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  “They hit you.” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice.

  She touched the bruise, winced. “Actually, no. I headbutted one of them trying to get away.”

  A burst of unexpected admiration curved his lips. Below him, one of the thugs rolled to his knees and made as if to stand.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Ian clasped the back of the man’s neck, draining off his will to fight, to move, stopping just short of his will to live. He knelt, following the guy’s body to the ground. Lowering his voice so the woman wouldn’t hear the snap of thrall in his tone, he said, “When we’re gone you will disappear. You will forget you ever saw her or me. And if you so much as breathe wrong in her direction or anyone else’s, you will wish you’d never been born.”

  Getting back to his feet was a struggle, which was why he was no longer on active duty.

  “You’re hurt!” His senses flooded with her soft petal scent as she sprang to his side. How had he not seen her move?

  She started to reach for him, but Ian threw up his hand, snapping, “I’m fine.” He regretted the tone as soon as it was out. The warm peach of her concern retreated to cool blue distance. “I’m sorry. It’s an old—It’s not from this fight.”

  Ian didn’t look at her as he rose painfully to his feet. He didn’t want to see any pity or sympathy in the shades of her temper. He did his best to pull himself back to the practical. “Do you want to call the police? Press charges?”

  From where she crouched, stuffing things back into a backpack, the woman looked up and studied him. “Even if the accent hadn’t been a dead giveaway, that clinches it. You’re not from around here.”

  Not by a long shot, he thought, limping over to join her. “I take it that’s a ‘No’ then.”

  “The police aren’t noted for giving a damn. Thanks for your help, Mr.—”

  He hesitated at the prompt but could find no reason not to give his name. “Ryker. Ian Ryker. Can I walk you home Miss—”

  “Marley. Just Marley.”

  “Then can I walk you home Just Marley?” Ian could see her struggling with indecision as she stuffed textbooks and notepads into the bag. “I feel compelled to point out that, should you say no, I’m just going to hang back and follow you to make sure you get in okay. I won’t rest easy if I don’t. I’d rather walk with you.”

  He risked crouching again to pick up a small plastic container. It had popped open during the skirmish and the contents spilled out. He picked up the small cluster of blush pink cherry blossoms. One end had been trampled and torn, but the remaining blossoms were intact. A pained expression flashed across Marley’s face as she eyed the cutting in his hand.

  Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, handing it over. “From the city?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I wanted to bring something beautiful back home.” She colored a little, but took the box and the sprig with gentle hands, placing the container carefully back in the bag. “It’s stupid.”

  He took her in, this hothouse flower in the middle of the ghetto. “No,” he said, “I don’t think that’s stupid at all.”

  Chapter 2

  Marley’s feet ached, even in her sensible shoes. Hours of standing, taking orders, serving them, then doing it all over again for a double shift, left knots in her lower back. She crossed the diner kitchen, eyes on the time clock as if it were a finish line at the end of a long race. Behind her, Dino, the short order cook on second shift, called out orders and slid plates of hot, steaming food into the window out to the dining room.

  “I got Adam and Eve on a raft, extra axle grease. One Irish turkey. One Jayne Mansfield. Order up!”

  Her steps moved unconsciously to the rhythm of the kitchen as she slid her time card in and finally, blessedly, clocked out.

  “You want somethin’ for the road, cupcake?” Dino asked.

  “No thanks.” She pressed both hands into the small of her back and arched, trying to relieve some of the tension. “Just want to get home.”

  Dino eyed her with affectionate disapproval. “You don’t eat enough,” he proclaimed. It was a regular complaint from the Bronx transplant, whose arteries probably ran slick with grease. “You let me fix you somethin’.”

  Marley slipped her coat on over her uniform and tugged her hair free of the collar. A quick glance through the pass-thru showed her a sky already painted with the watercolor wash of sunset. She’d been on early shift all month, leaving home in the wee hours when even the monsters slept, and getting in well before the sun went down. But Loraine had called in sick today, so Marley had taken the extra shift. She needed the extra hours, the extra tips. Tuition money for summer semester would be coming due soon.

