“If you ask nice.”
They lay together for a time, talking about nothing, and then later as they sat side by side in the living room, about the complex jigsaw that was the Nikita investigation. But eventually, she had to go to her own apartment. “I wish I could spend all night with you,” she said to him as he walked her over. “But it’ll be too much today.”
“Next time,” he said, keeping his distance as she unlocked the door and entered. “Sophia?”
She glanced back, so beautiful with those amazing eyes and that soft dark hair.
“Tell me if anything happens.” His hand tightened on the doorjamb at the thought of losing her to the ferocity of her gift, of never again seeing her lying rumpled and smiling in his bed, never again hearing her talk in that prim tone that held an undertone of wild emotion.
“I will.” A steady answer, but when she looked up, her eyes were bruised. “I’m so angry, Max,” she said in harsh whisper. “How am I supposed to fight my own mind?”
CHAPTER 33
Sophia Russo may require further persuasion re the Valentine case.
Frustrated, choked up with a rage that had nowhere to go, Max made a cup of coffee and tried to lose himself in work. Sophia had updated him on everything she’d discovered during the time he’d been tied up in the wrenching aftermath of the discovery of Gwyn Hayley’s body, but now he began to read her notes in depth. She had one hell of a brain, he thought. The information was not only neatly bullet-pointed and outlined, but cross-referenced in a way that told him she had an innate understanding of how his own mind worked.
Near the end of the file, he came across something that made him frown. Knowing he needed Sophia to explain the relevance of the information in a Psy context, he began to get up—when he caught the blinking time code on the comm panel.
One a.m.
His gaze went to the wall that separated his apartment from Sophia’s, and he couldn’t help but remember the softness of her skin, the way her pulse had rocketed under his touch, the delicate, enticing scent of her. His body, having finally stopped riding the steel edge of need, grew hard, heavy once more. Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he threw down his pen and got up, intending to take a cold shower when something stopped him.
A noise.
Angling his head, he listened again. A soft thump. Once. Just once. But he’d heard.
Sophie.
He grabbed his stunner and walked quietly to the door. Activating the outside cameras, he checked that the space immediately outside his door was clear before exiting—with a vigilance all cops learned on their first day on the job. The corridor proved empty, the lighting muted to night levels. Stepping to Sophia’s apartment, he scanned himself in using his palm print, his access courtesy of Sophia herself.
Worried that she’d had a blackout as a result of the previous day’s events, but forcing himself to move with caution in case of an intruder, he made his way through the unlighted living area and to her bedroom.
The bed held only rumpled sheets and an organizer with a bright, glowing screen. She’d been awake, too, he thought. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t taken her unawares.
Fur across his foot. Morpheus.
Following the cat’s night-glow gaze, he felt his toes nudge something on the floor.
He froze, bent down. The feel of cotton covering warm skin. No. Continuing to hold his stunner at the ready, even as he checked Sophia’s pulse, he said, “Lights, night mode.” The lights came on, on a dim setting, making the transition from dark to light much easier. No one jumped out, the shadows hiding nothing malignant. He looked over the bathroom quickly just in case. Nothing. Whatever had happened, it had happened in Sophia’s mind.
Returning, he bent down to check her for injuries, found no cuts, no abrasions. But when he lifted her eyelids, it was to see her eyes swallowed by black. “Sophie,” he said again, his tone firm though an anguished rage tore through him—driven by a part of him that didn’t understand logic, only a powerful, visceral need for her voice.
No response.
Sliding his arms beneath her body, he lifted her up and took her to the bed, pulling a comforter over her before his hand went to the pocket of his jeans, where he’d left his cell. Pressing in a familiar code, he said, “I need Psy help.”
But the Psy who turned up a bare ten minutes later with a tall amber blond male wasn’t anyone he’d expected. He recognized her of course—that distinctive red hair, those cardinal eyes. Faith NightStar was said to be the strongest F-Psy in or out of the Net, her ability to see the future a gift and a curse both. But Max knew he’d always see it as a gift after the way she’d saved their lives. “Thanks for coming.”
As Faith hurried past and unerringly to the bedroom, Max paused long enough to say, “You got here quick.”
“Faith,” the changeling male said, “woke me up an hour ago and told me we’d be needed in the city around now.”
Max, walking back to the bedroom, stopped for an instant. “I guess I never thought about the reality of being mated to an F-Psy.”
Vaughn slapped him on the back. “Ask me sometime about how fucking difficult it is to surprise her with a gift.” It was said with affection, his tone that of a man who wasn’t only delighted in his mate, but didn’t care if the whole world knew about it.
They entered the bedroom at that moment, and everything else faded. Faith was sitting beside Sophia’s stiff form, her hand on his J’s forehead. “Her telepathic shields are terrifyingly thin, but they are continuing to protect her,” Faith said, before pausing for almost ten seconds. “Her PsyNet shields appear fine. A little unusual according to my contact, but not damaged.”
Max didn’t ask about Faith’s contact, taking it as a given that that contact would soon be dead if it became known he or she was sharing information outside the Net. “Do we need to get her to a hospital?”
The foreseer’s endless eyes met his. “No. She’ll wake up soon.”
A simple, absolute answer, and yet . . . “What aren’t you telling me?”
“There’ll be time after she wakes.” Faith looked up at her mate as he came to stand beside her, his fingers playing through her hair. “Coffee?” she asked.
Vaughn’s smile was indulgent. “Addict.”
“Your fault.” The foreseer’s expression was somber, belying her light words. “We’ll need to talk once she wakes.”
Smile fading into an expression of intense tenderness, Vaughn untangled his fingers from his mate’s hair and went to exit the room. “Come on, Max. You can’t do anything here.”
“I’ll stay.” No way in hell was he leaving his Sophie alone.
Faith seemed to struggle with something as she rose to her feet. But in the end, she followed Vaughn out in silence.
Faith walked straight to where Vaughn was measuring out coffee grounds. “Hey.” Putting an arm around her, he hugged her to the solid strength of his side. “The answer’s no.”
She rubbed her face against his chest as he turned to embrace her fully, loving the scent of him. “How did you know what I was going to ask?”
“We have been mated over a year. Give the cat a little credit.” A teasing kiss from her jaguar, his hand curving around her throat in gentle possession.
“You said it yourself, Faith.” A quiet reminder, the jaguar looking out of his eyes. “The future isn’t fixed. It wasn’t for Dorian.”
“Yes.” She’d seen the sentinel’s future blacked out, had thought it meant death, but he’d survived. “It’s different this time, Vaughn.”
“How?”
“I saw bits and pieces of reality—the fact that Sophia would need us for some reason tonight, other events that may or may not happen, but I felt this gathering wave. I can’t describe it, but I know something huge is about to happen, and it’s centered around Sophia Russo.”