Читать книгу A Hunter Under The Mistletoe: All Is Bright / Heat of a Helios - Karen Whiddon, Addison Fox - Страница 13

Chapter 5

Rafe turned the small medallion over and over in his hands, the noise of his office flat-screened TV filling the air in the executive suite with a steady drone. The flat disc about the size of a silver dollar practically burned in his palm, a physical embodiment of all his people fought against.

There were Hunters in Las Vegas.

And if the medallion were any indication, the ones here were more than the simple, bumbling fools usually impressed into service on behalf of the great and all-powerful equalizer of the universe.

Chaos.

Oh, no. These would be well trained. Well funded. And far more lethal than the typical minion who wreaked havoc and discord.

Images of the fire still filled his thoughts, the physical imprint of that family still pulsing against the nerve endings of his chest. And that smell, its thick, sweet redolence filling the air moments before all hell broke loose. The news claimed it was a tragic outcome of a meth lab gone wrong, but he knew different.

The lab was the overt cause, the production of the dangerous drug coating the house with a lingering miasma that led to the explosion. But it was the power beneath it—the sickly fingers that had directed it all—that was the real and true danger.

Rafe crossed to his office safe and tapped in the ten-digit code. A small light flicked to green before a light hiss of air opened the thick metal door. He reached in and pulled out what lay hidden—protected, really—behind the reinforced metal wall of the safe.

The thick wood was heavy in his palm, an icon from another age. A spoke from the wheel of Helios’s chariot, nearly as powerful as the immortal hand that had crafted it.

The spoke was his family’s own personal talisman, entrusted to them from the dawn of the Stavros line. Though not immortal like their great ancestor, they were imbued with his power and his wards of protection.

And with that power and authority, they willingly protected the race of Phoenix that called Helios for their first ancestor. Rafe and Gabe, and their father before them, understood the responsibility—had lived with it since birth—but a battle had always seemed distant. Separate, somehow.

But no longer.

An image of Evangeline shimmered to life, her delicate features never far from his thoughts. Was she the source? The root cause of what was steadily rising to life? He’d have hardly believed it, but now found it hard to deny the evidence.

She was the child of a Hunter. And she had unfettered access to the Archangel. Was it possible she’d been the Trojan horse, delivered in a spunky, fiery package designed to distract even as it laid the groundwork for their ultimate demise?

He didn’t want to believe it, but the previous night had left him with a layer of anxiety he’d never felt before. His skin crawled with a strange energy, as if it recognized the seething, writhing threat that hovered nearby. He and Gabe had gone to the apartment house with the intention of finding Evangeline’s ex-employees, Troy and Victor. Instead, they’d found destruction and a very clear message in the planted medallion.

They’d also missed their targets. The meth lab explosion had left significant destruction in its wake, including two apartment residents who didn’t make it out alive, but the bumbling members of Evangeline’s team weren’t accounted for in the dead or the living.

Which only forced the additional question of just how bumbling and stupid Troy and Victor really were.

He and Gabe had argued the point until early morning, going round and round without answers. Gabe wanted to exorcise Evangeline from the property and Rafe continued to press for her to stay. His overt argument was so they could watch her. If she was a channel for the Hunters, she was far more useful to them nearby than from a distance.

And if a small part of him fervently wished she was oblivious to the threat that swirled, he’d live with that. Their stolen moments in the corridor downstairs had been some of the sweetest of his life and he refused to believe he was simply thinking with his hormones.

Even if he knew damn well they played a role, too. He wanted the woman. The razor-sharp claws of desire had dragged at him for days—hell, since she started at the hotel, if he were being honest—and something in spending time with her had only made that need more intense.

More urgent.

And far more potent than if he’d continued to deny his interest and stay away.

None of which answered the lingering questions that swirled around the subject of Evangeline Kennedy. Was she the reason for his early Rejuvenation? He’d felt the change coming on for a few days, but in those moments in the high-roller suite, hosting their potential clients, he’d been nearly overcome. Hell, he’d practically stumbled from the high-end villas across the back of the property.

And then he’d fully regenerated, practically in front of her.

Was it possible she had a hand in his early transformation?

He crossed to his desk and picked up the flat disk once more. The thick metal was warm to the touch, a strange, heavy counterpoint to the wood he held in his other hand. Power seemed to pulse between the two objects, that yin and yang his father was so determined to preach.

That strange, precarious balance that dictated their lives more succinctly than any plans or goals they set for themselves.

Rafe tightened his fingers around the objects before crossing back to his safe and relocking both firmly behind the metal door.

It was time to get some answers.

Evangeline let out a heavy breath as she took in the row of sculptures, set at odds among a bright, vivid infusion of flowers. The installation was a centerpiece of the Archangel’s entertainment corridor, an effusive welcome as casino patrons moved past several restaurants and bars.

And someone had craftily positioned two statues beside each other in flagrante delicto.

Where was Security when you needed them?

And worse, why was her mind immediately filled with impressions of Rafe?

Shaking off the erotic image of his mouth trailing along her skin, she desperately tried to focus on the problem. And off all the delectable places Rafe might put those lush, gorgeous lips.

