Into the Light (The Admiral's Elite Book 2) (19 page)

Nothing more was said on the subject and their meal was quietly consumed. Michael left his alone and Gabrielle barely touched hers. Only Ryan and Becca ate. Hers, she had to admit, was more to give her something to distract her than out of hunger.

Becca trailed Michael back to their room, not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation. Cool façade aside, she wasn’t good at personal confrontations and usually tried to avoid them. Last in, she pushed the door shut and slid the chain lock into place. Leaning against the door, she waited.

Nothing happened. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. He knew she was supposed to master her new skill. Her facing Black as a failure was a terrifying prospect for both of them. She’d seen how he punished defiance. A human couldn’t survive that kind of beating.

So, if he knew this had to happen, why was she dreading it so much? Sighing, she studied the outline of his back. He faced away from her, the muscles in his shoulder shifting against his shirt as he twirled the phone in his pocket. The call to Black had to happen soon. He was putting it off. Again, why?

A man used to being closed off for decades didn’t share easily and Becca understood that. She never demanded more than he gave. Yet the recent development of this nervous fidget he had of playing with his phone told her he was newly anxious about something. Most likely it related to her. She presented the unique challenge of forcing him to maintain a secret from the one person he couldn’t.

At last he broke the silence. His quiet words forced her to lean forward to hear. “Did it work?”

Becca shook her head at his back. “No.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

The image of Gabrielle’s desperate face flashed and she blinked. “No, I tried to reach her and after that…” She stopped herself from telling him what she
had
seen. “I don’t remember.”

“Your time is running out. He only gave you two weeks,” he reminded her softly.

“I know.” Becca glanced down at her feet, wondering if she might be as lucky as the elusive Kenneth. The one Black let go. Would he be as understanding if she couldn’t master her ability? Would he give her more time?

Michael’s phone clicked against his nail. Lifting her eyes, she watched the side of his pocket flare and go in, flare and go in. The spinning went faster as his agitation grew.

All of a sudden it was too much. “Just tell him, Michael. He’s going to find out anyway. I can’t do it.”

His hand went silent and his body stilled in that vampire way that unnerved the living. “He’s not going to accept that.”

“Maybe he’ll give me more time,” Becca said softly.

Voice rough, Michael refused to turn around and face her. He was going to hide his difficulty with this as best he could in this tiny room. “He can’t.”

“What do you mean he can’t?” Intrigued, Becca willed him to turn around and face her.

“There’s something specific…” He started to raise his voice but stopped dead. Nearly turning around, he showed her half a face contorted in frustration and something else. Was this something Black had forbidden him to speak to her about? Knowing she was right, she could almost feel the tightening in his head and twisting in his stomach.

Becca wasn’t sure what Black wanted her for or what would happen if she failed. All she knew was that he was in pain and it hurt her. Pushing off from the door, she approached him slowly and leaned against his back, her cheek resting lightly on the soft fabric of his shirt. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I know you would if you were able.”

“It’s okay that I can’t even speak unless he allows it?” Michael snorted. “What kind of man am I? I should have turned around that day at the hospital.” He referred to the first time he’d found her for Black. “If I’d told him no he would have gotten over it. You would have never gotten pulled into this life. You would be free of him.”

“You’re forgetting something.” She could feel his muscles stiffening with his frustration at being unable to shield her from Black’s wrath should she failed to perform. He’d been trying to protect her from that since the beginning. “He has you.” She raised her voice, going over the objection she felt coming. “As long as you’re here, I’m here.” She slid her arms around his waist. “I can deal with anything he dishes out as long as I have you to come home to.” Saying the words aloud was as hard as admitting she loved him and this time she didn’t have a chance of passing out to keep her from his rejection. There it was again, twice in as many days she’d put her heart out for him to squash should he choose. For a long, agonizing moment he didn’t move or speak.

Then, turning around, he gathered her to him tight enough to make her squeak. “You’re a fool, Becca.”

Each word pierced her heart with a separate barb and, wounded, she attempted to draw away from him. His grip on her prevented it. “I wish I could stop you from loving me. It gives him the hold over you I never wanted to be a part of. He’ll use you up, it’s what he does.”

Tears burned in her eyes as Becca listened to the damning words, knowing they were true.

One of his hands let her go to pull her chin up and she opened her eyes wide, attempting to keep the pooling tears from falling.

Eyes dark as a starless midnight, Michael was gazing down at her. “And I despise myself for wanting it. I’ve failed you Becca, and part of me isn’t the least bit sorry because it means I get to keep you with me.” His teeth gritted together in his self-hatred. “God help me, I’ve pulled you into hell right alongside me.”

Reaching up on her tiptoes, Becca pressed her lips to his gently. “I get a say too and I say I don’t care. We’re both here and there’s no changing that now.” She shrugged and offered him a small smile. “He wanted me before he knew I could jump. All I have to do is show him I’m indispensible,” she joked. “So let’s show him I’ve got something no one else does, even if it isn’t everything he wants.” Though in her mind, she worried she wouldn’t be able and Black would begin searching for her replacement. She still had a week and a half to either figure out how to jump into strangers or wow Black with something other than a human security system. She was going to make it work or die trying. A little voice told her what it thought the outcome would be and she shut it up with a mental slap.

