Читать книгу In Destiny's Shadow - Ingrid Weaver - Страница 11

The lights in the dining room flickered, then brightened. Melina felt her skin prickle, as if a surge of electricity had passed through the air. She rubbed her arms and looked at Anthony.

Had she thought she wanted to know what secrets he hid? Had she been curious about what he kept leashed beneath the surface? She was no longer so certain. The control he usually maintained over his gaze had slipped. What she saw made her pulse pound.

There was anger. Of course, there would be. He had just described in detail his mother’s murder at the hands of Titan. Benedict Payne, she corrected herself. That was his real name. She should be delighted over that piece of information. What a scoop revealing Titan’s identity would be. She had no doubt that Anthony was telling the truth. Whether it was her reporter’s instinct or another gut feeling, she was certain he was sincere.

Yet along with the anger in Anthony’s gaze, there was pain. A deep, tearing anguish that went straight to her heart. His grief struck a chord in her. To lose a parent was painful at any age. She had been twenty when she had lost both of hers, and she had been left so vulnerable, she had been driven to make some horrible mistakes. But for a toddler to witness a murder and then to lose half his family…

What had that done to him? What scars had it left?

She wanted to hold him. It had nothing to do with those sexual impulses he’d stirred before. This was a yearning as basic as the desire for simple human contact. She wanted to reach up and stroke the tightness from his jaw and cradle his cheeks in her hands. She wanted to pull his head to her breasts and comfort him. “Anthony, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Melina,” he said. “I want you to keep your word. Where is the bastard?”

Oh, God. What could she say? She hadn’t deliberately lied. She had never actually told him that she knew.

“Melina?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I can’t answer that.”

His gaze burned into hers. The lights flickered again. “You said you didn’t want to play games, so don’t.”

He was leaning so close to her that she could see a rim of gold inside the green of his eyes. A lock of hair had pulled loose from his ponytail. It swung against his face, the soft strand an unexpected contrast to the harsh rise of his cheekbone.

She touched her index finger to the loose hair. It was as soft as it looked. Silky, almost sensuous in the way it curved against her nail. She brushed the strand from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear, then ran her fingertips around the curve to his earlobe. The gold earring flicked gently against her thumb. She slid her thumb down the side of his neck, trailing her fingers over the line of a tendon. His skin was warm and taut, the texture intriguingly male.

He straightened abruptly.

Melina was left with her hand in the air. She looked at it blankly for a moment, then twisted to face the table and groped for her notepad.

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize again. She didn’t. Because, for the life of her, she didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that mindless caress? How could she excuse it? She would be lying if she claimed she didn’t want to touch him.

Dammit, this was so awkward. Why was this happening? He was a source, that was all. He was a potential gold mine of information. With his help, she could build the article she had begun about Titan into Pulitzer Prize material.

But to do that, she had to get Anthony’s cooperation. “Your story moved me,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by—” she lifted her hand and let it drop “—by what I did just now.”

Anthony returned to stand beside his chair. He put his hand on the jacket he’d draped over the chair back, as if he was debating walking out.

Awkward didn’t come close to describing the situation, Melina thought. She wished she knew what was wrong with her. “I don’t know where Titan is—I mean, Benedict Payne. Not for certain. That’s why I can’t tell you. But I do know where I’m going to look. Hear me out, okay, Anthony?”

He sat.

Melina took a few moments to steady her breathing before she went on. “The FBI has smashed the Titan Syndicate drug ring and raided all the labs he had established. They had thought they would find him in one of them, but he got away.”

“Benedict’s drugs were only a means to an end,” he said. “It was a moneymaking scheme. He has a bigger agenda.”

“Yes, I’ve believed that all along. He has a base of operations that’s independent of his drug business. I suspect it’s in this state.”

“Why?”

“There are a few reasons,” she said. “Here’s the simplest—the Titan Syndicate has done some business in every state except New Mexico.”

“The area of New Mexico is over one hundred twenty thousand square miles. How do you plan to narrow that down?”

“Fredo told me he couldn’t go home. I think the reason has to do with Benedict, so that’s the next place I intend to start looking. Fredo’s hometown.”

“And what is Fredo’s hometown?”

“I’ll answer that in exchange for the rest of your story.”

