Midnight Crusader

by Nancy Gideon

  Naomi didn't puzzle over what that statement might mean. Her entire being ached with the thought that Gabriel might be lost to her. Anguish dammed up in her throat, but while her emotions ran wild with grief, her thoughts remained oddly calm.

  She would know if anything had happened to him.

  How wasn't important.

  Gabriel McGraw was very much alive. And she would see him again soon.

  * * * *

  While Zanlos and Naomi were busy interrogating Marcus Sinclair, Rita took advantage of the distraction to do some exploring on her own. She couldn't believe she'd mucked it up so badly. Gabriel McGraw had called her in for help, one professional to another, and instead of help, she'd betrayed him unfairly to the woman he loved beyond reason. Perhaps that was it, the reason for her flagging judgment. No man would ever look at her that way, with the kind of devotion that provoked sonnets and sacrifice. Gabriel had it bad for a woman who was too obsessed with the past to see the future he offered along with his heart. Poor Naomi. There had to be some way to get them together. And if she could find some information that would aid in Gabriel's case against Zanlos, he would have more time to court his lady love.

  She could smell dirty doings all over Zanlos’ operation. Investment money to the tune it would take to build a jungle palace like the Amazon didn't come without strings attached. So who was pulling those strings? The mob? Drug lords? Did Naomi know? She wanted to avoid bringing Naomi into the picture, at least until she discussed things with Gabriel. Naomi needed some serious mental help. Rita was a pragmatist. She understood a soul tortured by scars of the past. What kind of scars had so warped Naomi's psyche that she would seek to hide from a life that had so much to offer? Zanlos had some kind of hold over her. Something nasty and unnatural, she'd bet her shield. Naomi would have to be freed from that situation before she could recover. And that meant bringing down Zanlos. Quickly.

  Rehearsals were over. The stage sat dark and quiet. The huge ancient tomb that would be the focal point of the show was almost completed, but it already gave her the shivers. The cold stones—and they were real stones, possibly the real deal—and pagan carvings smacked of another time, another existence, where superstition ruled with a violent hand. She couldn't help wondering about the finishing touches. They'd yet to do a costumed run through, but the tone of the dance, of the whole show, was growing increasingly fierce. Women warriors. A sacrificial temple. How Spielburgian.

  Because the storage rooms behind the stage were strictly off-limits and usually guarded by the hulking Marcus Sinclair, that was the first place she'd decided to nose around. She was a sucker for locked doors. The forbidden fruit or something of that nature now that Naomi's problems had her thinking with a psychological bent.

  The lock was a good one. It took her a while to pick it. Someone wanted something hidden. Her pulse began to rev like a finely tuned engine on the starting line. The room was big, dark and absolutely silent.

  When she was sure it was unoccupied, Rita risked flicking on the slender MagLite she carried. Its powerful beam cut through the blackness to reveal boxes and crates, obviously from some source outside the country if the extensive customs stamps were any indication. These were the completing touches for the temple. An archeologist's wet dream, perhaps, but nothing of interest to her. She'd have preferred some nice, juicy incriminating evidence that smacked of smuggling illegal weapons or nose candy. Then she studied the bounty lifted from several opened containers. What she was looking at? Were these priceless antiquities, slipped into the country and now available for a ransom of wealth to some closet collector? She stepped in closer to examine the large pieces so she could describe them later to someone who would know their worth. Old, definitely, but valuable, she had no idea.

  One item drew her attention. It was a sarcophagus of stone, ornately etched and set with jewels that looked like they might be worth an old king's ransom. And holding its secrets in was a heavy chain and serious padlock that now lay curled upon the lid like some snoozing deadly snake. Now that looked ripe for housing naughty business. What might it contain that required such hefty security measures? She weighed the sophisticated lock that could have only been breached with a jackhammer. Or a key. If she opened the lid, she'd be contaminating the evidence. But it might be worth it to see what was inside. She could ask Gabriel about a warrant. But that would take time. What if whatever was inside was no longer there when she returned? Just a little peek ... Her fingertips caressed along the edge of the cold stone. It looked heavy, but she could probably lift it without too much trouble.

