If seeing Iris attacked and nearly kidnapped had not already been enough to make Blue crazy, then finding a hidden camera in her fire alarm was more than enough to make him start bleeding from his ears and speaking in tongues. God Almighty. What a terrible day.
He sat on Iris’s stoop, safe in the shade, keeping company with the cats. Sweat rolled down his face; the bottle of water beside him was almost empty. Early evening was drawing on, but the heat had not lessened; he was just getting better at enduring.
Iris was inside her RV. He did not know what she was doing, but he suspected it involved the fetal position. Or not. He wished he could join her, but he was trying to be a gentleman and give her space—even though what he really wanted was to curl around her body. Hell, he needed to be held, too.
No police, though. Iris did not want to talk to them. Under different circumstances, Blue would have forced her to call, but this situation was different. Painfully so.
Blue cradled the fire alarm in his hands. The crackling of the hidden camera still felt sharp in his mind. It was a complicated piece of technology, far more complex than it appeared. It was military grade, the kind that could transmit images over a good long distance, and to nothing more simple than a laptop. This was not the work of an amateur.
The problem was, he had no way of knowing just how long the camera had been in Iris’s home. From the look on her face, though—and knowing what he did about her secrets—any amount of time was too much. The damage—real damage, shape-shifter damage—might already be done.
Like when we kissed, he thought, remembering the feel of Iris’s body, her incredible warmth, the golden light that had streamed from her eyes. Her arms, soft with sleek fur that had felt like silk beneath his fingers. He loved the sensation, the wildness of it, could not imagine Iris any other way. Blue had wondered, though, just how deep she would go, how far she would trust him.
Apparently, just about as far as she could throw him. Not that he could blame her. He understood her fear. Given his past, it was foolish of him to get involved as well. If he ever hurt her …
Blue resisted the urge to rub his back. The cut in his chest throbbed. His knee was killing him and those stars were back in his vision, competing with the glare of the desert sun. Iris packed a punch.
But the pain was nothing at all to his fear. Bone-deep, chilling, fear.
Santoso Rahardjo. Fate had a terrible sense of humor. That, or the bomb blast had made Blue clinically insane. A distinct possibility—he might be wrong, overreacting, going over the deep end into some crack den nightmare—because what were the odds? What was the chance that Blue would find himself in the same place as Santoso Rahardjo? Again?
And yet, his instincts were screaming, and so were the coincidences. That blonde woman, Santoso’s employee, appearing at the Miracle? A man dropping words of Indonesian appearing with notecards made of flesh? That same man having enough money to retain an army of goons to do his dirty work? Goons who had also gone after Daniel?
Right. That part did not make sense, but as for the rest, Blue could pretend that he was not crazy. And, pretending he was not crazy, he allowed himself to tackle the very real possibility that Santoso was in town. The question was, why Iris—and why Las Vegas?
Business, he answered himself. Regardless of Santoso’s tastes in women, he was first and foremost an entrepreneur—and anything but business would be a waste. Crime lords, in Blue’s experience, were always workaholics. Nothing like the possibility of losing power to keep a man in shape.
So there’s a deal going down. Something big. It has to be. Santoso rarely visits the States. Too many people looking for him.
But was Iris nothing more than a side interest? Something to keep Santoso occupied between business dealings? And if she was, then how did that explain the hidden camera, the attempted kidnapping, the personal visit and notes?
My love. I will make you mine. That sounded a hell of a lot more involved than a man looking for some entertainment.
His cell phone buzzed. Con and Lila raised their heads and looked at him, their beauty sleep interrupted. Petro yawned, showing off the inside of his massive mouth. Hello again, teeth.
The cell phone’s screen identified the caller as Roland. Blue, still looking at the lion, answered, “You’d better have some good news for me, man. The shit I mentioned to you earlier? It just got deeper. I am now officially screwed.”
“Really,” said a familiar voice, which was female, brusque, and most definitely not Roland. “Is your situation so terrible, Felix, that your entire conversation must begin with profanities? Is it?”
Blue froze. “Mom? What are you doing with Roland’s phone?”
“I am in his office in San Francisco,” she replied curtly. “Brandon and I arrived less than thirty minutes ago. Your father’s men found us and were being … difficult.”
“Difficult? What do you mean, difficult? Did they try to hurt you?”
