I lifted my gaze. His face was so close our noses brushed. The essence of the beasts no longer lurked in his eyes. Now I saw only Sawyer. I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
I wasn’t a mind reader. I couldn’t go in and wallow around in a brain, then pick and choose the memories and thoughts I wished to see. When I touched someone, I saw things—where they’d been, what they’d done— but not everything.
Situations that packed strong emotions—love, hate, joy, terror—were what came through. Which is how I became so good at finding the missing. People most often disappeared after emotional scenes—fights with family, kidnappings, assault, murder.
Because of what this man had taught me, I’d learned to control the seeing or the not seeing—for the most part. Without that switch, I might brush against someone on the street and know things I didn’t want to. With Sawyer, what I wanted to know, he wouldn’t let me see.
“You’re jamming me,” I said.
“Of course.”
“You have something to hide?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Let me in.”
His hands were suddenly on my forearms, holding me to him, keeping me from running, something I suddenly, make that always, wanted to do. “No,” he murmured.
“Then let me go.”
His lips skimmed my forehead, so hot when I was so cold. “Never.”
Our hips bumped, and I felt something I’d felt a dozen times before, but never from him. I wrenched myself free and turned around.
Jimmy stood in the doorway.
Chapter 19
“What did you see?” Jimmy asked.
Fury flowed through me. How long had he been standing there? Would he have continued to watch if I’d given in to the strange temptation to touch Sawyer in ways I still wanted to touch Jimmy?
Jimmy’s eyes, his face, gave away nothing. He just leaned against the door and contemplated first me, then Sawyer, waiting for an answer.
“Bite me,” I muttered, then wished I hadn’t. Both of these men—and I used the term loosely—might be capable of just that, in ways I didn’t want to imagine.
“Was he there?” Jimmy pressed. “Did he kill Ruthie?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s—”
I wasn’t sure how to explain what I’d felt in Sawyer’s mind. He’d let me see so many things, but he’d also closed himself off as no one else I’d ever touched had been able to do.
“He’s what?” Jimmy asked.
“He can block me.”
Jimmy scowled. “Then he’s hiding something.”
“Maybe I just don’t want my mind picked like an apple tree,” Sawyer said reasonably.
“That’s not what she does.”
“Has she touched you and seen what you’ve been up to, Sanducci?”
I winced; Sawyer noticed and smirked. “I wondered what had happened to make you leave, little boy. Should have known it was your dick that got you into trouble.”
Jimmy turned and walked away. He was good at that.
“Phoenix,” Sawyer said softly.
Though I didn’t want to, I faced him. The sight of him brought back the feel of his skin, the rolling sweep of his mind, and the ancient aeons of his life.
“How old are you?”
“I’ve lost count.”
No wonder he was impossible to kill. The longer a person lived, the wiser they became, and wisdom was power. In Sawyer’s case that was a literal interpretation.
“Were you there?” I asked, though 1 have no idea why. He wouldn’t tell the truth. I wasn’t sure he knew how. “At Ruthie’s?”
“No.”
Yep. Definite waste of time. I didn’t believe him.
But I also didn’t believe he’d come to Milwaukee, joined up with a group of shape-shifters, and attacked Ruthie. If he’d wanted her dead, he could have done it on his own, in ways much less obvious and a whole lot less bloody.
“Even if I was there”—his gaze shifted past me to the house where Jimmy had retreated—”I wasn’t alone.”
“I know he was there. He tried to save her.”
“So he says.” Sawyer’s lips curved. “Did you know, Phoenix, that certain vampires have the ability to control animals? They can make them do anything that they wish.”
“He isn’t a vampire.”
“I suppose he told you that too.”
I blinked. I only had Jimmy’s word that he wasn’t a bloodsucking fiend. Crap. I’d only had his word that he loved me, and look how that had turned out.
I shook my head. I couldn’t condemn him based on his shitty relationship skills, no matter how much I might want to. If Sawyer believed Jimmy’d had anything to do with Ruthie’s death, he’d kill him. Jimmy had the same plan, only in reverse, and it would be ugly—long, drawn-out, painful, and bloody.
Of course, if Jimmy had killed her, I’d be right there for the kill-Jimmy party. It wouldn’t matter if I loved him or not, right was right and justice was inevitable.
“He’s descended from a vampire,” Sawyer said. “He’s drawn to evil, fascinated by it. He can’t help himself.”