Catherine Spangler - [Sentinel 02] - Touched By Fire (v5.0) (html) (13 page)

“Like what?” Luke put his arm around her, guided her around some people.

She tried to shake the odd sensation, but couldn’t. “I don’t know. It just feels . . . bad.”

He paused a moment. “Yeah, I feel some negativity. You’re probably picking up the emotions of the students. They may have lost friends in the explosions. There.” He pointed to double glass doors. “That’s about the right place.”

The doors were bolted, and beyond them, they could see mesh fencing stretched across the sidewalk.

“Let’s go out there anyway,” Luke said. “We might be able to see something through the fence.”

“But the doors are locked.” Marla saw the look he slanted toward her. “Oh, right. You’re ‘Super Sentinel.’”

“Funny.” He ran his palm along the bolt, and it clicked back. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then opened the door and ushered her through.

“Neat trick—” she started to say, but a swirl of darkness and emotions assaulted her: hatred, gloating, fear, pain, horror; a mental barrage. She gasped, pressed back against the doors.

“Easy now.” Luke took her hand. “It should be safe from this distance.”

“No!” Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely think. “Can’t you feel it? Oh, God, Luke, surely you can feel it.”

“Feel what?” His brow furrowed, then his eyes widened. “By The One. The Belian—”

“Was here,” she interjected. She flattened her free hand against the cold glass door behind her, trying to steady herself. Battled to draw air into her constricted chest. “He—it—was standing right here. I can’t—I—” Her legs buckled.

“Breathe, damn it!
Breathe!
” Luke said fiercely, grabbing her shoulders and keeping her upright.

But the evil and depravity spun around her, pressing her down, and blackness closed around her.

EIGHT

VERY little rattled Adam Masters. But he was definitely concerned.

He was a Sanctioned—one of the most powerful beings on Earth. Possessing a highly enlightened soul, he’d lived hundreds of lifetimes, several of them serving The One and the high priests in the great Atlantian temple. It was his job in this incarnation to protect innocents and to ensure Belians were caught and dealt karmic justice. His jurisdiction was the state of Texas, which had one of the highest incidences of Belian activity.

He directed the Sentinels under his command with a velvet-clad steel hand. The Law of One was to be embraced, first and foremost, followed by strict adherence to the Sentinel code of honor. For the most part, universal order dominated Adam’s domain, and his well-trained Sentinels did their jobs in accordance with the laws. Belians were tracked down like the animals they were, and justice dispensed.

But this one . . . this Belian was the worst Adam had encountered—at least, in this lifetime.

He hung up from talking with Luke, his thoughts grim. Thirteen more dead—two had died this morning—and numerous injuries, not to mention a swathe of destruction and terror. Typical Belian aftermath, only this Belian was particularly deadly. And less predictable, as it was moving to different geographical locations.

Until they could determine the pattern, or get a really clear conduction, it would be nearly impossible to track it. He hoped like hell Luke and Damien would be able to get a solid signature at the Austin bomb site.

Adam turned to his computer to search for unsolved bombings in other parts of the country. He was so engrossed, he didn’t hear the door to the outer office open, which was unusual, as his senses were highly tuned.

“Mr. Masters?”

He turned at the sound of the husky, feminine voice, mentally cursing his secretary for leaving the front door unlocked when she went to the post office. He didn’t care to deal with walk-ins. Most of his business, such as it was, came from tracking Belians. He only took on occasional outside cases to insure the agency had an appearance of authenticity.

The woman standing in front of his desk was unremarkable. She certainly couldn’t be called pretty. Her medium brown hair was cut short around her square face, although not short enough to tame the waviness that appeared to be natural. Her eyes, shielded behind tortoise-frame eyeglasses, were also brown.

She was average height, a little on the voluptuous side. She wore no makeup and was dressed in a simple, russet-colored pantsuit. A flash of insight told him she deliberately downplayed her looks.

“Mr. Masters?” she asked again. “You
are
Adam Masters, the owner of Masters Investigations, aren’t you?”

Despite his irritation at being interrupted, despite her utter ordinariness, he felt an intriguing flare of energy from her. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed with disdain. “First off, you’re inside an office that has the name Masters Investigations on the outer door. That’s one clue. Secondly, you’re sitting behind a desk that has”—she leaned forward and tapped the gold nameplate his secretary had insisted he needed—“the name Adam Masters on it. That’s a pretty strong indication.”

Very few people, if any, ever treated him with disrespect. He found this woman’s attitude challenging. He sat back in his seat. “I believe that’s sarcasm I hear in your voice. Since I don’t think I know you, I can’t imagine why you should find offense with me before we’ve even met.”

