Flameout (18 page)

“And now they're locked up, because they might just be telepathically linked to Sam's bastard brother. What if I am?” His tone was grim. “What if the reason everything keeps falling apart for us is because Luke is reading my brain and keeping one step ahead of us?”

“You're not telepathically linked to the sindicati or Heaton, and they've caused more problems for us than Luke at this point.”

“You know what I—”

“Yes,” I cut in. “And there's only one thing we can do if we want to know for sure, and that's to get the damn test done. We can deal with the fallout once we know one way or the other.” I squeezed his knee, though I doubted he was taking much comfort from my words or my actions. “Besides, if Luke was reading your thoughts, don't you think he would have attacked us at the hostel by now?

“Probably.” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes again. “You
can
teach me control, can't you?”

“Jackson, you're a fire fae. Teaching you will be a walk in the park compared to a screaming toddler who will neither see reason nor be pacified.”

He snorted softly and placed his hand over mine.
His fingers still contained way too much heat, even for a fire fae. Worry gnawed at my insides, but there wasn't a whole lot I could do about the situation right now.

“When you ring PIT to tell them about the notes, ask about the tests. We need to at least find out if I'm infected or not.” He squeezed my hand then released me.

“I will.” I did my seat belt back up as Jackson straightened the car and sped off. Neither of us said much after that. I just stared out the window, going over and over what had happened at Hanging Rock, wondering if we could or should have done anything different. But the answer was simply no. He'd been attacked—and scratched—by the red cloaks. If he hadn't taken my fire, then he would now be one of them. If nothing else, merging with me had at least given him time.

And if it wasn't the virus, but simply an aftereffect of the merging? I could reteach him control, but would it do any good? We had no idea how far—or even what changes might yet emerge.

I wished there were someone I could talk to—an elder who might have seen or heard of something like this happening before. But, as I'd once told Jackson, phoenix families didn't tend to keep in close contact once adulthood had been reached and a life mate chosen. I had parents and grandparents somewhere out there in the wider world, but I had no idea where or even how to contact them.

For the first time in my long life, I really wished that we, as a race, had a far closer bond. Maybe then Jackson could have gotten the help he so obviously needed.

Jackson must have caught that particular thought, because he reached across and squeezed my leg, in much the same manner as I had his. “I'm alive today because of what you did in that forest,” he said softly. “No matter what happens, I don't regret it.”

Good, because it wasn't like we could change anything now. “What makes you think those wolves were outliers rather than the city pack?”

“Logic. We've an agreement in place with Baker, and I doubt either he or his pack would break it without reason.”

“Could they be members of a different pack?”

“Possibly. True outliers are actually rare.”

“Do you think it's worth mentioning to Baker? I doubt he'd be happy to learn there's another pack operating in his territory.”

“It can't hurt.” He paused and grimaced. “Although I'm guessing he won't be too pleased when he discovers what we did. Especially if that wolf
is
one of his.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it'll warn him and others not to stick fucking guns in our faces.” I glanced around and realized we were close to the street where Wilson had been attacked and abducted.

“The gym is just up the road,” Jackson said, “but I'll have to do a U-turn and park in the lot we just passed if there's no free spaces.”

As it turned out, there weren't. Jackson did the U-turn but found some street parking not far away from the gym. Once he stopped the car, I grabbed my purse and climbed out. “How do you want to play this?”

“I'll go check if either of our keys fit their lockers.
You might want to find a pay phone and make that call to PIT.”

“What about Baker?”

“Definitely. If they were his men, we need to confront him about it immediately, otherwise the shit will fly.”

He walked away. I glanced around to get my bearings. Most pay phones these days were restricted to places like bus shelters, rail stations, and, for some weird reason, supermarkets. There was no sign of the first two, but there was a large Woolworths on the far side of the gym.

I headed that way. Jackson had already reached the gym, and I crossed my fingers and hoped like hell that we'd finally catch a break. Because, honestly, how many more things could go wrong for us?

Don't ask,
that inner voice warned,
because you really do not want to know.

Sometimes I hated that inner voice.

I walked into Woolworths and found the pay phone at the other end of the store. I fished out the business card Sam had given me, then swiped my credit card through the slot and dialed the number. The phone rang a couple of times, and then a somewhat plummy and decidedly unfeminine voice said, “Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond speaking.”

“Inspector,” I said, imagining a tall woman with thick black glasses and a stern, ungiving expression. Which probably meant she was a petite blonde with a face and body to die for. “It's Emberly Pearson.”

“Ms. Pearson,” she said, a slight hint of surprise in
her tone. “I certainly wasn't expecting a call from you so soon.”

“Yeah, well, we were told to report everything, so ‘everything' is exactly what you're getting.”

She made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh. “Indeed? What have you got for us, then?”

“Notes.”

“What kind of notes?” The amusement, if indeed it had been that, had faded from her tone. “The missing kind?”

“I don't think so. It talks about vampire DNA, a malfunctioning chromosome, and misshapen molecules, but whether that all relates to past research or current I couldn't say. There's no dates on any of the notes.”

“And they're Wilson's?”

“I presume so. We got them from Amanda Wilson.”

“She's alive?” Surprise registered in her voice. “From what we'd been able to glean, even if she
had
survived that crash she wasn't going to be of much use to anyone.”

I hesitated, remembering again the blankness in Amanda's expression. “She's alive, but whether she's actually the same person she was before the crash is debatable.”

“Ah.” The inspector paused. “When and where can we collect the notes?”

“We'll be working another case and staying at the Victoria Hotel tonight. You can collect them there.”

