* * *
Things had changed a lot since Jason worked patrol in this part of West Precinct.
Jason hitched his trusty trench coat collar up against the pissing down rain and wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell he was doing standing at the edge of the Pioneer district running surveillance on Vallon Drake when no one had asked him to do it.
The dump in the economy had definitely had an impact here. In the square too many of the trendy shops had For Lease signs in their empty windows. And here, uphill, the signs of decay were starting to set in. The boarded up windows lined the empty street like so many shuttered eyes.
Pavement gleamed in the amber streetlights that still stood at each corner. The others had been smashed—picked off by stones, he supposed. And he stood in the desolate darkness and old grass and garbage of the alley that bisected the street.
All to watch a woman when he could be warm in his apartment—or at least in the car he’d left parked just back from hers on First Avenue.
Blacklock would shit himself laughing. Right before he referred Jason to the Department shrink.
But the surveillance of Vallon Drake had been illuminating to say the least. Something was clearly going on.
He’d suspected it when he saw the men go into her house. He’d suspected it more when she pulled the quick switch-back near Lake Union and he’d nearly lost her. His suspicions had been confirmed when the big black SUV blocked her car on Alaska Way and she’d bolted down the sidewalk like all the demons in hell were on her tail. He’d been tempted to intervene, but the SUV had left; and when he called in the license number the SUV turned out to be a high-end rental unit. A call to the rental company showed it had been rented to a multinational company out of Portugal and Venice and with a driver listed as Xavier de Varga. Told him nothing.
But Vallon Drake had returned to continue on her way—to here.
The place wasn’t exactly what he suspected Vallon Drake was into. He’d called in the address of the empty warehouse and had got back from patrol that it was a known flophouse.
Drugs? Was that what this was all about?
Vallon Drake had walked right up to it like she knew what it was. She’d been allowed entry, but since she’d gone in something niggled at his brain.
Something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t that she’d been gone too long—only a few minutes by his watch. But his Spidey senses were all a-twitter and he could swear the air carried the scent of ether and electricity like before a storm.
A low rumble like thunder echoed down the street and the streetlights flickered and faded. The earth lurched. Lurched again and the brick wall next to him groaned.
Quake. Small one, but the air was still heavy with that metal scent.
The flophouse’s front door flew open and a dreadlocked youth half-fell into the street. Jason thought he caught a glimpse of Vallon and then there was only a strange pulsing light. A second kid—Native this time—staggered out coughing. Thick grey smoke poured out the door, but then eddied, started to suck back into the room like a smoker inhaling. Plainly not right.
All the little hairs on Jason’s neck stood on end. The two youths grabbed each other and staggered off down the street. Where was Vallon?
He left the shelter of the alley, and wind off the water slammed into him, driving rain down his neck. Hunched, he strode across the street in time to meet two young women one half-carrying the other. He grabbed them, shoved them against the wall.
“What’s happening?”
“Fire,” the blonde-haired one croaked, still holding up her friend. A cough wracked through her.
“Jesus.” He used his cell to call it in as he entered the building. Old wood beams half hidden in the smoke, and the smell of electrical wiring up in flame. The rear of the room was ripe with fire leaping floor-to-ceiling and eating towards something brilliant on the floor where the kids were laid out as if sleeping. Stoned. On the nod.
Across the room, something caught his eye. One person, Vallon, struggling, but the smoke made everything surreal like she was half-in the wall and fighting to stand.
He grabbed the nearest kid and half-tossed him towards the door. Grabbed another and blocked a punch, then shoved the youth towards the door as well. Smoke thickened the air and a paroxysm of coughing almost sent him to his knees.
More kids still lay on the floor moving sluggishly like half-dead animals. He grabbed another and started dragging when the kid didn’t move.
Jason left him by the door and went back for another. He found Vallon struggling with a kid too big for her strength. “Grab the legs.”
He grabbed the arms and the two of them fought the comatose figure out the door. They returned for one more and the wind in the room sent hot sparks against his skin. More than singes. A strong sensation his innards were being turned inside out made him almost stagger.
“Get out of here.” He shoved Vallon towards the door.
“No way.” She looked into the smoke and the sparks overhead as if studying something. “You get out. Now. Or….”
