Captive Heart (14 page)

“Have you been good today?” Andy set Neala on the purple rug beside her bed and knelt to be at eye level with the little girl.

“I’m a good girl. Watch me!” Neala raised both hands over her head, clapped, and sent a fountain of sparks raining down on Andy.

Andy caught a whiff of burning hair. Her own. She countered the small bits of fire with her water energy and shook a finger in Neala’s cute little face. “I bet you’re not supposed to do that anywhere but the gym and when you visit Motherhouse Ireland.”

“Ireland’s got bunches of rocks.” Neala’s frown charmed Andy as much as her smiles. “Motherhouse Ireland won’t burn. Boring.”

Andy ruffled Neala’s curls. “But cheaper and safer.”

A spectacular pout. “Boring.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

Andy had to admit she was beginning to feel a little stupid. Why was she worrying so much about Neala? Any monster who tried to snatch her would have to get through a house full of cops and Sibyls, not to mention come through her Curson demon father and uncle, plus Cynda, one of the most powerful fire Sibyls alive. If somehow the monster succeeded on that little suicide mission, the thing would have to contend with the full wrath and resources of Motherhouse Ireland. And Merilee and Riana—also way powerful in their own elements—wouldn’t be far behind. They’d bury, burn, blow, and shred anything that tried to hurt Neala or little Ethan, Riana and Creed’s son.

“Watch me, watch me!” Neala shouted, and Andy covered her face.

“No sparks!”

“No, silly. Hands.”

Neala hopped on her bed, bounced twice, then got off and executed a decent handstand for about three seconds. Andy jumped up to grab her before she fell, but Neala’s elbows gave way. She thumped her head on the floor and toppled to the hardwood.

In two seconds flat, she tuned up to whine, but Andy scooped her into her arms before she could make a sound. “Ouch, huh?”

“I whopped my head.” Neala moaned like she’d snapped her leg in half. “It huuuurts.”

Andy kissed the spot, right between her eyes. “I’ve done that lots of times. It sucks.”

Neala’s new moan broke off before it reached its peak. She blinked at Andy. “Not supposed to say
sucks.”

“Probably not. Except when you whop your head.”

Neala glanced at her bedroom door, then back at Andy. “Sucks,” she whispered.

Andy hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head this time.

“Battle now?” Neala smiled at her. “Demons are bad guys. I’ll help you fight.”

“Later.” Andy hugged Neala again. Sometimes when she held the little girl close, she felt an emptiness inside, an emptiness that might have been filled with her own babies if Sal hadn’t died. Before Sal, she’d never thought about having kids, and since his murder, she hadn’t felt much interest in men or marriage or the idea of her own children. It was like she’d gone numb in a few places when she lost Sal. Maybe a lot of places. Just nothing. A dead zone. Until she met Jack Blackmore.

She straightened herself.
Gotta stay away from that kind of sob-and-Kleenex thinking
. She kissed Neala one more time for good measure, then let herself admit that Jack made all her dead spots buzz and tingle. So far, since he’d reintroduced himself to her, he’d made her feel like healing might be possible, like life might be possible, and—

And he was standing in Neala’s door watching her.

Andy’s heart did a big tumble in her chest.

Jack was watching both of them, actually, with the strangest look on his handsome face. She picked up his interest, his amusement. And deeper, way deeper, something like … longing.

She felt like she’d swallowed a warm wave.

When he realized she was staring at him, he didn’t look away. “I—ah—came to see about you.”

His expression didn’t change, except to get more intense. Andy’s heart kept beating, and she kept breathing, and she didn’t look away, either. She could get used to him staring at her like that, never mind his low, sexy voice.

“Saul said you seemed wiped out.” Jack made an effort to smile at her, but she saw the worry rise into his brown eyes.

Damn, but he was a sight in those jeans, wasn’t he?

“Saul’s a nag and a mother hen.” Andy tried to sound serious despite the fact she was on her knees in a cotton-candy room in close proximity to a dozen stuffed animals—and some of her hair was probably still on fire.

“No argument, but he’s usually right.” This time Jack succeeded with his smile, which did nothing for Andy’s composure.

Neala pointed her finger at Jack and sent a shower of sparks and smoke all across his shoulders and hair, then laughed as Andy quickly followed her blast with some cool water to put out the flames. Once more, the smell of singed hair drifted through the air. Jack never changed positions or expressions, but droplets ran off his hair and all over his face.

