Keri Arthur - Fireborn

“There’s no such thing as too many memories, Em.” His voice was soft, distant. Wistful, even. “Especially when it’s only memories that stand between you and utter darkness.”

I frowned and shifted slightly in the car seat to study him. “And is that what you’re doing, Sam?”

His gaze met mine. There was no darkness in those blue depths, no anger. For the first time since we’d been reunited, there was just him, me, and the echoes of all that we had been and all that we could have been. And I knew in that moment that he felt the loss of our relationship as keenly as I did. That he missed it—missed me—as keenly as I missed him.

But I also knew that it was because of the darkness more than everything else that had happened between us that he would never admit to either.

“Who said I was talking about myself?” He pulled his gaze away from mine and turned the car onto a side street.

Frustration swirled through me, even though I wasn’t entirely surprised he’d backed away from the moment. He hadn’t been overly forthcoming with general information, so it wasn’t surprising he was even less so when it came to whatever was going on with him. Because something very definitely was.

We drove around my building several times before we found a space a block away. Once he’d parked, he held out one hand and said, “Apartment key. Sorry, Red, but that notebook is too damn important for me to trust that you’d hand it over once you’ve found it.”

“Fine,” I muttered. I went through my handbag, found my keys, and slammed them into his waiting hand. “The notebooks were only ever in the living areas. They were never in the bedrooms.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I had no intention of going through your underwear drawer.”

I didn’t bother replying. It wouldn’t have been of much use anyway—he’d already left the car. I watched him walk across the road. And with every step away from me, that darkness seemed to wrap around him again, as if it were some sort of private storm.

It made me wonder if I still would have fallen for him if we’d met now rather than years ago. Fate could be a bitch at the best of times, but even she wasn’t often this cruel. The men slated to become heartbreakers each rebirth were generally decent enough in and of themselves. It was mostly outside circumstances—and the inability to either accept what I was or the situation with Rory—that caused the problems. Although there had been one or two who were either outright bastards or utter psychos . . . The serial killer had been one of those. Not that we’d realized that until it had been far too late for both me and his other victims.

I crossed my arms and stared out the window. Heartbreak might be our destiny, but it would be a whole lot easier to deal with if only fate would clear out our memory banks at each rebirth. At least it would have allowed hope to burn bright. But after all this time, there was little enough of that left.

And yet, somehow, it survived—even if the flame was growing smaller and smaller.

It wasn’t long before Sam returned. In fact, little more than ten minutes had passed. I frowned and watched him approach, a slender, powerful figure that moved with the grace of a predator. He didn’t appear to be carrying anything and his expression gave little away.

“Well?” I said the minute he slammed the driver’s door closed.

“Your place is being watched,” he said. “It’s lucky for the both of us I parked so far from your building; otherwise your presence in my company would be immediately reported.”

“The sindicati?”

“Yes.”

Meaning it wasn’t just lucky for us, but lucky for Jackson. I had no doubt they’d kill him if they had the slightest inkling I’d talked to Sam. And though it wasn’t at all surprising that they were watching me, it was damn inconvenient.

“I’m gathering you didn’t bother doing anything about him?”

“No. They’d simply put another in his place. At least we’re now aware of this one.”

I frowned. “He can’t be very good if you picked him out so easily.”

“A comment that suggests you think my policing and observation skills aren’t up to scratch.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

He waved the rest of my comment away. “As it turned out, I didn’t spot him. Not at first. It was his brief attempt to read me that gave the game away.”

“So was he a vamp or a psychic?”

“Vamp. He was wearing too many layers for a warm building.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why would a vamp be pulling watch duty during the day? Surely a wolf would be more suited?”

“They would, but telepathic wolves are rare.”

“Even so, there’s twenty-four-hour security in the foyer. I can’t imagine any of the guards—”

“It was the guard,” he cut in.

“No—”

“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or are you saying you know them all personally?”

“Well, of course not, but after so many years of seeing the same faces, I have formed a casual, how’re-the-kids-type friendship.”

“And yet you noticed neither the new guard nor that he’d appeared one day after your boss was killed. Which doesn’t say a lot about your observation skills.”

No, it didn’t. But then, why would I be on the lookout for something like that? It wasn’t until very recently that I’d even become aware of the sindicati’s involvement in all this crap.

“I’m not the cop in this little game. You are,” I snapped back. “And I would have thought—given your goons are still following me about—that background checks would have been performed on all those I interacted with.”

“They are. Unfortunately, that vampire is using an assumed name—Michael Venton. And Venton checked out.”

He might have checked out, but he wasn’t one of the guards I was familiar with—and I probably wouldn’t have any chance to do so now, given the remains of the real Venton were probably buried deep in the countryside somewhere. Maybe even the same countryside in which I’d woken.

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes again. The hobnailed folk had calmed down a little, but I was still in serious need of some painkillers. And a hot shower. And several decent mugs of green tea followed by the biggest block of chocolate I could buy. It had been that sort of day. Unfortunately, it wasn’t over yet.

“So how did you explain your presence there?”

“I didn’t. I simply flashed the badge, said I needed to talk to you, and asked if he knew whether you were home. When he said he wasn’t sure, I went up and banged on your door. Naturally enough, you didn’t answer.”

I half smiled. “A fact he would have seen on the security cams.”

“No doubt. It does mean we have a problem, however. I can’t get in there to get that notebook and—if you do—you can bet your life that vamp is going to find a way to relieve you of it.”

I frowned. “Why would they do that when we’ve already made a deal to exchange the book for Jackson?”

“They’re a crime syndicate.” Sarcasm filled his voice. “They don’t give a rat’s ass about convention or rules, and they always stack the odds in their favor.”

They might be the biggest, baddest things out there—other than the red cloaks, that was—but that didn’t mean they were without their own rules and laws. Hell, the vampire who’d been sent to collect me from Sherman Jones had been courteous to a fault, and even the vamp who’d tasted me in that darkness had been nothing other than polite.

But being polite didn’t mean they couldn’t also be double-crossing bastards.