Carnal Sin (33 page)

"Raphael Cooper." He pulled out his wallet and identification.

The officer looked at it, wrote down the information, and handed it back. "We need to remove you from the crime scene if you're able," he said.

"Pastor Moreno's house is across the parking lot."

"This is Jackson Moreno's church?" the cop asked, recognizing the name.

"Officer?"

Nina Hardwick strode purposefully across the portico until she stood in front of the cop. She was a mess, just like all of them. There was blood on her white blouse and two buttons had popped off, revealing a very white stomach. The cop stared at her, as if trying to place her.

"Yes?"

"Nina Hardwick, staff counsel for Supervisor Vochek. I was here for this unfortunate tragedy, and I'm happy to answer any questions. Have you spoken with detectives Nelson and Johnston?"

The officer looked at the two men sitting on the ground. A paramedic was looking each one over. Grant pushed the EMT aside. "Help me up," he told the cop.

"Sir--"

"Detective Grant Nelson." Grant held out his hand. The cop took it. Aided, Grant rose to his feet, his body beaten and pale. "Pacific Division. You remember Kent Galion died last week? I was investigating his death, and my partner and I uncovered a drug ring operating out of Velocity. It spiraled out of control today. We were caught unawares. Ambushed. The two dead women inside were high on something. The coroner has been looking into designer drugs, but--" Grant shook his head.

"Is Pastor Moreno under investigation?" the cop asked.

"Of course not," Grant said. "He had some information for us. I wish I could share with you all the details, but right now it's still an ongoing undercover operation and you'll have to talk to my boss."

He glanced at Nina. Rafe watched the unspoken communication, and Nina excused herself.

Rafe didn't know whether Grant's quick talking would get him out of trouble, but for now it had saved his and Moira's hides.

It was time for him to take Moira someplace to rest. They both needed sleep.

THIRTY-FIVE

Forty-Eight Hours Later

Anthony landed in Missoula, Montana, after traveling for more than sixteen hours. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground, eerily beautiful in the stunning moonlight. He watched out the window of the taxi that wound carefully through the mountains to Olivet.

He was exhausted. More than anything, he wanted to hold Skye. If he'd gone straight to San Francisco, it would have been a short five-hour drive to Santa Louisa. He'd have been walking into Skye's arms now, instead of facing Rico Cortese's grim face.

"Thank you for coming," Rico said, taking Anthony's coat and escorting him to a fire in the library.

"I didn't have a choice." Anthony stood in front of the grand stone fireplace, the heat unable to melt the ice in his veins.

"The cardinal said you found answers in Dr. Lieber's papers."

Anthony turned and faced the hunter. "Don't you find it suspicious that Dr. Lieber is dead?"

Rico sat down slowly, indicating that Anthony do the same. Anthony remained standing. Rico said, "He was elderly and infirm. The trip could have worn him out." Then he looked pointedly at Anthony. "Yes, I find it highly suspicious. But no one has been able to prove it. We must keep our information close."

Believing that someone had breached St. Michael's fortress--or worse, that someone inside was responsible--deeply disturbed Anthony.

"What did you find?" Rico asked quietly.

Anthony looked back toward the fire. "Father Philip believed that Moira was the only one who could destroy the
Conoscenza."

"Yes. The
Book of the Unknown Martyr
clearly states that only a repentant magician with the proper lineage can forever destroy the evil book, through 'blood and fire.'"

Rico continued. "I tested Moira's blood. It is poison to demons. We know this is a sign."

Anthony slowly turned and sat across from Rico. "How do you know for certain?" he asked. "Could it be a trick?"

"It is no trick. It was Moira's blood that weakened the demon Envy in Santa Louisa. And you heard what happened in Los Angeles."

"In part. I spoke with Rafe right before I left St. Michael's."

"When Moira's blood touches the demon, it weakens the creature. Gives us time to trap or kill it. When I tested it on a demon--"

"What?"

"A possessed man. We confirmed it was a demonic possession. I injected Moira's blood into him. The demon was instantly exorcised."

"Impossible."

Rico raised an eyebrow as if to say
You doubt me?

"I've never heard of such a thing."

"Humanity was formed in blood. Sacrifice. Jesus was tortured and crucified, a sacrifice of blood and His human life to save the world."

"Moira is no Christ!"

"No. But there is history. And Moira's blood is from the proper lineage. She's of Fiona, who is of the line of witches that dates back to the dawn of mankind, when the first humans forged an unholy alliance with fallen angels. And Moira is repentant--she has not used magic in seven years."

"How can you be sure?"

Rico stared at him. "I am."

The truth was hard for Anthony to accept. "You mean we must kill her."