“I'll send someone. Thank you.”

“Don't thank me, Inspector. Just keep your end of the deal and release us when all this shit is over.”

“If this shit is ever over, I will.”

Her words had foreboding pulsing through me again. The future I didn't want was creeping ever closer . . .

I shoved the thought away and said, “There's one other thing.”

“What?”

“Can you arrange a blood test as a matter of urgency?”

“Whom for? You?”

“No. Jackson was attacked by the cloaks, and while we believe we've burned the virus from his system—”

“You
what
?”

I hesitated, but there really wasn't much use in keeping anything back. Especially not when Jackson's life might well depend on PIT knowing everything. “We merged our fires and burned the virus from his body—or, at least, we think we did.”

“And he's shown no sign of infection since then?”

“Given I'm not entirely sure what the signs are beyond the madness that seems to affect all but a few, I really couldn't say.”

“You've seen Sam often enough lately,” she said. “And he is the perfect example of what we call a ‘nonrampant' virus recipient—no appetite, loss of all excess body fat, development of vampiric capabilities.”

“He's shown none of those, but that doesn't mean he won't. We need to be sure.”

“That you do.” Her voice was absent. “We hadn't thought of using heat to eradicate—”

“It's not like it would work on everyone,” I cut in bluntly. “He flooded his entire body with my fire, and
I burn far hotter than anything here on Earth when I'm in my true form. Jackson's a fire fae and barely survived the experience.”

“Even so, if there's no sign of the virus in his system, then that means this thing
can
be destroyed by extreme heat. And that gives us something to work with—something we hadn't had before now.”

Then it was worth mentioning it. “So you'll arrange a test?”

“Straightaway. I'll get someone to you at the hotel tonight, if possible.”

PIT certainly didn't muck about. But then, we already knew that about them. “Thanks.”

“Keep in contact,” she said, and hung up.

I replaced the receiver and wasn't entirely sure whether I should be relieved or worried. PIT might be the only ones who could tell us whether or not Jackson was still infected, but that instinctive part of me couldn't help but wonder if we were just digging our own graves when it came to them. That the more we worked with them, the harder it would be to escape their net.

But—as I kept repeatedly saying—it wasn't like we could do much about it now.

I fished Baker's card out of my purse and gave him a call. He answered on the second ring.

“It's Emberly Pearson,” I said, without preamble. “And we need to talk.”

“Indeed?” There was a touch of mild curiosity in his voice, but little else. Which was somewhat comforting. “Does this mean you have information on Rinaldo already?”

“No, but we were attacked by two wolves who said they were working for Parella. We suspect they're either a rival pack or outliers working your patch, and we thought you'd like to know.”

“You thought right.” The curiosity had given away to anger. “Can you describe them?”

I did, and he growled softly. “I know them both, and they are, I'm afraid, members of my own pack. I'll deal with them.”

“Jackson's already dealt with one. I'm afraid his gun was melted into his hand.”

“That will be the
least
of his problems, I assure you. Not only have they gone against direct orders, but they are freelancing for the vampires.”

And that was
not
something the sensible did, if his tone was anything to go by.

“Accept my apologies on behalf of the pack, Emberly. I assure you it will not happen again.”

“Thanks, Mr.—”

“Please, call me Scott,” he cut in, tone amused. “Only my father insists on being called Mr. Baker.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Scott.”

“No problem. I'll talk to you soon.”

With that, he hung up. I spun around and headed back to the car. Jackson wasn't there, so I crossed my arms and leaned back against the car to wait. He appeared ten minutes later, and he didn't look happy.

“No luck?” I pushed away from the back of the car and moved around to the passenger side.

“He's not a member there. I checked the lockers anyway, but neither of the keys fit anything.”

“Well, damn.”

“Yeah.” He started the car, then checked the mirrors and pulled out into the traffic. “On to the next one. What did PIT say?”

“They're sending someone around to the hotel to collect both the notes and your blood.”

“Huh.” He paused. “I wonder why Amanda dumped that satchel. Neither she nor whoever is controlling her could have known if they were virus related or not.”

I shrugged. “Maybe they considered Amanda more of an asset than whatever was on those notes.”

“Given how desperately everyone wants the missing fucking notes, I very much doubt that.”

True. So why
had
Amanda chucked the notes rather than try to lose us? Even if her mind had been rolled by one of the sindicati factions, they couldn't have known whether or not the notes were virus related until they visibly sighted them. Hell, even
I
wasn't entirely sure, and I'd worked as Baltimore's research assistant.

And even if she
was
now infected—and under Luke's control—he'd still have to sight . . .

The thought trailed off, and I blinked. No, he didn't, because those who were infected became part of the hive mind—a collective consciousness that Luke controlled—and
that
meant it would be very easy to check whether the notes were related or not. Especially if he
did
have both scientists—all he had to do was bring them “online” and get them to see through Amanda's eyes.

Presuming, of course, the hive mind was that powerful—and I very much suspected it was.

And if her mind
had
been rolled? Then whoever was staring out through her eyes might know enough about research to understand the notes weren't directly related to the virus.

“I vote the latter option,” Jackson said. “You're right—she's exhibiting the classic signs of being mind rolled.”

“Yes.” I paused. “But is it possible she could be both?”

“Anything is possible these days, but really, there'd be no point in doing both.”

“Unless the vamp who rolled her mind was aware that she's working with Luke, and is using her to keep an eye on him.”

“Maybe.” His expression suggested he wasn't buying it. “Besides, Luke couldn't have guaranteed she'd end up one of the sane cloaks.”