Fury of Ice (22 page)

“Fucking ice princess,” his friend hissed, dissing Rikar with his usual slur. “So we’ve only got two in the tank.”

Yup. Two high-energy females. Four short of what Ivar wanted—needed—before the Meridian realigned in the spring. The electrostatic current’s realignment happened twice a year, and it was the only time a Dragonkind male was fertile. Just his luck. His genetics were a natural frickin’ disaster, working against him with the force of a hurricane.

Uncurling his fists, Lothair cracked his knuckles. “I’ll get you the others.”

“And the she-cop?”

“She’s out of the program.” With a big
REJECTED
stamped on her forehead.

“Lothair.” Ivar’s tone was full of warning. “She’s high-energy. She’s prepped with the serum. We can’t afford—”

“To what…waste her?” His boot soles squeaked as he spun and glared at the male he loved like a brother. Any other time, he would’ve backed down, but not today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. He wanted Angela Keen to suffer: pure, simple, no negotiation required. “Bullshit. I don’t care how rare a female she is…or how high her energy. When I find her, I’ll fuck her hard while I drain her dry.”

“Jesus Christ, man.” Ivar popped the wraparounds off the bridge of his nose. As he rubbed the corners of his eyes, he shook his head and sighed. “Okay, look…I’ve got no problem with you laying her out, but if you want her dead, you pay the price.”

“Name it.”

“Seven,” he said. “I want seven females instead of six in the next two months so they can be prepped and ready to go before the Meridian realigns.”

Diabolical. And difficult. Lothair didn’t care. Killing the she-cop was more important. If he needed to bust his ass, serve up five females in eight weeks, so be it. He loved a good challenge. “Done.”

Ivar huffed. “Just like that?”

“I’m working on something,” he said, holding his friend’s gaze, mind churning over the facts. High-energy females might be elusive, but he’d noticed something while hunting them over the last month. HEs often stuck together…find one, find more. “A new hypothesis.”

“Feel like sharing?”

“Not yet,” he said. “When I know, you’ll know.”

Wasn’t that always the way? Ivar planned. Lothair put the plan in motion and made it happen. The how, where, and why held little consequence. So…

No problem. Seven high-energy females, coming up.

Chapter Fifteen

Stream rose like a curtain, fogging up the glass as Angela planted her hands against the shower wall. Cool marble pressed along each palm as she leaned in, bowed her head, warm water streaming down her spine. The contrast was classic. Hot versus cold. Fight versus flight. The will to resist battling the urge to give in. And there she had it…her relationship with Rikar in a nutshell.

Angela snorted.
Relationship
. Wow. Now there was stretch. Not a very comfortable one, either. Especially since she’d woken up the second time around tonight A-L-O-N-E.

Why that upset her, she didn’t know.

Happy to be alone had always been her MO. Not today, though. All by her lonesome meant peace and quiet, the last thing she needed. The silence gave her too much time to think. To feel. To relive all the bad stuff and none of the good.

God, how could Rikar leave her like this? Skip out on her without leaving a note…without so much as a
Hey, angel, don’t worry, I’ll be back at X o’clock
on a scrap piece of paper. Was that too much to ask?

Goddamn it, no. It wasn’t.

He could’ve shaken her awake after his trip through the shower. Could’ve rubbed her back, rustled her hair, murmured to her as—

Angela touched her forehead to the shower wall. Good God.
Rub her back
. How stupid was that? Very. Beyond idiotic.

She barely knew the guy. Shouldn’t trust him. Need him. Want him. But the truth was a bitter pill to swallow. Especially since she craved those things from him.

Leaning into the spray, she fought the sudden tightness in her chest, tried to breathe through it, around it, refusing to shut down. Or show any fear. Rikar. No Rikar. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to freak out. The moment she broke down, he would cut her out of the investigation: say it was too dangerous, try to shove her somewhere called the
Safest-Place-on-Earth
. The certainty of the assertion gave her perspective. Made her want to prove him wrong even as she soaked up the concern she saw in his eyes.

And, okay. There she went again, driving straight into Crazytown.