“Sorry.” Andy balanced Neala on one hip, pulled back her water energy and dried his face as best she could, then turned and let the excess flow off her fingers into one of Neala’s water glasses. “Life with Sibyls can be hazardous to your health.”

“To my hair, for sure. She’s gotten me a few times in the past.” Jack didn’t even sound annoyed. “Ever played battle with her down in the gym? She can explode exercise balls like nobody’s business.”

Andy wouldn’t have figured Jack as a guy to play battle with the kids. The image amused her. Actually made her smile.

From the hallway, Cynda called, “Neala, that was a no-no. Come here right now.”

Neala let off smoke as Andy put her down. For a split second, she looked like she might try to argue or cook some other part of Jack’s body. Instead, she hurried out the door to her mother, stopping only to wave at Andy before she disappeared from view.

Jack’s gaze followed the little girl, surprise obvious in the lines of his face. “That went a little too easily, don’t you think? I mean, she’s pint-sized, but she’s a fire Sibyl, right?”

“Baby fire Sibyls don’t argue with bigger fire Sibyls.” Andy got to her feet, helpless to slow her own pulse in Jack’s presence. “Just everybody else.”

Jack turned his attention back to her, fixing her with a stare that made her insides tremble. “And what about baby water Sibyls?”

“So far, I’ve found that baby water Sibyls are even-tempered and peaceful as long as bigger water Sibyls are around.” Amazing how dry her throat could get when the rest of her was slowly soaking from the water she couldn’t help pulling toward herself. “If the bigger water Sibyls take a powder—well. Things can get messy.”

Another smile from Jack, this one more devastating than the last. “People get hit with rogue waves?”

His tone sounded teasing, and Andy figured he could see the heat coloring her cheeks. “Yeah. That. Listen, about all the times I tried to kill you—I’d say I was sorry, but I’m not sure I am. Not yet.”

“Don’t be sorry. If I get that far out of line again, you have my permission to wash me out of the building.”

Andy stared at Jack. She wanted to look away from him but found she couldn’t. His eyes held her like an elemental lock.

The surprises just keep coming
.

“So, are you really okay, Andy?” He sounded serious now, and earnest. More than that, his concern for her felt genuine, way down deep in her Sibyl instincts—and her basic female instincts, too.

“I’m fine. A little tired, sure.” Andy brushed her hair out of her face and felt the burned tips of a few of her curls crumble to her shoulders. “Right before I came over, Dio had a bad dream, so I guess I’m obsessing about that.”

Jack leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. His expression went a little flat. “A bad dream or a vision?”

“I keep forgetting how much you’ve studied about us—about Sibyls.” Andy relaxed a bit, which surprised her. “Bela thinks it was a vision, but Dio doesn’t usually have prescient dreams.”

Jack’s features darkened and his whole body seemed to tense. “Then the threat must be powerful. Mother Anemone in Greece told me that even the least prone air Sibyl can have prescient dreams if they’re really in danger.” His intense gaze gripped her even tighter. “Them, or somebody they care about.”

Andy glanced past Jack, in the direction Neala had taken. “But what she saw didn’t make any sense.”

“It upset you.” A statement. Absolute certainty.

Tears welled in Andy’s eyes, sudden and unwanted. “Yeah.”

Jack let his arms drop to his sides, and he looked like he might be struggling with himself—over what to say? Or what to do?

Panic clawed Andy at the thought of him coming close to her when she wanted to cry, at the thought of him pulling her against all that muscle and holding her when she felt so jumpy and vulnerable.

He stayed where he was, holding her in his own way, with those deep, forceful eyes. “How about I take you guys off patrol tonight, get another group to sub for you? You get some rest … then let me take you to breakfast in the morning? Around ten? We can talk about the dream then, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

The thought of not having to go out on patrol all night nearly made Andy sag with relief. She didn’t mind tamping down squabbles between paranormal groups or stopping rituals that had gotten out of control—but the mind-numbing grid search for the Coven drove her half insane. She felt a touch of guilt about whoever would pick up their slack, but not that much guilt. They had done their share of cover patrols in the last year.

“Thanks. About patrol, I mean.” She rubbed one hand against her cheek to wipe away a stray tear. The rest of what he said sank in more slowly, but she caught up after a few seconds. “Wait—breakfast? Are you asking me out?”

