by Brenda Joyce
Memories they’d made together so recently swept over him, with the force of a tidal wave. Her dropping that little red dress. Her snapping those handcuffs on, triumphant. Her standing between him and Forrester, trying to broker a deal for him. Her pointing a gun at Carlisle and vanquishing him.
And the tunnel suddenly got darker, an impossible feat. It was hard to imagine a life without her in it, but there was no other choice. Because he could imagine her looking at him with scorn and derision and then walking away with an indifferent shrug. He knew, beyond any doubt, that day would come.
She turned to him in her sleep, surprising him. He did not move. Facing him on her side, her hand brushed his hip. And his heart thundered differently now.
He was addicted to her body. He was addicted to the release she could give him, the incredible pleasure, the escape from the damned tunnel of his life. If he leaned over her now, this terrible moment would vanish. But it would be temporary. When they were done, nothing would have changed.
His chest hurt so badly he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He couldn’t imagine a day going by without their verbal sparring. He liked her tough comebacks, her clever retorts. He’d had more conversation with her than he’d had in his entire lifetime, he realized grimly. But then, most of his life had been spent in isolation, either as a captive or since his release.
How he felt didn’t matter. He was used to being alone. There’d be other women, faceless and nameless, eager to please him, women he’d use and walk away from, women he wouldn’t bother to talk to, women who could think whatever they chose to about him and he wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t challenge him or talk back to him or look at him with those concerned violet-blue eyes…
It crossed his addled mind that a light had gone on in that tunnel since meeting Sam. And it had been growing brighter each and every day. It was almost as if there were a beacon at the tunnel’s end…
But that was impossible.
The fear clawed, the same fear he lived with, day in and day out.
She was stirring. Ian sat up, throwing off the covers. He left the bed and quickly dressed, yanking on his clothing with sheer determination, refusing to think any further. His mind was made up. Using his cell phone, he told the pilots to file a flight plan to Glasgow. He had no intention of leaping, not ever again.
When he came out of the walk-in closet, he was shrugging on a lightweight leather jacket. Sam was sitting up in his bed, beneath the gold sheets, her hair more mussed than usual, her full lips swollen. Her eyes were searching and filled with dread, as if she knew what he was doing. “Where are you going, Ian?”
“I’m leaving,” he said without emotion. He turned away from her. Looking at her actually hurt, the way those instruments of torture had.
She hugged her knees to her chest, under the covers. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”
He finally met her gaze. He would never forget her eyes, or her courage. “It’s over.”
She nodded, poker-faced. He turned abruptly, reaching for the door.
“I won’t try to stop you,” she said, and it was a warning.
He froze at the door. “I know.”
“Do you mind me asking, why? Why now?” She spoke without emotion.
His heart pleaded with him. He didn’t really want to do this. Maybe there was hope…“I’m done, Sam.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. “Gotcha.”
He took one last look at her. His heart screamed now. But his heart did not know any better. He had no choices.
He walked into the black tunnel.
And he was wrong. There were no lights, none.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SAM WALKED into her loft, finally understanding the word heartbreak. The pain was stabbing, knifelike. If she were a lesser woman, she’d crawl into her bed and give in to the need to cry.
But she was a Rose and a Slayer. So she reminded herself that it wasn’t love. She’d been deluded, and Ian Maclean was a mess.
She slowly closed the door and saw her sister seated on the sofa, looking so incongruous in her medieval dress. She was poring over the Book of Roses and smiling, which apparently meant she’d had some success in locating whatever she was looking for. Sam also heard the shower running.
Tabby’s smile faded and she stood up. “Guy couldn’t resist taking a modern shower. I had him get the Book for me. Sam, what’s wrong? Who died?”
Sam smiled grimly, going to the fridge and taking out a beer. “No one died, Tabby.”
Tabby walked across the loft to the kitchen counter. “It’s Ian, isn’t it?”
Sam shrugged. “It was never the real deal. Hey, Slayers don’t have time for love or romance.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
Sam chugged on the beer. “You know, nothing’s changed. He’s a selfish jerk.”
