If There Be Dragons (14 page)

Hastily, Brooke said, “I probably shouldn’t say anything, because I could be wrong, but somehow I don’t think so. I—uh—I think we’re expecting, Cody.”

“Expecting what?” he said blankly.

Brooke laughed in spite of herself. “Now, look, love. You certainly don’t need a lecture on how families grow!”

“Families? You mean—” His golden gaze dropped to his wife’s flat stomach incredulously.

“That’s it.” She stared at him. “Cody? Snap out of it, love! Say something. Anything.”

“A baby,” he said. “Our baby.”

Brooke watched his face with fascinated wonder. And she wished suddenly that she could film this moment and his face, just to be able to show it, in the distant future, to a child not yet born.
This is how your father looked when he knew you were on the way. This is how much he loved you even then….

“Cody…”

“Brooke…my Brooke.” Golden eyes blazed down at her. Unsteadily he said, “I don’t think—I’m going to be as calm about this—as I thought.”

She smiled very tenderly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, love.”

EPILOGUE

“W
OULD
I
MIND
another what?” Thor asked absently, pulling a battered stuffed owl from under his pillow and staring at it. It was Jenna’s owl, and he tossed back the covers with a sigh born of experience, knowing that if she woke up during the night and wasn’t able to find Coco (odd name for an owl, he thought for the hundredth time), she’d have a two-year-old fit.

Sitting at the foot of the bed brushing her hair, Pepper hid a smile. “We’ll talk about it when you get back,” she murmured.

Thor went down the hall to the twins’ bedroom, creeping in and hoping the dim night-light would show him the inevitable scattered toys before he broke his neck falling over one. He stepped over Fifi, the Doberman—the twins’ self-appointed guardian—with an automatically soothing—if soft—murmur, and glanced in amusement at Brutus, the attack-trained Chihuahua, who was lying with his customary arrogance on the foot of Jamie’s bed. Of King Tut there was no sign; temperamental Siamese and his black mate preferred to sleep downstairs on the couch.

Thor bent over the nearest small bed, very gently tucking Coco in the crook of a small arm.

Pausing for a moment, as he often did, he looked at his children and marveled silently.

He smiled slightly as he gazed down at the burnished red head on the pillow. She’d gotten his hair, little Jenna, and her mother’s glorious violet eyes. And she’d be a delicate beauty one day; she could already wind anything not made of stone around her tiny finger.

Looking across to the other small bed, he saw the tumbled silver hair of Jamie, only that visible above the covers pulled up to his eyebrows. He’d already shot up taller than his sister, Thor reflected; the pediatrician had predicted an eventual six feet or more. Jamie, with the gray eyes of his father holding an expression uncannily like his mother’s serene self-knowledge.

Thor shook his head slightly, bemusedly, wondering at these two tiny people that his and Pepper’s love had created. Then he crept from the bedroom as silently as he’d come, cautiously avoiding two stuffed bears and an overturned dump truck.

When he returned to the master bedroom, it was to find his wife standing by the window, looking out over the darkened pasture below. Her silver hair shone as it hung down her back, contrasting beautifully with the black silk nightgown which clung lovingly to her slender body. Thor stood silently in the doorway for a moment, watching her because he loved to watch her without her awareness; it was in these unguarded moments that the depth of his love for her very nearly overwhelmed him.

His Pepper. At thirty-two she still carried the identification card that verified her age, and still had to show it occasionally. His beloved Pepper, the gambler and cardsharp; the matchmaker and mender of lonely hearts; the lover, the wife, the mother. Pepper, eternally mysterious, eternally fascinating even to the man who knew her so well. The woman who’d stolen his heart in spite of himself and taught him to love.

God, how he loved her….

She turned away from the window, smiling across the room at him. “Kids still asleep?” she asked softly.

Thor went to her, held her in an embrace which still contained incredulity because she was his and he was almost afraid to believe it. “Can’t you hear the silence?” he murmured huskily, kissing her.

Pepper linked her fingers together behind his neck. Smiling up at him, she said, “I asked you a question just before you went out.”

“Mmm.” He began nuzzling her throat. “I remember. You asked if I minded another something.”

“Hostage,” Pepper murmured dreamily. “Another hostage to fortune.”

