Rogue's Passion (8 page)

“Is there no honor in that?” he asked.

“Honor?” She laughed. “Honor is something you earn through your actions. No, there is no honor in working for the army. Not according to my family.”
 

She started to walk away, but he reached out, slid his hand down her arm, and stopped her from going any further. She looked at him, her gaze starting from where he was touching her then trailing up to his face. Behind her strength, he saw a great sorrow in her eyes.
 

“Wait,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”
 

She turned away. He’d pushed her too hard.
 

“Are we getting close to your car?” she asked, changing the subject again. She was good at that.

Dropping his hand from her arm, he cursed himself for asking so many questions. He, of all people, should understand the need to keep secrets.
 

“It’s parked on the next block.”
 

Clearly, it was too hurtful a memory for her to tell a virtual stranger. He wasn’t good at deep stuff. Should’ve just kept the conversation light. As soon as they found Conry, he’d drop her off at her house, thank her for helping him, and that would be it.

They walked to the next intersection in silence. When they stepped off the curb and into the crosswalk, she surprised him when she started talking again.

“Vince was an amazing artist. Amazing. And I’m not just saying that because we’re brother and sister. Several top art schools had been wooing him when he was only a sophomore in high school.” She told him about a big art contest her brother had won that drew him national attention. It was clear she was very proud of him. “After…afterward…when I was going through his things, I found a series of charcoal drawings of a young woman that were so achingly beautiful. I have them framed in my apartment.”

After
what
, he wanted to ask, but didn’t. “His girlfriend?”

“I…I don’t know. I never saw her before.”

The sudden wail of a siren came from the next intersection. A Night Patrol vehicle screeched around the corner, its flashing lights illuminating both of them. Olivia sucked in a breath and her eyes went wide.
 

He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Keep walking. They’re heading to the explosion site, and we’re just two people trying to get back to our car.”
 

The patrol zoomed past and Olivia exhaled. “You’re used to it, aren’t you?”

He shrugged but didn’t answer. He liked hearing her talk. There was a melodious quality to her voice and a slight lisp when she said certain sounds. He’d wait to hear it, and then, when he did, it was like tiny reward. He found it more than a little charming. He could see why Conry had been so smitten by her. He was feeling the same way.
 

“I take it Vince didn’t go on to art school?” He wanted to know more about her before he took her home and exited her life.
 

She shook her head. “His Talent manifested itself when we were teenagers. We’re twins,” she added, evidently sensing his raised eyebrows.
 

A strand of hair stuck to her lips. Without thinking, he ran the back of his finger down the side of her face to release it. “And then what happened?”
 

She took a deep breath that came out ragged. He thought for a moment that she might be crying, but he didn’t notice any tears. “The army found out about him somehow and came to the house. We never saw him after…after that night. We did get letters from him at first. Poetry, mostly, but it was clear that they were being monitored. Words and blocks of text were blacked out. Then one day, they just stopped coming. It’s been ten years now and I still miss him.”
 

He couldn’t imagine how hard that must’ve been. The army was very good at tearing loved ones apart and destroying lives. “Where did they take him?”

She shrugged. “To a top-secret training facility, but we never heard where.”

“Wasn’t there anything your mother and father could do?”

“My father?” The small noise in her throat was either a stifled laugh or a choke. “There wasn’t anything he could do. They killed him the night my brother was taken.”

* * *

As soon as they got to the grey Mustang parked on Olive Street, they checked the news stations and heard that the HOT was going to be closed for a few days. Olivia wasn’t getting back to her apartment any time soon.
 

“Good.” Asher groaned as he carefully shifted his bruised body. “Guess that means you can drive me around to look for my dog.”

“I don’t mind healing you, Ash. Really. It’s no trouble.”

“No.” He’d seen how much it had taken out of her to help the woman from the club. He’d heal fine on his own.
 

For several hours, they drove down every street and into every neighborhood within a five-mile radius of the explosion and still didn’t find Conry. Asher was trying not to lose hope, but things weren’t looking good. He hadn’t wanted to consider it before, but maybe something had happened to Conry in the blast.
 

“We’re stopping?” He looked over at Olivia as she pulled the grey Mustang to the side of the road near the circular entrance to Volunteer Park.
 

 
She turned in the driver’s seat to face him. Was she planning to give him a reality check? Turning away, he braced himself to hear her say they should stop searching.
 

Of course she couldn’t know what that dog meant to him. Not only had Conry saved his life a few times on this side of the portal, but he was there for Asher on the other side when no one else was. No, he would not give up. Ever. That dog was his best friend and meant more to him than most people.
 

“Do you mind if I say a little prayer?” she asked softly.
 

His head snapped up. “A prayer?”
 

“I didn’t know if that would make you uncomfortable. That’s why I’m asking.”

He wasn’t a religious man, but it didn’t bother him. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Folding her hands in her lap, she bowed her head. “Dear Saint Anthony, please come ’round. Conry’s been lost and can’t be found. He’s a very special dog, so please return him to us.” She opened her eyes.

Asher snorted. “That’s a prayer?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I know it had some rhyming issues, but I think my point was clear. Trust me.”
 

He liked how her mismatched eyes lit up when he teased her. “So who is this Saint Anthony?”

