The Departed by Shiloh Walker Page B

rocked back on her heels and added, “And you aren’t my boss these days—you sure as hell don’t get to control me .”
    “I may not be your boss, but that sure as hell doesn’t keep you from calling me when your ass is in trouble.”
    Although he couldn’t make out her face, he didn’t need to see her clearly to know she was smirking at him. “Hell, Taylor. You think it’s my ass that had me worried? My ass ceased to be your concern some time ago. It’s not me who needs you right now. You have another problem you need to worry about. That girl needs you right now—she needs you to help them find who did that to her. Why don’t you get back to her?”
    Her words managed to drill into his heart, an icy cold lance. Yeah, he knew she didn’t need him. That was one thing he hadn’t ever questioned. Swallowing past the ache in his throat, he said grimly, “I’m here trying to do my job—you came here for her, so I’m trying to follow up on anything that might help her.”
    “And I’m telling you there’s nothing I know that will help. At least not right now.”
    “Nothing—you want me to believe you got nothing for me.”
    DEZ was having the hardest time focusing. There was a whisper, something so faint, even fainter than Tristan’s call had been. But Taylor’s presence, his voice—hell, his everything drowned that voice out.
    But she needed to focus.
    This was important.
    It was almost like a voice. Almost.
    But it was so…faint.
    Was somebody speaking—
    “…answer me?”
    She jerked her head up and realized that at some point, while she’d been distracted by that not-quite voice, Taylor had closed the distance between them. Now he stood just a foot away, close enough that she could see him all too clearly, close enough that she could feel his warmth once again and if she leaned forward enough, she could reach out and pull him against her. Feel that long, lean body once more.
    Although the look in his eyes was anything but amorous. She smirked as she looked at him, amused despite herself. Even now, even after he’d been such a fucking jerk , even after she’d missed him for the past year, and even after the hell of today, she still wanted him.
    Damn it, she wasn’t ever going to not want him, she realized. It just wasn’t going to happen.
    She wanted this man…plain and simple.
    Needed him. Craved him.
    He was her drug.
    His eyes narrowed on her face. “Are you listening to a damn thing I say?”
    “No.” Dez smiled. “I can’t say I am. And you know what’s really wonderful about it? You can’t do much more than snarl and growl about it. After all, you’re not my boss, right?”
    Abruptly she laughed. “Damn, no wonder you were always so pissed off when you had to call Taige in on a job. It must really grate on you to have to call in somebody you can’t control. And this is even worse…you didn’t call me in. I’m not even a loose cannon. I’m worse than a loose cannon.”
    Taylor opened his mouth, said something.
    She never heard it, though. She heard something—it was like the soft sigh of the wind dancing through the branches. Louder than a whisper, but no understandable words.
    It was a cry, though. A cry for help—she understood that much this time. And once more, that shivery brush touched her spine and she shivered before she could stop it.
    He saw, too. Damn it.
    He glanced around. “I thought you said he was gone.”
    “He is.” Dez shrugged. “I’m just cold.”
    “You’re not cold. At least not because it’s cold out.” He looked past her, and once more she saw his gaze lock, linger. This time, she followed his eyes, tried to find whatever it was that held his attention.
    But all she saw was the garden of stone—monuments to the dead, to the lost. Was it one of them calling her?
    Was it a call at all or just her imagination? Cemeteries were full of so much unrest, it could be nothing. It could be just the remnants of their passing. And it could be just