Thor lifted his head and stared at her. “I get the feeling, beloved,” he said uneasily, “that you’re not talking about the pony Jenna wants.”

Pepper shook her head slowly.

“Then…you’re…?”

“Do I have to spell it this time?” she asked solemnly.

“Another hostage,” Thor murmured dazedly. “Diapers and three o’clock feedings and colic.”

“Sit down, darling.”

“Picking the right name. Fastening your shoes because you can’t reach them. Putting one of the cribs back together. Warming bottles.”

“That’s it. Now just lie back; it’s time to go to bed, darling.”

“Pepper,” Thor said suddenly, clearly.

“Yes, darling?”

“The doctor said surgery. I distinctly remember—”

“He couldn’t be sure, darling; it’s not an ironclad rule these days that one cesarean has to follow another.”

“Yes, but—he said you’re so small—”

“Talking through his hat,” Pepper murmured, climbing into bed beside her prostrate husband. Cheerfully she added, “Anyway, you and Cody can pace together; I have a feeling it’ll be timed pretty closely.”

“You mean they’re…?”

“Think so.”

A faintly gleeful expression stole into Thor’s eyes. “That’ll fix him. He thinks I don’t know he’s been laughing behind my back, but I do. I bet he’ll stop laughing when he has to go through it himself!”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, darling,” Pepper agreed gently. She cuddled up to her husband adoringly. “Not a bit surprised.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

KAY HOOPER
is the award-winning author of
Blood Dreams, Sleeping with Fear, Hunting Fear, Chill of Fear, Once a Thief, Always a Thief,
the Evil trilogy, the Shadows trilogy, and other novels. She lives in North Carolina, where she is at work on her next book.

Watch out for
the second thrilling novel in
Kay Hooper’s Blood trilogy

BLOOD
SINS

by

KAY HOOPER

Coming from Bantam

December 2008

BLOOD SINS

By Kay Hooper

ONE

S
arah kept to what little shadows the winter-bare trees provided as she worked her way through the forest that separated the compound from the road. The full moon made this night an uneasy one for stealth, but she hadn’t been given much choice in the matter. Waiting even another day was potentially far more dangerous than acting, so—

She sensed more than heard a sound, and froze, her arms tightening around the sleeping child.

“It’s just me.” Bailey appeared to step literally out of the darkness not ten feet away.

“Are you early or am I late?” Sarah kept her voice as low as the other woman’s had been.

“Six of one.” Bailey shrugged and crossed the space between them. “Is she out?”

Nodding, Sarah relinquished the little girl, who was warmly dressed to protect her against the January chill. “She should sleep another couple of hours at least. Long enough.”

“And you’re sure about her? Because we can’t keep doing this. It wasn’t part of the plan, and it’s too dangerous. Sooner or later, he’s going to figure it out.”

“That’s what I’m trying to prevent. Or at least delay.”

“It’s not your job, Sarah. Not the reason you’re here.”

“Isn’t it? He’s getting better at choosing latents. Better at finding them and convincing them to join him. Better than we’ve been.” Sarah was aware of a niggling unease that was growing rather than diminishing. “Speaking of, are we covered?”

“Of course. My shield’s enclosing all three of us.”

“What about more conventional protection?”

“Galen’s got my back. As usual. But once we leave, you’re on your own again.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

“Sarah—”

“She could be the one, Bailey.”

“She’s six years old.”

“All the more reason. Without the defenses we can teach her, she’s vulnerable as hell, especially to someone bent on using her as a weapon.”

Bailey shifted the slight weight of the child and sighed. “Look, are you sure you haven’t been…influenced…by what this guy is preaching? All that prophecy stuff?”

“We believe in prophecy stuff,” Sarah reminded her.

“Not the kind he preaches.”

Sarah shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’m not a convert. It’s all I can do to keep up the facade of a loyal member of the flock.”

“Many more defections and kids disappearing, and that’s going to get a lot harder.”

“Harder than this?” Sarah reached out a hand and lightly touched the long blond hair hanging down the child’s back. “Her mother is gone. And her father vanished day before yesterday.”

Bailey’s mouth tightened. “You didn’t include that in the report.”

