chance that any makol showed up. Still, she’d bet money that he had his knife on him somewhere, probably his .44 as well.
He cocked his head in the direction of the outer door. “Showtime.” Then he melted into the nearest office, becoming part of the shadows.
Moments later, she heard footsteps approaching.
She turned toward the door as it swung open, spilling pale winter light into the entryway and silhouetting her police contact. She started toward him, hand outstretched, “Luc, it’s good to—”
She broke off as she realized two things simultaneously: One, it wasn’t Luc. And two, she was in serious trouble.
Oh. Shit.
There had been no warning from her instincts, no gut quiver, no nothing, leaving her caught flat-footed as a tall, distinguished man with dark hair and a frost of silver at his temples stepped into the light, carrying a neat manila file folder. He wore a familiar herringbone wool coat over a cool gray suit that made his eyes look very blue. And the Tweety Bird tie clip she had bought him on a whim, trying to remind him to lighten up.
Her mouth went dust dry, her voice to a weak thread. “Fallon.”
“Reese.” His eyes searched her face. “Sorry for the bait-and-switch. I didn’t think you would meet me.”
“I . . .” She trailed off, because he was right. She wouldn’t have met with him, at least not with Dez standing right there, unaware that the ambitious young detective who had recruited them once upon a time was now an established high-ranker, dabbling in politics. And that he had been, for the past few years, her sometimes lover.
Her pulse hammered; her brain raced. If she could have grabbed the file folder and fled, she would have. But Fallon deserved better. He always had.
“I needed to see you,” he said, voice rough. “And to ask you to reconsider. You don’t want to marry me, I get that. But that doesn’t have to be the end of things.”
Reese heard a sharp noise from the office and felt pain pierce in the vicinity of her heart. “Yes, it does,” she said, making herself focus on the man in front of her rather than the one hiding in the shadows. “It’s time. Me moving back here didn’t change the fact that we’re in two totally different places. You’re ready to settle down . . .”
“And you’re not,” Fallon finished for her. “I know. I just thought . . . well, I don’t know what I thought. Can’t we forget about that and go back to the way we were?”
She doubted she would ever forget that night: fancy dinner out, candlelight, wine, violins, and a handsome cop with his sights set higher, asking her to be part of his life, part of making the city a better place. The proposal had been perfect, the ring a gorgeous diamond set in pale yellow gold. And she had felt like she was suffocating. “I should’ve ended things a long time ago,” she said softly, “so you could’ve gone out and found someone who can give you what you want.”
“You?re what I want.” He closed the distance between them, started to reach for her, then hesitated as if seeing her—really seeing her—for the first time: no makeup, a few pounds lighter, and back in black. Shaking his head as if telling himself to ignore the changes, he said, “I’ll stop pushing. Whatever you want, just tell me. No more pressure. I promise.”
“You’d be miserable.”
He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Like I’m not now?”
“We need a clean break, Fallon. It’s time. We can’t do this anymore.”
He went very still, tensing like a predator, suddenly all cop. “We,” he repeated. “What happened to ‘this is all for your sake, Fallon’?”
Guilt kicked. “Let it go. Please.”
“This isn’t really about a job in New Mexico, is it? All that stuff about watching the desert sunsets and searching your soul was all bullshit.” He crowded her, face etched with raw pain and growing anger. “You met someone, didn’t you? Someone who swept you off your damn feet the way I never could.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears but she kept her voice even. “The job is real, and it’s important to me.”
“I was important to you.” He grabbed her wrist. “Who—”
Pain exploded as his fingers put pressure right on the half-healed makol bite, obliterating the rest of his question and nearly driving her to her knees. She gasped and sagged, scrabbling against his grip. He let go the second he realized she was hurting, but it was already too late.
A dark shadow moved up behind him. A .44 appeared at his temple. And a pissed-off voice grated, “Back off. Right fucking now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dez didn’t look at Reese; he couldn’t, not now when he couldn’t get hold of his own thoughts. Fallon was one of the good guys, damn it. And even through the haze of anger clouding Dez’s vision—at Fallon for going there, at Reese for not telling him—there was no question that the other man loved her. It was in his eyes, in his voice. He would protect her, care for her. And he had proposed. Probably even got down on one knee and did it right.
She turned him down, he thought. Hell, she broke up with him. But that didn’t help, because he knew damn well the breakup had happened because of the night he and Reese had spent together. That was the way her brain worked.
“You don’t want to do this,” Fallon said. “I’m sure she told you I’m a cop.”
He hadn’t recognized Dez’s voice. That gave him the option of backing off, disappearing again, not bringing it all out in the open, which was what Reese’s eyes silently begged him to do. Hell, he could drop the cop with a sleep spell and they would be out of there with the folder before the guy woke up. No harm, no foul. If Dez were truly the better man he was trying to be, he would do exactly that, and maybe even find a way to point her back in Fallon’s direction.
Back off, he told himself, just as he had told Fallon moments earlier. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not anymore.
The past week had reminded him how it had felt to be the stupid kid who hadn’t fully realized what he’d gained the day he’d snatched her away from Hood. The guy he had been before the star demon’s corruption. More, he had gotten to know the woman she had become, who wasn’t the same as she would have been if they had stayed together. This Reese was quick-tongued and acerbic at times, but he liked that edge, just as he liked her self-sufficiency and the way she made him feel stronger just by being there. Before, he had waited too long and missed his chance. This time, he could very well lose her if the shit hit the fan and the artifacts came on line, unleashing the curse of the serpent bloodline. But if that happened, he wanted her to know what she was walking out on. He wanted both of them to know.
So instead of backing off and disappearing, he gave Fallon a briskly professional pat, relieved him of his piece, emptied it, and put it back. “That’ll save you the paperwork of reporting it gone.”
Then, still keeping his .44 trained on the other man’s melon, Dez stepped around him, into the light, and put himself right beside Reese. To his surprise, his heart thudded in his chest, making the empty spots feel full. He saw in the widening of her eyes and the flush that touched her cheeks that she knew that he was staking his claim. And if that made him a selfish bastard, so be it. Maybe he wasn’t as cured as he wanted to think.
They would hash that out later, though. Right now, they had a cop to deal with.
Fallon’s face—more lined than before, but still bull-tough and square-jawed—went utterly blank for a two- count. Then it flooded with fury. “Mendez.” Coming out of his mouth, it sounded like “motherfucker,” but his eyes hollowed out like he was looking at a ghost. Which in a way, he was. Then his face set in deep lines as he added it up. His voice broke on aching disappointment when he said, “Oh, Reese.”
She flinched but held her ground. Dez could only guess how much that cost her. She wouldn’t have slept with Fallon if she didn’t care for him, and she wouldn’t enjoy hurting him now. Hell, Dez wasn’t getting any satisfaction out of the agony in the other man’s eyes. He could relate too damn well.
“I’m sorry,” she began. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I tried to be what I thought you wanted—