“And I can’t imagine why you would ask a counter question instead of simply telling me whether or not you’re Adam Masters.”

“Touché.” He swiveled his chair forward and stood. “Yes, I am Adam Masters.” He extended his hand. “And you are?”

He could tell she didn’t want to take his hand, but he continued to hold it out, subtly insisting that she participate in this simple courtesy. It was then he saw the cane, which blended almost perfectly with her pants.

She slowly, reluctantly, moved the cane to her left hand, and raised her right hand to shake his, very firm and brief. She appeared startled for a moment, but not nearly as much as he was, although he didn’t show it. He was a master at keeping his expression impassive.

“I’m Julia Reynolds,” she said.

Reynolds?
He’d just become aware of another woman with that same last name. Another little surprise. And wasn’t the universe just full of them today. “Ms. Reynolds. Please, have a seat.”

She looked resigned to yet another necessity in this game of . . . what? Bantering? She certainly wanted something from him. She eased herself into one of the two leather chairs facing his desk, rested her cane against the arm. “Hopefully, this won’t take up much of your time.”

He sat down. “That would be to your benefit, since my going rate is two hundred dollars an hour.”

More disdain in her eyes, and something else he hadn’t noted at first—high intelligence. “That’s up to you if you want to overcharge your clients, Mr. Masters, but I’m not here to hire you. I’m looking for one of your investigators.”

Since her last name was Reynolds, he could well guess which one. There were few true coincidences in the world. The universe was more purpose driven than that. “Who might that be?”

“Luke Paxton.”

Surprise, surprise. The world was spinning off its axis this morning. “May I inquire why you specifically want Luke Paxton?”

She paused for a moment, probably debating how much to tell him. “I believe he can help me find someone.”

“Really. Why don’t you tell me about this person who’s missing. Perhaps I can help you.”

“I don’t think you can, Mr. Masters. This is more of a . . . personal matter.”

He glanced down at his right hand, flexed it. “If one of my investigators has done something out of line, then I need to know about it.” He looked back at her.

Her gaze locked with his. “Believe me, Mr. Masters, if I knew for a fact one of your investigators had done something out of line, I’d make sure you were aware of it. I’d also file a complaint with the Private Security Bureau. But I need to speak directly with Luke Paxton. He might have information that’s vital to a dilemma that is, as I said, personal.”

Obviously, Marla Reynolds hadn’t adequately explained her absence to her family. Unfortunate, but Adam wasn’t about to reveal anything that might result in disrupting a well matched Sentinel/conductor team on a tracking mission. “I’m sorry, but Luke is currently on a case, and I’m not at liberty to reveal any of the details, including his location.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her aura flared, vivid blue tinged with red.
Here,
he thought,
was a woman of strength, a woman who would fight for what she loved and valued.

“You need to tell me where he is. It’s
very
important that I talk to him.”

He shrugged, kept his expression bland. “I’ve already explained I can’t do that. The case Luke is working on is extremely important, and could have dire consequences if it’s not resolved.”

Energy surged around her as she leaned forward. “
You
know something. You know something about the person I’m looking for, don’t you?”

She was intelligent—and astute. “I know only about the case Luke is on, and how crucial it is to the welfare of many. I can’t reveal his location until this case is resolved. I wish I could help you.”

She stared at him a long moment, and he realized she was so emotionally contained, he couldn’t sense her emotions or her thoughts, although he could most definitely feel the energy she radiated.

“I believe you know who I’m looking for,” she said, “and where that person is. And that you are deliberately withholding the information from me. That’s not a good idea, Mr. Masters.”

“You accuse me of not being forthcoming, but
you
have given me
no
information, Ms. Reynolds. Why don’t you tell me who you’re looking for and the circumstances of that person’s disappearance. Then we’ll see if I can help you.”

“All I need from you is how to contact Luke Paxton. I have no intention of interfering with any of his cases.”

“And, without more information on your situation, I can’t give you that. I’m sure you can understand I have to protect the privacy of my investigators and their cases. As a matter of fact, the law says I must maintain complete confidentiality.”

She gripped the edge of his desk and pushed herself up slowly before grabbing her cane. He sincerely hoped she wouldn’t try to use it on him. He had no desire to give her any glimpses of his power. He stood, his gaze meeting her glare.

“I’m very sorry you won’t cooperate with me, Mr. Masters. I’m not without resources. I’ll find a way to get the information I need, as well as make things unpleasant for you.”