He stared at her, his gaze snapping. The music that had been playing unobtrusively in the background of the room was suddenly interrupted by shafts of static.

“It’s basically the same deal as before,” she went on. “Only I’ll want more from you than just one interview. Your involvement with Benedict before he became Titan completes the picture. You know more about his character than I do. If you tell me everything that you know, I’ll be able to combine it with the information I have and we can both get what we want a lot sooner.”

“Melina—”

“This is what I do for a living, Anthony. I’m very good at digging up the truth and putting clues together. The sensible choice for us would be to team up. You can tag along with me while I work.”

There was another burst of static from the speakers. “I can ‘tag along’?” he repeated.

“All right, we could be partners.”

He leaned toward her, his body rigid with tension. “Define partners.”

Her heart thumped. She was honest enough to admit to herself that it wasn’t only from the prospect of getting his story. The width of the table lay between them, yet she felt the force of his gaze make the back of her neck heat and her breasts tingle. But she should ignore that. She had to ignore that. “It would be strictly business,” she said quickly. “We can pool our knowledge and our talents.”

He continued to look at her. “Bringing Benedict to justice isn’t a matter of business for me,” he said. “It’s personal.”

“Yes, I understand that now. The sooner we start working together, the faster we’ll both get what we want. Fredo said Benedict is too paranoid now to leave his stronghold, so once we locate that, we locate him. Then we’ll call in the authorities and—”

Before she could finish, there was a commotion at the other side of the room. Chair legs scraped across the floor, voices lifted in question. She turned to look just as someone screamed.

A young couple stood in the doorway of the dining room, apparently stopped on their way out. Melina had noticed the pair when she had arrived. She had assumed they were honeymooners—they had been smiling, so wrapped up in each other that the man had propped his elbow in his plate of eggs. Neither was smiling now. The man had his arms around the woman, her face pressed protectively to his chest.

“Stay here,” Anthony ordered. Seconds later he was on his feet and heading across the room.

Melina grabbed her purse, shoved her notebook inside and followed.

A crowd was gathering in the lobby near the elevators. Their attention appeared to be directed toward something on the floor. Melina couldn’t see what it was until she reached the edge of the ring of onlookers.

At first she thought she was looking at a pile of clothes. The edge of a glossy postcard poked out from one of the folds—it looked like a picture of a thatch-roofed cottage set in a green countryside. But why would someone dump dirty clothes in the lobby? And they were dirty. She could see dark smudges on the denim garment that lay on top.

But then Melina saw the hand.

It wasn’t a pile of clothes, it was a body.

A body dressed in a denim jacket that bore bullet holes and tire tracks.

Anthony shifted into high gear and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The mountain range in the distance inched closer as the Jeep hurtled down the narrow blacktop, its square frame vibrating in the wind. The vehicle wasn’t built for comfort. The stiff suspension transmitted every flaw in the pocked pavement into teeth-rattling jolts, but Anthony was too impatient to slow down.

Melina hung on to the grab bar over the door, her feet planted hard against the floor. Her green carry-on bag was in the back seat beside his duffel. This time she hadn’t argued when he’d told her to pack. She understood the danger they were in. He could see that she was upset, and she had every right to be. She was also adamant that she wasn’t going to give up.

“The turnoff to Antelope Ridge should be coming up soon,” she said. “You’d better hope there isn’t a speed trap.”

He glanced at his mirrors as if he was checking for flashing red lights behind them. He didn’t want to explain to Melina he would have felt the radar impulses long before the police would have spotted him.

Their destination was a town in the rough countryside northeast of Santa Fe. It was miles off the interstate and rated only a small dot on the map. It would be a good place to lay low for a few days, but they weren’t coming here to hide, they were coming here to hunt.

Antelope Ridge was Fredo’s hometown. This is where Melina wanted to begin their search for Benedict’s stronghold.

“I feel bad about leaving Fredo again,” she said. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“The staff at the Pecos will make sure his body is treated with respect, Melina. That’s all we could have done. It wouldn’t have been safe for us to hang around any longer.”

“I realize that, but the whole thing is so…gruesome.”

“It was a warning from Benedict.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out the postcard he’d managed to lift from the body. “This scene of a cottage in the German countryside is the Titan Syndicate’s calling card. Jeremy described it to me. Apparently my sister got one just like it.”

