Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

let that happen.
    Tipping her chin at Ms. Man-Eater, she asked, “Are you an investigative reporter?”
    “For KING-Five TV.”
    Hmm. Seattle’s biggest local broadcaster.
    “Got a story to tell about missing women and police incompetence,” Tania said, laying it on thick. Normally, she didn’t like lying, but with Myst’s life at stake, she considered it just another bump in the road. Holding the reporter’s gaze, she raised a brow. “Are you interested?”
    “Interested is my middle name,” Clarissa murmured, coming out from her natural habitat—the shadows.
    Tania smiled. Excellent. Ms. Man-Eater had bitten. Hook. Line. And sinker. Plan B was officially deployed and on track. If the cops wouldn’t listen to her story, greater Seattle would…on the six o’clock evening news.

Chapter Twenty
     
    His head half buried under a pillow, Mac woke up so fast he flinched. Blinking to clear his vision, he wondered where the hell he’d landed. Big bed. White sheets. Nope, definitely not his.
    Oh, hell.
    He didn’t like waking up in strange places anymore. A decade of one-night stands had been quite enough, thank you very much. He’d lost interest in that kind of arrangement a while ago. Now he had his favorites. His go-to girls: the type who liked to have fun without any strings attached. Worked for him. Worked for them. No harm, no foul.
    All part of the game.
    At the moment, though, the red flags were flying. He couldn’t see anything through the pillow pile, but his hearing worked just fine. Better than fine , actually. He could hear everything. The hum of the dimmed-out halogens overhead, water rushing in the pipes behind the walls…the faint sound of someone breathing. And something else too. A flipping sound, almost as though paper rasped against paper.
    Keeping the movement smooth, he reached for the other side of the bed. Nada. No warm body. Not an ounce of soft skin anywhere. Mac thanked God, then paused to wonder what the hell was wrong with him. He’d never been relieved to wake up alone before and…
    Goddamn. He was losing it.
    He scrubbed his hand over the rat’s nest on top of his head. Man, he needed a haircut. And a fucking clue.
    Frowning so hard the space between his eyebrows stung, Mac thought back and—
    Ta-da. The memory surfaced on cue. Mac blew out the breath he’d been holding. The last thing he remembered was the salt bath. And Sloan sewing him up.
    Fifty-seven stitches.
    He knew because he’d counted, trying not to whine like a little girl while the needle got pulled through again and again. Frickin’ Sloan. Someone needed to haul the guy out of the dark ages. Inform him topical anesthesia and painkillers existed. Spare the next guy in line the one-way trip into Ouchville.
    He didn’t feel bad now, though. In fact, he felt pretty damn good, considering the Razorbacks had used him as a pincushion less than…
    Mac pushed the corner of a pillow out of his line of sight. He squinted at the wide-faced wall clock hanging above glossy white cabinets across the room. Shit. He’d been whacked less than six hours ago. That was wild. A few hours of sleep and he’d healed up good and tight. All right. Maybe he was exaggerating a little. His right shoulder still ached, after all, telling him that although the sliced muscle was on the mend, he wasn’t quite 100 percent. At least not yet. Give him some more Zs, though, and he’d be good as new.
    Fingering the bandage, he turned onto his side and—
    “Jesus Christ!”
    “Rise and shine, partner.”
    Dark green hoodie zipped all the way up, half a deck of cards in her hand, others spread out on the quilt in front of her, Angela sat cross-legged at the end of the bed. Solitaire. Fuck. Wasn’t that just like her…to sit with him, patiently playing a game while she waited for him to wake up. While she waited to see if he was all right. His throat went tight as he spied the concern on her face.
    Biting her bottom lip, she shuffled the cards in her hand. “How we doing this morning?”
    “Jesus, Ange,” he said, voice cracking as his gaze met hers. Her eyes filled with tears. His followed suit, stinging at the corners. God, he was so frickin’ glad to see her. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
    Without warning, she launched herself at him. Cards went flying. Mac sat up in a hurry, catching her in mid-flight, wrapping her in a big bear hug. The kind a brother gave his sister after not seeing her for a while.
    Hanging on