Any Given Doomsday (15 page)

He’d been everywhere, in every form. He’d lived as an animal; mated as one too. He’d loved; he’d lost. He’d hated and killed. He was like all of us and yet like none of us.

The gun fell to the ground with a thump as I lifted my hand to place my right palm against his chest in tandem with my left. I wanted to trace every tattoo, see where every part of him had been and what it had done.

My fingers smoothed flesh that was already smooth. I couldn’t feel any indentation where the tattoos began and he left off. Shouldn’t I? I had no idea. I’d never touched a tattoo before. However, these seemed as if they were a part of him, as if he’d been born with them rather than having them added one by one.

I had a sudden and inexplicable urge to trace every line, every curve and color with my tongue. To taste him, to drink in his scent as he had drunk in mine. There was power here, more than I’d ever imagined. He could do many things, but had he done what I feared? Had he killed Ruthie?

I lifted my gaze. His face was so close our noses brushed. The essence of the beasts no longer lurked in his eyes. Now I saw only Sawyer. I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

I wasn’t a mind reader. I couldn’t go in and wallow around in a brain, then pick and choose the memories and thoughts I wished to see. When I touched someone, I saw things—where they’d been, what they’d done— but not everything.

Situations that packed strong emotions—love, hate, joy, terror—were what came through. Which is how I became so good at finding the missing. People most often disappeared after emotional scenes—fights with family, kidnappings, assault, murder.

Because of what this man had taught me, I’d learned to control the seeing or the not seeing—for the most part. Without that switch, I might brush against someone on the street and know things I didn’t want to. With Sawyer, what I wanted to know, he wouldn’t let me see.

“You’re jamming me,” I said.

“Of course.”

“You have something to hide?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Let me in.”

His hands were suddenly on my forearms, holding me to him, keeping me from running, something I suddenly, make that always, wanted to do. “No,” he murmured.

“Then let me go.”

His lips skimmed my forehead, so hot when I was so cold. “Never.”

Our hips bumped, and I felt something I’d felt a dozen times before, but never from him. I wrenched myself free and turned around.

Jimmy stood in the doorway.

Chapter 19

“What did you see?” Jimmy asked.

Fury flowed through me. How long had he been standing there? Would he have continued to watch if I’d given in to the strange temptation to touch Sawyer in ways I still wanted to touch Jimmy?

Jimmy’s eyes, his face, gave away nothing. He just leaned against the door and contemplated first me, then Sawyer, waiting for an answer.

“Bite me,” I muttered, then wished I hadn’t. Both of these men—and I used the term loosely—might be capable of just that, in ways I didn’t want to imagine.

“Was he there?” Jimmy pressed. “Did he kill Ruthie?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s—”

I wasn’t sure how to explain what I’d felt in Sawyer’s mind. He’d let me see so many things, but he’d also closed himself off as no one else I’d ever touched had been able to do.

“He’s what?” Jimmy asked.

“He can block me.”

Jimmy scowled. “Then he’s hiding something.”

“Maybe I just don’t want my mind picked like an apple tree,” Sawyer said reasonably.

“That’s not what she does.”

“Has she touched you and seen what you’ve been up to, Sanducci?”

I winced; Sawyer noticed and smirked. “I wondered what had happened to make you leave, little boy. Should have known it was your dick that got you into trouble.”

Jimmy turned and walked away. He was good at that.

“Phoenix,” Sawyer said softly.

Though I didn’t want to, I faced him. The sight of him brought back the feel of his skin, the rolling sweep of his mind, and the ancient aeons of his life.

“How old are you?”

“I’ve lost count.”

No wonder he was impossible to kill. The longer a person lived, the wiser they became, and wisdom was power. In Sawyer’s case that was a literal interpretation.

“Were you there?” I asked, though 1 have no idea why. He wouldn’t tell the truth. I wasn’t sure he knew how. “At Ruthie’s?”

“No.”

Yep. Definite waste of time. I didn’t believe him.

But I also didn’t believe he’d come to Milwaukee, joined up with a group of shape-shifters, and attacked Ruthie. If he’d wanted her dead, he could have done it on his own, in ways much less obvious and a whole lot less bloody.

