Heat of the Night (22 page)

For his part, Connor felt helpless, a state of being that was anathema to his mental health. Stacey's pain was gnawing at him, driving him half-mad with bloodlust and restless fury.

"Oh god, Stace!" Lyssa pushed to her feet as the screen door shut silently behind them. She hurried over, embracing her best friend as soon as Connor set her down. "I'm so
s-sorry! This is all my fault."

Stacey shook her head. "You couldn't do anything." Her venomous gaze moved from Aidan to Tommy to Connor, who flinched. "Too bad we didn't have some big strong men around," she sneered, brushing past everyone on the way to the phone.

"Stacey." Lyssa's voice was low and pleading. "You can't call for help."

"Why the fuck not?" she demanded, reaching for the handset with a violently shaking hand. "Because the cops might come out here and think, 'Hmm? Look at these two brawny, ex-Special Forces guys who didn't do a
goddamned thing
to stop a kidnapping!'"

Lifting his chin, Connor knew she had every right to be pissed based on the information she had, but her derision still wounded deeply. Not his pride or his ego, both of which had suffered more than a few dents over the course of his lifetime, but his heart, which had never been engaged enough to feel pain.

The damn thing was killing him now.

"You don't know her like we do, Stacey," he said gently. "There was nothing we could have done that would still assure Justin's safety."

"Bullshit!" Stacey's eyes were wide and dark, the dilated pupils leaving only a faint ring of the brilliant green irises. Her skin and lips were pale, her hands shaking. "Either one of you—
alone
!—could have taken out
both
her and that freak with the mask on!"

"Are you sure there were only two of them?" he asked, making her pause. "With those tinted windows it was impossible to see into the backseat."

"There was someone else in the back," Aidan assured. "Someone closed the door on the passenger side after Tommy got out."

A frown marred Stacey's brow as she considered this.

Connor pressed on, needing her to understand, "Justin is valuable to her because of
you
, Stace. Rachel was prepared to spar, with the goal being to kill Justin and take you instead. That would up the ante, and trust us, Rachel likes sky-high antes. She was standing next to the open car door for a reason. I'm positive she had her glaive right there within reach, waiting for one of us to make a move."

"What the hell kind of antiquities are you dealing in," she snapped, "that would be valuable enough to kidnap someone over them?"

"Hey." Lyssa spoke softly, stepping closer and putting her arm around Stacey's quivering shoulders. "Let's go in the kitchen, and I'll tell you everything."

"I need to call the damn cops."

"Let me explain first. Then, if you still feel like you need the police, I'll drive you over there myself."

"What is
wrong
with you people?" Stacey yelled, her voice hoarse. "My son is gone and you want me to do nothing?"

"No," Connor murmured, his gut knotted painfully. "We want you to believe in us—your friends. The people who l-lo—"

The word strangled in his throat, his insides too raw to bare himself to further scorn. He'd failed her. Even though he couldn't have done any more than he did without jeopardizing Justin's life, he'd still failed to shield her from pain.

Love.

Was that the right word? He cared for her. Wanted to be with her. Hated to see her so devastated. He wanted her smiles and her laughter, wanted her gentle touches and breathless cries of pleasure. He wanted to get to know her and share himself in return. Was that love?

Perhaps it was the seeds of it. The first sprouting. Would it wither now and die? Or could he repair the damage and have a chance to watch it grow?

"I'm your best friend, Stace." Lyssa's sweet voice held a note of steel that cut into Connor's thoughts. "I love you. I love Justin. I want him back as much as you do."

Connor's chest grew tight as Stacey broke down and cried, leaning heavily into her friend, her black curls blending with Lyssa's blonde strands. It was the sound of hopelessness and despair, and it ripped him to shreds. She was his woman. The only one he'd ever had. It was his job to protect her and keep her safe. Instead he introduced her to the danger that wounded her so gravely.

"Bruce!"

He tore his gaze away from Stacey's back as she left the living room and looked at Aidan. "What?"

"Pull it together and let's fix this."

"I am together." He wasn't. He felt like he was falling apart. Such an odd feeling to be scattered. His heart in one place, his brain in another, his body tense with the need to give chase. "We can track them through the cell phone. McDougal has the capability."

Aidan nodded, his features tight with strain. "Comes in handy when you get an out-of-the-blue offer for a priceless artifact. We track down the dealer and verify that they're legit before proceeding with the transaction. But that's not going to help us figure out what Rachel wants."

Because of the time Connor had spent inside Aidan's slipstream, he had a mental storage of Aidan's memories.

He'd been rifling through them ever since Rachel had made the demand and he couldn't find anything resembling a trinity in the recollections. To Aidan's knowledge, none of the artifacts he'd recovered were the item Rachel wanted.

He ran both hands through his hair, tortured by the sounds of muffled crying coming from the kitchen. "Rachel is either completely insane or she's talking about that dirt clod you've got."

"Shit."

"Told you I had it together," he muttered.

Stacey screeched and something made of glass broke in the other room. He winced. If Lyssa was telling her about the Twilight, things were about to get a whole lot worse.

"I've got the duffle in the car," Aidan muttered, before sprinting out the door.

Staring down at the cell phone in his hand, Connor started a checklist of necessary items in his mind. He'd need transportation, clothes, a cooler with food and drink…

"What the hell have you two done to my best friend?" Stacey asked coldly, entering the room.

