When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (35 page)

Power
.

Doyle had never been so thrilled to feel the thrum of his daemon half as he was when he broke the connection between him and Travis, who now lay in a heap on the floor. He wasn’t dead, but he’d have one hell of a headache when he woke up, and Doyle had used a couple of extension cords to truss him up nice and tight.

He grabbed the politician’s cellphone, only to discover that the goddamn thing didn’t have a signal.

Fuck
.

He saw a handset that was connected to the landline on the counter and he snatched it up. Dead.

Shit
.

Outside—he’d get a signal outside.

He was racing toward the door when he caught the scent of another human. He stiffened, fearing a trap, then realized that he knew that scent.
Creevey
.

Goddammit, the fucker was in the house.

He followed the scent, hurrying toward it until he found the bastard in a locked room.

Doyle ripped the door open.

“Shit, man, it’s about time! They’re about to nail your shadower asses to the wall.”

“They?” Doyle repeated. “I thought you were in tight with Paul. I thought you were the asshole who betrayed me.”

“That fucker double-crossed me. You planning to
bring him down? I’m the guy who can help you. Just get me the fuck out of here.” He lifted his arm, and Doyle saw that he was handcuffed to a chair.

Doyle took one step toward him, then another. Then he reached down, tugged on the handcuffs, and ripped the metal chain in two.

Creevey shook out his arm. “Nice trick, partner.”

The little worm stood, and in one quick motion, Doyle had him around the neck, the murdering slimeball’s body pressed up against his. He tilted his head and whispered in Creevey’s ear. “I should suck your soul out, but I don’t want to taint my own. But this is for what you did to Andy,” he added, and then he grabbed Creevey’s head and ripped the damn thing right off his body.

He shoved the body away and stepped back, avoiding the spray of blood. Then he left the room, left the house, and dialed Tucker’s number from the sun-bleached yard.

“Now,”
he said. “The goddamn thing’s going down now.”

“Shit, Doyle, thank God.” He heard Tucker call out to someone, telling them to put a stop to the search.

“Tucker!” Doyle yelled through the line. “Dammit, Tucker, Andy’s with them. They’re coming to blow up the building now, and Andy’s with them.”

“Doyle.”

His partner’s voice was low and serious, and dread writhed inside Doyle.

“You need to get your ass over here. Right now. Because I’m—”

Doyle didn’t waste any time listening to what Tucker had left to say. He thrust out his hand, concentrating on his partner’s voice. With more force than he’d ever used before, he drew energy in and through himself, spitting
it back out in a long, spinning wormhole, a void that stretched through time and space, leading to the one place he wanted to be. Near Andy.

He leaped in, and tumbled out the other end, landing next to Tucker. “Where is she?” he demanded.

A tight-faced Tucker stood in front of a bank of video monitors surrounded by a half-dozen other agents. Doyle followed his partner’s gaze, his throat tightening at the sight displayed on the monitors. A dozen different camera angles focused on one single image: Andy, standing terrified on the plaza in front of the Criminal Justice Building, a vest filled with C4 explosives strapped tight to her body.

“How long?” Doyle asked, amazed his voice worked.

“Three minutes and forty-eight seconds ago, a black Cadillac paused in front of the building just long enough to let two people out. One stayed, the other got back in the car.”

“Andy. And Paul.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Have they made any demands?” Doyle knew the answer would be no. Paul didn’t want anything except for the shadowers to die.

“Not a goddamn thing yet,” Tucker said.

Doyle clutched his hands at his sides, alternately forming and relaxing fists. He sucked in air, trying to stay calm. He wasn’t any good to her if he couldn’t think.

For the first time, he realized he didn’t recognize the room into which the vortex had spit him. “Where are we?”

“Mobilization unit,” Tucker said, referring to the tricked-out RV that Division 6 used for larger operations. “Core group moved in as soon as we became aware of
the situation,” he added, gesturing to the high-level RAC team commanders who shared the tight space with them.

“And the civilians? The humans?”

“We’ve started evac, but it’s two in the afternoon. Everyone’s back from lunch. The building is full up. And we haven’t heard a word from Paul.” Tucker’s eyes met Doyle’s. His expression was more serious than Doyle had ever seen it. “We don’t know when he’s planning to detonate the—”

Doyle was already at the door before Tucker finished his sentence. Tucker might be a human, but he moved with preternatural speed to block him. “Don’t,” he said, grabbing Doyle’s shoulder. “I know what you’re going through—dammit, I do—but you rush in there without a plan, and you know she’s dead.”

Doyle slammed Tucker up against the wall, crossing his arm over his partner’s throat. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“What I’m saying,” Tucker said, “is be smart.”

Doyle sucked in air and released his grip. Tucker was right. Dammit all, Tucker was right, and Andy was running out of time.

“What’s the unit location?” he asked, referring to the RV they were in.

“Two blocks north of the building. Any farther and the video signal weakens. Local police and FBI have cleared the area, and we’re now in a no-fly zone. No helicopters, no news cameras.”

“And no word from Paul,” Doyle said. “You already said as much. But do we have a lead on his location?”

“Nothing concrete,” Tucker said.

“But?”

“But take a closer look at that vest,” he said, tapping the screen. The RAC agents around them spoke into their microphones, communicating with one another and creating a constant buzz, like the drone of bees. Doyle tuned everything out except his focus on the screen.