She went stiff and closed her eyes.
“Vallon.”
She waved him to silence. “Just get the last one and get out.” She stayed where she was.
Jason grabbed the last kid—big, blonde, and unconscious, lugged him up into a fireman’s carry and headed for the door just as beams at the rear of the room came crashing down.
“Vallon!”
She didn’t move.
He half threw the kid through the doorway. Someone outside dragged him free and Jason dove back into the smoke and ash and falling debris, found Vallon where he’d left her swathed in smoke.
When he touched her she started to collapse. He caught her and dragged her towards the door.
“No! I have to know!” She kicked and clawed at him, but he wasn’t having any. He dragged her outside into the red-tinged rain as the fire trucks arrived. None of the kids were still there except for the blonde girl huddled by the wall.
He released Vallon and she rounded on him, slammed a fist toward him that he easily stopped. “Damn you, Bryson, I was trying to stop this.”
The rain ran down her angular face and plastered her singed hair to her head and still she was probably one of the most attractive women he’d met in a long time. In her three-quarter leather coat she was sleek as a seal.
“Sure. Like standing in the middle of a fire is going to do anything.”
Her fierce gaze said she was going to say something and then thought better of it. His skin tingled as she turned back to the brick-faced building with the yellow door and the blue awning that read ‘TOUCH OF BLUE CLOTHING’.
“Looks like a false alarm, Detective.” The fire station commander came up to him. “What made you call it in?”
For a moment Jason couldn’t recall, but then it came back to him: “I saw something flickering in the shop window. Ms. Drake here, set me straight, but the damage was already done. Sorry about that.”
“No harm done. Better safe than sorry.”
The commander joined his men in a final inspection of the store and then the huge red behemoth flicked off its lights and lurched into the night.
“So, you want to tell me what you’re doing here?” Vallon faced him, anger on her face.
He allowed himself a smile. “Seems we’re asking that of each other a lot these days.”
“You followed me.”
He shrugged. “It’s the job. So what were you doing?”
“Window shopping,” she snapped.
The way the light lit the anger in her face just made him want to touch her. Maybe he’d wipe away that dark smear on her cheek. Instead he stuck his hands in his pockets.
“You’ve got something on your face.” He motioned to her cheek.
“Too damn bad.”
Then she stiffened, nostril’s flaring and peered into the shadows. “Cedar,” she breathed. “Dammit.”
But her v
oice held a tremor he hadn’t heard since the night Agent Lamrey died. She turned back, caught sight of the girl against the wall.
“Fi. Thank god.” She tossed a resentful look back at Jason. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
The blonde woman’s eyes flickered open revealing pupils too dilated. When Vallon tried to lead her away, Fi staggered and almost went down.
“Stoned much? What’s she on, Vallon? Who is she to you?”
Vallon got her shoulder under Fi’s arm and started down the street, but Fi’s legs sagged again and almost brought them both down.
“Here, let me help you.”
Jason grabbed Fi’s other arm, half lifted her to her feet and met Vallon’s resentment. Even the rain couldn’t wear away her stubbornness.
“You aren’t going to be able to manage her like this and you need to get her out of this weather.”
He didn’t wait for Vallon to give in, but started half-carrying Fi down the way Vallon had headed. “So where’re we going?”
“None of your business.”
He allowed her silence as he half-carried, half-dragged them down into the Pioneer District. Fi’s meager strength finally gave out and she slipped in Vallon’s grasp. Jason shouldered her out of the way and scooped the destitute-looking girl up, then headed back toward Elliott Bay Books and their cars. When he started past her sporty Subaru, she grabbed his arm.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“My car. It can hold the three of us comfortably.”
She glanced at the unmarked car down the block. The rain had thinned the crowds and the vehicle stood out, blocky and alone.
“If you think I’m climbing in the back of a police car, you’ve got another think coming.”
She was so defiant he thought about calling her bluff and seeing what she’d do about it. Instead he grinned. “What? You got a guilty conscience?”
“I can take her in my car. She needs a bed and to get dried off.”
“Dried out, more like. What is she? A relative? Or is this your good deed for the day?”
