Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | In Destiny′s Shadow

In Destiny's Shadow
Ingrid Weaver


With his unique power and handsome, brooding strength, Anthony was on a collision course with the destiny that awaited him in the mountains of New Mexico. His goal–take down Titan, the man who'd murdered his mother and torn his family apart.Then a woman got in his way, a reporter who wanted Titan for her own scoop. Nothing could stop Melina Becker–except for the sexual tension that flared between them like lightning and burned twice as bright. As much as Anthony wanted her, Melina was a complication he didn't need–not when, miles away, his nemesis awaited him. But neither he nor Melina could imagine the fate Titan had in store for them….









Along with the anger she saw in Anthony’s eyes, there was pain.


A deep, tearing anguish that went straight to her heart. What had it done to him to lose his family as he had? “Anthony, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Melina,” he said. “I want you to keep your word. Tell me where Titan is.”

What could she say? She hadn’t deliberately lied. She hadn’t actually told him she knew. “I can’t answer that.”

His gaze burned into hers. “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. She brushed a silky, almost sensuous strand of hair from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear. Melina recalled his command. She wanted to do a lot of things with Anthony Caldwell. But playing games wasn’t one of them.




In Destiny’s Shadow

Ingrid Weaver





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to the gracious and talented ladies who told our Family Secrets: Jenna, Marie, Candace, Linda and Kylie.

It’s been way too much fun to call work!




INGRID WEAVER


admits to being a sucker for old movies and books that can make her cry. “I write because life is an adventure,” Ingrid says. “And the greatest adventure of all is falling in love.” Since the publication of her first book in 1994, she has won the Romance Writers of America RITA


Award for Romantic Suspense, as well as the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Suspense. Ingrid lives with her husband and son and an assortment of shamefully spoiled pets in a pocket of country paradise an afternoon’s drive from Toronto. She invites you to visit her Web site at www.ingridweaver.com.










Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue




Prologue


Benedict fondled the woman’s body, feeling the stone warm in his hand. No one knew how old she was. Her previous owner, the late collector who had last possessed her, had claimed her age was ten thousand years. She had been caressed like this for eons; her rough edges had been smoothed by the touch of countless handlers. She was squat and gray, not much longer than the length from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, but she contained all the essential elements. Yes, whatever prehistoric craftsman had fashioned this figure knew exactly what mattered most in a female.

He rubbed his thumb across the woman’s breasts, pausing to flick his nail over a distended nipple. No pert, Barbie doll silicon implants on this girl. These breasts hung in a V like heavy, overripe pears, swollen with the promise of nourishment for the child she carried in her belly. She had no face on her tiny head, which was another point in her favor. Her arms were mere suggestions in the stone, short grooves that angled backward out of the way and would be incapable of putting up a fight. Her thighs were wide, her legs short and sturdy. She had no feet because she would have no need to go anywhere. Her sole purpose was to bear children.

The stone grew slippery from the sweat on his palm. Benedict moistened his lips and rubbed harder. Too bad real women weren’t more like this. It would have been so much simpler if Deanna had been like the stone carving, all breasts and womb, no brain. He had entrusted his plans to her body but she had betrayed him. She had stolen the six children who would have given him the future.

She had paid for her crime with her life.

He replaced the priceless figurine in its case. Turning in a slow circle, he contemplated the other treasures that lined the spot-lit alcoves of his inner sanctum. There was a sphere of solid crystal mounted on a pounded copper circlet, a deer hide medicine pouch, a jade amulet, the sword of a Samurai, marble from the Temple of Athena, a fragment of stone from the Pyramid of Cheops…The extent of his collection was too long to list. Every item was reputed to possess mystical powers. And now he possessed them.

That was how it worked. Possess them, possess their power. He was going to need it. His enemies were growing stronger. They had destroyed much of his empire but they would never find him. They didn’t understand that with each blow they struck, they pushed him closer to his ultimate destiny.

Benedict climbed the steps to the platform in the center of the room. At the top was a plain square table and high-backed chair fashioned from alder wood. The chair creaked as it took his weight, the dry wood making a noise like a scream. He laughed at the sound. The wood had been taken from a Welsh valley once said to be used by Druids. Whether their old gods liked it or not, the power that lingered in the wood was his now, too. Soon he would be invincible.

He had reinvented himself before. He would do it again. He had begun life as Benedict Payne. After Deanna’s betrayal, he’d assumed the identity of uber-criminal Titan. His next transformation would be his last. He smiled and slipped a deck of tarot cards from his suit pocket.

Like the stone woman, the edges of the cards had been worn down from handling. He dealt a pattern for himself on the table and turned over the first card. His smile deepened as he saw the figure depicted on the front. It wore different guises in different decks. At times it was a blue-robed sorcerer, other times it was a rabbit, but its true identity remained the same. The Magician—working in secret, gathering power, using any means to control those around him.

Yes, control was the ultimate power, he thought, tapping the card against his lips. Soon, the world would see the culmination of the plan he had set into motion over three decades ago. He had been patient, watching and waiting for the right time to make his move. Five times he’d almost had Deanna’s children within his grasp. Five times they had eluded him.

Yet there was still one left. The firstborn, the boldest, the one who dared to hunt him. This time the hunter would become the hunted. The Magician would prevail.

And then the future would be his.




Chapter 1


“If you help me, Fredo, I’ll help you.” Melina put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the sharp outline of his bones through his denim jacket. He was trembling. The night carried the taste of autumn, but Fredo’s tremors likely weren’t due to the cold. “We don’t have to go to the local police if you don’t want to,” she said. “I know someone in the FBI. They would protect you. They could get you somewhere safe.”

“You don’t understand what Titan’s turning into.” Fredo shrugged off her grasp and stepped from the sidewalk into the alley where the streetlight didn’t reach. “Nowhere is safe. You can’t trust anyone.”

“Fredo—”

“The feds got all his labs. They destroyed his drugs, his equipment, everything. Half his guys were arrested. It made him flip out.”

Wind gusted past the canvas awning of the closed fruit market beside the alley, rattling the strings of dried chilies that hung out front. Melina’s skirt swirled against her calves, the wool rubbing over her suede boots with a noise like stealthy whispers.

She looked behind her to check that the street was still deserted. It was. They were far from the popular tourist haunts of downtown Santa Fe. There were no quaint adobe buildings or historic missions here, just modest shops, video places and liquor stores, all of them closed up hours ago. The only movement she could see came from dead leaves and bits of crumpled paper that skittered along the pavement.

Most women would find the situation unsettling, to say the least. It was two in the morning and she was standing at the entrance to a dark alley with a thief. Yet Melina Becker had faced far worse to get a story. She slipped one arm through her purse strap to loop it around her neck and followed Fredo into the darkness. “Do you know where Titan is now? I heard he has a stronghold. When you called me you said you had information.”

