Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (34 page)

Jeremy lingered a respectful pace behind Razor as the young man, decked out in his dress uniform, led Isabella to the gleaming casket to pay her last respects. They’d arranged a private moment so she didn’t have to address other guests, especially her father. No one wanted her to deal with that stress on top of her grief.

His gaze flew along the perimeter, checking in with the cops posted at regular intervals. Each flashed a subtle thumbs-up in answer to his silent request. He nodded, satisfied, then positioned himself close enough to protect Isabella’s head from any gunmen who might have snuck past their guard. Her tiny stature made it easy to block her from view. At least in one direction. Sandwiched between him and Razor, she had as much coverage as they could afford.

A chill dampness hung in the spring morning air. They tromped across the soggy grass. In places, hints of green shone through the dull grays and browns of winter. The past several months had been long and dark for many of his friends. Hopefully, the change of season would allow sprouts of the new beginnings they’d seeded to bloom into something beautiful.

Yet, the last fingers of winter refused to relinquish their grip. Wisps of fog threaded between the silver trunks of the birch grove surrounding the cemetery. Morose musings fractured his focus as he considered the funerals he’d attended recently—Rob’s, Gina’s, Jackson’s, now Malcolm’s. Only one of them a friend. All human. Someday it would be him in the box.

And who would care to weep?

He’d given up hope of discovering the kind of connection Razor and Isabella had made. The soul-deep bond Mason, Tyler and Lacey shared. Because who would accept him when he couldn’t accept himself?

Jeremy recommitted himself to his job, to protecting innocent civilians and seeking justice for the victims of crime. That would be enough to matter. His sense of honor affirmed his purpose as the most significant thing in his life. Duty and the unbreakable friendships he had cultivated with the other members of the force and their families.

Crystaline tears dropped from Isabella’s glacial eyes. His heart lurched as though her pain were his own, as though she belonged to him because she belonged to his friend and he guarded what was theirs. It was how he worked. He couldn’t help it, though he’d learned to veil his possessiveness along with the other facets of his composition modern society deemed improper and overbearing.

Lost in thought, it took him a moment to spot the single anomalous flower among the pile of garish bouquets, sent by people who cared more about the appearance of propriety than the sentiment behind the act.

A black lily.

He spun on his heel, gouging the earth, searching for the one woman he hadn’t expected to stumble across at the funeral. The flutter of midnight silk skirts peeked from behind a tree on the fringe of the woods.

Isabella kissed her fingers, touched them to the polished wood and stepped back—her final goodbye said and done. When Razor prepared to lead her to the waiting SUV, driven by a fellow officer, JRad waved them to the side instead. He took point, unwilling to risk dragging them to the departure spot before returning.

What if Lily disappeared in the meantime?

The rookie trained his observant gaze in the direction Jeremy indicated. Once the kid locked onto Jeremy’s goal, he followed, tucking Isabella in the crook of his arm. He whispered to her, low enough to avoid exposing their position. She peeked, curious, then kept up with his brisk pace. Smart girl.

Jeremy approached from one side while Razor drew Isabella around the other. They shouldn’t have worried about stealth. Lily had collapsed against a moss-covered stump with her shoulders on the bark. Wracked by sob after unrelenting sob, she remained oblivious to their approach.

Isabella glanced between Razor and him for approval. They both nodded their assent. She crouched beside the grieving woman. Lily jumped a solid three inches off the ground when Isabella touched the hand covering her face. Jeremy wished he could have surrounded the broken woman in his arms, soothed her obvious distress.

He’d taken two steps in Lily’s direction before he realized it. Something about this woman destroyed his barriers despite the distinct lack of a docile bone in her luscious body.

“Lily?” Isabella crooned in an attempt to break through the shock and pain etched in the other woman’s eyes. Black mascara ran in rivulets across the Lily’s cheeks, slashing her porcelain skin with onyx strokes. “Are you hurt?”

His stare whipped to Razor. Things could turn ugly if Isabella figured out what they already realized. Lily had cared for the man she’d trained. For Malcolm. The photographs they’d seen guaranteed it. After their brief exchange the night before, he would swear her standing as an amazing Domme meant more than her than her managerial roll at Black Lily.

