The Light Walker, page 15
Sis—
Something’s gone wrong, but I’m going to take care of it myself.
There’s this girl named Cassie who’s in danger—can you find her? I don’t know her last name, but she’s got long, dark hair, real tiny. Drives a red Mercedes coupe. Her brother’s got a bundle of money. I know it’s not much to go on, but she could get hurt. The Keeper is dangerous and she can’t see it.
Tell her brother she’s sneaking out—don’t let her go to The Club again.
I’m sorry, Jace. I fucked up, but I’m going to fix it. Just stop Cassie from going back. Please.
Jimmy
“Something bad?”
She realized she was hunched over, rubbing one temple. Straightening, she shook her head. “When did he bring this?”
Cardozo checked his watch. “Hour, hour and a half ago, I guess. Who is he?”
Just after noon now. How long had she been curled up on her kitchen floor? “Auburn hair, curly, tall and lanky?”
Cardozo nodded. “That’s him. You know him?”
“Yeah.” She walked over to the window and stared through the blinds. “I do.”
“Trouble?”
Wasn’t it always, with Jimmy? Jace felt the familiar drain on her energy that she got every time she realized that Jimmy still hadn’t pulled himself together, that once again she’d have to extract him from some mess.
But beneath the exhaustion, she remembered a redheaded tornado in pajamas with feet, a boy who’d thought she was ten feet tall and bulletproof. She had to find her brother and rescue him from the fire one more time. Even if he fought her on it.
Which he undoubtedly would.
But how did he know the girl? Could Cassie be the Cassandra she’d seen at Sabanne’s house, the girl she’d first thought to be his daughter? His sister. She’d never seen the girl’s car, but it wouldn’t take too long to check it out.
And what kind of danger? Probably the obvious, that one girl already had died at The Club—they just couldn’t prove it. But how? And why? And how did Jimmy know she was in trouble?
What kind of trouble was Jimmy in? Fix what?
I’ll take care of it, Jimmy. Don’t I always? Just quit hiding from me, damn it. Her gut clenched.
She wasn’t ready to see Dante Sabanne again, but for her brother, she would.
She couldn’t let another girl die. Jace felt vaguely sorry for the girl she’d heard pleading to be allowed to spend the night away, who would now have to explain how she’d gotten into The Club. She headed toward the door.
“Leaving already?”
“Gotta check something out. See ya.”
Spotting her jeep, Jace avoided asking herself why she didn’t just call Sabanne on the phone.
The silent mountain opened the door with clear disapproval that she’d shown up without an appointment. Jace flashed her badge. He spoke into a telephone, his voice too low for her to hear. He was obviously disgruntled at the answer, but when he hung up, he let her in without further protest. Instead of leading her to the same library as before, however, he escorted her toward the back of the house and down a set of stairs.
With a grunt, he gestured toward a set of French doors inset with stained glass designs, an array of stylized flowers and grasses she couldn’t identify. He opened the door to…magic.
A greenhouse, but not just any greenhouse. Probably a full two stories tall with not only plants but actual trees. Birds, quiet when the doors first opened, resumed chattering. Jace stared at a profusion of greenery and flowers, many she’d never seen. Here was a tropical rainforest, verdant and lush. Otherworldly, here in the New Mexico high desert.
A brook bubbled beside her, and enormous koi swam lazily in the depths. In the distance, she picked up the sound of a waterfall. Turning in a circle, Jace absorbed the explosion of color and sound. She might have journeyed to some exotic island.
She brushed a white blossom faintly resembling a petunia, but its aroma was aroma overpowering and bitter.
“That’s your datura.”
She whirled at his voice.
Dante Sabanne stepped from behind a dense cluster of tall shrubs. Dark hair tied at his nape with a length of leather, he wore faded jeans and boots. The sleeves of his khaki shirt were rolled up to the elbow, revealing bronzed skin dusted with dark hair.
Jace glanced at his hands and shivered. No silver ring today, but those hands…
With effort she swallowed and arranged her features carefully. When she looked back at his face, he revealed no more expression than he had the first time she’d met him.
Was she losing her freaking mind?
She scrambled back into the moment. “This? It’s so pretty. Seems harmless.”
“It is never wise to trust appearances.” Gesturing to a plant beside him, he continued. “Take this one for example: foxglove, a source of digitalis. Used wisely, it can save lives, but all parts are poisonous, Utilized with ill intent, it can kill. Good and evil, all in the same attractive package.”
They both fell silent.
Then his gaze sliced into hers. “Detective.” His voice was neutral. “Why are you here?” He appeared merely curious.
But she could feel his hands on her, even now. But…how?
And what could she say to him? I’m here because I want to find out if I’m going crazy.
The voice deep within her that tolerated no bullshit intervened. As if cold water had been thrown in her face, Jace had to ask herself how eager she was to discuss her behavior last night, what she could remember of it. Behavior that could get her in serious trouble if her captain learned that she’d gone to The Club on her own, to say nothing of those moments when—
Could she do this? Bluff her way past?
Her purpose today was to deliver a warning from her brother. To save a young girl. Period.
“Your sister, Cassie.”
