Siren's Call (A Rainshadow Novel) (23 page)

Sometime later she turned off the water and toweled herelf dry. She got out of the shower, pulled on the robe, and stood quietly for a moment, listening. There were no sounds from the outer room. Rafe had probably gone back downstairs. She did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Feel relieved
. The job had ended. Soon she would be going home. Alone.

She wiped steam off the mirror and rezzed the hair dryer she found in a drawer under the sink.

A soft knock startled her so badly that she nearly dropped the dryer.

“Want your clothes?” Rafe called through the paneling.

She opened the door an inch or two and peered at him through the narrow opening.

“You’re still here?” she asked.

“I’m assuming that is a rhetorical question, given that I’m standing here in front of you.”

She flushed. “I just assumed that you had gone back downstairs while I was in the shower.”

“Is that what you want me to do? Go downstairs?”

Flustered, she tried to get her act together. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, you’re here now, aren’t you? And I suppose everyone on the jobsite knows it.”

He folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the doorjamb. “You suppose correctly. Got a problem with that?”

“Well, no, I guess not. What’s done is done. Everyone knows—”

“Maybe it’s time we had a conversation about the status of our relationship.”

She drew a steadying breath. “In my experience, it’s usually better not to have that conversation.”

“Why is that?”

She raised her chin. “You know the answer. I thought I’d made it clear. Women like me do not have long-term relationships.”

“Says who?”

“Family tradition and the Arcane files.”

“Who did the research into the Arcane files?” Rafe asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling quite cross now.

“Just wondering if your so-called research was a do-it-yourself job or if you used one of the Society’s genealogical specialists.”

“I did it myself, of course. I couldn’t risk asking for
professional assistance. The specialist would have wondered why I was so interested in the subject.”

“Know what I think?” Rafe said.

“No, and something—call it a hunch—tells me this probably isn’t a good time for you to give me your opinion on the subject.”

He ignored that. “I think that you’ve managed to scare the living daylights out of yourself a few times when you were forced to use your talent in self-defense. You burned that killer groom so badly that he will spend the rest of his life in a locked ward at a para-psych hospital. You took down Vickary when he threatened to kill you. A few months ago your ex-boss pimped you out to a creep who tried to rape you. Once again you were forced to defend yourself, and in the process, you burned another jerk and put him into a coma for a while. Then, last night, you sang to death a creature that should have gone extinct eons ago and you found out just how strong you really are.”

Tears blurred her eyes. “Every time I sing at the top of my talent, something or someone gets hurt or dies.”

“Ghost shit. Every time you sing with the full power of your talent, people survive—not just you, but other potential victims. Who knows how many other women that client raped before you took him down? Who knows how many women you saved when you torched that serial wife-killer?”

“I know. And I’m not sorry about those two, really. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I really am one of the monsters, a for-real Siren. Born to destroy.”

The tears were running down her face now. She knew
full well that she did not look attractive when she cried. She tightened her hands into fists.

“You weren’t born to destroy people,” Rafe said.

“Then why do I end up hurting people and . . . and helpless monsters?”

He smiled a little at the
helpless monsters
.

“There is always a dark side to any talent,” he said gently. “You know that. A paranormal ability that is strong enough to heal is strong enough to kill. Power is power. It all comes down to how it’s used.”

“What good is a talent like mine?”

Rafe pushed the door all the way open and drew her against his chest. “You were born to do exactly what you’re doing at the Knightsbridge Dream Institute. You were born to save people from their own nightmares. You were born to heal.”

She sniffed a few times and then she was sobbing into his shirt. Again. The crying thing, she reflected, had become a very bad habit.

After a while the tears stopped. She was surprised to discover that she suddenly felt much better. She was calm and back in control. Reluctantly, she raised her head and stepped back. Rafe released her. She grabbed a tissue from the dispenser and blotted her eyes.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she mumbled.

He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. “It’s the truth. What’s more, I’m living proof. Whatever you did when you sang to me on that road trip out of Crystal City changed everything for me.”

“It was just a little tweak, really. Nothing major.”

“It sure as hell felt major.” He brushed his mouth against hers. When he raised his head there was a lot of heat in his eyes. “What’s more, I’m damn sure that whatever we’ve got going between us is major, too.”

She managed a weak smile. “Is that an expert opinion or a DIY conclusion?”

“When it comes to some things, I’m strictly a DIY guy.”

The energy was rising in the atmosphere between them. She did not even try to resist. Their future might be blurry, but she was very sure of one thing—she did not want to look back with regret. Rafe was right; whatever was going on between them, it was major.

“There’s a lot to be said for the DIY approach to certain matters,” she whispered.

She wound her arms around his neck. He groaned. His mouth came down on hers.

The hunger in his kiss thrilled her senses. He wanted her and she wanted him. That was all that mattered for now.

Her heated response shattered all his good intentions. When he knocked on the door of the bathroom a few minutes ago and saw her bundled up in the bathrobe, steam swirling around her, he had reminded himself that she had been through a traumatic experience.

He needed to take it slowly, he thought. He needed to give her some time to recover from the harrowing events of the past few days. He needed to be understanding. He needed to be gentle.

But his own need to answer the Siren’s call set fire to his senses.

She opened her mouth for him and tightened her arms around his neck. He reached down and untied the sash of the robe. The garment fell open and her warm, soft body was his to explore.