“We all do what we must, Ms. Reynolds. I’ll await your next move.”

She didn’t bother with a last retort, merely turned and made her way from his office. Her walk was so slow and labored that he was amazed she had managed to make it into his office without him being aware of her. He wondered what had happened to her leg.

But that wasn’t nearly as burning a question as what to do about the startling reaction he’d had to her. He again stared at his right hand. It couldn’t be possible. Yet he knew what he’d felt.

He needed to talk to Luke. And to delve deeper into the background of Julia Reynolds.

Today . . . today, he was definitely rattled.

 

 

THE first thing Marla heard was an odd ringing in her ears. Then she heard voices, but they sounded distant, disjointed.

“She’ll be fine. Just low blood sugar.” That was Luke’s voice.

What?
She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy. Wisps of light filtered through the gray fog surrounding her. There were more voices buzzing, then Luke said, “Thanks for getting that. You don’t need to worry yourselves further. She really will be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Something cool and damp was pressed against her forehead, and then each cheek. She forced her eyes open, saw a blurry shape above her. She blinked, and Luke’s face came into focus.

“What happened?” She glanced around, realized she was lying on a bench against a wall.

“You passed out. Went completely horizontal on me.” The calmness of his voice belied the worry in his eyes.

“I did?” She tried to sit up, felt a wave of dizziness, and thought better of it. “I’ve never fainted in my life.”

“Yeah, well, that was before you met me.”

She looked around him, saw people moving through the cavernous area. “We’re in the dorm.” It was coming back to her. “The bombing. We went outside to get closer and it was—” Panic flared. “Oh, God.”

“Shhh. Be calm.” He wiped her face again with what appeared to be a wet paper towel. “It’s over, and you’re safe.”

She struggled onto her elbows. “I want to sit up.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he helped her upright and sat next to her, supporting her with an arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder, waiting until the spinning stopped.

“Well that was fun,” she managed. “At least I didn’t get sick. . . .” She twisted a little, looked up at Luke. “Did I?”

His jaw tensed. “No. But you passed out. I’m supposed to protect you. But it appears I can’t do anything to block your empathic abilities.”

She leaned back and took a deep breath, which seemed to help her equilibrium. After a moment, she said, “Maybe you’re not supposed to block them. Maybe I need to be able to sense the Belian.” But she couldn’t say she was happy about how her unusual sensitivity was manifesting.

“All I know is it’s frustrating as hell. And you sensed the damned thing before I did. That’s not supposed to happen.” With a disgusted sound, he ran his hand through his hair. “How are you feeling? Dizzy? Sick?”

“No. I’m a lot better.
Really.
” She looked up into his fierce face. This warrior was concerned—worried—about her. She had to admit she rather liked it.

Luke’s phone rang, and with his crystal gaze still on her, he unclipped it from the belt holster. “Paxton. Hey, man. Where are you? . . . We’re in that huge dorm right across from the library. Just had a little incident. We have a fix on the Belian, though. Why don’t you meet us inside? We’re right by the 40 Acres Bakery. Will do.”

He replaced the phone. “Reinforcements are coming. We’ll just wait for them here, while you get your bearings.”

“Who’s coming?”

“Another Sentinel, the one who usually works this area. But there’s been a lot of Belian activity this year, and both of us have been stretched a little thin. His conductor, who also happens to be his fiancée, is with him.”

She tried to get her mind around that information. “So you have territories?”

“In a way. There they are. Must have been close.”

She saw a man and a woman walking toward them. The man, tall and formidable, wore a calf-length leather duster, and his long midnight hair was pulled back from his angular face. The woman beside him looked small in comparison.

Luke stood and shook the other man’s hand; they each did the shoulder slapping thing. “Damien, man, it’s good to see you. Hey, beautiful.” He leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek. “I hope you’re keeping this guy in line.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Marla liked her already.

“How’s Alex?” Luke asked.

The woman smiled proudly. “He’s great. Growing in leaps and bounds. Soon he won’t be a little boy anymore.”

“He’s a special kid. Tell him I said hi.” Turning, Luke gestured toward Marla. “This is Marla Reynolds. Marla, this is Damien Morgan and Kara Cantrell, although I think Kara’s last name will be changing in the not-so-distant future.”

Damien was slightly taller than Luke, and not quite as solid. He appeared aloof, very contained, and exuded danger. Marla would have been terrified if she’d met him in a dark alley. But she knew Luke was just as dangerous and his laid-back attitude highly deceptive. Both men were lethal predators.