Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
“You know,” Robin said from the passenger seat beside Adam, “he could be in there cutting his own deal with the cop.”
Adam drummed his fingers on the Camaro’s wheel and kept his gaze focused on the strip of retail units a short way up and across the street.
To any brave—foolish—passerby on the street this late, it would look like all the units were either empty or closed, including the one on the end, a tasting room for a distillery that had gone bankrupt.
Repo was scheduled for later in the week, the job assigned to one of Robin’s contacts who’d been happy to lend them the keys for some extra cash.
He and Robin were parked at the curb a half block away, Jenn and Abigail were prowling the nearby alleys and rooftops, and Cormac was perched on the peeling wood sign that hung by the unit’s front door.
It was as safe and covered as Adam could make Icarus without alerting anyone, including their target. “He could be, but I don’t think he is.”
Icarus had insisted on meeting Nate alone to start.
He liked him well enough, wanted to do something nice for him before they blackmailed him.
As he’d rightly pointed out, said blackmail would be more effective if Nate was good and compromised before they sprung their trap.
But how long would that take? When would the tasting room’s outside lights flicker on, Icarus’s signal that he was ready for them behind the heavy curtains that blocked the distillery’s windows?
How long would Cormac have to play lookout from his perch?
Truthfully, Adam was surprised they’d made it to the waiting portion of events at all.
Nate was an overworked cop, but not a bad one.
He’d stuttered to a stop short of the unit’s steps, balking at the seemingly abandoned spot, but then Icarus had appeared in the doorway, backlit by soft candlelight and decked out in heels, nylons, and a sinfully short, sinfully tight, little black dress.
Nate had caved on the spot. So would anyone with a fucking pulse.
“I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”
Robin’s uncharacteristic apology drew Adam out of his thoughts. “Which part?”
“I know you never wanted to be like us.”
“I’m not like you.”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Your body temp isn’t ninety-eight point six anymore.” He propped an elbow on the open window and rested his chin in his hand, golden eyes anywhere but on Adam. “It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
“If you die, if what Deb and David did to keep you alive is for naught, then it makes what I didn’t do even worse.”
“Robin, you were halfway around the world—”
His gaze shot back to Adam, hard and angry, the emotions directed one hundred percent at himself. “She called the pack, and I didn’t answer.”
Adam didn’t make an excuse for the truth. That same truth had taken Adam a year to come to terms with before he spoke to Robin again. It had taken Jenn longer.
“I can’t imagine what it must feel like,” Robin said. “To be torn from your soulmates.”
Like someone with claws fiercer than Icarus’s had dug into his chest, ripped out his heart, and left a raging inferno in the hollow space.
The Devil moniker wasn’t only about the trouble he caused Vincent.
He rubbed a hand over his chest. “Imagine if someone tore the coyote out of you. The heart of you gone. That was what it felt like. What it still feels like.”
Robin gulped, the jagged swallow loud in the quiet car. “I’d want to die too.” His gaze drifted back outside, and silence settled in the car, heavy and full of regret. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“She knows.”
“Yes, but she’ll believe it from you.” Another truth, but this one made Adam chuckle. Robin smiled, and the melancholy that had filled the car lightened a measure. “How does he make your soul feel?”
Adam didn’t have to ask who Robin was referring to. “I don’t have one left to feel anything.”
Kraa.
Robin laughed. “Even Mac knows you’re lying.”
The light outside the tasting room flicked on.
“Or,” Adam said, “Mac heard Icarus on the move.”
He grabbed the bulging folder off the dash, shoved out of the car, and hustled to the door Icarus had left unlocked, Robin close on his heels. Adam pushed aside the heavy velvet entry curtain just as Nate lurched to his feet from a nearby chaise, blinding Adam with his pale white ass.
“You didn’t come,” the cop said, voice plaintive.
His attention was locked on Icarus, who was pulling down his dress and slipping back into his heels—until Robin forced the curtain the rest of the way back, rings clattering on the rod, a blast of cool night air gusting in around them.
Nate spun in their direction. “Fuck! Who are you? What’s going on? ”
“This is my company,” Icarus said. “From yesterday.”
“But that was—”
Robin growled. “Pull your fucking pants up.”
Nate scurried to comply, fumbling his belt, never taking his wide eyes off Robin. “You’re not human.”
“Neither is your fuck buddy.”
His gaze whipped back to Icarus, who’d gone preternaturally still. “We need you to do us a favor, Nate.”
Nate began backing up. Instinct, Adam presumed, as the only thing behind the cop was a corner.
But with him and Robin blocking the door, Icarus the other exit, and Nate’s service weapon on the floor by the chaise, back was the only option for creating more space between him and the threats to his life.
Until Icarus erased that distance in half a breath, zipping across the room.
Nate backed the rest of the way into the corner, trembling.
“Fuck,” he gasped between short, thin breaths. “You’re a vampire.”
“Who generally doesn’t eat people.” He planted a hand on the wall over Nate’s shoulder, crowding into his space. “I like you, Nate. Please don’t be the exception.”
Adam crossed the room at a more human pace.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall near Nate and waited for the cop to catch his breath.
“Icarus says you’re a good cop, an honest one, even if you are lying to your husband about where you are tonight.
” Nate looked as chastened as his fear would allow, eyes downcast before darting back up, jumping between him and Icarus.
Adam gave him something else to focus on, holding the folder out to Nate.
“This is everything you need to arrest and convict Vincent Cirillo.”
What little color Nate had left in his cheeks fled. “He’s untouchable. Fuck, that man scares me more than you three.”
“He’s enslaving other people’s magic, not to mention murder, arson, and a dozen other crimes.” Adam nodded toward the folder in Nate’s hands. “All documented in there.”
“Your husband is a shifter, isn’t he?” Robin asked from where he’d sprawled on the chaise.
“My wife was a coyote,” Adam said. “She was the twin sister of my friend over there. My husband had magic too. Magic that’s in me now. They tried to stop Vincent and died for it. I almost died too.”
Icarus withdrew his hand and stepped back, giving Nate room to breathe, room to settle into the reality he hadn’t chosen but was his now too, regardless. “How many other people are we gonna let die, Nate?”
“Or,” Robin said, “we can tell your husband about your fang-banging fantasies.”
Icarus hissed over his shoulder.
Nate, however, was oblivious to the back-and-forth. The good cop, as Icarus had promised, was flipping through the file on Vincent, taking in all the evidence assembled. He reached the end, then glanced again at Adam. “You were a cop?”
“Before I was a widower.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He glanced past Adam to Robin. “Both of you.”
A good cop in more ways than one. There was a heart beneath his badge and playing to it was the right call. “We don’t want Vincent to add anyone else to that list. Will you help us?”
“There’s a district attorney I work with. He’s good. If all this”—he lifted the file—“checks out, I think I can convince him to issue the arrest warrant. But the charges won’t stick. Cirillo has all the judges in his pocket.”
“We just need you to get him inside a holding cell.” Adam pushed off the wall and stepped to Icarus’s side. “We’ll take care of the rest.”