Immortal Coil (23 page)
“Let me buy you a coffee,” he said.
Yes.
Anything.
“What?” She dragged herself back to the conversation.
“Coffee, so I can talk you through my shorthand.”
She glanced at the ratty old coffeemaker behind the reception desk. The usual station brew often ranged from bad to worse. She suspected
Elmsville’s
wasn’t any different.
“But not here,” he said as if reading her mind.
Mother of All, she wanted to say yes. But the more time she spent with the man, the more difficult it would be to adjust his memory.
And yet, not impossible.
Just a little time.
Surely she deserved a little something for herself. She’d never taken anything in the hundreds of years she’d worked for the North American Clean Team.
Besides, it was just coffee.
“Come on, it’ll be faster if I take you through it.” He flashed
her a
smile heartbreakingly similar to Eric’s.
She never could say no to that smile. “Sure.”
“Great.” He rushed back into the secured area and returned with a file folder. “It’s just across the street.” He opened the front door and motioned her out.
The winter wind bit her cheeks and slipped down her collar but she didn’t care. It had been too long since she’d pulled these memories out and wrapped herself within them.
Cars drove past, churning the morning’s snowfall into brown slush. Headlights reflected white and red blobs on what little wet pavement was visible. They rushed across the street between a break in the traffic, dodging puddles to a twenty-four hour coffee shop across from the station. It had been buggies and early motor vehicles when she’d run across the street with Eric. She had felt light, free then.
In love.
A chime on the door announced their entrance, and a pimple-faced teen glanced up.
“The usual, detective?”
But she wasn’t free. And she wasn’t with Eric. He was dead.
Miller nodded.
“And for the lady?”
“Coffee, black.”
The teen filled their order, Miller paid, and they took a seat by the front window. The place was empty, but that wouldn’t last long, not with such a prime location on
Beaumont Street
across from the police station.
Miller blew steam from his paper cup and took a slow sip.
Even his mannerisms were like Eric’s. But perhaps that’s just what she wanted to see, a means to flame the fantasy. That knowledge didn’t stop her heart from beating just a little faster or her skin from tingling at the thought of his touch. She felt like a youngling, fresh hatched from the egg, and a part of her didn’t care.
He glanced at her over the rim of his coffee. “So what does the FBI want with this case?”
“Straight to the point.”
And as much as she had momentarily fantasized that this was her old romance, it wasn’t. Confusing romance, even just a remembered one, with business could get a drake in trouble.
“I like to finish what I start, not pass it along to someone.”
“I’m not just someone.” But she could tell that didn’t matter, particularly in the way she wanted him to think of her.
“Yes, you’re FBI.” He didn’t sound pleased.
This was going to take a lot more magic.
With a sigh, she
subvocalized
her power word. Her magic flared and so did her headache, but she didn’t push into his mind right away. If this was going to stick, particularly with skeptical Dan back at the station for Miller to talk to, she needed the right moment to make the manipulation undetectable.
She took a sip of coffee. “The event at the Rest Well Hotel is connected to the incidents at the
Queen
Street
Bridge
and Memorial General.”
“And you know this how?”
“This is one small part of a larger investigation we’ve been building for a while.” She pushed a thread of power into his mind. It was a long-term investigation. Handing over the information would be helpful. He wanted to be helpful. He wasn’t giving up, he was aiding the FBI.
“I’m not sure I see the connection.”
She pushed harder. Pain radiated behind her eyes. “And I can’t fill you in. It’s a matter of national security.”
“I’m not just some small-town cop.” His tone darkened.
It sent shivers of anticipation through her. No, he wasn’t just a cop. He was her Eric look-alike. If only he’d show
a little teeth
, she’d be completely turned on.
But she needed him compliant, not randy.
Mother of All, her head hurt. When was that painkiller going to kick in? Why was he being so difficult to manipulate? She took another sip of coffee to cover her discomfort. “I’m not the enemy.”
He rubbed his face with his broad hands. “You’re right.
Elmsville
just isn’t the right speed for me.”
“And what is your kind of speed?” She shouldn’t have asked, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t feel good about shoving thoughts into his head. She wanted to feel sexy for him—even if he was just the image of her dead lover—and not like the manipulator she really was.
His eyes lit up and he raked a heated gaze over her. Guess he’d caught the innuendo in her question and had similar feelings. Her heart beat a quick tattoo at the thought.
No. This was not good. She shouldn’t be flirting with him.
“If I hand over my notes, does that mean you’ll have to leave right away?”
“Not necessarily.” Her body tingled at the idea. She wanted to stay, but she couldn’t, and had to keep reminding herself of that.
Her magic billowed within his head and she gained control of his thoughts.
He jerked forward. “I haven’t filed my report yet.” His eyes glazed over and he shoved the file folder across the table to her. “Here’s everything I’ve got.”
Ice ate away her heated attraction. She was an awful, awful dragon. But the job had to be done.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Swipe leave the station and head to the SUV. Thank God. She needed to get out of here before she did anything really stupid.
“Thank you.” She made a final push into his head. He’d make a new case file and note that the FBI had taken over and that would be the end of it.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Special Agent Jones.” He stood and held out his hand.