Tabby rolled her eyes. “He loves you and you love him. And I don’t think he’s selfish where you are concerned.”
Sam trembled in sudden anger. “I beg to differ with you, sis.”
“Don’t give up on him!” Tabby cried, reaching across the counter to grab her hand. “Fight for your love!”
“I am not in love,” Sam said. Then she crumbled and gave it up. She knew it was a damned lie. She loved the bastard. She’d gone through hell for him. She’d stood by his side against his worst enemies. And he’d walked out on her.
“I know you don’t believe that,” Tabby said flatly. “Because I know you.”
Sam looked at her darkly. “I am not chasing him, Tabby.”
“Why not? What could you possibly lose? Your pride?”
Sam finished the beer. Then she crossed her arms. “Yeah, I’ll lose my pride. He’ll laugh at me.”
“Ian won’t laugh at you. He needs you more than he needs air. It’s really obvious.”
Sam started, her tension unbearable. Tabby was right on that last point—Maclean needed her. The monk was gone, but he was still a mess. But if she went after him now, like some pathetic bimbo, he’d laugh at her. Wouldn’t he?
But so what if he did?
She wet her lips. “So what’s the scoop on our worst nightmare come true?”
Tabby raised her pale brows. “You don’t mean Hemmer and the power of virtual control.”
“That’s a sobering thought, but not as scary as Moray.”
“If Brie is right and Moray is back, he hasn’t shown himself.”
Sam inhaled. “Then let’s find him and set the world right.”
HE HADN’T TOLD ANYONE where he was going, not even Gerard. Ian closed the front door of his Loch Awe home, doing his best to ignore the painful throbbing in his heart.
He felt jet-lagged. He hit the lights as he went through the large entry hall, and that was when he realized he wasn’t alone.
The fine hairs at his nape tingled. As they did, the hallway darkened, and a chill descended upon the room. With it came a horribly familiar weight and black power.
Moray? His grandfather was dead. But that black evil was unmistakable.
With the confusion, panic arose.
He chased it away. He had to be mistaken.
But the hairs continued to tickle his nape. He slowly turned, facing the unlit interior of the grand salon. A shadowy form arose from the sofa.
Dread immobilized him. There was no mistaking the evil arising from his sofa.
The lights came on.
Rupert Hemmer faced him, but he only saw his grandfather, Moray.
“Hallo, a Ihain,” he said softly, smiling.
His knees buckled. There was so much fear that he almost pissed himself. There was so much shock that he couldn’t speak. This was impossible; it was a nightmare.
His grandfather slowly approached. “You’re not dreaming, my boy. I’m back. It’s been a long time—too long. But when necessary, I can be very patient. You’ve done well, considering what you survived.”
This was his worst nightmare come true—to face his d
emon grandfather again.
He now saw that the man standing before him was most definitely Rupert Hemmer, in form anyway. The fear began to dull, recede. “What do ye want?”
“Revenge.”
His heart lurched with more fear and dread. His grandfather was smiling, but his eyes were burning with evil and hatred. Sam’s image assailed him, her eyes violet steel. He was fiercely glad he’d left her, so she wouldn’t be involved in whatever was about to come.
“You feared me then and you fear me now. Poor Ian,” his grandfather taunted, pleased.
He wasn’t that boy now, Ian thought. He was a near-immortal with great powers. Hadn’t he just destroyed the monk? “Only a fool would be fearless,” Ian heard himself say. He wet his lips. His heart beat slowly, heavily—the pulse of a hunter, not the hunted.
How had he ever thought that this day would not come?
Moray laughed softly. “I hate your father as I have never hated anything or anyone. He is my son and he refused my will. Alas, you are the coin in which he will pay.”
A sudden, fierce need to protect and defend his father arose, stunning him. “My father defeated ye before. He’ll defeat ye again, and this time, I will happily help him.”
