The Impetuous Amazon Read online

  The nightmares always ended the same. Johann hadn’t reached her in time, and Sparks had thrown fire at her. Megan burned until she was nothing but a pile of charred bones. Then she’d awaken to the smell of smoke and small flames on the wall next to her bed. She’d lost track of how many times she’d had to grab the fire extinguisher or how often she’d repaired and repainted that wall.

  Shit.

  Had Johann noticed when he’d been looking in her room? She couldn’t remember if she’d fixed the damage before he got there.

  “Megan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Here. Take this.” Johann pushed a small pink purse over the lip of the Dumpster.

  She grabbed it and rifled through the contents as he crawled out of the trash. When he came to stand by her side, she glanced up and chuckled.

  “What?”

  She plucked a couple of green feathers from his hair. “Nice accessories.”

  He gave his head a shake like a shaggy dog right out of a bath. “Better?”

  Like there’d been anything wrong before. The man could shave himself bald and he’d still be a hunk. She shrugged, hoping he’d never know the extent of her attraction.

  “What’s in there?” He nodded at the purse.

  She listed the inventory. “Wallet.” She handed the hot pink tri-fold to him.

  He opened it and pulled out a small plastic ID card.

  “Is it Ashley’s?” she asked.

  He gave her a curt nod and pushed the ID back into the wallet.

  “Let me see.”

  “No, you don’t need to—”

  She snatched it out of his hands. “I wanna see.”

  No wonder he’d tried to hide it. The face staring back could have been a young Rebecca MacKay. Blond hair, brown eyes, earthy smile.

  “God, she’s young,” Megan said.

  “Sixteen.” Johann flipped through what little else was in the wallet before he plucked out a ticket stub and showed it to Megan.

  Maksim Popov in Concert. Paramount Theater. Aurora, Illinois. September 8.

  Turning her attention back to the purse, she found something important. “Aha. Cell phone.” She pulled out a small phone covered in pink rhinestones.

  When he reached for it, she jerked the phone away and scowled at him.

  “I need to power it up,” he insisted. “The battery’s dead. Remember?”

  She reluctantly handed it over.

  He yanked a small black cord out of one pocket, then retrieved his phone from the other. After he hooked the cord to his phone and attached it to the cell, he started punching buttons. “I’ll transfer some power so we can see her texts and listen to her voice mail.”

  Megan fingers heated up, and she needed several moments of hard concentration to keep sparks from shooting from her hands. She was eager to solve the mystery, but she feared this would be a loose end.

  Johann disconnected the cord from the cell and turned it on.

  She jerked the phone from him, turned her back and sifted through the content. The man already had the poor girl’s e-mails and instant messages. He sure didn’t need to read her text messages too. A woman should read them instead.

  The display noted thirty missed calls. She scrolled through those first. Most were from Ashley’s mother and well after the time of the concert. Two were from a guy listed as Tommy Baby. The last three were from the friends she’d been with the night she disappeared. Knowing the Sentinel was probably getting impatient, Megan punched the voice mail button and flipped the cell to speakerphone mode so he could hear the recordings too.

  The messages were all teenage chitchat with the last three being impassioned pleas from Nita for Ashley to call her. They all broke Megan’s heart.

  “I’m going to read her text messages,” Johann said, reaching for the phone again.

  “I’ll check,” she insisted. She scrolled through Sent and then Received. More teenage nonsense. The last Sent she read aloud. “Meeting Maksim Popov. Gonna hurl.”

  “So she did go backstage.”

  “Doesn’t prove anything. She headed that way, but we don’t know if she made it or was waylaid before she got there. I take it you didn’t find her in the Dumpster.”

  His scowl reminded her of Artair—but in a good way. His Dumpster dive and shake of his head had left his messy-yet-neat hairstyle just plain messy. A lock had fallen over his right eye, the rest standing in several directions. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Megan hesitantly stretched out her fingers.

  Johann stood his ground. He arched an eyebrow when she moved the wayward lock aside.

  Once she touched him, she couldn’t seem to stop, threading her fingers through his hair and combing it all back into place. Touching him made her fingertips so hot, she was afraid her powers would get the better of her again. She tucked her fingers into her palms and turned away.

  * * *

  Johann had absolutely no idea what had gotten into Megan. There had never been anything remotely nurturing about her. She was Fire, not Earth. He hadn’t known his hair was a wreck until she’d touched him.

  And he’d be damned if he didn’t want her to touch him again. All his Sentinel training flew right out the window the instant she’d raised that slender hand. For that moment, Johann was simply a man. And for that moment, Megan wasn’t an Amazon—she was simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. If she hadn’t erected an emotional wall so quickly, he’d already be kissing her.