“They tried to bring me back to your father. No doubt for another round of threats.” He heard papers rustling; in the background, Roland rumbled something. His mother added, “Your employer assures me that no one will be able to retrieve us in this place.”
“Did you find anything that can help us?”
“Most of your father’s illegal dealings have been in cash. Everything else has been conducted through businesses with enough fronts in place that even his employees have no idea who they are really working for. Fortunately, I am quite familiar with one of those business chains. Your father has probably cleaned up most of his paperwork by now, but I managed to take what I have from my office safe and place it in a safety-deposit box.”
“So you have proof.”
“What proof is there against a dead man? No, Felix. None of what I have is enough. Not if he remains dead.”
“He doesn’t have to. We could expose him. Get a camera crew up there, swamp the place with journalists.”
“And then what? Yes, he would be shown as a liar, but you know him. He will spin the truth, he will claim temporary insanity, he will beg his friends in the Department of Justice for favors, and he will still be rich. Rich and angry. He will hurt your friends, Felix.”
Roland said something else, and Mahasti said, “You do not understand this man at all.” And then Blue heard another rumble, another voice that sounded surprisingly like his father’s. His mother made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Brandon believes we are risking your friends by even being here. Your father must know by now that we have come to … Dirk and Steele.”
Blue could almost feel her cringe when she said the agency name; it was far too tacky for her sensibilities.
He heard yet more voices in the background and said, “About you and Brandon …”
“He is my friend,” Mahasti said firmly. “And has been for some time. That is all I will say on the matter, Felix. At least until all of this has passed. Now, wait. Roland wants to speak to you.”
How convenient. She did not even give him a chance to say good-bye before Roland coughed his way onto the line.
“I have more news,” Blue said, and told Roland what had transpired in the few hours since their last conversation. He tried to keep his voice low; he was not entirely certain Iris would approve of him sharing her story.
Roland made a humming sound. “You are one unlucky son of a bitch, man. You sure it’s Santoso?”
“I’d rather be paranoid than dead.”
“I’d rather be having a Swedish massage with some naked blondes, but life just isn’t fair that way. Speaking of which, you can’t complain too much. I looked that Iris McGillis up on the internet. The Miracle has a website with pictures. Those are her cats in front of you, right?”
Good old clairvoyant vision. Roland was a master of remote viewing. Blue said, “Yes.”
“You sure she’s a shape-shifter?”
“Yes.”
“A hot shape-shifter.”
“Yes.”
“And if I make a dirty joke about her right now, you’ll fry the electrical grid of my—”
“Yes,” Blue interrupted smoothly. “Oh, yes.”
Roland sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you about Santoso. If it’s him. And if it is … God, just do what you can. Don’t forget your priorities, though. You’ve got Iris now, but also your brother to deal with. Don’t lose sight of that, Blue. He needs your help, too. We all do, because if we can’t find out where your father is storing that information, his back-ups, how to access them …”
“I know,” Blue said.
“No, you don’t. We’ll find another way, I promise. Problem is, we might need Daniel’s help. At the very least, it’ll get fucking messy.”
“You just used a bad word in front of my mom,” Blue said.
“Tell me about it. I’ve had to be a monk in front of her. But I’m all done with that now. This is my office, and—Shit. I have to go. Your mother’s staring at me. I think she’s got powers. She’s looks at you funny and you can almost feel your balls ripping off.”
Blue heard a low, sharp voice. Roland said, “Your backup should be there soon,” and then the connection went dead.
He stared at the darkened screen for a moment, contemplated calling back so he could reassure himself that his mother was fine—and to tell Roland that he did not need backup—but he felt on the edge of his mind the approach of a car and looked up in time to see a dark green sedan pull into an open spot several RVs away. Agent Fred jumped out, his cheap suit wrinkled, his brown hair pressed flat against his head. Blue set the fire alarm on the ground and pushed it under the stairs behind his feet.
“Long time, no … Oh, never mind.” Fred shrugged. “I think I should begin chaining myself to Ms. McGillis’s leg. It would save me some gas.”
Blue did not find that particularly funny. “Why are you here?”
Fred’s brow crinkled. “I’m an FBI agent assigned to an existing case involving Ms. McGillis, and I get a call about an attempted kidnapping? You bet I’ll come out to ask some questions.”
