood and appreciated it. The two of us are a team. We stand united against all comers with no visible cracks in the armor. Once we’re by ourselves, however, we hash out our differences. “I’ve never felt so much power in my life. You could’ve gotten us all killed.”

“Something’s been wrong with my psychic abilities. The only times I’ve gotten anything is when I’ve been touching you. I asked Dusty to take a look, but to make sure she didn’t mess with anything. I just wanted to know if the Thrall were blocking me. I specifically told her it was too dangerous to try to break the block.”

“So what went wrong?”

“Apparently they were blocking her too. She started to fight it. When I tried to stop her I touched her, and the baby touched her at the same time, and—”

“Boom.” He finished the sentence for me.

“Boom.” I agreed.

“Shit, I can’t afford to go on shift right now.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. It’s a gesture we have in common. My own hair was looking pretty ratty right at the moment from having done the same thing.

“We can’t afford for you not to. We need the money.”

He closed his eyes. I could almost hear him counting to ten before he answered. “Yeah. We do.”

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between us. I hated it, mostly because I felt guilty. Loving someone is supposed to make both your lives better. Tom improved my life every way I could imagine. But I’d screwed his up all to hell and had pretty much from the first. Worse, it didn’t look like it would be straightening out anytime soon.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered the words, my throat tight.

“I know. So am I.” He set the bags he was holding down on the curb and took me in his arms, gathering me close. I hugged him tight, my head resting against his chest. The rough zipper of his jacket scratched against my cheek, but I didn’t move. It was ignorable, just so long as he didn’t let me go.

I was so afraid of losing him. Anybody else would’ve given up on me ages ago. I mean, my life was just too messy, violent and ugly. Why would he put up with it? Why would anyone?

My thoughts must have been bleeding over, or maybe he knows me too well, because I heard him say, “I’m not going anywhere, Katie. I’m in it for better or for worse.”

“Yeah, well it looks as if worse is likely to be pretty damned bad.”

He didn’t answer. He just held me. We were still standing that way when the cab arrived a few minutes later.

17

« ^ »

At 8:30 sharp I walked through the glass door of the station house. This particular branch of the Denver Police Department was in a smaller brick building. The front area had a tiny reception area. A desk sergeant sat at an old metal desk behind a thick plate of bulletproof glass that had a slot cut out of it. It reminded me more of a theater entrance than a police station. I gave my name. The man behind the counter called to make sure I was expected. When he got confirmation he buzzed me through.

I stepped into a short hallway with four doors. The one behind me swung closed, and I heard the locking mechanism click on. The three other doors were all open. The first, to my right, led into the desk sergeant’s area. The door to my left led to a large, open room that had been divided into cubicles, each with its own prefabbed work station. When I peeked inside the officer at the nearest desk looked up and asked if he could help me. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

“I’m looking for John Brooks. I have an 8:30 appointment.”

“Right,” he smiled. “BROOKS! Company.” He gave a bellow that would do a drill sergeant proud. In response a familiar head appeared over the walls of the second to last cubicle.

“Come on back, Reilly. The coffee’s getting cold.”

“Thanks.” Now I remembered, his name was Adams. He’d been one of the officers to respond to the Shamrock Inn.

“No problem,” he said, his smile broadening. “It’s good to see you still up and around.”

“You too.” I gave him a cheery wave and hurried down the aisle to where Brooks was waiting. True to his word, he had coffee ready for me—and not just coffee, the good stuff: high octane, from one of the expensive chains that grind their own beans fresh. Not only that, he’d picked up pistachio muffins for us to munch on. I’d never had a pistachio muffin before. They were surprisingly good. Of course, I was also ravenously hungry. After all, I’d been up for six hours and had had a metaphysical crisis already. I definitely needed food.

John had been in the middle of a telephone conversation when I’d shown up. He’d gestured silently toward the cup and muffins. I didn’t need to be told twice.