“I wasn’t sure until today. But he’s gone. I think he was beginning to ask too many questions. He didn’t believe his wife would have just run away, not without their daughter.”

“He was right about that.”

Sarah had been expecting it, but the news was still an unwelcome shock. “She was found?”

“A few miles downriver. And she’d been in the water a while, probably since the night she disappeared. No way to determine cause of death.”

Bailey didn’t have to explain that further.

“Are the police going to come around asking questions?” Sarah asked.

“They have to. Ellen Hodges was known to be a member of the Church, and the last time she was seen it was in the company of other church members. Her parents know that, and they’re more than willing to point the police in this direction. So if the good Reverend Samuel can’t produce Ellen’s husband
or
her child, he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

Sarah managed a hollow laugh, even as the sense of unease she felt grew stronger. “You’re assuming the cops who come here won’t be church members or paid-off
friends
of the church.”

“Shit. Are you sure?”

“From something I overheard, I’m convinced enough that I say it wouldn’t be a good idea to take any local law enforcement into our confidence. Not unless somebody on our side can read them very, very well.”

“Good enough for me. But Bishop is not going to be happy about it.”

“I doubt he’ll be surprised. We knew it was a possibility.”

“Makes the job harder. Or at least a hell of a lot more tricky.” Bailey shifted the child’s weight again. “I need to get the kid out of here.”

“Wendy. Her name’s Wendy.”

“Yes. I know. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. She has family who love her and will want her.”

“She also has an ability she’s barely aware of.” Sarah reached out once more to touch the child’s hair gently, then stepped back. “Protect her. Protect her gift.”

“We will. And you watch your back, hear? You’ve got a dandy shield of your own, but if it’s taking an effort to pretend you could belong here, Samuel or one of his so-called advisors could pick up on the fact that you’re hiding more than a bit of doubt about the good reverend and his real agenda.”

“Believe me, I know.” Something cold was spreading through Sarah’s body, and she took two more steps back, deliberately removing herself from the other woman’s protective shield. “Tell Bishop and John that at least one of Samuel’s closest advisors is a strong psychic. I’ve felt it. Not sure which one, there’s always a group of men around him.”

“Maybe you were just picking up Samuel.”

“No. With Samuel it’s just the way it’s always been, a…null field. As if he isn’t even there, at least psychically. No sense of personality, no aura, no energy signature at all.”

“That’s more than an energy shield.”

“I know. I’m just not sure what it is. I’ve never sensed anything like it before.”

Bailey shook her head. “I was really hoping that had changed, or you’d learned to read him somehow.”

“I’ve tried, believe me, every chance I’ve had. But nothing. He’s literally shut inside himself.”

“All the time?”

“Whenever I’ve been close enough to try to pick up something. But I’m not part of the inner circle, or one of his chosen women.”

“No, we haven’t been able to get anyone that close.”

“And I don’t know if we ever will. That inner circle is incredibly protective of him. And whoever the psychic is…he’s got one hell of a shield, a readable one, so it’s a given there’s something powerful generating it. But I’m not sure what he can do, what his ability is. It could be anything. Tell them to be careful. Whoever else they send in needs to be careful.”

“Sarah—”

“I’ll report when I can.” Sarah turned and hurried away, her slender form almost instantly swallowed up by the shadows of the forest.

Bailey hesitated, but only for an instant, before swearing under her breath and turning to retrace her own steps. She moved swiftly even carrying the child, and covered at least thirty yards before she heard, from somewhere behind her, a sound that stopped her in her tracks and yanked her around.

The beginning of a scream, cut off with chilling abruptness, its echo bouncing around eerily in the otherwise silent woods.

“Bailey, move.” For a big man, Galen himself moved with uncanny silence, but that wasn’t the trait she was interested in right now.

“Sarah. Galen, you have to—”

“I know. Get to the car. If I’m not there in five minutes, leave.” His weapon was in his hand, and he was already moving away, back toward the compound.

“But—”

“Do it.”

Bailey wasn’t a woman who accepted orders easily, but she obeyed that one without further question. Tightening her arms around the sleeping child and concentrating on intensifying the protective blanket of energy wrapping them both, she hurried through the woods toward the road and the car hidden there.