“All I have for you is a warning. You better stop what you’re doing.”

She detected a rising note of anxiety in his voice. Her pulse sped up. She must be closer to paydirt than she had thought. “I can’t stop yet, Fredo. Couldn’t you give me something?”

“You were decent to me once, Melina. That’s why I’m trying to do you a favor now. Why won’t you listen?”

“I’ve put months into this story, and I do realize how dangerous Titan is. I promise he’ll never know you talked to me.”

Fredo laughed, a high-pitched, nervous bark that echoed from the brick walls flanking them. “If you believe he won’t know, for sure you don’t know Titan at all. Ever since the feds raided his labs he’s more paranoid than ever. He scares me. I’m telling you, he flipped out.”

“How? What do you mean?”

“He was always weird, but now he’s over the edge. He’s got a stronghold, all right. It’s a regular fortress. He’s so paranoid now, he never leaves it.”

“Where—”

“Go back to New York. Get out of Santa Fe. Tonight. That’s what I’m doing.”

Melina reached for his arm. “Just give me something, Fredo. Anything. Tell me where to look.”

He turned away before she could touch him, tucking his chin farther into the collar of his jacket. “He’s in plain sight, but even if you look, you won’t see him. Honest to God, he thinks he’s some kind of magician.”

“I don’t understand. What—”

“I can’t go home, but you can.” He started walking toward the rectangle of faint light that marked the other end of the alley. “If you don’t, you’re going to get us both killed.”

Melina hurried after him. Her boot heels resounded hollowly from the walls, making it sound as if she were being followed. She took a second to check over her shoulder, but the shadows appeared empty. When she looked for Fredo again, he was already several yards ahead of her. “Titan’s here in New Mexico, right?” she persisted, increasing her pace. “You can give me that much, can’t you?”

Fredo broke into a jog. “Leave it alone.”

“Wait!” Melina stopped short as she barely avoided running into a utility pole that rose close to one wall. “Fredo, please.”

He dodged past the dark bulk of a garbage bin and left the alley at a run. The street he emerged on was narrower than the one at the other end. It was dimmer, too, lined with warehouses instead of stores. No light showed around the steel doors that were rolled down and locked for the night. Yet before Fredo was halfway across the street, his thin form was suddenly bathed in white.

There was a series of muffled pops. He jerked and stumbled sideways. Dark splotches appeared on his jacket, spreading over the worn denim like giant drops of water.

But it wasn’t raining. That wasn’t water. Melina skidded to a stop at the mouth of the alley and flattened herself against the side of the garbage bin.

Fredo crumpled to the pavement. An engine roared from the darkness, and a yellow van barreled down the center of the street. Gunfire flashed from the open passenger window, illuminating a pale, heavy-joweled face. Fredo’s body continued to jerk. The van lurched. Its right wheels ran over him with a noise like splintering wood. Without slowing down, it reached the end of the block, turned the corner and disappeared.

For an instant, Melina couldn’t move. She felt numb. The bag of chips that had passed for her dinner rose in her throat, making her gag, muffling her building scream. She staggered out of the alley, her legs boneless.

Oh, no. Not Fredo. Poor, hard-luck Fredo. She had just been talking to him. He couldn’t be…

You’re going to get us both killed.

She moved beside him and dropped to her knees. He was dead still, lying on his back, his limbs bent in unnatural angles and his head twisted to the side. His eyes were open, unblinking and already starting to glaze. There was a pool of blood under his cheek. More blood gleamed in the moonlight from the dark holes and the zigzag pattern of lines that smeared the front of his jacket.

The holes were bullet holes. The lines were tire tracks. Those sounds…Oh God! She swallowed hard. Her fingers shook as she extended her hand. She laid her palm on his chest. “Fredo, I’m sorry. I never meant—”

At the noise of an engine, she twisted to look behind her. Headlights swept across the pavement. The yellow van was coming back.

Melina’s mind was reeling from the brutality she had just witnessed. It took her a crucial second too long to process what was happening. By the time she sprang to her feet, the van was mere yards away, the glare of its headlights obscuring everything else.

She tried to jump out of its path, but the soles of her boots slipped in Fredo’s blood and she fell. Sticky warmth seeped through her skirt to her knees.

Oh, God. She was going to die. She didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when she was so close to getting everything she wanted—

She grunted with the impact. But it wasn’t the impact of a one-ton vehicle. A hard, male body slammed into her side, knocking her out of the way an instant before the van surged past.

Tires squealed. The van skidded into a U-turn at the end of the block.

“Let’s go!”

Melina looked up. The man who had tackled her was already on his feet. She had a quick impression of dark hair, broad shoulders and the scent of leather, but there wasn’t time to absorb more. He caught her under her arms and hauled her upright. “Come on!”

She wasn’t sure she could have spoken if she’d wanted to. There was no need. Not if she wanted to survive. Hiking up her skirt, she ran with him into the alley.

The van accelerated behind them, the engine whining with the strain. Mortar and fragments of brick sprayed the air as bullets struck the wall of the buildings on either side of them. The stranger grasped her wrist, spinning her to his chest. With one arm clamped around her waist, he lifted her from her feet and backed her behind the garbage bin at the alley’s entrance, using its bulk and his body to shield her from the bullets and the ricocheting debris. “Hang on,” he said.

She struggled in his embrace. Why was he stopping here? They weren’t safe yet. The alley wasn’t that narrow. The van could squeeze past the bin and they would be caught. “No. We have to keep going.”

He tensed, as if he were gathering his strength. A tremor went through his body, but otherwise he remained motionless.

Tires screeched again, so close, Melina drew in the smell of exhaust and burnt rubber. The van’s headlights swung into the alley. She shoved at the man’s chest. “We can’t stop. They’ll—”

Her words were drowned out by an explosion overhead. Melina stretched on her toes to peer past the stranger’s shoulder. Sparks showered downward from a transformer atop the utility pole she had almost run into when she’d chased Fredo. The air sizzled as something long and thin flicked through the alley above them, weaving like the end of a whip. It was a power line, Melina realized. It must have been severed by a stray bullet. It crackled in a smoking trail where the tip danced across the ground—and it cut off their only escape route.

Metal screeched as the side of the van scraped along the garbage bin.

The stranger scooped Melina into his arms and ran straight for the live wire.

She screamed, clutching the front of his jacket, her fingers digging into the leather.

The wire coiled, snakelike, hissing and spitting. It came so close, Melina felt a prickle of energy shoot through her nerves. She shuddered at the sensation and clung to the stranger. At the last possible second, he veered to the side, ducked safely past and set her back on her feet.

