Mercy Burns, Page 8

  I just about choked on my sandwich. What the hell had Damon been doing at the bar? Had he caused the fire and the subsequent deaths? Part of me wanted to think he hadn’t, but there was no escaping the fact that he’d described himself as a killer.

  Still, if they’d had any actual evidence against him, surely he would have been arrested rather than merely taken in to be interviewed. I didn’t know a whole lot about the workings of the police and the law, but that seemed the logical route.

  Maybe I should go down there and provide him with an alibi. I’d been with him a good part of the night, after all, and even though he’d stolen heat from both the guards, he was a full dragon and restricted by the rule of night. He couldn’t flame, even if he had been at full strength.

  Hell, even daylight might not have helped him. It could take days to get back the sort of strength needed to set a fire that large. At least, it would for an ordinary dragon.

  But there were other ways of lighting fires, and surely a dragon trained as an assassin would not be above using them.

  In truth, the part of me that wanted to help him was undoubtedly the same part that remembered the feel of his lips on mine, and the way the merest hint of a smile had sent my pulse racing like a mad thing.

  I hated that reaction. Or rather, hated the fact that it was aimed yet again at the wrong sort of man. Why couldn’t my hormones pick some kind, gentle, normal man for a change?

  Of course, the sane part of me—the part that actually remembered the pain of trusting too easily and that had sworn never to trust like that again—was reluctant to go anywhere near him.

  After all, there was a very real possibility that he was responsible. I had no idea when the fire had started. No idea where he’d gone after he’d left me.

  And yet I felt like I owed him. While I might have gotten us out of that cellar, he’d gotten us free of the house and made sure I’d arrived at Trae’s safely.

  I gulped down my sandwich, then jumped off the sofa and headed for the phone once again. Before I decided what to do, I needed to find out where he’d be. The bar was on Fillmore Street, so it seemed logical he would have been taken to Northern Station, but I wanted to be sure before I wasted cash on cab fare.

  Robyn would know that sort of information. She was one of the crime reporters at the Chronicle and had been a friend since journalism school. She was also very human—and didn’t know that I wasn’t.

  “Hey, chickie,” she said, voice its ever-cheery self when I phoned. “How you doing?”

  “Not bad, considering that in the last twenty-four hours I’ve been run off the road, drugged, and then kidnapped.”

  “No! Seriously? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I hesitated. “I was told the Chronicle ran a story on the accident?”

  “Not that I know of. I’m sure Frankie would have mentioned one of our own being in an accident, and he knows we’re friends.”

  “That’s what I thought.” So Angus had been lying. “Listen, I need some help with a story I’m tracking down.”

  “And here I was thinking you were off on a vacation with that mad friend of yours.”

  “I was. Am.” Only the mad friend is dead and I need to save her soul. “But I caught a whiff of something that may or may not amount to anything.”

  “If it amounts to anything, I want the details. In full and over coffee. And cake.”

  “Done deal.” Although the details would be highly modified, given she had no idea what I was. “What can you tell me about the fire on Fillmore Street last night?”

  “Nothing much more than what’s been said on TV. Why?”

  “Because I know the man arrested for it, and I don’t think he did it.”

  “No one was arrested.” Confusion darkened her tone. “Although a Damon Rey was taken in for questioning.”

  Well, at least he’d given me his correct name. “What station is he at?”

  “None of them. I think they released him about an hour ago.”

  “Damn.” Why I was disappointed I couldn’t entirely say. At least it solved the problem of me having to provide an alibi for the man. “What time did the fire start?”

  “Witnesses say about three, but the arson investigators have only just started sifting through the ruins.”

  Which meant he could have been responsible. Damn, damn, and damn.

  “He’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton, if that’s of any use,” Robyn said.

  Who’d have guessed Death was a five-star sort of guy? “How do you know all this shit?”

  “It’s my job,” she said drily. “And I’m good at what I do. So you’re not even going to give me the slightest hint as to how this fire is connected to what happened to you?”

  “Not yet. But we will have that cake.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  I smiled and hung up. Now what? It was still too early to go find Angus—Janelle said he wouldn’t be at the boat until this evening, and she wasn’t often wrong.

  So, what next?

  I knew what I wanted to do. It might be stupid, but I wanted to see Damon again. I had a feeling he could answer more than a few of my questions—not that he actually would.

  I bit my bottom lip for a moment, then thought: What the hell? I had nothing to lose by at least trying.

  I grabbed a sweater, raided the cash my brother kept in his so-called secret spot, then headed out. I caught a cab, but the traffic was its usual chaotic self, so I got out near the Fairmont and walked the rest of the way. The Ritz looked as impressive as ever, its grand façade almost seeming to belong to another century, one more suited to horse-drawn vehicles and ladies in fine silks.

  I crossed the road and headed into the foyer. After a moment of admiring the lush surroundings, I headed over to the reception desk. A pleasant-looking woman gave me a friendly smile and said, “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Damon Rey. He’s a guest here.”

