Magick Rising (39 page)

wish he was dead?” He turned back to Serenity. “Or maybe just kill him,

outright?”

She stood up, her heart jamming itself into her throat. “No!”

The man shot her a smile. “Oh, so there’s still a little fire in the

furnace?”

“No.” Her knees threatened to give out. “We’re divorced.”

“But you still love him.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Serenity shook her head. “I don’t anymore.” She hurried to add, “But

that doesn’t mean I want to see him hurt.”

“Why not? He hurt you, didn’t he?” Coleman reached for her, but she

dodged his hand. “Your husband demoralized you, slapped you, used you as

a punching bag. Even after he left, you couldn’t bring yourself to remain in

the bedroom you’d shared and moved to the guest room.”

She froze.
How did he know that?

“Look at me,” he commanded

No one knew that.

“I said look at me!” He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her closer, and

used his palm to turn her face.

Except . . .

Electricity filled his touch, making her skin tingle. She couldn’t

suppress her gasp at the familiar sensation. Something she’d shared with

only one other person.

The man jerked back as if stung by the sensation. “What the holy hell

was that?”

. . . Jon!

SIX IMPOSSIBLE THINGS.

Serenity now understood. Circumstances must have forced Jon to take

the Glue in a room filled with—no, she corrected herself—polluted with

trophies and mementoes of Joseph Coleman’s life. Something had

obviously gone wrong, and now he was lost in yet another impersonation.

If she didn’t do something soon to bring Jon back, they could both be

in trouble if the real man showed up. She reached out and grasped the

man—Jon’s hand, bracing herself against the open floodgate of sensations.

“Tell your guard to go away,” she whispered.

He hesitated then turned to the huge man. “Go away.”

“But boss, what if he—”

“Now! And put this asshole in the holding cell!”

The man that Serenity now realized had to be Jonathan Craft pulled his

hand out of hers and stalked back to his desk. The guard cringed at the

thunderous command but grabbed David by the collar and dragged him out,

closing the door behind him.

“The day I can’t handle a bitch by myself is the day I get out of this

business.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a gun that he

slapped down in front of him.

She edged closer to him, trying to ignore the weapon. She stroked his

hand, hoping the skin to skin contact helped. “Remember who you are,” she

said in a husky whisper.

His momentary look of surprise encouraged her, but then he pushed

her hand away, his expression transforming back into a cocky snarl. “I’m the

Iceman.” He made a big show of examining his gun. “Iceman. Coleman.

Get it?”

She couldn’t give up. Their lives might depend on her ability to help Jon

break free. “Get it. That’s exactly what I’d like to do. Get it,” she purred,

running her fingers down his cheek.

He shot her a lascivious grin. “So that’s the game you want to play?

Sure, baby.” He stood, shoved the gun into his waistband, then grabbed her

arm, pulling her close. She fought to ignore the sensations that coursed

through her arms and legs and pooled provocatively in the vicinity of her

lower belly.

That alone told her this was Craft.

With one arm wrapped around her waist, he pinned her next to him,

her back to his front. He used his other hand to fumble with the buttons of

her shirt. “Oh man . . .” He groaned, his actions turning to something more

immediate and demanding. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but baby,

you’re better than drugs.” He shoved his leg between hers and began a

grinding motion.

“Jon, stop.”

He buried his face in her neck, kissing, nipping, his hot breath causing a

dichotomy of feelings—attraction and revulsion, all rolled into one.

“Jon, let go of him. Come back to me. Come back to yourself.”

He tore her blouse open, taking only a moment to admire what he saw

before he spun her around and used one arm to sweep everything from his

desk. He seated her on the desk and then pushed her backwards, climbing

on top of her.

“Your name is Jonathan Craft,” she pleaded. “Not Coleman. Let go of

him.”

“What th’ hell you talking about?”

“What you’re doing—it isn’t right. It’s not you.” When she struggled to

sit up, he pushed her back down, her head slamming against the desk. Spots

momentarily blotted her vision.

He took advantage of her distraction to paw at her skirt, pushing it out

of his way. “Oh baby, you’re going to love this.”

Serenity fought, her blows hitting solid muscle and bouncing away

without effect, so left with no other recourse, she bit his ear. He recoiled,

howling in pain and outrage, and then raised his hand, curling it into a fist.

She braced, closing her eyes in anticipating the blow, but nothing happened.

She cracked open one eye and saw him, fist still raised. A perplexed

look crossed his face as he turned and stared at his hand, slowly unclenching

it. Then he glanced down at her as if seeing her for the first time.

Horror replaced confusion, and he scrambled off of her, moving back

from the desk until he hit the wall. Closing his eyes, he slid down to the

floor.

Serenity sat up, pulling her clothes around her as best as possible, and

climbed off the desk. She approached him, aware that change was

happening, but wasn’t sure it was for the better.

She could only hope.

“Jon?”

He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed. “Iceman. Iceman. Iceman,”

he droned, shaking his head.

She moved closer, kneeing beside him, placing her hand on his to

maintain contract as well as to prevent him from going for his gun. “No.

You’re Jonathan Craft. You’re a private investigator. And”—she hadn’t said

the word before, but she said it now—”a shapeshifter.”

He released a hollow laugh and sagged toward the file cabinet next to

him. “You’re crazy.”

They didn’t have time for an argument. She needed to shock him, try to

break the hold of the drug. Reaching down, she grasped Jon’s arm to pull

him upright.

And slapped him.