“Would you just shut up and give me a hand getting her into my car.” She glared at him and finally he nodded so she unlocked her car and they settled Fi in the front seat. When they were done she slammed the door closed, faced him like she hated having to do it. “Thank you for your assistance, Detective. I appreciate it.”
Cold, formal, and a clear kiss off. Like that would work on him.
“Service. Pride. Dedication. That’s our motto.” He grinned through her disdain and wondered why he liked to goad her. “I’ll follow you.”
She jerked up from unlocking the driver side door. “I can take it from here, thanks.”
“And if you can’t find a parking spot on that street of yours? How are you going to get her home?”
He could see the thoughts racing across her face. Yes, he’d been watching her house. Resentment. Concern. And an instant fear. That was what interested him, because what would a law-abiding citizen fear a police officer might see?
But she finally nodded and slid behind the wheel, turning out from the curb before he even reached the PC. He climbed in and chuckled as he watched her taillights disappear down the road.
She knew she couldn’t lose him, but trust Vallon Drake to make a point of not making it easy.
He drove through town and along Lake Union with the city and houseboat reflections fragmented by the black, choppy water. Sleet glowed white in his headlights and slicked the road. If this kept up, in a few hours the Fremont hillsides would be skating rinks.
He crossed the bridge and caught a glimpse uphill of taillights turning in toward her house and gunned the engine to catch up. He slid the car into a spot a block from her house and jogged up to where her car’s interior light flashed on.
Vallon was leaned over her friend showing a neat derriere in form-fitting jeans.
“Here. Let me give you a hand,” he said.
“I told you, I don’t need your help. You’ve already done enough, thank you very much.”
Blacklock would call him a fool, but he did what seemed right at that moment. He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the car, turned her to face him, even though she resisted.
She glared up at him. “I could charge you with unnecessary use of force.”
“And I could charge you with a lot of things, but I’m trying to help, Vallon.”
She jerked at his use of her first name. It was a tactical decision, wasn’t it? He was just trying to keep her off balance and see what he could learn about what had taken her out tonight and what had her dragging this piece of Seattle’s underbelly home. Vallon Drake didn’t strike as a do-gooder.
Her sigh, when it came, seemed to come right from her soul. She was lonely, this woman. It was in her eyes and was something he could understand.
“Fine, then. Let’s get her into the house.”
She left him to lift Fi out of the car and went up to her front door, unlocked it, and peered inside as if checking for intruders, then turned back and scanned the street.
“Looking for a black SUV?” he asked as he climbed the porch stairs.
Her eyes only widened, which was pretty good for hiding her reaction.
“I saw him block you down at the pier. Ran a check. Know anyone named Xavier de Varga?”
She shook her head, but blocked his entrance to her house, which pretty much confirmed his suspicions that she had something she didn’t want him to see.
“If we’re going to get her out of these clothes and to bed, I need to get her into the house.” He said it softly, patiently, and saw her gaze change. Something burned there with a heat he wondered if he could withstand.
“Why do this?”
“I’m one of SPD’s finest. Here to serve.” His light tone seemed to do the job and she finally stepped away from the door.
The place smelled like her, almost like roses.
He scanned the living room. It was an orderly place, warm-colored, but there were no photos, none of the things he’d come to associate with friends and comrades. Hell, his place still had mementoes of Cheryl and of his days coaching little league, even though he’d sold most of his things and moved into his apartment to try fill himself up with something other than Cheryl’s ghost.
“Nice place. Lived here long?”
“Long enough.” Her gaze was shuttered again and he missed the human-Vallon he’d seen. “This way.”
She led him, dripping across the hardwood floor and to the stairs, then up to a small room that contained a white covered bed and yellow walls. A small silk flower arrangement stood on the lone dresser and the whole place made him think the room had never been used.
“Nice room. I bet your guests appreciate it.”
She threw him an annoyed glance as she pulled the duvet back to expose sheets that still had the fold marks of coming straight out of the package. “Set her down here.”
He managed to sit Fi on the edge of the bed and started to strip off her sodden camo jacket.
“I can take it from here.” She nodded toward the door and this time he obeyed. He stepped out and closed the door and clumped down the stairs. Should he take advantage of the opportunity to look around? She had invited him in.
