by Linda Howard
Through traffic cameras and by hacking into a variety of security systems of businesses along the senator’s route, Caine was able to track the car—or he thought he had. It wasn’t possible to be certain, given that cameras weren’t conveniently positioned everywhere he needed them to be, but he was almost positive the man he’d been looking for was in a particular area, south of Atlanta. The location was puzzling, as it was nowhere near Markham’s home, and from all Caine knew of the senator, he had no interests—financial or otherwise—in the area. It was an industrial district, and with the downturn in the economy many of the buildings there stood empty.
It looked as if Markham had driven into the area but had not, at least as far as Caine could tell, driven out.
“I think Markham’s here,” he said to Lenna, circling the area on the computer screen with his finger. “But I can’t pinpoint his location. We’ll have to check each place. Put on your coat. It’s miserably cold tonight.”
Without comment she pulled on the coat, putting it on over the bag that was slung crosswise across her body. “I’m ready,” she said, looping her arms around his neck and looking up at him with a calm expression. He supposed she was; when had she ever shrank from anything? He gave her a quick kiss, then teleported them to the area where he’d last seen Markham’s car.
In the blink of an eye they were standing in a dark, decrepit, and deserted parking lot. The icy wind whistled around them. There was no beauty here to share with her; there were rusting fences, cracked asphalt, winter-dead weeds drooping in those cracks. An empty building loomed beside them, broken windows making silent comment on the desolation.
It was after midnight, but midnight had long since passed for this place; it had been sitting unoccupied a long while. Caine looked around, not just searching for the senator’s car, but scanning for any other danger that might be nearby, danger of the feral human type. Snow and ice still made some of the footing treacherous, so they carefully walked around the building. Nothing was there, not any kind of vehicle.
Looking around, he tried to get a better idea of the area. The lots were large, separated by fences or ditches or expanses of weed-choked dirt. There was no car, no vehicles of any type, to be seen from this vantage point. Here and there dusk-to-dawn security lights created pools of light that revealed the desolation in stark, sickly detail. Markham wouldn’t necessarily be parked near any light, if he was here at all, because it hadn’t been dark when he’d driven to this area. He could be anywhere. He could be across town. He could have taken a flight to a different country.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” he said against Lenna’s hair. “There’s going to be a lot of teleporting. How do you feel?” She wasn’t a Hunter; she wasn’t naturally acclimated to teleporting. All he felt was tired from expending so much energy, but she was likely feeling other effects.
“Dizzy,” she murmured against his leather jacket. “But we have to do it. I’m ready.”
He took her at her word. She was, after all, Strength. He was methodical in his search; holding her tightly against him, he teleported to another, similarly desolate plant. Again, there was nothing there, no car, no Markham. And then again. By the fourth relocation, she was literally hanging around his neck, her knees weak, gulping deep breaths with her face buried in the curve of his shoulder.
He didn’t mind having her cling to him. What he minded was not being able to strip her naked and thrust his aching penis inside her. He minded the constant push of power from the cards. He minded this whole damn situation.
At the sixth site, they found Markham’s car.
“There,” he said with satisfaction. “We’ve found the bastard.”
Lenna lifted her head from his shoulder and heaved a big sigh. “Thank the One. The effects accumulate, don’t they? I would rather use my feet now, instead of popping here and there.”
He still held her close as he searched the surrounding area for any sign of danger; if any threatened, he wanted her there so he could whisk her to safety without even a second’s delay. But the night was empty and cold, the biting wind keeping most beings under shelter. The sky overhead was brilliant with stars, letting him know it would turn even colder before dawn finally arrived.
Markham’s car was parked at the side of the building, close to a rusted metal door. They silently approached, not touching now, but he could feel her tension rising. She put a protective hand over the bag, the move instinctive.
Then she stopped so abruptly her feet made a small skidding sound on the grit and gravel. Caine turned back, his instincts ratcheting into high alert, but he didn’t see or hear anything unusual, other than Lenna staring at the door.
“Death,” she murmured.
“Where?”
Lenna tilted her head toward the door. “Inside. I feel it, violence and death, the way I felt Elijah’s mother’s death.”
He didn’t know much about her capabilities, but he didn’t doubt her. She was a powerful being. Not physically powerful, like him; her strength was of the mind. She would feel the things that tested all beings, and that included death.
A test of the door found it locked. “One more time,” he said, tugging her close. She pressed her lips together and gave a reluctant nod, and he took them inside.
The interior of the abandoned building was icy cold, the air stale. The electricity was still on; a few dim lights lit the depressing space. There were several doors along the long hallway, but Lenna straightened away from him and without hesitation went to one of them, turned the doorknob and opened the door. Caine briefly thought about fingerprints—assuming she had any, which he didn’t know—but even if there were, there was no chance the cops could match them to any file here on Seven.
A desk lamp burned on a rusty metal desk, illuminating the ugly scene.
There was a body on the floor.
Lenna simply stood there looking at it, but Caine stepped past her and squatted by the man’s shoulders so he could study the face. Death changed a person’s appearance; without the spirit’s energy and animation, the facial features became slack and empty, more like a mannequin than a person. Nevertheless, this was undoubtedly Robert Markham, state senator, possible murderer. His death had been neither accident nor suicide, because the thin rope that had been used to strangle him was still around his neck.
