Full Blooded
Page 31

“What’s strange?” Danny asked, coming up behind me.
“My door was completely broken this morning, from when James ripped it off its hinges last night, but I forgot to let anyone know.” I’d totally spaced on calling Jeff Arnold, the building super. My brain had been a little preoccupied. It was hard to believe Jeff had come to investigate on his own. It just didn’t seem likely with his slack personality, but maybe Juanita had called him after all. She might have been tired of watching my place for me.
“That’s part of living in a building, right? They come and fix things for you.”
“I guess.” I walked over and knocked on Juanita’s door to see if she’d seen anything or talked to Jeff. I rapped on it, but there was no answer. I put my ear to the door just to be sure. I shrugged, turning to Danny. “Well, she didn’t have to stick around all day to keep watch over nothing if the door got fixed. She must have been the one to call Jeff.”
“Who?” Danny asked.
“Nothing.” I was actually relieved she wasn’t here. I’d felt bad all day thinking she might get into trouble at my request.
“Look here,” Danny said as he bent down and grabbed on to the edge of an envelope lying halfway under my door.
He handed it to me and I ripped it open. It was a new set of house keys.
By the time I’d showered, changed, and eaten, it was only six. The meeting wasn’t until eight. I walked into the living room, where Danny sat propped against the wall reading a newspaper he’d brought with him.
He whistled a catcall as he stood, folding the paper neatly under his arm. “Hold on a minute. We’re only trying to dismay this sot so he gives us information, not render him useless with desire.” Danny grinned.
“Give me a break.” I laughed. “I’m not trying to render anyone useless. If he’s as tough as everyone says, I hardly think he’ll be swayed to the point of silly by a black pantsuit.”
I’d actually chosen my outfit with care, knowing I’d be able to hide the weapons I might need with relative ease. The pantsuit was a tailored number. The bodice was tight across the middle, but cut loose enough in the sleeves to hide the two Bo-Kri throwing knives I had strapped to each arm.
The accompanying pants were snug at the waistline, but the flared legs concealed a small holster for my Glock, and a particularly evil-looking dirk. This time I was arming myself with as much as I could. I wasn’t going up against a known killer without adequate protection. I pinned my hair up in a chignon instead of a ponytail, the outfit carried an air of don’t-mess-with-me professionalism.
“Then you don’t know men,” Danny answered. “If you wore that pantsuit any better, I’d have to have you bloody arrested myself.” He came closer, leaning his head toward me. “Is that a wee bit of white lace I see peeking out of your very ample cleavage?”
“It’s called a camisole.” I snorted. “And for your information, it’s completely necessary with this outfit.”
“I’m certain it is, luv.” Danny chuckled. “Pairing that suit with anything less would be a complete travesty.”
“It only has a dusting of lace,” I said as I walked over to my purse. “Now get your pretty mind out of the gutter, Danny Walker, and let’s get out of here. I want to do some reconnaissance at the bar to get a better feel for the area before the meet.”
“Whatever you say. I’d follow that outfit anywhere.”
The bar was a relatively new hot spot, fairly close to my apartment building. Every Tuesday night, it seemed, they hosted an extended happy hour, so it was already hopping by the time we arrived. Minnesotans were notoriously after-work-happy-hour kind of people. For the most part, we liked to be home and tucked in by ten, and there was nothing like cheap drinks to lure out the masses.
Tyler met us across the street, handing me a button vibrator immediately. “We have every entry point covered within a two-block radius, and Nick is parked behind the bar. He’s got the other piece.” He nodded at the button. “But remember, now we have this”—he tapped his temple—“so you can let me know what’s happening immediately. I’ll be in close range, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Whatever you do, Jess, don’t leave the bar with him. Understand? He’s dangerous as hell, and completely unpredictable.”
“Got it.” I slid the panic button into my suit jacket pocket. “I’m not interested in finding any more trouble, Tyler. No need to worry about me, I’m all over the plan. Have you decided to stake the inside?” It’d been discussed but not determined.
“Nope, I decided it was too risky. If Rourke gets one whiff of wolf on the inside he may decide to cut and run,” Tyler said. “The plan is to track him when he leaves. But he’s a quick bastard, so I’m only giving us one-in-three odds of keeping a tail on him at all. You have to pump as much information as you can while you’re with him.”