This time his grin nearly turned her into a puddle where she stood. “I’m taking you to breakfast to share information.” He paused. “I’m hoping breakfast is tame enough that I’ll get a yes.”

Andy couldn’t help remembering washing Jack out of this very townhouse with a blasting tidal wave she’d thrown at him, furious and out of control. Um, twice. Maybe even three times.

Hadn’t she broken his leg or arm once?

She couldn’t even remember.

The way he was smiling at her, she wondered if
he
remembered. “You like to live dangerously, don’t you, Jack?”

“I like to live.” The grin faded into something more intense. “I’ve remembered that since I started getting to know you.”

The heat that crept through Andy moved slowly this time, warming her like water in a pot, ready to boil. This didn’t feel jittery or silly or even experimental. It felt serious enough to scare the hell out of her.

“Breakfast,” she heard herself whisper, her heart beating so hard she had trouble forming the word. Her legs started moving, carrying her toward him, straight at him, but he stepped to the side when she got to the door. Being polite. Maybe being smart.

She walked a lot closer to him than she had to, moving past, letting herself touch him ever so slightly, just brush against his clothes, her fingertips coursing across his knuckles.

Warm ocean waves.

A rising tide, breathtaking and frightening.

Rain on a hot summer afternoon.

The sensations surged through her all at once, making her go slow, making her savor the few seconds they were separated by nothing more than fabric and breath and the whisper in the back of her mind that she’d better be careful, that she’d better watch out or this man just might flood her landscape and change everything.

He watched her, saying nothing, making no move to force her or rush her or demand anything at all from her. His brown eyes asked her out all over again, hope burning in those warm depths, and she surprised herself by finding voice enough to say again, “Breakfast.” Then, “Okay. I’ll see you at ten tomorrow.”

Jack was nervous.

He didn’t like nervous.

Something about Andy made him worry about everything. He wanted it to be good, wanted it to be right, wanted everything to please her, even something that should have been inconsequential, like where he took her for breakfast. New York wasn’t his town, and she knew it a lot better than he did. Good thing he didn’t have Sibyl energy, so computers didn’t crash and burn every time he sat down near a keyboard. An Internet search and some advice from the Lowell brothers had done the trick.

His truck was in OCU’s storage garage downtown, so he had borrowed Riana Dumain Lowell’s black Jeep and made it to the brownstone at half past nine. Being late—out of the question. He sat outside for fifteen minutes, barely moving, keeping his eyes on the front door like he was staking out the place. Wasting time. He could be reading case files or making notes. He could have waited another few and gotten some reports finished, but when he got up this morning, he had only one purpose, and that was getting this Jeep to this curb on time.

Damn, it had been a long time since he felt this kind of focus, this kind of purpose, without … without everything that usually held him back. He felt new. He felt like before. Before Afghanistan. Before the nightmare with his bastard of a father in Atlantic City. Had to be some kind of magic, though he knew Sibyls and most paranormals would laugh their asses off at that assertion.
There is no such thing as magic
, the Mothers had taught him.
There is only elemental energy—and those who control it
.

The brownstone’s front door opened and out came Andy, wearing faded jeans with some sort of beaded pattern on the legs, a turquoise top with lots of ruffles and spaghetti straps, and a pair of yellow-framed sunglasses so big they looked like something she’d won at a carnival. Her curls spilled to her shoulders, red and riotous, refusing to stay in place as she jogged down the steps.

Jack laughed out loud.

Maybe the Mothers didn’t know everything about magic.

This woman made the whole world look black-and-white, like she was the only thing in color, the only thing real and worth watching, and he did like watching. The creamy curves of her bare arms heated him all over as she spotted the Jeep and headed to the curb. Jack leaned across the front seat and opened the door for her, and she got in so fast he glanced up to be sure nothing was chasing her.

She slammed her door, then laughed at his raised eyebrows and waved a hand at the brownstone. “I snuck out. Move your ass before you get me caught.”

Jack cranked the engine and pulled into traffic, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the brownstone’s front door was still closed. “They wouldn’t approve? If they think I’m kidnapping you and send some kind of earthquaking fire tornado thing to crush Riana’s Jeep—”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Andy shoved her pretty curls behind her delicate ears. “They’d give me shit. Especially Dio. I just didn’t want to hear it.”

Jack tried to pay attention to his driving, relieved he didn’t have any major car repairs to worry about—for the moment. “You know, sharing a floor with Dio Allard and coming out alive every morning, that’s pretty impressive.”

