Vigilante Mine (12 page)

McLelas Financial serviced clients and investors internationally, which required extended hours and an accessible staff. Lilah understood he cared far more about his employees' immediate health than slower response times and longer queues. Ryan could soothe disgruntled patrons without sacrificing company morale.

She nodded and fanned herself with her notepad. "Not a drop downstairs. We tried to, well, contain it."

"I noticed."

"I had both the twelfth and thirteenth floors vacated as a precaution
—
Maintenance has a guy checking for drips, but so far even this room is holding," she added.

"I'll take a look. Maybe we can track down the leak before your lounge chair drops on his head." He leaned against the doorframe with a wry smile. "Busy day, huh?"

Lilah's eyes crinkled in the corners. "Would you like your messages?"

"Depends." He folded his arms. "Are they more important than the story behind your choice of high ground?"

Lilah nibbled on the end of her pen for a moment, then shoved it back into her hair. "I climbed up to re-angle the cameras for your meeting tomorrow night
—
the international deal
—
so they won't see the floor."

"Efficient." The big screen was probably lost, but Lilah's adjustments meant they'd manage. If they dried the place out in time.

"Thanks, boss, I try. Unfortunately, the water followed me in." She shook her head. "Even if we shut this off and Maintenance gets through, the carpet is going to be . . . "

"Wet?" Ryan grinned.

She made a small, exasperated noise. "Moldier than a loaf of year-old bread. It'll all need to be replaced."

"Fair enough." He waded down the submerged stairs. "Let's get you out of here."

Her eyes twinkled but her mouth pinched with a stern expression. "Messages. Miss Leblanc had bus trouble. News 9 called twice regarding an interview. You did agree to an interview?" He nodded, and the tiny woman didn't miss a beat as he lifted her to safety. "Good, because they have your schedule. I've got theme ideas and a catering menu for you to sign off on for Saturday night's fundraiser
—
cutting it close, by the way
—
"

He raised a hand to stop her. "Sign off on? You've planned these things before, Lilah. I know you're capable of picking out a color scheme without my approval."

"Of course I'm capable. Barring a nod on the budget, I can arrange a lovely evening. Now, if only someone would answer their emails . . . "

He'd been too focused on cleaning up his messes to worry about the benefit's price tag. "Let's reschedule with Brennan."

"Miss Leblanc's already on her way in. She pushed tonight's 'date' to 7:30." She aborted a partial eye roll. "You could just pay her money."

"She didn't want it, and I need her research." Ryan pulled off his costume glasses and rubbed at his eyes. The arrangement with Brennan afforded him a convenient cover for his real nighttime activities, but the last thing he wanted tonight was more media attention. "Let me fix the pipes and we'll talk expenses before I leave for dinner, then."

The elevator pinged in the hallway. Maintenance wouldn't get far with their cleanup before the hallway refilled. As he settled the frames back onto his nose he claimed Lilah's notepad. One after another, he scribbled the names of Relek City's most influential people.

"In the meantime," he added, "get an afternoon spot for me, tomorrow, News 9. The benefit's closed to the public, but I've given them an exclusive."

Lilah stared at him. "An exclusive. To News 9."

He shook his head and handed her back the pen and pad. "Long story. Just make it happen. And call the people on this list. Tell them anything you have to. I want a yes from every single one and I don't care that it's last minute."

The culprit wasn't
a pipe at all. A suspicious, hose-sized hole in the floor above
—
Jay's domain
—
had trickled water down and through the ceiling tiles of the waiting area connected to his personal office. One foot to the left and the panic room Ryan had turned into an inner sanctum would have needed more than new carpet.

"You sure we can't add a line item for a human-sized aquarium in the event budget?" Lilah asked as the number-crunching session came to a close.

"As tempting as that sounds," Ryan flashed a quick smile, "I don't think the IRS allows write-offs for revenge."

"So you are paying attention." Lilah capped her pen and slid it over her ear, a puzzled expression sliding over her features. "You realize you agreed to a formal ball."

"I did." He canted his head to the side.

The phone clamored and she flipped it to her ear before adding, "And puke-green conference room carpet?"

Lilah was sharp, and the look in her eyes meant questions he didn't want to face. Ryan used the reprieve to bolt for his office. The waiting room floor oozed cool traces of water under his bare feet as he swiped his thumbprint.

"Yes, he's in. Well, you better wade faster
—
he's got a hot date so he'll be running out as soon as he grabs a dry pair of pants." Lilah covered the receiver and stage-whispered, "Chief of security."

A groan escaped him. Zach was on his way up, and Ryan's comm had been out of commission since morning. He forced his fists to uncurl.

It wouldn't come to blows today.

He'd done nothing that called for penance. Not toward family, anyway. Ryan shook off the way his body primed for battle and stepped into the pristine condition of his private office. The same shielding that made it a safe zone for his ability had sealed the room and protected it from flooding. His on-site wardrobe remained blessedly dry. One suit left. If he wanted clean clothes past morning, he'd have to visit the condo. His stomach highlighted that realization with a slow roll of dread as Ryan snapped the closet shut.

He'd buttoned up a fresh shirt by the time Zach arrived. The middle McLelas brother squished across the waiting area, barging in with Ryan's new earpiece in one hand and a plainly visible gun on his hip. He elbowed the door closed without breaking stride. "Got anything to say to me, bro?"

Ryan tried a lopsided grin. "Not the face?"

"Try this on and tell me about the body." Zach lobbed the small device his way and crossed his arms, his expression stony. "You know, the one you and your no-longer-a-detective called in."

