Vigilante Mine (2 page)

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Authors: Cera Daniels

Tags: #Paranormal Romance

BOOK: Vigilante Mine
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Slow, light, churning loose grit and broken glass.

"10-4, Dispatch," a man's voice said. His footsteps were heavier than his partner's.

Only two. Easy to divert. Ryan exhaled hard. "Gotcha."

His enhanced hearing settled against its buffers as he bolted toward the officers. Hitting the corner, he shot a look around the crumbling brick wall, then up, scanning for snipers. Some of his tension eased. No extra shadows dotted the skyline. He eyed his nearest target.

Curves. Tight jeans. A woman, the Glock in her hands aimed and locked straight ahead. Plainclothes, maybe. But not undercover; openly using the radio. Ryan moved his gaze past her and swallowed a curse. He was too late. They had the courier pinned in a dead end.

Romeo, where are you?
No answer. His chest squeezed.
Bad time to go AWOL, furface.

"Relek City PD. Turn around nice and slow," the female officer clipped out. Her voice was low and husky, like a jazz singer swirled with a shot of Jameson.

Interest rolled through him, wicked and harsh, a wave of unexpected magnetism, and for a moment Ryan was enthralled. The itching in his head intensified the longer he watched her. And he had been watching. Staring, even. Shaking off the bizarre sensations, he remembered he had a part to play. Ryan ground his teeth. This wasn't going to be pretty, but a master thief on a syndicate's payroll would protect his investment. Klepto had to step in.

"Two against one doesn't seem fair, does it?" He injected an extra dose of gravel into his voice as he strode out of the shadows.

The officer to the right spun and yanked his gun higher. He squinted. "And just what the hell are you supposed to be?"

"Angry," Ryan said. "But I'll be considerably less so if you let my friend go and walk away."

"I've got this, Jackson," the woman said, and again, her voice curled over his senses like a caress. In perfect sync, the officers traded targets. Her face was in shadow, but there was no mistaking the confidence in her tone, her stance, and the rock-steady grip on her weapon.

"Do you, now?" Ryan took a step forward.

"Keep on coming," she said. "Plenty of room in our cruiser for you, too."

Lord, she had guts. Ryan smiled and so did she, a feral curve of warning that made lust fire on all cylinders. His jaw clenched against the torrent of images

the backseat of a car, this woman's voice and curves for company. Timing from Hell.

The courier moved. Low to the ground, cash in hand, the other man raced toward the far wall, skirted the second officer, and ducked through an opening Ryan had missed. Relief warred with fresh irritation at his lack of focus.

"Got him?" the female officer called. She didn't so much as twitch a muscle.

"Got him," her partner shot back, already on the courier's heels.

When they'd gone from sight, Romeo sidled up, limping like an old stray. The woman's gaze narrowed and she turned slightly away from him, her stance suddenly rigid. Surprise? Fear? Not one to question good fortune, Ryan dashed to her side. Smooth as a dance, he blocked her trigger finger and anchored an arm around her waist. She came out of her shock with a strategic heel to his instep. Her weapon dropped, skittered away, and then the officer kicked for his shins.

Ryan spun her in his arms and her back hit the wall. Slim fingers groped at pressure points well-protected by leather. He pinned her wrists with his hands, her body with his hips. No chances. This one knew how to damage valuable goods.

Lamplight threw her face into relief. Her head tilted back, honey-brown hair sliding over her shoulders to rumple against a spread of blue and gold graffiti. Sharp blue eyes narrowed at him, sizing him up as if she were calculating how best to take him down.

"You should walk away from this one, rookie," Ryan said.

He wasn't certain if he was talking to her, or himself. She wasn't a rookie, but he sure as hell felt like one, coherent thoughts shattered by the wicked level of attraction he felt now that he'd seen her up close. Ryan tightened his grip on her wrists.

"Detective," she corrected. "And this, right here, is called a 'felony'."

At the sound of her voice the inconvenient timing of his libido made itself evident. Ryan shifted his hips and gained a scant inch between them. Not far enough, and certainly not fast enough to prevent her furious gaze from widening, flicking toward his cargo pants, then back to his face. Something hot ignited in her eyes before she lowered her chin and stared at his throat.

Ryan struggled to remember how to speak in the growl he and his brothers had practiced for Klepto's persona. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't let an attractive woman past his guard like this. The last thing his vigilante trio needed was a cop in on their secret.

He cleared his throat and jerked his chin to the side. "I disarmed you too fast. Rookie."

Her chin popped up like a dare, her lips pursing. All icy fire and fury now, her eyes sought his. Ryan knew what she would see. Darkness. The hood of his trench coat added to Klepto's mystique. If the street lamp hit them right, she might even spot the edge of the leather mask he wore over his eyes to further disguise his identity.

The muscle in her thigh coiled, telegraphing an attack.

She bucked. His body crushed hers. Both of them exhaled a harsh breath at the contact, but she didn't try to break free. He turned his head to see her lips parted, glistening as though her tongue had come out to play.

Taste.
The buzz of night pricked at his ears, drowned out common sense.

"Get off of me," she said, but she sounded breathless.

He hauled cool air into his lungs, scrambling for willpower. Instead, he found his nose too close to thick waves of brown and blonde hair. Lord, she smelled like a hot fudge sundae. Caramel and chocolate. Sinful. Ryan gritted his teeth and drove his thoughts toward ice cream, ice

Antarctica

but his lips grazed heated skin. All he'd wanted to do was keep his cover, give the courier a clear route home.

The courier who was being chased by a second cop while Ryan was

what the hell
was
he doing?
Romeo, make sure he gets clear.

"I should stay. You are not . . . yourself,"
Romeo said.