  He stared at her back. Her gorgeous red hair was pulled into a ponytail and held together high on her head by a black hair tie. She was wearing khaki pants that hugged her backside like a second skin. Her shirt was nothing but a simple black T-shirt, but in typical Megan style, it was tight enough he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  His mind was suddenly filled with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having—thoughts of the things he wanted to do to that tight body. How her skin would taste. How she’d writhe in his arms. How her eyes would burn with passion as he covered her body with his before he drove himself deep inside her.

  He couldn’t harness his thoughts. She’d burned her way right inside—branded Johann with her face, her scent, her eyes. Balling his hands into fists, he fought the overwhelming desire to grab her, turn her and kiss her until neither of them could see straight.

  Megan abruptly ended his erotic daydream with one annoying word. “Joeman?”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Why are you so pissy?”

  “I’m not pissy. Women get pissy—I get mad.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t get mad, I get even.” Her voice held the conviction she could do just that. “I wanted to ask you if you thought the purse was dumped here before the perp hid the body or after?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  She jammed Ashley’s cell phone back into the purse and threw it at Johann. A few sparks flew from her hair.

  “Rein it in, Megan.”

  “You’re not my—”

  “Sentinel?” Johann asked with a raised eyebrow. “’Fraid you’re wrong there. Look, let’s quit arguing.” He punched up a small map on his phone and showed her. “Where do we go from here?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I could try to sense her.”

  “Have you been practicing?” As out of control as she’d been, he didn’t think she’d devoted much time to learning all her powers. With experience, Amazons could sometimes pick up the essence of people—both living and dead—especially if that person had been touched by magicks. “Do you think you can concentrate enough to try?”

  “I’ll give it a whirl.”

  “That’s all I can ask.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Reach out with your senses,” he co
ached.

  “I see…a long corridor of garage doors.” Her eyes flew wide. “Show me the map again.”

  He held up his phone while she studied it for a moment. Without a word, she turned and started marching to her next destination.

  “Where in the hell are you going?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Megan!”

  Jogging after her, he dodged cars as she made her way to the entrance of a storage facility. When he caught up with her, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

  Sparks flew out of her hair.

  “I thought you said you didn’t get mad,” he said with a smile.

  “Yeah, well—I guess you bring out the worst in me.”

  He took a long look around. “Were you heading here?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  Her exaggerated shrug made him move his hands. He’d been caressing her shoulders. He needed to quite thinking with his cock. The lust would pass. Eventually.

  “I know places like this,” Megan said. “I investigated a case where the skel hid all the stuff he stole in one of these.” She pointed at the long row of units at Aunt Tillie’s Self-Storage. “Something told me to head here.”

  His brows knit. “You think Ashley’s here?”

  “I know it’s odd, but my inner Amazon’s screaming at me.” She winced at the last comment. “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

  Johann didn’t smirk. Instead, he swept his arm toward the doors. “Not lame at all. Lead on, Macduff.”

  She grinned at him. “It’s ‘Lay on, Macduff.’”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s from Macbeth.”

  “You’re quoting Shakespeare?”

  She folded her arms over her breasts. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Sorry. I just… You don’t seem like the type of girl who—”

  “Who would what? Read Shakespeare or Jane Austen? Hmm? Just because I’m strong doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You’re just like the kids at school, calling me a dumb jock. Or worse.”

  “C’mon, Megan. That’s not—”

  “The hell it wasn’t. I’ll have you know I graduated third in my high school class. I was first at the police academy too. I’m not some dumb jock. I’m—”

  Johann put his fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’ve always known you were smart. I was just a little thrown by hearing you quoting Shakespeare. I can’t quote anyone—except maybe Bill Gates or Steve Jobs.” He was pleased to see the tension ebb from her face. “So you found a stash of stolen goods at a place like this? What’s that got to do with Ashley Douglass?”

  He should have taken his hand away from her lips. Instead, he rubbed a fingertip across her bottom lip and was in no hurry to stop the tantalizing gesture.

  Megan kissed his finger.

  She might as well have burned him. He jerked his hand back. “You think she’s here, don’t you?” he asked to prevent an awkward silence.

  “Follow me, Joeman.” With a crook of her finger, she led him down the aisle.

  She skidded to a stop in front of door number seventeen.

  Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out his pick and fiddled with the lock. It popped open.

  “I’m impressed,” she said. “You’d make a good crook.”

  With a shrug, he plucked the lock away and tugged the rolling door up.

  “Damn it,” she whispered. “I knew it.”

  There were four bundles resting on the concrete floor—four human-sized bundles wrapped in fleece blankets. Blond hair peeked out from the first cocoon. In fact, blond hair was peeking out from all the cocoons.

  He didn’t run in to see if the girls were alive. There was clearly no reason to. Instead, he grabbed his phone and started clicking pictures.

  “We have to call the cops,” she insisted.

  “Not yet. We need to find out what we can, then I’ll drop an anonymous call.”

  “But—”

  “No, Megan. We can’t let anyone know we’ve been here. Thank God the back of this place faces that alley.”

  She pointed out the obstacle anchored to the top of the closest light pole. “There are cameras, Einstein.”