This woman would never have played so seriously with Malcolm if she hadn’t harbored feelings of some caliber or other. The loss of a submissive would stagger her. Had it stopped at valuing his humbling gift or was she in love with the man? It would make all the difference in the world to the situation with Isabella.

Razor tensed when Lily surprised them. She enfolded Isabella in a desperate embrace—which dragged the girl into Lily’s lap—holding her tight.

“I’m s-sorry.” Lily keened, low and tortured. “So sorry,
sister
.”

“What the—”

Jeremy settled a restraining hand on Razor as they digested the news.

It explained so much.

Sisters.

Of course.

“Sister?” Isabella plopped onto her ass. The women huddled together. Razor’s girl studied the features—so similar to hers and yet so different—peering at her, tormented. “What? How is it possible?”

“Half-sister.” Lily tried to speak through her tears. “Our father. The same. That m-monster. He did this. I know it. His fault. I should have prevented it. Stopped him.”

The choppy confession floored Isabella. Jeremy flinched at the agony twisting her lips into the starring feature in a mask of outrage and disbelief. Razor knelt behind her, his hands cupping her shoulders, which heaved with the effort of staying calm, rational.

“You’re saying
my father
is involved in this mess?” Isabella did an admirable job of gathering facts despite the surreal situation. They’d suspected, but they’d had no proof. Nothing she’d told them in her statement had led them closer to their hunches, so they’d refrained from divulging their theories. No reason to upset her further or tip off the man before he made a move they could bust him for. “O-our father. You’re…my sister?”

“Yes. So sorry.” A fresh batch of tears streamed from Lily’s bloodshot eyes when she nodded. She folded her arms around herself, rocking in a futile attempt to ease some of her pain. Her mouth worked. No intelligible sound emerged despite repeated attempts to speak. The breaking of such a strong woman chilled Jeremy.

He couldn’t stand to observe a moment longer without going ballistic.

“This isn’t the place for this discussion. Let’s move somewhere safe. You can tell us the whole story when we’re out of the cold. Protected.” He swooped in, astonished Lily didn’t object when he cradled her in his arms. She settled against his chest, light as a feather—delicate, even bundled in her long black overcoat. How had she seemed larger than life the night before?

“I agree. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Razor checked over his shoulder. He offered a hand to Isabella. The stunned woman shifted her oversized purse to the opposite shoulder. She enfolded her man’s white-gloved fingers in her own, allowing him to tug her upright.

Unwilling to traipse through the media circus at the center of the clearing with his precious cargo, Jeremy steered the group through the brush to the vehicles waiting on the other side of the hill. While he walked, he whispered to Lily. He couldn’t say for sure what nonsense he spouted, but it seemed to work. Her shudders had faded to shivers by the time their car came into sight.

Rodger, the new guy on their team, had been assigned as their driver. He opened the rear door to admit them as they approached. The hair on the nape of Jeremy’s neck stood on end, prodding him to secure Lily in the vehicle without hesitation. When he ducked inside the dark interior, he realized his mistake. Someone delivered a sucker punch straight to his jaw. With his hands full, he couldn’t block the debilitating blow.

He twisted, sheltering Lily despite the pain obliterating his logic. He tried to call out to Razor. His intended shout sounded more like
oomph
than, “Run!”

The assailant lurking in the shadows kicked him aside. Things happened at lightning speed. Quicker than he could react, the blue spark of a stun gun crackled. Lily deflated beneath him. In the split second since he’d entered the backseat, things had gone straight to hell.

Something pricked his neck. His eyes rolled in their sockets. He struggled to fight unconsciousness, but the jolt to his nape signaled game over. The last thing he thought before darkness enveloped him was that he had to warn Razor before he stepped into the car.

The heavy thud to his right left him no hope. He’d failed Lily, failed Isabella.

Failed them all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Isabella screamed into the hand muffling her mouth when Razor crashed to the floorboard beside Jeremy’s limp, twitching form.

“Get in the car, bitch.” The dirty cop slapped her ass as he shoved her. She attempted to bite him, but he avoided her gnashing teeth. Her fists and heels bounced off him as if he were made of steel. “We don’t have time for hysterics.”