  Then an annoying voice of reason intruded upon her treasure hunting fervor.

  By the book. Stick to the rules and do your job.

  She patted the lid and sighed. Whatever it was, it could wait until she did things right.

  Flicking off her light, she started to turn toward the door. From out of the blackness, a crushing force caught her by the throat. She tried to cry out, but the superhuman grip effectively stifled any sound of alarm. As she was lifted up off her feet, she tried to kick at her assailant, but with the breath stolen from her lungs, her strength drained too quickly away. She hung in the powerful grasp, limp and gasping.

  As the world swirled in a pattern of bright-colored pin dots, she could see two spots of red that remained constant.

  And over the frantic heartbeats pounding in her ears, she heard a low hypnotic voice.

  "It's not time for you to see into that Pandora's Box. Soon. Have patience. But in the meantime, you know what they say about curiosity, my little tiger cat."

  A swift, stinging pain, then Rita Davies’ world went black.

  Then red.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Fourteen

  Her head throbbed, and Rita was nowhere in sight.

  Naomi waited near the entrance to the parking garage. The hour was early, nearly morning. Paperwork had kept her occupied, that and worry, for most of the night, and now she just wanted to go home to mentally and emotionally crash.

  She stepped back inside the huge empty hotel where the climate control brought an immediate parade of gooseflesh to her arms. No one. Obviously Rita had found another way home. She rubbed at her aching temple, wishing her roommate had found the courtesy to let her know. But that wasn't fair of her. They'd made no prior arrangements. She was just tired and feeling bitchy and a bit jealous that Rita wouldn't be sitting in front of the television with her cat for company. She had a life, even if that life didn't yet include dating. Naomi wondered what it would be like to be included in a group of friends, like the gregarious dancers, just going out and having fun with no set agenda or schedule to keep. Exhausting, she decided. Fishing her car keys from her new handbag, she said good-bye to her work world in favor of what she prayed would be a long, untroubled sleep.

  The garage was almost empty, a few utility vans near the doors then nothing but oil puddles on pavement beneath the pale yellow glow of suspended lighting beyond. Her footsteps echoed, sounding as slow and dragging as her thought processes. What did she have in the refrigerator at home? Her brow furrowed. When was the last time she'd gone to get groceries? Such a simple thing, such a normal, everyday task, and the answer eluded her. She wasn't hungry anyway. A shower and a good eight hours of sleep. That's all she required for the moment. Maybe she'd shop in the afternoon. Maybe Rita would like to go with her to add to her supply of healthy additives and odd, nonfood group items. Like bean curd. Who could actually think of that as sustenance?

  Her car was parked halfway down the center aisle, the little white Neon waiting forlorn and abandoned. A statement on her life, as well.

  She never actually heard anything. It was more a feeling, a sensation of movement coming up behind her like the chill of an air conditioner suddenly turned on full blast. She looked over her shoulder, and her blood went as cold as the frost on those cooling coils.

  "Jeannie? Is that you?"

  She stood in the shadows of one of the
squat support pillars. The arrogant body language was pure Jeannie, but something was wrong. Naomi's nape prickled. Instead of rushing to the other woman with questions and concern, she stayed where she was, spooked into immobility.

  "Hello, Miss Bright. Out kind of late, aren't you?"

  It was Jeannie's voice but then again ... The soft syllables hissed slightly, as if the young woman had a mouthful of new orthodontia.

  "Jeannie, we've all been so worried. Where have you been?"

  "Here and there."

  "Jack's practically frantic."

  "Oh, I've seen Jack. He's not worried anymore."

  "Why haven't you come to rehearsal?"

  Jeannie swayed away from the post, her body undulating with the forward movement like a model ... or a stripper on a catwalk. She'd always had the grace of a dancer, but her motions now were fluid and oozing with sensuality, a seductive Salome wearing a secretive and cunning smile. “I've got other interests now."

  "But this show could have been your big break.” Naomi began backing up, her hand with the car keys behind her, searching for the door to her compact.