The wire swung directly into the front grille of the van that followed them. Bolts of blue-white brilliance arced along the metal. The engine died, along with the headlights. The van coasted forward a few feet but didn’t clear the steel bin. It stopped, caught between the bin on one side and the building on the other, the doors wedged shut. Sparks shot out from beneath the hood as the current passed through it and found a direct route to the ground. The sparks were followed by flames.

The stranger grabbed her elbow, wrenching her around. He tugged her forward. “Run! It’s going to blow!”

Melina didn’t need any more encouragement. She sprinted with him toward the other end of the alley. For a suspended moment, all she could hear was their pounding footsteps, the noise of their breathing and the hammering of her own pulse. One beat. Two. There was a crackling whoosh. She glanced over her shoulder. The van erupted in flames. One more heartbeat and the gas tank exploded. The alley was engulfed in a fireball.

The shockwave caught them before they could reach the street. The man lunged for her, wrapping his arms around her as they were lifted into the air. He twisted so that he took their combined weight on his back when they hit the ground, then quickly reversed their positions, sheltering her beneath him as embers and pieces of burning wreckage bounced from the walls and the pavement around them.

It seemed to go on forever. Melina tucked her face against his neck and squeezed her eyes shut. Her retinas burned with an afterimage of the fireball. Her ears rang. Her knees stung.

And her nerves were humming as if she were still too close to that live wire.

She struggled to draw air into her lungs. She tasted smoke and ozone…and warm male skin. Her lips tingled where she touched the stranger’s throat. A shiver shook her body. The hair at the nape of her neck stirred.

He rolled off her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and opened her eyes. He was kneeling at her hip, a large, dark silhouette against the fire that crackled behind him. She could see the outline of his square jaw and caught a glint of gold at his ear but she couldn’t see his face. The fire was the only illumination—the streetlights beyond the alley had gone black.

He leaned over to run his hands along her arms and down her legs. He lingered at her knees. “I don’t think that’s your blood on your skirt.”

“No. It’s Fredo’s. I just was talking to him. I can’t believe—”

“I saw what happened. I’m sorry. Was he a friend of yours?”

“I didn’t even know his last name. Oh, God, he—” Her voice broke.

He slipped one arm under her back to help her sit up. “Can you walk?”

She swallowed hard before she could speak again. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…winded. What you did back there…” She sounded scared. Well, she was scared, and she felt sick. But at least she was alive. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Sorry if I hurt you when I grabbed you.”

“We both could have been shot. And that wire—”

“We got lucky.”

“I have to call an ambulance. For Fredo.” She groped for her purse. The strap had twisted around her neck but it hadn’t broken. She pulled the purse to her lap, undid the clasp and shoved her hand inside. “I need my phone.”

“No, you don’t.” He got to his feet and held out his palm. “There’s nothing anyone can do for him now. Or for his killers.”

In her heart, she knew he was right. She had been at enough accident and crime scenes to recognize death when she saw it. Fredo was gone. She squinted at the burning wreckage of the van. Unless they had escaped out the back doors, the people who had killed him were dead, too.

Could she have saved the people in the van if she had gone back to help them? Probably not—everything had happened too fast. If she had tried, she would be dead now, either from electrocution, the explosion or from one of their bullets.

She fought back a wave of nausea. God, this was a nightmare.

“Come on, Miss Becker.” The man leaned over, caught her hand and tugged it out of her purse. “Time to leave before we have more company.”

The slide of his skin against hers sent a strange tickle up her arm, distracting her. She had started to rise before she realized what he had said. She tried to yank her hand free. “How do you know my name?”

He firmed his grasp and pulled her the rest of the way to her feet. “I’ll explain later. You need to get somewhere safe.”

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“My name’s Anthony Caldwell.”

She tried to kick her brain into gear. The name wasn’t familiar—she was sure she had never met him—so how did he know her?

There was a sudden bang and a flare of light from the wreckage. The alley and everything in it was bathed in red. For the first time, she was able to see her rescuer’s face.

Once again, Melina couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. The man’s expression was as unyielding as his grip on her fingers. His features were all harsh lines and sharp angles, too austere to be termed handsome. His hair was thick and raven-black, pulled ruthlessly back and caught by a band at the nape of his neck. A thin gold hoop pierced his left earlobe. He looked hard, uncompromising. Untouchable.

Yet his gaze…oh, those green eyes snapped with power that shot right through her body, jolting her nerves to vivid awareness, sending her racing pulse into overdrive, reaching deep inside where she hid the pain….

She trembled. She felt as if she were being drawn forward. It took all her strength to keep from swaying into him. What was happening here?

The flare of light died. Oily smoke rolled over them. A dog barked somewhere in the distance above the crackle of the flames, jarring her back to reality.

“You have no reason to fear me, Miss Becker,” he said. “We’re on the same side.”

Melina yanked her hand free of his and stepped back. Her pulse still pounded. Traces of awareness trickled down her spine and hardened her nipples. Her nipples? She couldn’t be aroused, could she? Not now. What was wrong with her?

Her reaction to this man had to be shock, that’s all. Or adrenaline. She had to get herself under control. She had to think logically, objectively. Set aside her emotions and put the facts together. That was what she did best. That was who she was.

But who—and what—was he?

Anthony Caldwell was a complete stranger. She definitely had never met him before, or she would have remembered. Any woman would have remembered a man who caused a reaction like that.

She shoved her hand back into her purse. Her fingertips brushed the edge of her phone. This man had saved her life, but that was the only thing about him she knew for certain. The prudent thing to do now would be to call the police. “You said we were on the same side. What does that mean?”

“We both want the same thing.”

She turned the phone in her hand until her thumb was positioned over the keypad. “And what’s that?”

“Titan.”



This wasn’t how Anthony had wanted to play it. He did his best work in the shadows. He had never intended to meet Melina Becker face-to-face. It would have been simpler to follow her until he had the opportunity to take what he needed. But the man who called himself Titan had been a step ahead of him. Again.

Because of that, yet another soul had died.

Anthony’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the steering wheel. How many deaths were on the bastard’s hands now? How many more would there be before Anthony stopped him? Would any of them have happened if he had been stopped twenty-eight years ago, after the first one?

He kept the Jeep steady despite the burst of rage that shook him. The anger was nothing new. He couldn’t remember a time without it.

He spotted the oval green-on-white sign that was the trademark of the Grand Inn chain, and turned into the parking lot. Out of habit, he backed the Jeep into a spot so that he could get out quickly, then shut off the engine and looked at his passenger.

She probably thought that clenching her hands in her lap that way would hide the tremor in her fingers. It must be important to her not to show weakness. Anthony could understand that. For a woman who had witnessed a murder and had narrowly missed becoming a victim herself, she was holding up well.

