Vigilante Mine (36 page)

"You too."

She dropped the handset into the cradle and stood, then spread the contents of the envelope over her kitchen island. Renewed purpose galloped through her veins, along with the charge of instinct and love of a puzzle. She absorbed herself in her research into the late hours of the evening.

Perhaps that was why she forgot about the alarm, why she didn't hear him come in, why she missed the sound of his footsteps rustling on her carpet. The click as the front door closed was her only warning.

And that warning came too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The gun leveled
at her chest was department issue. Glock. A weapon as familiar as the face staring at her from her kitchen archway. The unmistakable scruff of uneven beard over his chin, the night-dark hair, untrimmed with those irritating sideburns, the take-no-prisoners spread of his feet.

Detective Jackson Price.

Real. Alive. Familiar, save for the fanatical gleam in his wide, hazel eyes.

Amanda's head spun, and it wasn't from the whiskey. "Price? How? You're . . . Why are you pointing that at me?"

Jackson.

A man she'd thought buried, a partner she'd thought lost forever.

She'd cried at his funeral, and here he was in the flesh, brandishing a weapon at her like a mortal enemy. She made a show of straightening her shoulders as she dug for options. The knife block on the counter was closest at hand.

Amanda took a step backward. "Price
—
"

"Let's move this reunion." He waved her toward the living room with his gun.

There was no knife block near the couch, and he was steering her out of reach of her Taser. If she rushed him or yelled to alert anyone who might be close enough to hear, he could fire, and Jackson had always been a crack shot. Stall, stall, stall. Maybe he wouldn't notice if she nudged the phone off the base and got through to 9-1-1. He gave an irritated jerk of his head. Puckered skin circled his neck, edging over his collar.

"What happened to you?"

"The scars? A gift from my murderer." He pointed his weapon at the phone without even looking to aim, then pulled the trigger.

Plastic and electronic phone shrapnel scattered in the air, dusting the couch.
So much for plan Q.

"Move." He directed her toward the hallway next.

"Your murderer
—
You mean the person who tried to kill you?"

"He succeeded."

"This is crazy, Jackson. Put the gun away."

The weapon snapped back toward her chest.

"Put the gun away," Jackson echoed softly.

With a start, she remembered those same words, accompanied by Romeo's voice on another night, the murder she'd been forced to witness. Not Jackson's death, like she'd assumed. Jackson's kill.

All those victims. The precision.

The zealot.

Her muscles throbbed with the need for action.

Calm. Stay calm. She could do this. Somehow, she could stop him.

Romeo.

Ryan's dog could speak in her mind. What if she could initiate contact from the other side? It wouldn't tip off Jackson like a phone call, if it even worked. Considering it was half as crazy as the look in her former partner's eyes. Worth the risk. She reached with desperate thoughts into a nothingness she hoped led toward the German shepherd's ears, his brain, however the freaky telepathy they'd shared had worked. Maybe it didn't work both ways.

Her heart stumbled over the doubt, skittering for several beats and turning hope into a stitch in her side. She rubbed out the sudden cramp with her fingertips. She couldn't let Jackson kill her. She had to stop him now, or he'd go after Ryan next.

If he hadn't already.

"So, Dale was right. The serial killer is an inside man, just . . . not the way he thought," Amanda said, thoughts of Romeo and Ryan looping through her head. "You know he took my badge because of you."

Jackson nodded. He came to a halt at the edge of the kitchen tile.

Amanda stopped moving backward. "Why are you here?"

"You aren't beyond redemption," Jackson said. "Not like the rest of the city."

"Dale would love to add this to my tab." She laughed without humor. "Detective Werner's partner faked his death and became a serial killer."

His face turned a strange shade of purple, his jaw clamped tight.

"Even if I got my badge back," she continued, "it kind of jinxes my career, right? Who'd want to pair up with that kind of karma?"

"I didn't fake my death!" her former partner roared. "I am dead!"

Oo-kay. Amanda's hands fisted at her sides. The fanatical look in his eyes equaled her death. Amanda's survival instincts sped through her veins. Certainty that she now faced her final moments eclipsed the cold knowledge that her former partner was a serial killer. She dropped into a defensive stance. Fight. But with what?

The end of the hallway was bare of pictures. Her mother had picked up her shoes. There was nothing within reach to throw or hide behind. She wouldn't make the couch for cover without Jackson getting a shot off. Hell. He was going to kill her. She had to try something.

Jackson scooped her Taser from the charger and hefted it in his other hand. Amanda bent her knees and leapt for the couch. A bullet never came, but electricity slammed into her midsection. Her body landed at a twisted angle and her head jerked with the assault on her nerves. Her forehead caught the sharp edge of a chair. Fire ricocheted through her body, then numbness took over.

Her former partner wasted no time. Jackson rolled her to her stomach and handcuffed her hands behind her back, his every touch burning against her nerves as they tried to come back online. "You disappointed me. Cavorting with syndicate supporters, plants, and criminals who aren't even honest enough to share their face at night."

Her brain tried to process his words.

He yanked her boots off of her feet and slung her over his shoulder.

Jackson had been at the fundraiser. He'd seen her with Ryan.

Her breath caught in her throat.
Please, let Ryan be okay.

Whatever her businessman had done, it didn't warrant death. And certainly not at the hands of this psycho.

Amanda fought to gain control of her limbs. The Taser jolt was wearing off, but her wrists were secure, and her head spun, pounding from her secondary injury.