“How did you take that from Fredo without anyone noticing?”

“That’s not important. It was meant for you, anyway.” He flipped it over and held it out to her. “There’s no writing on the back, but the message is clear. Benedict wants you to quit investigating him.”

She took the card by one corner and studied it. “It’s such a peaceful picture, it makes the whole thing creepier. But I’m not giving up.”

No, she wouldn’t, Anthony thought. Once again, he felt a stirring of admiration for her grit. “How did you meet Fredo in the first place?”

“He tried to sell me a hundred-dollar Rolex. Instead of calling the cops, I interviewed him for a story on habitual thieves. Afterward, I gave him some money and got him a job at a grocery store, but he quit after a week.” She twisted over the seat to store the postcard in her bag. “Whatever his faults, he doesn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“Something else Benedict will answer for,” Anthony muttered.

“How did Benedict’s men get Fredo’s body from in front of the alley before the police got there? I didn’t delay all that long before I phoned them.”

“You made the call eleven minutes after we left the scene.”

“He was lying in plain view in the middle of the street.”

“A dark street in a deserted neighborhood.”

“Maybe Fredo’s suspicions were correct and Benedict has bought off someone on the Santa Fe police force.”

“Even if he does have someone on the force, there would be no telling which patrol car took the call. It’s more likely that there was nothing for the police to see when they arrived.”

Melina shivered. She clasped her hands in her lap. “How could that be?”

Anthony reached out to turn up the heater despite the sunshine that poured through the windshield. “Benedict’s men must have escaped through the rear doors of the van before it exploded.”

“I thought of that possibility last night, but decided it was too remote.”

“The van they were driving was likely stolen. They could have stolen another vehicle, possibly a delivery truck, from one of the warehouses on that street and picked up the body. Eleven minutes plus however long it took the cops to get there would have given them enough time for that.”

She turned to face him. “If it was a delivery truck, they could have faked a delivery to get Fredo into the hotel. Anthony, we should go back.”

“No. Too risky.”

“It might be quicker. We could start with the hotel and find out what deliveries they had. Or we could check the warehouses, see if a truck was stolen and trace it from that end.”

“Wouldn’t do any good. They would have ditched it by now. The Titan Syndicate wouldn’t have left such an obvious loose end.” He glanced at her. “It’s not too late. If you went back to New York and put out the word that you’re off the story, then Benedict would have no reason to come after you.”

“No.”

“Think about it for a minute, Melina.”

“No. I told you already, I don’t give up. And I’m not ready to go home, especially now. We must be close to Benedict. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have given us that warning.” Her voice firmed. “We’re in this together now, Anthony, whether you like it or not.”

He already knew that. He hadn’t truly believed she would go home, but his conscience had made him try to persuade her one last time.

It would be safer for her if she gave up…but it would be better for him if she didn’t.

The partnership she had proposed earlier made sense. They would get further if they pooled their information and their abilities. Melina would make a good ally. There were strong, logical reasons to keep her with him.

Then there were other, less logical reasons. There was the way she had touched him when he’d stood over her chair in the restaurant. His entire body had sensed the gentle stroke of her fingers on his neck. He could feel her presence beside him now as vividly as sunshine. The connection was getting stronger by the minute. He would be lying to himself if he pretended he didn’t want to feel it again.

Yet even before she had touched him, he’d felt the caress of her emotions. The sympathy in her gaze had steadied him, drawing him back from his anger. It was odd. Although his psychic abilities allowed him to link with his sisters on occasion, he was no empath.

“I don’t understand how Benedict could have known I was at the Pecos,” Melina said.

Anthony wrenched his thoughts back on track. “Neither do I. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Just my editor. And there’s no way that Neil would give out that information.”

“What about someone else at the paper?”

“That’s unlikely. Maybe we were followed when I checked out of the Grand Inn.”

“No. I made certain of it.”

“Someone could have put a tracking device on this Jeep while it was parked outside.”

“Impossible. Any device would need a power source to transmit data. I would have noticed.”

“How would you know?”

“I do regular scans of my surroundings.”

“You do scans? Why? How?”

Anthony kept the Jeep pointed down the highway and opened his mind, directing his awareness to search for any trace of foreign energy. He probed the underbody first and found nothing. The area under the hood was more difficult, since the field generated by the engine and the vehicle’s electrical system provided background noise, but it was clean, too. He completed the sweep by probing the interior. Satisfied there was nothing that didn’t belong, he returned his full attention to driving. “Trust me, I just do.”

