Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (61 page)

“Right. You’re sticking with me for the rest of the dream,” Jordan said. Vince Blackman would just have to be a good sport about it. That, or find someone else to kiss.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” Maze grumbled.

“You don’t say. Follow me.” They were going to the damn volcano, and her sister would be very lucky if Jordan didn’t throw her in.

Coll looked up from his tablet. “Sisters?”

“Don’t thank me yet. The younger one, Maisie Louise Lane, is a Reveler already, and she’s in trouble. She let someone into the
Envoi
’s dream, and—” Rook waved a hand. “—I had to intervene.”

The
Envoi
had pulled him from the Rêve for helping her and had
not
been happy to learn they had been hosting a Chimera agent and not his cover, Michael Reese. They’d have pitched him into the drink if they hadn’t feared repercussions. Instead, he’d gotten a courtesy look at their guest list, thank you very much, and a silent ride back to shore.

“Yes, I’ve been in contact with them already,” Coll said dryly.

Rook didn’t feel sorry for him. “Big Sis, Jordan Elizabeth Lane, was a first timer, but she has a clear and palpable aptitude. I marked her, but my guess is that she was identified by at least one other as well.”

Coll sat back in his chair. “Did you get a sense of the person the younger one, Maisie, let into the Rêve?”

“I could track him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rook answered. Tracking was what he was best at, following trails through other people’s dreams, sometimes so deeply he didn’t remember the way back to himself.

“Then I’ll concentrate on Jordan,” Coll said. “She should be fairly easy to take under.”

Rook stalled mid-breath.

Coll’s gaze sharpened. “Oh?”

Sighing with disgust, Rook strode toward the window. From up here everything looked so serene and quiet. The waves were soft, seagulls silent. The younger sister would be a constant jangling clamor in his head—too much color, too much noise.

But Jordan?

She’d be quieter on his edges. And in turn he could make sure the transition went as smoothly as possible for her. She deserved that much, at least.

Chimera wanted recruits to join them willingly. To
choose
Chimera in spite of the upheaval it would bring to their lives. Which is why each recruit was assigned an agent responsible for mentoring him or her.

“You take the younger one,” Rook said. “Time you did some real work anyway.”

He didn’t check Coll’s reaction, just watched the waves far below lap against the moored boats and thought how each subtle ocean rise was a better measure of time than the harsh ticks of a clock.

“I guess I’ll take the younger one.” Coll’s tone had gone circumspect again. Couldn’t be helped; caution was warranted when it came to Rook. “What’s your first move?”

The usual. “Build a profile and wait for her to sleep.” He paused for a second, then gave in to the worst. “Use the sister as motivation.”

***

“I’ll see her again today,” Vince said into his mobile as he pulled his suit jacket off a hanger in the hotel room’s closet.

This was a fiasco. Unnecessary. Ego-driven. Bad business.

On the other line, his father grunted the approval Vince had long since stopped needing. “Used the Blackman charm, eh? Had her falling at your feet? You dog, you.”

Dad was desperate. They both knew it.

“I know how girls like her work,” Vince said.

Jordan Lane had been nice. Very pretty. In another life, Vince would have been happy to date her. It’d be a challenge to get her to unwind a little. Fun to do it in Rêve.

But he didn’t need her to unwind. He needed her cooperation. He needed her life. The sister they already had a line on. So said the very bad man with whom his father had gotten into business. Dad’s ego had made a deal, and it was the son who now had to deliver.

Vince hadn’t even remembered Jordan, though apparently she’d once pitched to him. How
they
had discovered the connection was impressive.

Win the girl over. Bring her in. If she had half the talent her sister supposedly had, she was well worth the trouble.

They were watching.

He hated putting Jordan in his father’s hot seat. Wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. His dad should’ve chosen jail over a convenient bailout from
them
. When this was over, Vince was finished with him. This was the last time he would clean up one of his father’s messes.

“They treating you well?” Vince asked.

Dad rolled out his goodtime chuckle. “I get whatever I want.”

Sure he did. They’d been very clear about the stakes: His dad would get a bullet to the brain if Vince didn’t come through.

