The police described them as dizzy, vague, confused, weak, stumbling, exhausted, and so on. To anyone outside the Kyth, the symptoms would probably be written off as shock from being robbed, but they made Sandor’s blood run cold and then hot. He lifted his eyes to meet his Dame’s worried gaze.
A renegade Kyth—it had to be. There was no other explanation that made sense. Worse, it could be more than one, since the victims’ descriptions varied too much for the same person to be behind all the attacks. Sandor spread out the clippings and reached for a lined tablet to write on, dimly aware of Kerry and Ranulf leaving. Once he had the facts organized, he’d turn to his computer to delve deeper. With luck, he’d have a handle on what was going on and a plan of action to present by the end of the day.
For violent crimes against humanity, the Kyth justice system had only one punishment—death. And it was his job to carry out that sentence. He was still haunted by memories of his first execution, a renegade he’d once called friend. The darkness he’d drawn into his soul that night still prowled inside him, reminding Sandor what he was capable of.
Though they’d had no choice but to execute Bradan, the price Sandor had paid had been very high.
As a job description, executioner pretty much sucked. But if more Kyth had gone rogue, he would kill the bastards. Rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out, Sandor started writing again.
Lena tossed her half-eaten pizza slice in the trash and put the box with the remainder in the small hotel fridge. Lately, nothing had much taste. Coop’s death had cast a pall over her world, dimming even the simplest pleasures.
She was battling depression mixed with an obsession, and neither problem would go away until Coop’s killer was behind bars. Talking to a shrink wouldn’t solve these problems, and her body’s reaction to medications was too unpredictable, usually making her sicker than the ailment they were supposed to cure.
Lena got out her spiral notebook to record her findings so far. She’d already gone over the details of the dance club fire Coop had been investigating. After leaving the cemetery, she’d gone directly to see Kerry Thorsen, the chief witness at the fire.
The interview had netted mixed results. Kerry had seemed genuine in her sorrow over Coop’s death, but confirmed that their acquaintance had been short and strictly professional. Kerry’s grimfaced behemoth of a husband, Ranulf Thorsen, had loomed beside his wife as both denied any knowledge of Maynard Cooper’s murder.
They were lying. Maybe neither had had a direct hand in Coop’s death, but her gut told her they’d known more than they were telling her. Desperate to learn those secrets, she’d dropped her inner shields and tried to reach past their surface thoughts to delve deeper into their minds.
All she’d gotten from Kerry was an affirmation that the woman had liked Coop very much and had truly regretted his death. Her husband had immediately blocked Lena’s efforts to probe his thoughts, leaving her feeling as if she’d been slammed against a brick wall. A gleam in his eyes had suggested that he had not only been aware of her efforts but found them amusing.
The experience had left her badly shaken. She’d broken her personal vow to never use her gift again, since doing so had cost her so much the last time. And not only had she failed to garner any answers but she’d also brought herself to the attention of someone whose powers obviously eclipsed her own.
Before she’d been able to figure out her next step, a handsome, dark-haired man had appeared in the doorway behind her. Relieved at the op portunity to make her escape, Lena had quickly thanked her hosts for their time and followed their butler toward the door. What kind of people had a butler, anyway?
The new arrival had briefly held her gaze before silently walking past her. During that brief connection, she’d sensed a power in him that had sent high-octane energy bubbling through her veins. The sensation hadn’t been totally pleasant, and left a taint of darkness in its wake. It seemed she wasn’t the only hunter in the crowd.
Who was he? Hours later, she still couldn’t get him out of her mind. Once she exhausted her other leads, maybe he’d be worth checking out. The finely honed instincts that made Lena such a good investigator were telling her she hadn’t seen the last of the handsome stranger.
She began taking off her good clothes, and sighed with relief to shed her panty hose. Her next stop was the ruins of the fire, and she wasn’t about to wear a skirt and heels to rummage around in ashes and debris. After dressing in her rattiest jeans and a chambray work shirt, she pulled on her steel-toed boots. Normally she would’ve worn a hard hat, but there hadn’t been room for one in her suitcase.
Picking up her clipboard, she tucked her room key and a digital camera into her shirt pocket. The dance club was within easy walking distance and the exercise would do her good. Then she headed out to learn what she could of her friend’s violent death, dreading facing the gruesome site.
Though the ashes had been cold for weeks, her well-trained nose picked up their scent from a block away. Good. She’d been worried that the owners would have already hired a contractor to start the rebuilding process. In fact, it was odd that they hadn’t. Although the cause of the fire had been arson, nothing indicated that the owners had been involved. She added that anomaly to the list of things that needed checking into.
From where she stood, the remnants of the fire looked undisturbed. The area was cordoned off with rope and signs warning off trespassers, but nothing was going to stop her from seeing where Coop had died. If anyone came along, she had her badge with her. It was for a fire department three thousand miles away, but hopefully no one would notice.
Ducking under the rope, she made her approach cautiously, taking in general impressions before focusing on any details. The fire had definitely burned bright and hot. Considering how little was left of the building, it was hard to believe that no one had died in the fire that night. There had been only a few minor treat-and-release injuries and one woman hurt badly enough to require hospitalization. That was nothing short of a miracle in a blaze this size.
