Touched by Darkness (32 page)

She took a deep breath. "What have you got?"

"The Travis County medical examiner's report on

Doris Burgess came in this morning."

Kara fumbled for the chair behind her desk, slipped

into it. "What did it say?"

"Miz Burgess died from an overdose of insulin.

Seems she got confused. Maybe she forgot she'd

already taken her shot."

"An overdose?" Kara shook her head. "That's not

possible."

"Well, that's what happened."

"But Doris was very careful with her medicine."

"She was an old lady!" Tom snapped. "And old

folks forget sometimes. Hell, I forget lots of things.

It was an accidental overdose, doctor. So ruled by

the chief medical examiner."

Kara wanted to argue, to insist Doris would never

forget her medicine, to tell Tom she
knew
Doris had

been murdered. But she held back, knowing he'd

either never believe her, or he'd know exactly what

she was talking about. For all she knew, he was the

Belian. The thought chilled her to the core. "Has

Doris's family been notified?" she asked.

"I reckon they have. The ME's office keeps up with

that stuff." Tom's gruff voice softened. "I'm sorry,

Dr. Kara. I know you really cared for Miz

Burgess."

"Would you mind faxing me a copy of the coroner's

report? For her file."

"I reckon. What's the number?"

Kara gave it to him, then hung up. She stared at the

phone a long time, thinking she'd never feel safe

again.

#

"Doris would never mix up her insulin or give

herself an overdose," Kara told Damien that night.

"She was too sharp and too careful."

They were at the kitchen table, eating stew he'd

started that morning in the Crock-Pot (which she

hadn't even known she had). Tonight, he'd pulled

more of the tossed salad out of the fridge, and

heated store-bought biscuits. The stew was

delicious. Kara decided he could take Luz's place in

a pinch, although she hadn't observed his

housecleaning skills yet.

It felt very strange having him ensconced in her

home, with his laptop and briefcase

commandeering the dining room table, his suitcase

in Alex's room, and his toiletries in the main

bathroom. The house smelled of aftershave,

sandalwood, and primal male. It had been so long

since she lived with Richard, she'd forgotten the

sensual perks of having a man around.

She didn't think she would be so intrigued with just

any man, but then Damien was no ordinary male.

She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like

to have him sleeping in her bed, to be able to reach

out, touch bare skin stretched over taut muscles.

She pulled back from her thoughts, shocked. Two

people were dead and a Belian was stalking the

citizens of Zorro, and here she was, daydreaming

about sex. She looked over at Damien.

He was reading the coroner's report on Doris, his

ebony brows drawn together and making his

sculpted face look even fiercer. "This was no

accident," he growled. "But then we already knew

that." He put the report to the side, dug into the

stew. "You're preaching to the choir here."

"I know." She set her fork down, no longer hungry.

"So what do we do now?"

"You
will eat. You haven't had a solid meal in the

past two days." Damien sat back in his chair, his

gaze steady on her. "As for the Belian, all we can

do at this point is wait for it to make another

move."

Kara had a bad feeling they wouldn't have to wait

long.

The evening progressed quickly, with kitchen

cleanup, a call to Alex and her parents, and

reviewing another stack of lab reports. Even though

she was exhausted when she finally fell into bed,

she tossed and turned, haunted by dark, violent

memories and a premonition something terrible

was about to happen. She finally drifted into a fitful

sleep...

A man was walking away from her. He was outside,

and it was nighttime. The breeze ruffled his thick

hair; with the moonlight reflecting off it, it

appeared to be brown or dark blond. He wore a

heavy suede jacket over Wrangler jeans. His

shoulders were broad, and he moved with a slightly

unsteady gait, like he was stiff or injured.

A sound rustled behind him, and he stopped, turned

his head slightly to look over his shoulder. She

could only see part of his face, and that was

blurred in the darkness. But he was so familiar, she

was certain she knew him.

"Oh, it's you," he said. "Whadda you want?" His

voice, again familiar, was slurred.

He jerked impatiently and turned fully toward her,

but the shadows obscured his face. She knew him,

she was certain. But she couldn't figure out who he

was.

"Look, I'm sorry about everything, " he said. "But I

already told you...
"
He paused, belched. He was

drunk—that must be why his words were slurred.

"I've given you all I can. " He raised his hands,

staggered. "You'll have to settle for that. I'm sorry

it's worked out this way. But that's it. It's over. No

más. "

An arm came up, pointing toward him. The arm

was encased in a bulky sleeve, and it took a

moment for her to realize that whoever it was held

a gun in his black-leathered-gloved hand. Black

malevolence radiated around the arm. No! Not

this!

The first man's reaction was slow, probably blunted

by alcohol. He squinted at the gun pointing toward

him for a moment. "Whoa there!" He stumbled

back a step. "What the hell are you doing? "

No answer, just the gun steadily pointing at him in

silent menace. She already knew what was going to

happen. Please, God, stop this. Stop this thing now.

"Hey!" the man said, alarm edging his voice. "You

can't be serious. After all I've done for you?. We go

way back. Why are you doin' this?

