Circle of Fire (25 page)

Evan tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “But if you weren’t gifted, I would never have been able to send Jon to you, and you would never have found me.”

She smiled. There spoke the logic of a child. “True, Evan. And perhaps you should remind your dad of that when he gets here.”

“I will.” He hesitated, and fear touched his gaze. “She’ll come after me, you know. I’m not safe, Aunt Maddie. Not here, and not at home.”

She remembered the venom in Eleanor’s voice—and the fact that they still needed Evan to complete the ceremony. Remembered the shapeshifter’s contempt for the protection the police station offered. Evan was right. He
wasn’t
safe—not until Eleanor was caught, or dead.

She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “I’ll talk to your mom and dad. I’ll get them to take you somewhere else for a couple of days.”

He nodded. Footsteps rattled down the hall, and she glanced at the door. Mack walked into the room, followed quickly by Steve. Meeting her brother-in-law’s steely gaze, she saw only contempt. Evan ran to his father, and Steve’s big arms all but engulfed him.

“They tell me you helped rescue Evan,” he said, his lips thin as he glared at her. “I guess I owe you thanks, and … I’m sorry for giving you so much grief.”

Any apology, however reluctant, was the last thing she’d expected. “No matter what you think of me, Steve, I couldn’t just sit around and let something happen to Evan.”

Evan glanced across at her. He knew, as she did, that the police would never have found him. Not in time to save his life.

Steve’s sun-browned face held a hint of malice. “As you did to your husband, you mean?”

She sighed. Trust him to bring the subject up with the police and the FBI in the room. “He physically and mentally abused me, Steve, and I have the scars to prove it.” She hesitated, then shrugged away the rise of guilt.

She’d paid for the mistake she’d made that day—through isolation, loneliness, and fear—and it never seemed to be enough. And yet, if she had the chance to undo the past, she wouldn’t.

“That’s no justification for killing him.”

She lowered her gaze from his. “I didn’t kill him. The fire did.”

“The fire that you lit.”

Yes, the fire was hers, but she’d just wanted him to stop, to leave her alone. She briefly closed her eyes, then repeated the same old lie. “It was an accident, Steve.” She shrugged. The scorn in his face told her he would never believe her, no matter what she said. “And it’s not important now. You should be worried about Evan, not about my past.”

He frowned, sudden worry replacing the contempt in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“The woman has already taken Evan once from your home. What makes you think she can’t do it again?”

He snorted. “If she has any brains, she’ll be on the run. She has to know the net is closing in on her.”

“Are you willing to bet your son’s life on that?” She could tell by his suddenly defensive stance that he wasn’t. “Take Evan and Jayne and go on a vacation. Don’t tell anyone where. Just get the hell out of here, and keep Evan safe.”

She pushed the coffee mug away and rose. “Am I able to leave yet?” she asked, glancing across at Mack.

He nodded, then frowned when Steve snorted. “For the moment. But if you happen to see Barnett, tell him I need to ask him some questions.”

She nodded and dragged her sodden coat off the back of the chair. “I don’t suppose you can give me a lift back to the motel?”

“I can take you,” Steve growled.

Getting into the car with her brother-in-law was the last thing her headache needed. The light in his eyes told her he hadn’t yet said everything he’d come here to say. Even the ten-minute trip to the motel would be too much time spent in his company. She shook her head. “No. I meant it when I suggested running, Steve. The sooner you get away from this place, the better.” She glanced down at Evan. “I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

If I get home
, she thought, and followed the FBI agent from the room.

*   *   *

D
USK WAS BEGINNING TO CREEP ACROSS THE SKY BY THE
time she got back to the motel. Maddie kept a careful eye on the shadows as she made her way across the parking lot. Though she knew Eleanor wasn’t likely to leap out at her, there was an uneasiness to the bitter wind that made her nerves tingle.

Something felt wrong. She just wasn’t entirely sure what.

The room was dark when she entered, but it wasn’t empty. She could feel Jon’s presence, a warmth that surrounded her as securely as a cloak.