"Leave her out of this," Ryan grumbled, dropping onto the cordovan sofa he so often used for a bed. "This morning's rumor panned out tangentially. We've got two bodies. Both masked."

"Damn it, Ryan. Why didn't you call me?" His brother's knuckles cracked as he flattened his palms on the mahogany desk in the center of the room.

Ryan shrugged. "Police had it handled. I needed you on data. It's not a big deal."

After a rude gesture, Zach snapped off the light and stepped to the thick-paned window. He shoved his hands into his pockets and didn't say a word.

Ryan took the moment of quiet to trade out filters. His office design, much like the infrastructure of the condo, kept the city's ambient noise from assailing him when they experimented with new tech. Still, during a switch, the tech went offline. He had zero defense against sound. His power raged out of control
—
always would.

He'd learned to take every precaution. Anything from the buzz of a forgotten lamp to a fly on the ceiling could knock him on his ass for days. Amanda flitted back to his thoughts unbidden. Even though Zach had sworn the earpiece had been intact that night, Ryan's ears had overloaded. They'd worked on a new design for weeks in the aftermath. He shook the memory loose and focused on the present. Past the disorientation. Even now, his fingers were like lead. His lungs ached and the room wavered. Zach's purposefully shallow breathing buffeted him into the couch cushions as he made the switch with sluggish movements.

The new earpiece chafed for a moment. Layer after layer of white noise sank in. Ryan could breathe again. He ran through the filters, but the real test would be whether or not he could still hear Amanda's voice when he cranked them to blasting. Satisfied by the initial results, he stood.

Instant vertigo.

"Which ones did you modify? I can't tell a difference." Ryan grunted and leaned on the wall for support, then hit the light switch. The room seemed to shudder into place.

His brother's jaw shifted, grinding his teeth.

Still pissed. Great. "All right, I should have called."

Zach didn't move.

"Just to let you know something was up."

Not even a blink.

Ryan noted his brother's pale cheeks and joined him by the window. "What's this really about?"

Zach pulled his hands out of his pockets and signed slowly, "Something bad."

He'd gathered that much. Few things sobered Zach like his spirit guide-granted ability kicking into full gear. Ryan studied the weary expression on his face. "Worse than yesterday?"

"Yesterday I knew you'd make it out alive," he murmured.

A chill tugged at Ryan's shoulders, insidious, spreading over his chest.

Zach pivoted and slumped against the wall. With his gaze aimed at the floor, his shoulder-length hair concealed his face. "Maybe we should stay in tonight."

"Too late. I already have dinner plans." Though he kept his tone light, inside Ryan reeled with concern.

They'd tangled with their powers for years. Even after it became clear Zach's ability gave him a knack for sensing a vague, near-future danger or injury for a family member, even though it pissed Zach off, made him sick, and kept him guessing, he'd never suggested they stop.

Never.

"Who, Brennan?" His brother shot him a glare, but it lacked the usual venom. Instead, Zach's bronze eyes showcased his pain. "She's about as trustworthy on the identity scale as Klepto. The woman can't be herself for five minutes."

"Our arrangement doesn't allow for her to be just Brennan."

Zach shoved his hair back as if he were striving for normalcy. "You're not afraid she'll find too much?"

"There's nothing to find." Ryan slipped into his jacket, but his hand paused over his keys. If the prospect of this dinner out with Brennan brought out his brother's danger-sense more strongly than yesterday's fiery encounter had, perhaps tonight called for Chinese food at the office. "She knows we're half Ohanzee. Anything she digs up related to our powers would be just a jumble of stories to her. Legends, nothing more."

"She's smarter than that, or you wouldn't have hired her." Zach frowned. "I want to get a handle on the crazy shit we can do as much as you, but is it worth this risk?"

"Yes." Ryan flicked the communicator on his new earpiece to life, then clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I'll be late if I don't leave for La Province now. You need to stop me?"

"Whatever this is, it hasn't peaked. It's not that close." With the resolute statement, anxiety seemed to drain from his expression. "Go. Get out of here."

"You'll be up for a while?"

Zach snorted. "My spirit guide's a bat, bro. When do you think we sleep?"

Amanda wrapped a
towel around her hair and stepped into her bedroom. An afternoon in her home gym and a hot bath had done little to ease her frustration. Finding the vic, examining the scene, had exhilarated her mind. Chasing the syndicate member had pushed her body. Briefly, she'd even felt like part of the team again.

Now, she felt lost, like a piece of her soul had misplaced its tether.

News 9 played in the living room. The channel boasted an overlay map of the city with a number of red dots. She froze.

Victims.

Eleven more recovered bodies, plus Old Town.

"Oh, no."

The reporter skirted details, but murders notable enough to link together on the evening news meant the same M.O.

The landline rang. Dale's home number. She pounced on the handset in the kitchen. "They're all masked, aren't they? Sir, I
—
"

"I lied to you, mija." Not her lieutenant, but his wife, Theresa. Disappointment cramped Amanda's chest as the woman launched into rapid-fire Spanish.

"Too fast, Theresa. Who did what with a gun?" She gripped the handset hard. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." A choked laugh. "I should be asking you. My Michael told me what he did today. He feels sick, but I could not make him change his mind."

Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. Sick? What did that mean? Regret? "I appreciate you trying."

Before she could ask what he'd told his wife about the public dismissal, Theresa added in careful English, "The man on the phone is real, mija. He was here, with a gun."

"What?" Amanda blanched. "Why didn't you tell me before? Are you safe now?"

"I am safe, yes. Before
—
" Theresa took a deep breath. "The masks, the precinct, he did these things. He made threats, he killed those men, and he'll kill more."