She landed the first blow without any opposition. But he rallied,

intercepting her second attempt by capturing her wrist in a strong grasp. But

rather than anger, a look of revelation filled his face.

He released her. “Do it again,” he growled.

She reared back and let fly another blow, the sound echoing throughout

the office. This time, she could see the reddened print of her hand on his

cheek.

“Again.”

She complied, and his head snapped to the side due to the force of her

blow. Pain radiated up her arm from the impact of flesh against flesh. Tears

blurred her vision.

“Again.”

She raised her arm once more, but her mind flashed to a time when she

was on the other side of such violence. The memories froze her in place,

making her unable to strike him.

“I said hit me, Serenity,” he demanded.

Every muscle in her body quivered in protest as she remembered the

pain, the humiliation of being struck in the face. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“Then I’ll do it.” Jonathan stunned her by turning and throwing a

punch into the wall. His fist sunk a few inches into the drywall, and a wave

of pain contorted his feature. Once he pulled his hand free, he cradled what

were probably several broken fingers against his chest and slumped against

the wall.

A wave of empathy swept through her, concern pushing away the fear.

She touched his shoulder. “Jon?”

“Better the wall than you,” he muttered. He raised his mangled fist as if

to slam it once again into the wall.

This time, it was her turn to intercept him, grabbing his wrist before he

could react. “Don’t, Jon.”

He looked at her through pained eyes. “Say my name again.”

She stroked his face. “You’re Jonathan Craft, and you’re a good man.”

She managed a small smile. “A very good man.”

He closed his eyes and dropped onto the corner of the desk, his injured

hand still pulled close to his chest.

“Let me check your hand.” When she reached out, he flinched, pulling

away. But after a moment, he relented, remaining stoic as Serenity examined

his injuries. While they touched, she did everything she could to ignore the

power surging through the contact.

“At least two of your fingers are broken.”

“I know,” he said, the voice still not quite his own. He stared at her torn

clothing with remorse rather than relish. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Before she could answer, a noise in the hallway riveted their attention

to the door.

“We can’t stay here. It’s not safe,” he said, this time in a voice that

sounded much more like Jonathan Craft.

“Do you have the formula, yet?”

“No, but I know it’s here.” He stumbled over to a door and fumbled

with the knob one-handed. Serenity followed, reaching around him and

twisting the knob to reveal a coat closet.

Jon pushed a couple of coats to the side with his good hand, revealing a

safe, embedded in the back wall. He reached for the dial, wincing as broken

fingers refused to cooperate.

“Let me,” Serenity offered.

He stepped aside and allowed her to stand in front of the safe.

“Thirty-seven left,” he said from behind her shoulder.

She turned the dial.

“Twenty-four right. Three left. Sixteen right.”

She felt the tumblers fall into place. After one additional click, she

turned the handle, and the safe door swung open.

It was anticlimactic, at best, to view the two amber-colored pill bottles,

each packed with small tablets. The pills looked almost harmless, like

something you’d get from the local pharmacy.

When she held the bottles out to him, he hesitated, as if wary to touch

them. Instead, he reached around her and pulled out a folder that read
:

Chemex Laboratories: Drug Formulation
.

“
This
is what we need.” A second noise beyond the doorway reminded

both of them that their job was only half done. “We gotta get out of here.”

Jon grabbed the bottles and stuffed them into his jacket pocket as well as the

papers from the folder. “

They headed for the exit, but as she reached for the knob, Jon braced

his shoulder against the door so she couldn’t open it. “You can’t go like that.

He pulled an overcoat off of a nearby coat rack and held it out. “Put this

on.”

She shook her head. “No,
he
wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I’m not him.”

“You still have to look like him. Sound like him.”

He paled. “But not
become
him.”

There was nothing she could say in response, so she simply accepted

the garment, using it to cover her torn clothes. “What do we tell them?” she

whispered as she rolled up the too-long sleeves.

He stood up straighter. “I’m the boss. I don’t have to tell them

anything.” He held out his good hand. “C’mon.”

When they stepped into the hallway, a guard stood at the far end toward

the door. Jon acknowledged him with a small nod then immediately turned

and headed down the opposite direction. He led them to a door near the end

of the corridor. “There’s a back staircase,” he whispered, “but it leads into

the main floor, and Joey never goes on the floor.”

“Then can you become someone else?”

“There’s nobody who’d have more authority to move around than

me . . . than him. And I don’t know if I can become anybody else, right

now.”

“What if I took the Glue? Would I be able to change, then?”

“I have no idea. It could be poisonous to a normal person.”

“I don’t see that we have much of a choice. Give me one.”

“No. I’ll think of something.”

“Like you said, we don’t have time.” She held out her hand.

Before he could protest once more, they both heard a loud noise

followed by angry voices.

“Worth escaped! Put the place on lockdown!”

“Damn it.” Jon reached into his pocket and pulled a bottle from his

pocket. “One. For me. Not you.”

“But what if this third dose is enough to start an addiction?”

“I’m willing to take the chance. Help me.”

Serenity played along, knowing she couldn’t risk letting him take more

Glue. But as soon as she tapped out a single pill with the full intent of taking

it herself, he intercepted her hand.

“Don’t ever play poker with me. You’ll lose in a heartbeat.”

Wrong.

Serenity was fast—faster than Jon had expected. Of course, it helped

that she had two functioning hands and he had only one. She used her free

hand to grab the pill and pop it into her mouth.

Jon watched in dread as, seconds after she took the pill, she slumped

against the wall, her face going slack. He braced her, trying to hold her up,