Melina was silent for a while. “Anthony, you said you work for your friend Jeremy Solienti.”

“That’s right.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

He considered how to reply before he spoke. “We’re what you would call troubleshooters.”

“What does that mean?”

“Jeremy runs a private business that’s based in Philadelphia. You could think of it as a consulting firm. When a client comes to him with a problem, we try to solve it.”

“Is that where you live? Philadelphia?”

Yes. I have an apartment there, but my work can take me anywhere.”

“Did you learn about scanning for tracking devices as part of your job?”

Incredibly, Anthony felt his lips quirk. How long had it been since he’d felt the urge to smile? Melina’s inquisitiveness stemmed from more than her occupation—she had a remarkably active mind. Her intelligence was one of the most attractive things about her. “I’ve had to learn many skills over the years.”

“Including learning how to remove evidence like the postcard that was in plain view of a dozen bystanders?”

“That particular skill does come in handy.”

“Is your profession the reason you didn’t want to go to the police?”

“You mean, am I involved in something illegal? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Would it make any difference?”

There was another silence. “Yes, it would, but I don’t believe you are, Anthony. You seem more like the type of person who would bend laws rather than break them.”

The smile pushed at his cheeks. He felt unreasonably pleased by her assessment. “My work is varied. I take assignments that often involve some gray areas of the law, but sometimes it’s necessary when the law itself has failed.”

“For example?”

“Returning an item to its rightful owner. Tracing a missing person. Acquiring some particular information of interest.”

“That’s very vague.”

“It was meant to be. But in answer to your other question, I don’t want to go to the police about Benedict for the same reason you don’t. I believe I can do a better job without them. They would shut me out of the investigation.”

“I know what you mean. My source on the FBI hasn’t given me anything in months.”

“Who’s your source?”

“An agent who is interested in Titan.”

“That’s very vague.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “It was meant to be.”

His cheek twitched. She gave as good as she got.

“Is this vague profession of yours the reason you know so much about running away and dropping out of sight?”

His smile winked out before it could finish forming. No, he thought. He had learned about keeping out of sight a long time ago.

“Stay here with your sisters, Tony. Be a good boy and don’t make a sound until Mommy comes back….”

He’d tried to do what she had said. He’d held on to Dani and Elizabeth, hiding with them under his mother’s dresses that hung in the closet, doing his best to protect them and keep them safe. But it had been dark and hot, and the hems of the dresses kept sticking to his face, and his sisters were crying and his mother was screaming and he couldn’t breathe in that tiny, tiny space….

Anthony inhaled fast, stemming the panic before it could set in. He fixed his gaze on the horizon, anchoring himself in the here and now. No one could feel hemmed in in countryside like this. The sky was huge. The air was fresh. It was too cold to take the top off the Jeep, but the square design surrounded him with windows. That was why he’d chosen it, so he could see he wasn’t enclosed.

He hated small spaces. Knowing why he hated them didn’t make it easier. It only added to his list of reasons why he hated Benedict Payne.

“Anthony?” A light weight settled on his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

His hands cramped on the wheel. He eased his grip and flexed his fingers. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

She squeezed gently and withdrew her hand from his arm. “We’ll find him. Once he’s behind bars, your family will be safe.”

He looked at her. There were so many things he could say, but none of them were about Benedict. Touch me again. Let me see the warmth in your eyes. Let me hold your body next to mine and escape into what’s building between us….

He said none of those things. Instead, he nodded once and returned his gaze to the horizon.

The tang of incense hung in the air, making columns of hazy white where the spotlights tunneled through the darkness. Benedict ran his fingertip over the cool surface of the crystal sphere. The interior was dark. It didn’t reveal its secrets to him. He hadn’t been gifted with the talent to read the future there as Deanna’s family could. There were psychics and fortune-tellers in that group of Gypsies. It was the only reason he’d married her.

She should have been grateful to play a part in Benedict’s master plan. Without him, she would have been nothing. He had talked her into fertility treatments, he had selected the special sperm to breed superior children. The first three had displayed talent. The infants had been too young to test properly, yet even at a few months of age they had shown promise. He had already begun to devise the best way to train them when Deanna had ruined it all.

