So Tempting (10 page)

At last. He whisked the tie over his head while she skinned the shirt down his arms. One hand slid into her hair, closing almost painfully on her scalp. His eyes were hot with need, his face drawn in lines of strain.

Suddenly, the specter of long fingers and dark hair ghosted across her mind. Laser light. Billowing draperies.

Spinning in the vortex. A scattering of stars. A frenzy of colors...

No!
Desperately she shook it off. She didn't want anyone else in this bedroom. Not in her mind, not in her memory...not anywhere near her.

She struggled to block everything out but Gabriel's touch, but tangled with it was the sight of Dante Sabanne in moonlight. Of eyes that disturbed her. Compelled her. But the harder she tried, the worse it got.

Stop it.
This was insane. She lowered her head and focused on the clasp of his pants, but her hands shook. She couldn't breathe.

"What is it, babe?"

She couldn't look at him. "Nothing."

"Hey..." he soothed. "Did I do something wrong?"

How could she explain what she didn't understand herself? Jace turned aside. Tugged at her dress for cover.

Sex wasn't what she wanted from him, she realized. She longed to be held, to find refuge from her confusion, and that was both wrong and selfish. Their bargain was for fun. Period.

"Talk to me, Jace."

The least you can do is face him, coward.
Clutching her bodice to her breast, Jace finally looked at Gabriel, hard and half-naked, desire for her warring with worry.

And with the first touch of well-deserved anger.

Remorse stung her, regret crawled beneath her skin. He deserved better. Her careful shell had cracked open. That disturbing night at The Club had summoned a genie she couldn't figure out how to stuff back into the lamp.

And touching Dante Sabanne had blown her world apart. Until she regained control, she'd better back away. If she did, perhaps a friendship with Gabriel could survive. Swallowing hard, she forced the words out of her throat.

"I think I'd better go home."

* * *

Jace stood frozen on her porch, watching Gabriel peel out of her drive.

They'd seemed a perfect match in the beginning, just fun, nothing serious, good sex and no commitments, no ties, no chains.

It was better not to get too involved; intimacy only invited pain. In the end, no one would truly be there for her. No one ever had. Even her father had died and left Jace to pick up the pieces.

She'd be fine. She just needed a few days, that was all. A little time to concentrate on the job, forget everything else. Thank goodness that was one thing she had a grip on. She might be a disaster at personal relationships, but she was a good cop. She would focus, block out everything else but the task at hand.

And then later, when she could think straight, when these cases were solved and she had some time to ponder, maybe then she could check on how Gabriel was doing. Perhaps he'd forgive her, and they could be friends.

Sure. She'd be lucky if he ever spoke to her again. She couldn't have mishandled the night any worse. Despairing, Jace entered her cabin. Once inside, she headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off clothes as she went.

Standing under the hot shower, she tried to let it all go, allow tense days and sleepless nights to sluice away, drain from her memory, but she couldn't get out of her head the stark need in Gabriel's face.

Or mesmerizing silver eyes. A presence...a touch that shivered down her spine.

Starburst.

Spinning alone in a terrifying void.

She dug her fingers into her hair.
Stop it!

She shut off the water and reached for a towel. Dried off and reached for an old terry robe, then stared at herself in the mirror.

The face that peered back was tired and strained. Jace snapped off the light and headed for bed. Maybe everything would look better after some sleep.

Throwing off the robe, she slid an old green t-shirt over her head and reached down to pull back the covers.

There, on her pillow, lay a scrap of white paper, neatly folded. Grabbing a pen from the nightstand, she nudged it open and stared at the simple black typed letters:

DANTE SABANNE KNOWS MORE THAN HE'S TELLING.

She backed away from the bed, reached for her weapon, then raced through her house, checking doors and windows.

Every single one was still locked, just as she'd left them.

* * *

Standing in the secret room, the Keeper took up the chalice, recalling the girl's petite, voluptuous body, the sparkling dark eyes, the feel of her under his hands.

She was ripe for the calling. Her excitement vibrated in an aura around her, the life juices strong. She would be a pleasure to initiate in the True Path. And best of all, she was a virgin, he was almost certain.

The dosage would be right this time. He had no wish to lose another one. This new girl would be a wildcat; he hardened at the thought.