“I don’t think it’s related,” Blue found himself saying—knowing he should shut up, that the more he talked the worse this would get. “The men who attacked her today were not ecoterrorists.”
“And how vitally important your opinion is to me,” Fred said sarcastically. “But you are right. In fact, according to the initial findings, the men arrested belong to a who’s-who list of ex-cons and escaped felons. Real celebrities, in their circle. Thing is, none of them are giving names, addresses, anything that can lead us to the person who hired them. I’ve never seen a group of men more tightlipped than these five. I’d call it loyalty, but I don’t think they’re capable.”
“So call it what it is, then. Call it money. Fear.”
Fred smiled. “I’ve got the strangest feeling that you’re an expert on these kinds of things. There’s definitely more cooking inside your head than what you show the world. Or would you disagree?”
Blue said nothing. There was a gleam in Fred’s eye that bothered him. No way to explain exactly how, just that … something did not seem quite right. He was too talkative, too willing to share information with a total stranger. No sense, definitely stupid. Straying miles from typical FBI procedure.
So the next time you call the office, ask for a background check. Easy, simple. Except—
“What’s your last name?” Blue asked.
“Wilhelm. But when people call me that I feel like a prick.” Fred’s smile stretched even wider. “You know, we never did talk about you and that shooter. Or why you’re here with the circus.”
“I’m just passing through,” Blue said.
“And making sweet memories while you’re at it. Very sweet, if what I saw this morning is any indication. I assume, of course, that Ms. McGillis knows that you don’t plan on lingering.”
“I don’t think what goes on between myself and Iris is any of your business. You should be more concerned about the psycho stalking her.”
“We’ll handle him. But you, on the other hand … you are a conundrum. A problem.”
“I can’t imagine why. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Except lie his ass off to Iris and his brother.
And if you had told her the truth? If you had shown her what you were, right from the beginning? You know you could have trusted her.
Maybe. But old habits died hard.
The door opened behind Blue. Iris peered out. She looked tired, exasperated, far too pale—and when she saw Agent Fred her expression did not improve.
“All of you are useless,” she said to him without any kind of greeting or hesitation. “Absolutely useless. Frighteningly incompetent—or maybe just frightening.”
“I won’t be giving you any job approval surveys to fill out,” Fred said, squinting against the sun. “Care to answer some of my questions about what happened?”
“No,” she said. “I already gave my statement to the police. I didn’t leave anything out.”
“Do you mind if I take a look inside your home?”
Iris gave him a dirty look but stepped aside, gesturing to her door. Fred smiled and entered the RV. Instead of following him, as Blue expected she would, Iris plopped down on the step. He looked at her, eyebrow raised.
“Small spaces with strangers aren’t my thing,” she said.
“Ah,” he replied, deciding not to remind her that she had done quite well with him in that same space. Mostly, anyway. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she snapped, but then she seemed to catch herself, softening just slightly, softening even more as a furrow appeared between her golden eyes. “How’s your back?”
He thought about lying to her, saying he felt fine, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it; too many lies and omissions already. “A little sore. Remember that old injury I told you about?”
Iris closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Blue.”
“You were scared. I scared you, and I’m sorry for that.”
It would have been easy for her to take his opening, to place the blame on him—easy because Blue expected it, did not mind at all—but instead Iris surprised him by vehemently shaking her head.
“You didn’t scare me,” she insisted, then lowered her voice as Fred rattled something near the door. “What we were doing was … was really good. I just … got scared. I had a bad experience once.”
She did not look at him as she spoke, and that alone would have been enough to make the alarms start clanging. But her voice—the tremor in it—made him sit up and start sharpening his mental knives.
“Did someone hurt you?” And where is that someone, so I can go beat the crap out of him?
Iris sighed, still not looking at him. “More like the other way around, though I suppose the pain was mutual.”
Blue slid his hand along her cheek, turning her head, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were so pained. He battled for words—the right words—because Iris was a private woman, and he could not imagine what it was costing her to tell him this.
“Next time,” he said gently, “all you need to say is no.”
“Next time? You’re actually going to let me near you again?”
Blue laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The idea was too ridiculous.
A flush crept up Iris’s neck—again, he wondered if he had stepped wrong—but then her mouth twitched, the uncertainty in her eyes began to fade, and the shift was so lovely, so unexpected, Blue stopped laughing and whispered, “Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”
Her breath hitched, but she did not say anything, just stared at him as if it were the first time she had ever received a nice word about anything—and he wanted to kiss her so badly he thought his heart would explode.