"No." Rico stared him in the eye. "She must martyr herself."

Anthony closed his eyes. "Yes. That is what Dr. Lieber's notes say."

Anthony handed Rico a copy of the key page. He already knew it by heart.

The Book of Knowledge,
known by most as the
Conoscenza,
was written in demon blood by the first magicians. It can be destroyed only by the blood of a repentant magician. Martyrdom is the only guarantee that the book will be destroyed, but if not possible, the blood must still flow, followed by fire. The blood will wash away the stain on the pages; the fire will destroy the paper made of human skin. Only then will humanity be safe from the spells therein
.

"You agree," Rico said.

"I don't know. But--" He hesitated, handing Rico another page. "It seems destroying the
Conoscenza
is the only way to send the Seven Deadly Sins back to Hell."

Rico read the papers. "We don't need to trap every demon to succeed. Destroy the book and they'll be pulled back to the underworld."

"It should be easier to retrieve the book than to capture the Seven."

"I have many leads. In fact, I'll be returning to Santa Louisa in ten days to bring Moira back to Olivet for additional training." Rico looked pained, and turned away from Anthony. "She needs to be prepared for her fate," he said softly.

Anthony didn't know what would happen, but he said, "I have a difficult time putting my life in the hands of a witch."

"Forgiveness, Anthony. You need to work on that."

Moira bolted upright in bed, her heart racing. She looked around the room, frantically searching for something familiar, something that told her where she was.

"Moira."

Rafe took her hand and pulled her back down, kissing her. Rafe was familiar. They were back in Santa Louisa, but not at Skye's. Lily was still there, and there wasn't room for everyone at Skye's house, so Moira and Rafe had checked into a hotel. They needed the time alone after what they'd faced in Los Angeles. They needed the time to just be together.

Rafe held her close. "You had a nightmare."

"No, you did."

He held her face in his hands. "I wasn't having a nightmare."

"I heard you cry out in your sleep."

Or had she? Had she dreamed Rafe was suffering? Dying? She touched him, hardly able to believe he was alive. She didn't want to do this five more times, chasing after the sins that remained at large. She just wanted peace. She just wanted to live quietly. Alone, with Rafe.

He kissed her softly. "I don't remember what I was dreaming. For one more night, let's put everything aside. Everything but us."

"Us?"

"I love you, Moira. We're going to find Fiona and stop her. I promise. And then you'll be free. We'll both be free."

He touched her cheek, made her look at him. It was dark, and he could barely see her face, but her eyes glistened in what little light filtered in from outside. "Where you were is not where you are now. Who you came from is not who you are. You know that, I don't have to tell you, but sometimes you need to hear it. Whatever gifts you have, they're good. It might not feel that way ..." His voice trailed off as he thought about the memories he had. He pushed those thoughts aside as a dull ache in his head threatened to break out. "But without you, we'd be at a loss. We need you."

I need you
.

He swallowed, wanting to tell Moira exactly how he felt. He'd told her he loved her--and dear Lord, he did love her--but he feared if she knew how much he needed her--how she completed him, how she kept him sane, how she had saved his soul--she would run away. He refused to add any more weight to her load.

I need you. I love you
.

Instead, he kissed her, smoothed the hair back from her damp forehead, erasing the remnants of whatever dark dream had her heart pounding. He could do this for her, every night. Hold her. Make love to her. Love her.

"Rafe--"

"Shh."

Moira sighed when Rafe silenced her with another kiss. Her nightmare faded as she let Rafe soothe her frayed nerves with his warm affection, the heat between them rising quickly. He made her forget the past and not think about the future; his touch told her they only had this day. Today was all that mattered. If tomorrow came, they would face it together.

Desire replaced tension, her need to touch every inch of Rafe grounded her, gave her humanity in ways nothing else could. Sex was primal, necessary, both light and dark, both good and bad. Sex connected two people physically, but what Moira felt for Rafe went far beyond simple lust. With every sigh, every touch, every need, she fell deeper into the abyss, a place she'd never escape. She didn't want to, because this abyss was love, and she would fight to protect this precious bond.

Moira ran her hands down Rafe's bare back. She'd memorized every scar on his body, all the damage inflicted on him in the past--days ago, years ago, decades ago. Her fingertips traced the ridges as the scars cut south, to the waistband of his boxers, then back up again, until she squeezed his shoulders. She whispered, "I need you." And she did, more than she'd admit to anyone, even Rafe, except for now. When they were isolated, alone, together in the darkest hours of the night.

