Hell on the Heart (28 page)

The room darkened as night fell. The monitor provided plenty of light, but the creepiness of her situation got to her. With every nerve on edge, she stared at the computer - too awake to sleep, too exhausted to work.

The All Seeing Eye had been closed since Cain attacked Shallowtail Hollow, making it the ideal place to hide out. Leaning over to turn on the desk lamp, her sense of unease grew to the point of breaking. She forced her fingers to continue moving, while her eyes searched the doorways and darkened corners of the room.

The desk lamp illuminated the man sitting on her couch. Agent John Stillwater.

She worked for composure. Only her stillness would give her away to anyone who knew her well.

“How’d you get in?” Deliberately she lowered the pitch to appear calm, but she didn’t believe for a moment he was fooled. He’d purposely chosen to put her at a disadvantage.

John shrugged in answer to her question, not moving from his relaxed position on the couch. No, as usual, he held his secrets close. And as usual he paid no attention to her kicking him out only hours before.

She pushed the escape button and exited the screen. He didn’t need to know what she’d been researching. “How long have you been here?”

Instead of answering he stretched his long legs as though his time spent in the dark meant nothing. He could have waited all night if that was how long it took her to notice his presence.

“Do you know what scares me?” His strong jaw and firm mouth gave no sign of warmth. Those ancient black eyes held secrets not even a gypsy could detect.

She doubted he cared about her answer. “Nothing?” She hazarded a guess. Was the man truly human? Probably not. How else could he get into a securely locked building without setting off the alarm? Her party tricks were good. His were better.

“You.” Well, it was only a question of time before he pinned the problems on the gypsy. “You scare the living hell out of me.”

Reaching for her patience, she answered, “Why?”

“Because cleverness has gotten you through every tough situation, but it won’t this time. They’re bringing guns to a fight and you’re counting on a quick-silver tongue to fend off bullets. To win, you’ve got to plan for failure.”

Okay, that wasn’t the answer she’d expected, but he was wrong. How could one succeed if they didn’t believe in success? “Planning for failure increases its likelihood by projecting that possibility out into the Universe.”

He didn’t roll his eyes, which was what she expected. “Refusing to accept defeat is different from planning for contingencies,” John said. “I guarantee you, your enemy will surprise you.”

“You’re wrong. Everybody at Shallowtail Hollow is on alert. We have weapons stashed for easy access. Cain will not take us by surprise. He didn’t the last time.”

“If you have to use those weapons, you’ve already lost.”

Well, the truth of that statement was self-evident; look at what happened to Rolf. “What would you do?”

Gracefully he rose to his feet. “You and I are going to make some changes. First, you’re going to stop treating me like I’m some muscle-bound, overpaid bodyguard. This is what I do. And newsflash, I’m good at it.”

He moved around to the front of her desk and rested his butt on the edge. “I’m well aware that we have some issues between us, but we’re going to put those on hold until after this is all over. Then, you and I are going to go someplace together and resolve our problems.” He leaned across his knee and clasped the arms of her chair. “Just nod,” he said softly, “if you’re in agreement.”

Her head bobbed up and down.

“Finally, I am not leaving your side. No more solo trips to work, no more spending the night at your father’s house for appearance’s sake. You can take pictures of me sleeping on your couch to post on your Facebook page if you want. But this is about to blow up in our faces. And when it does I’m not trusting your wit to protect you or the rest of your family.”

His scent surrounded her, made her blood pulse, made her mouth dry. “You think everything’s coming to a head?” A quiver she couldn’t control rolled through her.

“I do. This could play out two ways. You’re the trigger that set him off so we know he plans to come back for you. His delusions of a relationship with you are driving him to that end. If he’s operating independent of his group, he will watch and wait until he’s able to get you alone. Then he’ll drag you away, not caring if you’re conscious.”

John hesitated. Cezi’s eyebrow arched with a questioning look. Why she’d decided reading his tarot cards was a good idea, he couldn’t fathom. Having nothing to offer as a diversion, he did as she instructed.

When he’d completed his task to her satisfaction, she folded her hands over his, holding the cards. “Close your eyes. Think of nothing.” Her voice deepened, making him imagine a middle-of-the-night conversation with a warm, sleepy women lying in his arms.

On a shelf on the wall behind her, a row of homemade candles burned, giving off pungent odors from the crushed leaves packed into the wax. His eyes stung. In the background, the hypnotic sound of drums played softly, floating from the CD player’s hidden speakers

He wasn’t stupid. Fortune-tellers worked in similar ways. Set the stage. Watch for tells – widening of the eyes, facial tics, or other involuntary muscle movements. Crystal ball or tarot cards were props. Everybody had tells. A perceptive grifter knew when their words struck gold.

Already she was doing it. Her black eyes bored into his as she took the cards.

“I don’t want to watch,” he said, pulling a large handkerchief out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I blindfold myself?”

Her dark eyes glittered in the flickering light as she flipped her hand giving him permission. Of course, she would appear unconcerned.

He heard the snap of the crisp card as it touched the table. Then a silence. Ha. He’d stymied her.

“A dark-haired woman in your past,” she murmured, her voice, lower than normal, skated his spine. He said nothing. “You cared about her very much.”