  "Oh, Miss Bright, there are things in this world and beyond that you can't imagine. I could show you. Let me show you.” That purred invitation stirred quivers of warning up and down Naomi's spine.

  "Not tonight, Jeannie. I'm very tired."

  Jeannie drew closer. Her fever-hot stare bored into Naomi's, and it was impossible to look away. Sparks of light and magic glittered in that gaze, as mesmerizing as a kaleidoscope. Naomi bumped into the door panel. The key scraped along paint surface, desperate to find the lock.

  "And I'm hungry.” That was almost a growl that grew petulant. “It's your job to look after us, Miss Bright, to see to our needs. Give me what I need."

  The key slid into the lock and turned with an audible click. The sound brought an immediate sharpening to Jeannie's features, features that hardened into harsh, unnatural angles as she suddenly rushed forward without seeming to actually move.

  Naomi jerked open the door. The chrome bit into the calf of her leg, slicing through her stockings and skin. She hobbled in a tight circle, trying to get inside before the hyper-enraged Jeannie was upon her. Too late. With the thrust of one palm, Jeannie slammed the door shut, cutting off her exit.

  "Not trying to run out on me, are you, Miss Bright?"

  So close, Naomi could see the strange pallor of Jeannie's skin where it stretched taut over jutting cheekbones and razor-sharp jaw line. The complexion the girl was so proud of for its creamy smoothness appeared almost transparent beneath the unflattering light. Tiny veins spidered beneath the shallow surface, pulsing angrily. This wasn't Jeannie. It couldn't be!

  Suddenly, the unfamiliar creature was snatched back away from her and spun out into the middle of the parking aisle. She crouched there, hissing like something venomous as Gabriel yanked opened the car door.

  "Get in."

  Trembling wildly, Naomi obeyed, scrambling across to the passenger side after fitting the key in the ignition. She couldn't see Gabriel facing the furious woman with a feral show of teeth. He jumped behind the wheel and slammed the door, punching the universal lock. Jeannie flattened against the window, her fingers clawing at the edges, nails scraping the glass with a nerve-shredding screech. Gabriel started the car and gunned it forward, squealing the tires as he spun around the nearest pillar.

  "Look out!"

  Even as Naomi screamed the warning, she knew it was too late for Gabriel to react. Jeannie was just there, right in front of the vehicle. The bumper and grill struck her in the abdomen. Her features crumpled with surprise before she went down and out of sight.

  Hands clapped over her mouth to hold back her hysteria, Naomi twisted in the seat to see a form sprawled on the pavement. Then, incredibly, as they sped away, she saw the supposedly broken figure gather up and stand.

  The car shot out of the garage and onto the side street to a cacophony of horns and curses. Gabriel battled the wheel, bringing the vehicle under control and into line with the steadily moving traffic. Only then did Naomi sag back in the seat, shocked beyond measure by what she'd seen. Or had she imagined it?

  "Are you all right?” Gabriel asked without looking for himself. “She didn't hurt you, did she?"

  "No and no.” Instinctively, she wrapped her seat belt around her, fearing she might dissolve right to the floorboards in a quaking, gelatinous glob. Her mind started to function, spinning madly to explain what she'd witnessed. “Was it drugs, do you think?” She'd heard that PCP lent its users abnormal strength and the ability to ignore pain. But that didn't explain away everything as neatly as she wanted. “What would make her act ... and look that way?"

  "I'll take you home."

  For the next few blocks, as horror rattled through her, she didn't realize he never offered an answer. Then another revelation hit.

  Gabriel!

  Her gaze flew over him to assure herself that he was indeed real and unharmed. Real, yes, but her stare snagged upon a dark blackish stain beneath his arm where a jagged hole had ripped through the front and back of his loose-fitting shirt. Marcus Sinclair hadn't missed.

  "You've been shot!"

  "What?” He glanced at her as if startled by the idea. Following her wide stare to the gore mingling with the bright pattern of material, he understood and shrugged. “It's nothing."

  "Nothing?” So much blood! “Gabriel, you should be in a hospital."

