Dark Taste of Rapture (15 page)

The shops were high end and pristine, the cafes sparkling with activity, their outside tables shielded by large umbrellas. This was the atmosphere she was used to. The perp busted through the crowds and toppled the tables, leaving chaos in his wake, forcing Noelle to push and shove her way after him, all while leaping over shattered glass, dropped purses, and slippery food.

Hector Dean was working this case, too. Not with her. Never that. In fact, they hadn’t really spoken to each other since that night at camp. But Mia Snow, the new official head of AIR, had informed all agents to be on the alert for a white minivan with tinted windows.

Apparently, an anonymous tip had promised the van would be carrying three otherworlder females who’d been abducted from their homes. As that same anonymous tipster had never before been wrong, Mia had taken him—her?—seriously.

And ten minutes ago, Noelle had spotted the van and called in the plates.

Hector had barked over the radio:
This is mine, Tremain. Stay back, but maintain a visual. I’m on my way
.

As if.

Yeah, he was invested in the case. He’d worked it a year ago, but the whole thing had been iced when no new clues surfaced, the recovered girls vanished without a trace, and no other kidnappings occurred. (That they’d known of.) The tips had stopped, too. Then, two days ago that minivan info had come in, as if there’d never been a lag, and well, now things were back on.

Have to beat him, have to beat him, damn it, have to beat him
.

The driver had realized she was on his tail, threw on the brakes, and abandoned the vehicle right there in the center of the road. There’d been no time to check on the women, so Noelle had sprinted after him while at the same time radioing in about the new development.

Agents were probably at the van now. Hector wouldn’t have stopped there, though. A bruiser at heart, he would have followed the commotion and come after the driver. Like her.

Have to beat him!

Perp was a scrawny human in his mid thirties—and thereby unstunnable. He was also out of shape. Was now slowing, taking the corners with less vigor. No longer throwing stuff or people in her way.
I’ll have him yet
.

Sweat poured down her back. Her muscles burned, the first sensation she’d had in months, and the bones in her legs vibrated every time she pounded a foot into the concrete. She was off the clock and not dressed for a street chase. Black leather halter, black leather pants, five-inch heel boots.

Plus, she had a killer hangover.

Ava’s bachelorette party had roared all night long, and had still been going strong this morning.

Noelle increased her speed. Drew in closer … closer still … The guy rounded another corner. She stayed tight on his ass, practically stomping on his shadow. Another busy sidewalk came into view. He slammed into a pedestrian and flew backward—

Straight into Noelle.

Just the break she’d needed. She caught him with a
humph
and, using the momentum to her advantage, swung him around and slammed him into the side of a building.
Smack
.

Reacting on instinct, he threw back an elbow and knocked the air from her lungs. For a moment, she saw stars.

He tried to sprint off, but she kicked out a leg and tripped him. He toppled on his stomach.

“Bitch!” he spat, twisting around, going for a blade in an ankle sheath.

“I invented that move.” Noelle kicked the weapon out of his hand, then kicked him in the face—knocking out a few of his teeth. He spat blood and attempted to crawl back, away from her.

With a muttered, “Oh, no you don’t,” she dove for him. Just before she hit, she reached for her own switchblade. Contact. She kneed him in the balls, making him howl with the intensity of the pain. Then she flicked her wrist, snapped the blade in place, and pressed the tip into his throat. Not enough to damage him, but enough to sting.

His struggles increased as panic hit his bloodstream, causing the knife to slide in deeper. Jolting upright, he head-butted her in the chin and she once again saw stars.

“Bastard,” she spat, and tasted blood.

“Let … me … go,” he gritted.

“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“After I kill you?” She hated being without her pyregun, but as she’d known she would be drinking last night, she’d left her piece at home.

“Fuck you!” he said on an explosion of breath, but he ultimately settled down.

“Good boy. First, a little warning. You run and you’ll suffer. Second, I’m going to ask you a few questions and you’re going to answer them. Or you’ll suffer. Basically, just get used to the idea of suffering. First up.
Where were you taking those women?” Interrogations usually happened back at headquarters, but she wanted to throw the information at Hector and pretend it had been a breeze to acquire.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, panting. “You can’t hurt me. I’m human. I know my rights.”