***

The phone on her desk rang, startling Jordan out of her reverie. While she’d been in a daze, her laptop screen had gone blank. She hit the pad to wake it, while reaching for the phone and squeezing her eyes to get her mind to focus. “Jordan here.”

Ten forty-five a.m. She’d been out of it for over an
hour
. Hadn’t slept since the Rêve Saturday night and didn’t even know if that kind of sleep counted.

Side effects, check: Distraction and insomnia, topped with fatigue.

And in spite of that, in spite of the mess Maze was in, she couldn’t wait to get back again. Rêve—how she felt there—was everything she’d never known she wanted. It was as if everything about her was alive and alert and clear. No second-guessing. She’d felt strong.

So, yeah, she might’ve already scoured the Web to find a mention of any available venue, first in California, then anywhere on the West Coast. Finding nothing—
nothing?—
she went onto the U.S. registry and put herself on the waiting list for the Agora, which comprised the network of legal American Rêve venues.

Could be
months.

On the line, the receptionist said, “Your appointment is waiting in the conference room.”

What?
She pawed her laptop to pull up her schedule. No, nothing today.

Except lunch with Vince Blackman. Ten forty-five was a little early in the day to be stepping out, but she was sure Maria would be fine with it. His account would be huge for the company. And now they were friends.

She remembered his arm snug around her shoulders, his other around Maze’s, as the three of them had stared out from the rim of the volcano into the forever stars. And then he’d called her on Sunday to set a lunch date for today. Couldn’t wait to see her again.

The feeling was gratifying. Another big client would be a step up here. Normally, she wouldn’t mix business with her private life, but that couldn’t be helped now. He’d kissed her. She’d just have to feel the relationship out as it progressed. Go slow. Think smart.

So what if Maze thought he’d been trying too hard and was boring at the same time?

“I’ll be right there.” Jordan hung up and opened her desk drawer to pull out her compact. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but otherwise…same old Jordan. Gloss might help, though. She applied a little pink and smacked her lips. Okay.

Standing, she straightened her pencil skirt and walked down the hall. She had a smile ready when she turned the corner to the glass-walled conference room where a man waited, but it wasn’t Vince.

Oh.
Him.
The tall, black column of scary man.

Her hopes sank. This had to be about Maze.

She pushed through the glass door. “Um…hello again.”

“Jordan,” he said, hand outstretched. “I never got a chance to introduce myself the other night. I’m Michael Reese.”

His low voice vibrated something within her. But that wasn’t her only reaction. Every sense, every nerve was hyperaware and shouting alarm, as if she’d been hiding, which she wasn’t, and he’d pulled back a curtain and found her. She felt exposed, as if he could see right into her. See her clearly.

He’d shaved, so apparently he did own a razor, but it only made her want to stare stupidly at the strong lines of his face. It gave her small satisfaction that he had circles under his eyes, too, though they did nothing to lessen his impact. Rough. Potent. Overpowering.

Made her throat go dry and her heart race. She preferred men who were easy on her system, with whom she could keep her balance. Vince Blackman was a good example.

But because this Mr. Reese had helped her sister, she had to hear him out. Couldn’t very well refuse. She reached and shook his hand for the second time. Life kept conspiring to make them touch. “How do you know where I work?”

The
Envoi
had to have given out her private information. She’d lodge a complaint just as soon as he left.

“You told me your name and I looked you up online.” The darkness in his eyes unsettled her. The air seemed to hold him differently, as if it were hot and dry—electric—where it met his skin. And there was something haunted in his expression, as if he were on her doorstep, the bearer of grim news.

“Why are you here?” She could guess.

He smiled. “I thought we could help each other.”

Uh-huh.
His smile didn’t touch those troubled eyes. This was going to be bad. Maisie bad.

He inclined his head toward the conference table. “Can we sit?”

Was there a choice? She took a step and lowered herself slowly into a seat. He chose one diagonally across from her, not directly across.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he observed. “I’d guess the last time you closed your eyes was the Rêve Saturday night.”

She wanted him gone, so she cut to the chase. “How do think we can help each other?”