“I’d say her bark’s worse than her bite, but that would be a total lie. Really, though, she’s not that bad. Not to us.”

Jack kept his eyes on traffic even though he wanted to be staring at Andy, because the rest of the world really did look slow and dull compared to her. “Your fighting group, you’re all pretty close.”

“We have a lot in common.” Her words carried a little sadness, but also pride, and Jack liked that. All good fighting units, military, law enforcement, Sibyl, or otherwise, needed cohesion. Andy’s group was lucky to have her because she probably understood that from lots of different angles. He hoped they knew that. He hoped Bela and Camille and Dio appreciated her and let her know her importance on a regular basis.

“I like the jeans and your overshirt,” she said. “Dark green looks good on you. Where are we headed?”

His grip on the wheel tightened. “The Village.”

“A surprise? Imagine that.” She laughed, and he enjoyed the sound. Energy filled the Jeep, vibrant and humming and active. If this was Andy after a good night’s rest, he wanted to see her after a week of resting and playing and …

Yeah
.

Let’s leave that one alone for a few
.

Andy put her fingers on the Jeep’s window and let out a breath, sunlight shining off her giant sunglasses. “I love summer. Don’t you?”

It had been a long time since Jack had thought about stuff as simple as which season of the year he liked best. “I’m not sure. I’ve moved around a lot, and some of the places have been more extreme than others.”

I don’t have a home. Never have, never will
.

That part he kept to himself.

“New York City’s great,” Andy said. “All four seasons are so different from each other—but summer’s the best. The warm air, the people everywhere, the flowers and trees in Central Park. Wouldn’t trade it for anything.” She settled deeper into her seat. “I’m from the South originally. Trust me, it gets way too hot to live during June and July. August and September can be a bitch, too.”

Jack wove into the far lane to give the buses some room. “I’ve spent time in Atlanta, Birmingham, and New Orleans, so I’d have to agree.”

“Bet you have been a globetrotter, with what you’ve done for a living. Is there anyplace you’re curious about that you haven’t seen?”

“The South Pacific.” Jack surprised himself by giving up that private fantasy so fast. What the hell. Andy inspired openness. Who could resist a woman in turquoise and beads—and yellow sunglasses? “Fiji, the Solomon Islands. I like to dive, so I’ve always figured that would be a little piece of heaven to me.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her grin.

“Hundreds and hundreds of uninhabited tropical islands. I like the way you think.”

“Hope so.” He turned left and hunted for a spot. There. Right in front of their destination. How lucky was that? Unless, of course, she hated the place.

He parked, got out, and came around to open her door, but Andy had already bailed out of the Jeep. She stood on the sidewalk staring up at the neon marquee above the storefront window. In glowing blue letters illuminated day or night, according to Nick and Creed Lowell—the sign read
JOE’S BAGEL BAR
.

Andy’s expression remained unreadable for a second as Jack grimaced at the grimy windows and the ancient-looking booths he could see inside. Maybe Creed and Nick had yanked his chain. Maybe this was a mistake.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” Andy muttered. “I haven’t been here in a month of Sundays. Since—well, since I started flooding living rooms and shit.” She pulled off her shades, her green and brown eyes sparkling in the bright sunlight. “I
love
this place.”

Jack felt relieved—for a few minutes. Once he got inside and started trying to build his own bagel brunch sandwich with Andy directing him, things got a little hairy.

“Artichokes and roast beef? You sure?” He eyed the fixings on the other side of the glass as the servers worked.

She shoved her tray down the cafeteria-style bars in front of the display, having the servers load just about everything onto her poppy-seed mega-bagel. Onions, tomatoes, six different kinds of cheese—even anchovies.

She eats like she dresses, free and vibrant. Doesn’t give a shit what anybody thinks—including me
. His military side screamed for him to slow this down, to restore some order, but he ignored that. Maybe he could get used to a little less order.

She directed the servers to put two different kinds of mustard on his bagel, and he had to smile. When she told them to add three different kinds of peppers, he didn’t say a word. He was beginning to think every minute he spent with Andy could turn out to be an adventure.

They took seats in a booth near the door, light from the dirty windows filtering over the mounds of sandwich Andy had created for both of them. Andy dug into hers without hesitation, making happy noises as she chewed.