  He didn’t stop taking pictures. “I’ll take care of them.” He carefully lifted the edge of the first blue blanket. “Shit.”

  He’d seen better-looking revenants. The hair was Ashley’s—same length, same color. The body wore the clothes the girl was supposed to have worn to the concert. But this body sure as hell didn’t look like Ashley Douglass.

  “She’s mummified.” Johann lifted the corner of one of the other blankets, trying to mask his disgust. “They’re all mummified.”

  “How?”

  “Hell if I know. We need to search the pockets of their clothes.”

  He divorced himself from his emotions, and while Megan worked on Ashley, he started patting down one of the other girls.

  The body was dressed in a miniskirt of tight denim. The first pocket he checked was empty. The second had a single ticket stub. Maksim Popov in Concert. Paramount Theater. Aurora, Illinois. September 1. A week before the concert Ashley had attended.

  He held it up for Megan to see. “I thought singers did one concert then moved on to another city.”

  “So did I.” She fumbled through the jacket on the third girl. “Nothing in her pockets. Except…” She retrieved an identical ticket stub and held it up. “Shit. This one is from almost a month ago.”

  They found nothing on the fourth girl.

  Johann snapped off a few last pictures, grabbed Megan by the elbow and walked her out of the storage unit. Yanking down the door, he put the lock back in place and clicked it shut. “We’re leaving.”

  She matched his long strides back down the aisle. “What about the cameras?”

  He was already hard at work with his phone. A couple of clicks and he flashed her a smile. “Taken care of.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A gift from Ganga. It erases any camera or recording device I pass.”

  “You’re kidding,” she said. “What about your fingerprints on the lock?”

  “I don’t leave any fingerprints.”

  “Let me guess. Gift from Rhiannon?”

  He chuckled when he nodded.

  “Johann, what do we tell Nita?”

  “We don’t. I already dropped an anonymous e-mail to the cops.” He clipped his phone back on his belt. “They’ll tell her.”

  “I should—”

  “No, Megan.” She opened her mouth again, but he cut her off. “And I mean it.”

  When they reached her Mercedes, she chirped off the alarm. He crawled in the passenger side as she slid behind the wheel.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “Home. We need to find out everything we can about Maksim Popov.”

  She revved the engine. “Time to hit the Internet?”

  “Time to hit the Internet.”

  “I’m stopping for some nicotine gum on the way.”

  Chapter Five

  Megan kept flipping between CNN, Fox News and a local station to keep up with the stories of the Aurora police and their discovery of the four girls’ bodies. Experts speculated over whether they were victims of a serial killer and how he’d managed to murder teenagers and reduce their remains to mummies in such a short time. None of the girls had been missing for more than a month.

  She winced each time Ashley Douglass’s name was mentioned. She flinched when they showed pictures of Ashley’s life. Dressed like a tiny ballerina. Playing volleyball for her middle school. Jumping on a trampoline with friends. The poor girl had barely
begun to live.

  Despite Johann’s initial protests that they might be seen by local police, he’d relented and let Megan drive back to the Douglass house right after they’d left the storage facility. He’d only given her a couple of minutes to talk to Nita. When Megan told her of the discovery, Nita had simply nodded, apparently in shock. Megan wanted to stay, but with the local yokels already on the way, she couldn’t be found at Nita’s house. There would be too many questions, and she was supposed to be keeping a lower profile.

  She hated pretending she wasn’t an Amazon and hiding what she did as though she should be ashamed. She’d done enough of that when she was younger, trying to blend in when she stuck out like a flashing sign. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had a secret identity like Superman or Batman. Megan Feurer the woman was Megan Feurer the Fire Amazon. Why couldn’t she just do her job the way she saw fit and be what she was meant to be?

  She worried about Nita. Had the cops been delicate when they told Nita they’d found her only child, although she already knew? Had they let her cry when they told her about the condition of Ashley’s body? She fervently hoped there had been a female officer to help Nita through the ordeal.

  The stressful day ensured that Megan would have more nightmares tonight.

  “You didn’t eat very much.” Johann nodded to the piece of pizza sitting untouched on Megan’s plate.

  She’d choked down one piece, but when he’d put a second in front of her, she’d gotten nauseated.

  He folded up the pizza box and carried the leftovers to the refrigerator. “This thing’s empty.”

  She kept flipping the channels, pretending she hadn’t heard his criticism.

  “We need to stock your kitchen if I’m staying here.”

  “I’m sure the Hilton has some good food. Probably have a well-stocked minibar, too.”

  “I can’t eat takeout all the time. But you’ll be glad to know I can cook.” He peered in her cabinets, clucking his tongue each time he opened one, scolding her for the contents—or lack thereof.

  She wanted to tell him to mind his own fucking business as she watched him from the corner of her eye.

  When he picked up a can of ravioli, he turned it over and looked at the bottom. “I can’t cook any of this. Everything in here’s already expired.”