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“You’re in jail, mister,” the jailer said dryly.
Dieter cursed beneath his breath. “Very funny. What’s the name of this godforsaken place?”
“You’re in Justice, Georgia, and I hope the irony of that is not lost on you.”
Dieter glared. “I need privacy.”
“Tough shit. You get one call, and I’m not going anywhere.”
As Dieter punched in the number, it occurred to him that he was probably safer in jail. At least here, Richard would have a harder time killing him. However, Richard didn’t answer the call, and Dieter was forced to leave a message.
“Mr. Ponte, it’s Dieter. I’m in Justice, Georgia…in jail. I caught up with Alicia at a gas station, but she wasn’t alone. She had someone with her who knocked me out. I’m not sure how I got from there to jail, but I need someone to bail me out.”
As soon as he’d disconnected, he handed the phone back through the bars. The jailer took it, smirked and slammed the door behind him when he left.
Dieter dropped back down on the bunk, then put his head in his hands and groaned. This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
Alicia was accustomed to the best. The best cars. The best clothes. The best of everything money could buy. So when John Nightwalker said he was taking her to his place, she didn’t expect to find much of a house at the end of this road through nowhere, but to say this exceeded her expectations was an epic understatement. His home was a magnificent edifice of wood, rock and glass that appeared to have grown from the very bluff on which it was sitting.
The front of the house faced the driveway, which left the back to overlook the ocean. She could see all the way through the soaring front windows to two stories of glass at the back that seemed to go on forever—disappearing up and into the startling blue of the sky overhead. The panorama they would reveal up close had to be amazing.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat. The beauty of it was obvious, but it was the loneliness she sensed along with that beauty that brought tears to her eyes.
She got out without speaking and walked toward the rim of the bluff, mesmerized by the view beyond. But the longer she stood there, the more she felt he hadn’t built here for the view. As she looked around the area, she realized that from where she stood, it would be impossible for anyone to get to him without being seen. She couldn’t help but wonder what demons John Nightwalker watched for when he looked through those windows.
“Welcome to my home,” John said.
Alicia couldn’t find the words to answer. She just nodded, then turned around and followed him back to the car, picking up her suitcase as he took the groceries and led the way inside.
John was so wired he could hardly focus. After centuries of waiting for this day, it was the closest he’d ever been. Only once before had he been so near. But that had been ages ago, on a train running through Central Europe. That day he’d known, as surely as he knew his own name, that the man he sought was only a few cars away. He’d felt the rhythm of his heartbeat as the pain of recognition spilled through him. He’d been running through the cars, searching for the person who held the key to all he sought, when a hard jolt sent everyone flying out of their seats, followed by the sounds of buckling metal and steam spewing into the air as the train derailed violently. He woke up some time later to the sound of people screaming and a horrible emptiness that meant one thing: the gut-wrenching knowledge that whoever it was he’d been after was dead, but not by John’s hand.
Nothing had been resolved.
Now his mind refocused on the woman at hand as he stepped aside to let her in. The way he figured it, playing things cool and easy was the best way to alleviate her fears, although staying calm around her was almost impossible. He’d waited so long for revenge. He needed to find out if her father was the man he sought. He guessed that he was, but couldn’t be sure—wouldn’t be sure until they were standing face-to-face.
He didn’t know what was going to happen after this quest was over, but right now he didn’t care. If he turned to dust, so be it. Revenge was a cold mistress, and he was tired—tired of it all.
“The kitchen is through here,” John said, leading the way.
But Alicia was so enthralled by this place that she kept lagging behind. The walls were a pale blue. The floor tiles were oblong, rather than square, and in an off-white color with gold veins scattered throughout. The furnishings were different shades of gold and blue, with snow-white throw pillows of every size. She could see a huge library off to the left, containing what appeared to be a well-organized office. The walls were covered with art and artifacts, most of which appeared to be of Native American theme or origin. The ocean breeze funneling through the open windows billowed the sheer white drapes hanging from ceiling to floor like earthbound kites. The faint scent of salty air permeated the rooms, along with another pleasant but less distinctive scent. It took her a few moments to locate the source, and when she did, she was once again surprised. A huge vase of wisteria sat on a waist-high table in the hall, giving every room access to the sweet, sweet smell of the blooms.
