Bound by Flame (18 page)

Andy shot him a hateful, agitated look, but she took a breath. And another.

On her other side, Riana put her hand on Andy’s arm.

Andy flinched at her touch, but quickly relaxed. “Sorry,” she muttered, obviously embarrassed.

“No way.” Merilee shook her head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Riana suggested. Her gaze swept around the table, landing first on Merilee, then on Cynda.

The Sibyls stood at the same time. Cynda’s hand brushed against Nick’s shoulder. She gave it a quick squeeze.

Andy didn’t protest as Riana helped her out of her chair.

Less than a minute later, the women were gone, leaving Nick and Creed at the table alone. The room felt oddly empty and flat.

Nick stared at the kitchen door, still feeling traces of Cynda’s presence, breathing in that last bit of vanilla and cinnamon scent she left behind. He had a stupid high school urge to follow her just so he could look at her, and he almost hit himself with his coffee mug to knock that thought out of his head.

For a time, it was quiet.

Then Creed said, “Bro, I think you’re in trouble.”

Nick didn’t bother arguing.

11

Andy wasn’t good.

Cynda knew that when she checked on her friend after an exhausting day of meetings, arguing about the best plan to safely target the Bronx house, and a brief triad mission. She, Riana, and Merilee had been called out to break up a catfight between two voodoo priestesses trying to sacrifice the same pig to feed the god Bosou Koblamin. Who, in Cynda’s opinion, was one mean-ass bastard. Like they needed three-horned voodoo war Loas showing up in Manhattan right now anyway. She’d had to shower for an hour to scrub off the scent of pork and fresh blood.

When Cynda finally found Andy, she was sleeping like the dead in Merilee’s extra bed in the far corner of the library, near the fireplace where Merilee kept a good, warm blaze.

“Captain Freeman said she’s been up here since our walk this morning,” Merilee whispered as they eased away from Andy so they wouldn’t disturb her. They crossed the massive library, back toward Merilee’s makeshift “room,” which was located between two towering library bookcases. On the way, they passed the partially scorched conference table, which Nick had tucked against a wall and covered with a nice white tablecloth. He had even put a vase and flower on one corner and a book on the other. When Cynda squinted at the book, she saw its title.

Kama Sutra
.

Cynda almost tripped. Her entire face flushed red.
I’ll kill him
.

Merilee laughed outright when she saw Cynda looking at the table and the book. “That cloth doesn’t hide everything. I checked. Looks like your ass burned straight through?”

“Shut up.” Face actually smoking now, Cynda hurried past the table without looking at it again.

“You should definitely sleep with Nick at least ten or fifteen times and get it out of your system,” Merilee said.

“Shut up!”

When they reached her bed, Merilee flopped onto her pillows. “There are ways to contain the damage, I’m sure.” Her loose blue jogging suit sagged against her thin frame, and her short blond hair stuck up in all directions, still damp from her shower. “We can always build you two a fireproof chamber.”

Cynda groaned as she took a seat in the leather wing chair near Merilee’s bed. If she didn’t stop thinking about how it felt to have Nick’s arms around her, how delicious his naked, powerful body felt pressed against hers, she’d catch the drapes on fire. All of a sudden, her jeans seemed tight against her sensitive skin, and her cotton tunic brushed her arms and belly too softly.

Every inch of her responded to thinking about Nick in ways she couldn’t predict, couldn’t control, and that drove her nuts. Which was why she came to spend time with Merilee before she went to find Nick and see where all of this was leading—or whatever it was she planned to do with him.

Sometimes just being around her triad sisters helped her feel calm and connected to the universe, helped her think her way through knotty problems.

Merilee rolled onto her belly, propped herself on her elbows, and grinned at Cynda. “Maybe you should go ahead and set a wedding date.”

Cynda gaped. “Thanks, but you can cram that idea sideways and rotate it.”

“Oooh. Cramming and rotating. See?” Merilee’s grin widened. “Your brain is stuck on sex. Do it often and well. You’ll feel better.”

Cynda would have popped her triad sister with a fire jet, but she didn’t want to risk flames around so many books and papers. “But Nick’s…complicated. And somber and moody and intense. I don’t get a casual vibe from him at all, and I
don’t
do relationships.”