“He’s the patron saint of lost things,” she explained. “When you ask for his help, he’s supposed to find what’s lost. Or at least that’s what my Catholic mom always says. Can’t find your keys, your cell phone, your glasses? You ask him for help.” She reached behind her neck, unclasped a necklace he hadn’t noticed she’d been wearing and held it up. A small, round medallion swung from the thin gold chain. “This is my Saint Anthony pendant. I want you to have it till we find him.”

What if he didn’t find Conry right away? How would he get it back to her? “But—”

“No arguing,” she said, as if she had been expecting this. “I insist.” She leaned over the console and held it out. The pendant dangled from her hand like a hypnotist’s necklace, flashing in the light from a nearby streetlamp. He was struck by the fact that by accepting it, he was crossing an unseen threshold with her. No longer would she be a beautiful stranger who had briefly helped him. He would have something of hers that he’d need to return, thus ensuring they’d see each other again.
 

With his good hand, he reached for it, but she shook her head. “No, let me.”
 

“Okay.”
 

Her lips were parted and her breath fluttered over his jaw as she put the chain around his neck. It was all he could do to keep from kissing her, to cup the back of her head and pull her mouth to his. He held back. There was a vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her. But the last time he’d brought a woman into his life for more than just a quick roll in the sack, it had ended in disaster. He’d vowed never to let it happen again.
 

“Sorry,” she said. “This lobster clasp is really small.”

“No problem,” he said as he stared at the tiny pulse at the base of her throat. “Where did you get it?”
 

“My mom gave it to me so that I would never get lost.” She gave a little shrug of one shoulder. “She worries about me a lot.”

 
He was touched that she would lend it to him. A piece of her hair tickled his cheek, but he didn’t want to brush it away. What he really wanted to do was to run his fingers over her jaw to see if her skin was as velvety smooth as it looked. He would kiss her there, then on that little hollow below her ear.

When she finished, she tucked the chain into the neck of his shirt, taking care not to jar him too much. As if he would’ve cared if she had.
 

She lightly patted his chest where the pendant lay against his heart. “There. That should do it.” Then she sat back in her seat as if she did this sort of thing every day.

He had the urge to ignore his pain, pull her onto his lap, and kiss the hell out of her. But she wasn’t like the women he usually surrounded himself with—women who would expect him to do something like that.
 

He cleared his throat, his voice tight and raspy. “And does it work?”

“Yeah, you’d be surprised. I’ll be at my wits end, looking for something, then after praying for Saint Anthony’s help, I suddenly find it.”

“Thanks. For everything.” He turned away, staring silently into the darkness through the open windows. He hoped she was right.
   

“If the situation were reversed, I would like to think someone would help me, too.”
 

She shifted in her seat and reached for her phone.
 

“What are you doing?”

“Just for the heck of it, I’m going to call the Animal Control hotline again. See if the message has been updated yet.” She hit redial and held the cell phone up to her ear. “Oh. Oh,” she said, sitting up straighter. “The recorded message was updated twenty minutes ago. A dude is reading off all the dogs that have been picked up recently. Get me a piece of paper.”

He opened the glove box but didn’t see anything to write on.
 

“Ahhhh. Hurry.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got a notepad in my bag.”

He grabbed the messenger bag from the backseat, found the pad of paper and shoved it at her. With the phone in the crook of her neck, she listened. A minute or two passed, but it felt like an eternity. He prayed to the Fates that there was news of Conry. Good news.
 

She let out a gasp and started scribbling. “I think they have him.”
 

“Are you sure?” His heart pounded in his chest.

She referred to her notes. “A long-haired male greyhound was picked up in the 700 block of downtown a half hour after the blast. Ash, that’s less than a mile away from the site.”

He slumped into the seat and felt every ache and pain again. “Conry isn’t a greyhound. He’s a deerhound.”

“Greyhound. Deerhound. They’ve got a similar body shape, right? How many dogs like that do you think they picked up near explosion?”

He still wasn’t convinced. “Yes, but—”

She reached over, wrapped her cool hand around his wrist, and gave a little squeeze. “They’re just guessing at what kind of dog he is. Some of the people at the shelter are just volunteers and accurately pinpointing the breed of a stray dog can be a crapshoot. They could easily have it wrong.”

“But—”

She threaded her fingers through his. He was suddenly grateful that his right shoulder was the injured one, not his left. Her thumb stroked his hand as she talked. She was probably unaware that she was doing it, but he wasn’t.
 

“When I was a kid, our German shepherd got picked up by Animal Control. They had her listed as being a Husky mix. We almost missed going down there because we didn’t think it could be her. Come on. A Husky and a German shepherd?” She rolled her eyes. “They’re completely different dogs, but thank God we did. It turned out to be her.”
 

“So what does this mean?”

“It means they have Conry. And first thing in the morning when they open, we’ll be there to pick him up.”
 

As she angled the car onto the road, it occurred to him that she’d used the word
we
.
 

Chapter Six

Reckless Motor Sports was located about an hour outside of the city, surrounded by a huge off-road park with dirt trails and jumps, not far from one of the main roads leading into the mountains. If Olivia were into dirt bikes, loud engines, extreme sports, and didn’t mind a few broken bones now and then, this place would be heaven. Maybe in the daytime the perspective would be different, but illuminated by only a flash of the Mustang’s headlights, some of the jumps looked freaking treacherous.