He had expected no less. Melina was the lead crime reporter for the New York Daily Journal. She hadn’t gotten to the top of her field by being a coward. It had taken some nerve to fly halfway across the country and walk into a deserted alley in the dead of night to meet a source. Almost as much nerve as it had taken for her to get into this Jeep with him.

Then again, he knew she would do anything to get the man she knew as Titan. They had that much in common.

She turned her head to meet his gaze. Her auburn curls were backlit by the floodlight over the motel office, giving them the appearance of a halo. The curve of her cheek was softly feminine, gleaming like satin. Her lips were full and shaped in a classic bow, and he couldn’t help remembering how good she had felt in his arms.

Had she sensed the sexual current that had flowed between them back there in the alley? Its strength had taken him by surprise. It had been all he could do to bring it back under control, but he’d had no choice. He couldn’t afford the distraction. This was the wrong time, the wrong place and definitely the wrong woman.

Her gaze glittered, not with interest but with challenge. “I didn’t tell you I was staying here, Mr. Caldwell.”

“You didn’t need to. The Daily Journal always puts its people in the Grand Inn chain. They’re both owned by the same company.”

“How do you know that?”

“I looked it up on the Internet. Now you need to pack your things. I’ll answer your other questions once we get you out of here.” He opened his door and stepped to the ground. He had to grit his teeth against a wave of dizziness. It had taken more out of him than he’d thought to blow that transformer and snap the high tension wire.

“Just a minute,” she said. “You said we would talk about Titan. That’s why I came with you. I’m not going any farther until—”

He slammed the door on her protest and rounded the hood to the passenger side. He paused until the dizziness had passed, then flung open her door and held out his hand. “We don’t have much time, Miss Becker. I couldn’t be the only one who figured out you’re staying here. Someone in Titan’s network must have learned about your meeting with Fredo tonight. They don’t leave loose ends.”

Her gaze darted past him as she scanned the parking lot. She drew her lower lip between her teeth. It was an unconscious gesture, another chink in the brave front she was trying so hard to project.

Anthony felt a sudden urge to pull her into his arms and protect her the way he had before. Instead, he withdrew the hand he had offered and gripped the edge of the door. He had to maintain his focus. Hers wasn’t the only life at risk. “I’m staying at the Pecos Lodge. It’s built around a courtyard and is more out of the way than this place. I’ll book you a room there under another name.”

“I could go to the police.”

“Yes, you could, but you already chose not to,” he said, mentally replaying the cell phone call she had made from his Jeep. “Why didn’t you give your name when you called to tell them about Fredo’s murder?”

She returned her gaze to his face. “Fredo said I shouldn’t trust anyone. That could mean Titan has an informant on the local force.”

“Then why did you trust me?”

“What makes you think I do?”

“You came with me.”

“I would go with the devil himself if it got me to Titan.”

Anthony was familiar with the signs of obsession—he recognized them in himself. That Melina’s obsession stemmed from professional reasons rather than personal made no difference. He would use it to his advantage. “There’s another reason why you didn’t go to the police.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“You don’t want them to get between you and your story.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll give you five minutes to pack. Then I’m leaving, with or without you.”

She gathered her skirt to one side, swung her legs out of the Jeep and hopped to the ground. She led the way across the parking lot to her room in silence. As soon as they were inside and he had closed the door behind them, she turned to face him. “Look, I came this far with you because you know something about Titan. And I’m going along with your suggestion about checking out of this motel because I agree with you about that. It would be safer to change location on the off chance Titan learned I met Fredo. But let’s get one thing straight.”

“What?”

“I don’t take orders, Mr. Caldwell.” She put her fists on her hips and drew herself up. “And as much as I appreciate the way you saved my life, I won’t be bullied.”

She was tall for a woman, and the suede boots that hugged her calves had good-size heels. Because of that, she didn’t need to tilt her head much to meet his gaze. It reminded him of how well their bodies had fit together when he’d been holding her—

Concentrate, he told himself. “It was never my intention to bully you, Miss Becker. I’m merely stating the most logical course of action.”

“No, you were trying to push me, and it won’t work. Yes, I want my story, but you must want something from me. It couldn’t have been coincidence that you happened to show up in that alley tonight. You must have been following me since I left this motel. What is it? What do you want?”

She shouldn’t have put it that way, he thought. What would any man want when he was at a motel in the middle of the night with a woman who made his blood hum the way it did now? He brought his index finger to her cheek. He stopped short of touching her, yet he could feel her warmth reach out to him, drawing him closer, making him yearn for the time to explore where this could lead.

But they didn’t have time, and he couldn’t afford this. The sooner he got what he came for, the safer everyone would be. He dropped his hand. “I already told you.”

“Right. You said you want Titan.”

“He has to be brought to justice.”

“Absolutely. We agree on that much, but you didn’t answer my question. What do you want from me?”

“I want your files.”

Her eyes widened. She took a step back. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need the information you’ve gathered. Your notes, your files, your list of contacts. You’re closer than the police are to learning where Titan is. Combined with what I know, that will lead me—”

“Whoa. I should have seen it. You’re a reporter. That’s how you know so much about me and the Journal. What paper do you work for?”

“I’m not a reporter. I don’t work for anyone but myself.”

“Prove it.”

“My questions should prove it. I’m not interested in what Titan has done, I only care about where he is now.”

She studied him, as if trying to read the truth on his face. “Well, whatever you claim, you’ve got some nerve thinking I’d give anything away. I’m not telling you where Titan is. This is my story. I’ve been tracking him for months and I intend to be there when he’s arrested.”

“You can’t plan to continue. You were almost killed tonight. They won’t give up.”

She turned away. There was a pale green carry-on bag on a suitcase stand beside the door. She picked up the bag and took it to the desk in the corner. “I don’t give up, either,” she said. A laptop computer sat on the desk, surrounded by disorderly piles of handwritten notes. She unplugged the laptop and slipped it into a pocket on the outside of the bag, then gathered the papers and stuffed them in, as well. She zipped the pocket closed and faced him, her chin lifted and her shoulders squared. “And just in case you’re thinking of stealing this stuff, don’t bother.”

That was exactly what he’d been thinking. It would have been the simplest solution, after all. That was why he’d been watching her room earlier tonight—he’d planned to enter when she was asleep and help himself to what he needed. But when he had seen her go out, he’d decided to follow her instead. “Miss Becker…Melina.”

“Because it wouldn’t do you any good,” she continued. “I use the computer mostly for research and for sending finished copy to my editor. And I use my own brand of shorthand for my notes.” She tapped her temple. “Most of what I know is in here.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to be concerned about your safety.”

