"Can I help ye find anything?" Sal asked in a gruff voice with a strong country twang.
"You can help me find the owner of this scarf." Damien held up the gold silk rectangle. "She dropped it when she was getting into her truck. Drove off before I could catch her. She was driving a blue Chevy pickup. She had auburn hair and a young boy was with her."
Sal's brow furrowed as he took the scarf in his rough hands. "Well, now. Sure sounds like Dr. Cantrell ye just described. But I can't see her wearing nothing like this."
"Dr. Cantrell? Does she have a son?"
"Sure does. His name's Alex, and he's real bright." Sal considered a moment. "I guess I'll keep this and ask the doctor if it's hers the next time she comes in. She shoulda been by, if she was in town this morning. She usually does her shopping on Saturdays."
"Does she?" Damien smoothly retrieved the scarf before Sal could get a firm grip on it. "I'd rather return it myself. Thank you, though."
A dull red suffused Sal's face. Damien detected high blood pressure. "I woulda seen she got it."
"Oh, I'm sure you would have," Damien hastened to assure the old man. He sent a small burst of calming energy. "But since I'm now a resident of Zorro, I'd rather give Dr. Cantrell the scarf myself. It's a good way to meet a pretty woman, if you know what I mean." He winked conspiratorially at Sal. "Oh, unless she's married."
Sal didn't take the bait, instead giving Damien a thorough once over. "New resident, eh? What line of business are you in, Mr—?"
"Morgan. Damien Morgan." Damien extended his hand, and Sal slowly accepted it with his own callused hand. "I'm a crime writer for Society Magazine."
"A crime writer? Not much crime around here. Hey, you investigating those murders over in Fredericksburg? Naw, you'd be staying over there if ye was."
There was more criminal activity in Zorro than the old man could possibly know. "I don't really investigate murders," Damien lied. "I leave that to the authorities. I do write about them, though, and I needed a quiet place to live, where I could find a slower pace and focus on writing."
Sal considered this. "Zorro ought to be slow enough for ye. Not much going on. Where you staying?"
"The Magnolia Bed-and-Breakfast, for the time being."
Sal nodded. "Belle Willams will take good of ye there."
"So where can I find Dr. Cantrell?" Damien persisted. "I'd like to meet her and return the scarf."
"Well, I don't give out other folks' addresses, not without their say-so. But you can catch Dr. Cantrell at her clinic on Monday. She’s usually in from nine to four, and sometimes later, if she’s needed. It's a small town, and she don't always work full days."
Damien had no intention of waiting that long. With the boy broadcasting power, it was only a matter of time until he attracted discarnate entities, or worse, the Belian that Damien was tracking. But he didn't want to arouse Sal's suspicions. "Where is her clinic?"
"One street over on Johnson." Sal hooked his thumb toward the west. "Take a right on Maple, then go right again on Johnson. It's about halfway down on the left. The doc is in if her pickup's out front."
"Thank you for the information." Damien started to leave then turned back. "Occurs to me you might want to pay Dr. Cantrell a visit yourself. You look a little under the weather."
Sal grunted. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me, excepting a lot of years of living."
Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Damien headed for the door. "See you around."
He walked down the cracked steps and into the sunshine. The air seemed cooler after the overheated stuffiness of Sal's store, and he tugged the front of his duster closed as he headed toward his car. It was nothing flashy or obtrusive, just an older model gray sedan. Even so, he knew he stood out like a sore thumb, as evidenced by the curious stares of the good citizens of Zorro.
Although many small towns like Zorro, with their antique stores and bed-and-breakfast facilities, drew a fair number of visitors, Damien had never been able to blend well. His height and the chiseled harshness of his features drew attention. He often wore dark glasses to hide the intensity of his eyes and tried to dress casually, but it always took awhile for people to become used to his presence.