“No. I’m sorry. I’ve decided not to renew the listing. Yes, I know you’ve been doing your best. No. I don’t agree. I think the price is just fine. My wife and I have discussed it. We’ve made our decision. Thank you for your efforts, but no. We’ve decided to take the house off of the market for the time being.”

My ears perked up. The idea hit me so hard that I inhaled sharply, and promptly choked on a half-chewed bite. I was coughing my head off as he set the telephone receiver back in its cradle.

I finally managed to cough up the offending bite, then washed it back down with coffee. When I trusted myself to speak, I said, “I thought you’d already sold your mom’s place.”

“So did I.” He answered sourly. “The deal fell through…again.”

Aw, damn. “How much are you asking?”

The figure he named wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t outrageous either. After all, I’d seen the house. The neighborhood was good. The place was in excellent condition. It was located in a cozy little area on major bus routes with a grocery store within walking distance. Yes, the place was small—two bedrooms and one bath, but it was cozy. It had a fireplace, and a big front porch. Of course, we needed a place now, and who knew how soon I’d wrangle the check out of the insurance people. And I’d have to, because there was no way I’d qualify for a loan right now. Even B lenders would shudder at the prospect of giving me money.

“Reilly, did you even hear a word I just said?” Brooks grumbled, but he looked amused.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I think you may be the answer to my prayers.”

“Don’t let my wife hear you say that—or Tom either for that matter.” He grinned at me over the lip of his coffee cup. He took a long pull. Only after he swallowed did he continue. “Are you going to explain, or are you planning on keeping me in suspense?”

I explained. He just sat there for long moments, looking thoughtful.

“So, would you consider a six-month lease with an option to buy at any time—just in case the insurance company actually decides to pay up?” Like any good negotiator I started with the position that was in my best interest. Ask for the moon. He could always talk me down to something else.

“You wouldn’t have a problem after what happened there? The real estate agent says that the ‘history of violence’ is one of the reasons it hasn’t sold.”

I flinched. With good reason. It had been my violence. Amanda had tried to kill me in the alley next to the house. Tom and I had wound up killing her instead. Not exactly the best of memories.

I thought about it for a long moment. Yeah, it bugged me. But not that much. And really, there weren’t likely to be any better prospects.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. Then, with a grin, “Tom will just have to take out the trash.”

Brooks laughed. It was a deep, rich sound that caused people all around the room to peek over the top of their cubicle walls to see what we were up to. One or two even smiled in response. “Fine. I’ll draw up the paperwork. When do you want to move in? I’ll need to move the furniture out. Unless…” his expression grew sly, “the two of you would want to pay a little extra to get the place furnished? After all,” his voice took on an exaggeratedly wheedling tone, “you lost most of yours when the building collapsed.” He gave me innocent eyes. “I’d even cut you a deal.”

“You just don’t want to have to deal with hauling it off or having a garage sale.”

“True,” he admitted.

“How much would you want for it?”

He named a price that was reasonable, and I was ready to jump on it. Of course, first I had to check with Tom.

“Can I use your phone to call the station? I’m leaning toward saying yes, but I have to check with Tom.”

“Go for it.” He shoved the instrument in my direction.

I dialed the number for the station from memory. Excitement was welling up inside of me. This was almost too good to be true, the kind of thing that makes me look up and say “thank-you” to the big guy. Because having this happen right now was nothing short of miraculous.

“Bishop here.” Tom’s voice came on the line.

“What do you think of Brooks’s mom’s house? We can rent it for six months with an option to buy. He’ll even sell us the furnishings.” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. The more I thought about this the happier it made me.

There was a long, long, silence on the other end of the line.

“Tom? Are you there? What do you think?”

His voice was almost awed. “I’m thinking that I am never again going to underestimate my future wife.”

“You’re okay with the Amanda thing?” I hoped he was. I really, really hoped he was. Because I honestly couldn’t imagine us stumbling onto a better deal.

“Eh. She’s dead and gone, and I wasn’t there for most of it. Are you?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?” He sounded doubtful.