Galen had long ago perfected the art of moving through any type of terrain without making a sound, but he was all too aware that at least some of those who might hunt him in this forest could listen with more than their ears. Even so, he didn’t allow the knowledge to slow him down, and he made good time.

Unfortunately, not good enough.

Then again, he acknowledged grimly, he had probably been too late at the first note of Sarah’s scream.

She lay on her back in a small clearing, in a pool of moonlight so bright and stark it was like a spotlight, and the agony contorting her features seemed an almost unreal, Halloween mask of horror. Her wide eyes gazed directly up at him, terrified and accusing.

At least that was the way Galen saw it. He wasn’t psychic in the accepted sense, but he could read people in his own way. Even dead people.

Maybe especially dead people.

He knelt beside her sprawled body, his free hand feeling for her carotid pulse even as he kept his weapon ready and visually scanned the woods all around them.

He didn’t see or hear a thing.

And Sarah was gone.

Still kneeling beside her body, he frowned down at her. There wasn’t a mark on her he could see, no visible cause of death. She had bundled the child well against the cold, but her own jeans and thin sweater had provided little protection, and the light color of her clothing allowed him to be fairly certain there was no blood to indicate any kind of wound.

He slipped his hand underneath her shoulder, intending to turn her over and check her back for any wounds, but paused as he realized just how she was positioned. She had been returning to the compound, and unless she had somehow gotten turned around and changed direction, it looked as though she had been knocked backward from an attack she had run into head-on.

And yet the frozen ground around her, crystals of frost glittering in the moonlight, was very clearly undisturbed by any sort of struggle, and unmarked by any footprints except for his own and Sarah’s. Their footprints—arriving at this point. And Sarah’s footprints continuing on. But not returning.

It was as if she had been lifted off her feet yards farther along and thrown back to this clearing with incredible force.

Galen wondered suddenly if a medical examiner would find her bones so shattered they were virtually crushed, as Ellen Hodges’s bones had been.

He hesitated a moment longer, weighing the pros and cons of taking her back with them. It wasn’t in his nature or training to leave a fallen comrade behind, but the incredibly high stakes in this situation forced him to consider. Someone had killed her, and that someone would expect to find her body here. If she didn’t remain where she was expected to be…

“Shit,” he breathed almost without sound, the word a small cloud of cold mist. “Sorry, kid. I—”

It was his instinct to look someone in the eye when delivering a hard truth, and so he looked into Sarah Warren’s dead eyes when he began to tell her he would have to leave her body here to be recovered by her murderers.

Her eyes were changing. As he watched, they slowly fogged over, the irises and pupils at first dimmed and finally completely obscured by white. And in the bright moonlight the angles of her face seemed sharper, the planes becoming hollows, as if more than her life had been—was being—sucked out of her.

Galen had seen many dying and dead over the years, but he had never seen anything like this before. And for one of the very few times in his adult life, he felt suddenly vulnerable. Nakedly vulnerable.

His gun couldn’t protect him here. Couldn’t even help him.

Nothing could.

He found himself withdrawing his hand from under her shoulder, and was conscious of an almost overwhelming urge to leave, now, to get as far away from this place as he could, as fast as he could.

But once again, he wasn’t quite fast enough.

He was still rising, just beginning to turn, when he saw the three men only a few yards away, moving swiftly through the woods toward him with a silence that was uncanny.

The one in front, a tall man with wide shoulders and a stone-cold expression, already had his weapon out and raised, and offered neither warning nor any chance at all. The big silver gun bucked in his hand.

Galen felt the bullet slam into his chest before he heard the muffled report, felt the frozen ground hard beneath him, and was dimly aware of his own weapon falling from nerveless fingers. He couldn’t seem to breathe without a choking sensation, and blood bubbled up into his mouth, sharp and coppery.

Christ, what a cliché. I can’t think of something better?

Apparently, he could not. He had a mouth full of warm, liquid metal, and he could literally feel his life ebbing from his body. Not sucked out as Sarah’s had been, but just leaving him, the way his blood flowed from the gaping wound in his chest and soaked into the cold ground. For a few brief seconds he looked at the bright moon, then the light was blocked out as the three men stood over him.

He focused on the taller one, the one whose stone-cold killer’s face he could not now make out. Just a silhouette with gleaming eyes, silent, watching him.