Connor squared his shoulders and faced her head on. "We saved her life."

"Bullshit." Her eyes snapped with emerald fire, which was actually a relief after the blankness he'd seen before. "You've got her convinced that you're dream fighters and she's some prophet of doom and gloom."

"Prophecy," he corrected. "And we're Elite Warriors, Stacey. We don't fight dreams, we protect them."

The quivering of her lower lip was the only sign of her distress. Her shoulders were back, her chin tilted stubbornly. Ready to take on the world alone.

"I knew there was something wrong with you," she said bitterly. "Too good to be true. What do you want?"

He arched a brow.

"Come on," she coaxed with a sneer. "Two gorgeous guys appear on our doorsteps out of nowhere. They have no past and my kid gets snatched. Coincidence? I don't think so."

It took a moment for her accusation to sink in. Then, "You think I did this?" He stared at her a moment, slack jawed. "You think
I
had a hand in kidnapping Justin?"

"It's the only thing that makes any sense to me."

"Who said this shit has to make sense?"

Connor lunged and caught her to him, thrusting his free hand in her hair and tugging her neck back, forcing her to look at him. "We
made love
. I was
inside
you. How can you accuse me of something so heinous after what we've shared?"

"It was sex," she dismissed. But her chest was heaving against his and tears filled her eyes.

Prepared to do anything—
anything
—to win her trust back, he released her, then caught her hand in his and dragged her to the kitchen.

Lyssa waited on the threshold, but quickly stepped out of the way. Connor walked up to the wooden knife block on the white ceramic tiled counter and withdrew a blade. With gritted teeth, he turned to face Stacey and slashed diagonally across his chest, cutting himself from shoulder to abdomen.

She screamed as blood welled and ran down his torso. He tossed the knife in the stainless steel sink and said grimly, "Don't take your eyes off me."

The burning began and then the itching. His skin healed itself almost instantaneously. It had been a shallow wound, quickly mended, unlike Aidan's deep gash, which had taken hours to resolve.

"Holy shit," she breathed, stumbling as her knees gave out.

Catching her, he helped her to the nearby table in the breakfast nook. She touched his skin, swiping through the blood to see that there was no mark left behind. Aidan returned at that moment and set the black duffle down next to her elbow.

He unzipped the bag and pulled out the book he'd stolen from the Elders and the cloth-wrapped bundle. "We need to clean this thing off, Bruce, and see if we can find mention of whatever-it-is in here."

"I have to head to McDougal's," Connor said, "before Rachel calls."

"You can't go. You'll never get past security."

"Watch me." Connor smiled grimly. "I can't read the language of the Ancients—I slept through those classes—but I can break into anywhere and kick the shit out of anyone."

Aidan appeared prepared to argue.

"Trust me, Aidan. It's better this way. Instead of you risking your job, you can play the victim of a kidnapping or something like that. You'll be blameless."

"It's a fucked-up plan," Aidan muttered.

"Hey, I learned those from the best."

Growling low, Aidan nevertheless said, "Go. I'll work on figuring out why she wants this damn trinity so bad."

Stacey reached for the book and opened it, running her fingers over the text. "What is this?"

Needing to have some connection to her, Connor set his hand on her shoulder and leaned over. "Prior to the creation of virtual databases, our people documented our history in texts, just as you do."

"You can't read this?" she asked, her gaze locked on the turning pages.

"No. Our present-day language is based on it, just as your language is rooted in Latin, but only scholars and the overly curious—like Cross—know enough of its pure form to make sense of it."

"Jesus," she whispered. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

He glanced up at Aidan who caught his eye and said, "We'll take care of her."

Connor hated that he couldn't be the one to comfort her, but he knew his place in Stacey's life was tenuous at best. She needed consolation and security, and he knew she wouldn't turn to him for either. The best he could do was manage the logistics and dirty work of Justin's retrieval.

He nodded. "Thanks. I'm off to get the things we need."

Stacey twisted in the chair to look up at him. "What things? What do we need?"

"I'm going after your son. I'll need certain equipment to do it."

Hope filled her eyes. "I'm going with you."

"No way," he said firmly. "It's not safe. You need—"

"Don't tell me it's not safe!" She lunged to her feet. "If
Justin is there, I'm there. Did you see the terror on his face? Did you see that freak sitting next to him, hiding behind that fucking mask so I can't identify him to the police?"

"A mask?" Lyssa frowned.

"Yeah, Doc. A mask. With black eyes and fake vampire teeth. It scared me just looking at it. I can't imagine what my baby is going through—" Stacey's voice choked into silence.

Connor caught her close, unable to do otherwise, but she struggled and broke free. She rounded the island, as if that barrier could keep him from her.

His jaw tensed as her rejection cut deeply.

"A mask…" Lyssa whispered through white lips. "Oh no!"

Connor could see that she understood the implication. He had no idea how Rachel was controlling the Nightmare-infected Guardian, but regardless, he doubted the leash was tight enough to ensure Justin's safety for long.

The clock was ticking.

Shoving the cell phone in his pocket, Connor turned to leave. "I'm out."

Aidan sank into the chair in front of the duffel.

"I'll make coffee," Lyssa said.

"I'm going to pack," Stacey muttered, leaving the kitchen.

Connor gritted his teeth and ran out the door, preparing himself for the argument ahead. He was not going to risk Stacey. Best she get used to that idea now.

He climbed into Lyssa's Roadster and took off.