The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) (21 page)

She exits the room, and I greedily gulp down the water, only realizing at that moment how thirsty I was. When I finish, Rick and the Chief enter the room. Their eyes flicker to my indecorous state of dress, and then quickly look away. The Chief shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. I grin and make sure the important parts are covered before speaking.

“It’s alright. I’m not shy, and I’m sure it’s nothing you two haven’t already seen.”

The Chief’s eyes dart to me with hesitation. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, tired, and hungry. And you?”

“Better.” He stands a little straighter and looks at me. “Keenan informed me of what happened, so I’m no longer confused.”

I adjust the blanket around me and try to sound nonchalant. “And where is the detective?”

Rick sits down on the chair by the bed and leans back. “He went to get you some clothes. The other ones had blood on them.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Moira,” continues the Chief. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have killed Keenan.” His expression sours, a bright patchwork of splotches marring his face. “I just never thought I would be one of the Phoenix’s victims.”

I give him a sympathetic look. “I don’t think any one of us was expecting that. Were you able to question the courier?”

“Yes, but he got the letter from another courier whose memory had been blocked.”

“It could still be Jonathan,” I say. “He could have easily arranged someone else to send the letter. I guess I’ll have to wait now to read his mind.”

Rick glances at me. “I think that would be best. After all, you did just get shot and then blacked out.”

I scowl at him. “I didn’t faint because of the wound.”

“We know that, Moira,” says the Chief, his voice placating. “I imagine it took a lot for you to stop me from killing Keenan, which is why you should take the time to rest. Jonathan is in jail. He’s not going anywhere.”

I sigh and flop back against the pillows. “I suppose you’re right. I will need all of my strength if I plan to outwit him.”

Both men relax, as if they were prepared for me to argue with them. Normally, I would have, but I’m not that much of a fool. Overriding the Phoenix’s mark in the Chief’s mind had almost left me mentally drained, and I have no doubt getting through the ice cavern in Jonathan’s mind will take everything I have. And, like Scott, he’ll throw every trap he has in an attempt to stop me. The whole endeavour will be far from easy and will undoubtedly take time. So I’ll heal and strengthen my mind, and then I’ll beat him once and for all.

I glance down at my wound, wondering if Keenan was correct in suggesting I was lucky. “Well, at least no one else was hurt.”

Rick averts his gaze and starts fidgeting. “Um, about that–”

“The bullet went past you and hit a constable,” interjects the Chief.

I immediately sit upright and bite down on the pain. “What? Is he alright?”

“Thankfully, the bullet missed his heart and hit his shoulder instead. The doctor says he should be fine, but it’ll take him a little longer to heal.”

“We were able to get him here in time before he lost too much blood,” adds Rick.

My shoulders slump, and my mood crashes. “God, I didn’t even think about where the bullet went after it hit my arm.”

Rick stands and approaches the Chief. “We’re going to visit him and make sure he has everything he needs. Keenan should be here soon. He’ll drive you home.”

I nod and wave them away, feeling a little nauseated. It would seem we were all lucky today, and I strengthen my resolve to heal. The sooner I get into Jonathan’s mind and prove he’s the Phoenix, the sooner the murders will stop. I can’t risk the chance of someone I know getting killed, especially someone I care about. My mind wanders back to thoughts of Keenan, and I wonder if his townhouse is my home as Rick had implied. I certainly feel more comfortable at Keenan’s house than I have anywhere else.

Someone knocks on the door, and my heart beats in anticipation. “Come in.”

But the person who enters the room is not who I expected. Though her hair is collected in a less elaborate style and her dress is more modest and plain, I still recognize the woman. The sight of her jogs something in my mind, and I immediately regard her warily. Alyssa, like Mr. Johnson, is descended from an oppressed people and has recently acquired the position of Chief Blocker, which means there’s a possibility she might be working with Jonathan.

She approaches me, and her gaze flickers to the chair by the bed. “May I sit?”

I nod, but narrow my eyes. “Were you visiting someone else, or did you come by specifically for me?”

“I was visiting another patient when I caught word of what happened. I thought I might stop by to see how you were.”