She stared at it, afraid if she made contact she’d forget herself and let her longing consume her.
“The same.”
She took his hand, feeling slimy and horny all at the same time. Life just wasn’t fair. It was obvious she was overdue for a lover, but at the moment the only one interested in her was Grey. But that idea seemed too much like sleeping with her brother.
Which was a shame because he was hot and a nice guy.
She rushed out of the coffee shop, leaving Miller inside, and headed to the SUV. Who she really wanted was Eric. She’d always wanted Eric. And her attraction to Miller was just the long-held dream, nothing more. She’d be fooling herself if she pursued anything. Besides, the more he saw her, the harder it would be to keep his questions about the investigation at bay. It would have been nice if he’d just been some Joe on the street. As it was, she’d just have to return home and try not to think sexy thoughts.
Anaea
woke tangled in a towel and Hunter’s silk sheets, with the medallion by her cheek and the chain loose about her neck. One of her hands rested on her good breast and the other clutched her inner thigh. The clock by the bed said
. It was getting close to dawn. Hunter’s consciousness felt fuzzy and when she gave him a mental nudge he mumbled something in a language she didn’t recognize and seemed to roll over.
Still asleep, it seemed. Good, because she couldn’t help thinking about that dream.
And God, what a dream.
She was liquid heat, caressed and loved by Hunter, no less.
Perfect and whole.
She’d never felt loved like that by anyone before, not even Mark.
Just thinking about it made her trembling and hot all over again. She wanted to go back. It wasn’t fair that she was once again in her cold reality. But life wasn’t fair. She knew that as well as anybody.
Perhaps even more so.
Besides, the Hunter of her dreams was who she wanted him to be, not who he was. She didn’t belong in his world and she was damaged goods about to hit her expiry date. She just wanted...
Her eyes burned. She blinked back the tears. She’d be damned if she cried any more.
She wanted what she couldn’t have.
So get on with it already.
Hey,
Hunter said, his voice thick with sleep.
You okay?
She shoved all thoughts of the dream aside. Best if he didn’t know.
You keep asking me that.
Heat simmered through her. But she hadn’t thought—
Oh, God. Her hands were on—
She yanked the sheets around her, heat of her own making flooding her face.
So we’re going to play this game again, are we?
His tone was steeped with the sexual invitation he’d had in her dream.
Boy, if only.
He chuckled, sending shivers of anticipation over her. Good God! She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. Even for a heartbeat. Besides, once he realized she was scarred it’d be over and she didn’t think she could stand the rejection. Not with him stuck in her head.
Don’t
we
—
She
sucked in an uneven breath.
Don’t we have that ceremony or something?
He sighed.
Yeah.
He almost sounded disappointed.
Or maybe she just wanted him to be. Jeez.
So the ceremony?
Something flittered across her senses but she couldn’t tell what it was and he clamped down on it, leaving a gut-churning emptiness. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what he was feeling, but surely it would be better than him closing her off.
Ah
...
yeah.
The ceremony.
Images of a vast chamber flooded her mind. Giant pillars with carved dragons curling around them, clinging from their tops, or sleeping at their bases, supported a domed ceiling. A stone altar sat in the center engraved with more dragons and at its foot stood a woman wearing a shimmering, silver dragon cloak.
The vision snapped to black.
You should get dressed.
His tone remained strange as if, in this quiet moment, he wanted to but couldn’t deny what he was, wanted to deny his magical ferociousness. He thought all he’d done was fill her head with horrific, violent memories, but there were wondrous ones as well, she could sense them on the edge of her consciousness and yearned to look at them. But she wouldn’t. Not without permission. She wouldn’t abuse their connection like that.
It didn’t matter that he was a dragon and she a human. She couldn’t deny it. She was inexorably drawn to him.
His spirit.
Which wasn’t fair.
Not now, not when her time was so short. She supposed it was fitting, though. She’d drawn the short stick in her marriage and in life. Why stop now?
Anaea
, I
—
His voice was soft, heartbreakingly tender, like it had been last night.
Any more kindness and she’d shatter.
Let’s get going.
But
—
Please.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. They were dry. Good.
It wouldn’t do for you to show up at this ceremony weepy and red-eyed.
Okay.
He didn’t sound as if he agreed. But he didn’t push either.
Put on the robe
hanging
in the wardrobe.
She clutched the sheet around her, padded across his plush carpet, and opened the cabinet. There wasn’t a lot inside, a black suit, a knee-length black leather coat, and a red robe that looked more like armor than clothing.
It’s scale mail.
Pieces of metal, shaped like scales and sewn to create a cloak.
She slipped it off the hanger. The thing weighed a ton, but was gorgeous. It reminded her of her dragon hide from the dream.
Red with a hint of gold, darker on the back and arms, and paler on the front.
It represents what I
—
He grew quiet, as if steadying himself.
What I once was.
It’s beautiful.
Thanks.
The heat of embarrassment rippled through her.
Now put it on.
I need some clothes first.
He chuckled. It seeped into her.
Dragons aren’t shy, remember? The ceremony requires the cloak and only the cloak.
You mean
—
She shivered at the thought of putting it on.
This is going to be freezing.