Black and Blue

Thirteen

MORNING SUNLIGHT WASHED THROUGH the bedroom, splashed on the bed . . . on Evie, who was sprawled across the entire mattress. And she’d once accused him of being a bed hog, Blue thought with a wry smile.

He peered down at her, his entire body buzzing with energy—and need.

It wasn’t going away.

Surrounded by wisps of white lace hanging from the posts of the bed, and the pale blue fabric of the comforter, she was Snow White after she’d eaten the apple. Or maybe Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince . . . and a kiss. I’ve had my hands in her hair. I’ve had my face pressed against hers. I’ve moved my lips against hers.

I almost had that pale, soft skin completely bared . . .

He fisted his hands to stop himself from reaching for her.

Last night, shortly after leaving her in the living room, he almost said to hell with it and jumped her. The heat of his desire practically scorched his soul. But first he wanted her to want him with the same ferocity he wanted her. Because if he took her, he would disappoint a very good man; a man he loved. He could even lose his job.

That was a lot to deal with, just for a casual affair.

Too much, really. And he wasn’t going to do it, he decided.

Things with Evie had to be platonic from now on.

For the best.

Blue gave her a gentle shake. “I need you to wake up now, dewberry.” Unable to sleep, he’d spent the entire night listening to the audio feed from Star’s house. Finally, a few minutes ago, he’d heard something worthwhile.

She blinked open her eyes, her irises a deep, rich brown with striations of gold. He’d never noticed the gold before.

He really liked the gold.

Great start there, Platono.

“Blue?” She batted his arm away and grumbled, “What the flip are you doing in my room? And did you just call me ‘dewberry’? Because I am fully prepared to castrate you with a dull spoon.”

He grinned. “Get up and get dressed. We have a lead, and I know you want to tag along.”

“A lead? What lead?”

“Star’s guards have information about someone matching Solo’s description. Apparently, he was spotted at an abandoned warehouse in No Man’s Land, and they plan to gather the troops and go in guns blazing at dark, since they don’t have the stones to face him in broad daylight. That means we can beat them there.”

Blinking, she jolted upright. Dark locks tumbled down her shoulders and arms, and he had to force himself to back away from her before he did something stupid.

He strode to her dresser and pawed through the drawers, throwing a pink T-shirt in her direction, followed by a pair of socks, a bra, pink, like the top, and lace—nice—and a pair of pink panties. Lace as well. Really nice.

His stomach clenched as his craving for her intensified.

You respect Michael. You want to keep your job.

How many times would he have to remind himself?

She caught every item.

“I know you like to go commando some of the time, but today you’re going to be a good girl and wear proper undergarments.” He’d never be able to concentrate otherwise.

“Fine.”

He strode to her closet and selected a pair of jeans. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“Five minutes. And that’s not girl code for an hour.” She padded to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A second later he heard the whirl of the enzyme shower’s motor.

He needed something to do with his hands or he was going to go balls to the wall, strip, and join her in that stupid shower. In the kitchen he made a pot of coffee and filled a travel mug for her.

Mr. Domestic. That’s me. He couldn’t remember doing anything like this for anyone else.

The creaking of wood snagged his attention. He turned, watching as Evie marched down the stairs; damn it, she was once again so beautiful his chest began to ache. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and her cheeks were bright from the heat of her shower. She wore the garments he’d selected, and looked young and innocent and—

Not for him. Never for him.

MICHAEL. JOB.

He gripped the kitchen counter with tense fingers.

“What?” she asked, adjusting the purse strap crossing over her middle.

“Nothing,” he croaked. To distract himself, he used his power to tug that strap over her head, allowing him to grab hold of the bag.

“Hey!”

He dug through the contents. “A headlamp, compact, eyedrops, pyre-gun, superglue, brass knuckles, wet wipes, four rings, a mini flare gun, and a whistle.” As he spoke, he held up each item. “Some of this stuff I don’t even recognize.”

“Give me that,” she said, snatching the purse away and returning it to its rightful place.

