BONDS OF JUSTICE

“If Bonner gives up the bodies”—a grim hope—“I’ll have to inform the parents.” They knew him, trusted him . . . would know why he’d come after so long. “After that, forensics will take over. Since Bonner is already in prison for the length of his natural life, it’s not imperative I be there at every moment.” Though before, he would’ve been, would have wanted to see it through to the bitter, destructive end.

Now, he had other priorities. “I can delegate the supervision to one of the other detectives”—good cops, cops who’d sacrificed weekends, given up vacations, to help Max in the hunt for the Butcher of Park Avenue—“and keep an eye on things from a distance.” Of course, he’d never be free of the Bonner case, not truly. And perhaps he didn’t want to be. A man carried scars on his heart. They made him who he was.

Sophie would leave the biggest scar of all.

No. He refused to lose her, this J with her hunger for touch and her gifted mind.

“Very well, Detective.” Picking up a cell phone call, she turned to the plate-glass window. “I expect you to keep me informed.”

Max found himself momentarily caught by the image of Nikita standing silhouetted against the glass, her gaze somewhere far in the distance. Powerful. Lethal. Alone.


Sascha stretched out her legs on the ottoman in Tammy’s living room and leaned back against the softness of the couch. Like everyone else in DarkRiver, she’d headed to their healer the instant she’d needed comfort of a feminine kind. Lucas had dropped her off after lunch with a kiss—though she knew it was only because Tammy’s mate, Nathan, was home. Likely, there was another sentinel prowling around outside anyway—DarkRiver took the protection of its healer dead seriously.

Suspicious scrabbles sounded from behind her. Feeling her lips tug upward, she remained in place, her eyes closed. Little click-clacks on the wooden floor, silenced as they hit the rugs. Then a few whispering scratches and she felt a warm, playful presence walk along the top of the sofa back to lie down a few inches from her ear. Another presence, just as playful, a little more mischievous, settled beside her thigh.

She’d half expected a baby roar to make her jump up in surprise, but when she opened her eyes, Julian and Roman, Tammy’s twins—both in leopard form—were looking at her with expressions so innocent, her heart melted. “How am I supposed to resist?” she murmured, stroking Jules while she glanced up at Rome.

Getting up, he padded over to nuzzle at her ear. She tried to catch him in one arm to bring him down, but he jumped onto the couch beside her so she could pet him, too.

“Are my little demons bothering you?” Tammy asked, walking into the living room with a tray piled high with Sascha’s favorite chocolate-chip cookies hot from the oven.

“They’re being sweethearts,” Sascha said, as Rome settled down with his paws on her thigh, his eyes closing in bliss as she petted his gorgeous little head with firm, sure strokes. “They’re not as rambunctious with me anymore.”

“What do you expect?” Tammy rolled her eyes. “They’re growing up around Nate and the others. They’ve figured out you’re to be ‘looked after.’”

Sascha laughed as Tammy took a seat opposite her. Ferocious, the twins’ pet kitten, immediately made himself at home in the healer’s lap. “Shouldn’t they both be in kindergarten?”

“They’re doing half days at the moment—just got home a few minutes back,” Tamsyn said with a fond smile. “They both got a good-behavior report from the teacher.”

Kissing the pad of her index finger, Sascha touched it to the tip of Julian’s nose. Lifting a paw, he nipped playfully at her finger. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Tell me you’re not.”

Sascha couldn’t help it, she laughed again, even as Jules and Rome both gave little growls. “They’ll grow up into wonderful young men, you know.”

Tammy’s eyes softened. “I know.” Petting a purring Ferocious, she leaned back in her seat. “So, you saw your mother today.”

“Yes.” Roman butted against her hand when she stopped stroking him, and she continued at once, scratching him behind the ears in that way he liked before moving up and down through the beautiful gold and black fur of his back. “I don’t know if I’m fooling myself, but I think . . . there’s something different about her.”

Tamsyn didn’t say anything, just let Sascha talk. And she did. She talked about her hopes, her worries, her fears. “Do you think,” she said at last, “it’s just the emotions of pregnancy? I mean, I love our baby so much. I can’t imagine any mother not feeling this way.” Under her now unmoving hands, Jules and Rome lay curled up, fast asleep, two exquisitely precious lives.

“Psy are different,” Tammy said at last, “you know that far better than I ever could. But you’re also an empath, and if your heart tells you there’s some hope of a healthy relationship with Nikita . . .”

“I don’t know,” Sascha said. “I just know I’m not ready to give up on her yet.”