Playing With Fire (Phoenix Fire #3)(6)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Jon forced himself to release the other man. “Did he take her out?”

Kevin didn’t speak.

Because he didn’t know?

Fucking incompetence. Jon heaved out a sigh. “You didn’t see them leave, did you?”

Kevin wet his lips. “I was on fire then, sir.”

Like a little fire should have stopped him.

Jon whirled away. “Tell me that you had a tracker in that tranq you fired into Cassandra.” A new little invention, one that Uncle Sam was rather proud of—a drug and tracking combination bullet all in one. Some paranormals could flee even after the drug hit them. They had the strength to run, for a time.

But sooner or later, the drug got to them.

And when it did, the tracker came into play. It would light up in their system and lead Jon and his men right back to their prey.

Easy.

“Tell me,” he demanded without looking back. If the dumb bastard hadn’t done his job and gotten a track on Cassandra, Jon might just shoot the fool himself.

“There was a track in there,” Kevin said, his tone growing more confident. “She won’t be getting away from us.”

Hell, yes. But Jon didn’t smile, not yet. The tip that he’d received about the phoenix—and Cassandra—had been right. He’d have to be sure and reward his informant. First, though . . . “Burn this place to the ground.”

Taboo was far enough away from the hub of the city that most folks wouldn’t have heard or seen the attack. Just in case, he was used to covering his tracks.

The paranormals might be out in the world, trying to blend with humans, but they were also still hunted. Still targets, especially the walking, talking nightmares that stalked the earth.

Nightmares like the phoenix.

Some beings were too dangerous to live.

Some needed to be stopped, by any means necessary.

In this instance, the means was one Cassandra Armstrong. A weapon had never looked so innocent.

“Burn it.” The fire could always be blamed on the phoenix. “Then get me the track on Cassandra.”

She’d led him on a chase for months, but he’d have her soon. She wasn’t getting out of the program. She was too vital.

Too useful as a weapon.

He began to whistle as he walked out of the club.

Kevin and his men were pouring out alcohol and smashing the bottles, soaking the scene for one fine blaze. They wouldn’t make a fire that burned as hot as a phoenix’s flames, but they’d come close enough.

Close. Enough.

Jon kept whistling. I’m coming for you, Cassandra. She’d run from him, but their little cat and mouse game was almost at an end.

Cassandra should have known there would be no escape. Her father had brought her into the program years ago.

And once you were in, death was the only way out.

CHAPTER TWO

She was . . . not beautiful.

Dante told himself that even as he leaned toward her and let his fingers trail over the curve of her nose. A few freckles rested on the bridge of that nose. His finger slid to the side, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. Her face was oval, pale, and he didn’t like the dark shadows under her eyes.

She wasn’t beautiful.

He told himself that again . . . and realized he was such a liar. This woman, the woman who’d killed him in his dreams, had him staring at her like some kind of lovesick fool.

He pulled away from her and clenched his hands into fists so that he wouldn’t touch her again. They were in some two-bit, pay-by-the-hour motel room. She was spread out on the bed and he was beside her.

She was still out cold, and he was far too distracted by her body.

Far too—

Her eyelids began to flicker. His stupid heart beat faster.

Who is she to me?

There was something between them. Death, yes. Hate? Betrayal? Maybe.

Something.

She moaned softly, and he didn’t like the sound of pain on her lips. He found himself leaning forward and tucking the pillow beneath her head.

When he bent forward, she screamed. The sound was high and desperate and absolutely terrified. She tried to bolt from the bed.

He couldn’t have that, so he caught her arms and—as gently as he could—pushed her back against the mattress. “Easy.”

At his voice, her scream died away. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. Her gaze wasn’t clear as it had been before. Instead, her green gaze was hazy, a little lost.

“Dante?” Cassie whispered his name. Smiled. “I missed you.”

His heartbeat seemed too loud. That smile of hers . . . yeah, she was f**king beautiful, all right. And dangerous.

She was also trying to lean up and kiss him.

What had been in that drug?

“You left me,” she told him, voice husky, “and I thought you were supposed to—” Cassie broke off, blinking. Then she groaned and shook her head. “Where the hell am . . . I?” Her voice wasn’t quite as husky, but he still found that he liked the sound.

“Not hell,” he told her as he eased back a bit. “Just a cheap motel.”

When he moved back, Cassie bolted upright, then winced. “My shoulder . . .” Her right hand lifted and touched the wound. “They shot me.”

Yes, they had. And they’d almost died for that crime. He didn’t know why the fury had blasted through him so hard, but it had.

“They shot me,” she whispered again, then she shoved against his chest. “Get away from me!”

He rose slowly. “You’re welcome. Maybe next time, I’ll just leave you on the floor.” The words were deliberately cold and brutal, but she didn’t even seem to have heard him.

She was climbing from the bed, nearly falling on her face. He locked his body and refused to go to her. If she was so desperate to get away from him—

Wait. Why would she want to leave? She’d been the one to seek him out. He frowned.

“They’re coming . . .”

He heard her whisper as she ran into the bathroom. Then there was the sound of drawers being opened. Slammed shut.

He glanced toward the motel room door. She’d told him to get away from her. There was no need for him to stay with her any longer.

Yes, there is. She knows about my past.

“I want answers,” he said, raising his voice so that she’d have to hear him over her mutters—

And the sound of breaking glass.

What was happening in the bathroom? He hurried to it and saw that, no, it hadn’t been glass shattering. It had been the mirror behind the sink. Cassie had driven her small fist into it. Blood dripped from the knuckles of her right hand.