“Why a headlamp?”

“Why not?”

Fair enough. He pushed the travel mug in her direction.

She arched a brow, suspicious. “You made this for me?”

He returned to gripping the counter, the granite cracking, and nodded.

“Well.” Her frown had nothing to do with anger but everything to do with confusion. “Thanks. I guess.”

“Not a morning person, sunshine?”

A glint of contrition in her eyes. “There are people who would tell you I’m not an anytime person.”

“Well, those people just don’t know you.”

Her jaw dropped, and she gazed at him with astonishment.

Yeah. He’d just astonished himself, too. Time to move on. “You ready?”

“I need one more minute to send Michael everything we’ve acquired from Star’s, and the Lucky Horn,” she said. “I know he plans to stay at the boathouse another day or two, and he’s got nothing but time on his hands. He can let us know if he finds anything else that’s useful.”

When she finished, Blue led her to the garage.

“Let’s take my SUV,” she said. “It’s not registered in my name, so it’s my in-case-all-hell-breaks-loose vehicle. A must-have for any agent of our generation.”

“Perfect.”

During the drive, he remained on alert for any tails, and even took several wrong turns, doubled back, and went in circles. No one attempted anything nefarious.

If that changed, the car’s sensors would know and alert him. More than that, the windows were made of shield armor, and the metal body was impenetrable. He could relax. If only for a little while.

“How did yesterday’s conversation with Agent Gutierrez go?” he asked.

“It didn’t. He wasn’t there. And rather than deal with anyone else, I left.”

“Good call.”

“Yeah.” She twisted her jeans at the knees. “Hey, Blue?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you created SHOW?”

He stiffened. He didn’t like that she knew. Hadn’t wanted to alter her opinion of him that way. “How did you find out?”

“You checked the website from my computer and the data streamed to my phone.”

“So? I’m not mentioned on the website.”

“Maybe I did a little digging.”

He forced his body to relax. “It’s no one’s business, Evie.”

“I know.” A suspended pause before she whispered, “I’m Anita Huginkis, a longtime donor.”

He was surprised. He was impressed. He was heart-warmed. His foul mood suddenly lifted. “I knew that was a fake name, but I checked Miss Huginkis out, and her background seemed legit.”

“Yep, I’m that good.” Preening, Evie fluffed her hair.

Grinning, he admitted, “I’m Justin Sider.”

She snorted. “Just inside her? Nice. A few years ago, I was Sherwood Lovett.”

“Holden Mylode.”

“Nealanne Licket.”

“Iva Woody.”

She burst into laughter, and he marveled anew at the beauty of her. Eyes bright. Cheeks aglow. She was the epitome of radiance, flooding the dark places inside him with light.

Need to make her laugh every day for the rest of her life.

Rest of her life? Don’t be ridiculous.

When she quieted, the tension was so thick, he doubted a knife could cut through it. He was turned on, verging on desperate.

“Ever been to No Man’s Land?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No. You?”

“Yeah.” There, the air was sharp from ongoing acid rains, and stung the skin and nostrils. Humans had moved into the city, out of the country lands, decades ago, so several alien races had then moved into the abandoned areas and taken over. “I would have guessed you’d worked out here with Eden. You guys are close, and Michael’s always sending her on the worst jobs . . . Can I ask you something personal?”

After a slight pause, she said, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

Here goes. “What happened to Claire?”

Sadness and remorse filled the vehicle. “Blue . . .”

“Still not ready to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be,” she admitted.

The wind began to beat against the car, even throwing pieces of gravel into the hood. Grime thickened the air outside as the paved road gave way to dirt.

Unsure why he was so determined to get her to open up to him, especially now that he’d decided to keep things friendly, but unwilling to back down, he said, “Why did your mom and Michael split?”

“She used to work for him.”

He nearly swallowed his tongue. “Michael dated a subordinate?”

