Vigilante Mine (15 page)

She wheeled and planted her foot in the center of his chest.

Gasping, his lungs cursed his stupidity. If she ran, she'd be fair game for the others. Ryan went for her a second time. Fortunately, she seemed to have no interest in catching the next available public transit car.

Searing blue eyes lit with recognition and vengeance. She whirled away, threw a punch that missed, and he jammed his foot into the arch of her boot. Amanda fell. For an instant, Ryan worried that he'd hurt her and he turned too late, catching the flick of her heel in the back of his knee. He forced the joint to lock.

She righted herself and faced off in a tight boxer's stance. Bare fists. Her hands had to be cold.

Thoughts of taking her home, warming her up, filled his mind. Sexy, to try matching him hand to hand. Or foot. His detective had dangerous legs. Ryan swallowed a surge of lust and narrowed his hearing range, dedicating his focus to the fight.

She leaned slightly, her voice as harsh as the wind. "You're a tough man to find."

"I don't do autographs." What was she up to?

"What's your angle? Are you making room for your own people?"

He almost smiled. She'd been working on a motive. He should have known she'd want more than revenge. If she thought she could call him out on the murders and somehow get her proof that Klepto was the serial killer, she'd want to get close. He couldn't let her
—
Of course he could. What better way to keep her safe?

He snagged the end of her scarf and pushed her shoulder, tumbling them into a snowbank. She rolled, fingers extended in a claw and reaching for his hood. He trapped her between his body and the concrete.

This time, she'd yield to Klepto.

A hot gasp for breath filled the space between them. Ryan's other brain cheered. Horizontal and full-contact. Right on. Her bravado faltered as she stared up into the shadowed hood of his coat. The backs of her hands hit a slick spot of wintered ground. She winced and Ryan cushioned her exposed skin with his gloves, wrapping them solidly around her wrists.

"Don't tell me I'm the reason you're out after curfew," he growled low in her ear.

Amanda's eyes took on calculating gleam. "I want in."

Bold. Ryan ticked through his options and knew caving too fast would bring suspicion. Klepto had to make her work for it.

"You owe me." Her tongue swiped over her lips and his gaze locked onto glossy pink.

The first time, he'd been lost, driven, unable to stop himself from a kiss. Memories warred with reason.

She flexed her wrists. "They've had me on the bench ever since I met you. I need a gun, some action, and word on the street is you're the guy I need to see."

Reason won. "Pity I'm not an arms dealer."

Her heart rate accelerated. Ryan started. His gloves were too thick for him to feel a pulse.

He'd . . . heard it.

Without instructing his power to do so. A side effect of Zach's retuned filters? Fascinated, Ryan gave his ears a moment to savor the new sensory input.

Thumpthumpthump.

"But you are in on the action."

Ryan released her right wrist and brushed his fingers over her shoulder. "I believe we proved that once already."

Amanda's heart skipped a beat and his own gave a jolt to catch up. He shook his head. If he sacrificed his concentration, he wouldn't be able to protect her. All at once, Ryan remembered the syndicate threat. His power flared out, sought its target. It didn't take long to find them. Instead of backing off, they'd tightened the circle. He swore under his breath. Rising to his knees, he snapped his arms around Amanda and pulled her up beside him.

She stiffened, then settled into his hold. Her hands gripped his trench coat in a tentative embrace. Capitulation . . . no. She was up to something. But damn if she didn't feel right. If he could just kiss her again . . .

"Spiritwalker! Elias and company."
Romeo spoke the drug dealer's name like a warning and Ryan's jaw tightened.

Not the serial killer, not syndicate goons, but still trouble enough to put a damper on the party.

What had started
out a desperate tactic to get him to talk had well and truly backfired.

The warm rasp of his voice should have been menacing. A threat. Instead, it wound around her shoulders and tugged like a beckoning lover.

He just had to have a bedroom voice to go with those muscles.

Temptation personified, wrapped in supple leather.

She swallowed hard.

The criminal had no name, no face. Yet the man smelled of pine and mint, his breath eased the winter chill from her cheek and revved her confused hormones. Maybe she could blame this one on lacing her second mug of hot cocoa with Kahlua instead of caramel. It had nothing to do with a kiss that tingled in her memory like an aphrodisiac.

Amanda tilted a look up and noted how smoothly he kept his face out of the light. A ghost. A mystery. An inside man. No wonder he'd foiled past law enforcement efforts.

She had to make him believe Dale's dismissal had turned her into a rogue in need of an adrenaline fix. Simple. If he bought it, one cop to another, he'd bring her on board, and the next time he went for the kill she'd be there to catch him. She leaned forward to speak but he shifted fast, hauling her to her feet before she could catch her breath.

His fingers looped around her wrists. "How good are you at evading bullets?"

Amanda's pulse zoomed to warp speed, but she thought
—
hoped
—
she caught an edge of sarcasm in the question. "Are you planning to shoot me again?"

"Not tonight." His gruff tone lacked amusement. When he tilted his hood in her direction, she caught a glimpse of his black mask, but nothing more.

Not promising. She'd have to stop him before she wound up on the news channel infographic herself. A flash of light and the pop of a gun drew her gaze down the side street. Gloved hands trapped her arms behind her and he nudged her in the opposite direction. Who had fired? Were they syndicate? One of his accomplices, committing another murder? "Friend of yours?"

"Junkies."

A bullet cleaved the air near her, and another returned the volley. The masked man shoved her into the shelter of a ramshackle covered walkway.

He held up a hand, spread wide. Five fingers. Five attackers?

She shifted a look around him, squinting into the darkened street.

Another round of gunfire.