The Archangel’s curator, Arturo, was bound to throw a fit when he saw that his prize sculptures, on loan through the New Year, had been tampered with. Worse, the insurance risk was enormous. She’d done a cursory scan of the marble to see if she might be able to move it herself or secure help from her crew, but there was no way around the problem. She’d have to call Arturo down from his lofty perch in the hotel’s third-floor art museum and get him to put a specialized team on repositioning them.

She dragged out her phone, already preparing herself for the inevitable shooting she’d receive as messenger, when she caught sight of security. Waving down the large, beefy figure, she continued to pace around the sculptures after catching his eye.

How had someone managed this unnoticed? She’d been there when the statues were set in place. Each easily weighted at least three thousand pounds, the Italian marble hewn into the erotically lusty figures that now stood before her. Where their original placement had suggested a sensual feast, sexy nymphs lounging or traipsing through the lush garden she’d wrapped around them, the new placement suggested raw sex and something decidedly dirty.

Like a public shaming. Or the ravages of original sin.

The ringing of the phone in her ear ended, replaced with Arturo’s clipped voice as his voice-mail message rattled off in her ear. Unwilling to linger, she ordered him down to the lobby and shoved her phone back in her cargos. Like she had time for this.

Just like she didn’t have time for dates or kisses or erotic images of Rafe.

The guard she’d motioned for still stood at the opposite end of the hall and she waved him down once more, adding a wolf whistle for good measure. Was the guy blind? And what was taking him so long? He’d be in trouble enough for leaving the statues in the first place, but to ignore a direct request?

“Why, Evangeline, I had no idea you’d planned such a fascinating display for the promenade.”

The dark voice, rich as sin, seemed to float over the back of her neck like a brand. The erotic images she’d fought against rose up once more, a tantalizing replacement for the side of beef who continued to ignore her from the opposite end of the corridor.

Turning on her heel, Evangeline went into damage control mode. “I did no such thing!”

“I’m not saying I don’t like it.”

“You shouldn’t like it. Someone’s tampered with the sculptures and I can’t seem to find Arturo and security’s gone MIA.”

The litany was enough to draw his focus off the sexy art and Rafe’s brows lowered. “Where’s security?”

“I have no idea. I’ve been flagging that hulk down there for the past few minutes and he’s ignoring me.” Evangeline glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see the end of the corridor empty, the mountain of a man nowhere in sight. “I… Where is he?”

“Where’s security?” Rafe’s gaze sharpened, his dark eyes sweeping the breadth and depth of the corridor. “Where’s anyone, for that matter?”

“I don’t—” She broke off, a strange, insistent pounding in her ears in direct counterpoint to her confusion. Where was everyone?

The Archangel lobby was rarely empty, although traffic dimmed considerably during the overnight hours. But it did not vanish in the middle of the morning, nor did the air hum with a malevolent sort of silence.

“What’s going on?”

“How long have you been here?” Rafe’s question was sharp, at odds with his subtle steps as he moved closer toward her.

“Only a few minutes. I wanted to refresh some of the flowers in here and then I found this.” A wave of embarrassment heated her skin, creeping up her neck toward her cheeks. “It’s not how they were originally placed.”

“Not at all.”

“But how could someone move them unnoticed?”

“You could.”

Those two words were spoken in quiet tones despite the accusation that screamed from each of them. “They’re too heavy. I couldn’t even push one.”

“Directed your team, then?”

“No!” The pounding in her ears grew thicker, adrenaline drumming a hard beat through her body. “Someone snuck in here and moved these. A group of guests, maybe, who thought it was funny. Or someone on Arturo’s team. I just found them.”

“Of course.”

Memories from long ago spiraled through her mind and she was once again a helpless child, at the whim of the adults around her. When in one of their moods, her parents had accused her of any number of childish crimes she’d not committed, and those memories braided with Rafe’s dark, endless stare. Fear wrapped around her throat with tight hands, nearly choking off her breath.

I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. No!

Forcing air into her lungs, she lowered her voice. “What are you trying to say?”

His eyes narrowed, a hard, storm-cloud gray that indicated he wasn’t persuaded by her response.

Did he honestly believe she was responsible?

Something swirled at her feet—a hard tug, really—that had her glancing down. The moment she did, a heavy gust of wind blew through the hallway with all the force of a hurricane. The tug at her feet became a hard drag, sucking at her shoes like cement while thick winds buffeted her. A scream crawled up her throat at the hard press of air that pushed against her bones with brutal force. The immediate urge to seek shelter was foiled by the large hands that wrapped around hers.

“Hold on to me!”

Rafe’s grip was tight but it was a solid match for the invisible tether that gripped her feet.

“I can barely move.”

“What?”

“My feet. It’s like I’m stuck or something.” Evangeline tried to lift her leg, straining against the force holding her down. She managed a few steps but a hard ache gripped the muscles of her thighs.

Rafe shifted his grip and bent at the waist, pulling at her leg. “Try once more. Match my movements.”