Enigma (24 page)

“There aren’t any pancake houses around here.” The only thing for miles was Mitch’s bar, and damned if she was going into a bar with him.

“Well, why don’t we take a drive? You can tell me what’s going on in your life.” He was all practiced sincerity, right down to the wistful expression and hesitancy, but there was something lurking beneath the surface, something no one could see but she could
feel
. An invisible clock counting down behind that oh-so-heartfelt gaze, as if he was just marking time until he’d fulfilled the obligations of a loving, apologetic father and could get around to asking for what he really wanted.

She still felt like an ass when she laid it all out there. The hard truth. “You know the rules. I’m not giving you any money. You can’t stay here, and you can’t use my phone to make a call, because then a dealer is going to show up, all pissed off and expecting to get paid.”

They’d played out this drama a dozen times, but he still blustered. Jerked his shoulders back and straightened to his full height, the very picture of wounded indignation as he sputtered an outraged denial.

And Patrick watched the whole humiliating thing with flat eyes and a blank expression.

“I can’t believe you’d say that. That you think so low about your old man, when all I want is to see you.” Dodge was really getting into it now, working himself up as his voice rang with injured pride and conviction.

Anyone else, even someone with an impeccable bullshit meter, would think he was telling the truth. But Anna had been through it too many times. “If you want to see me, you know what you have to do. Mahalia would drop anything, no matter what—”

“I’m not letting some goddamn witch fuck around in my head,” he snarled, drowning out the rest of the offer. “Of all the offensive fucking—you’re a
wolf
, Anna Lenoir. You’re better than that spell-casting scum.”

“No, I’m not. Neither are you.” Patrick’s hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white, and the blade glowed with angry light Anna could see even through the sheath. “And if you’re going to insult people I care about, you need to leave.”

All pretense of a loving reunion vanished as vicious anger twisted her father’s features. “Looks like the bitch genes bred true. Just like your snooty mother, with your nose so high in the air. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not. You’d throw away your own flesh and blood for some freak caster.”

There was the numbness, washing everything else away. “It’s time to go, Dodge. Goodbye.”

“You can’t make me leave—” Dodge started, but his teeth snapped together as Patrick let out a startled grunt.

A tiny sound, but when Anna glanced at him, he had one hand clenched around the hilt of his sword and the other wrapped around the sheath. The muscles in his arms stood out in stark relief, flexed taut, as if the simple act of holding the blade was taking every scrap of strength he possessed.

His gaze fixed on Dodge, chillingly blank. “She’s not going to make you leave. You’re going to do it yourself, because this freak caster has a lousy history with deadbeat dads.”

Christ, that was all they needed, for him to kill her father in the middle of a job. “I’ve got this, Patrick. Can you wait for me inside?”

He hovered for a moment, a tense statue bathed in the glow of his own power. Then he exhaled sharply and pivoted, striding toward the door in jerky steps, each one an obvious effort. “Don’t take too long.”

The motel room door closed behind him, and Anna scrubbed her hands over her face. “What do you really want, Dodge? You may as well just tell me.”

“Not much—a few hundred bucks. A thousand at the most. I had a run of shitty luck, and now I owe some guys.”

“Shitty luck, huh?” Drugs were bad enough, but when people mixed them with magic, it only seemed to compound problem upon problem. “Tell me how to reach them, and I’ll square it away.”

He hesitated. Free money, his debts wiped away, and still he
hesitated
, because he knew what would happen if Anna made that call. The dealers she paid off never sold to Dodge Lenoir again, not if they wanted to keep all their body parts.

His gaze jumped to the side, then up, and she could imagine the wheels turning sluggishly in his head. He was examining the angles, trying to figure out if there was any excuse she hadn’t heard, any weak spot he hadn’t prodded. He’d say anything if it meant leaving the parking lot with cash in his hand.

A year ago, he would have kept up the act. Feigned offense at her lack of trust, wavered back and forth between spitting temper and wheedling pleas. But they’d done this dance too many times, and he knew his cards were on the table.

This was all that was left—his rage and her numbness.

His glassy eyes narrowed. Hardened. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch.”

It would hurt later, maybe, when the dull, protective haze wore off. “I know.” There was nothing left to say or do, so Anna turned away and tried not to run to the safety of the motel room.

It shouldn’t have been so goddamn necessary to put a barrier between them, but she couldn’t breathe until she closed the door, locked it and leaned her forehead against the cold surface. It wouldn’t keep him out—even in his weakened state, her father could bust through the security lock with ease—but it was one more wall, and she needed every single one.

She sensed Patrick behind her, his warmth and the barely perceptible hum of the magic Michelle had freed. It brushed over her as he stroked his fingers down her hair. “Hey. You okay?”

Her eyes were dry, burning. “Yeah.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s okay if you’re not. I don’t know if I would be.”

“It’s been worse.” Nothing was more important than forgetting. She twisted around in the circle of Patrick’s arm and tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it free of his jeans.

He caught her wrist and pulled back far enough to search her face. “Anna…”

“Don’t.” It came out sounding more like a plea than a protest, and she squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to it. “Please.”

Patrick released her wrist only to frame her face, his hands too fucking gentle as he tilted her head up. “Look at me, honey. Talk to me.”

“I
can’t
.”

“Why not?”

Because the crash was inevitable now. She’d thought she could stay ahead of it, that it would be okay as long as she didn’t stop moving. But it was already spinning out of control. Any second, everything would collide, and then it would all fall apart.

She opened her eyes and almost had to close them again. “You never believed me. I told you, over and over again, but you think all I want to do is run away when things get hard. You still don’t
see
.”

“So tell me what I’m missing. Tell me what you want to do.”