“Yes, and it was quite the scandal in their day. She got pregnant and he refused to marry her. I think deep down she wanted to punish him for it. So she packed up and returned to her family in Westminster.”

“What about Claire’s father?”

“I was a year old when she married him, and Claire came two years after that. He stuck around till just after my sixth birthday. I was devastated by his abandonment. He was a good man, sweet to Claire and me, and our only real source of doting.”

“He never came around after that?”

“No.”

Then he wasn’t a good man, Blue thought darkly. He’d kiboshed his kids. He was a bastard.

Blue had done a lot of shitty things in his life, but ripping out a kid’s heart wasn’t one of them.

And now he hated that he’d once called Evie spoiled rotten. She wasn’t. Not at all. She’d faced rejection time and time again, and had built a wall around herself. Probably the only way she’d been able to survive.

“How about you?” she asked. “What about your parents?”

“I don’t remember my biological parents. I was adopted at the age of four.”

“Were your adoptive parents good to you?”

He’d never talked about this with anyone, not even Solo and John. Still, he found myself saying, “They tried to be.”

“Tried?”

“I wouldn’t let them.” He told her about his brothers and sisters, how they’d saved him. “I was so broken up about losing them, I shut everyone else out. When my new parents tried to hug me, I threw a tantrum. When they asked me to come eat at the table with them, I turned my back and went silent.”

“You were an emotionally traumatized kid. I’m sure they understood and hold no grudge.”

“You’re probably right, but I can’t ask them because they’re dead.”

She reached over, squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when a town came into view. “We’re close to the warehouse.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to this kind, generous side of her.

With spotted fur and catlike movements, the Bree Lians looked like animals stuck on human legs. The Cortaz were far more delicate in appearance, with glittery skin and bright lights seeping from their pores.

Everyone stopped whatever they were doing—shopping, selling food from wheeled carts, talking, and laughing—to watch as the car passed through. Blue gripped the handle of a pyre-gun, ready, just in case. But no one chased after them as they turned one corner, then another and another, leaving the center of town and entering a deserted area.

Finally, the vehicle stopped at the entrance of a metal building that looked as if it had been beaten by wind and weather, and seemed to bend at several odd angles.

Any other time he would have parked farther away, but he wanted the car as close to his location as possible.

“We’re here.”

“You think Star’s men are nearby?”

“No. They were pretty adamant about not coming to the area until dark, because they were afraid to face the otherworlders that live here, as well as Solo himself—if that’s who is actually here. But we’re still going to act as if they’re surrounding the place.”

“You going to power surge?”

“No. Too many innocents. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way. With guns.” He checked his pyre’s crystal. “Here. Put this on.” He handed her a black leather mask with clear, malleable plastic in the eyeholes.

After she pulled the thing over her head, he gently untangled her hair from the ear hooks. She went utterly still, as if anticipating his next move, and the moisture in his mouth dried.

He couldn’t dare a next move. His arms fell away.

He threw a pair of gloves at her. “These, too.”

She yanked the material over her hands, and withdrew the pyre from her purse. “Don’t you need a mask?” she asked, dialing the weapon to its hottest setting.

He did, but he’d only been able to find the one. “I’ll be fine.”

He held his breath and exited the vehicle in sync with Evie. They raced inside the building together, and in the short time it took, Blue’s face was pelted with thousands of stinging grains of dirt. As he shut the door to the warehouse, blocking the wind, Evie trained her weapon on the space behind him.

“Clear,” she said.

He removed her mask for her and set it aside for the return trip. “Fresh air is being fed into the vents by an outside source.” He wondered who owned the building. Because although the entire structure looked ready to collapse, that was reinforced steel on the walls. The place was probably strong enough to withstand any kind of storm, natural or artificial.

“Blue, you bloody wanker!” she suddenly belted out.

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You lied!” She dug through her bag, withdrew a bundle of wet wipes, and cleaned the curve under his eye.

He let her, caught up in the blood-heating, gut-wrenching pleasure of her touch.

