Touched by Darkness (21 page)

"It won't affect our search for the Belian; we

already know Mrs. Burgess was murdered,"

Damien said. "But it might affect how the police

deal with the situation. By the way, were you aware

that Alex called me an hour ago?"

She glanced sharply at her son, but he was

engrossed in the game. Turning away, she lowered

her voice. "No, I wasn't. I don't even know how he

got your phone number."

"He told me it was on your 'flippy thing'."

"Oh... he must mean my Rolodex. Yes, I put it in

there after the gho—after Wednesday afternoon."

"I see. Well, he's obviously very resourceful."

"You've got that right. What did he want?"

"Questions about ghosts. About whether or not

Doris was in heaven, or if her spirit was still here,

that kind of thing."

Kara rolled her eyes. "Great. What did you tell

him?"

"That we would discuss it more tomorrow. How

about I pick both of you up around two?"

"Pick us up? Why not at the house like before?"

"When I work with Alex on controlling his

abilities, he might accidentally broadcast. I don't

want to take a chance of attracting anything."

Ghost or Belian,
she thought, suddenly chilled. Her

middle-of-the-night decision firmed into a solid

resolution. "All right," she said. "We'll see you at

two."

"Bring jackets." He disconnected.

"Good-bye to you, too," she muttered, putting the

receiver back into the cradle.

"Who was that, Mom?"

"Mr. Morgan." She faced her son. "Don't you think

you should have asked me if you could call him?"

He fidgeted with the mouse. "Sorry. He told me to

call him if I had any questions, and I found his

number in your flippy thing."

She wanted to tell Alex that being so fearful about

the ghost wouldn't help anything, but how could

she tell her son not to be afraid when there was so

much to fear?
So very much.
She tensed, thinking

about her newest decision. "It's called a rolodex. I

don't mind you calling Mr. Morgan when you have

questions, but from now on, please tell me first,

okay?"

He nodded solemnly. "Okay."

She rose from the desk. "I have to run an errand. If

you'll stay here with Bonnie and Susan—and keep

off the Internet—I'll bring us back some lunch."

"Why can't I go with you?"

"Because I have some business I need to take care

of. But I'll bring you a hamburger from the Busy

Bee. How does that sound?"

He considered a moment. "With cheese fries?"

"All right."

"And a strawberry milkshake?"

"You're pushing your luck, buddy."

He grinned, and the world suddenly seemed a little

brighter. "We can share it."

"You're taking advantage of the situation," she

accused, reaching over to give him a quick hug.

"But I'll do it, just this once."

She got her purse, spoke briefly with Bonnie and

Susan, and left. Getting the food from the Busy Bee

was the easiest part of her trip. It was the other item

of business that weighed on her.

#

The gun she purchased at Turner Sporting and

Hunting was a Beretta semiautomatic, which could

be fired repeatedly without having to reset it—or so

Jerry Turner assured her. He also said the flat

design was easier to conceal, and the .40 caliber

had good stopping power. Kara held the gun,

testing its grip, and a wave of memories rushed at

her, taking her back to Birmingham, over seven

years ago. She had learned how to use a gun when

she and Richard were together, but at the time,

she'd had no way of knowing what was going to

happen... No, she wouldn't go back down that path.

At least she knew she could handle the kick of the .

40, once she was back in practice. And she

intended to practice as soon as possible—

tomorrow morning, before Damien picked them up.

With so many hunting enthusiasts in central Texas,

there were gun clubs and practice ranges in the

general area.

It only took a few minutes for Jerry to run Kara's

information through NICS, the federal program

denying or approving gun sales; then the gun, along

with ammunition and a packet of forms to apply for

a permit to carry a concealed weapon, was hers,

and she was out over six hundred dollars. The cost

had surprised her, as had the ease with which she'd

been able to obtain the weapon. And that's what it

was—a weapon, at least against the human body

inhabited by the Belian in Zorro.

She hated bringing a gun into the house, hated

subjecting Alex to both the danger and the reality

that they might need protection. But her

determination to keep her son safe far outweighed

her concerns over having a potentially deadly

weapon in the house.

There would be a grim discussion on gun safety

and strict rules against Alex even looking at the gun

(which would also be placed where he couldn't

readily access it). Kara could handle that part; it

was explaining
why
they needed a gun that worried

her most. As far as she knew, Alex had assumed

that Doris had died in her sleep; but then, he was

able to sense many things, so that was only an

assumption.

Still, she had no intention of telling her son that

she'd bought the gun because there was a murderer

—and a supernatural being at that—in Zorro.

"Mom bought a gun yesterday!" were the first

words out of Alex's mouth when Damien entered

their house Saturday afternoon.

"I know." Damien slanted a glance at Kara, who

glared at her son in exasperation.

"You know?
How—no, wait." She turned to Alex.

"Get your jacket, young man. Then go give Mac

some fresh water." When he started to protest, she

pointed toward the wall rack by the front door.

"Now!"

"Fine." He stomped to the rack, pulled down his

coat, and dragged it behind him as he moved

toward the kitchen.