His power was growing; soon the Priestess could be usurped. She was too much in thrall to her own desires, which made her blind to the Keeper's burgeoning strength.

Ah, that would be the
pièce de résistance...
to drive into the dangerous depths of the Priestess...to steal her might to augment his own.

Then he'd be the
Magos
, no need for either one of them. There'd be no stopping him; his sovereignty would be complete.

No more waste of untapped potential; so much existed beyond sex games and carnal ritual. The times were auspicious for him to seize control...just as the girl was primed for temptation.

And Jimmy Carroll had better stay out of his way. Take the other girl and be a watchdog for her, if he thought that important.

The provocative virgin, however, was meant for his own pleasure.

* * *

Dante Sabanne stood in the darkened room, staring out at the mountains from the same position where Justine had stood. He heard the caterers packing up the last of their supplies, telling Mrs. Montoya goodbye. Soon the house would fall into slumber, settle back into the quiet that he craved. Everyone would rest.

Everyone but him.

He slept little at the best of times. Tonight, he would not sleep at all. He had much to ponder, not the least of which was the beautiful detective.

He did not have time to play games with her. Not now, not when the stakes were so high. Another time...ah, yes. Another time, he would take that proud defiance and savor it. She stirred something in the depths of him that he did not want to feel. Taunted and tantalized and made him hunger.

I would enjoy the challenge of gaining her surrender.

But not now. Not with this woman who so unsettled him. Who touched parts of him he'd thought long dead.

Did she have any idea who she was? What she could be? He didn't think so, and that only made her more dangerous.

She'd asked about
the
club, not
a
club. A roving venue where more than incense was being burned. She was right to sense something sinister going on. He had hoped he was wrong to suspect that Simon and Antonia's little game had turned deadly, but one visit had only increased his unease. He should have kept Simon as a research assistant, even though he was unbalanced. Turning his back on him had been a mistake. Simon's sociopath tendencies, coupled with Antonia's voracious appetite for pushing sexual boundaries...there was no telling what they were up to. He would have to be vigilant now.

And keep an eye on Justine as well. She was young and eager to solve two murders, impulsive and daring.

And out of her league in this game he and Markos were playing.

To lose his focus could be disastrous. The stakes had never been higher. Markos had tried to use the amulet once in his bid for earthly powers, and his failure had only increased his hatred for Dante. He was a viper, ever coiled and waiting. He understood only enough about the amulet to be dangerous. For years he had followed Dante's steps across the globe, alert for any opportunity to learn how to use it for his own purposes.

He was trying again—Dante had felt the cataclysm as he'd lain inside the protective circle. Markos didn't understand the risk, however, and his hatred would render him deaf to any cautions.

Dante's blood ran cold at the thought of Markos trying again. Markos was not a trained Light Walker, but the offspring who were not true heirs still possessed a trace of their father's power. He shouldn't be able to locate the Soul Star and realign it with the amulet, but Dante had long ago learned not to underestimate his brother's determination...nor the depth of his desire to wreak vengeance. Never could Dante afford to dismiss the legend's warning about the dangers of the Eye in the hands of someone filled with darkness.

And Cassandra was a wild card. Should Markos learn of her existence, what might he do? He was getting impatient, and he would try again. Dante's every instinct told him it would be soon.

He had to find the Soul Star. Heal the Eye of the
Magos
.

Before Markos tried again.

And cracked the world.

The detective sensed something—her reluctance to touch him again demonstrated that—but what had she seen? What had she felt? Could Markos use her? She was dangerous in her ignorance, but everything about her reactions in his study said she would not believe him if he explained, and her defiance could compromise everything. Yet he had to keep her close until he understood her part in this.

Not that keeping her close would be a hardship. On a personal level, Justine was fascinating in her complexity, her crackle of energy, in the sensual promise she exuded. She was a challenge his weary soul craved.

But they were not simply two people who were attracted to one another. Her job placed her in the middle of the battle between him and Markos, and her role as a potential but unwilling Prism made her both vulnerable and deadly to all he was trying to balance.

Then there was Cassandra, straining at the bit, wanting her freedom.