Two other men in uniform stood nearby. She struggled enough to alert them. When they pivoted, she cried. She recognized the goons. How could she forget them drooling over her during her escape from Malcolm. From her father.

Oh God, Lily had told the truth.

Her struggle escalated as she accepted reality. If her father had orchestrated this madness, he had murdered Malcolm—or paid someone else to—as he must have contracted her assassin. Her own father. The moment the hired guns slammed the doors on the SUV, she and her friends would disappear. Like Gerard. Like any competitor who’d ever stood in the path of her father’s progress.

Isabella quit fighting. She played possum despite the roaming hands of the dirty cop, who tossed her onto the seat like a sack of potatoes. He chuckled, leering in her direction. “This one’s a little delicate. Passed out. Probably too excited over the thought of my giant cock fucking her like her daddy promised I could.”

“You wish.” The dark-haired muscle sneered. “You ain’t packing nothing impressive in those tighty-whities, I bet. Though, after Tiny, your pathetic pecker’d seem gigantic.”

The third man snorted at their immature jabs. “The two of you douchebags can fuck the cops.
I’m
taking first swing at the girl.”

As they bickered, Isabella inched her fingers into the open top of her purse. She withdrew the object she sought from the tailored pocket. Her fingertips flew over the bottle until she aligned it as she needed. When the two goons piled in next to her, twisting to fasten their seatbelts, she leapt into action.

Before they knew what hit them, she’d sprayed one then the other in the eyes with her extravagant perfume. The stuff her father had given her. Served him right. The driver turned to investigate their howls, presenting the perfect target to take three squirts to the face.

The men gouged their eyes, writhing in pain. The entire cabin filled with the potent mist, suffocating her. Making it hard to act. She flinched when the side door wrenched open. With a deep breath of the fresh air pouring in, she prepared to spritz as many assholes as it took to break free before losing her lunch or collapsing for real this time.

Damn, this crap is strong.

“Police!” Mason’s bark had her sagging to her knees in relief. “Everyone down. Hands where I can see them.”

Clint and Matt bounded over her to secure the attackers, dragging the dirtbags from the car. The cops shoved the criminals face down on the ground. Someone grabbed the driver, treating him to a similar introduction to the hard earth.

She couldn’t have cared less about what happened to them. James, Jeremy and Lily were all that mattered. Had she gotten them killed?

“Isabella. Stop.” Tyler peeled her fingers from the sleeve of Razor’s jacket as she attempted to roll him onto his back. “I’ll bring him out. Let me through, sweetheart. Let me help.”

He wrapped his hands around her waist, prying her from the motionless bodies. The horizon shifted around her as she struggled to find her balance. Mason enfolded her in his arms as he lowered her to the ground outside.

She moaned, horrified, when the motion left her panting. A gush of wetness spread between her thighs. What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn’t the time to start lusting after Razor’s friends.

“Shh.” He tried to sooth her. Gentle passes of his hands made the situation worse, not better. “Are you hurt?”

Isabella bit her lip to keep from whimpering. Heat singed her extremities. Blackness encroached on the fringes of her vision and desire pulsed in her core. Something was wrong. So wrong. “H-help me.”

“You’re safe, honey.” He cocked his head, taking in her elevated respiration even as she attempted to disguise it.

From behind them, one of the other cops gave a shout. “Medical assistance, over here. Something’s not right.”

She could relate. The universe spun before her.

“Razor!” She tried to check on him. She couldn’t find him. Couldn’t think past the throbbing in her pussy.

Her frantic gaze whipped from side to side. The three men she’d sprayed grunted and groaned as they undulated on the ground. In her hazy vision, they looked as if they humped the muddy landscape. The idea of their debauchery turned her on instead of disgusting her.

“Whoa!” Mason clamped his arms around her, stilling her unconscious motions as she rubbed herself on his leg for relief. “What the fuck?”

“Help me,” she shrieked this time. Unable to stop—unable to find her lover—she panicked, thrashing until Mason lunged for something on the ground. “Razor!”