I paused and thought. “I think so.” Yeah, I had a couple of misgivings. But they were small misgivings. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

“Right.”

“So? Whaddaya think?”

“If you’re okay with it.” I heard the alarm sound in the background. “Baby, I’ve gotta go. You make the choice. I’ll be okay with whatever you decide. I love you.”

“Love you too. Be careful.” I said the words, but he’d already hung up. I felt the little shiver of fear I always get when I know he’s headed out to a fire. He loves his job, and he’s good at it. I know that he’s as careful as he can be. But it’s dangerous as hell. And every time I think about him rushing into a burning building it scares the crap out of me. So I try not to think about it. I focus on other things. And right now there was a perfect “other thing” to distract me.

I set the handset back in its cradle and turned to Brooks. “I assume it’s okay for me to have my cat?”

Brooks grumbled a little. “Fine. Blank can come with you when you move in.” He gave the bags piled at my feet a significant look. “Which I assume is going to be soon?”

“Just as soon as you’ll let me.”

He sighed. “So I gathered.” He shifted his weight and fished in his pants pocket, eventually pulling out a familiar set of keys. “I’d give you a lift, but I’m buried in paperwork this morning.” He handed me the keys. I’d been right. It was the same ring I’d used when he’d loaned me the house all those months ago. “Camille and I are going to the theater tonight and tomorrow’s her mother’s birthday dinner. Is it okay with you if I bring the paperwork by Thursday evening?”

“Perfect,” I agreed. “In fact, why don’t you bring Camille with you? I’ll fix us all dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He grinned. “She’s been dying to meet the two of you.”

“I’ve been curious about her too,” I admitted. I’d never met John’s wife; I’d only seen her in a vision. But she’d seemed like one hell of a woman. She’d almost have to be to deal with him.

“Good. Now back to police business.” He shoved a stack of papers at me. I glanced through them, noting that oldfashioned, preprinted, triplicate forms were outdated. Now everything was computerized. You could print as many copies as you needed. He’d done just that, and placed little sticky notes on the pages I needed to sign. I read through the report, signed in triplicate, and slid the papers back across the desk to him. “Is that everything then?”

“That’s it.”

I gathered up my bags and rose to my feet. It was time to go. I had things to do. Like get my cat, and move into my new home. Yay!

“We’ll see you Thursday evening. Say seven-ish?”

“That sounds fine.” He reached out his hand and I shook it. “Give my best to Tom.”

“And mine to Camille. Oh, and pet Brutus for me. How’s he doing anyway?” Brutus was Brooks’s pride and joy, a huge old Rottweiler. The dog had been seriously injured saving Brooks’s life. For a while they’d been afraid they’d have to put him down. After a lot of complicated and expensive surgery he had seemed to be recovering, but it was definitely touch and go for a while.

“All healed up. Oh, he still has a limp, but he’s doing fine.”

“I’m glad. He’s one hell of a dog.”

“That he is.” Brooks grinned and shook his head. He might have said more, but his phone started ringing. He cast a quick look at it, and shrugged. Duty literally called.

“I’ll let you get back to it. See you Thursday night.”

I walked out past the row of desks, waving at Adams on my way out the door.

I behaved with dignity all the way out the front door of the building, managing to contain my glee. Once outside, I caved, squealing and doing the happy dance. I wasn’t homeless. Not only that, I had a nice place, a place I’d be happy to call home, where I could live with Tom and the cat and not have to worry about a prejudiced landlord trying to pull all kinds of bullshit because my boyfriend just happened to be a werewolf. Whoo hoo! Score! I wanted to call someone, to celebrate. But Tom was doing his job. Calling Joe’s house right now was a bad idea. If Mike were still in town I’d run by Our Lady of Perpetual Hope, light a candle in the church to say thank you for deliverance from prison and homelessness, maybe raise a glass with my favorite priest. Of course with him at the Vatican I couldn’t do the latter. And the church was technically closed. Technically because I still had a key on my ring. I knew I shouldn’t use it.