She couldn’t be weak and strong at the same time. Not with Rikar. He was too demanding, too watchful…too afraid for her. Which meant keeping it together long enough to earn the right to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Easier said than done. At least she understood the parameters and inherent challenges. Had climbed over all kinds of gender bias when she’d been transferred to Homicide from Vice. All the old-timers had balked, hating the idea of a woman detective on their squad. She’d shown them, given the boys’ club the finger, and then left them in the dust.

And she could do it again.

But first? She needed to man up and hold the encroaching panic at bay. And find Mac. Which meant locating Rikar. She wouldn’t get far in a lair full of man-dragons without him.

With a shove, Angela pushed away from the wall. Water rolled over her shoulders, then headed south, cascading between her breasts as Rikar’s voice whispered through her mind.
Angel
. She sighed, enjoying the endearment way too much. She shouldn’t like the pet name at all. It was just a word, nothing special to him. He no doubt called all his—

Ah…strike that thought. No sense going there. It didn’t matter what he called other women. Rikar’s personal life was just that…
personal
. In other words? None of her flipping business. But even as she cemented the “he’s not mine” in her mind, the hair on the nape of her neck stood straight up, like a she-lion’s might when another lioness encroaches on her territory.

Raking a hand through her wet hair, Angela took refuge behind her no-chance-in-hell attitude. She wasn’t at Black Diamond to hook up. All right, so Rikar was gorgeous. So he was gentle, caring, and willing to give her space. None of that mattered. She had a job to do, one that entailed killing a certain Razorback, so, yeah, the whole attraction problem could take a backseat. In another country. Or universe. Wherever…just as long as it stayed the hell away from her.

Angela nodded. Excellent plan. On to the next issue. Rikar and his disappearing act.

Freaking guy. She could just picture him, tiptoeing past her and out of the room.

She’d made it easy for him. Curling up in his spot on the bed while he showered behind a closed door. Using his pillow, burrowing so deep his scent rose from the sheets, enveloping her in a masculine richness that was all Rikar. Allowing the splashing sound of water and the warm quilt to cocoon her until…

Yeah. Classic rookie mistake.

She’d taken her eyes off the target. Literally. Allowed them to close instead of keeping them glued to the damned door. Now—courtesy of her additional four hours in la-la land—he was gone. No explanation. No first assignment. No clue about how, when, or where. Just a neatly folded pile of clothes at the end of the bed and an empty room.

Which she appreciated. Really, she did, even though she wanted to stay pissed off. But as far as gestures went, the tank top, track pants, and Lululemon hoodie was a thoughtful one, particularly since naked wasn’t something she needed to be in a lair full of man-dragons. Add that to the fact the hoodie was her favorite color—a green so dark it reminded her of a forest full of evergreens—and well…Rikar had scored a few points. Enough maybe to get off with a verbal thrashing instead of a smack upside the head with her shiny new Glock.

Reaching out, Angela turned the shower off. Time to get out. Time for some reconnaissance. Time to help Mac.

She cranked the door open, stepped out of the shower, and onto the bath mat. Her mind raced as she flipped a towel off the heated wall rack, sorting through the possibilities. Which emergency room had he been taken to…the Seattle General hospital? Swedish Medical? She frowned. Probably the latter. Most cops ended up there when injured in the line of duty or—

Nope. Not going there. Her partner wasn’t dead. No way. Not Mac.

Fear for her partner rose fast as she toweled off. The new clothes went on in record time. Finger-combing her hair, she zipped up the hoodie, slipped her feet into a pair of girly-girl flip-flops, and grabbed her Glock. As she headed for the exit, she slid the gun into her waistband, cranked down on the handle and, swinging the door wide—

Got an earful of baby sounds: soft gurgles of happy cooing.

Angela frowned as she pivoted toward the bed.

“Hey, you’re finally out,” a soft voice said. “I thought you’d melted in there.”

Habit made her slip her hand around the Glock secured against the small of her back a second before she spotted the owner of the voice. Blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, Myst Munroe sat cross-legged in the center of the king-size monstrosity. Serious blue eyes met hers, concern and more in their depths, and Angela cringed. She couldn’t stand the pity or the certain knowledge she saw in Myst’s gaze. Both made it hard to hide: to throw her shoulders back, put on a brave front, and pretend that she was all right.

