When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (38 page)

“Almost time for the show,” he said as he clicked on the television. He sank into one of the leather chairs and lit a cigar, then gestured toward the sofa. “Sit,” he said. “I insist.”

She sat, her eyes on the television and the exterior shot of the Criminal Justice Building that took up the whole screen.

“Now, don’t be so nervous.” Paul poured a glass of wine from a carafe on the coffee table, then passed it to her. “Sit. Watch. I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway,” he said, then laughed as if he’d just said the funniest thing ever.

“How long until you blow it up?” she asked. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but she had to know.

Paul glanced down at his watch. “Just over a minute.” He stood up then, and moved around the room, adjusting wires and cables—all presumably related to some elaborate security system—then dropped back into his armchair. He left his cigar in the ashtray, and as
it burned down, the sickly sweet scent set her stomach on edge.

Andy sat and sipped her wine and tried to think what she could do to get out of this mess.

Then the timer on his watch beeped, and Andy jumped in her chair. Paul, however, leaned forward, his grin wide. But that grin soon faded.

“No,” he whispered, the word coming out like a curse. “No, goddammit, no!”

Then he launched himself out of his chair, sending his glass of Scotch flying across the room to shatter against the far wall.

Andy tried to disappear into the couch, and for a while it seemed to work. Paul had apparently forgotten she was there.

But she now had to shift—the leg she’d tucked up under her had gone completely numb—and when she did he stalked up to her, lashed out, and smacked her hard across the cheek. “Bitch,” he cried. “Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me? What those filthy demonic creatures you’ve sidled up to have cost me?”

She didn’t answer. Nothing she could say would be right. Better to say nothing at all.

He slapped her again, so hard her head whipped to the side.

When it did, she saw Doyle.

He was on the patio
, and he indicated the door handle, then pressed a finger to his lips, and she looked away, staring hard into Paul’s eyes. Trying to hold them tight with her hate.

A sharp cracking sound rang out from near the balcony door, and Paul shifted to look in that direction. She
expected an expression of shock or fear—Doyle was here after all. Instead, Paul just looked amused.

Not
a good sign, and when Andy shifted to see what was amusing him, her stomach twisted with dread. The cracking was the sound of electricity. Paul had wired the door frame, and now Doyle was caught in an electric web, shaking violently where he’d fallen in the doorway.

“I thought you might escape from the vault. And if you did, I was certain you’d eventually drop in on us. Rude not to knock, Doyle. Very rude indeed.”

“What can I say?” Doyle replied, his voice rough and scratchy. “I like to make an entrance.”

“Hmm.” Paul’s mouth curved into a frown, and he walked toward a small metal box on the floor near the patio door. “I thought I set this high enough that I wouldn’t have to listen to idle chitchat.” He twisted a knob, and Doyle writhed and arced in agony on the floor.

“Stop!” Andy cried. “Please, please stop!”

But Paul didn’t stop. He just kept twisting the knob higher and higher. And Doyle kept writhing and twisting, moaning and screaming.

“Please,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Please. You’re going to kill him.” She said it flatly, but inside she was filled with grief and impotence. What could she do? What the hell could she do?

“Kill him? Of course I’m going to kill him.” He twisted the knob and reduced the voltage. “But first I’m going to play with him.”

“Dammit, no!” Andy screamed and launched herself at him, but he backhanded her and sent her flying.

“Do
not
fuck with me.”

She looked at Doyle, and she could see some of the
awareness return to his eyes. But if he had any ideas about what they could do to get out of this mess, he wasn’t sharing them.

“Please,” she said. “Can I say goodbye?”

“You ask that as if you think I’m a monster. I’m not. That’s your problem, Andy. You’ve forgotten which side you should be on.”

It would be so easy to lie and say that she was on his side. But she couldn’t do it. He probably wouldn’t believe her anyway, but she couldn’t even force herself to try.

Instead, all she said was, “Please. Can I kiss him? One kiss before you take everything away from me. Dammit, Paul, you killed my father. You owe me that.”

“Owe you?” he repeated.

“He was your friend,” she said, the words low. “Please. If that meant anything to you at all.”

He stared at her, and she was certain he was going to refuse. But then, to her relief, he gave her one quick nod. “But I’m keeping the power low. You’re gonna get a buzz. And if you try anything, I’ll fry you both. Understand?”

“I don’t think he’s in any condition to try anything,” she said, trying to keep her face bland. Trying to hide her fear that he would stop her before she could do the only thing she could think of that might save them.

Doyle was dreaming.

Andy was there, her lips brushing over his. “Take,” she whispered, so low that only his preternatural hearing
could catch it. “Take, get strong. There’s a cigar in the ashtray on the table. It’s lit.”

Such a pleasant dream. Her lips on his. Her tongue urging his mouth to open wider. Her soul, so sweet and strong. He could hear her voice again. “Take, take, take.”

And he realized with mild confusion that this wasn’t a dream. It was real and it was wonderful and Andy was here and here was …

Where was here?

And then he remembered.

“Now, Doyle. Take
now
.”

He heard the urgency in her voice. Saw Paul standing so smug a few yards away. His mind was slow—it took him a second. But then he got it.

