“Is he suffering?” Jack asked softly, ripping into my thoughts.
I shook my head. “No pain. They’ve got him so high, he’s probably flying with the angels.”
“I’m glad. I don’t want our boy in pain.” Jack released my shoulder and strode to the room’s only window. “Jaxon is taking care of the funeral arrangements. I thought it would be too much for you.”
“I’ll do it,” I said, my irritation rising another notch. “As his partner, it’s my right. I want my cases, too. Don’t give them to anyone else.”
“Very well.” Then, donning his usual gruff demeanor, Jack said, “Be at headquarters tomorrow, one o’clock sharp.” He turned on his heel and strode to the door, only to stop before stepping over the threshold. Gazing over his shoulder, he pinned me with his stare. “I know you’re grieving. We all are.”
“I—”
He cut me off. “You asked to keep the Steele case. You asked. I didn’t command you. Therefore you have a job to do, and I expect you to do it.”
“I know,” I said, massaging my temples. I was grateful for his abruptness. I would have crumpled under pity or gentleness, and he knew it.
“I need you to question Lilla and report the results at our debriefing. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I said, determination creeping into my tone.
“Good girl.” With that, he shuffled from the room.
I was once again alone with Dallas. Clasping his cold, lifeless hand, I laid my cheek on the edge of the bed. Those two little actions caused every emotion I’d experienced in the last hours to drain out of me, leaving only emptiness. Lethargy washed through my every hollow and crevice, claiming my limbs and, lastly, my eyes.
The last thought to drift beneath my consciousness before a swirling fog engulfed me was, Please God, send me another miracle.
I came awake slowly and realized three things all at once, only one of them significant.
First, I realized that I hadn’t suffered through any dreams. Very unusual for me; I always dreamed. Second, I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since I’d fallen asleep. Third, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
As my senses became more attuned, I felt an invisible pair of eyes upon me, intense, observant eyes hovering over my shoulder, watching…waiting. I knew I was inside Dallas’s hospital room, and I knew it wasn’t Dallas watching me.
Keeping my motions slow and deliberate, I reached for the gun at my waist. Then I froze. My gun was gone. Fucking gone. I didn’t panic, though. I had a backup strapped to my ankle, though this one wasn’t as competent, since it only offered “hot” and “extra hot” settings. No stun. I curled my fingers around the trigger.
Fighting the urge to jolt to my feet, I allowed my eyelids to crack open a little at a time, gradually taking in my surroundings. Darkness had fallen, and muted beams of luminescence seeped through the beige hospital blinds. I kept my head and body completely immobile as I shifted my gaze around the room.
There, in the corner, a man lounged causally in a chair. I stifled a gasp when his features came into view. No, not a man. An Arcadian.
The Arcadian.
The warrior I’d chased through the alley.
His energy wrapped all around me, strong, pure. Deadly. A shiver tingled along my nerve endings. His hair was thick and white and fell to his shoulders. I pictured his eyes, knew they were the palest violet, almost crystalline, with a thin veneer of calm, like nitroglycerin just before detonation. I knew his lips were full and lush, a perfect contrast against his ultra-masculine features, making him seem all the more dangerous.
He must have sensed my perusal because he blinked, a sensual sweep of his lashes, and said huskily, “Your friend rests at death’s door, Tai la Mar.”
Angel of Death, he’d called me. I jerked upright. My chair skidded behind me and collided with the wall. I had my firearm drawn and pointed at his heart before he could take another breath. I knew Dallas still lived because the gentle hum of his monitors filled my ears, and I could see the rise and fall of his chest from the corner of my eye, courtesy of the machine breathing for him.
“Where’s my pyre-gun?” I asked, keeping my voice calm, even though my heart was tripping inside my chest.
“Your weapon is safe.”
Safe, my ass. “Where’s Rianne Harte?”
“I tried to warn you about her, did I not?” He shifted slightly, creasing his black slacks. The sleeves of his white tailored shirt were rolled to his elbows. “But did you heed my warning?”
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I asked a question of my own. “Did you take her?”
“No,” he answered without hesitation. “I did not.”
“Then prove it. If you can.”
“I warned you about her, didn’t I?”
I switched the safety off, making sure he saw, then narrowed my gaze, focusing on which part of his body I wanted to hit first. Between the eyes, I decided, leveling my aim. One move from him, and I would fire first, ask questions later. “I’m left wondering if your warning was meant to help me or taunt me.”
He only laughed, a rich, throaty rumble full of genuine amusement. The sound moved over me as softly as a caress. “You humans are so silly. Put your gun away,” he said. “Had I wanted to hurt you or your friend, I would have done so already.”
Unwavering, I held my weapon steady. “I’m still interested in hearing why you gave me Rianne’s name.”
He shrugged, his stare becoming hard and gauging. “Perhaps I was testing you.” He paused. “Perhaps you failed.”
“And you’re here to give me another chance? Or to gloat over my failure?”
“Actually, I am here to offer you a trade. If you are as honorable as I have heard, we can help each other.”
I snorted. “The only thing I’m going to help you do is find your way into a cell.”
His eyes slitted. “I am Kyrin en Arr, and I have come for my sister.”
Lilla’s brother. I should have guessed. Automatically I applied pressure to the trigger, but stopped myself before actually firing. This man knew about the victims, and now he was connected to the case through other means. He would better serve me alive. “So you’re the Arcadian who’s murdered more humans than any of your kinsmen, are you?”
“Some would say so, yes,” he said without shame or regret.