“Really?” Noelle slammed the palm of her free hand into the end of his nose, snapping the cartilage on impact.

Blood spurted from his nostrils. His scream nearly busted her eardrums.

“Let’s try again,” she said calmly. “Where were you taking those women?”

“Not scared of you.” His trembling body belied the assertion. “Nothing you do will be worse than what he’ll do.”

Should I be offended?
“Who’s he, and what will he do?” Realizing he’d said too much, the perp
really
panicked.

People formed a circle around them, gasping and contemplating what to do.

“—officers are on their way,” she heard someone say.

“Dude! Out of my way, you’re blocking my camera’s view.”

“I am a cop,” she growled. “Everyone stay back, and shut the hell up.”

They continued talking to each other.

“Cops are getting sexier by the day.”

“Officer Hotness can ticket me anytime.”

Okay, maybe she wouldn’t chastise them for the chatter. They were highly observant.

As if he’d been frightened past his limits, her suspect’s head lolled to the side, his body going lax. Noelle wasn’t buying. She recalled Hector’s lesson all too well. Always make sure unconsciousness had been achieved by delivering another blow.

Her guy could have easily gotten control of his panic, faked a pass-out, meaning to leap up and attack her the moment she let him go.

Rather than hit him, she jiggled his broken nose. No reaction. Still not taking any chances, she moved the blade tip to his belly, where his shirt rose above his pants, revealing a strip of flesh. “I’ve got a knife at your gut, so I’d be careful if I were you.”

Warning issued, she balanced on her knees, intending to pat him down. Of course, that’s when he erupted into motion. Yep. A fake-out. His determination must be great, to have ignored that jiggle.

The action caused her blade to slice his stomach, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Bleeding, he slid out from under her, jumped to his feet, and ran. Just ran.

“I am not chasing you!” Noelle jumped up, too, and tossed the knife. It whizzed through the air. The length embedded in the back of his calf, where he had just placed most of his weight, and he went down like a brick in water, screaming in agony. Heart thundering in her chest, she stomped over to him.

He’d cracked his cheek on the concrete when he landed, and a pool of crimson seeped from his mouth. He writhed, twisting, trying to reach the blade to remove it. Maybe she’d never gotten the mercy gene because
she stepped on the hilt, digging the weapon even deeper.

Another howl rent the air.

“I told you not to run, asshole,” she said. And damn it, she didn’t have a pair of cuffs on her.

She bent down anyway and grabbed his wrists, pinning them behind his back and straddling his waist, so that her weight pinned him down. Tears leaked down his cheeks, joining the blood.

Gasps echoed behind her. Shuffling footsteps. The pounding of boots.

Noelle turned her head—and spotted Hector shoving his way through the crowd and stalking toward her. Big and muscled and so sexy her heart skipped a beat.

Puffing up, she said, “Bagged him,” sounding so damn smug, he’d probably fume.

Dressed in his usual black shirt and slacks, he looked menacing and without a hint of warmth. As always. His tattoos looked different, though. The circles more jagged, the lines thicker. He’d grown his hair out, too. A Caesar cut, the messy, darkened strands adding an air of savagery to him.

Sweat glistened on his brow, dripped from his temples. He wiped the droplets away with the back of his hand, his golden gaze sweeping over her. His pupils expanded. “You okay?”

She’d heard his voice these past few months, of course. When he’d spoken to Dallas or Mia, or anyone else in AIR. But right now, with that gravelly timbre directed at her, she felt her body respond. Her blood heated, and her nipples tightened underneath the leather top.

Oh, hell, no. Not going there again
. Lesson learned. No need for a repeat.

“Better than,” she replied, and prayed she sounded breezy. She relayed everything the guy had said, and for a moment, Hector actually looked impressed. With her—or the info-hold-out perp? “Got a pair of cuffs on you?”

One of his brows shot into his hairline. “You chased him without a pair of cuffs?”

“Yes. Mine are still hanging from my bedposts.”