Ignoring the stares, he strode to his car and got in, starting it and pulling onto the main thoroughfare. He drove to Johnson Avenue and turned right per Sal's instructions. Apparently one of the older parts of Zorro, this street had once been a residential section. Now the old homes lining it were businesses of one sort or another. He saw antiques, art supplies, florist, law offices, and then the neatly painted sign identifying the medical office of Kara Cantrell, M.D.
Like the sign, the small house was well kept, painted a pale yellow with white trim and large pots of pansies flanking the front steps. A concrete driveway took Damien to a small parking lot behind the house. He was grateful for the rear entrance, which would allow him to enter the building without being seen or questioned.
The locked door was no challenge, and he readily located Dr. Cantrell's office. Moments later, he had what he needed—her address, and the knowledge that she wasn’t married or dating anyone seriously. The latter came from a recent birthday card in which her brother had jokingly asked when she was going to get a boyfriend. Good. That would make things easier. Relocking the door behind him, Damien got in his car, consulted his map, and headed for the private residence of Kara Cantrell.
* * * *
Kara paced the family room, rubbing her hands along her chilled arms. She had turned on the gas logs she'd had installed in the fireplace shortly after she and Alex moved into the old house. While charming, with its wood floors, rugged ceiling beams, and large country kitchen, the house was drafty, and she had neither the time nor the energy to deal with wood-burning fires. But right now, the efficient gas fire didn't begin to warm the bone-deep chill racking her body.
No, the cold went far deeper than that, into the depths of her very soul. And Kara knew why. The stranger in Zorro. She tried to tell herself that she could have been mistaken about him, about sensing the power. That it was her overactive imagination, fueled by the memories of what had happened with Richard. But gut-deep intuition told her otherwise.
There was no doubt in her mind that the stranger was one of them. The power had been too strong, his reaction further confirmation, leaving no doubt he'd picked up on Alex. She didn't know what the stranger would do, but she felt certain they hadn't seen the last of him.
He could find out who she was easily enough. There was no anonymity in a small town. The knowledge of the stranger's true nature, that he could find her and Alex, sent a surge of hysteria through her. What should she do? Pack up? Run, like she had before? And then what? Richard had told her they were everywhere.
As long as Alex was broadcasting, he would always be at risk, wherever they went. Kara had tried to deny his power, had tried to tell herself that it was under control. But deep down, she knew better, and today had driven home that point. She'd denied it far too long, had denied it from the beginning, when Alex showed signs his was one of the special souls. It was right before he turned three. She could still remember the first time, as clearly as if it were yesterday.
"Mama, me been here before."
"What?"
"Me here before…before now. Me a woman in a scary place."
"Silly boy. What are you talking about?"
Alex had thrown his chubby arms over his head and burrowed against her. "Fire. Big rocks falling on me! Hurts."
She'd held him close, feeling his pounding heart, her own terror clawing at her throat. "It's just a story, sweetie. Just a bad dream, that's all."
"No," he'd insisted. "Real."
It had taken some doing to soothe her terrified son, but she had persevered. And as he got older, Alex seemed to forget the so-called memories, to forget his claim that he'd lived in another place and time.
It had also taken quite an effort to teach him to restrain his pointing and the ensuing resu
lts if he were upset or excited. Dishes spinning off the table, plants tipping over, scorched places on the floor or furniture.
Kara had hoped and prayed that the power would become dormant if not acknowledged and encouraged, that it could be repressed with conditioning. Alex was a good child, responsive to her parental requests. Now he never pointed at anything, and his normal placid nature dominated his moods. There had been no further incidents, and she'd begun to believe her prayers had been answered.
Until the past month, when strange things started happening around the house and Alex's school class. Things that seemingly were not a direct result of anything he did.
The faint ding of a timer broke into Kara's reverie. She drew a deep breath, trying to still her shaking. She'd almost begun to believe she and Alex were safe, that the past was behind them, had almost convinced herself.
A foolish and fragile hope. But that same knowledge told her it was useless to run again. Until she could find some way to shield Alex, they'd be at risk of discovery wherever they went. For now, she was determined to keep his life as level and normal as possible.