  “I really need to get home.”

  Dino followed her gaze, his frown deepening. “Later than I thought.” He poked his head through the kitchen door, called out, “Hey Dave, you wanna take that cuppa Joe to go and walk our girl here home?”

  Officer Cluskey looked up from the slice of apple pie Marley had served him not two minutes before and reached immediately for his hat.

  She sighed and pushed out of the kitchen, laid a hand on the beat cop’s shoulder to keep him on his stool. “No.” She forced a smile to soften the refusal because she saw the insult leap in his eyes. “You eat your pie, drink your coffee. You’re off shift. This is your time to relax.”

  Cluskey smiled, and it was a good imitation if you didn’t know what to look for. Those expecting a friendly, neighborhood cop would see exactly that. She knew better, noted the pale, flat eyes that didn’t reflect the false warmth of his lips. She saw too the faintly cruel twist at the corners of his mouth. The facade didn’t fool her for a second.

  “It’s no trouble. It’ll work off the pie.” He patted the nonexistent paunch of his belly.

  Fishing for compliments, Marley thought and didn’t rise to the bait. She’d heard the talk and she knew what he did to make himself feel more powerful. Him and others like him, with no one to stop them. Not the system, corrupt and twisted as a snake, blind and deaf to victims who weren’t in the right tax bracket or zip code. Public servants my ass. Just more monsters, hiding behind a badge.

  “No need,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my pepper spray.”

  “What’s the rush? Why the hurry? Hot date?” called Cluskey. He didn’t quite manage to mask the edge in his voice.

  For a fleeting instant, Ian’s face popped into her mind, and she wished he was waiting to walk her home. Which was stupid. There hadn’t been a single sign of him since the night he’d rescued her. She’d looked. Which made her feel even more foolish.

  Bumping the door open with her hip, Marley glanced back at the cop. “As a matter of fact, yes. The hottest. A really big pile of problems to solve about the calculus of thermodynamics.”

  He was still blinking at her when the door swung shut again. Don’t expect a lowly waitress to have a brain, do you, dirt bag. He’d never guess she’d interned last fall with one of the biggest demolition firms in the city or that she’d be graduating in a couple semesters at the top of her class.

  By the time she made her way to the corner, she could just see the bus’s taillights disappearing two blocks away.

  Marley swore.

  She could try to flag a cab, but the cost of the fare would eat up a big chunk of her tips for the day and completely defeat the point of the double shift. She could wait for the next bus, but that would be at least twenty minutes. Either way, it put her getting back to her neighborhood in full dark, which she’d managed to successfully avoid while the bruises faded and she tried to get on with her life. She couldn’t keep standing here. Cluskey could come out any moment, and she wouldn’t be able to put him off again. Better to face the fear and the dark than whatever payment he might decide to exact for his questionable chivalry.

  ~*~

  Ian straightened from his post across from the diner as Marley stepped out of the alley. In the month he’d been watching out for her, it was the first tim
e she’d missed the bus home. Judging from the sickly yellow haze surrounding her, it hadn’t been on purpose. She bit out something profane and cast a quick glance at the front door. Checking for the cop inside? Ian had seen distrust explode off her, even from across the street.

  That she began to walk rather than risk him coming out spoke volumes. Ian waited a few beats until he’d assured himself the cop was staying put, then wove his way into the crowd, pacing Marley. She moved quickly, shoulders hunched in her jacket, a takeout container in one hand and pepper spray in the other.

  Ian debated slipping free of the shadows and walking with her. Assuming his sudden appearance wouldn’t give her a heart attack on the spot or end with him getting a healthy dose of pepper spray to his face. It was because the idea of walking with her, talking to her, was so damned appealing that he rejected it, as he had every other time the thought had crossed his mind. Being human, she was off limits according to every law in his world. It was safer for them both if he merely watched from the dark.