“The flowers…”
John paused and turned. “Yes?”
“They’re lovely,” she said softly.
For the first time John felt a sense of guilt. This woman was obviously in dire straits, or at least she thought she was. She was also stunning to look at. He needed to remember that her well-being was just as vital for him, albeit for different reasons, as it was for her.
“They were White…uh…my wife’s favorite,” he said, glancing toward the vase of white and lavender flowers, the slender stalks drooping from their weight. “They used to grow wild where we lived.”
Alicia’s eyes widened. Past tense. “She died?”
John flashed on White Fawn’s sightless gaze and the blood spilling from the gash in her chest, then stifled the anger he still felt. “Many years ago,” he said shortly, and changed the subject. “Let me put the perishables up, and then I’ll show you to a room. You’ll be comfortable here until you figure out what you need to do, okay?”
“Yes, and, John…thank you,” she said.
He nodded, well aware that she wouldn’t be all that grateful if she knew of his ulterior motives.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, stifling another twinge of guilt.
Alicia was standing on the balcony off John’s bedroom, overlooking the ocean, watching the light fading from the sky. She’d asked permission to see the view, and he’d made himself absent to let her enjoy it. Now a faint sliver of moon hung awkwardly against a growing darkness as a few wispy clouds passed in front of it. Night birds were beginning to call. A stiff breeze lifted the hair from Alicia’s neck, chilling her all the way through. She wrapped her arms around herself as a shudder ripped through her.
From behind, she heard a footstep, then felt the weight of something soft and warm settling on her shoulders. The gesture was both thoughtful and unexpected. As she pulled the edges of the sweater close around her, the scent of musk and a fainter scent of cigar smoke wafted toward her.
She hadn’t seen John smoke, yet she recognized the singular scent of fine cigars.
“Thank you,” she said softly, then looked back toward the water. “This is all so beautiful, but I’m sure you already know that.”
John knew she was referring to the view, but for the first time since she’d walked into his house, he was looking at her and seeing her as the beautiful woman she was, not just as a means to an end.
“Yes…very beautiful,” he said.
Alicia looked up, caught his gaze on her and lost her train of thought.
“Talk to me,” John said suddenly.
“I…uh…”
“Where do you live?”
“Most of the time in Miami.”
“Is that where your father is?”
She nodded.
He stifled a smile. Now he knew where to go. His suitcase was already packed. He was willing to leave her here on her own if she chose, or she could keep on running. But tomorrow morning, he was going to Miami.
Even though he’d gotten the information from her that he needed, he decided to keep her talking. The more he knew, the more likely his success would be, and he was long overdue for success.
“Why are you running from your father?”
Alicia pulled the sweater up beneath her chin and looked back across the water.
“It’s an ugly story.”
“I’ve heard ugly before.”
She was startled by the undisguised anger in his voice, reminding her that she was about to spend the night with a stranger. Still, he’d taken a chance for her. He deserved to know that what he’d done might put him in danger.
“A few days ago I overheard my father and an old friend of his discussing an impending business deal. It had to do with selling weapons to terrorists…the same people our soldiers are fighting in Iraq.”
John was stunned. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Are you sure? I mean…is there a possibility you misunderstood?”
Alicia pivoted, her voice rising as she answered. “To my knowledge, there is only one Osama bin Laden, only one group called al Qaeda. Do the words ‘delivery in Afghanistan, money transfers to Geneva,’ suggest anything to you?”
John flinched as if he’d been kicked in the belly, then walked past her in the darkness, bracing his hands against the balcony rail as he stared off into the night. He’d waited an eternity for justice, but did his personal justice supersede the safety of thousands of young servicemen and women?
He turned abruptly, a looming silhouette against the sky.
“His name…What’s your father’s name? How would he have access to those kinds of people?”
“His name is Richard Ponte. He’s the largest arms and munitions manufacturer in the western hemisphere.”
Darkness hid the shock on John’s face. It seemed that the soul of the man who’d killed his people had not learned much during the ensuing centuries. Then another thought surfaced. Alicia Ponte was clearly afraid of her father’s wrath, so…what did she think he would do to her?