She tried anyway, deflecting Myst’s concern. “Hey…are you okay?”

“That should be my line.” Myst worried her bottom lip as though she had something important to say but couldn’t decide how to say it.

Angela swallowed. Oh, so not good. She didn’t want to talk about the shipyard. About their capture, attempted escape, or…what had happened to her afterward. The topic wasn’t up for discussion. Not that Myst cared. Her expression said it all. Talk was exactly what she wanted to do.

“Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but…” Tears filled Myst’s eyes, making the irises appear more violet than blue. “It has to be said and—”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

Myst didn’t listen. “I’m sorry…so very sorry. It’s my fault. Had I listened to Bastian and not run away.” Her breath hitched, breaking up the fast-paced spill of guilt. “God…the explosion at the precinct, the shipyard…the whole damned thing wouldn’t have happened, and you…y-you would be all right. W-would never have been h-hurt.”

Angela closed her eyes. She couldn’t handle this, not now. Work. She needed to work, to distract herself with something she excelled at. Something that made her feel strong. An activity like, oh, say…outsmarting and catching bad guys. But Myst and her Dr. Phil moment were mucking up the plan, making her remember when she wanted to forget.

Please, God. Someone just shoot her now.

“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known and…” Angela paused to collect her thoughts, to find her brain before she broke down. If she started to cry, Myst would cry and then…hell. They’d both be knee-deep in a blubber-fest with no way out. “I’m all right. Myst, really…I’m good. Rikar’s helped a lot.”

Okay, she hadn’t meant to admit that last part. But, well…crap. Just crap. It was true. Rikar had helped. Was still helping: making her feel safe, supporting her without demanding anything in return, giving her a shot at justice. And boy oh boy, she really needed to get a grip. Otherwise she’d fall out of
anger
with him.

“I’m glad,” Myst said, her voice soft. “But if you ever want to talk—”

“I won’t…not for a while. Maybe never.”

“I get it, but…” Myst cleared her throat. “The offer stands…anytime, okay?”

Angela nodded and glanced away, silence stretching until she felt like an elastic band. Ready to snap any second: to run, hide, and never come out.

The small bundle of blue blanket next to Myst caught her attention. Thank goodness. A distraction. She needed one. Much more of the trip down memory lane and she’d lose it for sure. But the baby was a ray of sunshine. A gift in the face of tragedy.

Unable to stay away, she walked toward the bed. As she got her first glimpse of him, her mouth curved. Little cherub. Sweet angel. He was so beautiful. Dark Mohawk of hair running down the center of his head, the little guy cooed and grabbed hold as Myst gave him her finger. Angela huffed, the sound more amazed than amused. Man, he was small and…happy. So perfect he made her ache with a sudden gladness that almost overwhelmed her. And in that moment, as she stared down at him—memorizing his features, seeing his happiness, and knowing he was safe—the pain pinching her chest eased just a little bit.

Reaching out, she touched the dark hair gracing the top of his head. With a suddenness that startled her, the baby turned his head and…

Angela blinked. Wow. He was extra alert for a little guy. Maybe too alert. “He’s Dragonkind?”

Liberating her finger, Myst rubbed his belly and nodded.

“Is he Bastian’s? The guy you—”

“No. He belongs to the male chained in the basement.”

Oh, of course. Chained in the…what? “Excuse me?”

“It’s a bit of a story,” she said, adjusting the blanket, tucking the baby’s arms in as she swaddled him. “And speaking of which, we’d better get moving.”

Okay, now they were
going
somewhere? Jeez. Talk about a switch-up. The conversation had gone from bad to bizarre in a heartbeat. “Ah, you want to fill me in? Who’s chained in the basement?”

“Forge. Gregor-Mayhem’s father.” Scooping up the baby, Myst tucked him against her shoulder and slid toward the edge of the bed. “I think you need to meet him.”

“Why?”

“He’s spent time with the Razorbacks. He might know something that might help you catch the assholes.”

Bingo. Myst had her attention. The only problem? Mac. Her partner was the priority, not the guy imprisoned in the dungeon. “I need to talk to Rikar first.”

“Not a good idea,” she said. “At least not until after we visit Forge.”

Well, wasn’t that cryptic? “What about a cell phone?”