“I am concerned. That’s why I’m packing.” She placed the bag on the bed. Her gaze dropped to the bloodstains on her skirt. For a moment she wavered, clenching her hands the way she had in the Jeep.

It was obvious to Anthony she was still struggling to control her emotions. He took a step forward, but she recovered quickly and turned to the dresser. It was just as well. He probably shouldn’t touch her again.

Moving mechanically, she emptied the dresser drawers and the room’s small closet. With the skill of a habitual traveler, she rolled the garments smoothly—there weren’t many—and squeezed them into the middle compartment of the bag. She walked to the bathroom. “If you’re not doing a story, then what’s your connection to Titan?” she asked over her shoulder. “Did you work for him?”

Anthony followed her. The bathroom was small and didn’t appear to have a window, so he stopped in the doorway. “I’ll answer that question if you tell me what you know.”

“That isn’t the way it works.” She used her forearm to sweep the belongings off the counter beside the sink into another pocket of her bag. “You should be giving me information, not the other way around.”

“And you shouldn’t be risking your life for a story.”

“My work is my life, Mr. Caldwell,” she said. “And I’m going to break the news about Titan. What he did tonight to Fredo is only the latest in a string of crimes that’s more extensive than anyone believes.” She hitched the strap of the carry-on over her shoulder and brushed past him.

He turned to keep her in sight. “You don’t have to convince me of that, Miss Becker. His thugs attacked and almost killed my friend.”

She paused at the foot of the bed to look at him. Some of the antagonism eased from her expression. “Why?”

“Because my friend wouldn’t tell them where to find my sisters and me.” He moved toward her and reached for her bag. “Here. I’ll carry that for you.”

She curled her fingers around the strap. “No, thanks.”

“You still don’t trust me?”

“No, but if Titan hurt your friend and is threatening your family, I can understand why you would want to see him brought to justice.”

Anthony didn’t respond. If she ever discovered what he really planned to do with the bastard, she would be even less inclined to trust him. He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob. “The five minutes are up. Time to go.”

Melina gave the room a final survey, then moved to join him. She put her free hand on his arm. “Why would Titan be after your family?”

“Where is Titan hiding?”

She hesitated briefly, her lips thinning, then sighed and gave a crisp nod. “All right. If it turns out you’re telling the truth, we might be able to make a deal.”

He looked at where her fingers rested against his jacket sleeve. Her nails were trimmed short and bare of polish, her grip firm, yet there was a delicate femininity in the shape of her hand. Her touch couldn’t penetrate the leather, but he sensed it just the same. “What kind of deal, Melina?”

“You might have information about Titan that I could use.”

“And in return?”

“In return for an interview, I promise to call you before I break the story.” She patted his arm. “Aside from the FBI, you’ll be the first one to know where he is.”

It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start. He took her hand. The contact teased through his palm and raised the hair on his arm. At her intake of breath, he lifted his gaze. Her lips seemed closer to his than before. Had she swayed toward him? Had she felt it, too?

Anthony released his grip and forced himself to look away. He knew what he wanted. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t this.

Melina Becker was a means to an end, that was all. Anthony didn’t have the time or the right to indulge his cravings with her. He had to control this connection between them. He had no choice.

For Anthony’s destiny had been determined twenty-eight years ago. He had been three years old when he’d watched Titan commit his first murder.

Back then, Titan had called himself Benedict Payne.

And back then, Anthony had called him father.




Chapter 2


“I have a new lead, Neil.” Melina pushed down on the handle of her hotel room door with one hand while she held her cell phone to her ear with the other. She swung open the door, snatched up the Santa Fe Examiner that lay on the threshold and bumped the door closed with her foot. “It’s going to take some more time to check it out.”

“How much more time, Melina?”

Tucking the newspaper under her phone arm, she straightened her sweater as she walked back to the bed. It was a relatively long walk. The proportions of the rooms in the Pecos Lodge were far more generous than those at the Grand Inn. They were more distinctive, too. The Pecos had a Southwestern flavor: red and black Navajo-style patterns brightened the bedspread and curtains, warm varnished pine planks made up the floor, and the window was set into a thick plastered arch. It was nice, but she knew she wouldn’t linger. She seldom did. “I’m interviewing him this morning, so I need another day. Maybe two.”

“That’s what you said last week.”

“I know, but this is promising, Neil. No one else is on it.” She laid the paper flat on the bed and scanned the headlines.

“Maybe no one else is on it because there’s nothing to be on. Titan is just another drug dealer. He’s news, but not big news.”

She turned the pages and continued to skim the articles as she squatted down to grope beside the bed for her boots. “We’ve had this discussion before, Neil. Titan has a bigger agenda, I’m certain of it.”

“What happened to the lead you were chasing—the thief you interviewed last year? What was the guy’s name? Pablo? Paco?”

The newsprint blurred. Melina left her boots on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. “His name was Fredo. He’s dead.”

“What? How?”

“Titan had him killed. I saw…” She breathed in slowly through her nose, trying to push her horror away so she could recall the events objectively. Almost six hours had passed, yet she still felt like throwing up when she remembered the sound of the van running over Fredo’s body. She brushed the folds of her skirt. She had thrown out the one she’d worn last night. “I was there. He was shot. The people who did it are dead, too.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Did you get pictures?”

“No, Neil. I did not get pictures.”

“You don’t need to shout.”

She did some more nose-breathing, striving for calm. Neil Tremblay wasn’t as insensitive as he sounded. He was just doing his job as her editor. She switched her phone to her other ear. “Sorry.”

“Did you get a statement from the police at the scene? Are they finally admitting it was Titan?”

“I didn’t wait for the police. There was too much going on at the time. Afterward I called in a tip anonymously.” She looked at the paper. “So far there’s nothing about it in the local news. It’s probably too early. I’ll follow up on Fredo’s murder and on what I learned from him when I finish this interview with my new lead.”

There was a silence. “You should have been more forthcoming with the police, Melina,” he said. “You still have nothing solid to run.”

Neil was using his reasonable voice, the one he adopted when he was about to say something she didn’t like. She pushed herself off the bed and paced as far as the window. She fingered the geometric pattern at the hem of the curtain. “We’ve discussed this before, too, Neil. I want to hold off running anything until I can cover Titan’s arrest. My contact at the FBI has been ducking my calls, so I’m sure they’re closing in. I want to be there when they do.”

“I admire your determination, but you have to understand my position. I’ve given you all the leeway I can and still have nothing to show for it.”

“This new lead could pay off big,” she began.

“That’s what you said when you flew to North Carolina in September, and again when you flew to Texas last month. Nothing came of those leads, either. It makes me wonder whether you’re using this story as an excuse to keep traveling.”