He had no choice but to be vigilant, to keep watch on every front, for he could not yet see the outlines of the danger. For long years his faith had dwindled, yet he needed to believe that his father had once been right, that failing to protect the amulet, to save his beloved, did not doom him to failure again as he faced his greatest challenge.

He had to find his way back to the Soul Star and let it reunite him with the amulet. The Eye of the
Magos
must be healed and kept safe.

Whatever it took.

Chapter Eight

Hunched over her desk the morning after the reception at Sabanne's, Jace rubbed her forehead, chastising herself. She'd never had a tolerance for alcohol—that's why she usually avoided it. Her sleep had been plagued by restless dreams of silver eyes in darkened rooms, of carpets of stars in inky blackness...by a sense of being a puppet, dancing on a string.

What could the note mean?
Dante Sabanne knows more than he's telling.
About what? The poisons? The Club? Had he indeed been that man in the alcove?

What did it say about her that the man from The Club, whoever he was, had shaken her so? How could she have imagined his hands on her when he'd been many feet away?

And what about what happened when she and Sabanne touched? That sense of a crack in the world opening, a chasm she fell through into...what the devil was that about?

She should go to Earl, tell him about the note, talk about what it could mean.

But Earl was a wily fox with a nose for deception. He might ask questions that she didn't want to answer yet. No way was she admitting she wasn't sure about her own mind; even Earl would back away from her then. Unstable cops were anathema. There was an explanation here, and she had to find it before she said a word.

The phone on her desk rang, startling her out of her thoughts. "Jace Carroll," she answered.

"Hey, woman, how's it going?"

Jace smiled as she recognized the voice. "Not bad, Victor. How about you?"

"Well, I just might have something you want to hear."

Her heart sped up. "What is it?"

"The second screening on the old guy's blood came up with that same cocktail of compounds as the girl—atropine, scopolamine, hyoscamine."

"
Datura
," she muttered.

"What?"

"You were right about them being of plant origin. Sabanne suspects
datura
. Jimsonweed."

"No shit? Why would somebody use that?"

Jace thought about Earl's speculation on the marijuana. "Could someone be lacing pot with a powder of it?"

Victor hesitated. "I guess so—but it wouldn't be very potent." He was silent for a moment, thinking. "
Datura
, huh? So somebody's using it to have flying dreams?"

"What?"

"You ever read Carlos Castañeda?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean visions, talking gods, leaving your body. He and Don Juan ate peyote laced with
datura
, if I remember right. 'Course they threw up, too, before the visions—but that could have been the peyote."

Leaving your body...holy shit. But that feeling was so sudden and only happened when she and Sabanne came into contact.

The rest of the guests last night had seemed fine. Gabriel certainly had been normal. And Sabanne had given her nothing.  "Are we talking rituals here? Cult behavior?" Jimmy's words vibrated in her head.

"Maybe. Or just someone out for a cheap high."

"Sabanne said it could be an aphrodisiac, too."

"Yeah. Scopolamine will make you horny as hell. Can't always do much about it, but you can sure have some crazy-ass fantasies."

"So how do I track the source of this stuff?"

"Man, that's a tough one, since jimsonweed is so common. While you're looking, though, check for a source for a weird macro-molecule."

"Wait. didn't you say you found that in the girl's readings, too?"

"Can't tell if it's the same, but whatever it is, I've never seen it before."

"Victor, why didn't you find the
datura
in Sam's blood the first time? You did on the girl."

"We weren't looking for alkaloids on him—they require special handling. We had different instructions on the girl. Alkaloids are thermally labile."

"Do I want to know what that means?"

He chuckled. "It just means they're heat sensitive. Different procedure required. The routine chromatography would destroy alkaloids."

"Oh. So what now?"

"You find another lab. This baby calls for equipment we don't have."

"Where do I go?"

"I'll check around, see if I can locate someone with the right set-up. Wish I could do it myself—this thing's got my interest."

"Let me know yesterday, Victor." Jace rubbed her forehead again, wondering what it could mean.

"You got it—hey, how was your meeting with Sabanne?"

"Strange."

"The man's got some esoteric interests, huh?"

Thinking of silver eyes...of dark lovers behind iridescent curtains...Jace frowned. "You don't know the half of it."

