Captive Heart (3 page)

Elana faced her, her scarred face serious but kind, with that ever-present relaxation she seemed to have when they visited any beach. “Where our hearts take us.”

“That really helps.” Andy drew in more water and shot it out over the sea, using her palm to target the stream. Aquakinesis. She needed a lot more practice with that ability, but she felt a small release every time she did it. Nothing like a little violence to get a girl’s pulse back to normal.

“When the time is right, the place will call to us,” Elana said. “We’ll both know.”

Just the thought of moving her Sibyl training facility to some new and unknown location, never mind building a Motherhouse—Andy wasn’t sure how she was supposed to ever find any peace now.

“Don’t die,” she told Elana. “There’s no way I can fight alongside my quad in New York, figure out all this crap, and build a Motherhouse by myself.”

Elana’s shrug made Andy want to bury herself headfirst in the sand. “I’ll live forever if nothing kills me.”

Andy grimaced because Elana was referring to the fact that not only was she one of the oldest Sibyls in the world, she was also the only half-demon Sibyl … ever. Tiger-demons known as Rakshasa had attacked her and infected her a long time ago, but she had survived and lived to help drive the bastards off the face of the planet—twice. Andy felt like she had to protect Elana at all costs, but that would be damned hard if Elana didn’t quit putting herself on the front lines of demon battles.

“Our disruption has arrived.” Elana pointed in the direction of the docks, and Andy saw a man striding toward them.

Weird.

Usually the locals who knew about Motherhouse Salvador Dalí’s Worst Nightmare wouldn’t let anybody approach this end of the island unescorted, much less march right up their private beach to bang on the front door. Which, for the record, was as ugly as the rest of the place, though Motherhouse Russia was quite proud of the carved wolf’s-head door handle.

How had some guy managed to—

Andy looked closer.

The man had coal-colored hair and stoic, handsome features almost too perfectly aligned to be real instead of some Renaissance painter’s fantasy. Those features were familiar, but what she really recognized was his scowl. And who could miss the totally out of place
Men in Black
suit and the dark sunglasses?

Him
.

Here.

Of all places.

Oh, yeah,
this
was really going to help her relax and focus on learning healing and flow and all that other water Sibyl crap.

“Fuck me.” Andy put her hand on Elana’s shoulder. “It’s Jack Blackmore. Think anybody would care if I drowned him?”

The temporary director of New York City’s under-the-radar Occult Crimes Unit walked straight toward Andy like he owned the whole damned island. The man had existed outside of mainstream society for so long he had no idea how to deal with real people. After his stint in the Army, he’d gone federal, and most recently he had been working for the FBI on special assignment to New York City to fight the Rakshasa. Since the first Gulf War, Jack Blackmore had been helping military and civilian law enforcement establish and run units like the OCU, and he was used to being in charge and giving orders.

Andy was used to plotting Jack’s death every time he spoke.

Just the sight of him made her blood come to full boil. How could she hate somebody just for the way he walked? No. No. It was the suit and sunglasses. Or the tight way he held his athletic body, like he was always ready to fight with something.

Maybe it was the way he breathed.

Or the fact he breathed.

Truth be told, in the year or so she had been forced to be around him, she’d never had a real conversation with the bastard because they always started screaming at each other after a few sentences. Her palm itched like it was getting ready to slap him.

“Your sister Sibyls told me Mr. Blackmore spent time at all the Sibyl Motherhouses last year to improve his manners with the Sisterhood,” Elana said. “I take it from your surge of stress that you don’t believe his tutoring was sufficient?”

Jack was thirty feet from them and still coming. Andy glanced at the water on her right. Okay, okay, drowning him might be extreme—but what about washing him out to sea for a few hours? “Believe me, Elana, this jerk is beyond teaching. He doesn’t want to learn.”

Elana responded by moving off a little ways and seating herself on a rock. She turned her face to the sea, and Andy had to make herself stand still as Jack Blackmore steered himself to a stop directly in front of her.

She looked up to see his face. Otherwise, she would have been staring straight at his muscle-bound chest. So he was an arrogant shithead in a Flaming Bunch of Idiots suit—but she had to admit the stupid getup fit him like nobody’s business. Did the guy hit the gym twice a day or something?

Blackmore’s typical all-business expression remained in place for about three seconds. Then it faltered. For a long moment, he stood motionless, his mirrored lenses reflecting sunlight. His face softened and he pulled off those ridiculous glasses, but he still didn’t say a word. He just looked at her like he’d traveled a few thousand miles to have a chat this afternoon, then completely forgot what he intended to say.

His dark brown eyes seemed almost black in the sunlight, and Andy could have sworn the man brought a host of fresh, warm breezes with him. He smelled like cedar with a hint of something earthy, which she had never noticed before, probably because every time she had ever gotten near him she had been in the process of doing him serious bodily harm.