  The sun dipped below the horizon as they passed out of the semi-respectable business district and into the run-down residential section bordering her neighborhood. With every step, her anxiety ramped higher, mulberry streamers shooting high above the surrounding buildings. He was rethinking his position on confrontation when he caught the shadow. Just a glimmer at the edges of his senses, but it had him pausing, conducting an automatic sweep.

  The source wasn’t human. That it was someone from the Mirus world wasn’t cause for immediate concern. A fair population called the area home, and they had business to conduct, same as anyone else. But whatever business was being conducted was covert, which switched Ian to full alert.

  Identify. Assess threat level. Prioritize.

  The basic sweep with his wraith senses turned up nothing useful. Not likely a civilian. He’d received no report that the Council would be using the safe house. Possibly, someone from the field was coming in hot and didn’t have time to follow protocol. But when Marley turned the corner, the shadow didn’t peel off toward the safe house. It turned as she did, moving no faster, no slower. Pacing her. Stalking her.

  Ian suppressed a growl and wished he had enough juice to dematerialize. With the setting sun, the streets had emptied of foot traffic, so there were no humans to skim from except Marley. He wasn’t about to make her any more afraid than she already was in order to top off.

  Her pursuer skated along in shadow. Ian could easily narrow the gap if he jumped planes himself, but he’d also lose the element of surprise. He had to be quiet about disabling the guy. No drawing Marley’s attention. He wouldn’t risk exposure unless absolutely necessary. That would be too dangerous for her.

  At a disadvantage in any kind of fast pursuit, he focused on stealth. Drawing just enough on the dark to blur himself, he skirted a line of parked cars and cut between a pair of houses. It was a risk, one he didn’t want to take, as it left Marley out of sight. But he knew her route. She’d stick to the light, even though it was longer. This would shave off a couple of blocks, get him into position in front of both of them.

  A pit bull on a chain began to bark as Ian broke free of the alley. He conjured the illusion of a cat and flung it at the animal. Should anyone look out at the noise, they’d only see a dog being taunted by a stray tom.

  Senses open wide, Ian could still see traces of Marley’s anxiety above the rooftops, and, along with it, fresh tendrils of fear. He sped up, risking the noise to gain some distance, get a bead on her. When he rounded the corner, he saw her stopped on the sidewalk, beneath the pale glow of a street lamp. Her body quivered, taut as a bowstring as she turned. Behind her, the shadow froze.

  In the deep shadows beside the row houses, Ian tensed, ready to spring into action. But the shadow didn’t move as Marley faced it. Didn’t budge as she stared right at its position, eyes searching. She knew something was there, some primitive part of her brain reacting, even though she couldn’t actually see it.

  She frowned as she began moving again, her gait on the edge of a jog. Behind her, the shadow slid into motion, matching her pace. Ian caught the delicate scent of orchids as she passed by within arm’s reach of him, considered the pleasure of it just reward as he snapped into shadow to confront the man trailing her.

  The first blow landed clean, eliciting a muffled grunt before hands came up to block. The dance was quick, silent, an all but dead-even match that ended nearly as fast as it had begun when Ian recognized his opponent. He caught the next punch, wrapping his hand around the fist and demanded, “What the hell are you doing, Matthias?”

  Ian’s former ops commander stepped back. “Tracking you. Your trail runs all over this goddamned neighborhood. What the hell are you doing following a human?”

  Busted. Given he’d been trailing her for weeks, his path would run parallel to hers. “Maintaining my skill set. She’s easy on the eyes.”

  “And you intercepted me because…”

  “I thought you were after her.”

  “And that matters why? You’re not enforcement.”

  Ian lied without batting an eye. “The last thing we need in the vicinity of the safe house is humans being preyed on by our kind. Brings too much attention. I didn’t know it was you.” He dismissed his suspicions. Matthias had even less reason to be following Marley than he did.

