Beyond Possession (Beyond #5.5) (2 page)

Oh yes, Jasper knew everything. About Wallace, about her sister. About the tightrope Tatiana had to walk, weighing family against her future. "I have something Wallace wants."

Jasper nodded again. "Yeah, I guess you do." He took a step back. "If he crosses the line, you don't have to put up with it. Remember that, okay?"

"I'll remember," she promised, a little truth to hide her lie. She'd remember, all right. But, loyal to the O'Kanes or not, she was still her father's daughter.

If Wallace crossed the line, she'd take care of it like a Stone.

Personally. Permanently.

The third blow Zan landed hurt him more than it hurt his sparring partner.

He drew his fist back and gritted his teeth against the urge to cradle his shoulder. "Doc's version of physical therapy sucks."

Cruz's tight smile held only a hint of sympathy. "You think this is bad, be glad you never met a Special Tasks doctor."

They couldn't be tougher than Doc, blearily blinking his way through a hangover, smacking him on the shoulder and reminding him it could be a hell of a lot worse. "It makes no sense. I got shot a couple of times, but the regen tech took care of it. Completely healed. The only thing that still hurts is the one wound that wouldn't have killed me anyway."

"Makes decent sense to me," Cruz replied with infuriating calm. "It's triage. Sometimes with regeneration, you have to pick your battles. I saw you when you came in, Zan. They had a lot to fix."

He'd come close to death, that much was undeniable. "I remember. Some of it."

"I know what you mean." The taller man stepped back and reached for a bottle of water. "It's like a bad dream. Flashes, bits and pieces, but it barely makes sense."

Zan remembered the kidnappers, the gunfire. His last glimpse of Trix before the van door slammed, shutting out everything but the slick red haze of pain. "It ended okay. I'm grateful for that."

"Everyone's home safe," Cruz agreed. "Even you."

His own safety mattered less than the fact that Trix had made it out of her ordeal largely unscathed. "I was supposed to protect her."

"I know." Cruz held out a second bottle of water. "But you can't plan for everything. You can't plan for crazy, and that's what that attack was."

"Crazy," Zan muttered, still unsettled. He turned to the heavy bag hanging from a bracket in the corner and gave it a fierce whack. "It'd be easier if I was back to regular duty. At least I could keep busy."

"We need you out there. That's why I'm pushing you with the shoulder, man." Cruz shook his head. "Did you know Jas broke up a fight when he checked in on the Stone girl last night?"

Zan's next blow glanced off the patched surface of the bag and sent it swinging. It rebounded and smacked him in the good shoulder. "He what? At Tatiana's place?"

"Mmm, Stuart was about to throw down on the Wallace kid. They were having a meeting at her shop, I guess, and he started talking shit."

About Dallas, no doubt. It was the only thing that would prompt Stuart to a fight—and it left Tatiana caught in the middle. Tatiana, who tried so damn hard to be brave and independent, even when it wore her down.

And it did. He'd been making the runs to her shop for more than a year, and she always had the same air of exhaustion and desperation about her. At first, he'd started chatting her up and bringing her little gifts just to ease some of the tension bracketing her eyes. Before long, his reasons for showing up once or twice a week had become decidedly more selfish.

He liked looking at her. More than that, he liked talking to her, making her laugh. She was a good person, a decent one, and she didn't deserve any of this shit.

Zan cursed. "I should have checked on her myself instead of sending Jas."

"Jas handled it." Cruz steadied the punching bag and gave him a look—one he could have learned from Lex. "You needed the rest. And now you need this practice, so we can get you out there scowling at people again."

How much do
you
like being weak?
Zan bit his tongue to hold back the question. None of this was Cruz's fault anyway, and he only spoke the truth.

They were all just trying to help.

It didn't ease the tension tightening the muscles in Zan's back. "Tomorrow, same time?"

"Absolutely. You're making progress. You'll be busting heads in no time."

"Yeah." Zan draped a towel around his neck and cracked open the bottle of water. Under normal circumstances, he'd hit the shower and head over to Tatiana's shop to keep an eye on the place. But he wasn't functioning at a hundred percent, and if his presence stirred up trouble, she might pay the price.

It wasn't like he could take care of her, not right now.

Instead, he showered and went to the bar. It was still closed, the shutters open to let in the slanting, early-morning sunlight. It always looked so odd this time of day—quiet, deserted, the chairs turned up on the tables. The main room had been cleaned already, and the only activity was bustling back in the kitchen and behind the bar.

"Like this," Noelle was saying as she swiped her finger over the tablet on the scratched surface of the bar. "We track the drinks as we make them."

Dallas squinted at the tablet with the sort of mistrust a man usually reserved for a potential enemy. "Counting stock at the end of the night's worked fine for a decade."

Noelle smiled as she set the tablet into a stand behind the bar. "You were the one who wanted to work smarter instead of harder. Besides, the data syncs with Ford and Mia's new system. They can analyze trends and adjust trading priorities."

"All right," Dallas growled. "You win, kitten. Tech all around."

Zan couldn't help but grin. "You giving up the good fight, Dallas?"

"Adapt or die, right?" He shook his head and leaned against the bar. "It was bad enough when it was just Noelle making big eyes at me—"

Noelle, who had been as docile as the kitten Dallas had nicknamed her for only a few months ago, made a rude gesture.

"—but now I've got Mia tearing through this place, wringing her hands at how
inefficient
we are. Sometimes I miss the days where all I had to worry about was keeping the stills and my skin in one piece."

Zan would have recognized the words for a lie even in the early days. Dallas had never wanted anything more than he wanted to protect his people, and financial security offered the best opportunity for that. If streamlining their liquor business would help, Dallas would install a fucking computer in his own damn head.

But their leader had a cranky, forbidding image to maintain, so Zan fought to keep his expression neutral. "Just think about the money."