His surprise registered, quickly smothered. No trace of it in his voice, he lifted one eyebrow. “How do you know about Cassandra?”
“Does she drive a red Mercedes coupe?”
He frowned. “Why do you ask?”
Jace persisted. “Do you know she’s been sneaking out?”
“What makes you say that?” He stepped closer, and Jace fought the urge to retreat, his presence overpowering.
“I have reason to think she may have been to The Club.” She waited to hear him deny that he knew the place, while her blood pounded so loudly that she could hardly hear her own thoughts.
“That’s not possible.”
“You’ve been there?” She had to hear him say it, though asking was sheer folly if she didn’t want to discuss last night.
For a moment so brief she could almost have imagined it, his gaze flickered. Then she could read nothing.
“You’ve mentioned it before.”
Damn him. If she closed her eyes she could hear the rough whisper. Surrender…open yourself to me. Could feel the tongue slide over her skin, the fingers—
Christ.
Jace needed to shake his damned composure. “What do you know of someone called the Keeper?”
His nostrils flared. She could swear she saw shock, then fury. Too quickly, however, his shields slammed into place. “Keeper? Of what?”
She stared at him, unable to believe what balls he had. All right, he wanted to play inscrutable, so be it. You don’t tip your hand when your cards are lousy—and hers were the worst. She’d wait until she had facts in hand. Then she’d knock him right out of this smug assurance.
She’d be damned if she’d give him one more thing than she must in order to protect his sister. “I can’t reveal my source. I only came here to warn you that she may be in danger. She should be reminded that a girl died at The Club. It’s no place for someone so young. That’s all I have to say.” Jace glanced toward the door. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Detective…”
She stilled.
His hand began to rise from his side as if reaching out for her.
Jace held her breath, watching…waiting for him to touch her, to see if once again she would be sucked into that vortex of black sky, brilliant stars and exploding colors.
If he would acknowledge what had passed between them.
Endless moments ticked by as his gaze met hers. For an instant, she thought he would speak of what they had shared. A reckless part of her wanted that.
But he lowered the hand to his side without ever touching her, his eyes once again cold and remote.
Disappointment. Relief. Jace held her head high, and departed. As she left, she thought she heard the faint sound of his voice.
She never looked back.
Dante touched the white blossom Justine had brushed with her fingers.
Faint notes trilled.
He stared at the flower, his thoughts racing. If a mere brush of something she’d touched could connect him, would the effect be stronger in his refuge? If he cast a circle and gave it total focus?
Gently he plucked the blossom and placed it in a plant saucer, a rueful smile at the irony that the task would have been more pleasant, had she not chosen to touch a bush whose flowers were designed to repel by way of noxious odors.
He put away his tools and washed his hands, forcing himself to patience when his instinct was to charge out of here and race to the small, unassuming cabin that guarded the entrance to his refuge. He even showered to cleanse himself of all traces of the outside world’s effects. He spoke only to Manolo and that only long enough to let his houseman know he might not return all night.
His staff was accustomed to his absences, and Cassie had slept very late.
Now he knew why. He remembered the detective’s warning and paused again to let give instructions to Manolo regarding his rebellious sister.
Cassie stirred and blinked at the bars of sunlight across her bed. She glanced at the clock on the table. Almost five o’clock? In the afternoon? Never an early riser, this was still very late for her.
When she sat up, pain seared through her head. She fell back and curled into a ball, but she couldn’t stay here; she had to pee in the worst way.
What time had she gotten home?
Gingerly, she made her way to the bathroom. After tending her needs, she downed aspirin for a pounding headache and brushed teeth that had grown fur. Pulling a comb through her long hair gently, she glanced in the mirror and spotted her dress crumpled in the bathtub. Frowning, Cassie turned around.
A fragment of memory flashed through her mind, green eyes smiling as the blond man bent to kiss her.
Cassie leaned against the counter, probed her mind as at a sore tooth, seeking the rest of the memory.
But nothing appeared.
She’d been at The Club; that much she could tell from the backdrop of that fragment.
What on earth had happened? The blond man…she recalled dancing with him. He’d led her off the floor…kissed her. Why couldn’t she remember more?
Shouting voices. Leave her alone. Take your hands off her now.
Jimmy. Anybody but him. He’s dangerous. No, wait—that wasn’t last night, that was before…
Cassie squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her aching temples. Why did her head hurt so? She’d only had that juice drink.
Her eyes flew open. Oh, dear. If there’d been something in it and she’d gotten drunk, thank goodness Dante was out of town. She’d never have made it past him.
She headed for the hallway. She couldn’t stomach the idea of breakfast, but maybe a soft drink would help.
She opened her door. Froze. “Manolo. You and Dante are back?”
The huge man nodded solemnly, filling the doorway.
Cassie pasted on a smile. “Well…I guess I’ll see him downstairs.”
“He’s not here.”
“That’s all right, I can wait.” Boy, can I ever. She waited for him to step aside so she could leave, but he didn’t budge.
“Excuse me, please. I’m going downstairs.”
“Sorry, but no.”
“What?”
“You are not to leave your room until Mr. Sabanne returns.”