But Iris relaxed, her mouth curved into a smile, and she very quietly said, “Compliments will get you everywhere, Blue.”
“They don’t get me everywhere,” Fred said, rejoining them. “Your home checks out. I noticed you’re missing a fire alarm, though. You ought to get that replaced. It’s not safe being without one.”
Blue glanced at Iris, waiting for her lead, but all she did was look Fred in the eye and say, “Thanks.”
“Sure,” he said, but that weird look was back, and Blue did not like it at all. It occurred to him, too, that Fred had never asked for his name. Not once.
“You’re an odd FBI agent,” Blue said.
“And you’ve got too many opinions.”
“Yeah. Like instead of talking to us, you should be out trying to find the little psycho who threatened Iris.”
“Maybe you would care to help? Since you’re so … invested in all of this?”
“You’re the FBI. I’m a lowly electrician. I think you’ll manage, regardless.”
Fred smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You and I. Later.” Whatever that meant.
The FBI agent walked away. Iris asked, “Is it just me, or do all men hate you?”
Blue laughed. “Only the special ones. I’m a natural asshole repellant.”
Iris grinned. A small grin, sweet.
Blue said, “Good. That’s good, Iris. You’re ready to fight again.”
“Is that what a smile means?”
“Sometimes. In my experience people don’t smile unless they have something to live for. And I’m talking real smiles, not that fake crap your Agent Fred was giving us.”
“He did seem a bit plastic this time around.” Iris watched the FBI agent start his car and drive away. “Do you think I should have told him about the hidden camera?”
“I think you did just fine.”
“There are things I wouldn’t want anyone to see.”
“I know.”
“And if the FBI or police were to find the person who set that camera, if there were tapes, recordings …”
“Yes,” Blue said. “You don’t want those to get out. You don’t have to tell me any more.”
“I don’t, do I?” Iris’s voice was soft, almost wondering. She searched his face. “Why is that, Blue? Aren’t you curious?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And?”
“And nothing. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
Her expression sharpened. Indecision, maybe. Blue sighed. “Iris, you have better things to worry about.”
“Yeah.” She dug her nails into her palm, pushing and pushing until Blue was afraid she would make herself bleed. “So what do I do? How do I fix this?”
“You don’t.” Blue took her hand and uncurled her fingers. He rubbed her palm, smoothing out the deep crescent marks her nails had left. “We fix it, Iris. Together. I’m a detective, remember? So I’ll detect. I’ll protect you. I’ll help you keep your life the way you want it.”
He was afraid to look at her face, to see what was in her eyes, but she was silent for such a long time that he didn’t have a choice. He found her staring at him, wide-eyed, her golden gaze glimmering with a soft light.
“I’m afraid to trust you,” she said. “I’m afraid you aren’t real.”
A mask, an illusion—being nice only because he wanted something—that later when the mood struck he would become another man. Weak, petty, hurtful …
“I’m not perfect,” Blue said. “But I told you, Iris. I like you.”
“You like me,” she said. “How much do you like me?”
He wanted to laugh again. “I like you enough not to care if you trust me—but I also like you enough to wish that you would.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not.”
“It feels strange. Like I’m doing something dangerous.”
“Because you are.”
“The most dangerous thing I’ll ever do, huh?”
“Maybe. But can you think of the alternative?”
Iris surprised him by laughing. “Not sharing my high heels with you? Sole possession of my closet?”
“What closet?” he asked, grinning. “Personally, I’d like to check that kitchen out again.”
Iris ducked her head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Blue. You know, for us to be together like that.”
“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” he said, touching her chin. “Besides, I’m tough. I bounce.”
“Maybe that time,” she murmured, then straightened up, looking left. Her eyes grew distant. “Someone’s coming. Pete and Daniel.”
“Ah,” Blue said, wondering if she realized how much she had just given away with that little display of sensational hearing. “Are you getting tired of all the company?”
“Depends.” Iris eyed him, and he thought, Yes, she realizes what she did.
“Iris,” he said, but when he tried to keep going, the words froze in his mouth. What was he going to say? The truth? That he knew what she was? That he had friends who were shape-shifters, that his own humanity stretched a gene or two past the norm? Hell, he hadn’t even been able to tell Daniel that they were brothers. This was worse.