Her scent was intoxicating and her sleek, feline curves
were irresistible. He drew his hands slowly down over her breasts. The feel of her firm nipples on his palms sent another wave of shuddering excitement through him.

“You are so perfect,” he said against her throat. “You must have been made for me.”

“Rafe.” She framed his face between her palms and looked into his eyes. “This is such a gift—being together like this. I want you to know that it means a lot to me.”

“Sex?” He grinned. “Hey, anytime. Seriously. Just ask.”

“No, not sex. Well, yes, this kind of sex. I’ve never had sex like this.”

“You think this is kinky? Honey, I’ve got news for you. What we’ve been doing is all plain vanilla. We haven’t even started with the kinky stuff. But we’ve got time—”

She gripped the lapels of his shirt. “This may be plain vanilla to you, but it’s not to me. Plain vanilla to me is sex without the big finish. I’ve never been able to let go and fly the way I did the first time with you the other night. It’s . . . a little terrifying, to be honest.”

“Let me get this straight—you’re afraid of yourself, right? Not me.”

“No, not you. Never you. I’m trying to explain something here. I’ve always held back. There has always been something missing.”

“Me. I’m what’s been missing. But I’m here now.”

He peeled the robe off her shoulders and let it fall away. Then he sank to his knees on the bathroom rug and gently eased her legs apart. She was wet, and not just from the shower.

He stroked her until she was moaning and then he used
his tongue on her. She tasted of wild seas and hot rain. Her fingers clenched on his shoulders and she trembled at his touch.

He could not wait any longer. He got to his feet and caught her around the waist. He hoisted her up off the floor so that she dangled, helpless and hungry above him. She wrapped her bare legs around his hips.

He abandoned himself to the raw energy of the moment because this was the woman who knew his secrets and didn’t care about them. She wasn’t afraid of the psi-fever because her own talent was wild and powerful.

He braced her against the bathroom wall while he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He thrust into her tight body, trying to go slowly at first so that he could savor the hot pleasure of the physical joining.

But the heat in the atmosphere flashed from the normal into the paranormal and she was suddenly clenched around him, hanging on as though she would never let go. Their clashing auras began to resonate in an intimate harmony.

“Rafe.”

She convulsed, her release spilling through her in waves that pulled him over the edge. His climax hit hard and deep and seemed to go on endlessly.

Somewhere out on the paranormal spectrum he heard his Siren singing.

Slade put down the phone when Rafe and Ella walked into his office. “I was just going to call you. That was one of my officers. The boat the Vortex guys took last night went on the rocks a short distance outside the harbor. No surprise. They found the bodies on the beach in a small cove. Same ID as the two sitting in my jail. Bounty hunters employed by Crystal City Bail Bonds.”

Rafe suppressed his irritation. “Well, that’s pretty much what we expected. When can we talk to the two you picked up last night?”

“Now,” Slade said. “But we need to talk fast.”

“Why the need for speed?” Ella asked.

“Because I called Joe Harding to fill him in on what happened last night,” Slade said. “We both concluded that this Crystal City Bail Bonds outfit is a cover for a criminal organization running serious Alien tech. Between that
and the kidnapping attempt, it’s clear this is an FBPI case. Let’s just say that Joe got all excited.”

“Probably can’t wait to stand in front of the cameras again to announce the takedown of a violent criminal gang,” Ella said. “That guy is such a glory-hound.”

Rafe and Slade looked at her. Slade raised his eyebrows.

“She’s not a fan of Hard Joe,” Rafe explained.

“I see,” Slade said. “It just so happens that Joe Harding has an excellent track record when it comes to handling cases like this.”

Ella folded her arms. “I’m sure that’s only because he has the sense to employ high-end consultants like Rafe.”

Slade chuckled. “Knowing who to hire is pretty much what defines a good manager.”

“I suppose.” Ella did not look convinced.

“Moving right along,” Rafe said. “What did Joe say when you told him about what happened last night?”

“What do you think he said?” Slade tossed a pen down onto the desktop. “He wants to interrogate our two guests as soon as possible. He’s sending an FBPI charter plane to Thursday Harbor to pick them up this afternoon. I told him I would have the perps on the one o’clock ferry. I’ll escort them, personally, and take a couple of my officers along for backup. I want to make sure the handoff goes smoothly.”

Rafe glanced at his watch. “Then we talk to them before we chat with Angela Price.”

“Right.”

The interrogation took place in the lunchroom of the small Shadow Bay police station. It did not prove fruitful. When it was over Rafe looked at his notes.

“They’re sticking with the bail bond agent story and they’ve got the ID to prove it,” he said.

“They expect you to believe that they mistook you for a criminal defendant who skipped bail?” Ella demanded, outraged.

“Don’t know if they expect us to believe it or not,” Slade said. “But that’s their story. I could push them harder but, frankly, the FBPI is much better equipped to handle serious interrogations like this. We’re dealing with what may be a widespread and deeply embedded criminal organization. My department doesn’t even have a for-real forensics lab.”

“I get it,” Ella said. “But I don’t have to watch
Harding take credit on the evening news when he closes the case.”

“No,” Slade agreed. “You don’t have to watch him take the credit.”

“Speaking personally,” Rafe said, “I won’t mind watching him take the credit. Not if he manages to expose Vortex.”