And because she had offered—and because he needed it—he closed his mouth over hers and let her warm, vibrant, beautiful soul flow in.

As it did, his mind became clearer and his muscles instantly became stronger.

He took and took, until he gently pushed her away. She collapsed onto the ground beside him, a smile of smug satisfaction on her lips.

Paul cursed in confusion, but he didn’t wait to figure out what was going on. He started to turn the dial on the box that controlled the electricity—and Doyle realized that Andy was now lying right on top of the primary wires. And the wires were hot.

Screw that.

Doyle thrust out his hand toward the cigar, then pulled it back in, urging the flame to grow. A huge flame shot up on the table, scorching the ceiling before settling down to a more manageable two feet in height. It leaped
off the table, caught on a wind of Doyle’s making, which spun Paul around and around, right into the dancing flames.

The son-of-a-bitch screamed and then dropped to the floor. He banged wildly at his legs, trying to put them out, his stream of curses filling the air.

Doyle pulled Andy into his arms. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect now. Are you going to shoot him into space, too?”

“Not a bad idea. But I have another destination in mind.” With one hand, he held her tightly to him. With the other, he reached into the air and drew forth the void. It whipped around, then it grabbed on to Paul, and sucked him inside.

“If not space, then where?”

“Division Six. Detention. As much as I’d like to see him dead, I think my satisfaction will be just as great when he’s executed after trial.”

Andy got up on her knees, leaned over, and kissed him.

“What was that for?”

“What do you think? Because I love you.”

And since that answer couldn’t be beat, he leaned over and kissed her back.

And then again and again and again.

“Is it really over?” she asked, after about a dozen kisses.

“It’s over.” He pulled her into his arms. “Andy—your father.”

She closed her eyes. “I know. Paul killed him.”

“Paul shot him, yes. But he didn’t die instantly.”

He saw her head tilt up and the question flash in her eyes. “What happened?”

“Your father rescued me. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be trapped in that vault.”

Her hand reached for his neck and the cross that still hung under his shirt. He took her hand and pressed it against the cross, covering it with his own hand.

“He told me he was trusting me to protect you.”

The corner of her lips curved up, and a single tear spilled down her cheek. “He said that?”

“He did. I promised him I would. Andy,” he said, tilting her chin up, “I’ll never stop.”

“I know,” she said, leaning into his embrace. “I never want you to.”

They sat like that until Doyle remembered Tucker and the rest of the team. “Come on,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand for her. “Time to go. It’s been one hell of a long day.”

They met up with Tucker in the hotel lobby and walked back to the Criminal Justice Building together, as Tucker filled them in on the progress of the cleanup and the final sweep for any potentially missed explosives. Then Andy told Tucker about what had happened in the penthouse. She didn’t finish, though. As soon as she crested the hill and the plaza came into sight she went quiet and stopped on the sidewalk, holding tight to Doyle’s hand.

“We won,” she said.

“We disabled most of the explosives,” Doyle said. “But one section of the garage is a mess.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “In the end, we won and the bad guys lost.” Her smile was as bright as the sun. “Score one for the good guys,” she said. “And evil can just go take a hike.”

Doyle laughed, then twined his fingers through hers as
they stood there, looking at the building he knew so well. After a moment, he turned and met Tucker’s eyes. “It’s a whole new ballgame now, isn’t it?” Tucker asked.

Doyle thought of the humans who knew that the shadowers existed. Men like Paul’s mercenaries, who’d apparently survived the assault. Men like Paul himself, who might even be able to spur others to action from his cell.

“Yeah,” Doyle said to Tucker. “It is.”

But that was okay, he thought, hooking his arm around Andy’s waist and pulling her close. The future might be new, but he was going into it with the woman he loved.

Andy grabbed the package off the front step of the house and then raced inside to find Doyle.

“It’s here!” she called. “Look, it’s here!”

He came in from the kitchen, trailed by Luke and Tucker and Sara, who’d come over for dinner. CeeCee was already on the couch plugged into an iPod, but she looked up at the sound of the commotion and yanked out her headphones.

“What is it?” Tucker asked.

“My book.” She ripped off the tape from the box and pulled out the packing. A stack of paperbacks were inside, the title shining out at her:
In the Shadows
.

“I got into all of this because I wanted to write a book about Paul and all his crazy beliefs. But once I found out that the world he believed in wasn’t so crazy, I knew I was out of luck.”

“You’d look as crazy as he did,” Sara said, smiling.

“So I called it fiction.” She handed them each a copy. “Don’t worry. I changed all the key details.”

Luke took it and laughed. “I can’t wait to read it.”

Doyle pulled her close and kissed her, and she leaned against him, happier than she could remember being. “Some people will know it’s not fiction,” he said. “Paul’s wasn’t the only cell.”

“Let them know,” Tucker said. “They’ll know we fight back.”

“And not all humans think the shadowers are evil,” CeeCee added.

“No,” Andy agreed, as Doyle squeezed her hand. “A lot of us know better.”

She twisted in his arms and pressed her lips to his, joining him for a celebratory kiss. And when she did, she felt a bit of her soul break free. But it wasn’t frightening—it was beautiful, and her soul twined with his, melding and joining.

Forever.