“Neil—”

“If it was only up to me, I’d give you carte blanche, you know that. But I have to answer to the board and I can’t continue to justify your expenses.”

“Are you cutting me off?”

“Don’t put it so harshly, Melina. This is for your own good. It’s time to reassess our priorities. We should direct our energy to more worthwhile pursuits.”

“Neil, this is worthwhile. I have the inside track with a friend of one of Titan’s victims.”

“Great. Write it up as a human interest piece and we can run it in the Sunday supplement.”

“He can give me more than that. It seems that Titan is after this guy’s family. I want to find out why.”

There was a stuttering creak on the line. Melina recognized the sound of Neil’s chair. She pictured him leaning back behind his desk, the Manhattan skyline beyond his window a dramatic backdrop, his gaze directed at the ceiling. He did that a lot.

She pushed aside the curtain to look at the mountains in the distance. She didn’t know what the range was called, but the skyline sure was different from what she was used to. “Two more days, that’s all I’m asking.”

“And then?”

She hesitated.

“Will you give me your answer when you come home?”

“My answer about this story?”

“No, about us.”

Oh, damn. Melina turned her back on the view and sank down on the windowsill. She didn’t want to go into this now. “I can’t promise that, Neil.”

This time his silence was longer. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped. “I miss you, Melina.”

“Neil…”

“I know we agreed not to discuss it until you got back.” The chair creaked again. “But you’re still thinking about what I said before you left, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I think about it,” she said.

“Good. You can have your two days. Let me know what flight you’re taking. I’ll meet you at the airport the day after tomorrow.”

The call ended as it had begun, with business. Melina should be pleased that Neil had relented about the expenses, but the victory was a small one. The larger battle was awaiting her on her return to New York.

She placed the phone on the windowsill beside her, then bent forward, dropping her face into her hands. You’re still thinking about what I said before you left, aren’t you?

Marriage wasn’t something she liked to think about—she hadn’t seriously considered it for eight years—but this was the third time that Neil had proposed.

He had popped the question in his office with the same ring he’d offered the first two times. It hadn’t exactly been romantic, but she had been in a hurry to get to the airport, and he kept the ring in the top drawer of his desk.

There were many points in his favor. He was a nice guy. Mature, respectable, emotionally stable and financially comfortable. They had countless things in common, from their fondness for jazz to their interest in foreign films. They had a terrific working relationship and they enjoyed each other’s company. Their dates weren’t passionate but they were pleasant. She genuinely liked him, and she was certain he would make a great father. Those were all sensible elements to build a solid marriage on. If she set aside her emotions and thought logically…

Right. Set aside her emotions, use her brain. Seek the truth. That was what she did best. That was what being a good reporter meant.

But this wasn’t a story she was contemplating. This was her life.

My work is my life. That was what she had told Anthony only a few hours ago. And it was. It had given her a structure to cling to when the rest of her world had fallen apart. Chasing a lead across the country, walking into dark alleys, getting shot at by criminals didn’t frighten her half as much as taking another leap of faith with her heart.

Would her feelings be any different if Neil had intense green eyes instead of comfortable brown? Would she be logically weighing the pros and cons of commitment if Neil had thick black hair that he wore in a bandit queue, and a defiant gypsy hoop in one ear? Would she be hesitating like this if he had a tall, lean body that moved with the pulse-skittering, sexy grace of a prowling wolf?

Groaning, she crammed the heels of her hands against her eyes. What was wrong with her? Anthony had nothing to do with her relationship with Neil. He was a source, that was all. A source she still didn’t completely trust. A source who could be extremely useful because he had a personal ax to grind with Titan.

He also had a strangely stimulating effect on her. When he was near, everything seemed more vivid, as if her senses were somehow more acute. Granted, the circumstances last night had been exceptional and that could have influenced her perception, yet Anthony Caldwell wasn’t an ordinary man. He projected an impression of energy, a feeling of leashed power.

That was what drew her. There was far more to Anthony than met the eye. It was only natural that, as a reporter, she would want to discover what made him tick, what secrets he kept. And it was totally understandable that, as a woman, she would respond to that…that…She fumbled for a word. How could she describe it? What was it about that man that made him so different?

Whatever it was, it was inconvenient. He hadn’t told her anywhere near enough after he’d brought her here last night. She would have to push him harder during their interview. She only had two days to get results. Otherwise, she would have no excuse left not to return to New York.

Excuse? The thought made her groan again. Was Neil right? Was she finding reasons to keep traveling?

“Melina?”

At the deep voice, she snapped her head up. As if she had conjured him out of her thoughts, Anthony stood less than two yards away.

Her heart did a painful thump. It wasn’t only from surprise. His gaze probed into hers and sent a tickle of awareness all the way to her bare toes.

He wore the same clothes as he had the night before. Black jeans encased his long legs and rode comfortably loose on his slim hips. A black leather bomber jacket hung open over a shirt that had likely started out black, as well, but was faded to a washed-soft pewter. The sober tones suited him—even though he stood squarely in the light that poured in from the window behind her, he gave the impression of being surrounded by traces of shadow.

“Melina, are you all right?”

How long had she been staring? she wondered belatedly. She surged to her feet. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“We agreed to meet at eight,” he said. The gold at his earlobe glinted subtly as he tipped his head behind him. “When I knocked on your door, it swung open. I thought I heard you moan, so I came in to make sure you were okay.”

“I didn’t hear any knock.”

He scowled. “You obviously didn’t hear me come in, either. You have to be more careful. Titan’s people don’t give second chances.”

She looked past him. The door to the corridor was closed now. She remembered undoing the security chain when she had picked up the newspaper from the threshold. She had been talking to Neil so she hadn’t bothered to rehook the chain. She also hadn’t paid any attention to whether or not the electronic lock had engaged.

Her carelessness jarred her. “Thanks for your concern, but as you can see, I’m fine. And I believe I already mentioned to you how I don’t take orders.”

“It was advice, Melina.”

“We won’t quibble over semantics,” she said, deciding it was time to take control of the situation. She stepped forward, expecting him to move aside. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant downstairs.”

He didn’t budge. “I’ll walk down with you.”

She wished she had taken the time to put her boots on—she could have used the psychological advantage of the extra three inches. Not that she felt threatened by Anthony’s presence, which was odd, considering his size. He had to be at least six foot two, maybe three, and he’d already demonstrated how easily he could manhandle her. Back in that alley, he had picked her up and lugged her around as if she weighed nothing.

So why wasn’t she nervous? He had appeared uninvited in her hotel room, she’d known him for less than six hours and she didn’t entirely trust him. Source or not, why didn’t she simply step around him, grab her boots and leave?

