Death and Relaxation (11 page)

Both ideas made my pulse race.

Okay, the me-needing-him-personally made my heart race a little more than the other thing.

“And I suppose you’re both on board with this?” I asked my sisters.

Jean rubbed her thumb down the condensation of her glass and gave me the most serious look she’d had all night. “Ryder’s smart, went to college, owns his own business. Other than coming back to this Podunk town, he seems to have good decision-making skills. He plays well with others, isn’t a gossip, and—not to make your head swell, Bailey—he’s hardcore physically fit. Plus, he shoots a gun. The perfect man…”

Ryder choked on his beer but got himself quickly under control.

“…for our department,” she finished. “Jeez, Bailey. Did you think I was hitting on you in front of my boss?”

He grinned down at the table, and the laugh lines that spread from the corners of his eyes made him look younger somehow. “No, Jean. I’m sure you’d never think of such a thing.”

Myra tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “We need extra hands. We do. You know that, Delaney. We’ve been short since…” The slight pause was an ocean wave of silence crashing over us.
Since Dad died.
It echoed in the silence, it washed between my sisters and me. But Myra continued smoothly: “…a year or so. We’ve needed the help. No one wants to take a post in this town. There’s no upward mobility, for one thing, the benefits and pay aren’t that great, and honestly, we only need the extra help when the festivals are in town. Ryder is the perfect choice. We know him. He knows us. Knows the town and people here.”
Mostly
, her shrug seemed to say.

“You have bedazzled my sisters,” I said.

Ryder held my gaze. “Have I bedazzled their boss?”

Yes.
“No.”

“Enough to land me a job?”

I wanted to say no. Working with Ryder was going to be distracting and difficult and distracting, and had I mentioned distracting? But Myra and Jean were right. He was the perfect choice for the position. If I didn’t have a raging crush on him, I wouldn’t even hesitate to hire him.

We needed the help. He was offering. I would be stupid to turn him away. All I had to do was manage my heart, manage my feelings for him. Put him on opposite shifts from me, partner him to Myra. It could work. It would work. I’d done harder things in my life. Plenty of them.

I could do this.

“Your qualifications and our desperation landed you the job,” I said. “Welcome aboard, Reserve Officer Bailey.” I lifted my glass in toast and tried to calm my heartbeat as Ryder gave me a smile that made me tingle with heat.

Or maybe that was just the beer. I took a sip.

Nope. It was all Ryder.

I could do this. I could ignore our attraction. My attraction.

Jean slapped Ryder happily on the shoulder and he chuckled. The sound of his laughter stirred deep down inside me and I found myself staring at him. Wanting him.

I could do this.

He slid a glance my way. Laughter. Heat. And desire.

I caught my breath. Oh, gods. What had I done?

I was saved from that thought by Molly showing up with our meal.

Chapter 8

THE ROSSI and Wolfe crowd got a little rowdy, voices raised in argument.

We all glanced over to see if we’d have to muscle them apart.

Jame Wolfe stared down his brother, Tonner, doing that silent were-dominance thing again. Ben Rossi smoothly and firmly pulled Sven—who looked like he’d had several too many drinks—off to one side to have a private conversation with him.

“Not good,” Jean said, popping the last bit of a carrot she’d dipped in chocolate into her mouth.

I pushed back to stand.

“We got it.” Myra’s hand landed on my shoulder.

I let Jean and Myra stride over to check out the argument before it escalated into a fight.

The Wolfes and Rossis closed ranks on opposite sides of the table and glared at each other in silence. This silence, filled with the ever-present tension between the families, was somehow much more worrisome than the quick shouting match.

Myra walked over to talk to the Rossi clan while Jean approached the Wolfe family.

“Still surprises me about Jame and Ben,” Ryder said.

“Because they’re gay?” I said without looking away from the vamps and weres.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. “Everyone knew that.”

“I didn’t know it.”

“You didn’t get hit on by Ben in high school.” He sounded like he was smiling.

Finally, Ben and Jame brought Tonner and Sven back together. Ben’s hand was planted on Sven’s shoulder, and Jame had his arm around Tonner’s back.