The black-gloved thumb cocked the trigger. "Wait!"

he shouted. "I'll do more. I'll
—"

The blast hit him right between the eyes. Blood and

brain matter flew toward her, splattering as if

hitting a glass wall, obscuring her vision. All she

could see was red, crawling downward in a

sickening pattern.

She knew the man hadn't survived the shot between

the eyes. And the blood, the blood...

She heard the screams without realizing they were

hers. She felt hands on her shoulders, gripping

them tightly. "Kara! Kara, wake up!"

"No!" she cried, trying to wrench away. She

couldn't let it catch her, or it would kill her, too.

"Let me go!"

"Kara, it's just a dream. Open your eyes."

She did, but everything was blurry. All she could

see was a sinister dark shape bending over her.
It

had found her.
Panic resurged, and she kicked

wildly and rolled to the side.

"Kara!" Hands clamped onto her shoulders again,

pinned her to the mattress. "It's me, Damien. You're

in your house, in your bed. You're safe."

Lucid thought seeped slowly into her

consciousness, and she sank down. Damien

released her and stood back. Light streamed in

from the hallway, illuminating the lower end of the

bed. But her surroundings didn't seem real. She felt

like she was still in that horrifying other world.

"Oh, God. Damien, I saw it."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Saw what?"

"Another murder." She struggled to sit upright, and

he angled the pillow behind her so she could lean

back.

"Tell me everything." His low voice was utterly

calm and devoid of emotion.

"I saw the back of a man. He was outside, wearing

a suede coat. He was staggering a little, and his

words were slurred. I think he'd been drinking. I

felt certain I knew him, but I couldn't see his face."

She took a deep breath to calm her stomach, closed

her eyes. The dream flashed back into her mind, the

grotesque splatter of blood and matter sliding

slowly down the invisible barrier. Gasping, she

opened her eyes.

"What is it?"

"It's like I'm still linked somehow to the place." She

raised a trembling hand to push her hair from her

face. "Or... to the Belian." Her whole body began

shaking then, as if she had a horrendous chill.

Damien's hand went to the crystal resting against

his chest. She belatedly realized he wasn't wearing

a shirt, just a pair of jeans that weren't snapped, but

she was too shell-shocked to appreciate the

impressive masculine view. Holding the crystal, he

closed his eyes. Energy, fueled from unimaginable

power, surged and circled around them.

Kara felt a faint tingling flow along her skin and

knew she was enveloped in a protective Sentinel

shield. She managed to draw in a breath, tried to

relax. But the shaking didn't ease.

"You're safe. The Belian can't reach you through

the ethereal now. And on the physical plane, it will

have to go through me to get to you. Tell me the

rest of the dream."

She did, and then he made her tell him everything

again. "You can't think of any other details that

might tell us who this man is or where this took

place?"

She thought it through, shook her head. "No, I

can't." She wrapped her arms around herself to still

the shaking.

"You're fairly certain the dream was accurate?"

She nodded, feeling both miserable and frustrated.

"I
know
it is. And it probably just happened.

Shouldn't we call the police and tell them? Maybe

the man is still alive." She thought of all the blood

and brain matter she'd seen. "No, he's not."

"If you can't identify the man in your dream, or the

place where it occurred, there's not much we can

do. We can't just call the authorities and tell them

we 'think' a murder has occurred, but we don't

know where. We'll have to wait until it's reported."

He stood, leaving her feeling oddly vulnerable. "I

have a police scanner set up in Alex's room. I'll

keep listening through the night. Once the body is

discovered, we can take action."

Kara looked at the clock by her bed, the red

fluorescent numerals reminding her of the blood.

Twelve forty-four in the morning. Funny, it seemed

she'd been asleep longer than that. Another big chill

rolled through her.

Damien tugged the comforter up around her. "You

all right?"

She hated being needy. She and Alex had been

completely on their own up until now, and had

done just fine. But she still had that sick feeling and

the violent shaking.

"I'm cold. And I'm scared." She hesitated, pride

warring with fear, but she didn't want to be alone

tonight. "Please stay with me a little longer."

"Let me get the scanner and set it up here."

She was inordinately relived. Right now, she felt

like an easily spooked child instead of the rational

adult she prided herself on being. She'd feel foolish

in the morning, but in the aftermath of the dream

and in the dark bowels of the night, she was

grateful for Damien's steady presence.

He returned a moment later with the scanner. It was

smaller than the radio scanner Richard had used,

but then technology was seven years more

advanced. Damien set it up on the nightstand on the

opposite side of the bed and turned it on. It emitted

a burst of faint static.

He settled onto the bed, sitting against the

headboard, his legs crossed at the ankles. He was

still barefooted, but he had pulled on a black T-shirt

that fit him like a second skin, stretching across an

impressive display of muscles.

His beautiful physique wasn't enough to distract her

from the nausea, cold, and uncontrollable shaking.

It was all she could do to keep her teeth from

chattering.

He finished setting the scanner, looked down at her.

"Are you better?"

"A little." She clutched the comforter as another

spasm of shivering racked her. "I j-just can't seem