Cassie laughed. “Even for Dante, this is a bit much.” She stepped forward, but he remained in place. “You mean to say I’m a prisoner in this house?”
“He’ll talk to you when he returns. I’ll bring you whatever you need, but you are to go nowhere outside this room until then.”
“Where is he? When will he be back?”
The man shrugged, obviously uncomfortable but resolute. “I can’t say, but I have my orders.”
“I’m not a child!” Cassie’s head pounded as she fought the urge to scream. “He can’t do this to me.”
“He says to tell you that he knows you went to The Club, Miss Cassandra.”
Cassie gasped, then whirled, slammed the door and sank to the floor against it.
How had Dante found out?
As twilight beckoned, Jace wondered if she was on a wild goose chase. Earlier, looking for Jimmy, she’d thought she saw him get into a van just off the Plaza. She’d lost it briefly but picked it up again. Now she was headed back up into the mountains not far from Sabanne’s estate, hoping for a chance to talk to her brother. Through the open windows, she breathed in the crisp pine scent, the air already turning cool as shadows lengthened.
As a way to spend her day off, this didn’t rate high, but she’d done all she could at the station on a weekend, checking into Sabanne. So far, nothing odd had turned up, but her inquiry to Interpol had received no response yet, and for the three years he’d been in the U.S., his record was spotless.
But Sabanne grew datura in his greenhouse, along with other choice little poisonous plants, some of which could be responsible for the deaths of Sam and Sarah Brown, couldn’t they? Damn, she wished Victor would hurry up. Once the lab tests came back, she’d use them to get a search warrant.
Yeah, right, Jace. A search of the home of one of the richest men in town, a guy who had hosted judges and important political figures there just nights ago. With what motive? Why would he have wanted to kill a poor bum and a young girl? What would he have to gain?
What was it that happened to her when they touched? What had really happened at The Club? What game was he playing?
Too many questions. Including a big one: what the hell was she doing? What was it about him that—
Never mind. She had a case to work on.
She could handle Dante Sabanne.
She was hungry, and the headache from last night still had its claws in her. She considered simply leaving—until she saw the van take a turn onto a road she’d never noticed. Road was a generous term; it was barely a path. Jace danced an uneasy balance between getting close enough that they’d see her and worrying that she’d lose them. Having someone to share stakeout duty would have been a relief, but until she knew how Jimmy fit into all this, she had to protect him.
Up ahead, brake lights glowed red. She pulled her jeep off to the side and backed in under some trees. Reaching beneath the seat, she withdrew her Walther and tucked it in the waistband of her jeans. She crept toward where she’d last seen the brake lights, taking each step carefully to avoid the crackle of pine cones, barely visible in the encroaching gloom.
It was too dark to tell if that was Jimmy headed toward a dark shape looming in the distance. After scanning the area to see if anyone else was around, Jace emerged from the trees and followed.
Two men disappeared into a side door of a building with no visible windows. She started to follow, but she spotted lights from an oncoming vehicle. Quickly, she slipped behind a tree and watched.
From the vehicle emerged three people, two men and one woman whose identities she could not determine for an odd reason.
They all wore dark masks, larger than the ones at The Club. Why?
A prickle raced down Jace’s spine. Could this be Jimmy’s cult?
Dear God.
The Magos…Jimmy’s voice echoed in her ear.
She had to get closer.
When Dante arrived at the cabin, he put his SUV in the detached garage tucked into trees that concealed it, then quickly entered the cabin and checked all the locks.
Finally, he was ready. Though he longed for the upstairs room where his soul could soar, this called for drawing in, closing out even the glories of moonlight. He needed to lose himself in darkness and allow outside sensory input to fade away.
He had to listen. To see. To learn who Justine was, if she indeed was a Prism. Entering the chamber, he set the saucer containing the blossom on a bench and once again traded street clothes for his robe. He selected stalks of sage and, as the native peoples did, lit them aflame and used them to cleanse the air, to clear it of even good energies remaining from previous spells.
This was a day for clarity, for sweeping away all traces that remained here. Once done, he knelt and sought the guidance of his father’s spirit, of his people, of the elements of earth and sky. He took the saucer holding the blossom and laid it in the center of what would be the circle he would inscribe on the packed-earth floor, careful not to touch the petals before he was ready.
When doubt crept in that this would work, Dante dispersed it to the ether. He had searched everywhere, tried…everything. This woman was the closest he’d come to finding a trail to lead him to the Soul Star. Markos had the silver disc with its inert stone, he was certain. Hidden away somewhere, in Markos’s frustration that he could not make it work as he wanted.
The Soul Star, the energy that brought life to the Eye of the Magos, had, however, vanished utterly when the amulet had been stolen. Dante could feel its presence faintly when he Walked the Light, but he couldn’t find the path to it. Every year his heart had grown colder, the Song more faint.
Until he had met Justine. If what he suspected was right, together they could retrieve the Soul Star.
Together, though, that was the key.
The detective was hardly willing to help. First she had to believe, and she believed in nothing her five senses didn’t reveal to her, it seemed. She possessed latent energies she denied. If what was between them was to be more than intense physical attraction, he would have to awaken her to who she was, what she was.