I nodded. “My sole purpose is to gain information. I want to know where this threat is coming from. I’m not expecting him to divulge much, but anything we can get will be more than we have right now.”
“It’s not his style to snatch you here anyway, but keep your head up. You have to stay alert at all times.” Tyler ran a hand along the back of his neck. He was agitated. “Man, I don’t like it. I want to know what this guy is up to.”
“I don’t like it either.” Danny frowned. “This man is a known killer.”
“I know we can handle it,” I said. “And remember, if I don’t meet him, he comes to me. I don’t want a highly trained killer sneaking through my broken sliding glass door. My quota this month for nasty break-ins is passed its full mark.”
“I still don’t like it,” Tyler grumbled. “Something feels off.”
“Have either of you ever seen Rourke in person?” I asked curiously.
“Nope, he was around before my time,” Tyler said.
“No,” Danny added. “But I’ve heard my fill about the wanker.”
“Do you actually believe all the rumors?” I asked. “Some of the stories about Connor Dade are so outlandish. Tying people up by their entrails? Severed body parts spelling out words? Some of that has to be fiction. It’s just too creepy to be true.” It was common for mercs to inflate their profiles—plant stories to make them seem worse than they were. Fear went a long way in keeping yourself on top, and it sounded like Rourke had plenty of years behind him to do just that. If nobody ever saw him, it would be easy to fabricate stories of grandeur.
Tyler grunted. “I don’t need to believe any of the stories. I’ve seen pictures.”
“What pictures?” I asked.
“Of some of his kills.”
“Where did you get a hold of pictures?” I made a face. “How do you know they were his?”
“Doesn’t matter. The man’s a brutal-ass bastard.” Tyler folded his arms.
“Hmm,” I said. “Sounds a little unsubstantiated to me. I could hand you any photo I wanted and give you a good story. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“I’ve seen glimpses of the pictures too,” Danny said, ignoring me. “In one, the dead bloke was missing all his fingers. Every one of them had been cut down to the nubbin, each to a different knuckle. And on the middle stump he left a finger puppet behind.”
“What kind of finger puppet?” I asked out of grotesque curiosity.
“The bloke’s own nose with a smiley face drawn on it.”
Jesus.
The restaurant was covered in sleek, hard lines, and the walls were coated with dark paint. The lighting was minimal, giving it a calming ambiance, and it was packed to the brim.
I pushed my way through people waiting for tables and veered left toward the bar. We hadn’t specified dining options, but I figured the bar would be the best place to check first.
Is he there? Tyler asked in my mind. He was on edge. None of the wolves had scented a fresh supe trail anywhere around the building. If he was here, the cat had snuck in without the wolves knowing. And no one was happy about it.
Gimme a minute. I just got in here. My wolf was on high alert. As I worked my way through the crowd, I scanned the room for possibilities.
Then I spotted a lone shape at the end of the bar. He was huge, so it was a likely pick. He was clad in a black leather jacket, his forearms splayed casually on the bar, a tall draft beer sitting between them. The well-worn leather he wore was in stark contrast to the yuppie dress clothes around us.
I wove my way toward him slowly. I think I have him.
Be careful. If it’s him, ask him how the fuck he got there without us knowing, Tyler griped.
First things first, little brother.
His guy’s head was angled down, but as I eased closer, it swiveled without hesitation in my direction.
His eyes lit on me.
Then he smiled.
My stride hitched momentarily. Holy Christ. That can’t be Rourke. I recovered myself by the next step, thankfully.
What? What do you mean? Tyler asked.
Um. Nothing, it’s just … he’s not what I was expecting a killer to look like. This man oozed power, it was true, but he was beautiful. Honey-colored hair brushed his collar in the back, and he had a set of the clearest eyes I’d ever seen. Even from a distance, I could see they were ringed in a sliver of deep green. They were completely breathtaking, and most definitely not on any normal color chart.
Snort. Who cares if he doesn’t look like a killer, just be sure—
Tyler, I have to go. I’ll get back to you. I cut him off with a single thought.
Rourke’s gaze intensified as I came closer. I blinked a few times, but refused to look away. I slid onto the empty barstool next to him and sat down without being asked.
He appraised me with open curiosity. More than a hint of humor flashed behind those ridiculously gorgeous eyes. Up close his skin was flawless, tanned deeply from the sun. He had a short blanket of blond stubble running over a defined chin.