Anna broke away and paced across the room. “It isn’t what I want. It’s what I have to do.”

Patrick turned to watch her. “You don’t have to do anything except talk to me. Or if you really don’t want to, fine. I won’t push. But I’ll listen.”

Only because he didn’t get it. Not yet. “I
have
been running, this whole time. I kept telling myself that I could get ahead of it, that if I tried hard enough, I could figure out how to love you. And I do—I love you.” Her heart pounded a sick, desperate rhythm. “But not the way you deserve.”

His expression hardened. “That’s bullshit, Lenoir. Some alpha-wolf, noble-martyr straight-up
bull-fucking-shit
. It’s not going to work on me.”

It dragged a helpless laugh out of her aching chest. “I wish it was, because there isn’t anybody but you. There hasn’t been, not since the night we met. I thought, ‘If I can love anyone, if anyone can love
me
, it’s this crazy bastard.’”

He closed the distance between them in three long strides and caught her face again. Not so gentle this time, fingers trembling on her skin with the intensity of what stared out at her from behind his eyes. “Is that what you’re doubting? Whether or not I love you?”

“No.” Never, not once, even when she’d told herself he couldn’t possibly.

“Then what?” Frustration vibrated beneath the words. “I love you. You love me. We’re both crazy bastards. What the fuck else is there?”

He deserved to hear it all. “When I was six, my father left me at a mini-mart because he ran into a guy he knew in the parking lot, and they split to go get high.”

“Anna—”

“The next year, some dealer he owed sent a couple of wolves to collect, and they broke both his legs. I hid under the bed. Then he got arrested for armed robbery, and my aunt took me to Vegas to live with her.” She bit her lip, but the words wouldn’t stop now. “A few years ago, I got tired of waiting for him to hit bottom. I decided to drag him to New Orleans so Mahalia could get him clean. Once he sobered up enough to realize what was happening, he punched me—a nice left hook, right to the jaw—and told me if I ever laid another hand on him, he’d kill me.”

Patrick smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She shook him off. “You had your mom. You had Ben. But that man out there? He
is
my good parent. He’s the one who gives a shit about me when he’s not too fucked up to see straight. I keep trying to tell you that I don’t know how to do this, but you don’t listen. You don’t
listen
.”

“I listen,” he countered. “You don’t know how to do this. But no one does, Anna. Family doesn’t teach you how to
choose
to make a life with someone.”

If she thought there was a chance she could figure it out, she’d snatch at it with both hands. “I’m sorry, Patrick. For everything.”

He stared at her as his disbelief melted into blankness, only it wasn’t blank at all. Every line of his body screamed
pain
, because she was already hurting him.

“So that’s it,” he said, too calmly. “It doesn’t matter what I say, how far I reach, how hard I’m willing to try, you won’t take that step because you’re too damn scared of getting hurt.”

“No, not me.” She ached when she looked at him, so she made herself do it, without blinking or flinching away. “Alpha-wolf noble-martyr bullshit, isn’t that what you said?”

“Emphasis on the bullshit, Lenoir.” His lips twitched up into a wry, mirthless smile. “You tell yourselves it’s noble. You tell yourselves it’s right and just and you’re so fucking dangerous that our poor little human hearts or bodies or
whatever
can’t survive you. But walking away hurts us even more, so what you really mean is you’re not brave enough to stick around and keep trying.”

“I know.” Her throat burned, and the room swam through her tears. “I even fucked this part up.”

“So fix it,” Patrick growled. “
Stay.
”

Maybe it would fix things—until next time. “You have your bike, so we can get back to work. It’s probably best if we split up. You head to Austin and make sure Oscar’s girlfriend and kid are safe, and I’ll head to Dallas to warn his father. Somehow.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She whirled on him, lashing out like the cornered animal she was. “What the hell do you want me do, Patrick? I told you it’s over, so lock it down, because it’s time to work. Or does that only count when it’s what
you
want?”

“Fine.” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he swept up his duffel. “But I’m not going to Austin. We can call in Jackson and Mac to protect Carrie. I’m going to Dallas to finish this. You may not trust me with anything else, but I’ve still got your back. Unless you don’t have mine.”

There had never been a time when she wouldn’t have walked through fire for him. “I’m not heartless, McNamara. Just broken.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. He picked up his bag and threw it over his shoulder with a finality that broke what was left of her heart. “Then let’s get to Dallas and end this.”

One way or another.

Chapter Eighteen

By the time Patrick and Anna hit Dallas, Alec had sent them a promise that he was on the way, along with a plan of attack for getting to Jorge Ochoa.

That plan was Alec’s mother.

Geraldine Jacobson met them on the steps of her sprawling home with a fixed smile for Patrick and one that almost looked genuine for Anna. “Alexander just called me. He said he can’t get here before tomorrow morning, but he hasn’t told me what’s going on.”

Anna wasted no time. “Oscar’s dead.”

“What?” The word held real dismay, and Geraldine turned and waved them through the door. “Come in, sit down. We don’t need to wait for Junior. I’ll explain things to him.”

Junior Jacobson—Alec’s father—had a reputation as a cringing lackey who held his council seat by virtue of his wife’s relation to Jorge Ochoa. Even if Anna hadn’t confirmed the truth, Patrick would have guessed it as they followed Geraldine to her tastefully decorated sitting room. Alec’s mother was the one with the power—the magical strength
and
the force of personality—and she was pissed.

Absently, she motioned for Patrick to sit before focusing her attention on Anna. “Did that woman have something to do with it? The one he’s been involved with? When he disappeared, I thought for sure he must have done something reckless.”

“No.” Anna didn’t betray that Oscar had tried to do exactly that, just shook her head. “He was murdered. But it gets worse.”