"Damn straight." Dallas grinned at Zan. "And maybe I'll think about watching Jasper spank this little brat's backside once for every time she's rude to me."

Noelle made a much,
much
ruder gesture.

Zan covered his face. "Hey, now. My virgin eyes."

"Sorry." Noelle almost managed to sound contrite. "I have to go talk to Mia. I'll be extra rude to you later, Dallas."

"I'm sure you will," he drawled, giving in to a chuckle as the back door slammed behind her. "I can't decide if Lex is a wonderful or terrible influence on that girl."

"Can't be both?" Zan pulled out a stool and sank onto it. "I heard there was trouble at the merchants' meeting."

Dallas's humor faded. "Yeah. That punk who took over Walt's shop has been waving his dick around, trying to get it twisted off."

"How much of a pain in the ass is he gonna be?"

"Christ only knows. Probably a bigger one now that he's managed to talk one of Stone's girls into fucking him."

Matthew Stone had ruled Sector Four before Dallas ousted him, and having one of the man's daughters by Wallace's side would mean respectability among some of the old-timers. Not everyone was happy with the law and order the O'Kane reign had brought to the sector, but no one had dared to speak against him—yet. If Wallace could rally enough support around him...

He wouldn't just speak out, he'd fight. He'd lose, no question about that, but crushing the rebellion could do Dallas more harm than the rebellion itself. It could make him look like a tyrant.

"It's a bad situation," Zan mused.

"It sure could be." Dallas tapped his finger on the bar. "Seems like Tatiana could shut it down. You've always kept a pretty close eye on her. You got any pull there?"

She smiled when he came through her door. Laughed at even his worst jokes. Listened to his stories, and watched him hungrily when she thought he wasn't paying attention.

But he was always paying attention.

"No." His answer came too forcefully, and he shook his head with a sigh. "You know how it is. Too much attention can seem like a demand, so I keep my distance."

"You may not be able to forever." Dallas's brow furrowed. "Not that I'm saying you should make like Wallace and hit that. But if this shit escalates, she'll have to pick a side. I really hope it's ours."

All Tatiana wanted was to run her shop. "Then we need to stop it from escalating."

"Can we?" Dallas grimaced and waved his hand. "Scratch that. The real question is, can
you
? I know your shoulder's still giving you grief, but we're spread awful fucking thin, man. Crazy shit is brewing, and I feel like I'm juggling knives."

"I can talk to Tatiana," Zan offered. "Chances are good she doesn't like having her sister involved with Wallace, either."

"Who the fuck would?" Dallas slapped the bar and straightened. "In a perfect world, I'd give you another week off your feet to mend up. But we need you."

"I've got this." He was an O'Kane. It was his responsibility to take care of things, to handle whatever needed to be done—even if it involved Tatiana. "I won't let you down again."

"Zan." His leader's expression was serious as he reached out to grip his arm. "You never have."

He had to say it, because Dallas O'Kane wasn't the sort of man to kick you when you were down. Zan nodded again and slid off the stool. "I'll head over early so I can be back before nightfall."

"Good. And, Zan? Watch your back."

Even in broad daylight, Tatiana responded to a knock at her back door by reaching for a gun.

It was a long-standing habit, one that had saved her life more than once, and it was such instinct that her fingers were already closing around the grip when she looked up from her lunch and saw Zan's unmistakable bulk through the narrow polycarbonate window beside the door.

One of the half-dozen knots twisting concern and anxiety through her slowly unraveled. She let out a breath, eased her hand from the pistol, and rose to let him in. "Zan. It's nice to see you."

"Tatiana." He glanced past her, scanning her tiny office from corner to corner. "Is this a good time?"

"Of course." She pulled the door wide and stepped back. Her office felt smaller as he crossed the threshold. He was massive, with broad shoulders that barely seemed to fit through the narrow doorway and a height so impressive he ducked instinctively.

He shoved both hands in his pockets. "Everything going okay?"

"Jas told you." She made a face and rested her hip against the desk. "It wasn't so bad, Zan. I promise."

"So you always have a gun at hand when you're answering the door?"

There was no way he could have seen the gun through the window—but he'd known. Somehow he'd known, and she couldn't suppress a shiver. "I'm a woman living alone in the sectors. I'd keep a gun at hand all the damn time even if my father hadn't killed at least one friend or relative of everyone within fifteen miles."

"Smart." Zan studied her face. "You know you can talk to me if you need to."

No she couldn't. Not really. The delicate balance of her life—of her very survival—depended on careful, simple neutrality. She could be a citizen of Sector Four, could protect her sister and run her business and cherish her independence...but only if she kept everyone at a safe distance. Especially O'Kanes.

But she couldn't piss them off, either. And, in truth, she didn't want to piss off Zan. So she smiled. "I talk to you all the time. You tell me stories about the world before the Flares, and I don't comment on how they all sound too ridiculous to be true."

The tense set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. "You want to, though. Don't think you've got me fooled."

"Who, me?" This was safer. Light and teasing, the only sort of interaction she could afford. "I'd never doubt you. I'm sure there were secret bases and soldiers with psychic powers."

"I haven't even told you the craziest stories yet."

"Now
that
I don't believe." She waved a hand toward the second chair tucked up close to her desk, a spindly little thing that looked fragile and frail with Zan towering over it. "Do you want to sit? I could come up with some coffee, if you want. And split my dessert."

He shook his head. "You're working."

Something small and sharp lodged in her chest. It took her a moment to recognize it as disappointment, and another to crush it into dust. She didn't have time to listen to his stories over lunch and linger over dessert, and the longing to do just that came from the most unprotected place inside her. The place that had her sneaking covert looks at his shoulders and his chest and his square, bearded jaw and even his massive hands.