No, not ruined it, Benedict corrected himself. Deanna’s interference had delayed his plans, that was all. He had done well for himself in the years he was Titan. He was in a better position now to reap the benefits of his genius. All he needed was to acquire the remaining child….

Benedict’s breath hissed out. The crystal sphere was no longer dark. A bloodred glow pulsed within its depths.

He grasped the ball between his hands, bringing his nose to the crystal surface in his eagerness to see inside. Yes! Yes! The mystical power of this place must be starting to work. He’d been right to build his headquarters here.

The glow condensed before his eyes, forming itself into a rounded form. It looked like a ball. No, it was more like a…a bulb.

Benedict twisted to look behind him. The red light over the door of his inner sanctum was flashing. Someone was signaling him from outside. He looked back at the sphere. It wasn’t a vision that he saw in the depths; it was a reflection of the light bulb on the surface, that was all. A trick. An illusion.

It never occurred to him that the mistake was his.

He snatched the crystal sphere from its base, lifted it over his head and hurled it to the floor. It shattered against the rock.

The light continued to blink. Benedict kicked aside shards of crystal and walked to the door. He pressed his thumb to the lock, swung the door open and stepped into the anteroom. A puff of incense followed him. As soon as the inner door swung shut, he climbed the four steps to the outer door, thumbed the lock and emerged in the corridor.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light. He had left the walls and floor of his inner sanctum natural, wanting nothing to insulate him from the power of this place, but much of the complex boasted white marble floors, plaster walls and a cleverly designed lighting system that made the windowless hallways as bright as day.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

He looked at the men who stood before him. Gus and Habib had worked security for him during the early years of the Titan Syndicate in Europe. They could be relied on to carry out his orders—they were two of his most innovative confederates.

Benedict focused on their clothes. They were wearing coveralls with other men’s names on the breast pockets. “Where did you get those?”

“They were in the back of the truck we stole,” Habib replied. He tugged at one cuff—the sleeves were ridiculously short for his lanky frame. He was usually very fussy about his appearance.

“And those cuts on your face?” Benedict asked, looking from one to the other.

“They’re nothing,” Gus said quickly. Crooked lines of scabs creased his pale, basset-hound jowls. He rubbed his right eyebrow. Most of it was missing, as if it had been burned off.

Benedict scrutinized them closely. They were banged up, but they were still on their feet. Good. Whatever injuries they had suffered weren’t serious enough to interfere with their duties. He started walking toward the lab. “Since you’re here, I assume you completed your task.”

They fell into step behind him. “Yes, sir,” Habib said. “We took care of Fredo.”

“Excellent. He had outlived his usefulness to us even before he tried to leave.”

“He only got as far as Santa Fe.”

“We made sure he’s dead,” Gus chimed in. “He won’t be talking to anyone else.”

Benedict stopped and whirled to face them. “Anyone else?”

Habib waved his hand. There was a strip of gauze around his palm. “He met that reporter from New York. They spoke for only a few minutes. If he did say anything to her, she won’t be talking.”

“Ah, so you eliminated her, too. Good work.”

Gus cleared his throat. “We weren’t able to kill her. We gave her a warning instead. It scared her spitless. She took off so fast—”

“You made a mistake,” Benedict said. “You should have killed her. Melina Becker is becoming more of a nuisance than the FBI. Where did she go? Where is she now?”

“Habib was driving,” Gus said. “He lost her.”

“The truck we stole couldn’t keep up with her friend’s Jeep,” Habib said. “And they left so fast we didn’t have time to pick up another car.”

Benedict spoke through his teeth. “What friend? Don’t make me drag the story out of you piece by piece.”

“The reporter had a man with her,” Habib said. “He was tall, dressed all in black. He had a black ponytail like one of those martial arts guys. I’m not sure, but I think he’s got some kind of earring, too. He didn’t look like a cop.”

Benedict stared at Habib. As he sorted out the disjointed description of the reporter’s companion, his anger transformed to excitement.

A tall man who wore his dark hair in a ponytail and who had a gold earring. The description matched the one that two of his late confederates had given him several months ago. They had tried to acquire Anthony for him in Philadelphia and had failed.

Could it be true? Could the oldest of Deanna’s children already be this close?