So where the hell had they dumped us?
I rolled onto my back only to discover there were madmen in my head armed with hammers they were not afraid to use. I groaned loudly.
A familiar voice said, “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.”
I cracked open one eye. Jackson sat a couple of feet away, his back propped up against a huge wrought-iron strut that jutted out of the ground at an angle.
I frowned. “How”—the word came out scratchy and I paused, swallowing heavily in an attempt to ease the dryness in my throat—“the hell did we get back to the zipper sculpture?”
“I’m guessing your charming ex had us dumped here.” He shrugged, his gaze sweeping me critically. “You okay?”
“Other than feeling like I’ve had far too much to drink without the fun of the alcohol, you mean?”
He laughed softly, then groaned. “God, don’t make me do that. It hurts.”
“Meaning they drugged you, too? Or did they get a little more physical?”
“They drugged me.” He paused and added with a wry smile, “Though I wouldn’t have minded getting physical. My interrogator was that Fae babe I’ve sensed a few times but never seen.”
Meaning Rochelle, no doubt. “How long have we been here? Do you know?”
He shrugged. “Five minutes or so.”
I slowly—carefully—pushed myself into a sitting position. It felt like my head was about to explode and, for several minutes, it was all I could do to keep breathing and not throw up. One thing was certain—I was not going to take fire form anytime soon. Not until I got to Rory, anyway.
Eventually, I said, “Did they order you way from Morretti and the Baltimore investigation?”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “But the drug won’t stop me from at least trying to head over to Laverton the minute we get in the cab.”
I didn’t say anything, just watched as he took a deep, somewhat shuddering breath, then pushed to his feet. He stood there for a moment, body wavering and face green, then carefully shuffled toward me. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
I accepted his offered hand and let him haul me upright, but I wasn’t entirely sure in the end who was holding whom upright.
“I’m not going to be able to walk far in this state,” I muttered.
“There’s a taxi stand down the street.”
I frowned. “What about your truck?”
“I don’t think it’s wise to be driving in this state. I’ll retrieve it later.” He tucked his arm through mine, and we made our way slowly out of the canal and back onto Flemington Road. It was late, but there were still plenty of cars on the road, their headlights pinning us briefly in brightness before sweeping on.
Two cabs were waiting at the stand. We climbed into the first one, and the driver gave us a somewhat dubious look. “Where to?”
Jackson opened his mouth, but no words came out. He glanced at me, his expression suddenly furious. He really couldn’t say the Laverton address. I licked my lips, picturing the address in my mind, determination high.
“We need to go,” I said, but got no further. The words really wouldn’t come out.
Jackson swore violently, then said, “Sixty-five Stanley Street, West Melbourne.” When I glanced at him, he added, “My office. And home.”
I nodded and relaxed back in the seat as the cab took off. It didn’t take all that long to get across to Stanley Street. Jackson paid the cabbie; then we both climbed out.
“Wow,” I said, looking around. The street was wide but divided by center parking and pretty flowering trees, and the buildings lining either side of the road were a mix of light industrial and old Victorian. “Close to both the Queen Vic Market and Flagstaff Gardens. The rent here must be horrific.”
He shrugged, then cupped his hand under my elbow and directed me across the road toward a double-story Victorian building that was little more than two windows wide and squashed between a blacksmith’s workshop and an electrical store. “I can write it off, and having the residence above it actually saves me money.”
He dug his keys out of his pocket and stopped at the pretty, blue-painted building, opening the wrought-iron gate before ushering me through. I walked up the two steps and leaned against the adjoining wall.
“Hellfire Investigations?” I said dryly. “Really?”
He gave me a weary grin as he brushed past to open the door. “I’m a fire Fae—any business I’m involved in is always going to have a name relating to fire.”
“But surely even a Fae could think of something more imaginative.”
“Oh, we can and often do.” He ushered me inside. “But it usually involves sex. Or sexual positions.”
I smiled and studied the long, thin room. It wasn’t your traditional office—there was no reception area, just a couple of desks, a half-dozen comfortable chairs, and a line of filing cabinets along the left wall. At the far end of the room, there was a lounge area with several couches and one of the biggest espresso machines I’d ever seen outside a café. Jackson obviously had a serious love for coffee. A spiral staircase sat to one side of this area.
“How many people do you have working for you?”
“No one,” he said, relocking the door. “Hellfire’s a one-man operation.”
“Why? Is it because you’re a Fae, and Fae tend to be solitary creatures?”
He hesitated. “If I’m being honest, that does play into it. I’ve certainly been thinking about bringing someone in for a while, but I haven’t found anyone I could stand to be with eight hours—or more—a day.”
I raised my eyebrows, amusement teasing my lips. “What? Not even a female?”
“Oh, there are plenty of females I could stand being with. I just wouldn’t want to work with them.” He shrugged. I had a feeling he didn’t really care one way or another. He added, “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Please.” I trailed after him as he walked across the room. “So what do we do now?”
“Given the restrictions they’ve placed on us, we’ve got no choice but to concentrate on Wilson’s murder and somehow find the link to Baltimore.”
“But if we do find a link, you won’t be able to act on it.” I sat on the thickly padded arm of one of the couches and crossed my arms. There was a weird mix of fire and ice in my veins, a result of both Sam’s kiss and the drug.
Damn it. I could have resisted. I should have resisted. But I’d wanted that kiss too much.
And the result?
Confusion. Complete and utter confusion.
While there was no denying the desire that still burned within me, I had to wonder how much of it was fueled by memories of what we’d once had. Because the man I’d tasted in that kiss was very different from the man I’d fallen in love with. My Sam was undoubtedly still there, if buried deep. The problem was, I wasn’t sure I even liked the man he was most of the time, so how the hell could I love him?
I scrubbed a hand through my hair and wished like hell I could travel back in time and erase the events of the last few days. My life had been a whole lot easier, and I hadn’t appreciated it enough.
“No, but we can at least pass it on to your cop friend.” Water spluttered as Jackson filled a teapot. He glanced over his shoulder. “I take it you’re still intending to pursue this?”
“Hell yeah. The bastard’s not going to get the better of me.”
“Attagirl.” He brought the teapot and a cup over to me and placed it on the nearby side table. “You want something to eat?”