According to the reports a friend at the fire department had slipped her, the person most responsible for getting everyone out safely was Kerry Thorsen. Not only had she kept a cool head—a hard thing to do even for experienced firefighters—but she’d actually carried a couple of people out herself. Given her petite size, how was that even possible? Lena would have been tempted to write the report off as an exaggeration, but there had been too many witnesses.
One puzzle after another.
The fire had started at the front of the club and burned toward the back, driving the trapped customers and employees before its fury. If the arsonist had blocked the rear exit, the death toll would have numbered in the dozens. Lena shuddered. During her career, she’d seen her share of horrific sights, but nothing this bad. Not yet.
Circling around to the back, she studied the parking lot, noting the alley from which the arsonist was purported to have watched the fire. Not only was Kerry Thorsen the heroine that night; she’d also been the one to spot the alleged arsonist. Coincidence? Maybe, but Lena didn’t buy it. Kerry definitely knew more about the fire than she was letting on.
It was time to step inside the burned-out shell of the building. Ordinarily Lena wouldn’t hesitate to cross the threshold to learn the fire’s story, but this crime scene was different. She ruthlessly shut down her secret abilities, determined to evaluate the scene through the five senses she shared with the rest of humanity. She started by taking a deep breath.
Scent: the smells of charred wood and other chemicals had faded, but they were still pungent enough to clog her sinuses. That was normal.
Sound: nothing helpful there, not without dropping her guard, but she wasn’t ready to do that yet.
Touch: nothing noteworthy. Again, she’d need her more specialized senses to learn much from a cold scene like this one.
Taste: there was a faint chemical flavor to the air, which was to be expected. The flames had devoured plastics,
wood, metal, paper, and cloth. The resulting hodgepodge of smoke and ash was bound to stain the atmosphere for some time to come.
Sight: her fireman’s eyes took in the details, reading the fire department’s attack on the blaze as if it were a motion picture playing out before her. Other than the cause of the fire, there was nothing to distinguish the scene from a hundred others she’d investigated.
Using the graph paper she always carried on her clipboard, she sketched the layout of the club as she took measurements, making notes of anything of potential interest. There wasn’t much, especially since she wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. Something about this fire had been worth a man’s life, but nothing stood out.
After she was satisfied with her notes, she took a photo survey of the building, inside and out. She’d stop at the local drugstore later and make enlarged prints to study.
As she finished with the routine stuff, it was time to bring out the big guns, though the thought made her queasy. Her secret abilities had been at the root of the breach between her and Coop, and she’d sworn off using them ever again. Now, for the second time in one day, she would break that promise.
She picked the cleanest stretch of wall she could find to lean against, hoping it would help ground her as she stripped away her mental protections. When she opened her eyes, colors were brighter, scents were more pungent, and the air felt heavy on her skin. For a few seconds she sa vored the experience, the sensations making her feel more alive than she had in ages.
God, she’d forgotten how good it felt—and that was the danger. Over time, it had become way too easy to depend on the extra sight, letting her mind fill in the blank spots rather than doing the grunt work of investigating. And innocent people had paid the price for her hubris.
She squashed the bitter memories, not wanting the past to taint the present. Concentrating on the immediate area, she began to reconstruct the fire through the images burned into the parts of the club still standing. Her mind recoiled at the cacophony of screams laced with the pounding beat of the music. Pain had etched its own special flavor in the air, and fear tasted dark and foul.
Slowly the sights and sounds began playing out for her like a macabre movie, sometimes showing long, detailed scenes, and sometimes a burst of images that faded too rapidly to see clearly. She absorbed the suffering, panic, and the relief as the escaping dancers filled their lungs with fresh air once they reached the safety of the back parking lot.
Through the fog-thick smoke that made picking out details difficult, she recognized Kerry Thorsen helping a man twice her size toward the exit at the back of the club. She shoved him toward a larger man who’d appeared out of no where. Something about the newcomer looked familiar, but the image faded too quickly. Maybe it would come to her later.
As the echo of the smoke continued to thicken, she followed the path the people had taken out of the club and back outside to watch the predictable chaos that was part of any major fire. Fire trucks and aid cars jockeyed for position. Cops directed traffic, shouting for passersby to keep moving along. The injured were assessed and transported—all of it tragically normal in her world.
She finally spotted Kerry Thorsen again. The image flickered in and out as Kerry stepped out of the back door of the club carrying a larger woman with apparent ease. How had she managed that?
After surrendering her burden, Kerry stopped to look around, obviously searching for someone. Who? Lena wondered. There was no way to tell. She could see images and hear muted sounds, but reading the thoughts of specters was beyond her weird abilities.
Then Lena’s heart lurched as she recognized the man headed straight for Kerry. It was Coop! She called out his name before she could help herself. As lifelike as her old friend might look, he wasn’t really there. Or anywhere, for that matter. A razor-sharp pain cut through her chest as she watched him fade away.