  "I've already been treated for it. I'm fine. Really. It's you I'm worried about."

  "Me?” He was referring to their last meeting where she'd ... what? Lost her mind for a minute? “Nothing's changed with me,” she claimed with an ironic bite of truth.

  "You got home safely? I wanted to take you myself, but I didn't think it would be ... wise."

  And she could sense him drawing back to become as neutral as those blandly spoken words. But noninvolvement wasn't what she wanted. Not now. Not after so many things had happened. Perhaps the strain of having Jeannie scare her nearly witless kept her usually protective shell from forming up around her. But the last thing she wanted was to be isolated with all her fears and doubts as he turned her car into the driveway.

  She didn't give him a chance to say anything.

  "Come in. And I don't care if you think that's wise or not."

  He shut off the engine without protest and came around to her side to open the door. She got out on absurdly weak legs, feeling as if she'd been on a wild roller coaster ride all over again. Gabriel slipped his palm beneath her elbow for support. Just that, but it was enough to fill her with encouragement.

  Gabriel...

  And suddenly Kaz Zanlos was there in her mind, manipulating her thoughts, her questions becoming his questions. How badly is he injured? Why has he come for you? Does he suspect something? What does he know? I need these answers, Miss Bright. You will get them for me.

  As she unlocked the front door to the darkened bungalow, she struggled consciously to shut off Kaz Zanlos’ dictates. Tonight wasn't about him. It was for her. For her answers. For her benefit. Tonight she would focus on what was between her and Gabriel. Finally, the voice in her head was silent with just a residual ache to remind her of her duty.

  Rita wasn't home. As she switched on the light to the kitchen/dining area, there was a disgruntled hiss as Mel leapt off the table, sending the vinyl place mat soaring like a Frisbee. The huge creature bounded under the coffee table and glared up unhappily, growls rumbling from its massive form.

  Seeing Gabriel's hesitation, she said, “Don't mind Mel. He and I don't get along.” She glanced up at him, noting how pale and weary he looked under the interior lights. “Can I get you an ice tea ... or something stronger?” She had some wine in the back of the cupboard somewhere. Zanlos had sent it to her for Christmas and, since she didn't drink, it simply aged gracefully back behind her discount store glassware.

  "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

  "But I do.” She spoke
the truth boldly, facing him in her front hall with all the anxieties that had knotted up inside her for the past twenty-four hours. “Marcus told me what happened."

  "Did he.” Such a cautious statement.

  "He said he drove you out into the desert because he thought you were somehow involved in the problems the girls were having. Of course, he was wrong about that.” And she waited, gazing up at him expectantly.

  "He was wrong."

  Her gust of relief was audible. “Marcus gets so overprotective sometimes."

  "There's no harm in that when it's you he's keeping from harm."

  She fixed him with another unblinking stare. “And would you harm me, Gabriel?"

  His answer came with heart-rending certainty. “Never. Nor would I allow any harm to come to you. Which is why it's not a good idea for me to be here."

  "I disagree."

  And before he could think to react or she could question her actions, Naomi stepped forward so that they were toe to toe. She caught his face between her palms, noting on a periphery how cold his cheeks were. She pulled him down to her. Even as his eyes widened, hers were slipping blissfully closed.

  His mouth was a taste of heaven.

  His surprise only lasted the instant it took for the reality of their kiss to sink in. Need roared through his body, tightening every muscle, alerting every fiber so it cried out for the feel of her. It was hell to hold himself back from what he wanted, had dreamed of for an eternity. But he remained in fierce control of those desires, with the luxury of her shy overtures as his reward.

  That she had little experience kissing both delighted and humbled him. Her soft lips trembled as she pressed them to his. The fit was perfect, yielding yet tentatively seeking. He let her search out his response, waiting for her to satisfy her curiosity. His restraint buckled as she initiated a hesitant sliding and sampling. He brought his hands up slowly, touching first the gentle slope of her shoulders. They quivered beneath that light contact. Then he sketched the fragile line of her jaw with his fingertips and her sigh shivered with anxiousness and anticipation.