"Alex," she called out. "I know you heard that timer. Turn off the television." She stepped closer to the fire, still cold. She limited the time Alex could spend on the computer or watching TV, determined he not become totally dependent on them for his entertainment. Already, he displayed loner tendencies like his father had, preferring solitude to the company of others.
A moment later, Alex came tromping down the hall, Mac, their mixed-breed dog, trailing behind him. "Ah, Mom," Alex protested, "There’s a Star Trek marathon today. Ten episodes in a row."
"Then it will still be on in an hour," Kara told him. "You need a break and some fresh air. You can work in the garden with me for a while. Get your jacket. And tie your shoes."
Alex rolled his eyes, but he dutifully knelt down and dealt with the dragging shoelaces, then went to the wall rack by the front door and took his denim jacket off its hook. Reluctantly leaving the fire, Kara decided to get a sweatshirt to garden in, instead of her bulky jacket.
Alex opened the front door as she started to her bedroom. The sound of a vehicle turning onto the graveled drive halted her. Mac's shrill bark filled the air. Another omen, as Mac rarely barked at anyone, unless he felt threatened.
"Hey Mom! Who do we know who drives a silver car?"
Apprehension sent adrenaline pounding through her body. She didn't need to see the car, didn't need to run through a mental inventory, to know who it was. She already knew.
"Alex, get inside," she said sharply, reaching the door in a few frantic strides.
He stepped further out, his attention on the driveway. "It looks like that man we saw in town this morning."
"Now!" she ordered, her voice rising. She grabbed her son's arm and dragged him back. "Get in here!"
"Ow!" He stumbled and almost fell. "Mom!" he stared up at her with startled eyes. The intensity of Mac's barking increased. The dog sensed the danger.
She struggled to keep her voice calm. "Listen to me. I want you to go to your room. Turn on your television and stay there. Do not come out until I tell you to. Is that clear?"
"But—”
"Don't argue with me, son. Do it. Now."
"Okay." He shuffled off, throwing her one last look over his shoulder.
Kara turned back to the door. The adrenaline rushing through her had her shaking, made coherent thought difficult. She battled to draw a breath into her constricted chest, to stay clear headed.
Every instinct screamed at her to slam the door shut and throw the bolt, to snatch Alex and run out the back of the house and through the fields, away from the stranger and the terror he represented. But bitter experience reminded her of the futility of such an act. There was no where to run from them.
She felt exposed, vulnerable, with no weapon or any means to defend herself and her son. Because of Alex, she refused to keep a gun in the house. Besides, Zorro was a quiet, safe community. She'd never before felt the need for weapons. She thought of Alex's baseball bat, stored in the utility room with other athletic equipment, but she knew it would be no protection against a Sentinel.
The slam of a car door, along with Mac's frenzied barking, told her she'd just run out of time. Sending a prayer to a God whose existence she'd long doubted, she forced herself to step out onto the porch. The driveway was to her right, and the stranger was out and strolling around his car.
Still on the porch, Mac snarled and snapped, his hackles raised. The stranger stopped on the near side of his vehicle, raised his palm toward the dog, making a sharp motion. Mac immediately quieted, lowering his tail between his legs with a small whine.
The stranger turned toward Kara. She couldn't see his eyes through the dark glasses he wore, but the rest of him was intimidating. He was a big man. The black duster emphasized his tall length, made him appear even more ominous. His long midnight hair was sleeked behind his neck and tied, leaving bare the slashing lines of his lower face.
He didn't move for a moment then, slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand and removed the sunglasses. Steel blue eyes, glowing with a preternatural energy, seared through her. He made no effort to shield his power; rather he seemed to direct it outward, its insidious force penetrating her mental barriers, a psychic barrage.
Kara felt physically broadsided, emotionally violated. Any doubt about her earlier assumptions concerning this man's identity was evaporated by the blast of pure, unchallenged power.