Tonner and Sven didn’t look like they were in a forgiving mood, but after a quick talk with Myra and Jean, money was exchanged between the two creatures and no blood was spilled.

Jame and Ben both patted their stubborn relations on the back, and everyone went back to playing pool.

Jean, I noted, had been invited to the Wolfe side of the game, so Myra lifted one eyebrow and gave her a challenging smile as she casually joined in with the vampires.

The universal schoolroom you’re-in-trouble taunt of “Oooooooh” rose from both teams.

Sometimes being a cop meant remembering you were just a regular person like anyone else in town. Even the irregular ones.

“So why are you surprised Ben and Jame are together?” I said, picking up the conversation again. “Don’t think workplace romances are a good idea?”

“Their families don’t exactly get along. Never have. I can’t imagine what major holidays are going to look like for them.”

I lifted my chin toward the pool game. Sven and Tonner were laughing loudly as Ben flipped them both off with a flash of fang and then took his shot. Jame leaned against the wall next to his pack, watching his partner. After Ben’s shot and groan, Jame rolled his eyes and slapped a few bills into his brother’s palm.

Someone, or maybe two someones, had just lost a bet. But in doing so, it looked like they’d restored harmony between the groups.

“If anyone can make it work, it’s those two stubborn men,” I said.

Jean was up, leaning over the pool table and shifting her butt just a little as she did so. As one, every Wolfe head tipped to the side, watching her butt like puppies watch a stick.

I turned back to the table and picked at the remaining French fries on my plate. I was stuffed. I felt amazing. Full, grounded, satisfied.

“Why haven’t I been eating lately? Eating is wonderful.”

“That’s a good question,” Ryder said. “Why haven’t you been eating lately?”

Terrific. I’d said that out loud. Another reminder that I’d been home, alone, talking to myself far too much lately.

“No time?” I suggested.

“No sleep?” he countered.

I dragged my fingers back through my hair, and let it fall. He watched me, savoring every move, as if there was something about me worth savoring.

I made a face at him, which broke the intensity in his eyes. He grinned and went back to pushing his remaining fries through a puddle of ketchup and Tabasco sauce.

Thank gods. If he’d kept looking at me like that, I would have crawled over the table just to find out what Tabasco sauce and ketchup tasted like on his mouth.

“Maybe you haven’t been eating because something else has been on your mind. Your dad?”

Yeah, that. He wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t wish he were still here with me. With us. His death had been so sudden.

I loved him. I always would. But it was more than just his death that had disrupted my life. It was also this job, this family responsibility that I still wondered if I was handling as well as I should.

“You want to talk about that?” Ryder asked gently. “You went pretty quiet.”

I didn’t want to talk about what was really bothering me—the crazy secrets of gods and monsters in this town. My job to look after them all, and to be there when god power needed to change hands.

But maybe I could talk about Dad.

“I think about him every day. Think about what he’d do when I’m responding to a call. Keep expecting him to stop by and see me and my sisters. But I’m getting…well, better isn’t really the right word, but maybe I’m getting used to the way things are now?”

“Grief is a terrible houseguest,” he said. “It shows up when we least expect it and leaves long after it’s overstayed its welcome.” His eyes darkened, and he stared into his empty beer glass.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” He was lying. Then he looked back up, some of the darkness gone from his eyes. “This is nice. Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we are hardworking people who forget to put ourselves first every once in a while.”

“About that.” He leaned forward, took my hand, and rubbed his thumb gently, maddeningly, across the back of it, soft, slow strokes. My breath bunny-hopped and I worked to pull it back under control. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time we put ourselves first.”

“You mean burgers and fries every once in a while?”

“I mean go out. Date. I’m asking you if you’d like to date me, Laney. Just to see…just to see where things could be between us.”

Everything in me wanted to say yes. I’d been waiting to hear those words out of Ryder’s mouth since I was in elementary school and thought dating meant sharing the green M&M’s.

But I paused. Ryder’s hazel eyes were filled with patience, softened by compassion and maybe something more.

