Jory Strong - Inked Destiny

A laugh bubbled up with her radical shift in perspective, escaping when Quinn jerked the covers up to Derrick’s hips, the instant the healer moved above them. “He’d enjoy the ogling,” she joked.

“Well I don’t.” Dragon growl present in his voice, the exchange a tension relief for all of them, levity to carry them until Derrick whispered, “I fucked up. I just wanted to help.”

A thick stream of smoke erupted from Quinn’s nostrils, unseen by Derrick whose eyes were still closed. “I told you no.”

“Well sue me.” Little more than a mutter, but hearing the Derrick she loved had Etaín kneeling next to the bed, asking, “Who were they?”

“Marc Sleepy Ruiz and friends Drooler and Puppy.” Beneath closed lids, Derrick’s eyes rolled at the street names.

“Why you?” Etaín asked.

He turned his head, struggled until finally his gaze met hers. “I had a lead on Ruiz. I pursued it.”

“Instead of just turning it over to Quinn and Sean?”

“Strength is my new middle name.”

“That self-help book is going in the trash the next time I’m at your place.”

His laugh turned into a whimper and gained her a stern look from the healer and a growl from Quinn.

“They kept asking me what happened to Lucky. What Cathal did with Lucky.”

“Fuck,” Cathal said. “Fuck.”

“I’d love to,” Derrick said in a prim voice. “But Etaín and I never share lovers.”

“There was a fourth guy,” Quinn said. “Older. Did you get a name?”

“Jacko.” Derrick lifted his arm, his hand settling on Quinn’s chest but not remaining still. “I think I was hallucinating at the end. You got shot. You were dying.” His voice hitched and tears shimmered in his eyes. “And then Tall Dark and Predatory picked you up and threw you into the bay.”

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Eamon said, tugging Etaín to her feet.

Outside the bedroom, she said, “Anton gave me a name. It’d be better to ask Sean to run with it.”

“You’re done with this, Etaín,” Eamon said.

It’d be easy to play the promise card. To point out she’d be foresworn. Instead she moved in to him, tracing lips firmed into an arrogant, lordly line.

“I have to see this through. I have to finish it. That’s who I am. Becoming Elf didn’t make me any more or less than what I was as a human. It didn’t suddenly separate me from the world I’ve lived in all my life.”

“Etaín—”

She pressed firmly. “Together. We do this together, with a little help from our friends.”

“Sounds like a rock song,” Cathal said at her back. “But I’m in. And afterward maybe we can stay in bed for the next week.”

Eamon resisted. His will silently battling theirs. More form than substance given Etaín’s determination and the respect that had grown along with his love for her.

It very nearly amused him, how simple he’d thought their courtship would be. How easily he’d thought to bend her while not bending himself. “Your plan?”

“Unchanged since this began, except now we go at it from a different direction, from the top down to a crewmember I can touch just long enough to get something useful for Detective Ordoñes.”

She hesitated, old habits clinging until she shed them, giving him the full truth. “The Dragon can follow my ink. It…she…can see through the killer’s eyes, enough to get a location but not necessarily an identification. I’d rather have that going in.”

And he knew what she meant by going in. “It’ll require a concession.”

“Yes.”

A muscle spasmed in his cheek, resistance radiating off him like the rays of a dark sun, but he said, “I trust you to handle it.”

She brushed her lips against his, heart singing. Eamon’s hand tangling in her hair held her as he deepened the kiss in a promise of what they’d share after this was behind them. When they parted, she gave Cathal the name Anton had given her.

He made the call.

“What’s up?” Sean asked.

“There’s a name for you to run, specifically to see if there’s a connection to any of the guys wearing Etaín’s art.”

“Hold on.”

Cathal heard Sean crossing the deck, then the sound of a computer waking up. Key taps followed, Sean logging in to a law enforcement database in all likelihood. “Let me have it.”

“Street name Cyco. Last name Chalino.”

Sean’s low whistle seconds later said there’d been an immediate hit. “This is one bad dude. I’m shooting you a picture now.”

“Shit,” Cathal said. “This is the guy in the Jag.”

“Responsible for the excitement at your place after I talked to you last?”

“Yes.”

“Says here he’s wanted in the United States for murder, a home invasion with a body count of three. Escaped to Mexico where he’s believed to have done work for one of the cartels. Got caught there and tossed into jail but Mexico wouldn’t extradite since he’s facing the death penalty in Texas and the Texans don’t back down. Escaped prison five months ago, but here’s cause to tie him to the slaughter in Oakland. He’s suspected of doing the same in Mexico. Twenty-five dead when he and his crew raided a whorehouse and drug distribution house run by a rival cartel.”

“Known associates?”

“Getting there.” Keystrokes followed, then a, “Damn. His cousin in Roberto Spooky Jimenez, wanted by the Oakland PD on suspicion of murder. Fled to LA, possibly Mexico.”

“Looks like he’s back, with a traveling buddy.”

“Then I’d say they’ve got a pretty tight support network. I ran Spooky’s name past my snitches as well as the cops I reached out to. No hint of him being back in the area. Not going to be easy finding him or his cousin.”

“I think we have what we need. Go ahead and send the bill.” Better all the way around if Sean didn’t discover Lucky’s associates were now missing too.

“You’re passing the information on to the cops?”

“Yes.”

“Consider me done then.”

Cathal hung up. Etaín said, “Roberto was a friend, not just someone I knew. We used to hang out at Vontae’s house together. He wasn’t a gangbanger then, didn’t have a street name, but there was a certain inevitability. I can see it now. He was obsessed with cred and respect.”

She touched a place above her heart. “He idolized his uncle. I did a memorial tat of him. Later someone told me the guy was involved with one of the cartels and was killed during an ambush of newly sworn-in Mexican police officers.”

Eamon’s tight expression mirrored the hard knot in Cathal’s gut. Even knowing Liam would shadow her, he didn’t like the thought of her being around guys who had so little regard for human life.

He voiced what Eamon was no doubt thinking, “Spooky’s wanted. Give Ordoñes his location, it might be enough. There’s a good chance they’d get Cyco too. Your obligation to Anton would be met.”

“Even if that’s true, Spooky and Cyco won’t give up the others, and without the guns, there’d be no hard evidence linking any of them to the bar hit. That’s assuming the police act immediately. And if Cyco isn’t with them when the police swoop, he’ll be in the wind and probably out of Eamon’s territory, making it a lot harder to put the deal I made with Anton behind us.”

He knew she was right, had known it when he proposed the easy, less risky course of action. Christ, he just wanted this done. “Eamon?”

“She’s correct. My territory doesn’t extend into Southern California nor beyond the Northern borders of this state, and even then it’s not all inclusive.”

“Let’s get it over with then.” It should be safe enough, though he caught himself rubbing his forearm when he saw the quicksilver flash of pain in Eamon’s eyes.