Chapter 2
Lena’s extra senses abruptly shut down, giving her a respite from the violent scenes from the fire, and she waited for her pulse to slow to normal. The worst was yet to come. As strong as the memories of the fire were, they wouldn’t hold a candle to the aura left behind by Coop’s murder.
Turning away from the parking lot, Lena headed toward the second set of crime scene tapes inside.
Her stomach knotted as she walked toward their corner. She jump-started her powers, and between one heartbeat and the next, she was back in the clutches of her heightened senses. This time the thick scent of smoke was overlaid with the coppery smell of freshly spilled blood. As she stared at the corner, the outlines of two men slowly came into focus. It hurt to look at Coop, so she concentrated on the other one. He was oddly out of focus, making it impossible to see him clearly.
He was well above average in height, with an athletic build. His clothes were casual but expensive looking. The images flickered and faded before she could get a clear look at his face. When they returned a few seconds later, Coop was already on the ground, his expression agonized as his blood pumped out onto the ground. The other man leaned over him, his intense interest in Coop’s suffering obvious and repulsive.
Coop struggled to breathe as he bled out. The other man picked up Coop’s briefcase and computer and calmly walked away, leaving his victim to die alone in the dirt.
“Bastard! Filthy, dirty bastard!” Lena hissed.
She forced herself to abandon the image of her friend to follow the other man. Hurrying back through the club, she caught up with the ghostly image as he stepped out onto the parking lot and paused to look around. Did he have an accomplice? No, this felt like a one-man operation. Groups tended to leave more clues.
When he started forward again, she forgot he wasn’t real and reached out to stop him. Her hand passed right through his arm and she stumbled back as a wash of pure malevolence poured through her. Whoever he was, the man had a strong love for killing and pain. Her stomach rebelled as she tried to cope with the blackness swirling in her head. Finally, she lost the rest of her lunch, retching until there was nothing left but the sour taste of bile and regret. When the last spasm died away, she looked around for her phantom companion. He’d disappeared completely in the bright sunshine. Though she needed to learn more about him, all she could feel was relief.
Having gleaned all she could from the crime site, she jotted down the last of her notes and impressions. Then, after one last good-bye to her friend’s memory, she walked away.
Inside her hotel room, Lena immediately stripped off her smoke-scented clothes and jumped in the shower. As the hot water washed her skin and mind clean, she counted herself lucky. As bad as meeting the specter of Coop’s killer had been, she now knew just how dangerous the man was. The fact that she didn’t know what he looked like didn’t matter. Thanks to her hated abilities, she knew exactly what he felt like. Or maybe tasted like was a better description of his black malevolence.
He might hide his truth from others, but not her, not anymore. One touch and she’d know him inside and out. The court system relied on facts to convict, and now that she’d seen how Coop had died, she could set about building a case.
She grabbed a towel to dry off. That guy she’d seen at the Thorsens’ fit the general build of the killer. Maybe a little surveillance was in order.
Crawling into bed, she prayed for sleep and a better day tomorrow.
Lena studied the Thorsens’ house through the ornate iron gates that guarded their driveway. She’d parked just far enough up the block that she could keep an eye on the place from her car.
Her stomach growled. Breakfast had been too many hours ago. On the way here, she’d passed a couple of fast-food joints. Ten minutes tops, and she’d be right back here staring at nothing. Next time she’d be smart enough to bring a book.
As she reached to start the car, someone stepped out on the front porch, sending her pulse into immediate overdrive. It was the man she’d seen on her first visit, the one who’d stared at her so intently before disappearing into Kerry’s livi
ng room without saying a word.
Hot damn—with that dark hair and even darker eyes, he was a handsome one. Not that that won him any bonus points in her book; she’d met too many criminals who used their looks and charm as tools of the trade.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy a bit of eye candy, and Lord, she loved the look of a man in a duster. The black leather suited him well, and her hormones stirred to life. She liked the way he moved, too, with a confidence that said he was king of his world.
He started down the steps, then stopped as Kerry joined him on the porch. Whatever she said to him clearly didn’t make him happy. He dodged her hand when she reached out to him, then he stalked away, his anger clear in each step, to climb into a low-slung sports car. He gunned the engine as he waited impatiently for the gates to open. As he drove away, Kerry’s shoulders slumped in defeat as she disappeared into the house.
Very interesting. Their heated exchange might have had nothing to do with her investigation, but tailing Mr. Dark and Dangerous would be far more interesting than staying here. As he drove past, Lena ducked down in her seat to avoid being seen.
When he was halfway down the block, she started her car and followed him. This was her first big break!
It had been a bitch of a day, and fighting with Kerry hadn’t helped. Hours later, Sandor was still pissed off. The next time he had to spend hours prowling the streets on a renegade hunt, he’d remember to wear more comfortable shoes and a less noticeable coat. More than one shop owner had given him the evil eye for lurking too long near their stores. He had to find a way to blend in better, or some do-gooder would call the police on him.
He also had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t alone on his quest. Someone was using the rush-hour commuter crowd as camouflage to dog his footsteps. He’d turned into a doorway a couple of times to see if he could catch anyone, but either his stalker was good at his job or Sandor was imagining things.
Dark Warrior Unbroken Page 2