No reaction. “What did you plan to do with him when you tackled him?”

“Duh. Exactly what I did. Hurt him until he caved.” Frowning, Hector reached behind him. Next he extended a pair of cuffs in her direction. She managed to take them without allowing her fingertips to brush over his skin.

In two point two seconds, she had the human bound, the laserbands wound around his wrists, lit up to a pretty gold—though not as pretty as Hector’s eyes—and bonded to his skin.

And yet, still the guy writhed.

She said, “You pull at them too much, and you’ll lose your hands. Or so I’ve heard. I’m more than willing to use you as a test subject and find out for real.”

That got his attention. At long last, he stopped fighting.

Did you see that, Hector? I won this round
. Noelle climbed off the perp, but kept a boot pressed into his shoulder blades to remind him that she was there. “Where’s your car?” she asked Hector.

“Right there.” He hitched his thumb to the street beside them, and sure enough, she spotted a standard AIR sedan.

“No Jag today?”

He didn’t seem surprised that she knew he’d traded in the Porsche, even though they’d never run into each other outside of work. “No. I’m on the clock.” His gaze swept over her a second time. Another flare of his pupils. “But you’re not. Where have you been?”

“I was out on a date with my newest lover, the insatiable Don Carlos.” She wanted to believe Hector liked what he saw, but … She’d gone that road with him before, hadn’t she? A girl never forgot a burn like that.

“Don Carlos? Where’d you meet him? A romance novel?”

Her lips pursed. How had he known she was lying? “Do me a favor and carry the perp to your car,” she said, ignoring his question.

A moment passed in silence, then he shook his head. “Bastard clipped your chin. He doesn’t deserve a carry.” As he spoke, he withdrew a pair of familiar gloves and slipped them on.

Her gaze immediately slid to his arms, and yep, for the third time in their acquaintance, she spotted that slight, barely noticeable azure glow. A glow that remained even after he donned the gloves, just above the top edge. She only detected it because she knew to look. And okay, because she was staring. Most people would probably think his tattoos were colored that way. She wasn’t most people, and besides that, she had a picture of him seared into her memory. She had forgotten
nothing about the way he was made, and always spotted any changes in his appearance.

She wished she knew what the glow meant, though. She’d even done some online research—because she’d been bored and not for any other reason—but had learned nothing.

Without looking at her, Hector closed the remaining distance, reached down, and hauled the guy to his feet, holding him by the scruff of his neck when his knees collapsed. Then he practically dragged the guy to the sedan, stuffing him in the backseat with as little finesse as possible, even letting his head bang into the top of the door.

Three other agents finally appeared on the scene, and they did crowd control, moving everyone back and out of the way, blocking off the pool of blood.

Hector faced her, still unwilling to peer into her eyes. “You want a ride to the station?”

No enthusiasm in his voice. Only dread.

Why do you dislike me so much? What did I ever do to you?
Besides throw herself at him, time and time again.

“No, thanks,” she forced herself to reply. “I’ve got people to do, and things to see. Besides, I abandoned my car a few blocks away. Behind our boy’s.”
Our
. Wrong word. Her heart skipped another beat.

An abrupt nod as his nostrils flared in—anger? “Mia and Dallas were there a few minutes ago, so …”

So get lost
, he was saying. Bastard. “Next time put some hustle in your step and you might actually be first on the scene. Or maybe you couldn’t help yourself. Old age is a bitch, I hear.” Grinning as if she’d never been
happier, she turned to walk away. One step, two. Three. Every inch farther away caused an ache to intensify in her chest.

“Noelle,” Hector growled, stopping her. “You caught him, so you get to question him. I’ll text you after medical’s cleaned and bandaged him.”

Without looking back, she responded, “Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep my blades to myself during the next round of my interrogation.” She waited a moment, but he said nothing else, so she kicked back into motion. Totally
not
disappointed.

Soon as she rounded a corner and Hector couldn’t see her, she lost her fake grin and hailed a cab, hauling ass back to the other scene. Mia and Dallas were still there, talking to witnesses. The pale, shaky girl Dallas was chatting up spotted Noelle and pointed.