“Then we should get you out of this hole to socialize and play the field.” Merilee waved her hand like her giant library was some tiny prison.

Cynda almost laughed.

The townhouse’s library was easily half the length and width of the entire building. Merilee had cleared out some old encyclopedias and moved her archives into the big, high-ceilinged room. The balcony and window curtains were, of course, open. Merilee said closed curtains made her feel trapped.

Her mess, however, never seemed to faze her. Already most of the tables were filled with stacks of notebooks, papers to be filed, and piles of disorganized notes. Tacked up to the wall near the room’s only desk was a detailed map of the city, a copy of the one in the conference room. Pins marked routes to the target houses they had cleared or were watching, and Post-its held vital info gleaned from police surveillance. The whole room smelled like old parchment, leather, markers, and tape. It might be a mess, but at least it was a mess with a purpose. Merilee could find information about anyone, anywhere, make a note about it, and never forget it.

Finding her toothbrush? Now, that was an entirely different matter.

“Socialize and play the field. Yeah.” Cynda did her best to keep her expression light. “Sorry, honey. I’m not feeling social these days. Besides, I’m not allowed to go anywhere without an escort, remember? And that would be Nick.”

“I’ll escort you.” Merilee paused, then wiggled her eyebrows. “Want to wake up Andy, go to the gym and pick up some hot boy toys? Have a nice no-angst, no-strings-attached workout?”

“Now that idea has merit.” Cynda tried to smile, but the thought of gym guys turned her stomach more than usual. She had never been as free and relaxed as Merilee. It was hard to let her guard down, even for a few hours, with somebody she’d never have to see again—but now that Nick was in the picture, it felt…
wrong
.

Oh, not good.

Bad, in fact.

Horrible.

“Shit.” She banged the back of her head against her chair.

“Mmm-hmmm.” Merilee’s expression turned serious, and the mischief left her blue eyes. “I thought so. You’re already exclusive.”

Cynda dismissed that little bit of madness with a flick of her wrist. “Nick and I haven’t gotten anywhere near talking about that.”

“Don’t you get it?” Merilee touched her chest. “You’re exclusive here, whether you’ve talked about it or not.” Her finger stayed directly over her heart. “Now, I know you’ll feel better if you admit
that
. At least to yourself and me, even if you don’t tell anyone else.”

Everything inside Cynda wanted to yell at Merilee that she was completely out of her mind. Her hands shook, then smoked, and she bit her lip to keep from letting out sparks.

Was she really this close to having a serious bond with somebody other than a Sibyl?

Can’t do it. Won’t do it.

Have I
already
done it?

It took a little work inside, but when she thought she could breathe without blowing flames like a psychotic dragon, she said, “Yeah. Okay. You might have a point about the exclusive thing.”

“All right.” Merilee stretched her arms over her head and bent her legs one on top of the other, assuming one of her yoga poses. “If that’s how you feel, why are you up here hanging out with me and our favorite zombie cop? You should be with him.”

“I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re imitating food?” Cynda leaned forward in her chair and clasped her hands together. “Stop that. You look like a long blond pretzel.”

Merilee didn’t stop. “If you did more yoga and meditation, you wouldn’t be wound so tight.”

Cynda’s mouth came open. “I am
not
wound tightly.”

“And I’m a brunette.” Merilee un-pretzeled.

“Screw you.”

“No thanks.” Serious-Merilee face again. “That’s what you need to do with Nick. Now. G’night!”

“Merilee.” Cynda smacked her hands against the chair arms. “Sex does not solve all the problems in the universe.”

“Prove it.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“And you’re horny.” Merilee arched her back and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “Please, go scratch the itch before you blow up something we can’t fix. Sexual frustration is dangerous where you’re concerned—at least at this level.”

Cynda pushed herself to her feet, shaking her head.

What was she supposed to say to that?

Nothing.

There wasn’t anything she could say.

Merilee studied her with those too-smart blue eyes. “It’s never been like this before, has it.” A statement, not a question. “All these years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you almost burn down the house. Scorch a few sheets, freak out a few one-night stands, okay. But damn, woman. That table, that conference room—go talk to him, Cynda.”