“I didn’t lie. I said I’d be fine, and I am. I’m already healing,” he muttered gruffly.

“Well, I’m still ticked.”

“Do you want to rip out my kidneys and stomp on them like you’re making wine?”

“For starters.”

Fighting a grin, he led her through a maze of empty halls and rooms. As expected, none of Star’s men were here. However, in the far room, they came across a hooded man strapped to a chair. Beside him was a table littered with bloodstained weapons and syringes.

Not Solo. Too small.

Disappointment struck.

“Who are you?” Evie demanded, giving the guy’s chair a little kick.

His body jolted in surprise. “Evangeline Black?”

Her shocked gaze landed on Blue. “Agent Gutierrez?”

No way.

Blue stalked forward and tore away the crimson-soaked hood to reveal an equally crimson-soaked man.

Swollen ocean-blue eyes took zero time to adjust to the sudden flood of light, lasering in on Blue, then Evie, then back to Blue. “Free me. Now.”

“Uh, I don’t think we will,” Evie said. “Not until you’ve answered a few questions.”

“Free me,” he insisted, “or I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Fury wound around Blue as surely as a rope, dragging him into a hissing, snapping pit of malevolence. “Don’t threaten the girl. You do, and I won’t bother with threats of my own. I’ll just start cutting.”

Looking at the agent, Evie leaned down and said in a stage whisper, “My partner is very good with a knife.”

Dallas ignored her. Focused on Blue, he grinned an evil grin; there was blood on his teeth. “Well, well. If it isn’t the football star that once dated my partner’s girl, Noelle Tremain. Funny seeing you here.”

“Yeah. Real hilarious. Now, who tied you up and tortured you?”

Dallas’s grin spread wider. In a silky voice the agent said, “You will let me go. You want to let me go.”

It took a moment for comprehension to dawn, and when it did, amazement was right there, waiting. The man was human, and yet he had just tried—and succeeded—to use voice compulsion, an Arcadian ability.

Blue threw out his arm to stop Evie from moving, expecting her to try to obey the male.

She didn’t. She growled with sudden outrage, obviously immune. “You actually thought it was a good move to force us to do stuff we don’t want to do? Let’s see how I react to that.” Her fist slammed into his jaw, and the entire chair skidded to the side.

That’s my girl.

No, not my girl.

“I mean it,” Dallas said, this time sounding confused and desperate. “You want to let me go.”

She hit him a second time. Harder. “If you aren’t already brain damaged, you’re about to be. Are you sure you want to keep running that road?”

“Let me try something.” Blue decided to get down and dirty and pressed his booted foot between Dallas’s legs. “How are you able to use voice compulsion?”

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Dallas said, “Your friend asked the same thing. By the way, he used the same methods. Ask me how well they worked. Not that I’ll answer that, either.”

“Friend?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“I want a name.”

Dallas spit blood at him.

Whatever. Blue didn’t care about his audience. This was too important. He pushed his power into his hands, and both lit up like rockets. Then he brushed them through the air in front of him, a screen of sorts forming. Colors appeared.

A scene took shape in the center. A scene from ten minutes before.

Blue watched as Solo—alive and well—pressed his boot between Dallas’s legs. “What do you know about Gregory Star?”

“I get that you’re a big, bad dude and all, but do you really have to keep me in the hood?” the agent said from the screen. “I already know who you are. We met at the circus, remember? And don’t try to deny it. I recognize your voice.”

“What the hell is going on?” real-time Dallas demanded.

Blue ignored him.

Solo pressed harder, and screen-Dallas hissed. “You’re a friend of Kitten’s, one of my cage mates, and that’s the only reason you’re still alive. But I’m looking for my friend, John No Last Name, and I will maim for information. Maim in ways that will make me a monster, and you a man with a death wish. So, you have—”

The screen went blank.

Blue almost couldn’t contain his joy. Solo was alive and well.

“Forget what just happened,” Dallas said. “Judging by the look on your face, I can tell you weren’t aware your pal Solo snuck into my home, knocked me around, brought me here, tied me up, beat me up, and asked all kinds of questions I refused to answer.”