Chapter 20

Evening came fast in the winter. They only had a good hour or so before it was completely dark. Chief Kowski was curt when Michael called him, refusing to meet him at the station or give him access to the system until morning. Detective Salvo had obviously spoken to him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, spinning the black device in his hands post phone call, Michael stood suddenly. “Want to go do some recon in town?”

Itchy to get out of the tiny room, Becca stopped her pacing. “I’ll get my coat.” She wasn’t privy to what Michael had told Black of their day’s adventure in the woods or her continued failure to do as he’d requested. The strain was making her crazy.

Town was a small affair consisting of a five-block radius of the usual mish mash of boutique stores, several bars, a post office, and coffee shop. Black iron streetlights reminiscent of Victorian era gas lamps were already on, their yellow-orange halogen glow tinting the thickening fog. The snow had stopped falling and the plows were busily pushing it to the sides of the streets and walks. Large chunks of blue salt dotted the wet concrete and asphalt alike. Moisture still hung in the air, its damp chill going bone deep.

Gabrielle stayed behind, leaving the rest of them to head into town together. There was no reason for Ryan to go out tracking with the windigo gone and the other thing yet unknown. They were as likely to find something in town as out.

“You okay, Ryan?” Becca got out on the passenger side and closed her door to put a hand on his blue, parka-covered arm.

The brief glimpse she caught before he slapped a fake toothy grin on his face answered more honestly than he did. “Fine. Looking forward to painting this town tonight. You?”

Plastering on a meant to be obviously fake smile, Becca bobbed her head enthusiastically. “Excellent.” Then, let her face fall again. “Now, you want to be honest with me?”

“What do
you
think?” His hand tightened on the top of the door and he stepped out and around, poised to close it. “My girlfriend who isn’t my girlfriend is under the influence of some sort of glow worm and seeing what I assume is her ex every time she turns around. When she sleeps she calls out
his
name.” Catching himself, he slammed his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say so much. He slammed the door and roughed up his hair, blowing out a big puff of air. “Just, let’s not talk about it. Okay?”

Raised voices a block up the street interrupted anything else that might have been said. Several young men were hovering outside the door of a drinking establishment from which it sounded like they had been recently ejected. Michael, standing by the front bumper, crossed the wide main street at a casual jog and proceeded toward them. Without need to discuss, Ryan and Becca followed, flanking Michael on either side. Salt crunched underfoot and their breath added to the fog surrounding them.

Whether it was the potential for a new confrontation or the near miss she’d just had, Becca couldn’t be sure but something had her skin tingling. It felt like hundreds of tiny little sugar ants were marching up and down her limbs and holding a dance party between her shoulder blades. Closing the distance, none needed their sensitive hearing to catch the streams of obscenities and threats coming from the five men standing on the sidewalk.

The large man who had a lot in common with a snowman, giant ball of belly topped with an overly large, hairless bowling ball of a head, was reaching behind himself to grab the silver handle on the black steel door. Popping it open, he called inside after someone by the name of “T.” At no time did he break eye contact with the leader of the unrulies.

The head unruly drunkard was about the same age as the rest, early twenties. All of them were pretty much carbon copies of one another. Heavy cream stitching on their jeans marked them as “the” jeans of the hour among the fashionable and the track jacket/ hoodies they all sported from various American and Western European sports clubs identified them as upper middle class. Not the usual thugs. That and a complete lack of ink or silver on their visible body parts said they should be the customers a club
wanted
, not the ones that would end up on the curb.

Curiosity peaked, Becca sped up, drawing even with Michael. He reached out and took her hand, holding her back with him. Ryan held his speed in check as well and they paused at the corner opposite the crowd, mingling with a few other pedestrians drawn to gawk at the altercation.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Snowman was saying, becoming painfully aware of the unwanted audience that was gathering. His bosses wouldn’t be happy. “We reserve the right to kick out anyone we see as a problem, and threatening other customers is a problem. Now do yourselves a favor and go home and sleep it off before I call the cops.”

Unruly Number One shook his shoulder length Barbie blonde hair back and puffed up his chest, a move made significantly less manly when the breeze tossed a chunk of hair into the side of his mouth and he had to scoop it out before shooting back his witty retort. “Fuck you!”

Another unruly, who had apparently smuggled out a beer, raised it next to his head, clearly getting ready to throw it.

“Hey buddy, look out!” one of the gawkers shouted helpfully.

Snowman’s eyes went to the intended assaulter and narrowed. His body language and size should have been enough to back down any of the five unlikely rioters as should the mysterious “T’s” sudden appearance through the door. Taller than Snowman by a half a foot and with the only round parts on him being his biceps and likewise bald head, the united front was enough to send most packing.

It wasn’t this time. Instead, the five only seemed to grow more agitated. Voices broke out in unison, their words lost in the cacophony. The bottle was thrown and sent Snowman reeling backward into the building, a red streak mixing with the sweat pouring down his face and into the collar of his black shirt. T waded in a few steps before Snowman rallied, their fists flying, and the brawl was on.