The Bloodline War (30 page)

“I…didn’t write any emails like that.”

“They came from your email account.”

Toni paused, her throat moving. Whether or not she would’ve eventually said something brilliant, it didn’t matter. The silence was long and telling enough.

Waterson slid his notebook back into his breast pocket. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. You two big boys are going to turn around and place your hands on the wall, making sure to act all nice and cooperative for my partner here. Nobody else moves—even sneezes—while I take Dr. Parthen into the hall for a private chat.”

Jaċken narrowed his eyes on Waterson. He knew exactly what the cop was thinking: that Toni was really in trouble, but she and her brother were being forced to play along like everything was fine by two threatening “big boys,” or someone else in the room. The assumption was reasonable. Unfortunately, Jaċken himself wasn’t feeling especially top-heavy with reasonableness right now. In fact, Hell could freeze an ice palace up his ass before he’d allow this horny bastard to be alone with Toni.

“No.” Jaċken clipped the single word.

Waterson smiled coldly. “Now how did I know
you’d
be the one to put up a fuss about that, champ?”

The dark-skinned cop slid a hand inside his coat.

Waterson jerked his chin at Jaċken’s black clothes. “You’re not a doctor with this Research Institute?”

“I’m with security.”

“Ah. Well, then, you’ll certainly understand my need to see your ID, won’t you?” The chill in Waterson’s smile worked into his eyes.

Jaċken felt a sneer start to pull at his upper lip.
If you don’t mind me feeding it up your ass through a tube
.

Tension crackled in the air between them.

“You have very unusual eyes.” Waterson’s bland tone was back.

“My mother was French,” Jaċken responded, just as mildly.

“That explains it. The ID?”

Jaċken reached for his wallet, moving slowly for the sake of the dark-skinned Cisco Kid over there with the itchy trigger finger. He pulled out one of Cleeve’s manufactured business cards and held it out. “This is the contact information for the government agency we work for. We answer to
them
, cop, not to you. So any more questions you have can go through that number.”

Waterson looked down at the business card and—

The cop’s hand shot out, grabbing Jaċken by the wrist and yanking his arm forward. He shoved the long sleeve of Jaċken’s leather jacket up to his elbow, exposing the teeth tattoos he’d spotted showing at the cuff of Jaċken’s jacket. “Some unique tats you have here, sport.”

Jaċken curled his free hand into a fist, but didn’t slam Waterson’s head down the chute of his neck like he wanted. The barrel of a gun had suddenly appeared at the side of his vision, pointing directly at his face. Waterson’s partner had drawn his pistol.

“Oh, God,” Toni groaned out.

“I was once in a gang,” Jaċken squeezed through set teeth. “Now get your fucking hands off me.”

Toni’s lids sank closed. Not exactly the chill-out from him she’d been hoping for, probably.

“I think I’m going to choose option number two on this one, chief, and bring you down to the station for questioning. Men with tats like yours are wanted in connection with the attempted kidnapping of a teenage girl, as well as various other crimes around the city.” Waterson pulled a two-way radio off his belt. “This is Detective Waterson,” he spoke into it, “I’m going to need back up at—” Words stopped coming out of his mouth.

The Cisco Kid was disarmed and lying unconscious on the floor.

No one had even seen Sedge move.

“Oh, man,” Alex Parthen breathed, “that was so cool.”

“Restate your position, Detective Waterson,” a voice crackled from the radio. “Your last transmission was—”

Jaċken grabbed the two-way out of Waterson’s hand and then,
pop
, one quick hard squeeze sent springs, buttons, and internal hardware flying in all directions.

A hammer would’ve normally been needed to achieve the same results, but Waterson didn’t so much as blink an eyelash.
Damned impressive
. Jaċken almost hated to mess the guy up now.
Almost
…. Lightning quick, he grabbed Waterson by the throat and hauled the man off the floor, feet dangling.

“Oh, my God,” Toni gasped. “Please, don’t hurt him.”

Waterson strained bugged-out eyes in Toni’s direction. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“No,” Toni said, “really, it’s not what you—”

But the cop had already turned his attention back to Jaċken.