He'd been outside McLelas Financial somewhere. Watching. Had Jackson also seen Klepto?

Her knees connected with the inside of her tub. Sounds of metal grating against metal came from behind her. She tried to rise from the kneeling position, but she felt stunned, unable to move or turn around. What was Jackson doing? Why hadn't he shot her, like the others?

She threw her energy into a last mental effort to reach help. Her brain hiccupped, a hysterical series of pleas exploding from the depths of her mind.
Romeo!

"Spirit-mate his?"
came the slow, slurred reply.

Get Ryan. Please, find help.
Amanda fought her bonds as the shrill sound of tape torn from a roll echoed in the small bathroom.

"Too much . . . Spiritwalker . . . "

And then, pain through their tentative connection, an all-consuming fire in her head.

"You made poor choices," Jackson said.

She moaned, unable to respond coherently. The pain moved from her skull and spread to her limbs.

He pushed the drain closed under her socked feet. "I will spare your soul for greater things."

"D-don't . . . do me any favors," she managed to gasp.

Jackson jerked her arms upward, then pushed the center of her back until she thought the muscles in her shoulders would tear, her upper body easing lower and lower into the tub. Amanda panted for breath, no strength left to struggle as he stepped away and left her pitched forward, suspended by her wrists.

"The water will cleanse you," he said.

He meant to drown her. He was insane. Amanda's head sagged with the rest of her body. Jackson believed he was saving her.

She was going to die.

A moment passed, and then her former partner hovered over her again, a flash of yellow in her peripheral vision.

This time, the electroshock burst, longer, more intense, struck her ribcage. Amanda screamed until oblivion swallowed her whole.

Jackson watched as
her body twitched, then slumped, against her makeshift bonds. She was still, her eyes closed, her chin resting on her chest. If he could only grant the city one mercy, he would give this woman's soul peace. He twisted the knob on the tub and water soaked her clothes on contact, rushing into the basin. Finally, from his pocket, he withdrew the mark of truth. His chest stung as he tied the black ribbon at the nape of her neck, but this necessary task of masking the fallen had become a comfort.

"Goodbye, Amanda."

A single droplet splashed to grace her cheek as he drew the bathroom door closed.

Jackson slid the Taser into its base and saw himself out of her home.

"The time for such kindnesses has passed," he said. "The city must now be reborn from ash."

His plan would come to a head tomorrow morning, and by tomorrow afternoon, Relek City would be offline. And the day after? Destiny, at last. Fulfilling his mission would touch so many lives. He brought himself with careful, deliberate movements into driver's seat of the delivery van and pulled into the street well under the once-posted speed limits. He would give his last breath for this cause. But with such delicate materials on board, each yet to reach a final resting place, there was no need to rush Destiny's hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ryan's Oxfords slipped
and slid on the half-melted snow in her driveway. For the third time since he'd cut off the car he wondered if he shouldn't have turned up in Klepto's gear, instead of the less weather-practical suit. He gave a self-deprecating shake of his head. If she threw him out on his ass, the last thing he needed to be concerned about was the loss of yet another pair of pants.

He braced himself in the doorframe and lowered his head to take a deep, centering breath. Her lights were on. She was still up. He could do this. And if she rejected him again? His confidence seemed to take glee in shredding itself in areas where it had never abandoned him before.

The glow from her home cast odd shadows on the ground. Ryan squinted. Not shadows. A large, dark blob lay sprawled under her front window, one paw stretched toward the cement.

A harsh breath stalled in his lungs. "Romeo?"

He dropped to a crouch and brushed a hand over the dog's fur. Steady breathing met his ears. The dog's chest shuddered under his palms. Asleep. Relief licked at Ryan's insides and he gathered the unconscious, damp dog into his arms. His spirit guide's pain had been intense, enough to overwhelm Ryan. It would have been exhausting at the source. They'd been through worse together and come out okay. They'd do it again. Maybe Amanda could spare a blanket, or at least Ryan could bring him in from the cold.

Of course, both options meant he had to make it through the door.

Ryan stretched his ability to its limits as he fumbled to knock with his hands full. The lack of footsteps rushing to answer the door was expected, but Amanda's house also lacked the steady, high-pitched humming from her new security alarm. Ryan frowned. She'd bought the cursed thing to deter Klepto. Even if, by some miracle, she'd written him off as a threat, Shiv was still out there.

He knocked again, mentally working through his apology speech. As he adjusted his grip on Romeo, the back of his hand brushed uneven metal on her doorknob. Ryan glanced down. A new, deep scratch gouged the metal around the keyhole.

"Amanda?" he called out, but his temples throbbed with sudden foreboding.

Ryan pushed the unlocked door open. He called her name again as he shifted Romeo to the carpet. The dog's muscles bunched.

"Spiritwalker? Are we okay?"

"We're okay, friend." Ryan ruffled his fur.

He sent his ability through the walls, searching. Where was Amanda? Or was the house empty?

The sound of running water trickled over his filters. "A shower, then. She just didn't hear us, Romeo. That's all."

The reassurance felt . . . wrong. Ryan thumbed his earpiece, just as something crunched under his feet. He called her again, trotting down the hallway and through the open door to her master bedroom.

"You need a script already, bro?" Zach asked.

Her bathroom door was closed. Berber carpet squished under his loafers.

"Her floor is soaked . . . " Ryan lifted his hand to knock, unwilling to risk her wrath for interrupting an innocent shower. "Zach, I think someone broke in and
—
"

Through the door, his ability latched on to a single, terrifying sound.