Fishing in the dark. He was Indian. Of course, he’d known a dark-haired woman from the past.

Another card touched the table. “You are tied to her, but a veil separates you.” A silence followed. He wondered if she studied his body language. “The veil is death. This woman was a relative. A mother? No, not your mother. Your sister.”

She was good he’d give her that. Pain threatened to choke him at the thought of Dyami. He clenched his fists in his lap, knowing she couldn’t see. When she didn’t ask questions or move on, he held himself rigid in his seat. No way was he going to squirm or shift to let her know she was right.

With the third card she made a noise in her throat that sounded unsettled. “She’s angry at you. No. Unhappy. You haven’t let her go. She worries that you blame yourself for her death. She disagrees.” Another silence. “Give me your hand.”

His fingers uncurled slowly. He flexed the digits open and closed before placing them on the table. Her warm hand covered his.

“I’m going to put your hand on each card.” Her voice changed. This was the first time she’d faced his direction. The reading was for her not for him. He started to draw back his hand, but she pressed his fingertips on the edge on a card. “Tell me what exactly what you feel.”

The card felt warm. Nothing else. “Nothing,” he reported, feeling more cheerful.

“Nothing?” Her voice angled away from him again. She was back to studying the table. “No emotion? No heaviness or pulling? No temperature.”

“Okay, so now we know that this reading is about you.” Again, she spoke with the throaty voice that made his skin itch. He was through with this game. If she was going to read the cards, it wasn’t going to be personal.

Cezi’s head rose. Her stare pierced his soul. “For you, at this time and place, it is the right question.” Without looking at the table, she turned another card over and placed it next to the first three.

When she didn’t look, he had to. Lovers. The card showed a man and a women intertwined. “She was my sister. We weren’t lovers.”

Cezi nodded as though it was the card she expected while pacifying him with banalities. “Of course not. That isn’t what that card means.”

For the second time that day leaving her house to maintain his sanity became mandatory. He bolted toward the front door, jerked it open and stepped outside. And felt as ridiculous as he had the first time. What was he running from?

Through the window, he saw her hunched over the table turning each card over and placing it in a proscribed position. She didn’t need him near to read his tells. The cards, the ones he’d shuffled, told her everything.

The night air was still. Even the angels weren’t laughing.

He’d misread her. When had she ever appeared false to him. Members of family, sure. But her? Never. Aside from the fact, he suspected she was a first class pickpocket. How else could she have gotten Cain’s watch? She wasn’t sneaky or devious.

Magic had played a part in his life from the first time he’d visited a Shaman’s home. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight.

Everything about the place was filled with mystery. Bags and carefully tied bundles lined the walls, interspersed with rattles, gourds, shafts and masks. Wool rugs with simple, pleasing designs covered the hard floor. Animal skins, he recognized buffalo, wolf and a patchwork of gray and white rabbit added luxury.

His mother had worn a leather blue shift that day with her hair in long braids. He’d never seen her look more native. Without a word she knelt on the blankets a few feet from the fire. She motioned where he was to stand, side-by-side but with distance between them.

The smoke from the fire drifted through a hole in the roof where he saw the intense blue skies of his Montana home.

He wore only shorts. His bare chest was bony and scabbed from a hard case of measles. The sickness had ridden him hard, sucking his life force until even standing was an effort.

The old man brought the strong scent of aftershave with him when he entered the room. At first he towered over them. John quaked until the ancient warrior knelt and placed a long gnarled finger on his chest. Refusing to shame his parents, he stood his ground as the old man chanted and shook a rattle. The earth gripped his heels, adding to his resolve.

An inferno raged inside him, like a trapped animal desperate to claw its way out. The fever that’d gripped his body for weeks broke. Sweat poured from him. The old man held a hollowed-out gourd to John’s parched lips and he drank the foul-tasting elixir. The taste clung to his teeth and throat long after the gourd was lowered.

Still the sweat dripped from him. Weak-kneed and trembling, the internal flame peaked, then fizzled. Soft winds cooled his body and calmed his spirit. 

The old man smiled, his teeth unnaturally sharp. “You have a strong heart, passion and courage. Look to the spider for wisdom.”

Perhaps he’d seen the movie, Dances With Wolves, one too many times. But he’d hoped for a cool totem, like a wolf or an eagle.

It was his sister, Mary, who possessed the eagle spirit. At thirteen, she’d changed her name to Dyami to reflect her inner Indian. It started as a joke, except the name suited her independent will and soaring character. Losing her left a hole in his world nothing could fill.

A spider couldn’t save a soaring eagle, but a spider could kill. Special forces defined the spider.

For years he was in the Middle East more than on American soil. After one grueling journey he and D’Sean returned more dead than alive. In the days following, D’Sean’s storytelling improved. One night he proclaimed John to be a tarantula, silent and deadly.

As soon as the words had left his partner’s mouth, John recognized the truth of his statement. The next day he’d gotten the tattoo. He and the spider had become one. Now he stood alone in the dark wondering if his spider could protect the woman who meant the most to him.

A noise from the house jerked him back to the present. He peered through the glass. Czigany sat framed by ruffled curtains, staring back. In the dark he wasn’t sure she could see him physically or if she was looking directly into his heart.