“Don’t turn on the light,” he said softly.

His voice came from the direction of the beds and was edged with exhaustion. She frowned and locked the door before she walked across to the bed.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realized that he wasn’t wearing much beyond boxer shorts—and a huge bandage on the upper part of his well-muscled left thigh.

“Are you okay? What happened?” she asked, sudden concern making her stomach churn.

“I’m fine. Hank just stuck a knife into me.”

His tone was touched with reluctance, as if he didn’t want to discuss the matter. Her frown deepened. The uneasiness she’d felt walking across the parking lot was nothing compared to the tension suddenly filling the room. “And what happened to Hank?”

He didn’t reply immediately, though the tension rose by several degrees.

“He’s dead. No great loss, really.”

So Hank was no longer a threat. It should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. She had a bad feeling that Eleanor would make them all pay for his death.

But what scared her more than anything was the callousness in Jon’s voice. It was almost as if he had killed so often that it just didn’t matter to him.

And yet, deep down, he seemed to be in more than just physical pain.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked softly. “Sometimes it helps if you do.”

He snorted. The quickly fading light that washed through the windows highlighted the derision on his face. “He got a knife in the back. He died. There’s nothing much more to say, Maddie.”

There was the issue of him thinking himself a coward. And while she understood that Jon had had every intention of killing Hank, he wouldn’t have intentionally knifed him in the back. It wasn’t his way.

She touched his leg. His skin twitched slightly beneath her fingers, and a sudden shock of awareness ran warmth through her body. It was a hard sensation to ignore, and yet she would have to if she wanted to get any answers. She had a feeling Jon would reject a physical approach a whole lot faster than he was rejecting the emotional ones.

She softly cleared her throat. “Except that you’re lying here filled with anger and self-loathing.”

He glared at her. “If I’m angry, it’s because you won’t leave the subject alone.”

She stared back at him steadily. His anger was nothing compared to the anger she’d faced during her marriage. She might have known him only a few days, but it was long enough to understand that he
would never hit her. He might break her heart, but he would never physically hurt her, as Brian so often had. “Did Hank say anything before he died?”

Something flickered in his eyes before the shutters came back down. It wasn’t hard to guess that Hank’s departing words had been aimed in her direction.

“Did he say anything else besides sullying my reputation?”

Just for an instant, the hint of a smile tugged at his full lips. Then he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and frowned at her. “If he did, it’s none of your business.”

His voice held an edge that cut her to the quick. She bit her lip and glanced at the window. The wind was beginning to pick up outside, rattling the old windows in their frames. Maybe it was something of an omen, a sign that trouble was brewing. But if she was to have any hope of fulfilling her promise to Evan, she had to keep pushing for information. Whether Jon liked it or not, she had every intention of staying until she found Teresa.

But maybe it was time to try a change of tactics. “How bad is the leg?”

He shrugged, a gesture that could have meant anything. “It’s fairly deep and required several stitches. The doc reckons I’ll have to stay off it for several days.”

She raised an eyebrow and wondered how he’d gotten around the problem of the doctor reporting the wound to the police. Or maybe he hadn’t—maybe he’d literally flown the coop before the police arrived to question him. “And will you?”

He smiled, though no amusement touched the
coldness in his eyes. “No. Quick healing is a gift of my heritage. I’ll be able to move around in the morning.” He hesitated and studied her for a long moment. “When are you leaving?”

That
was the reason for his behavior. He wanted her out of his way—it was evident not only in what he said, but in the way he said it. Even in the way he looked at her. Ignoring the deep thrust of hurt, she shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Up until now, I thought you had some sense.”

She smiled grimly. “Then you really don’t know me, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” Just for a moment his voice was edged with a hint of regret that warmed her heart. “But you can’t stay here. Eleanor will come after me, and I don’t want you in the firing line.”

So Evan was right. Jon was going after Eleanor, not Teresa. “You can’t handle Eleanor alone when you’re injured.”