He couldn’t respond. Solo was alive and well.

Solo was alive and well and in New Chicago.

Solo was alive and well and in New Chicago, trying to find John.

Relief bombarded him, nearly buckling his knees.

He couldn’t stay still. He turned to Evie and drew her into his arms. Her little body trembled against him, but she didn’t hesitate to wrap herself around him, holding on tight. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, breathing in the honey and almonds that seemed to be infused into her skin.

Maybe he was a pansy, because tears burned the backs of his eyes. He didn’t care.

A moment to bask—fine.

More than that? No!

He had to force himself to release her, to return to the interrogation. “If you know anything about John No Last Name, Agent Gutierrez, I suggest you tell me. Otherwise, I will gut you where you sit and not feel a moment of remorse. Unlike Solo, I won’t walk away and leave you for someone else to find.”

That wasn’t Solo’s usual MO, either. So . . . was the agent a gift? Had the warrior known Blue would come?

If so, why not stay to greet him?

The corners of Dallas’s mouth lifted in a parody of a grin. “I formally invite you, Solo, and even Miss Black to go screw yourselves.”

Evie snorted. “You gotta give him credit. He’s quite amusing, isn’t he?”

Frustration ate at Blue. “You’ve been investigating Gregory Star, yet you haven’t plugged your findings into a single database. Why?”

“Why don’t you guess?” Dallas said, refusing to back down.

“All right,” he replied, lifting a scalpel from the table and testing its weight in his hand. “You don’t like Gregory Star for some reason—maybe because of that Kitten chick Solo mentioned—and you’re planning to punish him old-school. You don’t want him going to trial. You want him dead. How am I doing so far?”

Dallas paled and tried to cover the tell with a yawn. “I’m bored.”

“Shall I question Kitten next?” Blue asked.

A mouthful of curses hurtled his way. “Leave Kitten out of this. She was horribly abused at that circus, and hasn’t recovered.”

Blue was the one to yawn this time.

The agent realized he was getting nowhere and tried a different path. “Does Noelle know you’re black ops, Blue? Wait. Black ops. Blue. Black and Blue. And you’re Black, too,” he said to Evie. “How cute. Anyhoodles. I’m having dinner with Noelle and her man tonight. I’ll make sure to let them know you said hi.”

Blue had kept tabs on Noelle over the years and knew she’d joined AIR. Knew she’d gotten married. Knew she was pregnant with her first rug rat. He was happy for her, and hoped she wouldn’t want to kill him when she learned the truth about him.

He wasn’t going to try to stop Dallas from sharing the intel with her. At long last, he wanted her to know. She deserved the truth.

“All right, enough of this. I can make him talk without killing him, or even hurting him,” Evie said, rooting inside her purse. “I hate to do it, because the side effects are so severe, but desperate times and all that. Aha!” Smiling, she withdrew a compact of loose white powder.

“Gonna make me up?” Dallas asked. “Make me prettier? No, please, no. Not that. Anything but that.”

“At least use the flare gun on him,” Blue said.

“You’ll like this better, I promise. It’s a truth serum I . . . played with.”

Dallas frowned.

“Did we forget to tell you I’m good with poisons and potions?” she asked silkily.

The agent grew a bit uneasy, shifting in his chair. “Truth serum doesn’t work on me. Solo tried it before you got here, and failed.”

“Well, Solo didn’t use this, now, did he?”

Dallas gulped. “What kind of severe side effects are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know. The uze. Growing man boobs. Total hair loss. Penile shrinkage.”

Blue thought she was kidding and smothered a laugh.

“What!” Dallas bellowed.

Evie bent down, puckered her lips, and puffed the white powder in his face.

The agent coughed and hacked until his eyes glazed over and he relaxed in his seat.

“So, Agent Gutierrez,” Evie said with a bright smile, “why don’t you tell us what you know about Solo and Gregory Star?”