Not himself?
If anyone gets to him, we're sunk.
Ryan reared back from the officer, seeking distance from the smooth skin of her neck, but he hesitated over a white scar gracing her left cheekbone. His fingertips ached to trace the mark, no gloves in the way. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. Fear? Desire? Murderous rage?

"I am not a rookie." She flexed her wrists, brought her lips to the side of his hood. "And I'm not afraid of you."

"Another rookie mistake." And then, for no fathomable reason in the whole blasted cosmos, Ryan turned his head and captured those rebellious lips with his own.

Just a taste.

Her fingers tangled in the cuffs of his trench coat, her body arched against him. Arched? Yes.
Yes.
He licked at the seam of her mouth and she sighed into the kiss, the last vestiges of defiance gone.

Chocolate and caramel. Just as delicious as he'd feared.

More.

Her teeth gave an experimental nip at his lower lip, her tongue smoothed over the sting, and Ryan's fingers slid up the curve of her back. He didn't remember releasing her wrist, which was probably bad

or good, as her free hand burrowed under his coat, wrapped in the t-shirt stretched across his chest. Sound gave way to sensation until it was only lips and breath, stroke, parry, wet and heat. Never enough. Time spun out until she flattened her hand on his chest.
Pause?
She hauled her elbow backward.
No, stop.

"Stop, Spiritwalker,"
Romeo growled inside his head.

Vague memories of sense cracked through his haze of need. Breathing too hard, Ryan twisted so his shoulder took the punch she aimed at his jaw. The detective reeled backward toward the mouth of the alley. Her fingers brushed at her lips, lust-glazed blue eyes locked on the vicinity of his mouth like it had been laced with the world's most powerful aphrodisiac.

Hell. He wondered the same about hers.

She blinked rapidly. "How dare you

"

"Get off the street. Go home." He forced himself to play his role and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as if a damn near nuclear kiss was the norm. As if his body wasn't still raging with otherworldly hunger for a complete stranger.

She drew in a long, ragged breath, then her radio crackled. Her partner. With her gaze hopping between him and Romeo, she made her escape. Night shadows swallowed her retreating form. Ryan let untamed tension seep into the bricks at his back. Inexplicable. He should

but couldn't

just let her go. A kiss like that, well, he needed a name to go with those lips.

"And now you'll have to find out which precinct she works for, jackass," he murmured, then let out a low curse. He shouldn't have let her go at all.

No, he should have let her go and stopped her partner from chasing the courier.

Ryan's mind worked in a fury. That body. The way she'd responded like they'd danced a thousand times before. Why had she kissed him back? Why hadn't she used his libido against him instead, kneed him in the goods and taken off? He scooped up her Glock, then straightened and tapped on his earpiece. Maybe Zach or Jay could track down her identity before morning.

A yip pierced the off-balance sensation in his ears, followed by a very real growl. The warmth of his encounter chilled. His spirit guide was no longer in sight.

Romeo?
Ryan immediately broke into a trot. The detective . . . which way had she fled?

"Hey, bro, you there?" Zach's voice blared in his ear but Ryan didn't have the opportunity to turn off the speaker.

Under a buzzing street lamp, the courier had the male cop in a chokehold, a pistol muzzle to the officer's jaw. Ryan's detective stood across from the pair, her palms up and those fearless, crystal blue eyes smoldering with barely contained anger.

The courier nodded his way, his grin mean. "Yours was prettier than mine. Feisty, too. Don't blame you for playing." A fresh bruise and blood gleamed in the corner of his lips.

"You planning to use that piece?" Ryan asked.

"Yes." The courier smashed the butt of his gun into her partner's head, then turned it on the detective in the same lightning-fast motion. "Got a problem with that?"

She'd stopped breathing, though her stance remained strong. Fear, doubt, and indecision, everything he'd managed to corral for the night barreled into his chest and he fought to keep it off his face. Klepto couldn't show deference to cops. Not if he was working for Jones, as he'd claimed. But Ryan couldn't just stand here and let one get shot. Not if he wanted to live with himself in the morning. He ground his teeth, willed the ringing in his ears to subside, then forced himself into his role.

"More deaths on the street don't concern me," he began. "But they might your boss, if it makes you late with our payment."

Thin, feminine eyebrows furrowed at him and his focus crumbled again.

"Boss doesn't like cops nosing in on business," the courier said.

"Think killing her will get you a bonus?" Ryan took a step closer, pulling out the detective's weapon. "She's unarmed. Don't waste your bullets."

"You here to help me or her?" the courier snapped.

"You, of course. Killing takes time you don't have. Get moving." Ryan leveled the Glock at the detective. "And allow me."

"Please. With my own gun? Are you syndicate or aren't you? Where's your creativity?" The officer's tongue snaked out to wet lips still pink from his kiss. Remembering?

Ryan was no stranger to beautiful women. But he'd be damned if he could get this particular woman's spirited lips

chocolate and sin

off his mind long enough to keep the Glock aimed and steady.

The courier cocked his pistol.

Her eyes flickered with an instant of doubt.

Ryan cursed. This was one argument he didn't dare lose, but without Romeo, without being close enough to reach her, all he had was a bluff. He slid his index finger over the trigger. "She isn't your concern."

The courier disengaged with a shrug that did nothing to ease Ryan's tension. The other man shoved his gun into his oversized coat. "The lady cop wants creativity. I'm an artist with a blade." Then he launched toward the detective.

She was already moving into a defensive stance but her gasp hung in Ryan's ears. Something in his head snapped.

Barks and shouts reverberated past his filtering software, blowing past the fail-safes on his earpiece. The tight control over his enhanced hearing shattered and he stumbled. Feedback from the microphone assaulted his eardrums. His entire body jerked in pain, and his finger spasmed on the trigger.

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