Obsidian Prey (34 page)

“Yes,” he said and lowered the glass. “I told you that my family has a long history in the security field.”

She put her own glass down on the table. “You did mention the old family business. Out of pure curiosity, why was Big Jake so determined to get out of that line of work, anyway? Sounds like Sweetwaters had been successful in it for a few hundred years.”

“We were.” He looked at her. “But that kind of work eats away at your soul, even when you think you’re doing it for all the right reasons.”

“Yes,” she said. “I can see where there would be a huge psychic price to pay. Nobody except a total sociopath gets away with killing another human being without getting hit with some blowback, even when the killing is justified.” She shuddered. “I found that out, myself, this afternoon. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping well for a while.”

“No,” Cruz said. He covered her hand with one of his own. “But you won’t be alone.”

In the highly charged hours following the scene underground there had been no time to process the events, no time to absorb all the implications. Now it was hitting her hard.

She sighed. “I didn’t know for sure that the pyramids would kill him.”

Cruz just nodded. His hand tightened on hers.

“Right up until the last few seconds, I thought maybe the energy in the stones would just shatter his senses, probably permanently. Whatever happened, I knew he would never be the same. But I didn’t know for certain that he would die.”

“It’s okay,” Cruz said again. “I’ve been there. I understand.”

She stilled. “You mean you’ve—?”

“Yes.” He swirled the last of the Amber Dew in his glass and drank it down. He turned his head on the cushion to look at her. “The Sweetwaters’ decision to go mainstream didn’t change everything. The really bad guys, the psychic sociopaths, are still out there. And sometimes just finding hard evidence against them isn’t enough. Sometimes the Arcane Society drugs aren’t enough. Sometimes only a really powerful talent can track and take down another powerful talent.”

She exhaled slowly. “What you’re saying is that occasionally you still get called back into the old family business.”

“Occasionally.” He watched her. “But I swear to you we no longer take money for those jobs. I know it’s a fine line, but to the family it’s an important one.”

“I see.”

“You don’t look all that shocked.”

“You forget,” she said quietly. “I’ve had some experience with the Sweetwater family, namely you and Jeff. I’ve tuned amber for both of you. You’re arrogant, stubborn, and inclined to be annoyingly dictatorial, but you were obviously born with a psychic predisposition to serve and protect. You’re the good guys. Like we in the tuning business say, it’s in the psi.”

“That’s not what you were saying three months ago.”

“I told you, I understand that you did what you thought you had to do three months ago.”

“And I came back because there’s something else I need to do now.”

“What?”

“Make love to you.”

He leaned over her and kissed her, a long, deep, aching kiss. Passion, heat, and energy swirled in the atmosphere. She felt the rush across all her senses and throughout her body. The sense of rightness shimmered through her.

Maybe she couldn’t trust the Dore luck when it came to love, but the energy of desire between her and Cruz was real. The bond between them was real. It might not last forever, but she knew in her bones that she would never find another man like Cruz Sweetwater again. Dores might not be the luckiest people on the planet, but they weren’t stupid. What was it Nancy had said?
Time to go for the amber ring.

She put her arms around Cruz and kissed him back. He crushed her lightly down onto the cushions and started to move over her. A soft skittering sound from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen made her freeze, her fingers buried in Cruz’s hair.

“What?” he said, his lips on her throat.

“Vincent. We can’t do this in front of him. He’ll be embarrassed.”

“He’s a dust bunny. I doubt if he knows the meaning of embarrassed.”

“Okay,
I’ll
be embarrassed.”

There was a few seconds of stillness before Cruz finally moved.

“Right,” he said.

He rolled to his feet, picked her up, and carried her into the screened bedroom. In the shadows he undressed her slowly, sliding the black gown down over her hips. The dark fabric pooled on the floor around her bare feet. He unhooked the lacy black bra next and tossed it onto the dresser.

When he put his powerful hands on her breasts, a tremor of exquisite delight surged through her. She undid his shirt with shaking fingers and slipped her hands beneath the fabric. His skin was warm, the muscles of his chest sleek and hard.

He went down on one knee in front of her and kissed her stomach. She felt him hook his thumbs in the waistband of her black panties and draw them down to her ankles. And then his hand was between her legs, urging her thighs apart. She could feel her own liquid heat and knew that his fingers were already slick with it. The flare of urgent tension inside her made her dig her nails into his shoulders.

“Cruz.” She closed her eyes against the surging energy. She could barely stand.

He rose, picked her up, and settled her on the bed. She opened her eyes and watched, enthralled, as he unbuckled his belt and stripped off his clothing and the knife sheath with a resolute efficiency and speed that spoke volumes about his own level of arousal.

And then he was on the bed with her, his rigid erection pressed against her hip, his lips on her breast.

“Trust me,” he whispered against her throat. “We’re meant for each other.”

At least for tonight,
she thought. And maybe tomorrow night, maybe for a week, a month. Who knew? She refused to look any further into the future.

She moved her hand down his hard, lean body, savoring the tautness of muscle and skin. He shuddered when she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked gently. She sensed his aura flaring, hot and dark with desire.
For me,
she thought. Of that much she could be certain. Tonight Cruz wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

The heat flaring between them was so intense that it left a sheen of perspiration on their bodies and dampened the sheets. When Cruz finally moved on top of her, looming over her in the darkness, gathering her close, all of her senses were thrilled. And then he was pushing slowly, heavily into her, stretching her, filling her, joining with her in ways that swept far beyond the physical.