"Maybe he can help you with this macro-molecule."

"How would he do that?"

"What do you know about where he gets all that money?"

"Nothing, really."

"I've heard rumors that he holds the bulk of shares in Prince Laboratories."

"What's that?"

"Only one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in Europe." When she didn't respond, Victor laughed. "Well now, I never thought I'd see the day I'd silence Jace Carroll."

"Very funny. Bye, Victor." Her thoughts whirling, Jace started to hang up the phone. "Wait—where's their headquarters?"

"Athens, I think. I'll check on those labs, but meanwhile, you might want to talk to your ol' buddy Sabanne."

Dante Sabanne knows more than he's telling.

Jace pressed the disconnect button, staring but not seeing. Sonofabitch. Just how much did he know? Who was aware she'd been talking to him? Jace was always suspicious of something dropped into her lap. Who wanted her looking toward Dante Sabanne? And why?

She flipped through her notes and punched in a set of numbers. Her waiting fingers drummed.

"Mr. Sabanne, please."

* * *

Tiny silver bells jingled when Jace pushed open the door to Hearts Speak True. "Myra?"

A muffled voice emerged from behind a tall display rack listing dangerously to one side. "Back here."

Rushing over, Jace caught the rack just before it hit the critical angle and overturned. "Need some help?"

Blond curls bobbed into sight, followed by a reddened face. "Thanks. I was trying to level this leg, and it got away from me."

Jace knelt and spotted the folded-up piece of paper Myra was using as a shim. The lower portion of each display rack leg had a screw for adjusting the length. She stifled a grin. "Do you have a flathead screwdriver handy, Myra?"

The older woman brushed back dangling curls and tucked some of them inside her fuchsia-and-lime green scarf, setting her long beaded earrings swinging. "I think so. That's the one without the star, right?"

"Star?"

"That's your problem, Jace." Myra's voice was soft with dismay. "You don't take time to look at the beauty around you. One kind of screwdriver has a pretty star on the end."

Jace bit her lip. "It's called a Phillips-head, Myra."

Myra sniffed as she headed toward the back room. "Star-tipped is much more descriptive."

Squatting on the floor, holding up the display with one hand, Jace dropped her head and gave in to the urge to laugh.

Myra's Siamese cat, Goddess, brushed up against Jace's leg, purring loudly, pawing at Jace's hair. Jace smiled at the blinking blue eyes of a feline whose name denoted her position in Myra's universe. Wildly spoiled, Goddess was allowed virtually any liberty. Visitors to the shop who complained were invited to leave, but most were so charmed by Myra that they put up with the cat's monstrous ego.

"Yes, your majesty," Jace murmured, scratching her behind one ear. "At your service, as always."

Finally, Jace's knees gave out. She settled into a cross-legged position on the floor, one hand still bracing the rack. Goddess took her posture as an invitation and climbed right into the center of the nest Jace's legs provided, purring as she settled.

Jace sighed and relaxed in the soothing atmosphere of Myra's shop. Turning slightly, she used her back to prop up the display. Goddess yowled her displeasure, then settled again, her footpads kneading at Jace's left leg.

For the first time in days, peace descended upon her. She closed her eyes, lulled by the cat's warmth and the low hum of her purring.

A few minutes later, she stirred and saw Myra watching her with tenderness. "Sorry." She straightened, and the rack leaned precariously. Jace rushed to catch it before it toppled.

Myra handed her the screwdriver, then put her hands out to support the frame. "No need to apologize. You look tired. What's wrong?"

Lying flat on the floor, head under the rack, Jace was thankful for the cover. "Nothing I can't handle."

"I'm worried about you."

"No need."

"That's not what the cards tell me, my friend. You're surrounded by darkness, Jace. If you hadn't come in today, I was going to call you. I don't like what I'm seeing."

Have you ever touched someone and fallen through stars?
For a moment, Jace was tempted to ask.

But she didn't want to get Myra revved up. She'd had too much to drink or eaten something weird or gotten too little sleep...there was a logical explanation. If she asked Myra, her landlady would never give the subject a rest afterward. Bad enough she was divining Jace's future again. She let it pass and concentrated on the rack. Finally, she managed to loosen the screw on the last leg. "Okay, now tell me when you've got it straight."