  “I can give him a call and let him know you wish to see him, if you like.”

  “That would be great.” Even if it wasn’t. He was just as likely to send me away as see me.

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  I hesitated. “Just tell him Mercy Reynolds is downstairs waiting for him.”

  She nodded and made the call. She didn’t say anything, which meant he wasn’t answering, a fact she confirmed minutes later. “I’m sorry, but he doesn’t appear to be in. Would you like to leave him a message?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  She handed me a notepad. I scrawled down my name and my brother’s phone number, then pushed it back.

  “Will that be all?” she asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I walked away. So much for that great idea. Maybe I should just head down to Angus’s place, and hang around on the off chance he would get there earlier than Janelle predicted.

  I exited the hotel, smiling at the doorman as he wished me a good day, and headed toward California Street. But I’d barely taken a dozen steps when my heart just about leaped into my throat and I froze. In the shadows of the trees lining the curb was one of the men Damon had knocked out last night—the guard with the silky voice.

  God, I was stupid. Stupid.

  If I could trace Damon to the Ritz, it stood to reason his kidnappers could, too. Hell, for all I knew, this could have been where they’d captured him in the first place.

  I needed to get out of here—and fast.

  But even as the thought crossed my mind, he looked up. I didn’t have to see his expression to know his anger and his sense of triumph. The feel of it rode across the breeze.

  He pushed away from the tree.

  I turned and ran down the street and right onto Pine Street, scattering pedestrians as I went. I swung right again, keeping to the shadows of the trees and hoping against hope that I was faster.

  A quick glance over my shoulder proved that I wasn’t.

  Fear slipped through me. I thought about stopping, abou
t asking for help, but I just couldn’t risk anyone else’s safety. Besides, I could protect myself if I really needed to, and other people—especially if they were human—would just get in the way. Even with the tight control I had over my flames, things could very easily get out of hand in a street filled with cars and people. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt. I couldn’t live with that guilt.

  So I kept on running.

  My pulse was racing as fast as my feet and sweat was beginning to trickle down my spine. I’d let my fitness slip since leaving my clique, and I might just pay the price for that slackness now, because the footsteps of my pursuer were getting closer and closer.

  Panic rolled through me, sending a surge of energy through my legs. Somehow, my speed increased, and the footsteps seemed just a shade farther behind.

  I couldn’t let them catch me again. I just couldn’t. There’d be no second escape, of that I was sure.

  I turned left onto California Street. More people, more parked cars, trees, and lots of big tall buildings. And nowhere to hide that wouldn’t endanger others, leaving me with little option but to keep going. I ran across the street, heard the screech of brakes from behind, and jumped sideways. The hood of a green car slid past my side, missing me by inches. It came to a halt between me and my pursuer, but instead of the irate driver flinging abuse, he reached backward and flung the door open. A familiar voice said, “Get in.”

  I didn’t hesitate, just dived into the backseat and slammed the door shut. With a squeal of rubber, Damon took off. My pursuer quickly became a speck lost to the distance, then disappeared altogether as we sped down another street.

  I collapsed back into the seat and let out a relieved breath. “Thank you,” I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead with a shaking hand.

  “What the hell were you doing at the Ritz?” he said, voice not in the least bit friendly.

  “Looking for you.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you that our kidnappers might well be doing the same thing?”

  “Not until I saw that guy waiting outside, no.”

  He shook his head, his dark gaze meeting mine briefly at the edge of the rearview mirror. “Stupid.”

  Heat burned into my cheeks and sparks flickered briefly across my fingertips. I clenched my hand and tried to calm the annoyance. “I realize that now. I don’t need your admonishment on top of it.”

  He grunted slightly, swung the car onto another street, then said, “What did you want to see me about?”

  “I saw on the news that you’d been arrested—”

  “Not arrested,” he corrected, and I swear there was humor in his voice, even though there was little emotion to be tasted on the air. “Just answering a few questions.”

  “We both know that’s only one step from being arrested.” I paused. “Did you set that blaze?”

  He contemplated me through the rearview mirror for a moment. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re crazy enough to set a bar alight.” I studied his back and wondered if anyone could ever accurately tell what this man was thinking. I certainly couldn’t. Not at the moment, anyway. “But I don’t think you actually did.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Nice to know my fellow prisoner has a little faith in me.”

  “I don’t have faith in anyone but my brother and Rainey.” And she was dead. I looked briefly out the window, wondering where we were going and realizing I didn’t really care, then added, “It’s a simple matter of facts. You were locked up for thirteen days without sunlight. Even with the heat you stole, I doubt you’d have been able to maintain enough fire to set that building alight.”

  “There are other ways to light a fire, you know. Even dragons can use them.”

  “Yeah, but you seem the type to want to do your own dirty work, right down to the flame that kills.”

  His gaze met mine again, the dark depths of his eyes contemplative. “You seem to have formed a very quick opinion of someone you don’t really know.”

  My smile held a bitter edge. “You have to where I come from. It can be the difference between gaining new scars or not.”

