In Destiny's Shadow

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Incredibly, Anthony felt his lips quirk. How long had it been since he’d felt the urge to smile? Melina’s inquisitiveness stemmed from more than her occupation—she had a remarkably active mind. Her intelligence was one of the most attractive things about her. “I’ve had to learn many skills over the years.”

“Including learning how to remove evidence like the postcard that was in plain view of a dozen bystanders?”

“That particular skill does come in handy.”

“Is your profession the reason you didn’t want to go to the police?”

“You mean, am I involved in something illegal? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Would it make any difference?”

There was another silence. “Yes, it would, but I don’t believe you are, Anthony. You seem more like the type of person who would bend laws rather than break them.”

The smile pushed at his cheeks. He felt unreasonably pleased by her assessment. “My work is varied. I take assignments that often involve some gray areas of the law, but sometimes it’s necessary when the law itself has failed.”

“For example?”

“Returning an item to its rightful owner. Tracing a missing person. Acquiring some particular information of interest.”

“That’s very vague.”

“It was meant to be. But in answer to your other question, I don’t want to go to the police about Benedict for the same reason you don’t. I believe I can do a better job without them. They would shut me out of the investigation.”

“I know what you mean. My source on the FBI hasn’t given me anything in months.”

“Who’s your source?”

“An agent who is interested in Titan.”

“That’s very vague.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “It was meant to be.”

His cheek twitched. She gave as good as she got.

“Is this vague profession of yours the reason you know so much about running away and dropping out of sight?”

His smile winked out before it could finish forming. No, he thought. He had learned about keeping out of sight a long time ago.

“Stay here with your sisters, Tony. Be a good boy and don’t make a sound until Mommy comes back….”

He’d tried to do what she had said. He’d held on to Dani and Elizabeth, hiding with them under his mother’s dresses that hung in the closet, doing his best to protect them and keep them safe. But it had been dark and hot, and the hems of the dresses kept sticking to his face, and his sisters were crying and his mother was screaming and he couldn’t breathe in that tiny, tiny space….

Anthony inhaled fast, stemming the panic before it could set in. He fixed his gaze on the horizon, anchoring himself in the here and now. No one could feel hemmed in in countryside like this. The sky was huge. The air was fresh. It was too cold to take the top off the Jeep, but the square design surrounded him with windows. That was why he’d chosen it, so he could see he wasn’t enclosed.

He hated small spaces. Knowing why he hated them didn’t make it easier. It only added to his list of reasons why he hated Benedict Payne.

“Anthony?” A light weight settled on his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

His hands cramped on the wheel. He eased his grip and flexed his fingers. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

She squeezed gently and withdrew her hand from his arm. “We’ll find him. Once he’s behind bars, your family will be safe.”

He looked at her. There were so many things he could say, but none of them were about Benedict. Touch me again. Let me see the warmth in your eyes. Let me hold your body next to mine and escape into what’s building between us….

He said none of those things. Instead, he nodded once and returned his gaze to the horizon.

The tang of incense hung in the air, making columns of hazy white where the spotlights tunneled through the darkness. Benedict ran his fingertip over the cool surface of the crystal sphere. The interior was dark. It didn’t reveal its secrets to him. He hadn’t been gifted with the talent to read the future there as Deanna’s family could. There were psychics and fortune-tellers in that group of Gypsies. It was the only reason he’d married her.

She should have been grateful to play a part in Benedict’s master plan. Without him, she would have been nothing. He had talked her into fertility treatments, he had selected the special sperm to breed superior children. The first three had displayed talent. The infants had been too young to test properly, yet even at a few months of age they had shown promise. He had already begun to devise the best way to train them when Deanna had ruined it all.

No, not ruined it, Benedict corrected himself. Deanna’s interference had delayed his plans, that was all. He had done well for himself in the years he was Titan. He was in a better position now to reap the benefits of his genius. All he needed was to acquire the remaining child….