Lenna moved closer, her face expressionless as she looked down at the body. “He’s the murderer,” she said flatly. “Even though he’s dead, I feel it on him, not just the violence of his own death but the murder he committed. I sensed his energy in Elijah’s house.” She glanced up, met Caine’s gaze. “I feel her here, around him. Elijah’s mother.”
Caine rose to his feet. “Then Elijah is safe.”
“I think so,” Lenna said, but her voice lacked certainty. “But who killed him? Who was the man who attacked us at Elijah’s house?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Caine said. “The police will sort it out. Elijah saw this man kill his mother. Whoever did this isn’t the man Elijah saw. The line of events is broken. He’s safe.”
“That’s an assumption, but a good one,” she admitted. She exhaled a weary breath, then gave him a faint smile. “We can collect Elijah now.”
“Not just yet,” he said, and seized her for one more teleportation—back to their hotel room. Immediately they were surrounded by warmth, and comfort. It wasn’t by accident that they were standing next to the bed.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he continued, as if they hadn’t just crossed the city in less time than it took to inhale. “He’ll be asleep, and so will Wiley and Chantel. We’ll fetch him in the morning, and then we’ll get the final card from Esma so I can take you home.” Though how he was going to accomplish that he hadn’t yet figured out, but he knew he’d have to bait Esma into coming for them.
“So anxious to be rid of me?” she teased, her voice light, but her eyes … was that sadness?
“Not anxious, no, but it’s a matter of
necessity. If we don’t get that card—”
He didn’t have to finish. She nodded and shrugged out of her coat, lifted the strap of the bag over her head and placed the bag on the bedside table, then began removing her clothes. “Esma won’t allow Aeonia to crumble. She’ll bring the card to us.”
“You don’t know that.” He could argue and undress at the same time. “She’s more likely to try to get the rest of the cards than she is to give us the one she has.”
“I do know. Esma is … she’s mine. She’s one of my people. I don’t know how to explain it, other than to say that she won’t let me die.”
“Neither will I.” He meant what he said, but his mind was barely aware of his words. Both of them were naked now. Caine’s heart began pounding with a strong, heavy beat of anticipation, because soon he was going to be inside her. Despite his fatigue, he didn’t intend to waste one minute of the night sleeping. He lifted her up, deposited her in the middle of the bed so they’d have plenty of room without being in danger of falling off during some of the more energetic things he intended to do to her, and followed her down to trap her under his weight.
If she felt trapped at all, then she was a willing prisoner.
She kissed him; she wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on tight.
When they were like this, skin to skin and mouth to mouth, he forgot who she was. She was no longer Strength, she was just Lenna: a woman, his woman. Those were dangerous thoughts.
There wasn’t enough time; there would never be enough time. Soon she would be home and he would be off to the next job, the next mission, the next world. Their lives being what they were he might never see her again.
They had become so attuned to each other that she was as ready for him as he was for her. When he stroked between her legs he felt the warm moisture of her pliant flesh. He pushed inside her, heard her gasp, felt her arch beneath him. He became a part of her as she was a part of him, and everything in all the worlds faded. There was only this, only her.
As the sun rose on what was almost certain to be Lenna’s final day on Seven, Caine made love to her like a man who was about to lose everything.
Chapter 17
Too soon, the night was over; Lenna would have made it last forever if she could have, but inevitably the sun rose, and the end of her time here on Seven was drawing to an end one way or another. They got up, showered—a long shower, because Caine made love to her so slowly, all urgency gone, that they both ended up sitting on the shower floor until they gained enough energy to get up and towel off.
Caine ordered room service, and while they waited she sat curled beside him on the couch, watching the early-morning news. She was nestled comfortably against his side, his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder. She felt relaxed, almost limp, as if all the tension had been wrung from her muscles by their lovemaking. Soon enough they would have to retrieve Elijah, but until then she was perfectly content to be right where she was.
Then she felt Caine tense against her, and her attention jerked to the television screen.
The news announcer solemnly intoned, “Young Elijah Tilley still remains missing after his mother’s murder. Amber Tilley’s body was discovered near a roadside park, but there has been no sign of seven-year-old Elijah.” Elijah’s photo flashed on the screen, looking a little younger than he did now, with those big brown eyes and a happy, mischievous smile. “Elijah’s family is pleading for the safe return of the child. If anyone has any information about him, please contact the authorities.”
A distraught older couple appeared, tears running down the woman’s lined face. The white-haired man said, “We just want Elijah safe. Please, whoever has him, bring him home. We’re praying that he’s okay, and a lot of other people are praying, too, but we need more, we need help bringing our baby home.” His voice broke, and his faded blue eyes welled with tears. “We need him home.” Their names were printed across the bottom of the screen: James and Susan Tilley. In a trembling voice, James offered a significant financial reward for any tip leading to Elijah’s safe return. Susan Tilley tried to talk, but she couldn’t choke out any words and just shook her head. Her face was red and blotchy; she wrung her hands in despair. To Lenna’s eye and ear, they were both broken by the events of the past few days.