Who was he, anyway? He was dressed casually, but in expensive clothes. Not the average working Joe, that was for sure.

“I work in Rêve and have for many years,” he said.

Rêve had only been legal in the States for two. So he
was
shady. She’d pegged him right from the beginning.

“From what you witnessed with your sister,” he continued, “I’m sure you’ve gathered that there’s a lot more to shared dreaming than fantasy beaches.”

Maze had said she was a courier. “I gathered as much, yes.”

“In fact, it’s being exploited in new ways every day.”

Exploited, huh? Spoken from personal experience, no doubt.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But to do anything in Rêve, you either have to have an aptitude or employ someone with an aptitude. Someone like your sister, who brought an unapproved party into a closed and carefully monitored dream.”

Jordan needed to get legal counsel immediately, especially if this bastard was working his way up to threatening her with knowledge of Maisie’s latest stupidity. Better her sister came clean with the authorities than be at the mercy of a stranger. Were there laws governing what happened in a dream? Jordan was going to find out.

“Universities are fertile grounds for Revelers,” he continued. “I bet some ingenious kid set up his own shop off campus. She tried it, was identified, and then eventually recruited by someone who needed things done by a young, talented person who was cheerful about breaking rules.”

Yeah, it probably had happened exactly like that.

“And now she’s in over her head,” he said. “For the most part, Rêve is all they say it is—safe and wonderful. For a special few, Rêve can be deadly, and your sister is one of them.”

Jordan didn’t like the word
deadly
in the same sentence with
sister
.

“What are you saying?” Was he threatening Maisie?

Jordan’s muscles engaged to rise; it was an act of will to keep her butt in the chair. She had to make a call. Maze would just have to stay at her place, defer her classes if necessary, until this blew over. Until Michael Reese and the people Maze couriered for forgot about her.

Reese had the audacity to continue. “You can help her.”

Suddenly, she got it. Someone had recruited her sister, and now this guy was—

“You’re recruiting me.” He’d applauded how quickly she’d entered into the
Envoi
’s Rêve. He’d started chatting her up, and then Maze had come, and after that, Vince.

He smiled. “Aptitude and intelligence. Yes.”

“So that’s how you think I can help you.” Make her a courier, too? “How do you propose to help me? Deal with my sister’s issues?”

“That’s exactly what I propose.”

And if she didn’t cooperate, what? He’d just let her sister hang? The offer was just shy of blackmail. What would he want her to do with her
aptitude?

What a load of bullshit.

No. This guy couldn’t be her only recourse. She could call NIOD, the National Institute on Dreaming. They had to know what to do, or whom to speak to locally.

“And if I refuse?”

“You can’t. It’s too late.”

So he was a thug, just like that man choking her sister in Rêve, forcing a course of action.

“When next you fall asleep—and eventually you’ll have to—you’ll understand. There’s no going back to the way you were before. Wish to God there was, sweetheart.”

She wasn’t his sweetheart. Standing, she said, “Get out.”

He opened his hands, an asking gesture. “You have to experience it to believe.”

“Not happening. Leave, please.”

With a growling sigh, he stood, too. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Unlikely.”

Two steps of a goddamned long stride and he was at the door, but before he pulled it open, he turned back. “I’m actually trying to help here. You don’t trust me, and all things considered, you shouldn’t.”

Finally, a little honesty.

“But wield that sharp common sense against everyone, please. Don’t trust anyone else, either.”

***

He’d have thought the woman would’ve taken his warning to heart at least a little, but she was even now leaning in to kiss Mr. Millions, aka Vincent Blackman, on the cheek.

“Highlight of my day,” she said to him.
Mwah.

Rook stood in a dark alcove across the street from the outdoor café where the two had met for lunch. Millions was as shiny as he’d been in dreamland. Must be some damn expensive hair product.

Jordan sat back, opening the menu. “Mmm. What’s good here?”

The other night, she’d made herself a target with her brilliant entrance into Rêve. Her little sister’s rendezvous had compounded the issue. It would help if the woman would cooperate. Rook was bad, but there were worse.