Tempted by Fate (34 page)

Sensing two people on the other side of the building, she tiptoed through towers of crates until she found the second bodyguard. He didn’t see her, and she used his inattention to creep behind him.

She wanted to take him out physically, too. Her hands itched to beat him up, even if it was a short-lived fight, like the guard outside. Instead, in the interest of not alerting Rodgers-Dynes, she planted somnolence in his mind, encouraging it to grow into the urge to take a nap. He wavered back and forth on his feet, shaking his head. She
pushed the thought harder, picturing it rooting firmly in his subconscious.

Staggering to the right, he caught himself on a crate, sliding slowly to a sleeping heap on the ground.

Clapping rang out. “Bravo, Willow. Well done.”

Behind her. She spun around, poised to strike.

He stood twenty feet away, far enough that she couldn’t attack by normal means, close enough that she could see him in full detail.

Prescott’s dossier said he was in his early sixties. In the club, she hadn’t been able to see him in detail. Standing this close, he appeared younger. Fit and tanned, the only things that belied his age were his pale gray eyes.

He looked pleased.

And why not? He’d gotten what he wanted: her.

The doors to the ambulance slammed shut. Ramirez said a prayer as he watched it tear off for San Francisco General. Taylor had to be okay.

“Inspector.” One of the remaining medics took his elbow. “If you’ll come this way, we’ll take you downtown and have your arm looked at.”

He glanced down at the quick bandage someone had wrapped around the wound to stanch the bleeding. “It’s just a graze.”

The medic pursed her lips. If she were fifty years older and Latina, she could have been Lita. “It’s a bullet wound. You’re lucky it passed through without much damage, but it doesn’t mean you don’t need it treated. You need stitches.”

What he needed was a shot of tequila and a long vacation. But right now, he had to make sure Willow was
okay. He couldn’t shake the bad feeling that she was about to step into trouble. “I’ll have someone look at this later. I need to ensure that whoever shot at us is caught.”

“You cops are so impossible. You aren’t invincible, you know.” She threw her hands in the air. “Fine. Go be a hero. But if you pass out from loss of blood, it’s on your head,” she said as she stormed off.

As long as he passed out after he brought Rodgers-Dynes in, he’d be okay. He flipped out his phone and called Willow on her cell. No answer.

Cursing under his breath, he called his home. It rang several times before someone picked up.

“Ramirez headquarters,” Morgan said in a grumpy tone. “Lackey speaking.”

“Let me talk to Willow.”

“Ramirez?” She heaved a sigh that he felt all the way across town. “Thank God you’re okay. Wait, you
are
okay, aren’t you? We heard there was an officer down—”

“I’m fine. I need to talk to Willow.”

Her pause was heavy. “She went to meet Rodgers-Dynes.”

He started to scrub his face, but his wound burned and he dropped his arm.
Damn it.
“And you didn’t stop her?”

“Stop her?” Morgan asked, her voice rising. “Willow is a force of nature. You don’t just
stop her.
It’s like trying to stop a hurricane.”

“Where is she?” He waved an officer over.

“I don’t know, but I can find out. Hold on.”

He listened to the furious tapping of a keyboard. Moving the phone to the side, he nodded at the approaching officer. “Are you free to give me a ride? My car is decommissioned.”

The officer grimaced at the bullet-ridden sedan. “Of course, Inspector. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Got it, Ricardo,” Morgan said.

He held up a finger to the young man and turned away to talk with her. “Where?”

“She’s on Embarcadero. I’d place her in what looks like a warehouse, off Pier Fourteen.”

“Got it.” He snapped the phone shut and motioned to the officer. “Let’s go.”

They drove in silence. Perfect—it gave Ramirez the space to figure out what he was going to do, which was difficult considering he had no idea what to expect. The young officer was competent and fast, getting them to the pier quickly.

“Drop me off here.” Ramirez pointed to the corner at Brannan.

“Of course.” The officer pulled over. “Good luck, sir. I’ll be praying for your partner’s speedy recovery.”

Choked up, Ramirez nodded and got out. He waited until the officer drove off and then scanned the area.

The warehouse.

He knew without a doubt that’s where she’d be. He headed there, staying alert. He needed to get to her before it was too late.

S
miling, Rodgers-Dynes glanced at the passed-out heap of his bodyguard. “Is Frank still alive?”

Willow frowned at his amused tone. “Yes.”

“Good. Thank you for not killing my best associate,” he said politely. “Good help is hard to come by.”

She shrugged, standing ready. “You won’t have to worry about that much longer.”

He arched an eyebrow, humor lighting his expression. “I admire that you think you’re going to stop me. Perhaps we may talk before you unleash your supposed fury on me.”

“There’s nothing supposed about it.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re incorrect.” He leaned against the crate behind him, crossing his legs at the ankles, arms akimbo. “I suppose you think I hurt your mother.”

“I don’t think anything. I was there.”

“Yes, you were, weren’t you.” He regarded her inquiringly. “How old were you then? Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Ten.” She watched him suspiciously. He was toying with her. He knew exactly how old she’d been.

“Ten.” He nodded. “So young. So malleable, believing whatever you were told. Don’t you think you could have had the wrong impression of what was going on?”