James took a deep, shuddering breath. “We haven’t seen our daughter for four years, and now we’ve lost her. We don’t want to lose our grandson, too. Please—whoever has him, don’t hurt him. He’s all we have.”
The screen flashed back to the news announcer. “Amber Tilley’s body hasn’t yet been released to her family. Funeral arrangements will be announced at a later date.”
Lenna clutched Caine’s hand. Part of her had expected something like this, because most people had relatives, but her instinctive response was not what she’d expected from herself. Her heart sank a little. No, her heart sank significantly, landing in her stomach, churning there and stirring up butterflies. Her mind could be logical about this, but her heart was with Elijah.
“He doesn’t know them,” she said softly. “They’re strangers to him.”
“He doesn’t remember them,” Caine replied in that calm, no-nonsense way he had. “But they know him, and they love him. With time, he’ll both know them and love them, as he loved his mother.”
“Will he?” Her mind spun around and around, worrying at the subject. Elijah had been through so much, seen things no child should ever see. He’d lost his mother, but she and Caine had been there to step in and hold his young world steady. Would he adjust yet again, when they left and he was with strangers? Would they love him? Would they be good to him? The Tilleys were old—not elderly, not physically incapable, but they were definitely beyond their child-rearing years. Were they too old to take on the care of an active seven-year-old? Take him to the baseball games he loved, be indulgent when he whirled around the room in a cape, waving a magic wand, or a pretend knife? When he tried to tell them about “poofing”? Would they still be alive to see him off to college, to guide him through the social years when he’d be trying to select a mate, to hold his children in their arms and fill his heart with joy at seeing that connection of generations?
Caine wrapped his arm around Lenna and tugged her closer. She’d kept her doubts—most of them—to herself, but he saw them in her; they had been forced into closeness, but now he knew her too well.
“You didn’t think you could take him back to Aeonia with you, did you?” he asked quietly.
“Well, no, but—” What had she thought? He couldn’t go with her, which meant he had to live somewhere here on Seven, with someone.
“Elijah isn’t a pet.” Caine’s voice was less harsh than it could have been as he rubbed her shoulder. “He deserves a real life, here on his own world. He deserves to be loved and cared for by ordinary people, like them.” He pointed to the screen, where Elijah’s grandparents had been, though they had been replaced by a too-loud car commercial.
“I know.” Those two words were soft, and filled with the ache she felt. But she would be what she was, and bear whatever heartache was necessary to do what was best for Elijah.
She had fewer than two days to remain in this world, and if Caine worked efficiently—didn’t he always?—he might return her to Aeonia today, well ahead of the deadline. Getting the Moon card from Esma was critical, but they would find a way. Caine probably already had a plan. Just as critical, to Lenna, was seeing Elijah settled. More than that, she wanted to see him happy. He had been through too much, had been too traumatized. Could he ever be happy, or was he forever scarred by what he’d seen?
She looked up at Caine, tightened her grip on his hand. In such a short time he’d become so many things to her: protector, lover, teacher of life. He had shown her such vibrancy, here on Seven. He was also a friend, in a way she’d never before known. Their time together had been intense and too short, and it was coming to an end.
An important part of strength was truth: not ju
st acknowledging it, but facing it.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.
He didn’t show any emotion, but his dark eyes seemed to grow even darker. She felt him tense, saw the tension in the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. “What choice do we have?” he asked. “You are who you are, and I am who I am.”
And there they were, the inevitable truth of their mutual existences. She was Major Arcana. He was a Hunter. They didn’t even live on the same world. It was true that while the Major Arcana did occasionally—the phrase from this time in this world was “hook up,” which Lenna found distasteful but also oddly accurate—they didn’t form the kinds of bonds she had seen on Seven, and she was absurdly envious. The Arcana didn’t mate outside their small circle; it was unheard of to do otherwise. What would the others do, how would they react, if Strength herself formed a life-bond with a Hunter? Was it even possible?
If? It was far too late for ifs, at least where her feelings for Caine were concerned. She loved him. How that would shake her fellow Aeonians!
If she knew nothing else, it was that it was past time for Aeonia to be shaken up, and shaken well.
During breakfast, Caine mulled over the situation. He understood Lenna’s doubts, her worries about Elijah. She would rest easier if Elijah was in his grandparents’ care before she returned to her place in Aeonia, but she didn’t just want to know that the child was in good hands; she wanted to see for herself—personally, not in a remote Aeonian viewing, like watching a documentary on Seven’s television.
He preferred a different, more direct plan: get the card from Esma, complete his mission by returning the deck and Lenna to the Emperor, and then when that was done, see the boy settled. That was what he’d wanted to do all along. Simple, logical—he’d always preferred a clean, no-nonsense mission.
Instead, there was Lenna, and there was nothing uncomplicated about her, though he had to admit all the difficulties she’d put up were definitely in line with her reason for being. She didn’t stop trying; she soldiered on. She never took the easiest path unless she was convinced it was the right path. He couldn’t reason with a woman whose inner path was so clearly marked for her. Hell, he couldn’t even convince himself she was wrong.