She pulled off her tank top with one hand and tossed it aside, so now both of them were completely naked except for her panties and his boxers. Rafe's hand skimmed over her breasts. "Come to me, sweetness," he whispered, then breathed warmly into her ear, sending shivers along each nerve ending, down and back. She kissed his neck, ran her teeth over his jawline, lightly biting his earlobe when she tasted it. His long, hard body pinned her to the mattress and for one torturous, exquisite moment neither of them moved. Time stopped, the only sound their hearts and breath.

Rafe clasped her hands in his and spread them out on the bed. His lips sought hers, slow and firm, a long kiss she never wanted to end. Her skin basked in Rafe's scent, his heat, his love. She yearned for much more than this breathtaking kiss, but she didn't want to move.

And still he kissed her, his fingers entwined with hers, his arms pressed against her arms, his bare chest hot against hers. Now she squirmed beneath him, her passion fighting the restraints of Rafe's methodical seduction.

He tilted his head up, breaking the kiss, his lips curved in a half smile that alone would have knocked her socks off. "Is this lust, Moira? Or is it love?"

His eyes locked on hers and she realized he expected an answer. He'd been hurt the other day when she'd implied that maybe their passionate feelings for each other had been the result of the demon Lust, not their own desires.

She licked her lips and swallowed. The intensity of Rafe's stare had her heart quicken. He brought one hand to her breast and held it there, right above her heart, and waited for her to respond.

She leaned up to kiss him, but he leaned away, not taking his eyes from hers.

"Rafe--"

"Tell me."

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"I know."

Moira watched Rafe's expression, both patient and passionate. He wanted an answer and would wait forever to get it, even if he had to keep her lying here for hours. Days. She swallowed, wanting more time. Time for them. What if she loved so deeply that she couldn't think? That she couldn't fight? That she couldn't protect those she cared about out of fear for their lives and souls?

Then she realized that love wasn't something she could stop. Love couldn't be turned on and off like a faucet. Love existed between two people who valued each other more than themselves, who recognized that together they were stronger, not weaker. The depth of her love for Rafe couldn't be regulated or controlled. Her love, their love, simply
was
.

"It's always been love," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, before she could reconsider the step she was taking. Maybe she thought too much, analyzed too much. "From that first moment I found you, it's been love. Each day it grows stronger until I feel like I'm drowning with these emotions. I am scared." Her voice cracked. "But I love you so much."

Rafe had been waiting to hear those words, even though he knew them to be true long before Moira accepted the fact. He kissed her, this time with the passion and urgency he'd been holding back, waiting for her to open her heart. He let go of her hand and her arms wrapped around him, moving up and down his back, her fingers pressing into his muscles inch by inch, as if memorizing every cell in his body. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, his tongue tasting her salty skin, his nose breathing in the light, floral soap she'd showered with. But under the faint perfume, Moira shined. Her touch, her taste, her scent was so familiar Rafe could believe he'd known her for a lifetime.

He kissed the soft, delicate skin under her chin, moved down and painstakingly kissed every inch of her smooth skin around the base of her breasts, circling until his mouth reached her nipple. He drew the nub in slowly, held it until Moira groaned and tried to flip him to his back. She was strong, but he was stronger, and he pinned her back down with a grin. "I'm not done."

"You're driving me crazy, Rafe."

"Likewise, sweetness." He reached down and skirted his fingers over her panties.

"Take them off," she demanded.

"Or what?"

Her eyes flashed with sexy humor. "Or I won't play nice."

"I'm not playing."

He slid down her body, the blankets falling to the floor at the end of the bed. The room was near black, only a dim streetlight splitting the room in half through the slit in the hotel's curtains, wrapping them in dark and light shadows. Moira's body was long, lean, and full of energy she could barely restrain. He had to give her credit for the attempt; Moira was not a woman who laid around limply. She was life itself.

He took off her panties as she'd commanded and dropped them to the floor. He rubbed each of her calves in turn, his thumbs memorizing every curve of her tight muscles, every one of the soft spots, the tender points under her knees, the fine lines where one well-defined muscle met another. She squirmed, her hands grabbing the sheet beneath them, as he worked his hands up past her knees, parting her glorious legs as he kissed her inner thigh. First one side, then the other. She trembled, and Rafe smiled. She was trying so hard not to take control. It went against her nature, and he loved her more for it. For trusting him.

When Rafe's mouth skimmed Moira between her legs she gasped and pulled at the sheet, trying in vain to hold back her explosion. She thought she felt his smile, or maybe it was a chuckle, but she heard nothing except the hot rush of her blood. She might have cried out, she didn't know, she didn't care; all she wanted was this moment to never stop at the same time she wanted it to end. How could something that felt so wonderful be so agonizing?