  One dark eyebrow winged upward. “Surely a pretty woman like you wouldn’t have that many scars.”

  I snorted softly. Death obviously needed glasses. I might be many things, but pretty wasn’t one of them. Not that I considered myself ugly. Just plain. Very plain. A brown dragon who couldn’t shift shape in a world filled with beasts who could shimmer and fly. “I’ve more scars than I have fingers.”

  He frowned. “I saw the one on your forehead. What happened there?”

  I reached up and touched the rapidly fading scar. “That one was courtesy of a recent run-in with a truck. The others were courtesy of my clique.”

  “What in the hell goes on in your clique?”

  There was an edge to his voice that had my eyebrows rising. It wasn’t concern, but it seemed very close to it, which was odd.

  “Nothing much different from many others, I suspect.” I crossed my arms and looked out the window again. “Where the hell are we going?”

  “Back to your brother’s place. You need to get some things together, then get the hell away from there.”

  “I don’t really think—”

  “Yeah, we discovered that.”

  Annoyance flowed through me again. “You have a smart mouth for someone who was close to hibernation last night.”

  “Good point.” He slowed the car as the lights ahead changed to red, then said, “Why were you coming to see me?”

  I don’t really know. But I couldn’t admit that—or rather, I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to appear indecisive. Why, I had no idea. I mean, he was a stranger, and a rather odd one at that. “I want to know who those men were. I want to know who is pulling their strings.”

  “And why would you think I’d know?”

  “You know a hell of a lot more than you’re admitting, so enough of the games, Damon. I need to know what’s going on.”

  He considered me briefly, then said, “Why is knowing so important to you?”

  I hesitated, torn between the need to trust someone and a past that suggested men like him could never be counted on. “I’m a reporter.”

  I didn’t need to see his grimace to feel the sweep of his disdain. “And you think you’re on the trail of an award-winning story? Lady, you have no idea.”

  “If you keep saying that, I just might think you mean it.” I kept my voice deliberately light, masking both my growing irritation and perhaps a little hurt, which was stupid. Why should the opinion of this man carry so much weight? Why would I even let it?

  “This is not something you should be sticking your pretty little nose into.” His voice was as cold as the look he cast my way. “These men are dangerous. I’m dangerous. You’d best get well away from us all.”

  “Thanks for the warning but I’m afraid I can’t oblige.” I hesitated, then added softly, “There’s someone I need to save. To do that, I need answers.”

  He didn’t reply, but his disapproval continued to sting the air. I stared out the windows. Obviously, this man had no intention of helping me out. I was stupid to think he ever would.

  He turned right onto another street, slowing down as he slotted into the unusually heavy traffic. I realized we were about to pass my apartment and shifted to look out the window. Would any of the guards from last night be lurking around the front of the building? They had my driver’s license, after all, so they knew where I lived.

  I didn’t see the guards. What I did see was flashing lights and dark plumes of smoke.

  My apartment building was on fire.

  Fire engines blocked the road ahead, and thick sprays of water were being directed up high. People huddled farther down the road, some crying, some wrapped in blankets, all of them looking shocked. Some of those faces I knew—my elderly neighbors. At least they’d gotten out. I hoped everyone else had, too.

  My gaze went back to the flames leaping out high a
bove from the top-floor windows.

  My floor.

  And it was a big fire—maybe too big. Had I been there, I might have been dead. I wasn’t, so I guess I had to be grateful for that. But everything would be gone.

  Everything.

  All the photos, all the little bits and pieces that I’d gathered over the years. Little things that had no value and wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to me they were reminders of good times—and there’d been few enough of those in my childhood.

  Tears stung my eyes, and I clenched my fists against the urge to jump out of the car and race to the fire, to save something, anything, of my life and my past. But the flames were just too fierce and there were far too many firemen and cops. I’d never even get near the building, let alone close enough to suck in all that heat and fire in an attempt to quell it.

  God, these bastards just kept destroying things I loved. It had to stop—and before I didn’t have anything left to destroy.

  Of course, it was always possible the fire might have been accidental, but even as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. What were the odds of an accidental fire happening days after Rainey being killed and me being kidnapped?

  I swiped at my eyes, then muttered, “I think I need cake. Thick, gooey chocolate cake.”

  “What, now? Why?” Damon said, confusion evident in his voice as he eased the car’s speed.

  “Because chocolate cake is a perfect pick-me-up when life decides to deal you one of those nasty little surprises.” My voice broke a little, and I took a deep, shuddering breath before adding, “That’s my building on fire.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s probably not a coincidence,” he said softly. “First the bar, and now your place. It would seem one of our kidnappers is something of an arsonist.”

  “So you think it was one of the guards who set the bar on fire?” My gaze was dragged from the blaze as a police officer directed us down a side street. In some ways it was a relief. If I couldn’t see the flames, maybe I wouldn’t think about the destruction they’d wreaked on my life. Not until I lay down to sleep, anyway.