Jack reminded himself that he’d been a soldier before he’d ever joined the Army, that he’d faced psychotic family members, death, demons, and shit that would kill most people, no questions asked. How dangerous could one sandwich be? Even if it looked a little funny.

He mashed the two halves of whole wheat together, picked it up, definitely did not let himself smell the thing, and took a bite. Chewed. His eyes watered. If he opened his mouth, he’d spit flames like a fire Sibyl.

Andy watched him, grinning around her mouthful of bean sprouts and mushrooms and a bunch of other stuff he hadn’t even been able to keep up with. After she swallowed, she said, “Food shouldn’t be boring.”

“Nothing’s boring around you. I’m getting that.” Jack ate another few bites and washed it down with the sparkling water she’d picked out for him. The lemon she’d added took the sting down a few notches, and the flavor—not bad. “Do you know how to cook?”

“I wish. I make a mean sandwich.” She hoisted another bite and scarfed it down. A hefty note of garlic wafted across the table.

Jack didn’t say anything about the fact he actually knew his way around a kitchen. Maybe he’d surprise her with that little fact someday.

“Why did you ask me out?” she asked suddenly.

Direct question. Deserved a direct answer. “I think you’re …” He hesitated. What word? Beautiful? Amazing? Interesting? All of them would fit. He settled for “Exciting.” It didn’t come near all the layers of her he could see, but it was a start.

Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Was it the underwear? Tell the truth.”

No, sweetheart. Not that much truth. Not yet
. Jack’s whole body reacted to the memory of her standing on the beach with nothing but wet lace hiding what he wanted to see. “The underwear got my attention, but you already had my appreciation.”

“From what, all the broken bones I gave you?”

He shrugged. Just a leg, an arm, and a wrist. Bones healed. “Nah. It’s the way you walk. Hot.” He waited for her to laugh, and she did. “Really, it was the notes you wrote in OCU files. You’re a strategist at heart. You see patterns and details most people miss. I respect that kind of brilliance.”

This seemed to catch her off guard, and she looked down at her bagel creation.

Jack tensed. Was he treading ground Sal Freeman had walked? He didn’t want to be a reminder, not because he thought he couldn’t find his own way with Andy, but because he didn’t want her sad.

“Complimenting my body and my brains.” She glanced at him and smiled. “You’re working hard.”

“I have to keep up.”

“Letting this be anything like a date, it’s a big step for me.”

“I know.”

Her eyes seemed to shift more to brown, darker with a seriousness he wasn’t used to seeing from her. “Especially with you. When you headed off to spend time at the Motherhouses, you were the most arrogant fuckhead I’d ever met. What changed?”

He gave her
hot, brilliant, exciting
—and he got
fuckhead
. Figured. “They reminded me I wasn’t the only person on earth who had been fighting evil my whole life. That I wasn’t the only arrogant fuckhead who’d lost people who mattered, or the only guy who cared how the battle ended.”

Andy chewed on this along with another bite, then her smile started to creep back into place. “I was pretty sure one of the Mothers would kill you.”

“I wondered myself, especially in Ireland—but I think I got more lumps and bruises in Greece.”

Andy pointed a bit of carrot at him and nodded. “Dio aside, most people think air Sibyls are sooo sweet until they piss one off, you know?”

“The same could be said for water Sibyls, at least the modern variety.” He watched as she popped the carrot into her pretty mouth. “I read a lot at the Motherhouses, but I didn’t find out until just recently—you were the one who killed the Leviathan demon and ended the war with the Legion cult.”

The seriousness came back to her eyes. “Everybody had a hand in that. The fucker was already down and restrained by the Keres—you know, the Fates from Greek mythology. They’re all about fate and doom and death and vengeance. They’re the ones who contained August. I just pumped a few darts into his big demon brain to finish him off. It was—” She broke off, and he could tell she didn’t want to explain why she’d been the one to take out the Leviathan.

Jack took another bite of his sandwich, managing the pepper juice and mustard on his tongue. Why wouldn’t she tell him something like that? Unless—well, hell. Yeah, it probably did have something to do with Sal Freeman. He had to let her know that it was okay to go there, that she didn’t have to try to shield him or please him or pretend Sal had never existed. Soldiers died in battle. Good soldiers. Better soldiers than him. Jack didn’t feel any need to compete with the memory of a dead man.

“You don’t have to censor with me. Not ever, not about anything.” Pepper juice dripped from his sandwich to his fingers, burning along his skin.