“Really? But you can’t win, Ian, not over me. I’ve come to take you prisoner again. How will you help Aidan when you are an impotent captive?”
He almost succumbed to the fear. It rose up, a brief, swift prickling, and then he quelled it. He was going to survive. He was going to protect and defend his family. “Try. Try me now and see what happens. Ye face a man, not a child, coward.”
Moray’s smile vanished. “I fear nothing, Ian, certainly not you and the warrior bitch you love.”
Ian tensed in absolute dread. “I love no one.”
Moray laughed at him. “I am still Rupert Hemmer, Ian. That’s the beauty of my soul becoming his.”
It was hard to grasp what he’d said, but he did. Moray and Hemmer were one. Moray had all the facts and earthly power that Hemmer had; Hemmer had all the demonic power that Moray possessed.
“Can you guess what’s next?” Moray asked softly.
He was thinking about how to best protect Sam, when what he had to do was parry Moray’s every move and then deliver the fatal blow. This had to end. “Is this how ye will frighten me? By playing a guessing game?”
“Have you forgotten about my newest power?” his grandfather asked softly. “I can turn you into that boy again—and I will.”
It took him a moment to remember. Hemmer had the power of virtual control.
And behind his grandfather, he saw the blue quilt covering his small, narrow bed. He saw the room filled with toys. Moray beckoned with his finger.
The panic was intense, choking him. He backed up, into the door. His shoulder hit the doorknob, because he was that little boy again…
A part of his brain screamed at him that this was an illusion. But he pressed back into the door, filled with fear, knowing what was coming next.
“There’s nowhere to hide. Come here. I have a use for you.”
“I LIKE those credentials,” Tabby said, grinning, as they took the private elevator up to Hemmer’s penthouse.
Sam might have made a quip if she were in a better mood. The doorman had been agog over her tiny tank top, and hadn’t even looked at her phony ID. Macleod chuckled, “Yer sister dinna need to use the little card, Tabitha. The doorman was about to swoon.”
SAM STRODE OUT of the elevator. Hemmer had the page, but that wasn’t why she wanted to chat with him. He ran in dark circles. If he knew anything about Moray, she intended to choke it out of him. Considering he’d been buddies with Robert Moran and now owned the building in Brooklyn once owned by Moran, he might still be in touch with his old mentor, no matter how dead he was. But before she’d even reached the apartment door, it opened. A distraught housekeeper stood there. “Thank God you’re here,” she cried, wringing her hands.
Sam was surprised by the greeting. “God doesn’t have too much to do with it,” she said flatly. “What’s wrong?”
The woman paled impossibly. “Aren’t you the police? I just called 911. Poor Mrs. Hemmer! Mr. Hemmer will be devastated.”
Sam cursed and ran into the apartment. “Where is she?”
“She’s in her bed,” the housekeeper cried.
Sam bypassed the elevator and took the stairs, her sister and Macleod on her heels. She ran down the end of the hall, past the bedroom where she’d first seen Ian, assuming the master suite to be at the corridor’s end.
She was right.
Becca lay naked and very dead on the king-size bed.
“A pleasure crime,” Macleod stated flatly. “He took her power.”
Sam walked over to Becca, actually feeling sorry for her. She never reacted to any kind of demonic crime, but now, her gut churned. “How can he tell?” she asked Tabby. She knew it had been a pleasure crime, too, but they always brought in the CDA lab team to verify it.
“We come across pleasure crimes almost every day, Sam. They’re epidemic in our time. Macleod can sense when the rape was demonic. Besides, look at her face.”
Sam realized that she hadn’t wanted to look closely at Becca. She didn’t know what was wrong with her or why she was almost upset. She closed her eyes and then stared at her face. Her expression was ecstatic. She was so much like Mother.
Sam felt sickened by the crime. She wondered if every time she worked a pleasure crime now, she’d remember her mother. Shaken, she said, “Hemmer doesn’t have one drop of demonic blood. He couldn’t do this.”
Tabby was silent. Macleod said softly, “Moray could.”