Despite the fact her words speak of concern for my well-being, her dark eyes say something else. “Oh, really? And how did you hear?”

Her lips quirk upwards. “Young constables aren’t the best at keeping their mouths closed. I’m sure that’s something you’ve figured out during your time aiding the detective.” She pauses and lifts a brow. “Of course they didn’t say why you were shot.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. The bullet merely grazed my shoulder, causing no permanent damage.”

Her gaze flickers to the open door, and then back at me, her voice lowered in confidentiality. “I also heard something else.”

My eyes narrow, my suspicion quickly returning, but I can’t subdue my thirst for knowledge. “And what’s that?”

“Did you really arrest Jonathan Hayes?”

I sigh and lean back. “You know I can’t tell you that.” Her mouth tightens in annoyance, but she doesn’t make any move to leave. “Is there any particular reason why you’re curious about Jonathan?”

“No reason,” she says, but I can tell it’s a lie.

Beneath the poised exterior is fear. It trickles beneath her calm and fills the room, as if it were an awful smell she was trying to mask beneath a cloud of perfume. And that one slip of control informs me she knows Jonathan is tied to the Phoenix. But is she afraid
for
him or is she afraid
of
him?

Any possibility implies her involvement with the Phoenix. But to what extent? How much blood does she have on her hands? I think of Daniel, locked beneath the police station in the underground prison. Surely she must know the Phoenix won’t protect her if she’s caught. She’ll be hanged along with Daniel and any other empath involved. I’m suddenly possessed with the urge to warn her. Perhaps it’s not too late for her to turn away.

“The Phoenix will be caught, Alyssa. Are you really willing to die for him?”

Her head snaps up, and her eyes narrow onto me with a frightening intensity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” I lift my brow in a clear challenge. “We’re both empaths, Alyssa, so there’s no point in pretending innocence. I know you’re involved. I just don’t know how much.”

“I do what I have to in order to survive.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “I can sympathize with that. I really do, but you’re a fool if you think you won’t eventually be caught. And the Phoenix? He won’t be there to save you. You’ll be executed along with Daniel and Jonathan. Do you really want the Phoenix to be another one of your masters?”

For the first time, her composure cracks, exposing a tentative line of vulnerability. “Freedom doesn’t come without a price. You of all people should know that.”

“Alyssa, you have a choice.”

She looks down at her hands, her voice pitched low with uncertainty. “What if it’s too late?”

I think back to the first two suicides and wonder if she’s responsible. Or is it something more recent, like Mr. Anderson’s death? My eyes widen, and my heart pounds in my chest. Is she the one who persuaded the Chief to kill Keenan? No, please no. I open my mouth with the intention of saying something, but someone knocks on the open door, interrupting us, and the moment to gain further information from Alyssa has ended. I glance up at the doorway, and my heart rate immediately levels out at the sight of Keenan.

His gaze flickers curiously between me and Alyssa. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” Alyssa stands, and her aloof façade falls smoothly back into place. “I was just leaving. Good day, Moira.”

The moment she leaves, Keenan closes the door and approaches me. He pulls the chair closer to the bed, and then sits down, placing my clothing beside me. When his gaze falls on me, I try not to squirm beneath their intense examination. The idea of seeing him dead, lying on one of Dr. White’s tables, has my heart constricting painfully, and I hastily shove the image away.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

My lips quirk upwards, and I push the blanket aside and hang my legs off the edge of the bed. “Better. Have you come to take me out of here?”

“Yes.” He pauses, and his eyes narrow in contemplation. “If you hadn’t pushed me, I might be dead.”

“You hardly need to feel obliged to thank me, Detective.” I pitch my voice in a seductive tone, as I slide my foot up the inner part of his thigh. “But I suppose I can’t stop you if you feel strongly on the matter.”

I wink at him and hope he recalls the time he had said the same thing to me. His eyes flicker from my hazel eye to my blue one, and for a moment I worry he doesn’t remember. But then his gaze slides down the length of my bare leg, and he reaches out to caress my ankle, his thumb skimming along the inner part of my foot. A shiver trails up my leg and settles deep between my thighs.