“What?” she asked, frowning. “Blue?”
“You’re not alone,” he said.
She frowned, peering into his eyes. “I know.”
“No,” he replied. “You really don’t.”
Pete rounded the corner, Daniel close on his heels. Blue stopped talking. Iris’s frown deepened, but when she looked at the newcomers her expression darkened even more.
“Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “Pete doesn’t look happy.”
She was right. Pete had a grimace on his face made more pronounced by his sagging jowls, tucked head, and hunched shoulders.
Daniel was far less demonstrative, but there was still a hardness to his face, a cold light in his eyes, that was pure effortless Perrineau. He turned his gaze on Blue, but it was not in the least bit intimidating—no more so than Blue’s own face. Blood, after all, was blood. Only, he did not want to think about how much the two of them resembled their father.
Daniel’s expression changed when he looked at Iris, softening into concern, melancholy, something that was, to his credit, almost sweet. “Iris,” he murmured, but she shook her head, quieting him.
“I’m fine,” she said. “How was the press?”
Pete said grimly, “The hotel is furious that you dodged those journalists. They’re threatening to dock your pay if you don’t play to the rags and cameras, just like we discussed.”
“They can dock me all the way to hell, for all I care. I’ll quit before they push me around like that.”
“They won’t fire you and you won’t quit,” Pete said firmly. “You need the money and they need you. But they can still make you miserable. Better to cooperate a little, soothe the wild beast, if you will. Then negotiate.”
“That’s not in my vocabulary.”
“Liar.”
“Hey,” Iris protested, and Blue moved close, touching the small of her back.
Pete and Daniel both noticed, and the look Blue’s brother gave him was indescribable. Hurt—it hurt Blue’s heart so badly he almost winced, and he felt caught up in the surprise that emotion gave him. Surprise that he should feel guilty, as though having his heart full of Iris was committing an act of betrayal.
Pete set his jaw. “Son, I also came here to talk to you, too.”
“Something wrong?” Blue asked.
“You could say that.” The old man sighed, rubbing his face. “I need you to go. Right now.”
Blue stared. “You promised me a day.”
“And the day is up. Sun is going down in an hour.”
“Pete Reilly,” Iris murmured in a hard voice. “What is going on?”
“Business,” he said. “My business, Iris. And Blue can’t be part of it.”
His stomach felt hollow, as did his heart. He listened to Pete’s words rattle through his head, words that did not match the old man’s eyes, which seemed to tell a different story, like stay.
Someone got to him. This isn’t right. Blue glanced at his brother, but Daniel was also staring at Pete, and he looked just as surprised. Even alarmed.
“You can’t fire him,” Iris said, and there was a touch of desperation in her voice that Blue did not want to hear, not even for him. “After everything that happened today? The way he helped me? That’s ridiculous.”
“This is not open for discussion, Iris. He has to go. Don’t make it any harder than it has to be.”
She began to argue, but Blue touched her shoulder. “Don’t beg. Don’t. Not for me.”
Her eyes flashed with light—quick, breathtaking, a trick of the sun to anyone but Blue—and though she did not kiss him, did not hold him, he felt her spirit lean and lean, as though her shadow were made of electricity, hot, and it was almost too much, more than he could bear.
I want you, he thought, trying to speak with his eyes. I think I love you.
“Blue,” Pete said. Inexplicable, mysterious Pete, who still looked at him with those soft, sad eyes so at odds with that hard mouth, that cold voice.
“This isn’t over,” Blue said quietly, but he spoke to Iris, only to Iris, as though nothing existed but her. She nodded grimly, hands rolled into fists. Daniel also watched her.
Blue grabbed the front of his brother’s shirt and dragged him close, staring hard into his eyes. “You were right, Daniel. You don’t really know me. Not in the slightest. But you take care of her. You take care of her. Or else I swear to God I will do whatever it is you think I’m capable of—and I will terrify you.”
Daniel did not flinch. His gaze did not waver. He nodded once, jaw set, and Blue let him go with a shove.
Everything, gone to hell. That was the story of his life.
Blue looked at Iris. “Kiss Petro for me.”
She choked back a laugh, her eyes far too bright. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything; his heart couldn’t take it. Blue got out of there, fast.