Broken Soul: A Jane Yellowrock Novel

As usual, my vehicle had remained safe overnight, except for the fact that it was now mired down in the mud. Fortunately, the armored vehicle came with a heavy-duty winch, which I knew how to use. However, I was covered in mud and irritated beyond measure, both of which Beast found highly amusing, by the time I had the SUV free.

 

Mad at the world, not knowing what to do with what I knew, I stopped at a mom-and-pop grocery and glared down the aging couple’s stares at my filthy condition, as I bought most of the breakfast sandwiches they had made. I ate all ten egg-and–Andouille sausage rolls on the way home. Traffic was light. One good thing out of the morning.

 

I was home, stripped, cleaned up, and in bed, flopping onto the mattress in a boneless heap. The smell of catnip was everywhere in the house, a thick, heavy scent that had both of my souls purring. Every breath a sensual indulgence, I slid into sleep.

 

? ? ?

 

I woke tangled in my own hair, my head pulled back and pinned beneath me, the bane of hair that had never been cut. I had forgotten to braid it before I plopped on the bed. Yanking on my scalp, I managed to roll over and out of bed and to the bedroom door, where Alex was knocking. I could tell it was him by the tentative taps and the stench wafting under the door. I double-checked to make sure I was dressed—and saw a pair of new sleep shorts and an old tee. I was sorta presentable. Sleeping in clothes had become mandatory since the guys moved in.

 

I twisted the knob and said, “What’s up, Stinky?”

 

The Kid, standing there with three tablets in hand, lifted an arm and sniffed. Sounding guilty and defensive, he said, “I bathed.”

 

“Day before yesterday, maybe.” Eli and I were trying to teach the brilliant but late-blooming teenager to take regular showers. We had been doing pretty well until now. “No pizza this week. Now whaddaya want?”

 

“Two things. I got the video of the light-thing attacking your SUV, and the video of it and you guys fighting at fanghead HQ. Where do you want it to go?”

 

“Send it to my e-mail and to Soul at PsyLED.” When he looked at me in shock, I said, “Soul knows stuff about them. I want her input.” I’d rather have her input here, now, but I figured her arrival was going to be a waiting game. Meanwhile, I’d play bait and hook, offer a bit and tease with more to get her here sooner, whet her appetite. “What else?”

 

“The Otis people are certifying that the mechanical parts of the elevator itself are working perfectly, but because of the electrical surges and brownouts from the building’s electrical system, which is misdirecting the cage, they’ve shut down the elevator until they can figure out what’s going wrong. Eli said he’s been down the shaft and he smells ozone and something burning on the lower levels, like wires and bad meat. He didn’t go exploring where he shouldn’t, but he wants security to check all the wiring in the basements, including the deepest subbasements where no one goes. His descent proved that there are five, by the way. But Leo said no.”

 

“They woke him up to ask that? In the middle of his night? After he’d been bitten by a giant dragon? And he said no? Gee, wonder why?”

 

“You wake up snarky.”

 

I raked my fingers across my scalp and through my hair, catching on snarls, which hurt. But it was marginally better than belting the Kid. “Tell Eli to get the security team to walk around the lower levels that are accessible to them. If they spot something, Derek can deal with it. And tell Eli to get home and get some sleep. We’ll ask Leo about the subbasements tonight.” I started to push the door closed but the Kid stuck his hand in the way. “What?”

 

“You got a text.” He handed my cell through the crack in the door. “It’s from Rick.”

 

I froze, holding the official cell, the bullet-resistant one, with the titanium lid and Kevlar cover. I could feel the tiny devices the Kid had loaded into the fancy cover. Stuff I had never used. They were hard and rounded beneath my fingertips.

 

“I know it’s none of my business, but Bruiser loves you,” Alex said, sounding terrified but determined. “He sends you presents. He waited on you when you wouldn’t let Rick go.”

 

Cold, air-conditioned air hurt the back of my throat. My fingers closed on the cell phone. It was frigid, and I remembered dropping some of my clothes in a heap in the foyer, beside the air-conditioning vent, the cell on top.

 

“You need to let Rick go,” Alex said, his voice a distant, muffled roar inside my skull. “I know broken hearts take time to heal and all that sh—crap, but you’ve waited long enough. You need to start living again. And stop being such a little girl.” The door closed in my face and I stood there holding the cell. The cover was open, the blinking red light telling me that I had a text.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little girl,” I said to the closed door. “Sometimes it keeps me safe. I know a lot of big macho men who’d still be alive if they’d been a little more like a little girl.” That didn’t seem like enough, so I shouted, “That was sexist!”

 

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