"Watch the attitude," Kara told him, "and pick up

the pace. Stay outside with Mac until I call you."

She waited until they heard the back door open and

close, then shook her head. "He's such a—"

"Boy?" Damien provided. "He's just a kid. You

getting a gun probably made a big impression on

him."

"You could say that. He's been full of questions

since I told him about it. So how did you know?"

"I heard it at Sal's yesterday. I usually shop there in

the afternoon, and just listen in and see if I can pick

up information."

Kara eyed his large frame. Today he was wearing

stone washed Levis, a dark gray turtleneck sweater,

and black, tooled-leather western boots. He'd traded

in the duster for a tailored black leather jacket that

looked killer on him. The man could definitely

wear leather, and the dark colors suited him.

As always, the electricity hummed between them,

stirring up physical urges. The firsthand knowledge

of just how powerful that chemistry was hovered

uncomfortably in the back of her mind. What did

you say to a man who'd been inside your body

figuratively, had been inside your most intimate

thoughts and feelings; who'd felt your raging lust;

and who would have been all too willing to screw

your brains out—even if it was theoretically for an

altruistic purpose?

It had been all right talking to him on the phone,

but facing him in person after Thursday night's

conduction was unnerving. She took a few safe

steps to the fireplace, busied herself straightening

the pictures on the mantle. "You're pretty

noticeable," she said. "Don't you think lurking

around Sal's might raise suspicions?"

He shrugged. "I'm a stranger in town and that

automatically makes me a suspicious character. It's

possible the Belian will home in on me because I'm

new here, but that's a risk I'll have to take. Tell me

about the gun."

She leaned her back against the mantle. "It's a

Beretta, semi automatic, .40 caliber."

"Nice weapon. But it might not offer much

protection against a Belian."

"The Belian is in a human body, isn't it? At least the

body can be killed, be it Belian or Sentinel," Kara

said fiercely. "I can tell you that for a fact, from

personal experience."

"I know that."

"You carry weapons. Don't tell me you don't," she

challenged. Richard had always carried a gun and a

knife, at the very least. He'd said that sometimes

the only choice was to kill a Belian outright,

without performing the expulsion.

"Yes, I carry weapons," Damien said. "But I'm

prepared to use them. Are you?"

"I am." Her chest tightened. "It's not like I
want
to

kill anyone, I'm a doctor, for God's sake! I'm sworn

to save lives, not take them."
But sometimes, there

was no choice.
She curled her fingers into fists.

"No one is going to hurt my child. I'm not just

going to sit here and hope nothing happens. If push

comes to shove, I'll do whatever it takes to protect

Alex."

"I'm not telling you not to protect yourself. Just be

sure you can pull the trigger, and don't

underestimate the Belian. Don't let the gun give

you a false sense of security. Do you know how to

handle it?"

Oh, yes.
She managed a nod. "Richard insisted I get

training in using a gun. After he... died ... and I

learned I was pregnant, I disposed of my gun

before moving here. I was determined I'd never

need it again, and that my child would never be

exposed to that sort of violence." She managed to

draw a breath into her constricted lungs.

"Obviously, I was wrong."

His silver gaze was steady, disconcerting. "Kara,

despite free will, we can't always control the paths

our lives take. Some of that is pre-patterned before

we're born."

She resented the implacable logic that seemed to be

an innate Sentinel trait. "Yeah, well, I intend to

control what I can." She walked around him to get

her coat. "Where are we going?"

#

They went to Blanco State Park, on the southern

edge of the town of Blanco. It was situated right

along the Blanco River. Damien suggested they go

where they could be near the water, but didn't want

to risk working with Alex too close to the part of

the river that edged Zorro.

Kara had always liked the small park, with its

grassy expanse that ran along the green water, and

the assortment of mature trees—gnarled live oaks,

bald cypresses, cottonwoods, to name a few.

When Damien mentioned the park, she'd had the

foresight to pack a blanket and two thermoses—

one with coffee and one with hot chocolate—before

they left. And somehow, a soccer ball got thrown

into his car, although no one would claim

responsibility.

They arrived at the park and found it had a fair

number of visitors. Even in March, people came to

fish, and sat along the bank in canvas chairs,

casting their lines; some even perched on the dams

stretching across the narrow river to fish. A small

gaggle of geese honked noisily and waddled

around, looking for food, in the form of handouts

from visitors.

Kara spread the blanket on a grassy, sunny spot on

the riverbank, a discreet distance from the people

who were fishing. The geese immediately headed

their way, but a quick flick of Damien's hand sent

them the other direction.

"Cool," Alex said, his eyes glowing.

"Nothing you need to be trying," Kara told him.

"Your mom's right." Damien settled on the blanket

next to Alex. "If you try to do stuff like that, you

might not stay shielded."

Grateful for his input, which she knew would hold

more weight with Alex than her motherly nagging,

Kara settled on the other side of her son. He had

carried the soccer ball from the car, and it rested on

the ground beside him.

A slight breeze amplified the coolness of the day.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and wrapped her

hands around the mug, savoring the warmth.

Damien rested his right forearm on his upraised

knee, leaning down to talk to Alex, who mimicked