No sense arguing. Cynda took a slow, slow breath and let it out. She
did
come here to sort out her thoughts, didn’t she?

Feeling drained, yet jumpy and excited, too, she headed away from Merilee’s bed. Before she rounded the bookcases, she stopped and looked back. “Will you take care of Andy?”

Merilee reverted to pretzel-shape, this time with her long legs bent around her neck, her back stiff, and her arms flat on the bed. “Absolutely. Consider her my new project. I think I’ll buy her a two-week vacation in Austin, Texas. Or maybe Houston.”

Cynda tilted her head to see Merilee’s face in that bizarre pose. “Why Texas?”

“Duh? Cowboy butts!” Merilee unwound herself and reached both arms in Cynda’s direction, stretching. “But maybe the beach would be better. Yeah. I’ll send her to Hilton Head. No, wait. Daytona. It’ll be warmer in Florida.”

“Florida sounds like a very good idea.” Cynda slipped past the bookcase and quietly padded across the library to give Andy a quick check. Still sleeping. Cynda pulled up the sheet and blanket, covering Andy’s shoulders.

Definitely Florida. Sun. The beach, the ocean. She needs to clear her head, have a little peace.

After making sure Andy’s breathing was still regular, Cynda left the library, walking slowly down the steps, careful not to knock over the books stacked here and there against the wall.

Were all cops messy disasters, or what? They could at least reshelve the crap they read. By the time she made it to her own hallway, she had stepped over no less than ten piles. Dictionaries, encyclopedias, texts on weather patterns, some treatises on ancient medicine, and, of all things, an elementary Latin learning set. Some of that stuff didn’t look like standard fare for reading or studying, and didn’t seem like anything Nick would read, or Andy or Merilee, or even Sal Freeman, who often stayed at the townhouse during the week. Cynda mentally filed the book piles under freaky things about HCQ. Maybe the place
was
haunted.

By very nerdy ghosts.

Closer and closer to Nick’s room, but she was trying hard not to think about that—in between rehearsing what she might do or say.

Excuse me, but are we getting real here?

Am I just a hot lay, or do you want something more?

Nick, where are we headed?

Each approach sounded more idiotic than the last.

“I’m a fire Sibyl,” she said aloud as she wandered down the beautiful Oriental rug leading toward Nick’s door. “I’m supposed to be able to communicate, no matter what.”

A chill hit her, and she shook all over. She hated the drafts in the townhouse, the sudden pockets of icy air, and the ever-shifting breezes, but she supposed that was the price they paid for such a big space. With every step, her heart beat faster, and she walked a little slower through that endless space.

Stupid hallway was still too dark. It didn’t feel warm and personal and cozy yet. She kept having the urge to burn stripes or zigzags into her walls, or hang spotted curtains. Something. Anything to modernize and lighten and make the place more real. Painting her walls had been a compromise, but now she wondered about painting her hallway light lavender, like her room. Maybe with a few well-placed runes and mirrors and a few more sets of wind chimes, the space would seem brighter.

Nick would just looove purple walls outside his door
. Her eyes flicked toward his door, and heat started to build in her belly.
He’d probably paint everything black if I gave him half a chance. Including the lightbulbs
.

Her anxiety climbed another notch, and the two sets of wind chimes in the hall started to ring in response. No specific message. Just disquiet. Unease. Excitement. All coming from her. She frowned at the tinkling noises. Maybe no more wind chimes. In fact, maybe she should rip these little metal pipes down, or burn their strings in half.

“Get a grip.” She rubbed at the healing bruise under her eye. “It’s not like you’re a virgin.”

“That’s nice to know,” said a deep, sensual voice directly behind her.

Cynda jumped and whirled around.

Nick stood about a foot away, dressed much as he had been all week, in sexy, faded low-rider jeans and a black shirt, with his coal-dark hair pulled into a ponytail that rested casually against the nape of his tanned neck.

“Don’t scare me like that.” She shivered. The way he looked at her, she could feel it, everywhere all at once. It made her breasts ache. It made her tingle. It made her
crazy
. “How do you always sneak up on me anyway? I’m a Sibyl, for the sake of the Goddess.”