He licked his lower lip, biting it just a bit as he watched me.

That look was filled with a lot more than compassion. It was filled with a heat and fire I wanted to lose myself to, wanted to be devoured by.

“I thought you didn’t like workplace romances.”

“I never said that.”

My heart whispered with need. I’d never know if Ryder was the man I dreamed he was, if being with him how I’d always wanted to would live up to my imagination if I didn’t try it. Dating was a good start. All I had to say was yes.

I opened my mouth to say yes.

“Delaney.” Myra strode across the room. “We need to talk. Now.”

She was scowling. Pale. Jean was already jogging toward the door, her phone at her ear.

Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Ryder asked.

“Police business,” she said. “Not for you.”

I stood, reached for the back of my chair, and only then remembered I hadn’t brought my jacket. “Sorry. I need to go. Report to the station tomorrow morning.”

He stood too. “I can come along.”

“No,” Myra and I both said. “We’ll get you sworn in tomorrow, officially,” I added. “Then you can come along. Tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

I had to jog a little to catch up to Myra, who was already hauling it across the room and out the door.

“Talk to me,” I said.

“I’ll tell you in the car.” She wrapped her arm around my waist, which seemed like a strange thing for her to do as we stepped outside.

“What?”

Ryder jogged out the door. “You forgot your purse. Delaney?”

Myra swore quietly.

And that was when it hit me.

God power.

I’d never felt it before, not like this, not so strong. But I knew exactly what it was. God power, uncontrolled, wild. It slammed into me, trying to reshape me. Trying to change me.

A wave of sensations swallowed me whole, pulled me down with electric fingers and explosions of color. I felt my knees give out, heard my moan as I fell. Ryder’s voice, Myra’s voice, were faint echoes behind a chorus of sound raised in raw power.

The world shuddered under that song, then rebuilt itself to meet the call of this mighty, unstoppable, exquisite force.

A universe of sensation—beautiful sensations, terrifying sensations—filled me.

And then silence and blackness closed it all down.

Chapter 9

RAIN. A soft patter of it against a metal roof. The smell of gardenias—Myra’s perfume. I heard her voice too, building slowly, like someone turning up the volume in increments.

“Right here with you. Just come back, Delaney. Just come back, right here.”

“I’m awake.” Had to clear my throat a little and push hard to get my eyes open. I was lying in the back seat of Myra’s cruiser, the engine running, heater blowing full-blast, police radio on in the background.

“I’m awake,” I said again. “What happened?”

She glanced over her shoulder at me as she drove. “It knocked you out. I was worried that it might.”

“What knocked me out?” I sat. It was warm in the car, but I shivered and pulled the throw blanket she’d covered me with over my shoulders. The tank top felt like a poor decision at this point. “Do you have a spare jacket?”

“God power,” she said. “Jacket in the trunk.”

God power. That meant that one of the gods, in their mortal form, had died.

Oh, shit.

“Who? When?”

“Can’t you tell?” She parked the car, flipped off the windshield wipers, and turned back toward me. “You’re still white as a bone, Delaney. Let’s just sit here for a second.”

I nodded, but was thinking about her first question. Couldn’t I tell what power had just hit me like a freight train?

“Heimdall. Norse God. Herald of Ragnarok. Oh,” I said, putting it together with a terrible sinking feeling. “It’s Heim, isn’t it?”

“Tourists found his body washed up on the shore about an hour ago. We don’t know how long he’s been dead yet.”

“How long have I been out?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“So maybe he’s only been dead that long?”

“I don’t think so. This is the first time a god has died since you became the bridge for power. I remember Dad saying it took some time for powers to focus on him until it had happened a few times. Each power left a bit of a mark, he said. So the next powers could more easily find him.”

He had never told me that.

“You talked to Dad about being a bridge?”

Her profile was outlined by the faint streetlight filtering in through the rain-spotted windshield. In this light, the lines of her were softened into the kind of femme fatale I’d expect in a noir mystery, her straight, dark bangs the perfect counterbalance to the round edges of her eyes and cheeks.