Jeaniene Frost - Up From the Grave

“I do, darling, but you can’t walk into that facility on your own. It’s too dangerous.”

“I agree,” I said calmly.

That startled Spade into looking at me without his former death stare. “What?”

“I agree,” I repeated. “Even if Denise got in, she’d have no idea how to hack into Madigan’s computer to get the information we needed. While I’m not as good as the hacker group Anonymous, I know enough to recover what we’re looking for. That’s why I’d be going with her. Madigan’s been after me for years, so his scientists would see me pretending to be his captive and just assume he’d finally accomplished his objective to imprison me for full experimentation.”

And once we were inside the compound, and I discovered who’d been backing Madigan, plus what had happened to Tate, Juan, Cooper, and Dave . . . the real fight would begin.

Spade’s gaze flicked to Bones. “You’re willing to let her do this?”

A bark of laughter preceded his response. “Willing? No. Resigned, yes, but she’s not going in alone, either. I’ll be going with them.”

“Bones,” I said in a sigh, “we talked about this. One hostage vampire, his staff would believe, but two? That’s pushing it.”

“Normally, yes,” he said in a mild tone. “But anyone who sees me will swear I’m completely harmless.”

Of course. Because a six-foot-two, muscled Master vampire known to be a centuries-old badass was the picture of helplessness.

“You’d need to employ mass hypnotism to convince anyone of that, and his guards wear visors to prevent being mesmerized.”

Bones’s smile was dangerously luxuriant, like poison concealed in the finest of wines.

“You’ll see, but before we get to that, we need to find a way to capture Jason Madigan. Denise can’t pull off impersonating him in West Virginia if everyone knows he’s still in Tennessee.”

Fabian dropped through the kitchen ceiling of our rental apartment, his translucent features telling the story before he spoke.

“He still hadn’t left the compound, has he?” I asked in resignation.

The ghost shook his head. “I’m sorry, Cat.”

Denise’s face mirrored my own disappointment, but Spade turned away before I could catch his expression. It was probably a smile. He’d risk his own life without any qualms, but when it came to his wife’s safety, he even managed to make Bones look under-protective.

“This isn’t working,” Denise said, stating the opinion I’d come to days ago. “Madigan might have left the compound every couple weeks before, but he’s obviously burrowed in like a tick now. What if it’s months until he comes out on his own?”

“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “I’ll call Madigan and tell him I want to meet. We now know how badly he wants to capture me, so that’ll get him out of the compound.”

“Absolutely not,” Bones snapped.

“Hooks work best when they’re baited,” I replied, throwing his words from the other day back at him. “I’m what Madigan wants. He’ll come out if he thinks he can grab me.”

“Yes, with the strongest army he can amass to capture you,” Bones said, his emotions flashing through mine with the intensity of lightning strikes. “Need I remind you that the last time you met an adversary on his terms, you were shot and nearly burned to death.”

By reflex, I ran a hand through my hair. Even with vampire healing abilities, it still hadn’t grown to the length it had been the night Kramer set fire to me.

“But who’s here and who’s locked in a spectre trap?” I countered. “If history’s most powerful ghost couldn’t do me in, then humanity’s biggest asshole doesn’t stand a chance.”

Spade leaned back, making himself more comfortable while a satisfied expression crossed his features. No doubt he was thinking paybacks were a bitch as he listened to Bones and me argue over acceptable safety risks.

Then the person I least expected to take my side strolled into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a bed sheet wrapped around his hips.

“Why do you bother, Crispin? You married a fighter, so stop trying to convince her that the sidelines suit her better.”

“The day you love anyone but yourself is the day I’ll take your marital advice, Ian,” Bones bit back in an icy tone.

“Then today is that day,” Ian replied sharply, “for I love you, you wretched, pig-headed guttersnipe. I also love that arrogant, overprivileged dandy smirking at us”—a wave indicted Spade, whose aforementioned smirk vanished—“as well as the emotionally fractured, malfunctioning psychic who sired me. And you, Crispin, love a bloodthirsty hellion who’s probably killed more people in her thirty years than I have in over two centuries of living, so again I say, don’t bother trying to convince her that she isn’t who she is. ”

Denise’s mouth hung open, either at Ian’s less-than-flattering descriptions of us, or the notion that I’d killed more people than he had. Spade’s expression was now stony, but a muscle ticked in Bones’s jaw—the only indication of his feelings since he’d shrouded his aura under an impenetrable cloud.

As for me, I didn’t know whether to punch Ian for calling Bones a pig-headed guttersnipe or thank him for stating the obvious. I might be tired of all the fighting and constantly straddling the line between life and death, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t good at it.

Some people were born to be mothers, fathers, inventors, artists, speakers, preachers . . . and then there was me.

“He’s right,” I said in a quiet tone. “My true skill is killing. I’ve excelled at it since I was sixteen, when I took on my first vampire without knowing anything about them.”

Then I went over to Bones, framing his face in my hands.

“It was you who taught me to judge people by their actions instead of their species. You saved me from a life of misery, regret, and well-earned recriminations. Now it’s time to let me do my thing, Bones”—I smiled wryly—“and trust that you taught me to be the best damned killer I could be.”

He covered my hands with his own, his flesh vibrating with the power he kept so tightly under control. Then he kissed me, gentle yet full of scorching passion.

Which was why, when he drew away and spoke, I couldn’t believe what he said.

“You’re right, luv. But I still refuse to be a part of this.”

Then I really didn’t believe it when he walked out of the apartment.

This wasn’t the first time Bones had gotten pissed enough to walk out on me. Whoever said marriage was easy? Not me.

“He just needs time to cool off,” I told Denise, who hovered in the doorway, holding a bottle of gin in one hand and a pint of Häagen-Dazs in the other. Had to give it to my best friend: She knew how to cover her bases.

I pointed at the gin. She came inside, handing it over. Then she sat next to me on the bed and popped the lid off the ice cream, digging into that one herself.

“Of course he’ll be back,” she said between spoonfuls. “But are you, you know, okay in the meantime?”

I took a swallow of gin before I answered. “I’ve been better. When Bones does return, we’ll have it out over the way he chose to express his dissenting opinion, but marriage is a marathon. Not a sprint.”

Denise raised her spoon in salute. “True, that.”

I patted her arm, taking a last swig of gin before I put the bottle on the nightstand. Then I pulled out one of my burner phones, dialing a number that used to connect me to my uncle when he was alive.

“Madigan,” a brusque voice answered.