For a few minutes, they worked together performing adjustments. Myra was ready to quit long before she was, but Jace believed in doing a task right the first time. Finally, the rack was level. Jace crawled out from under it and rose, handing the screwdriver to Myra, then brushing off her jeans.

"Myra, do you know where Sam got his drugs?"

Myra recoiled. "Sam didn't do hard drugs, at least not in years."

"But who did he buy his pot from? Or did he grow his own?"

"Are you sure he still used it? I thought he'd turned over a new leaf."

"How do you mean that?"

"Nothing, really. It's just that he seemed, well, more hopeful lately. As if he'd found something to believe in, at last."

"Like a cult?"

Myra frowned. "Are you talking about the same one Jimmy mentioned?"

"I don't know. Have you heard anything?"

"One of my customers said something..." Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. "Let me think. Something about reclaiming ancient powers, I think. I'm not sure."

Jace tensed. "Who was it?"

"Jace, people come to me as they would a doctor or counselor. I can't be telling their secrets to outsiders."

Outsiders. Myra was right, of course. None of this metaphysical business made sense to Jace. Still, what Myra heard could play a part in finding a murderer, and it was too soon to tell where the links might be.

"I'm trying to solve two murders. We might have someone twisted on our hands."

Calm eyes studied her at length. "I can't betray a trust."

Reluctantly, she used her job as a weapon. "I can force you to tell me. I don't want to, but your conversations aren't protected by law. Given the context, I can't believe you'd hold out on me."

"I'd like to help, but you have to understand how much people bare their souls to me. I tell you what—how about if I ask a few more questions to see if I can obtain the information you need?"

In truth, Jace didn't have enough evidence to justify forcing Myra to cooperate, not yet. Jimmy's cult might or might not have any connection to Sam's death. Right now it was just a hunch.

"I'd rather be the one asking. I don't want you involved if there's some wacko on the loose."

"Do you have any reason to believe that there's a connection to Jimmy's cult?" Myra might be ditzy on some levels, but she was an intelligent woman.

"Only a feeling. But I don't want you involved."

"See? Intuition is just another side of the force directing what the cards tell me. We're more alike than you think." She beamed, as if speaking to a bright pupil. "I'll win you over yet." Then her expression shifted. "Listen to me, Jace. Malevolent energies are swirling around you. There is more to you than you want to acknowledge, and if you keep ignoring it... You've got to be careful. There's a dark figure looming over you every time I do a reading. I can show you."

"I'll take your word for it," she said hastily. "But please promise you'll be very careful what kind of questions you pose to your customers."

"You don't need to worry about me." She gestured all around her. "This is a place of positive energies. You felt it yourself." She glanced toward the rack where Jace had napped.

"All right, I'm outta here. That's all the woo-woo stuff I can take for one day." At the door she stopped and glanced back. "Did Sam ever go to The Club, do you know?"

Myra looked blank. "What club?" Suddenly, her gaze cleared. "Oh—that club. The one the papers mentioned." She seemed startled. "Isn't that where the girl died? Do you think their deaths are connected?"

"I don't know yet. Not enough information, so I'm checking all bases. The two deaths might not be linked at all."
But I don't think that's the case.
Pasting on a smile, she wiggled her fingers at Myra. "Take care, kiddo."

"Be well, Jace—and be careful."

"My middle name. Later." Tiny bells jingled her departure.

Walking back down the street toward her car, Jace couldn't help a shiver, thinking back over Myra's words.
A dark figure looming over you.

Dante Sabanne was out of town, according to his housekeeper, though she wouldn't say how long he'd be gone. Jace couldn't confront him, even if she were mentally ready to do that. Maybe it was just as well. She would have time to check into his background further, see if Prince Laboratories might fit into the picture.

She would also return to The Club's next date, that very night. Look for her brother.

Look for
him
. Sort this all out.

She still wondered what she'd really seen. She would go back, but not on official business. Captain Gonzales hadn't decided yet. She would be skirting a fine line, but if it truly was Jimmy she'd seen there, she had to warn him away from that place. Even if no one was sure exactly what was going on there, her gut told her it was something bad.