Benedict’s breath hissed out. The crystal sphere was no longer dark. A bloodred glow pulsed within its depths.

He grasped the ball between his hands, bringing his nose to the crystal surface in his eagerness to see inside. Yes! Yes! The mystical power of this place must be starting to work. He’d been right to build his headquarters here.

The glow condensed before his eyes, forming itself into a rounded form. It looked like a ball. No, it was more like a…a bulb.

Benedict twisted to look behind him. The red light over the door of his inner sanctum was flashing. Someone was signaling him from outside. He looked back at the sphere. It wasn’t a vision that he saw in the depths; it was a reflection of the light bulb on the surface, that was all. A trick. An illusion.

It never occurred to him that the mistake was his.

He snatched the crystal sphere from its base, lifted it over his head and hurled it to the floor. It shattered against the rock.

The light continued to blink. Benedict kicked aside shards of crystal and walked to the door. He pressed his thumb to the lock, swung the door open and stepped into the anteroom. A puff of incense followed him. As soon as the inner door swung shut, he climbed the four steps to the outer door, thumbed the lock and emerged in the corridor.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light. He had left the walls and floor of his inner sanctum natural, wanting nothing to insulate him from the power of this place, but much of the complex boasted white marble floors, plaster walls and a cleverly designed lighting system that made the windowless hallways as bright as day.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

He looked at the men who stood before him. Gus and Habib had worked security for him during the early years of the Titan Syndicate in Europe. They could be relied on to carry out his orders—they were two of his most innovative confederates.

Benedict focused on their clothes. They were wearing coveralls with other men’s names on the breast pockets. “Where did you get those?”

“They were in the back of the truck we stole,” Habib replied. He tugged at one cuff—the sleeves were ridiculously short for his lanky frame. He was usually very fussy about his appearance.

“And those cuts on your face?” Benedict asked, looking from one to the other.

“They’re nothing,” Gus said quickly. Crooked lines of scabs creased his pale, basset-hound jowls. He rubbed his right eyebrow. Most of it was missing, as if it had been burned off.

Benedict scrutinized them closely. They were banged up, but they were still on their feet. Good. Whatever injuries they had suffered weren’t serious enough to interfere with their duties. He started walking toward the lab. “Since you’re here, I assume you completed your task.”

They fell into step behind him. “Yes, sir,” Habib said. “We took care of Fredo.”

“Excellent. He had outlived his usefulness to us even before he tried to leave.”

“He only got as far as Santa Fe.”

“We made sure he’s dead,” Gus chimed in. “He won’t be talking to anyone else.”

Benedict stopped and whirled to face them. “Anyone else?”

Habib waved his hand. There was a strip of gauze around his palm. “He met that reporter from New York. They spoke for only a few minutes. If he did say anything to her, she won’t be talking.”

“Ah, so you eliminated her, too. Good work.”

Gus cleared his throat. “We weren’t able to kill her. We gave her a warning instead. It scared her spitless. She took off so fast—”

“You made a mistake,” Benedict said. “You should have killed her. Melina Becker is becoming more of a nuisance than the FBI. Where did she go? Where is she now?”

“Habib was driving,” Gus said. “He lost her.”

“The truck we stole couldn’t keep up with her friend’s Jeep,” Habib said. “And they left so fast we didn’t have time to pick up another car.”

Benedict spoke through his teeth. “What friend? Don’t make me drag the story out of you piece by piece.”

“The reporter had a man with her,” Habib said. “He was tall, dressed all in black. He had a black ponytail like one of those martial arts guys. I’m not sure, but I think he’s got some kind of earring, too. He didn’t look like a cop.”

Benedict stared at Habib. As he sorted out the disjointed description of the reporter’s companion, his anger transformed to excitement.

A tall man who wore his dark hair in a ponytail and who had a gold earring. The description matched the one that two of his late confederates had given him several months ago. They had tried to acquire Anthony for him in Philadelphia and had failed.

Could it be true? Could the oldest of Deanna’s children already be this close?