Her damp hair stirred, blowing across her cheeks. Right about the time she reached up to brush it out of her eyes, she saw the purple streaks on the damp tips. Then she remembered she was wearing nothing but lacy, purple-stained underwear.

Oh …

Shit …

Heat splashed through her, and she knew her face had just gone the color of a bad sunburn. Her eyes darted to the waves, but her yellow robes were long gone. Every swear word she had ever known—in any language—cycled through her mind, but she refused, she absolutely refused, to cover herself up or make excuses or do anything at all to let this man know she felt humiliated.

Somehow, she stood there. Just sort of hung out like it was no big deal, being almost naked on a beach with the biggest jerk on earth.

Jack folded his sunglasses and slipped them into his suit pocket. His throat moved, but his mouth stayed closed and not a sound slipped out. Andy saw his eyes dip, then snap back to meet hers again.

He wants to look at me, but he’s trying not to. Good for him. He might live to get off the damned beach
.

“I—ah—hello. You—” He gave up again. Rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Saul and I tried to call ahead, but your phone’s not working.”

Andy held his gaze, amused and surprised by his reaction to her. “A Motherhouse full of Sibyls does that to technology. There’s not a stable digital signal or a functioning computer within five miles of this beach. You could have had yourself transported directly here instead of going to Motherhouse Greece and making Saul ferry you over to the island.”

Jack rubbed his neck again. “Didn’t think that would be … polite.”

Nervous
, Andy’s cop brain informed her, and her Sibyl instincts agreed. Well, that was an emotion she was familiar with, but what was getting to him? Was it her—or her underwear?

He managed to get himself under control enough to say, “Besides, I thought since you could use a phone, maybe water Sibyls were different about the whole killing-electronics thing.”

Whatever was bugging the guy, Andy didn’t feel inclined to help him get more comfortable. Maybe if he hyperventilated, he’d leave faster. She stayed casual, like she was in no rush for him to get to the point. “I think I can still use electronic stuff because I didn’t become a Sibyl until after I was an adult. Just different, I guess.”

“Yes, you are.” Jack looked at the sky like he was cursing himself, then quickly added, “In a good way. What I mean is—just … look.” He met her eyes again, though he didn’t seem to be having an easy time with that. “I came here to make peace and to ask you for a favor.”

Okay, this was rich. Jack Blackmore coming to her for a favor? Andy really didn’t care anymore about being almost naked. She folded her arms and watched, enjoying the warm beach breezes as he squirmed in his no doubt hot-as-hell suit. “Make peace? Are we at war?”

Jack’s face slid through a few near-expressions, from irritation to surprise to something like determination. “We’ve been fighting since I came to New York City because—”

“Because you’re a pushy, arrogant dickhead who gives orders instead of listening to people who know more than you do.” Andy made sure her smile was sweet even though she wished she could grow fangs like some of her demon friends.

Jack kept his determined look, but he seemed at a loss for a response.

Andy waited.

He cleared his throat. “Pushy. Arrogant. I’ll accept that—but I’m trying to learn more about working with Sibyls as equals. I spent time at every Motherhouse except yours, and I was hoping to remedy that.”

“You want to stay … here?” This struck Andy about as crazy as Elana’s announcement that they needed to build a new Motherhouse. She would have laughed, but she couldn’t believe he meant what he was saying. “I’m sorry. We don’t have any regular Assholes Anonymous meetings. You might fall off the wagon.”

Jack looked away. Looked back. Was he actually smiling at her? Oh, she had no idea what to do with that or the ice water shock of seeing what that smile did to his obnoxiously handsome face.

Chills broke along her very exposed skin, cold at first, then warm, then hot. Her body ignored her common sense and vibrated under the force of his gaze.

“Yeah. Definite possibility.” He was still smiling and she wanted him to stop, but she really didn’t want him to stop, either. Ever. “Maybe some other time, then.”

When pigs marry donkeys and fire Sibyls stop letting off smoke
. That’s what Andy wanted to say, but she couldn’t really say anything because she was too busy being freaked out by a weird disappointment that he’d given up so easily.

“About that favor,” he said, the smile slipping away until Andy actually felt the loss.

This wasn’t quite as fun as she’d thought it was going to be. “Okay. Let’s have it.”

Jack raised one eyebrow. “You probably won’t like it.”

“Big surprise.” Andy made sure to tamp down her elemental energy. If she blasted him with a wave here on the beach, she really might wash him out to sea. His boyish nervousness and that damned smile had earned him a few minutes without the risk of homicide. Maybe.

After a few moments of hesitation, Jack said, “Come home to New York City, either right now with me or as soon as you can work it out, Sibyl-fashion.”

