Lover Unleashed

Now, that had been a favor to Xcor, as it turned out.

Because it meant he did not have to render the liar’s demise upon the fucker’s ugly head himself.

FIFTY-THREE

Manny was behind the wheel of his car, hands cranked down hard, eyes sharp on the road in front of him, when he took a tight turn . . . and drove right into exactly the kind of scene Vishous had described.

About. Fucking. Time. It had taken him only a good three hours of making boxes and boxes around block after block after cocksucking block to run across the damn thing.

But yeah, this was what he was looking for: In the ten a.m. sunlight that bled in between the buildings, a slick, oily mess gleamed all over the pavement and the brick walls and the Dumpster and those chicken-wired windows.

Popping the clutch, he flipped the gearshift into neutral and hit the brakes.

The instant he opened the door, he recoiled. “Fucking hell . . .”

The stench was indescribable. Likely because it shot directly into his nose and shut down his brain, it was so frickin’ awful.

But he did recognize it. The guy with the Sox hat had reeked of it that night Manny had operated on the vampires.

Cocking his phone, he called up Vishous’s supersecret number and hit send. The line barely rang once before Payne’s twin answered.

“I got it,” Manny said. “It’s everything you told me about—man, the smell. Right. Yeah. Got it. Talk to you in two.”

As he hung up, part of him was losing it, thinking of Payne’s possibly have been involved in what was clearly a bloodbath. But he kept it together as he searched around for something, anything, that could tell them what had happened—

“Manny?”

“Motherfucker!” As he spun on his heel, he grabbed his cross—or maybe it was his heart, so the damn thing didn’t break out from behind his sternum. “Jane?”

The ghostly form of his former head of trauma solidified before his eyes. “Hi.”

His first thought was, Oh, God, the sun—which showed just how much his life had changed. “Wait! Are you okay with daylight—”

“I’m fine.” She reached out and calmed him. “I’ve come to help—V told me where you were.”

He gripped her shoulder briefly. “I am . . . really fucking glad to see you.”

Jane gave him a quick, hard hug. “We’re going to find her. I promise.”

Yeah, but what kind of condition was she going to be in?

Working together, the pair of them scoured the alleyway, weaving in and out of both the shadows and the lit parts. Thank God it was still early and this was a deserted part of the city, because he was not in a mind-set where he could deal with the complication of people—especially the police—showing up.

Over the next half hour, he and Jane went through every square inch of the alley, but all they found were the remnants of drug use, some litter and a number of condoms he had no intention of looking very closely at.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Goddamn nothing.”

Fine. Whatever. He was just going to keep moving, keep combing, keep hoping—

A rattling sound snapped his head around and then took him over to the Dumpster.

“Something’s making a noise over here,” he called out as he knelt down. Except knowing their luck, it was nothing more than a rat having breakfast.

Jane came over just as he reached under the bin. “I think . . . I think it’s a phone,” he grunted as he stretched and paddled with his fingertips, hoping to get purchase—“Got it.”

Easing back, he found that, yup, it was a busted-up cell phone and the thing was ringing on vibrate, which explained the noise. Unfortunately, whoever was calling dumped into voice mail just as he tried to hit answer and got locked out.

“Man, there’s inky shit all over it.” He wiped his hand clean on the edge of the Dumpster—which was saying something. “And the thing’s password-protected.”

“We need to take it back to V—he can hack into anything.”

Manny got to his feet and looked over at her. “I don’t know if I’m allowed there.” He tried to hand the phone over. “Here. You take it, and I’ll see if I can find any other sites like this.”

Although honestly, it seemed like he’d been through all of downtown.

“Wouldn’t you rather know what’s going on firsthand?”

“Fuck, yeah, but—”

“And if V finds something, wouldn’t you rather go out to deal with it with the right equipment?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So haven’t you ever heard of doing something and apologizing after the fact?” As he popped a brow, she shrugged. “It’s how I dealt with you at the hospital for years.”

Manny tightened his hand on the cell phone. “Are you serious?”

“I’ll drive us back to the compound, and if anyone has a problem, I’ll take care of it. And may I suggest we stop by your house first and get anything you might need to stay a while?”

He slowly shook his head. “If she doesn’t come—”

“No. We don’t say ‘doesn’t.’ ” Jane’s eyes were dead on his. “When she comes home, no matter how long it takes, you will be there. V said you’ve left your job— because Payne told him. And we can talk about that later—”

“There’s nothing to discuss. The St. Francis board all but asked me to resign.”

Jane swallowed hard. “Oh, God . . . Manny . . .”

Christ, he couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth: “It doesn’t matter, Jane. As long as she comes back okay—that’s all I care about.”

She nodded over at the car. “So why are we still talking?”

Good fucking point.

They both ran for the Porsche, strapped in, and took off with Jane behind the wheel.

As she sped over to the Commodore, he was transformed by purpose: He’d blown his shot with his woman once. It was not happening again.

Jane live-parked in front of the high-rise while he jogged into the foyer, shot up the elevator, and hit his place. Moving lightning-fast, he grabbed his laptop, his cell phone charger—

The safe.

Gunning for the closet in his room, he cracked the combo and unlatched the little door. With quick hands and a rock-solid mind, he took out his birth certificate, seven thousand dollars in cash, two gold Piaget watches, and his passport. Dragging over a random bag, he crammed all of that into the thing, along with his computer and charger. Then he picked up two more duffels that were all but throwing up clothes and blasted out of his condo.

As he waited for the elevator, he realized he was checking out of his life. For good. Whether he ended up with Payne or not, he was not returning here—and that wasn’t just about the physical address.

The moment he’d given his keys to Jane, for the second time, he’d turned a corner in a metaphorical snowstorm: He had no idea what was in front of him, but there was no going back, and he was fine with that.

Back down on the street, he tossed his shit into the trunk and the rear seat. “Let’s do this.”

About thirty-five minutes later, Manny was once again in the foggy terrain of the vampires’ mountain.

Glancing down at the near-ruined cell phone in his palm, he prayed to God that this possible link between him and Payne brought them back together again—and gave him a shot at what he’d thrown away—

“Holy . . . shit . . .” Up ahead, emerging from out of the strange haze, a tremendous pile of rock loomed, big as Rushmore. “That’s a . . . fucking house.”