Those were good questions. She didn’t have answers for them, other than to chalk up her lack of fear to a gut feeling.

Her gaze dropped to his throat. She noticed his pulse beating at the base of his neck where he’d left his shirt collar unfastened. She caught a hint of his scent, the musk of warm male skin, and she remembered how she had felt when he’d sheltered her with his body.

A few dark hairs showed at the top of his shirt. She had a sudden urge to test their texture with her fingertips, to unfasten more of the buttons and slip her hand inside and run her palm over his bare chest and drag her lips across the swells of his muscles and—

She didn’t realize she had moved nearer until her toes came up against the hard leather of his shoes.

She blinked and leaned back. When had she leaned forward? And when had she lifted her hand? Her fingers were only inches away from his top shirt button. She snatched her hand away and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. The touch made her shudder—her lips were tingling.

What on earth had just happened?

Melina didn’t know what to say. She felt ridiculous. How could she explain reaching for him like that? He must think she was coming on to him. All right, she found him attractive, even compelling, but she was a mature, rational woman. She wasn’t ruled by her impulses. She clenched her jaw and looked up.

God help her, she wanted to reach for him again.

“On second thought, Melina,” Anthony murmured, turning away, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”



There were only a dozen people in the hotel dining room—November seemed to be a slow time of year for the Pecos—so Anthony had his pick of the tables. He chose one at the far end, near the terrace doors, where the ventilation system and the music that played through the speakers in the wall would mask any conversation. The spot also provided him with a good view of all the exits and the courtyard beyond the terrace, as well as everyone in the room.

He draped his jacket over the chair back, ordered coffee, then angled himself so he could study the other guests over the rim of his cup. Beneath the wrought-iron chandelier that hung in the center of the beamed ceiling, four men in suits sat at a round table. Businessmen, from the look of them, he decided, likely no threat. A young couple, possibly honeymooners, were at a table secluded behind a clay planter full of cacti. A small, middle-aged woman with a colorful fringed shawl draped around her shoulders sat by herself in a corner. The rest of the patrons were seated in pairs or alone, all of them occupied with their meals, none of them particularly suspicious.

Still, Anthony remained alert, observing their reactions as Melina entered through the archway from the lobby. He looked for anyone who paid too much attention, or was trying to seem as if they were paying no attention at all. He was confident no one had followed Melina and him when they had left the Grand, so they should be safe here for a while, but he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.

And he couldn’t afford to get distracted, either. What was happening to his control? Maybe it was fatigue. Or maybe it was Melina. The mere sight of her walking across the room toward him was making his pulse race.

She had a straightforward, no-nonsense stride, her slender legs making quick work of the distance to the table that Anthony had selected. She likely had no idea how tantalizing she looked, with her hair tumbling in rich curls over her ivory sweater, and her skirt swaying in rhythm with her hips. Her boot heels clicked delicately on the wood floor, a sweetly feminine sound. Her chin was lifted, her fingers were wrapped around the strap of her shoulder bag and there was no smile on her face—she was obviously prepared for business. Yet, except for the honeymooner, she drew the regard of every man she passed.

Anthony wiped his palms on his thighs and rose to hold out her chair.

She seemed startled by the courtesy—startled enough to look at his face.

Oh, hell, Anthony thought. She wasn’t helping his concentration. The moment her gaze met his, her eyes darkened. A flush pinkened her cheeks. Beneath her sweater, her breasts lifted with her quickened breathing.

He’d wondered about it last night, but after what had happened—or almost happened—in her room a few minutes ago, there was no longer any doubt in Anthony’s mind. It was obvious to him that Melina was as attuned to the sexual connection between them as he was.

The strength of the connection likely puzzled her—she would have no way of understanding the source. Few people outside his family knew the full extent of his special, psychic ability. Fewer still knew about its peculiar side effects.

Anthony’s ability was a legacy from his mother’s Gypsy heritage. He could sense and control energy fields. That was how he’d caused the transformer in the alley to overload, and how he’d guided the live wire into swinging in the direction he’d wanted. It was how he’d deactivated the electromagnetic lock on Melina’s hotel room door a few minutes ago when he’d heard her moan. Normally, he was extremely precise in his manipulations. Sometimes, though, the excess power he gathered in order to exercise his talent…spilled.

In the right circumstances, the effects of the stray energy were the same as arousal—accelerated pulse, increased sensitivity to touch, raised sexual awareness. Not everyone sensed it. When they did, Anthony did his best to tamp it down.

He hadn’t been very successful tamping anything down when it came to Melina. The effect had never been this strong or this swift before.

He was careful to avoid touching her as he pushed in her chair, yet a trace of her perfume reached him, anyway. It was a mixture of floral and musky tones, soft and sensuous, making his nostrils flare. For a greedy moment, he inhaled. He thought about sweeping aside her hair and pressing his nose to the pulse point behind her ear.

She wouldn’t object, not if he opened the connection fully. The fact that he could smell her perfume meant her body heat was already elevated. They fit together well. And he’d been so alone for so long….

But he couldn’t do it. Damn, he was crazy to consider it. The safety of his family was at stake. He wouldn’t risk it for what would only be a fleeting pleasure, a temporary relief. He knew what he wanted from Melina. How many times did he have to remind himself that it wasn’t this?

He returned to his chair, picked up his coffee and drained the mug. The liquid was no longer scalding, but it was hot enough to burn his tongue. He concentrated on the prick of pain. It was almost as effective as a cold shower. He reined in his power as well as his thoughts.

Melina cleared her throat and busied herself with her purse. Her hair swung forward, hiding the blush on her cheeks.

She looked embarrassed, as well as confused, Anthony thought. That was understandable. He judged she wasn’t the kind of woman who normally got carried away by her passions; several times he’d seen her try to suppress them. She had the right idea. It would be easiest for both of them if they didn’t acknowledge this…complication.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, withdrawing a small notepad from her purse, “I’d like to get started right away.”

He glanced around the room to verify that no one was sitting close enough to overhear. “Fine with me. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Exactly,” she said. There was a small earthenware vase of dried wildflowers on the table. She pushed it aside and set her notepad in front of her. Her hands weren’t quite steady. She took a pen from the pad’s spiral spine and clicked it a few times with her thumb.

He spotted a waiter approaching. “Breakfast is on me, Melina,” he said.

“Thanks, but this is my interview, so breakfast is on the Daily Journal.”

“You must have a generous boss.”

“Yes. We work well together.”

Something in her tone caught his attention. Before he could pursue it, the waiter arrived to take their orders. The moment he left, Melina flipped through her notepad to a clean page and made a scribble at the top. “All right, Anthony. You claim your friend was attacked by Titan’s people.”

