“The bathroom is closed for cleaning,” I yelled. “Give us ten minutes, or use the bathrooms on the other side of the building.”
Muttered curses followed this statement, but the footsteps moved away.
Azriel stepped back from Logan, who didn’t move or respond in any way. Azriel obviously still held his mind, keeping him unseeing and unhearing. “I have a description of the man Logan knows as Nadler, but I suspect it is not the right one.”
I frowned. “Because we’re dealing with a face-shifter?”
“No, because Logan’s memory centers show signs of recent intrusion. Whoever Nadler is, he obviously doesn’t want the form Logan sees to be known.”
“Suggesting he could be tracked through it.” That is, if the description we pulled from Logan’s memory was the right one, and not another means of subterfuge. If it wasn’t, then all of this had been a waste of time.
“Not necessarily,” Azriel commented.
I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was referring to our dance or our actions with Logan. I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer—especially if it referred to the former rather than the latter.
“Meaning what?”
“Well, it is obvious that the person behind the reworking of Logan’s memories is extremely powerful. Whoever it is also has enough knowledge about reapers to set up reasonably strong blocks.”
“And?” I asked, sensing there was such a block in place.
“It was done sometime today.”
I blinked. “They definitely knew we were going after Logan.”
“Yes.”
He said it flatly, with no emotion in his voice or his expression, but nevertheless, my hackles rose. “If you name Lucian as a possible suspect, I’ll—” What? What threat could I possibly make to someone like him?
“Whoever is behind the stealing of the key has been one step ahead of us for a while. Lucian is a suspect, whether you wish to acknowledge it or not.” He held up a hand, cutting off the angry reply that was on my lips. “But there are other options. Jak knew we were going after Logan. As did your accountant.”
I snorted. “It could hardly be Jak, since he knows nothing about reapers, and Mike only knew I wanted the tickets to get a reporter friend in. Neither of them is a very likely suspect.”
“I agree.”
Which left us with Lucian. He didn’t say the words, but they hung between us all the same.
“I haven’t talked to him since I ordered him out of the apartment, Azriel.”
“But he has formed a telepathic link with you. He may never need to talk to you again.”
And that, if his tone was anything to go by, would be an extremely welcome event. “Only trouble is,” I retorted, “it’s a link that’s become somewhat faulty.”
He studied me for a moment. Logan was still and silent behind him, and I briefly wondered if he would have any memory of what we were saying.
“No, he will not,” Azriel said, then added, “Why is the link faulty? The connection between an Aedh and his lover usually only becomes stronger over the course of their brief time together, not weaker.”
“I don’t know why it’s faulty,” I snapped back. “But apparently he can only read me during sex. I haven’t had sex with him for over twenty-four hours.”
“But you want to.”
“Of course I fucking want to. He’s a fantastic lover.”
“You should not—”
“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing when it comes to my love life, Azriel!” I exploded. “Because no matter what happens between us, we both know you’ll be gone once the keys are found and this mess is all sorted out. You’ll never be anything more than a blip—pleasurable or otherwise—on the radar of my life.”
He didn’t say anything to that. I guess there was nothing he actually could say. It was the truth, pure and basic.
He turned around and touched Logan’s forehead. The older man blinked several times, then swung around to face me.
“—come in here,” he said, his voice hinting at anger.
I blinked, then realized he was finishing the sentence he’d started when we first walked in. “Oh, sorry,” I said hastily. “Wrong bathroom.”
I unlocked the door and left. Azriel was two steps behind me.
“Now what?” I lightly rubbed my arms—there was a decided chill coming from his direction.
“Now we see what happens when he leaves.”
I half frowned, then remembered Ilianna’s warning. “Why would anyone go to the trouble of tampering with his mind if they were intending to kill him tonight?”
He shrugged. “Why would anyone fuck a man she does not entirely trust?”
For a moment, I could only stare at him. Then the anger rose, so swift and sharp I had to dig my nails into my clenched fists to resist the urge to smack him.
“Because,” I all but hissed, “despite all that is sane, I find myself wanting you.”
And with that, I stalked away from him. He didn’t follow. He didn’t need to. He was connected to my chi and he could find me whenever he wanted.