“Even if I was there”—his gaze shifted past me to the house where Jimmy had retreated—”I wasn’t alone.”

“I know he was there. He tried to save her.”

“So he says.” Sawyer’s lips curved. “Did you know, Phoenix, that certain vampires have the ability to control animals? They can make them do anything that they wish.”

“He isn’t a vampire.”

“I suppose he told you that too.”

I blinked. I only had Jimmy’s word that he wasn’t a bloodsucking fiend. Crap. I’d only had his word that he loved me, and look how that had turned out.

I shook my head. I couldn’t condemn him based on his shitty relationship skills, no matter how much I might want to. If Sawyer believed Jimmy’d had anything to do with Ruthie’s death, he’d kill him. Jimmy had the same plan, only in reverse, and it would be ugly—long, drawn-out, painful, and bloody.

Of course, if Jimmy
had
killed her, I’d be right there for the kill-Jimmy party. It wouldn’t matter if I loved him or not, right was right and justice was inevitable.

“He’s descended from a vampire,” Sawyer said. “He’s drawn to evil, fascinated by it. He can’t help himself.”

“He kills them.” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. “Doesn’t he?”

“So far.” He lifted his shoulder—the one that sported a shark—in a lithe, graceful movement that had the dark skin rippling like water. “That fascination, that connection, is what makes him so very good at what he does. But you can never trust a breed, Phoenix. They’re only one step away from the darkness. Anything could push them over.”

“What about you?”

His mouth curved. “Oh, you can’t trust me either. You know better.”

I did, but that hadn’t been what I was asking, and he knew it.

How close was Sawyer to the darkness? For that matter, how close was he to the light?

Suddenly he sobered, his gaze turning toward the desert. “Seers are dying.” I stiffened, and he glanced back, eyes stark. “DKs too. Not a lot. Or at least not yet. But enough to be worrisome.”

“How? I thought only the DKs knew the identity of their seer.”

“Exactly.”

“Isn’t there someone in the—” I suddenly realized I had no idea what this group of seers and demon killers was named. “Whatever the hell you call yourselves.”

“The federation.” Sawyer spread his hands. “It’s a word. We needed one.”

“Isn’t there someone who knows all the identities?”

“Ruthie.”

She wouldn’t have told; I was certain of that.

“Someone else?” I insisted. “An office administrator? The accountant?”

Sawyer didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” I murmured.

“But it is.”

His gaze remained on me, as if he were waiting for me to ask something, do something. I wanted to run, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t. I was stuck with Ruthie’s power; I had no choice but to learn how to use it, and this man was the only one who could help me.

“Ruthie was the leader of the light,” I said. “What does that mean? What did she do?”

“Ruthie never really led, per se.” Sawyer snapped his fingers and a match appeared. He lit the hand-rolled cigarette he’d produced out of nowhere as well. My gaze swept down his nearly bare body.

Literally.

He took a deep drag, blew the smoke through his nose. The cloud surrounded the dancing flame and as it died, darkness descended once again.

“How did you do that?”

“How do you think?”

There’d been other times, other places, when things had appeared from nowhere. I’d rationalized them all away, but those days were done. Sawyer was a shape-shifting witch; he could probably do anything.

“The seers get their orders from…” The glowing scarlet tip of Sawyer’s cigarette slashed back and forth with the movement of his hand. “God. Ghosts. Unfallen angels. Who knows? Each runs his or her own little universe. There’s no need for interaction. It’s not like we have a convention or anything.”

“No,” I agreed. “But you could probably use a secret handshake.”

His dark gaze flicked to mine. I shrugged. Sometimes I just couldn’t help myself.

I stared into the suddenly chilly evening common to the desert. Keeping the identities of the seers confidential was a good idea. The less people who knew about them, the less chance an un-people might kill them. But that plan seemed to have gone out the window.

The federation’s security had been breached, and we didn’t know by whom or how. But I did know who was going to be responsible for finding out.

“The seer’s identity is known to no one but his or her DKs?”