He thought of the last time he had seen Jeremy. The man he had known for almost twenty years had been unrecognizable. He’d been swathed in bandages, hooked up to machines and fighting for his life. “Claim? There’s no doubt there. I know they did it.”

“Because they wanted information about you and your sisters. Is that right?”

He nodded. “My sisters and I used to work for Jeremy Solienti, the man who was attacked. I still do.”

“The first thing I’d like to know is why Titan is interested in your family. Was this the prelude to an extortion attempt?”

“He didn’t want money. He wanted us.”

Melina looked up. “But why?”

It had taken Anthony months to figure out the answer to that question. He decided to give her only part of it. “To understand that, you have to know Titan’s real identity.”

Melina’s fingertips whitened as she squeezed her pen. “This had better be on the level,” she said.

“It is.”

“I’ve been tracking this guy since June, when he started moving his drug network from Europe to North America.” She lowered her voice. “Interpol had nothing on his background. He seemed to appear out of nowhere with his one name. He’s a fanatic about secrecy. No one I’ve talked to will tell me who he is or where he came from, so how do you know?”

Anthony saw the spark in her eyes. He had a moment’s regret that it was because of her story, not him. But this was what she was here for. “Tell me where he is,” he said.

She frowned. “I promised to call you when I’m ready to break my story. You can be there when he’s arrested.”

“Not good enough. I need to know now. Every minute he’s free is too long.”

“That’s not the deal we agreed on.”

“We’re making a new one.”

She tossed her pen down. “Don’t play games with me, Anthony.”

“It’s no game. I know who Titan is. I saw him commit his first murder. How much is that worth to you?”

She braced her forearms on the table and leaned toward him. “Who is he?”

“Where is he?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you what I know as soon as you tell me who Titan is.”

Anthony probed her gaze, trying to discern whether she meant to keep her word. It was difficult to gauge—she had her defenses back up and firmly in place—but he was fairly certain he’d pushed her as far as she would allow.

She didn’t respond well to his bullying. He couldn’t help admiring that. She reminded him a little of his sisters that way. He dipped his chin in agreement and waited until she had retrieved her pen. “Titan’s real name is Benedict Payne,” Anthony said. “He’s an American. Fifty-eight years old. His last known address in the United States was in North Carolina.”

Melina listened, her expression a mixture of concentration and excitement. “Wyatt, North Carolina?”

“That’s right.”

“I went to Wyatt because I heard the FBI were investigating there. I didn’t find anything about Titan, so I thought it was a dead end.”

“Most of the relevant records were destroyed. You would have needed to know what to look for to connect Titan with Payne.”

“And what would that be?”

“Around thirty years ago, Benedict Payne worked at a fertility clinic in Wyatt run by his older sister, Agnes. He had been expelled from college for selling drugs, so she gave him the job to keep him out of trouble. Not because she cared, but because she didn’t want him drawing any more attention from the cops. She had her own illegal schemes going.”

“That’s some family.” Melina made some more scribbles on the paper. “You’re giving me great material, Anthony. Please, go on.”

“Agnes Payne is dead now.”

“Tell me more about this Benedict Payne.”

“He had a wife. Her name was Deanna Falaso.”

“Falaso. Is that Italian?”

“Romanian. She married him to get a green card. He tricked her into believing it was love.”

“That sounds like Titan. Do you know where Deanna is now?”

The memory sprang full-blown into Anthony’s head. The argument, the screams, the choking scent of gardenias from the clothes in the closet, all of it as vivid as the night it had happened.

“Stay here with your sisters, Tony. Be a good boy and don’t make a sound until Mommy comes back. Promise me you’ll take care of them, okay? Stay here, no matter what.”

Ruthlessly, he took control of the memory. He’d suppressed it for most of his life, but it had resurfaced in its entirety two months ago, when he’d been in Wyatt himself. His mother’s death remained as raw in his mind as the day it had happened. It was only one part of the truth he had learned. He had yet to come to terms with any of it.

He tightened his fists on the table, feeling the familiar rage stir. Anger had been his constant companion throughout his life. He hadn’t understood its source until two months ago, when he had fully remembered the night it had started.

He was angry at Benedict, the man who had pretended to be his father. He was angry at fate. Most of all, he was furious with himself, haunted by the helpless guilt he felt for being unable to save his mother.

“Anthony?”

“She’s dead. He murdered her.”

“When? Can you give me more details?”

“Yes, I can give you details. It was summer, a hot night, and she was wearing a ruffled sundress. He’d beaten her, so there was blood on both of them. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The veins on his arms bulged like snakes as he strangled her with his bare hands.” Anthony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to contain the rage. He couldn’t let himself be drawn into it now. “It was twenty-eight years ago. I was three at the time. He never knew I saw it.”

“Oh, my God. That was the murder you said you witnessed.”

“Yes. I had blocked out the memory of it until—” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I went to the house in Wyatt where it happened. It came back to me then.”

“Why were you in the house, Anthony?”

“I used to live there. Deanna had six children. Two sets of triplets. I’m the firstborn.”

Melina set her pen down. She looked at him for a while, her gaze brimming with sympathy. “You saw Titan kill your mother.”

“Yes. Afterward, he left the country and assumed a new identity to avoid the law.”

“Then that means Titan is…”

Anthony shook his head fast before she could complete the sentence. That was something else he’d only found out two months ago. The one piece of good news. “He isn’t my biological father. He’s sterile. No blood of his runs in my veins. My siblings and I were fathered by a donor. I have the files that prove it.”

“Oh, Anthony. You were so young when your mother was killed. What happened to you and the other children?”

“I don’t know where the younger triplets ended up. My two brothers and my youngest sister were infants at the time. My other two sisters, Danielle and Elizabeth, and I were taken into the foster care system. Some social worker changed our last name to Caldwell so Benedict couldn’t trace us.”

The terse statements were accurate, but they didn’t come close to describing the devastation that had been wrought to what had been a close family. Like the murder, Anthony’s memory of the younger triplets had been blocked out for most of his life, too. Losing his infant siblings on top of losing his mother had been too much for his mind to handle.

“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.”

“Benedict Payne is going to pay for his crimes, whatever he decides to call himself.”

“Yes. He will. Absolutely. But after all this time, why would he want to find you and your sisters if he isn’t your biological—”

“That’s all I’m going to tell you, Melina. I kept my half of our bargain. I told you who Titan is and where he came from.” No longer able to restrain himself, Anthony stood and walked to her side. Gripping the back of her chair with one hand and the edge of the table with the other, he leaned down to bring his face to hers. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Anthony…”

“Tell me.” His muscles hardened. His voice dropped to a rasp. “Tell me where to find the son of a bitch.”




Chapter 3


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?




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/ingrid-weaver/in-destiny-s-shadow/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.