“Are you flirting with me, Moira?” His hand creeps farther up my calf, his long fingers trailing behind my knee.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I am.”

Suddenly, his lips are on my skin, and his hand slips beneath the hem of my chemise. Just when I believe he’ll touch me where I’m desperate for his attention, he simply brushes his thumb tantalizingly close and then pulls his hand away. He stands and grabs hold of my face between his hands, his eyes bright with desire.

“Thank you, Moira.” He kisses me deeply, his tongue sliding against mine with promises of more. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

I’m a little disappointed, but when he helps me dress, I have the feeling he only intends to bring me back to his place so we can be with each other in private. As soon as I’m fully clothed, we head out of the hospital and into his motor vehicle. My suspicion is proven correct when he drives into the west district toward his townhouse. The moment we step inside, Mrs. Whitmore greets us. If it were up to me, I’d skip the pleasantries and drag Keenan upstairs. But he politely greets her and even engages in the usual chatter, making specific requests for dinner. It’s agonizing, and the pain in my arm begins to creep up.

“We’ll have supper a little later than usual,” he says to Mrs. Whitmore. “In the meantime, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Her gaze flickers to me, and I can sense her disapproval. “Of course, sir.”

The moment she leaves, I look at Keenan. He holds out his hand, and I take it and follow him upstairs. His barriers are carefully intact, so I can’t sense anything through the touch besides his emotions. They swirl in an intoxicating mix of lust and excitement, and I wonder what he’s planning inside that mind of his. He leads me to the bathroom, and my curiosity heightens. After closing the door behind him, he approaches the bathtub and starts running the water.

My lips quirk upwards as he advances on me and begins unbuttoning my blouse. “I’m not exactly in the mood to bathe, Detective. I was hoping we would retire to your bedroom instead.”

He leans forward, his nose trailing softly against my cheek, and whispers into my ear, “Silly women—always thinking about sex.”

His hands slide down my arms, trailing my shirt down with them, as he explores the tender area below my earlobe with his tongue and lips. I moan and begin removing his clothes. My skirt drops to pool around my feet, and he pulls away to stand behind me. The next item to fall is my corset, and I lift my arms to help him remove my chemise. The sharp sting of the stitches pulling tight reminds me of the wound on my arm, but I force it away to the back of my mind. The only sensation I want to think about at the moment is pleasure, not pain.

When I turn around, I’m completely naked, while he still has his pants on. He slips out of them and steps into the bath, pulling me along with him. He positions us so we’re both facing the door, with him behind me, and I lean back against his chest. The water creeps past my stomach to settle around my breasts, my nipples peaking above the surface.

I moan and rest my head on his shoulder. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too.” His fingers trail along my collarbone, dipping momentarily between my floating breasts. “We need to talk, Moira.”

“Okay.” My ease immediately vanishes, replaced by a terrifying fear that knots in my chest. “If it’s something bad, then you shouldn’t have pulled me into a bath with you.”

He sighs, his breath travelling across my neck. “It’s not bad, or at least I don’t think it is.”

“Well, I’m certain it’s a general rule that when someone says “we need to talk” it’s inherently bad news.”

His hand pauses, tantalizingly close to my left nipple, as he deliberates on his next words. “I have something important to tell you, Moira.”

My brows furrow, but I nod slightly. “I suppose that’s better. Alright, what is it then?”

“It would be best if you didn’t interrupt me until I’m finished. Promise?”

I smile. “I promise.”

He inhales deeply, and I’m grateful we’re not facing each other. Whatever he has to say will be easier to swallow if I don’t have to look into his eyes, and he wasn’t lying when he said it was important. I can feel it in the quickening of his pulse behind me, and sense it in the erratic ticking of his mind.

His voice is grave, heavy with the unpleasant truth. “I do want a wife and children.”

My heart starts racing at the sound of those words, and I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s exactly what I thought, but I never expected him to admit it. I try to clear the haze in my head, wondering why he would wait to tell me this when we’re naked. This sort of conversation is meant to be expressed with clothes on and with a little distance between us.