“Yes. And the DKs are only known to their particular seer and other DKs they might have worked with.”

I stared at the ground, trying to work out what might have happened, but I was tired and the problem was complicated.

“We won’t solve this tonight,” Sawyer murmured. “We’ll be lucky to solve it at all.”

My head came up. Sawyer was gone. The glow of his cigarette had disappeared too, though I still smelled it.

His voice was disembodied, swirling all around me. “We’ll get started tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to start anything,” I muttered.

“Every hour, every day we delay could mean another death. The more seers and DKs we lose, the more innocents will die.”

I closed my eyes, thinking of Hardeyville.

“Go to bed, Phoenix.”

I opened my eyes. My gaze went first to the hogan, then to the house. I didn’t really want to sleep in either one.

I could sleep in the car, the sweat lodge, the ramada. Uncomfortable, true, but they all had a big advantage.

There was only room enough for me.

In the end, I slept in the house. I’d had to use the bathroom, and there was no way I was turning up my nose at indoor plumbing. Who knew what lurked in the darkness just out of sight. Even if it were only the commonplace beasties and bugs, I didn’t want to meet them in the desert with my pants down.

The last time I was here I’d learned quickly that when night fell I needed to stay in my room or risk seeing things I couldn’t explain.

Like Sawyer coming in from the desert, naked and covered in blood, his eyes wild, unfocused, inhuman. That made a lot more sense now than it had then.

We’d never spoken of it, of course. His expression had made me believe that if I did, he’d have killed me. I still believed it.

Once inside, I found no trace of Jimmy beyond the closed door of the first bedroom. I assumed he was asleep or at least pretending to be, but I didn’t check. Right now any contact with Jimmy would lead to an argument— when didn’t it?—and an argument could lead to—

My mind filled with the images of all that might transpire in a bedroom with Jimmy Sanducci. But doing those things in Sawyer’s bed, in Sawyer’s house, with Sawyer right next door…

Wasn’t going to happen.

I fell asleep easily. That should have been my first clue. It usually took me a good half hour, sometimes more, to drift off. But that night my head was so full of information, problems, men, I shouldn’t have slept at all. The instant I closed my eyes, I found myself in Ruthie’s world.

The house was full again. Though the sounds of children at play should have lifted my spirits, the knowledge that they were here because they were dead put a damper on things.

I skirted the front yard and headed for the back. The first kid I saw wore a Little League cap. Why did it look both familiar and different?

“Because it’s clean,” I murmured. The last time I’d seen that hat it had been black with blood.

Now the insignia could be read as a huge red C on a bright blue background, the cubs. Another team that annoyed the hell out of me.

I stood outside the gate and watched the children play. I recognized something about each and every one of them. It didn’t take long to understand that these children had once lived in Hardeyville.

Ruthie’s sadness the last time I’d dreamed of her made sense. She’d known they were coming. She’d known I would be too late to save them.

Guilt washed over me once more, but there was nothing I could do except try my best to make certain the same thing didn’t happen again.

The distant cry of a baby had me glancing at the house. Ruthie came through the back door with a squirming bundle. I didn’t remember a baby in that field house—thank God. That might have sent me into gibber-jabberville along with Jimmy.

I tilted my head at the thought. Maybe Jimmy had seen the baby. Or—

I had a sudden flash of a pastel green room with gi-raffes and elephants cavorting across the brand-new wallpaper. Ah, hell.

Ruthie bent and placed the bundle in a carriage, murmuring softly. The child quieted.

“You gonna come in?” she asked without turning around. “Or you gonna keep standin’ out there starin’ like a fool?”

I came in.

Several of the children stopped what they were doing. A few of them waved. The little boy in the Cubs hat kicked me in the shin. I guess I deserved it.

“David!” Ruthie said sharply. “It wasn’t her fault.”

He scrunched up his face, mutiny on the way, but when Ruthie started across the grass in our direction he caved, running off to join a game of tag already in progress.

“Why?” I asked when she reached me. “Why send me there when it was already too late to help?”

“Some things are meant to be. No matter what we do, we can’t change them.”

“How could
that
be meant? What kind of God does that?”