Conscious that he watched her like a hawk, gauging her every emotion, she stifled her anger and feigned nonchalance. “Are you insinuating that my mother lied to me?”

“Your mother was a woman who ran from her husband and took their child.”

She stilled. “You know who my father is?”

His smile grew slow and delighted. “I know your father very well.”

Studying him, she tried to figure out if he was leading her on. He’d say anything to get what he wanted. She had no doubt of that. But he was being sincere, at least as sincere as he was capable of.

She swallowed, wanting to ask about her father, wondering if he was alive. She couldn’t, however, because giving away how important that was to her would give him an advantage. She knew better than that.

“But you want to know, don’t you, Willow?” He smiled gently at her. “You want to know whether he’s looked for you and whether he wants to know you. You wonder if he loves you.”

She did—badly—but she shrugged. “It’s not exactly startling that I would wonder some of those things.”

“I can tell you.”

For some reason, she felt like she was being offered a deal with the devil. She crossed her arms and set her stance. Ready. Just in case. “And what would you want in return?”

His eyes lit, like she’d performed a particularly amusing trick. “You’re quite delightful. I’m going to enjoy getting to know you.”

The hell he was, but she didn’t say anything.

“You have the look of your mother.” He gestured toward her. “Your hair and build. But you get your dogged determination from your father. That, and your eyes.”

Eyes.

Her gaze snapped to his. There was indulgence and patience in the gray of his eyes. The same gray as hers.

“Oh, my God…”

He smiled. “Yes, Willow.”

She stayed on her feet, but on the inside, she was staggering. She didn’t want to believe him. She wanted to call him a liar. Only he wasn’t lying. Deep inside, she knew what he said was true.

He watched her steadily. “No arguing? No calling me names and questioning the truth?”

She pretended not to care. She had to be careful, at least until she processed all this. “Why bother? Besides, the truth can’t be altered, no matter how much we’d like it to be.”

“Perhaps if you got to know me, you wouldn’t wish to change your paternity.”

“Perhaps.” She couldn’t picture getting to know him. What did fathers do with their grown daughters? She had no frame of reference.

His expression was knowing and amused. “You don’t sound convinced. I’m going to persuade you. Why do you think I’ve been searching for you all this time?”

“Searching?” She raised her brow. “Is that what you call it?”

“I admit, a few times my overzealous associates got carried away in carrying out my orders to bring you to me, but I had your best interests in mind. You’re my only family. I’d do anything for you.”

Her mother would have done—
had
done—anything for her, too. It filled her with a longing so sharp, she felt it in her bones.

“Your little business with law enforcement, for example.”

Willow glared at him. “What do you know about that?”

“I have connections. I hear things.” His sharp gray stare belied his casual stance. “I can get any police interest in you dropped.”

Something didn’t ring true. “Just because I’m your long-lost daughter?”

He nodded. “I’ve dreamed of having a family. I may be well-off, but you can’t buy a family and have it be genuine. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. All these years, I’ve kept this with me, hoping I’d finally get to know you.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. No, a photo. Willow made no move to take it. As curious as she was about it, she didn’t trust him not to use it to spring a trap.

Squinting, she realized it was a picture of a laughing toddler with a shock of white hair sticking straight up.

It was a picture of
her.

She blinked. She’d never seen a baby picture of herself. She wanted to reach for it, to hold it in her own hands—to reconnect to that part of herself that was lost.

“Take it.” He stepped forward, arm extended. “I’d rather have the real thing. I was cheated out of my time with you, and I only want to reclaim some of that. That’s all I’m asking for, Willow. My daughter back.”

She wanted to call him a liar, but she could tell he wasn’t lying. He wanted her, and she wanted to be wanted. She wanted roots.

He held out the picture. “Take it.”

Except he was offering more than an old snapshot. He was offering everything she’d lost so long ago: acceptance, home, and family. Everything that was missing in her life. That is, until recently.

“Take it,” he urged.

“Why did my mother run away from you?”

He blinked, and his smile dimmed. “What?”

“I want to know what happened with my mother.”

“She took what was mine.”

Her blood froze. “Are you saying you took out my mother because she wouldn’t give
me
to you?”

“She wouldn’t share anything with me, despite the vows she took.” A scowl twisted his face. “Nothing happened to her that she didn’t deserve.”

The loving dad mask slipped, the seductive web he’d woven fading. She glanced at the photo, at the happy little girl, and realized that girl no longer existed. For better or worse, she’d become who she was now. Yet she still wanted that dream of a family. Those roots. But her roots were planted right there in that charming house in the Mission. Her family had become a brilliant hacker, a mystical Latina healer, and a straightlaced cop.

A cop who was gunned down this evening.

By
him
—Edward Rodgers-Dynes, her father.

Eyes narrowed, Willow grounded herself and faced him. “And did Inspector Ramirez deserve what he got, too?”

He shifted his weight forward. “He wasn’t good for you. I did you a service.”

Willow wanted to scream. She clenched her hands into fists feeling
mù ch’i
react to her desire to lash out. Not yet. “Excuse me if I don’t thank you.”