“You see?” Tucker asked.

“No timing device.”

“It’s remote operated.”

Doyle tilted his head up to look at his partner. “Then the son-of-a-bitch is nearby.”

“The question is where.”

“We do a search, it’ll take too long.” Tucker’s expression was hard. “And he’ll see us coming. Andy won’t—”

Doyle lifted his hand. “Don’t say it. Get Luke.”

“Luke? Doyle, it’s daylight. And as the governor and chairman, he’s with Bosch in the command—”

The thin thread holding Doyle’s temper in check snapped. “Goddammit, get Luke. I need him here. I need him here
now
.”

Andy stood frozen, terrified her knees would lock up. That she’d fall. That Paul—who was, somehow, watching her—would see and think she was defying him. And then he’d push down the plunger.

She would almost welcome the end. At least then the fear would be over.

But she couldn’t think like that. She needed to remember all the people who’d be dead. And Doyle—her heart ripped at the thought of never seeing him again.

Paul had told her that Doyle was still alive, but that he was being tortured, electricity ripping through him. Tearing him up from the inside. Frying him like a goddamned fast-food meal.

She’d wanted to punch the bastard in his face, so smug when he’d said those words to her. But the damned fear had stopped her. Fear, but mingled with hope.

Because Doyle could survive that. Doyle was smart and strong, and a lowlife like Paul was no match for him. They might think that they’d battled him down, but Andy didn’t believe it. And she was determined to hold on until she knew the truth. So, dammit, she was staying alive, and Paul could just take his explosives and shove them, because she wasn’t dying just because he wanted her dead.

She sucked in air, then let it out again slowly. In the middle of this hellish nightmare, it felt good to be defiant,
even if it was only in her head. Her thoughts were the only refuge she had left.

Slowly, she shifted her legs, trying to keep her knees loose without looking like she was getting ready to run. Oh, how she wanted to run.

Was there something she could have done differently? Bryce had surprised her by grabbing her arms, pinning them tightly behind her back.

He’d wrestled her out the door and she’d found herself inside of a Cadillac with him and Paul, who’d grinned at her. “So glad you’re on the team, Andy. It’s a shame your father won’t see your moment of triumph since he’s dead. But you’ll be joining him soon enough.”

She shivered at the memory and squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to cry.

She remembered crying out for Doyle, his name echoing from her lips and seeming to hang in the overly thick air. She hadn’t cared about concealing their relationship anymore—Paul obviously knew the truth. And although she knew that her cry wouldn’t summon him, she drew courage from the sound of his name filling the air around her.

Once she was in the car, Bryce had pinned her to the huge bench seat in the back and forced her into the vest. She’d immediately known what it was. Not that she’d ever worn an explosive vest before, but she’d watched a lot of movies. It wasn’t hard to figure it out.

The Cadillac slowed to a stop in front of the Criminal Justice Building. “Stand there,” Bryce had said. “Stand on the plaza and wait.”

“Why the hell should I?”

“Let me explain this in words that you can understand,” Paul said, leaning closer. “If you don’t do as I
say, your boyfriend will pay. Oh, yes. Doyle’s still alive. But he won’t be if you refuse to cooperate. I’m afraid the two of you are star-crossed lovers. You can sacrifice yourself willingly and I give you my word that he will live. Or you can both die. I confess I don’t really care which way you choose.”

She’d started to tremble at the mention of Doyle’s name, and it had taken all of her concentration to keep her body under control. To make sure he couldn’t see. She’d failed, of course, and he’d smiled, smug in his certainty that he’d correctly identified her weakness.

He had, of course, but he’d also pushed her too far. She’d come to know Doyle. To really see him. And she knew damn well that he would sacrifice himself to save others. “I’m not getting out of this car,” she’d said.

Maybe her defiance couldn’t save the people in that building any more than it could save Doyle, but at least she was buying them time.

Paul was right about one thing—they were star-crossed lovers.

He’d just stared into her defiant eyes, his nostrils flaring as if he were breathing in the stench of her decision. “Bitch,” he’d finally said, and then he’d grabbed her arm, yanked her out of the car, and forced her to the middle of the plaza.

“Stand still and be a good girl, and you’ll buy yourself some time—and you can fantasize about your boyfriend saving you. But try to run, try to be clever, and I’ll press the plunger that detonates your wardrobe.”

“You’ll do that anyway,” she’d said.

“True. But this way you can have your fantasy. You can stand here and dream that your Doyle will swoop in and save you. That the FBI will rescue you. That your
fairy godmother will wave her magic wand and send you to Never-Never Land. I’m doing you a favor. I’m giving you hope.”

And as much as she hated Paul—as much as she wanted him dead—at that very moment, standing there with her knees aching and her body sagging under the weight of the vest, Andy had to admit that he was right. Because as she looked around the plaza and thought of the cameras hidden there, she really could believe that Doyle was looking back at her.

She believed … and she clung gently to that fragile thing called hope.

The door to the RV opened, and Luke burst in, swaddled from head to toe in a dark cloak. The team members, crowded tightly into the small space, parted like the Red Sea, opening a path from the door to Doyle.

Doyle moved forward to meet Luke as the vampire tossed the cloak aside.

“I need help,” Doyle said. It had been years—centuries—since he’d said those words to Luke, and they rolled awkwardly off of his tongue.