“I can, and I will. I don’t want you here, Maddie. Just face that fact and leave.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “I really don’t care what you want. I made a promise to try to find Teresa, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

“Who the hell told you her name was Teresa?”

“Evan did.”

“And how will you achieve this miracle?” His voice was knife-edged, thrusting deep into her soul. “I’ll find her. I just don’t want you blundering around any more, putting everyone’s life in jeopardy.”

“It was my so-called blundering that found Evan in
the first place!” She jumped to her feet and glared at him. “Why are you pushing me away like this?”

“You’ve done what you came here to do. It’s time for you to leave.”

“I made a promise. I can’t go back on that.”

“Just as you made a promise never to use your gifts again?” He gave her a cold smile. “Some vows are made to be broken, I’m afraid. You could no more find the teenager than you could stop using your abilities. Face those facts and just get the hell out of my life.”

She stared at him. While she understood that he was deliberately being nasty in an attempt to get rid of her, his words hurt nevertheless. “You can be such a bastard!”

“I have the soul of a hunter. I am a killer by nature.” He hesitated and gave her an almost savage smile. “And I love my work.”

Yes, he loved his work—but not the killing. It might be an essential part of his job, but it was one she sensed he abhorred. She could see the self-loathing in the back of his eyes, hear it in the edge in his voice. And because of his work, because of what he was forced to do day in and day out, he was keeping everyone at arm’s length. If you didn’t care, you couldn’t get hurt.

It was a hell of a way to live. And yet, in many ways, wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing? Maybe her reasons were different, but the result was still the same. A life locked in unending, unbearable loneliness.

He’d once told her that life was meant to be lived,
that she couldn’t hide forever. Maybe it was time they both took his advice.

“But that would make you no better than the monsters you chase,” she said softly. “And you’re not a monster, Jon. Just a man who needs to open up and let someone in.”

“Like you?” His short laugh was derisive. “We’re little more than strangers. I’ve killed. I will keep on killing. I have no desire for anyone I—” He stopped, then shrugged.

But his unfinished sentence sung through her mind.
No desire for anyone I care about to get in the way
. She shivered. The thought that maybe there was some sort of psychic link between them scared her almost as much as the thought of never seeing him again.

She glanced down at her hands for a minute. If she wanted him to open up, maybe it was only fair that she do the same.

“I’ve killed too,” she whispered, not looking up—not even when his hand wrapped around hers and squeezed gently. She turned her hand and entwined her fingers in his, but she resisted the temptation to cling tightly. It was time to be strong, time to be truthful about that night. She’d lied to everyone, including herself, for far too long.

“Brian, my husband, died in a fire—a fire I lit. I burned him, burned our home—burned everything that reminded me of our life together. And I have never regretted it—even if for too many years I tried to drown the memory of his death in alcohol.” Though the nightmares—and the fear that she might so easily kill again—had haunted her ever since.

The soft rattle of the wind buffeting the windows
was the only sound to be heard for several long heartbeats. She waited tensely, not sure what sort of reaction she expected—or wanted—from him.

“You didn’t mean to kill him. There’s a difference.” Though his voice was neutral, there was a hint of understanding and warmth in his expression that made her heart race. He understood, even if he didn’t say as much. He had lived the same hell.

She closed her eyes, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. For too long she had stood alone, afraid to tell anyone about that night, afraid that her gifts would forever isolate her. Maybe they still would. The whole truth wasn’t out yet.

“But I
did
mean to.” She glanced down, watching his thumb gently caress her wrist. His gentle touch somehow soothed the sick churning in her stomach. Over six years had passed, yet the brutality with which Brian had attacked her still made her shake. And all because she had been out shopping rather than home to answer his call.

“He wouldn’t stop hitting me,” she whispered, unable to help the quaver in her voice. “No matter what I said or did, he just wouldn’t stop. I wanted him to burn in hell. I screamed it at him and … and he did. And even if I had been able to restrain my fire that day, I wouldn’t have. He deserved the death he got. In some ways, he was more of a monster than Eleanor ever could be.”