Jaċken had to hand it to Waterson, the man was a cool cucumber. Even with a roadway of veins sticking out along his forehead, the detective managed to look more peeved off than scared.

“I’m going to…kill you…for hurting her.”

Jaċken snorted. “That’s some piss-poor detective work, asswipe. Last thing anyone’s going to do is hurt her.”

“Just let him go,” Toni pleaded, “please.”

Jaċken cut her a look. “You want me to tuck him night-night into bed and give him a lollipop, too?” What was Toni thinking? Waterson wanted to take them all to jail.

Waterson bared his teeth in a grimace of pain. “This isn’t…over between us.”

“It is for me, Hoss.” Jaċken lowered Waterson into striking range then smashed a fist into the side of the man’s head.

Toni watched Waterson drop to the floor, stared at the cop for a count of two, then swung her eyes back up to Jaċken. “Are you
crazy
? You just made an enemy out of the SDPD?”

“Do you think I really give a—?” Jaċken spun around, bringing his fists up as the conference room door crashed open.

Kimberly stumbled inside. “Sedge! God, where’s Sedge?”

“I’m here.” Sedge leapt forward, his brow creased with concern. “What’s going on, Berly?”

She flew into his arms. “I want to go home! Please! Take me back to Ţărână right now!”

Sedge’s mouth dropped open. The man probably would’ve been more prepared for his wife to ask for a colonoscopy “since we’re here at a hospital, anyway,” than say that.

“Let’s all get the hell out of here,” Jaċken ordered, gesturing the husbands to gather their wives, “right now.”

* * *

Earlier….

Kimberly cut through the ER and headed into the small offshoot room full of the vending machines, scanning the choices. Maybe she’d get a granola bar, too. It was, after all, really morning time to her body. Digging in her pocket, she found a dollar’s worth of change and plunked the quarters into the coffee machine, one at a time. A cup dropped down, and Kimberly absently watched the long stream of steamy brown liquid squirt into the cup.

A couple of young women ducked into the vending machine room.

“I can’t believe they brought him to
this
hospital,” the redhead tittered. “Oh, Gawd, the ambulance is just pulling up.”

“He’s soooo amazing,” the brunette cooed in agreement. “In a sec we’re going to get to see him close up. I can’t wait!”

Well, this was interesting. Had Justin Bieber hurt himself getting yet another tattoo? Kimberly grabbed her coffee cup and drew up to the young women, peering over their shoulders. “Who’s coming in?”

The redhead glanced at her. “Only the Seattle Seahawks’ best running back ever.”

Kimberly’s hand jerked into a clamp around her coffee cup.
The Seattle Seahawks
….

“Tim Armbruster,” the brunette provided.

The name descended on Kimberly like the shock of a misfiring gun, like a hand blown off, too absolute and horrific to be believed.

“Weren’t you watching the game tonight?” the redhead babbled on. “He hurt his—”

Kimberly’s lips parted and her lungs worked in two short pants before the rest of the oxygen clogged deep in her chest.

“—knee, and—”

“OMG,” the brunette squealed. “There he is!”

The ER’s sliding glass doors swished open and a gurney was pushed in holding a tall, muscular man.

Yes, there he was. Same dark brown hair and eyes, same square jaw, same athletically perfect body.

Every muscle in Kimberly’s body locked up—except for the hand holding her coffee. That began to shake violently, splattering hot coffee onto her fingers. Her brain acknowledged the pain, the blistering of her skin, but she couldn’t move. She was stuck, helpless. Powerless. Weak. Vulnerable. Suicidal. Her vision swam as she was thrust back to her college years, some of Tim’s choicer comments rampaging through her mind as clear and hurtful as if he were hurling them at her right now.

Will you shut up, if I wanted the opinion of a blonde ditz, I’d ask for it.

And you call yourself a PoliSci major…
?
Christ, that was the stupidest fucking opinion ever.

Do you think it’d be too much to ask for you to actually move the next time we screw, or is it impossible for you to do anything right?

You’re such a little whore…you wanna go bone that guy, is that why you’re looking at him
?

Bile seared up the back of her throat. And then there was the worst memory of them all…the blood gushing down her thighs.