Still, I was grateful for the brief respite. Once I’d reached my table, I grabbed the wine bottle, filled a glass, and drank it swiftly. It didn’t do a whole lot for the fury boiling inside me, and I half wondered just how many bottles it would take before it did. Probably more than the bar had in stock.
After five minutes or so, Logan approached his table, looking a little green around the gills. Obviously, his enforced consumption of alcohol was not sitting well.
He picked up his jacket, said good-bye to the blonde sitting next to him, then staggered toward the exit. I picked up my purse and followed.
The air outside was cool and thick with the scent of the nearby ocean. I shivered a little as I trailed after Logan, and I wasn’t completely certain whether the cause was the chill in the air or the rising tide of my trepidation. Logan was taking more steps sideways than forward, but he was still moving at a decent pace, and in no time at all he’d passed from the bright protection of the venue’s entrance to the deeper street shadows.
The sense that something was about to happen grew. I scanned the streets around me, seeing nothing out of place. But in this darkness, would I?
And then it happened. A shot rang out.
Logan staggered and fell to his knees, just as a second shot sliced through the night. Something hit me from behind, and I found myself on the concrete, my heart racing and a fiercely warm body covering me.
“Azriel?”
“The second shot was aimed at us,” he said. “Stay here.”
His weight lifted from mine as he winked out of existence. I studied the buildings around me for a moment, then pushed to my feet. If someone was going to shoot me, then they could hit me as easily lying down as standing up.
“Mr. Logan?” I flared my nostrils, taking in the scents of the night.
Blood ran on it, thick and fresh.
He was dead. I knew he was dead, even though I couldn’t see a reaper waiting to claim his soul. Still, I had to check. I approached slowly, but stopped several feet away. Logan had twisted as he’d crumpled and his dead eyes were staring at me balefully. The bullet had entered his forehead and blasted its way through his head, leaving an exit wound bigger than my fist. Blood and bone and brain matter had splattered onto all the nearby surfaces.
Someone had wanted to make very sure that even in death, Logan’s mind couldn’t be read—which all but confirmed that someone had been aware that we’d been intending to speak to him. But how? And who?
Frowning, knowing they were questions I wasn’t likely to get answers to anytime soon, I took out my phone and rang the cops. I should have rung Uncle Rhoan, but I really wasn’t up to answering the questions that would undoubtedly follow.
Azriel reappeared as I hung up, his fierce expression suggesting things had not gone well.
“You didn’t find the shooter?”
“I did. He was stationed on top of the stadium roof, but by the time I got there, he’d thrown himself off it.”
“He killed himself?”
“Yes.” He glanced behind us. “People are approaching. We should leave before we are seen.”
“Azriel, I’m a witness. I have to—”
“Have you forgotten the councillors’ edict?”
I had. I closed my eyes, breathed deep, then glanced at my watch. It was close to twelve. Shit. “I need to change,” I said wearily. “I’m not going to that place dressed like this.”
He didn’t answer, just stepped close, took me in his arms, and whisked us both out of there. But the minute we were back in the hotel room, he stepped back. It didn’t stop the awareness that trembled across my skin, nor did it ease the heat of desire shimmering between us. I might be angry with him, but that didn’t stop me from wanting him.
“Azriel—”
“Get changed,” he said curtly. “Or we’ll be late—and I suspect that would not be wise.”
“There’s lots of things that wouldn’t be wise,” I muttered as I headed for the bathroom. “But I suspect that’s not going to stop them from happening.”
“Some things are destined and can never be changed,” he agreed flatly. “No matter how much we might wish otherwise.”
I changed quickly into my jeans and sweater. “And here I was thinking destiny was a fluid thing.”
“Destiny is fluid,” he said. “And sometimes so is death. Logan was not destined to die this night, so his soul will roam.”
“Shame you won’t break that particular rule and talk to his soul.” I glanced in the mirror, studying the not-me image. After a moment, I imagined my face with dark golden hair and a smattering of golden freckles across my nose, then reached down for the face-shifting energy and made it happen. Then I turned and walked out.