“Why would Moray be involved with Hemmer?” Tabby asked.
“They knew each other,” Sam said grimly. As Sam tossed a sheet over Becca, she told her sister about Moran. Then she heard damned familiar footsteps. She wasn’t surprised. As she turned, Nick walked in with Kit.
Kit came up to her. “Hey, are you okay?”
Sam nodded. “Thanks for caring.” She sent Nick a frosty look as Kit and Tabby hugged warmly.
Nick broke up the reunion by walking past the women and jerking the sheet off Becca. “I wondered if I’d find you here,” he said to Sam. He studied the corpse for a moment. Then he looked at Sam. “Your boy went to Awe.”
Sam tensed. Nick still had Maclean under surveillance? Would Ian be okay at Loch Awe by himself? She was still hurt, but her warrior mode replaced all emotional involvement. Moray was out there, and he had to be destroyed. To make matters worse, Ian didn’t know his grandfather had returned from the vanquished. “Is he okay?” she asked carefully.
“How the hell would I know?”
“Gee, I don’t know. By wiring that house, too?”
He gave her a dark glance. “I want you to come by my office tomorrow.”
“No, thanks.” Sam smiled coldly. She wouldn’t budge on this issue.
His stare would have leveled another person. “I have a present for Maclean.”
Sam started.
“I’m damned sorry I had to do what I did, although I’d do it all over again. But I don’t need his damned file. If you have the guts to come by, I’ll give it to you.”
She was stunned.
“Yeah, it’s a peace offering. But there are strings attached.”
“Like, I come back to work for you?”
“Something like that.” He smiled.
Tension filled her. She loved her job. It was her duty to protect and defend the world, but she’d never forgive Nick for tossing Ian under the bus. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Or am I on a timer?”
He laughed. “No, the clock’s not ticking. In fact, even if you don’t come back to HCU, you can have the file.”
Sam was rarely surprised twice. She was stunned anew.
He crooked his finger at her. Sam decided not to bother asking. She followed him down to the ground floor and to the vault. The beautiful landscape painting was propped against
one wall. The inscription she’d seen earlier was above it, where the painting had been hanging. The hieroglyphics glowed.
“Okay. You’ve got me. What is that, anyway? What does it mean?”
Nick walked over to it and Sam had the oddest feeling that he was uneasy. “In all the years I’ve been at war—before anyone even called it a war—I’ve seen that inscription exactly three times. Here, at 2145 Elm and in the first century.”
Sam shivered. “Give me the bad news.”
He glanced at her, his face uncharacteristically serious. “It’s Satan’s stamp of approval, Sam. If you think the greatest evil of all doesn’t exist in one single and powerful entity, think again. It’s said that no more than a dozen demons throughout time have ever gotten his seal.” He was thoughtful. “Others have seen this, through the centuries. The Russian saw this in one of Stalin’s palaces.” He hesitated. “Jan saw it.”
She could barely comprehend what he was telling her. “Are you frigging telling me that Hemmer, who is as mortal as we are, has Satan’s ear?”
“His DNA might be no different from the grocer’s on the corner, but I’m not sure he’s mortal. Not anymore. So where is our resident billionaire, anyway?”
“That’s a really good question.”
“Especially since he has the page. But how come I don’t think you’re here for the power? You know, there’s this wild rumor that Moray’s back from the vanquished.” Nick stared. “We both know old Rupert didn’t do in his wife. Sure you don’t want my help, kiddo?”
Sam was about to reply when she saw Ian.
He shimmered behind Nick, dressed exactly as she’d last seen him. She could see right through him, and she knew that his image was visual telepathy. There was urgency in his eyes. Something was terribly wrong. “Ian, where are you?” she cried. “What is it?”
Nick whirled and his eyes widened. He saw Ian, too.
THE CAGE TWIRLED. He clung to the bars, which were cold beneath his small hands. “Please let me out.” It was his first time in the cage, his punishment for attempting to escape. His heart beat so hard and so fast he thought it would explode.