“Does he know you overheard that conversation?”
Alicia’s shoulders slumped. “As of this afternoon, yes.”
A chill ran through John’s body that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
“You fear him because…”
“Because when I figure out who in Washington, D.C., I can trust, I’m going to turn him in.”
John couldn’t believe it. The Old Ones must be cackling among themselves over the twist they’d just delivered. If Richard Ponte was indeed the man he sought, he was going to have to stand in line to get to him.
“What lengths do you think he’ll go to, to stop you?”
Bile rose in the back of Alicia’s throat. This was the question that had been hanging at the back of her mind ever since she’d left Miami. Saying aloud what she feared was only going to give life and power to the fear, but she had no choice. By going with John Nightwalker, she’d put him in the same tenuous position in which she’d put herself.
“Whatever it takes to silence me.”
Even as John asked, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what kind of man could commit such a heinous act. “You think your own father would have you killed?”
“In a heartbeat.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, which Alicia finally broke.
“So…about now I’m guessing you wish you’d left me standing back at Marv’s Gas and Guzzle.”
She didn’t know there were tears on her face, but John saw them. Damn it…he didn’t want to feel sorry for her. Then she took a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“Well, hell,” he muttered.
Alicia saw a tiny flicker of moonlight catch on the tiny silver feather hanging from his ear as he moved toward her. Before she knew it, she was in his arms, with her nose pressed against his chest.
“What I wish is that you didn’t think your father is capable of killing you. That’s too much for anyone to bear,” he said quietly.
The rumble of his voice lulled her into a false sense of security. He was big and strong, and he’d come to her rescue. Lord knew she needed help. But she couldn’t continue this way without pointing out the obvious. She lingered one last moment longer, then stepped back.
“John…you have to know that by helping me, you’re putting yourself in danger.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“But—”
John shook his head. He’d made his decision. He would help her get her story to the appropriate people first, then go after his own revenge. It was the right thing to do. The only thing.
“Seriously, I can take care of myself—and you—if you’ll let me.”
“I’ve already involved you too far.”
“Then the discussion is over,” John said. “I’m in. So how are you going to handle this?”
Alicia shrugged. “Carefully, that’s for sure. My father has friends in high places. I’ve got to make sure that I tell someone who won’t give me up to Dad.”
John stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, gazing back out across the water. As he wrestled with his conscience, he could hear the waves hitting the rocks that jutted out from the beach into the black, bottomless depths. Decency was winning out over revenge, and it wasn’t making him happy.
“I might know someone,” he finally said.
“In D.C.?” Alicia asked.
He nodded.
“And you trust him?”
John turned. “As much as I trust anyone.”
Alicia frowned. There was a tone in John’s voice that she didn’t recognize. It felt like sarcasm, but that didn’t make sense. Still, she wasn’t in any position to be picky.
“Then I thank you,” she said. “But it needs to be soon. If Dad believes I’ll give him up, he’ll run. He has the whole world in which to hide, and if he does, you know what that makes me? A sitting duck, that’s what.”
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow. But for now, you need to get some sleep.”
Alicia nodded, then lifted her chin. With a quiet grace, she took off the sweater he’d put around her shoulders, handed it to him with a slight nod, then turned around and walked back through his bedroom, then across the hall to her own.
John’s fingers curled into a fist as he clutched the sweater. It was still warm from her body. Muttering a soft, unintelligible curse, he followed her inside, locking the doors behind him. By the time he’d set the security alarms, the light was out in her room. He paused in the hallway by her door, then turned and entered his own suite.
It was time to rest, and to hope that tonight would be a night without dreams. But after the excitement of the day and the fresh hope that his quest would soon be over, it was too much to ask.
She looked up from the cooking fire, smiling at his approach. Her smile widened when she saw the haunch of deer meat he carried on his shoulder.
“I have made your favorite,” White Fawn said.
Night Walker inhaled appreciatively as he laid the deer haunch aside and squatted down beside his woman to peer into the cooking pot. The ground maize had been cooked to a thick porridge consistency, and flavored with strips of pemmican and fresh berries.