"Don't push our luck." His hands flashed to her shoulders and he joined her in a crouch. "Once we're somewhere nice and private, you can tell me more about your . . . proposal."

"Fine." Nice and private indeed. He'd take her down another alley, then another, deeper still into the shadows, and if he had a gun hidden under that coat . . . she might not return. Amanda's tongue felt thick in her mouth, but she clenched her jaw. He wouldn't get a second shot.

"I didn't ask for your opinion." He seemed to study her from the shadow of his hood. The hands on her shoulders slid down, gripped her biceps, and pulled her with him as he stood. "Move it, sweetheart."

Amanda gritted her teeth. "Sure thing
—
darling."

He grunted in the back of his throat. "The attitude doesn't help your case."

As long as she was alive to keep him talking, coerce him into sharing his plot, she was helping her case along just fine.

They rounded the corner of the next street. He suddenly flattened her to the ground behind a row of green and brown trash bins, his hand over her mouth even as she smothered her own yelp.

His voice rasped close to her ear, stubble grazing her cheek. "Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't think."

She went rigid under him as rapid-fire bullets flew up and down the alley.

"Klepto." His lips brushed her earlobe when the bullets slowed.

She shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was from fear. "Klepto what?"

"My name."

He pulled her to her feet and they crunched through the snow at a jog.

"Klepto," she said. "Good to finally have a name for the man who tried to kill me."

"I missed."

She had to be imagining the regret that tinged his voice, but it felt real enough for a tremor of doubt to creep through her defenses. Had he intended to hit the drunkard who'd used her for a shield?

With a low, dangerous chuckle by her ear, he steered them down another street. "But I've been practicing."

Tension slammed into her muscles. So much for doubt. If the bodies he'd left around town
—
bullet in the chest, bullet in the back of the head
—
were any indication, this bastard had been doing a lot more than practicing.

As if on cue, Amanda heard the click of a safety. Her act hadn't fooled him. She whirled and aimed her Taser for his stomach in one smooth motion. He wasn't armed, but the junkie sneaking up behind them was another story.

Klepto dodged to the side as she fired. The probes collided with the junkie and he writhed, collapsing in snow turned slush.

"Nice shot." Klepto's voice held humor as he swatted her Taser out of her hands.

Empty, baited words. The near end of the street filled with thugs and she kicked into a run by his side. She pumped her legs high in the deeper snow of untraveled road, dismay clutching at her throat. He knew she'd aimed at him first. Her entire adrenaline junkie pretense hung on her response.

"I thought he was you," she gasped out. "Didn't want you to get the idea I'd let you shoot me again."

"You have trust issues, sweetheart. We'll work on that."

She felt his gaze sear her body, but a quick glance at his hood didn't give her a hint at his thoughts. Had it been believable enough for him to let her in?

"Shit." He looped an arm around hers and plowed toward a building.

"What now?" Alarm cut through her pulse rate. No recognizable landmarks.
Rookie move, Werner.

"Look who made a wrong turn." An amused, nasally voice sliced through the night.

Klepto jerked them to a stop. Another man stepped into the light, buffered by four muscular guards and some impressive automatic weaponry. He held his hands behind his back as if to puff out his chest and display with pride the metallic blue, fluffy and quilted jacket of someone who'd missed the fashion bus by about thirty years. But the whiny tone of his voice and his garish appearance were at complete odds with his face. Sharp angles, pock marks of years and street brutality. His eyes were beady things with the kind of dead light one saw in maximum security lifers.

"My employer doesn't like impromptu visits." The man swung his arms out to his sides. In his left hand, he held a machete.

Real fear struck her veins and sizzled.

"The lady and I were only going for a midnight run, Shiv," Klepto squeezed her arm, then dropped his grip and stepped in front of her. "You know how Elias can be."

"Better than you." Shiv gave a solemn nod and rotated the machete in a circle with a flick of his wrist. Then he stepped closer, eyes and teeth glinting like a sewer rat. He snapped his fingers and one of his men handed forward a yellow and black Taser Amanda recognized. "I'm told your associate has good aim."

"Piss poor," Klepto said. He extended a hand and Shiv dropped the cartridge-less device into his palm. It disappeared in a trench coat pocket. "She was aiming for me."

Amanda bristled but Shiv tilted back his head and let out a guttural laugh. The harsh sound bounced around the alley and fear soured in her stomach. The criminal wiped at mock tears. Coils of tobacco stuck to the air, itched at her eyes, but she held herself steady and her head high. She'd smelled fouler dregs of humanity in Relek's shipping yard dives. It wasn't a perfect comparison. None of the drunkards and domestic abusers she typically brought in for questioning swung a machete like a child's yo-yo.

Shiv straightened. "My employer could use another dirty cop on the payroll."

No.
Amanda's chest constricted.

"She's not a cop."

Shiv's beady eyes cruised over her body. "Temporary setback."

Her lungs shrank further. Did he know about her suspension?

"I don't contract out my associates."

"You want me to tell him you were on our turf without an appointment?"

Amanda heard the grind of leather as Klepto's hands clenched into fists.

"Friday. Dawn. You know the spot." Shiv smiled wide and circled the machete again. He snapped the fingers on his other hand and the men with him jerked to attention. Turning back the way he came, Shiv cast a look laced with menace over his shoulder. "Bring your little spitfire."

Pride and that
damn McLelas stubborn gene kept his fingers latched around her waist and her body pressed into his side when he should have cut her loose. Ryan pressed Amanda into the shadows, retreating to neutral territory. Romeo's warnings had sunk into his brain too slowly to stop from crossing the line into Murphy Jones' backyard, but he knew the signs. How could he have blown past the markers?