Surprise made Andy’s eyes widen. “I’m not due back until September—I have duties here since I’m the senior water Sibyl Mother.” Her gaze drifted to Elana. Was that really true anymore? She and Elana had never formally discussed Elana taking her position as a water Sibyl Mother, but they should. Elana should rank as the eldest at the Motherhouse. “I can’t come back with you, but why would you want me to?”

Jack pulled some folded papers out of his jacket pocket and handed them to her. She glanced down at them and realized they were copies of crime scene photos. The snapshot showed a pile of bodies with legs in jeans sticking out in every direction. Bloodied arms flopped out of the stack like they were trying to point at whoever had shot them so full of holes.

Her mind automatically took in every detail, from the glimpses of warehouse backdrop to the way no blood had pooled around the pile. So somebody had slaughtered these guys, then stacked them up like trash bags to be shoved to the curb. She couldn’t see any of the faces, but she thought they were all male.

She looked up at Jack. “Who are they?”

His face was emotionless, but his dark eyes gleamed with an intensity that gave her a new round of shivers. “Desemov’s men.”

“Desemov? The Russian crime boss? You’re shitting me.” Andy looked back at the photo. Her nostrils flared and she took a deep breath, like she could smell the whole mess all the way across the ocean. “Who would have the balls to go after his operation like this?”

Jack took back the crime scene photos and slid them into his pocket. “Wish I knew. We’ve seen some bizarre crap happening in the Balkan crime families, too.” He handed her another crime scene photo. This one showed a dead man with his head, both arms, and both legs detached. Andy stared hard at the picture. The bloody clothing plastered to the man’s torso was intact. No cut marks—and the limb and head amputations had ragged, chaotic edges. It was like they had been—

“Pulled off his body?” A new kind of tension formed in Andy’s belly. This one had nothing to do with her Motherhouse worries or her long list of issues with Jack Blackmore, and it made her shut out almost everything but the rocks surrounding her on the beach and the man trying to talk to her. “Something just … popped him apart like a doll?”

“We found most of Ioannis Foucci’s crew in similar shape,” Blackmore said. “Ripped to pieces, no tool or chain-saw marks, no hint of a machine involved, no bite or chew marks. Elemental energy traces suggest Samuel Griffen and his Coven were involved, but they can hide themselves from detection. So far, we’ve got nothing.”

Andy knew whatever had been strong enough and evil enough to kill a person by yanking him to pieces, it wasn’t human. The Coven had a history of making allies out of creatures most people would kill on sight—like the Rakshasa they invited to New York City. They also had a history of creating minor, simple elementally based demons like Asmodai—but this? Andy couldn’t think of a man-made demon who could tear people apart at the joints. “What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.” The intensity in Jack’s eyes got downright uncomfortable as he took the photo back from her. “What I do know is that your quad took down the Rakshasa, and I think you’re the best fighters and best investigators we’ve got on the Sibyl side. You—you’re the best of both worlds, and you’ve logged more time on the streets than any OCU officer I’ve got.”

Andy looked away, flustered and hot all over again. For a lot of reasons, it dug at her to hear him give her compliments like a commander. To notice him using
we
and
I’ve got
. Possessive. In control, not of her, but of the police unit she helped start and had intended to lead. Blackmore was a fixture at OCU now, no matter how temporary she had hoped he would be. Was he planning to stay in New York City instead of moving on to whichever crisis in the world needed an extra asshole on the case?

Was that why he’d showed up here offering to make peace?

OCU officers often accused Sibyls of reading minds, but Jack Blackmore was the one to dig straight into Andy’s thoughts. “I’m sorry about how I rode into New York City unannounced and heavy-handed. And I’m sorry for the loss you suffered before I came. It must have felt like shit to see me take Sal Freeman’s job. If you hadn’t become a Sibyl, that position would have been yours.”

Andy was past hot now and getting more pissed by the second. “Don’t go there, okay? Just—don’t.”

Don’t say Sal’s name. Don’t go where you’re not welcome
. She turned her face to the waves and made herself breathe. From the corner of her eye, she saw Elana in the distance, stiff on her rock like she was watching the whole conflict even though she couldn’t see. She was probably picking up Andy’s emotion and sensing the rise in the water level all around them.

Andy didn’t like making Elana nervous, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want this bastard talking about her old life, her cop’s life, back when she’d thought she was a normal human and would live a normal life, rising through the police ranks and kicking some ass along the way. She’d had a future that made sense to her. She’d had Sal Freeman, too, the previous captain of the OCU—and, Andy thought, her match in every sense of the word. But Sal had gotten himself killed, which created the departmental opening Jack Blackmore had … what? Muscled into? Stolen?