This was so much more than sex. The shatteringly intense intimacy stole her breath. Nothing had changed since he had left three months ago. She loved this man. She would love him all of her life, regardless of what happened between them tomorrow or next week.

“Tell me that you know that what we have together is real,” he whispered against her throat. “Give me that much tonight.”

“This is real,” she said.

It was the truth. She knew he must have sensed it in her aura. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his ring. Green fire glowed in the depths of the black amber.

Moments later her release flashed through her in small shock waves. Her climax triggered his own. He followed her into the glorious aurora.

LYRA CAME AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF CHIMES. IT TOOK her a moment to identify the source of the irritating noise.

“I think someone’s at the door,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“Good guess,” Cruz said.

His voice came from across the bedroom, not the other pillow. She opened her eyes and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He had his trousers on and was in the process of buckling his belt. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

“It’s not even seven o’clock,” she said. “Who in the world can it be at this hour?”

The doorbell chimed again and again.

“Whoever he is, he isn’t going to go away quietly,” Cruz said. He shrugged into his shirt. “I’ll take care of it.”

He went out into the main room. Alarm jolted through her. She leaped from the bed, grabbed her robe, and hurried after him.

“Wait,” she hissed. “It could be some bill collector’s goon. Did I mention I’m a little behind on the rent and a few other things?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Cruz did not slow down. He kept going toward the door. Vincent was already there doing his happy dance and chortling a greeting. Lyra relaxed. Whoever was out in the hall was a friend.

Cruz opened the door. It took Lyra a few seconds to recognize the woman on the other side. Nancy’s eyes were concealed behind oversized dark glasses. It promised to be another warm day, but she was wearing a heavy winter coat. The hood was pulled up around her face. She clutched a newspaper in one hand.

“About time,” Nancy muttered. She glanced anxiously back down the stairs and rushed into the loft. “Close the door. Quick. I parked in the alley. I don’t think anyone saw me on the street, but sooner or later they’ll find this place.”

“What’s wrong?” Lyra asked. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. I’m freaked out of my mind. You should be, too. We’ve got to get out of town. Throw some things into a suitcase, grab Vincent, and let’s go. We can hide out at my parents’ house on the lake.”

“Take it easy,” Cruz said. He closed the door with an air of great calm and went toward the kitchen. “How about some coffee first?”

“We don’t have time for coffee,” Nancy said. She jerked off her sunglasses and pushed back her hood. “Haven’t you two seen the morning papers?”

“Not yet,” Lyra said. “Why?”

“This is why.” Nancy held up the copy of the
Herald
, displaying the front page.

Lyra stared with mounting horror at the photographs positioned just below the fold. The first was a picture of Vincent, clearly identifiable by his red beret. He was sitting on the kitchen counter, a cookie in one hand, a paintbrush in the other. The second photo was of one of the three paintings that had been auctioned off the night before.

The headline read, “Art Scam at Local Gallery?”

“Oh, my Lord,” Lyra whispered. She yanked the newspaper out of Nancy’s hands. “The plumber. I
knew
there was something off with that guy. The son of a bitch was a spy. That critic at the
Frequency Herald
must have hired him to watch your gallery. He probably saw me bringing Vincent’s paintings in through the back door. Later he hired someone to pose as a plumber to get into my loft.”

“I knew that critic was determined to find out the identity of Chimera,” Nancy said, “but who would think that he would stoop to this? And how did he figure out that Vincent was the artist and not you?”

Lyra sighed. “Vincent was playing with his paints the day the plumber arrived. In fact, he was working on one of the paintings we sold last night.”

“We’re doomed,” Nancy said darkly. “Get your things.”

“I keep a pack ready,” Lyra said. “Give me a few minutes to shower and get into some clothes.”

“I strongly suggest coffee and breakfast before you two hightail it out of town,” Cruz said from the kitchen. “You’ll need the energy.”

Nancy glared at him. “You don’t understand. When Mr. Anonymous picks up the morning paper and finds out he bought six paintings that were done by a dust bunny, he’s going to raise holy heck. We can’t even refund all of his money. We spent what we got for the first three. Whatever happens, the reputation of the Halifax Gallery will be in ruins.”

Lyra paused in the bedroom entrance. “And so will the reputation of Dore Tuning & Consulting. You know what people say about small-time tuners like me. A lot of folks think we’re low level scam artists even on a good day. When it gets out that I was involved in this fiasco, I might as well close my doors for good.”

Cruz set a large frying pan on the stove. “Wait until you taste my scrambled eggs. I don’t do a lot of things in the kitchen, but I’m good with scrambled eggs.”

Lyra narrowed her eyes. “You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, Cruz.”

“Probably because the situation is not grave.” Cruz opened the refrigerator door. “Mr. Anonymous is satisfied with his paintings. He won’t be suing the Halifax Gallery or anyone else.”

“How do you know that?” Nancy demanded.

Understanding slammed through Lyra. She watched Cruz take a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.

“Oh, geez,” she whispered. “You’re Mr. Anonymous, aren’t you? You bought the first three paintings, too.”

Cruz smiled. “They’re all hanging in my office as we speak. I don’t think the three I picked up last night will fit in that space, though. I’ll probably put them up in my house, instead. The walls are pretty bare. The place could use some color.”

“Wait a second,” Lyra said. “You were at the auction last night. You stopped bidding early on. The winning bid came in by phone.”