The Tim on the gurney turned his head toward the vending machine area, and Kimberly slammed back against the wall to hide, her coffee cup slipping from her numb fingers. It hit the floor flat on its bottom and geysered up hot liquid, spraying across the carpet and onto the redhead’s pants.

“Hey! What the—?!” The redhead broke off. “Whoa, lady, are you okay?”

Kimberly couldn’t answer. Tears gushed silently and uncontrollably down her face. Her limbs gave way, dumping her onto her butt so hard her teeth clacked together.

“Oh, my God!” The redhead whirled on the brunette. “Get a doctor!”

Kimberly’s head lolled to one side. She saw Tim disappear from the ER waiting room into the treatment area, and the breath she’d been holding ripped out of her. She sucked in another breath like a drowning woman, and another. “I need Sedge,” she croaked. Her husband wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
Never, never, never
….

The redhead bent over her, her expression scrunched with confusion. “Doctor
who
?”

Exhaling a pained breath, Kimberly rolled onto her hands and knees, shook her head to clear it, then hefted herself to her feet and ran unsteadily for the elevator.

Chapter Thirty-two

Kimberly slumped on her living room couch, sniffling wetly as she peered through the arched doorway of the foyer into the kitchen.

Her husband was filling a plastic bag with ice.

“The house is a w-wreck,” she said through chattering teeth. She wasn’t crying anymore, but had a serious case of the shakes.

“Yeah, sorry.” Sedge crossed into the living room. “I’m not so great at picking up after myself in the first place, and the week you were gone everything just sort of went to hell.” He sat down next to her. “Or I did.” Taking her burned hand in his, he gently pressed the bag of ice on it. “That okay?”

Nothing was okay. But she nodded.

“So you did this with hot coffee?”

“Yes. It was an accident.”

“Did someone bump into you?”

“No. I just spilled it.”

“’Cause, yeah….” He cleared his throat. “You came barreling into that hospital conference room looking really upset.” He lifted the ice off for a count of three, then replaced it. “You
were
really upset.”

“Well, I’d just burned myself.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“C’mon, Kimberly. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I mean, you were begging to come back to Ţărână, for God’s sake.” He peeked briefly under the ice bag to check her hand. “You can’t just leave me hanging about what caused that.
Something
happened.”

She glanced aside, imagining Sedge’s expression if she confessed the details of her relationship with Tim. Humiliation seared her cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sedge took the ice pack off her hand and set it on the coffee table. “This burn is going to need some ointment.” He disappeared into the downstairs bathroom, then came back carrying a small tube like toothpaste. “If the roles were reversed, you’d want me to tell you what had happened, wouldn’t you?”

Oh, dirty pool
. “Just leave it alone, Sedge. And don’t give me one of your puppy dog looks.”

He unscrewed the top off the tube. “Did you see your parents while you were topside?”

Her eyes followed his movements as he set the cap on the coffee table next to the ice.

“Were they mean to you?” He squeezed white, creamy ointment onto his index finger. “I know they can be sometimes.”

Her upper lip beaded with sweat. The feel of a python wrapping around her throat, slowly strangling her, pushed tears into her eyes.

Sedge gently took her burned hand again. “Did you run into somebody you used to know, some bitch from school, maybe?” He smoothed the ointment onto her burns so carefully that the tears in her eyes gathered along her lower lashes.

Where were you my whole life
? She gulped a breath.
Why couldn’t I have found you sooner
?

“Maybe some guy you used to date? You and he had a bad break up that—”

Her hand jerked so hard the spasm made Sedge smear ointment along her thumb. He whipped his gaze up to her face, his lips parting as he watched tear droplets roll off her lashes and onto her cheeks like an avalanche of crystal pebbles.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed. “It was a guy.”

She wrenched her hand away from him. “Leave me alone, Sedge.” She slammed to her feet and stormed into the kitchen.

He trailed after her.

“I told you I don’t want to talk about it, and I mean it!”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well, for your information, I don’t need your help.” She skirted around the kitchen island and hauled open a cupboard. “I’m just fine, thank you very much.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

She grabbed a water glass and headed for the sink.

“This is about more than just a bad breakup, isn’t it? I can see it on your face.”