She grabbed the doorjamb, digging in her nails, willing herself to remain upright and steady. Managed to find her voice. "What do you want?"
He slid the glasses in his duster pocket, then leaned against the car, seemingly relaxed. "To talk about Alex."
The shock of hearing him say Alex's name sent her reeling again. He knew her son's name! Anger followed on the heels of that knowledge. How dare this man pry into their lives; how dare he drag Alex into this?
She forced back the fury, reaching for calm rationality. There was nothing this man could do to Alex and her. True, he was one of them. A Sentinel. He was powerful beyond human imaginings, and very dangerous, but he was also bound by a strict code of ethics. He could never hurt innocent beings. She refused to let him intimidate her.
"I have nothing to say to you. Get off my property."
He straightened, all indolence gone, replaced by intense purpose. "I think we have plenty to discuss."
He strode to the steps and mounted them steadily, his gaze never leaving her. Kara stepped back involuntarily, grabbing the edge of the door. It wasn't far enough. The stranger's close proximity launched an invasion into her personal space.
She felt the electricity leap between them, a lightning bolt of raw chemistry. She'd only ever experienced such a reaction with Richard, had assumed it was specific to him and her. The horrifying realization that she could encounter the same thing with this man sent her staggering backward into the house. She groped for the door handle, gripped it tightly.
He tilted his head, his gaze assessing. "You're a conductor."
Oh, God. He felt the shocking chemistry, too. And he was far too close to another area that she had walled off seven years ago. Utter panic surged through her, evaporating all traces of indignation and anger. All thoughts of trying to deal with this man fled. All she could think about was survival. Getting away from him, and the threats he presented.
"Get off my property now, or I'm calling the police." She slammed the door before he could move, shoving the bolt home.
Shaking violently, she ran to the phone by the couch and snatched it up. She punched 9-1-1, but nothing happened. She disconnected and tried again. It took another fumbling moment before the fact there was no dial tone registered. She heard the bolt on the door jiggle and looked up. Horrified, she watched as first the bolt, then the door handle, turned smoothly.
She threw down the phone and ran to grab her purse off the dining room table. The doo
r swung open, and the stranger loomed in the doorway.
"Go away!" Kara screamed, fear pushing her beyond reason. She dumped her purse on the table, snagged her cell phone.
"It's no good," he informed her. "It won't work."
"It will, it will," she chanted like a mantra, trying to activate the phone. Nothing. It was dead, like the other one.
She stared at the phone, a sense of inevitability dulling the mindless panic. Along with it, she felt something else–a soothing swirl of reassurance, almost like a physical, calming touch. It took a moment to realize the source. She dropped the phone onto the table and turned toward the doorway.
"Don't," she said sharply, glaring at the stranger. "Don't use your so-called magic on me."
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Then I suggest you calm down. Unless you want to upset your son further." He nodded toward the other side of the couch, where Alex huddled against the wall, sheet white, his terrified eyes huge as he clutched Mac against him. He had come back into the living room and probably watched everything out the window.
What a muddled mess her near-hysteria had caused, especially considering it had accomplished absolutely nothing. She went to her son, sinking down on her knees and wrapping her arms around both him and Mac.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry I upset you." She kissed his head, inhaling the musty scent of a little boy who needed a bath. "It's okay now."
"But Mom," he said, his voice wavering, "what about him?"
Kara lifted her head and glanced at the stranger, still standing beside the front door, watching them intently. "It's okay," she said carefully. "He'll only be here a little while. I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier and pulled on your arm. I guess—" She paused, not certain there was any way she could explain her erratic behavior. "I guess I lost my temper."
"But you never lose your temper," Alex said, then thought about it a moment. "Until today."
Remorse tore at Kara. Twice in one day, she'd not only yelled at her son, but physically manhandled him. She'd probably blasted him emotionally as well, since he was highly sensitive to the feelings of others.
Touched by Darkness – An Urban Fantasy Romance (Book 1, The Sentinel Series) Page 2
