Walking backward to her bedroom, she snagged her gun from her purse on the way. The lights were off in there, so she went right to her window and looked through the slats—
There was a figure.
Standing right there.
Jerking back against the wall, she fumbled with the gun, taking the safety off. Then she went for her phone, even though she wasn’t sure who to call. The FBI? No, McCordle. Unless . . . 911? But what was she reporting exactly—
The cell went off in her hand and she jumped. When she saw who it was, her heart pounded.
She was still trying to make up her mind whether or not to answer when voice mail kicked in. But instead of leaving a message, the caller texted her.
I’m outside. Can we talk?
Syn had felt like it was important to approach Jo’s window by himself. He didn’t want to frighten her, and more than that . . . he didn’t want anyone seeing how emotional he might get. He’d listened to the voice mail she had left him earlier in the day about a hundred times, and each replay had carved another piece out of the inside of his chest.
She had sounded so alone. So scared.
He had tried to call her every hour, on the hour, and failed to press send each time. He had no clue what to say to her, and now that he was standing outside her bedroom window like a stalker, he discovered that physical proximity had not improved his vocabulary.
The scent of her registered first, that fresh meadow perfume entering his nose and running throughout his body. Then he heard the soft footfalls.
The latter stopped. The former continued to ride the air currents to his nose.
Syn turned and faced the female who had stolen his heart. “Hello, Jo.”
“What are you doing here?”
There had been no way of knowing what his reception was going to be, but he hadn’t anticipated so much anger.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you—”
“What do you want.”
Not a question.
Syn frowned. “Are you okay?”
She walked forward, coming down the side of the apartment building, closing in on him. Actually, she was outright marching.
“I’m great,” she said as she halted in front of him. “And I’m also armed, in case you’ve come here to earn your money.”
As she pegged him with hard, hostile eyes, he took a step back. “What?”
“I saw the videotape.” Before he could ask for a better explanation, she snapped, “The one where you agree to kill me for Carmine Gigante Sr.? To make up for the fact that you didn’t do what you said you would to Johnny Pappalardo? Tell me something, how does a vampire like you manage to become a mob hit man without getting into trouble with the Brotherhood? It strikes me as a risky side gig, given the whole keep-us-a-secret thing.”
“I didn’t hurt you,” Syn said.
The laugh that came out of her was the very definition of sarcasm. “You didn’t shoot me—for sure. But the night is young, isn’t it. And you’re here to check and see whether I’m a vampire or if I’m still a human, right? So tell me something, Syn, what are you going to do if I don’t change. Are you the one who’s going to put me in my grave? I mean, it’s killing two birds with one stone, isn’t it. You silence a problem for the species and collect cash from the mob. It’s a smart move.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I watched the videotape. It’s on a cop’s phone incidentally—so FYI, they’re onto you. The CPD and the FBI. But hey, you can take care of that, can’t you. Just a little erase job on their memories and you’re scot-free. Or are you? What are you going to do about the videotape? The records. The reports. Things are going to be tricky if any of that falls into the media’s hands.”
Syn crossed his arms over his chest. “I saved your life last night against those lessers.”
“No, you tore a bunch of your enemies up because that’s your job, and obviously because you like to kill. It had nothing to do with me.”
“Didn’t it? Were you in my mind at the time?”
“No, I was on the sidelines, watching how much you get off hurting people.”
Looking away, Syn shook his head. “Slayers are my enemy and soon to be yours.”
“If I turn. And we both know that’s not a done deal, is it. I could not go through the transition, in which case, I’m an issue for you. But again, and fortunately, you’re really good at killing, aren’t you.”
As he tried to think of what he could say, without lying, that was, she lowered her voice. “I don’t want to ever see you again. You lied to me about what I am. You lied to me about why you were around me. I . . . I made love to you, thinking that you were someone— something—you’re not. And I have to live with all that. But I am not adding one more goddamn thing to that list of bad choices and stupid delusions.”
Syn glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back at Jo, she had started moving away, all the while, keeping her eyes on him as if she expected him to hurt her.
I did the right thing, he thought. He’d made the right decision.
“Wait,” he said.
“No.” Jo shook her head, her red hair moving around her shoulders. “No more. I can’t stand looking at you—”
“I came to introduce you to my cousin. He’s willing to be available for you if you go through the change.”
When she stopped dead, Syn motioned to the shadows.
As Balthazar stepped into view, Syn felt like he’d been shot through the chest. But in so many ways, his life had led up to this point.
Yup. The only way to care for the female he loved . . . was to let her go to another.
Jo focused on the male vampire who emerged out of the shadows. He was built like Syn, powerful and dominating, and his coloring was the same. Dark hair—not-Mohawked though—and pale irises. But his features were different, and mostly in the eyes. His were more narrow.
Or maybe it was just that they’d narrowed the moment he regarded her properly.
To his credit, he didn’t do a head-to-toe sweep on her body, and there was absolutely nothing sexual in anything about him.
“This is Balthazar,” Syn said roughly. “He is a fine male of distinction—”
“Actually, I’m a thief.” When they both looked at him, the vampire shrugged. “We need to start this out on a truthful note. I’m a thief, but I’m not ever going to steal from you, and I only want to help.”
He put his hand out. And seemed prepared to wait until she felt comfortable touching him. No matter how long it took.
Jo approached slowly. It was hard to see anything other than Syn, and her emotions made that tunnel vision worse. But the idea that she might have to . . .
“Hi,” she said, extending her own palm.
As they shook, the male stared at Syn, something passing between them. Like a vow. Or a promise.
Jo released her hold and lowered her arm. “Who do you steal from? And what do you take?”
Balthazar shrugged. “It depends. Sometimes it’s because they have so much they need a haircut to make things fairer. That’s my Robin Hood shtick. Sometimes it’s because they have something I want. I’m less proud of that one, and I do try to even that score. You know, give them something of equal or greater value that they may need or like.”