He retreated to the door and toed off his shoes, shrugged his sodden coat off, then padded into the kitchen looking for a mop to wipe up the hardwood. He opened the basement door and flicked on the light, but the sight of bare floor and the scent of moisture and age stopped him from exploring any further. When he was done pawing unsuccessfully through her cupboards he turned around to find her standing, hip-shot and arms crossed in the kitchen door, competing anger and hunger on her face.
“Looking for my deep, dark secrets I suppose?”
Her glance slid to the basement door so maybe he should have looked further.
“A mop actually. I was going to wipe up your floor. Hardwood?”
“Aah.” She glan
ced down at his unshod feet. “Made yourself right at home, I see.”
He shrugged.
Something had changed about her. Her pupils were huge and Vallon Drake didn’t strike him as the type to do drugs. There was a tension in her neck and a tick in her jaw that made him think of a lightening rod in a storm. Or else she was the storm, which left him….
He shivered and she cocked her brow. Her blonde hair seemed to lift off her shoulders and her hazel-green eyes actually sparked as she came towards him.
“There a problem?”
“Nothing a towel wouldn’t fix.”
The green increased in her brown eyes like bits of flame. “Is that what would do it?”
It wasn’t really a question. She stood toe-to-toe with him, her scent of fading roses flooding his senses as she seemed to sniff his skin.
“I have a towel with your name on it upstairs.”
Her sultry voice said she planned more than a towel, and shit, he should just get the hell out of here, because this was such a bad idea.
He managed to step back from her, but it was like stepping through thick mud. When she followed, it reminded him of cats stalking.
“Vallon—Ms. Drake,” his gaze skittered around the room and settled on the kettle on the stove. “Why don’t you make us a cup of tea. I believe we have matters to discuss. A certain Xavier de Varga, perhaps? Why would he be following you?”
“I’ve no idea, but it seems there’s a lot of following going on tonight.”
She bared her teeth and he could have sworn he heard a hiss as she stepped up to him again. This time she placed her palm heart-high on his chest.
Heat slammed into him and sent his pulse into a jagged race that was mirrored in the pulse along her jaw. He shook his head. Shook his head again, at the way she tilted her head back for him, at the weight of her eyelids and the sparks in her gaze that seemed to catch at his soul.
“Damn it, no.” But it was a whisper he barely believed as he leaned into her, caught her lips and tasted ashes and burning copper on her skin.
Then her arms were around his neck and his hands were in the sodden mess of her hair, pushing it back from her face so he could taste her mouth, her cheeks, her ears, down to the heated flesh at her jacket collar.
He pushed it off her shoulders and found the softness of skin underneath the t-shirt. The swell of her breast—and what the hell was he doing?
He jerked back so she fell against the table, chest heaving, face flushed, and the green in her gaze was like a laser locked onto him that he couldn’t escape no matter how he struggled. He had to look away or—or he’d be caught forever, because there was something about this woman. He thought of ancient Greek gods and how they would prey on people, transform them or fill them with desire.
Well Vallon Drake was in his blood like that: dangerous because he already missed her scent, the feel of her under his hands.
He started past her and saw her shoulders slump. He made it to the kitchen door.
“Don’t go.”
She spoke so soft it turned him back to her. She stood there, eyes downcast, her throat working as if what she said took all of her strength.
“I’m sorry. I—don’t want you to go. I—need you.”
He should get his coat and leave. Hell, he should run. Stupidest move he’d ever made, taking off his shoes and coat. Blacklock would bust a gut when he heard.
But he wasn’t going to hear, was he, because Jason stopped for a heartbeat too long. He knew it, when she took a hesitant step towards him and he met her. When he buried his face in her tangled hair, her neck, his hands hauling her into him, kneading her tight butt through her jeans, losing himself in the strange smoky taste of her.
She had his tie pulled loose, his shirt ripped loose of his trousers, heated hands running up his chest, ripping the buttons loose so she rained kisses down his chest.
He stripped her t-shirt over her head and thought his heart would stop when their skin met. What the fuck was he doing?
What the fuck.
Madness.
This was absolute, career-ending madness and he was caught in hers.