  Matthias nodded in approval. “Thorough. Not that I expected anything less. C’mon. I’ll buy you a drink, and we’ll talk.”

  Ian wondered what the hell they had to talk about, but he followed without further question.

  Twenty minutes later, Matthias plunked a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pair of glasses onto a scarred wood tabletop and slid into the chair beside it. Each of them faced one wall of the back corner of the bar, and each made practiced sweeps, cataloging the other seventeen people in the place. It was a second shift crowd, a working man’s bar. And every one of them was human. Which meant Matthias didn’t want to be overheard.

  Ian accepted the glass of whiskey, idly opening his senses to skim off the frustration, depression and other malaise that lingered around them. “What are you really doing here?”

  “Checking up to see if you’ve gone bat shit crazy yet, for one. You haven’t lost your edge.”

  Ian paused, the glass inches from his lips. They both knew that for a lie. If he hadn’t lost his edge, he’d still be in the field, not stuck in this hellhole. He took a sip and waited.

  “You seen any Underground activity since you’ve been here?”

  Ian’s injured leg gave a yowl, as if insulted by the reminder of the group that had knocked him out of active duty. “If I had, you know it would’ve been in my reports. Why? Have there been rumblings about expected terrorist activity?”

  “No more than usual. Just a routine question.”

  “There’s nothing routine about your presence, Matthias. Checking on me isn’t part of your duties.”

  “I’d like to think the men under my command, past and present, are more than merely duties.”

  It took more than a century of missions and a fifth of good scotch to make Matthias a friend. Clearly Ian’s expression said as much, because Matthias sighed.

  “Fine, I’ll cut to the chase. Given you seem in full possession of your faculties, I’m here to offer you a job.”

  That got his attention. Ian didn’t show his interest though. He took another lazy sip of scotch. “I’m no pencil pusher.”

  “Unless said pencil is being pushed into someone’s carotid, I’m inclined to agree. You’re wasted here.”

  No shit, Sherlock. But still, Ian said nothing, waiting for the other man to show his hand.

  “With a record as exemplary as yours, I have advised the Council to reconsider your duty status.”

  Despite his training, Ian felt his pulse jump in anticipation and something that held the bittersweet taste of hope. “And you suggested what alternative, exactly?” As much as he wanted to be back on active duty, he wasn’t willing to
risk the lives of his brothers in arms for the sake of his pride.

  “Promotion to ops commander.”

  Ian choked on his drink, too flustered to care as he coughed and tried to clear his throat. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “You can’t be in the thick of things because of your leg, but there’s not a goddamned thing wrong with your brain. You’re an exceptional strategist. The Council would be foolish not to take advantage of that fact.”

  Never in his wildest imaginings had Ian ever considered that his being benched by injury would lead to a promotion, let alone one of this caliber.

  “You’re serious,” he said slowly, not entirely trusting his voice.

  “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. As you’ve pointed out, this is out of routine. You interested?”

  To have his own squad, run his own missions, be the brain. Hell yes, he was interested. But not enough to plunge in without all the facts.

  “What are the terms?”

  “Usual. You’d be subject to Council oversight during your probationary period. Prove yourself, and you’re free of restriction in six months.”

  “Where would I be stationed?”

  “Wales, to start.”

  Within spitting distance of home. “Apollo being replaced?”

  “Apollo is dead.” Matthias’s voice betrayed no emotion at this fact, though Ian knew the two had been friends for more than a century.

  “How?”

  “Unclear. The reports from the surviving squad members are inconclusive. Your first mission would be to get to the root of his murder.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you agree, a replacement for this post will be appointed and dispatched to relieve you. Twenty-four hours at the most.”

  To be back in the field, performing the work he’d trained for was a gift he couldn’t ignore. Ian met his former ops commander’s gaze head on and held out his glass. “I’m in.”

  Matthias clinked his low ball against the edge of Ian’s. “I’ll make the call.”