Touched by Darkness (42 page)

been listening to the scanner?"

"Some, but there's really nothing new—except they

picked up Luz for questioning. It wouldn't surprise

me if they officially charge her for murder."

"Oh, no." Her hand clenched against his chest. "I

shouldn't be so shocked but... her nails were red

when I saw her."

"What?"

Kara sighed. "I didn't tell you about this, but I went

to see Luz Thursday morning, after Matt was

murdered. She acted very odd, which might have

been because of the grief. But her nails looked

freshly painted—in bright red."

He should read her the riot act for going to see a

Belian suspect on her own, but she was so upset

right now, he'd save the lecture for later. "Another

clue," he murmured.

"I don't want it to be Luz. She's been a good friend

since I moved here. I hate to think of her being in

jail."

"If she is the Belian, everyone is safer with her

behind bars. If she's innocent, then she's better off

in jail—safe from the Belian and from those who

believe she's a murderer."

"I guess you're right." She settled closer to him, and

they sat quietly for several moments before her

whisper broke the silence. "How do you stand it?

How can you watch innocent people get murdered,

day after day?"

He slid his hand up beneath her hair, kneaded the

tension in her neck. "Knowing I'm going to stop the

things responsible for those acts, knowing I'm

fighting evil—and maybe even winning the war—

makes it bearable."
Just barely.

She looked up at him. "Mikey was a child, hardly

older than Alex. How am I going to tell him his

best friend is dead?" Tears filled her eyes and she

swiped at them. "Damn it. I'm not going to cry

anymore."

"Sometimes all you can do is to mourn for those

departed. We're not always the ones in control."

"I hate that!"

"I'm not wild about it, either, even though I have

faith in The One."

She stared at him solemnly. "You do, don't you?

That's something I admired about Richard—his

total and absolute faith in a supreme being. I wish I

could have such conviction." She lifted her hand to

his cheek. "But I have total faith in you. I know you

won't stop until this evil is destroyed."

No one had ever looked at him with such complete

trust. He felt a wrench inside, prayed he could keep

her and Alex safe. She slid her hand behind his

head, tugged him down. He needed no further

invitation to lower his mouth to hers, to take what

she offered so freely. Trust. Faith—
in him.

Compassion. Light, in an existence dominated by

darkness.

Exploring her mouth, he savored the sensuality of

kissing, something in which he rarely indulged. He

slipped one hand beneath her sweatshirt, stroked

the smooth skin of her back. No bra, which made it

all too tempting to slide his hand around and cup

one perfect breast. With a little moan, she shifted to

her knees, straddling him and working his sweater

up. She ended the kiss, moved her lips along his

neck.

"Damien..." Her husky voice heated his blood.

"Make love with me."

He had every intention of doing just that, even if

he'd be damned for his actions. He cradled her

against him and stood, carrying her to the bedroom

in a few rapid strides. Placing her on the bed, he

swept off her sweatpants and panties. Then he ran

his hands along her legs, parting them so he could

look at her.

"Hey," she protested. "I want you naked, too."

"Soon." He stroked her, watched her shudder.

Slipping a finger inside her, he found her hot and

wet. God, she turned him on. He settled beside her

and pushed up her shirt, teased a nipple with his

tongue.

"Damien!" She twisted toward him, tried to touch

him.

He ruthlessly used his strength to keep her where

he wanted her, to slow down the pace. Their first

three times had been wild and urgent. This time, he

wanted to show her what he would never be able to

tell her. That he respected her, admired her, found

her worthy.
That he cared.
He told her with his

lovemaking, using his hands and mouth to give her

the first orgasm.

Then he stood, stripped, and returned to her arms.

He started again, still controlling the pace as he

built desire back to a fever pitch. When he finally

entered her with a slow, drawn-out stoke, he

entwined his fingers with hers, pressing their hands

against the mattress. Exerting extra effort to keep

the chakras closed to conduction energy, he stroked

slow and deep.

Her gaze locked with his, her feelings reflected in

her radiant eyes. He committed this moment to

memory, for those future times he'd again embrace

the darkness.
Alone.

Then he took them both over the edge.

#

The breeze stirred Damien's hair. It was a clear day,

and the bright sunshine warmed the air, making the

temperature almost balmy. Last night, he and Kara

had driven out here to the Thornton house, but

there had still been too much activity for them to

attempt a reading.

Today, however, the area was deserted. Except for

the yellow crime-scene tape flapping in the breeze,

the small, unpainted cinder block home looked

nondescript. There were no vehicles in the

driveway or on the street, so Damien figured no

one was there. Not surprising. The remaining

Thorntons were probably staying with family or

friends.

He strode around to the back of the house, where

he wouldn't be visible from the road. There wasn't

much grass here, just barren, rocky Earth. A rusted

swing set, minus the swings, and a large, torn

trampoline took up much of the yard. Someone had

started a garden, with an area of ground dug up. A

shovel and a rake were leaned against the house.

Walking to the edge of the lot, he stared out across

the Blanco River, which flowed in a narrow,

sparkling ribbon about twenty yards away. It was a

beautiful day, and yet he sensed the evil, felt the

dark psychic energy drifting around the house.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his hand over the

crystal beneath his shirt, shielded, and then opened

himself to the energies, which were enhanced by

the nearby water. Darkness raced toward him,

reaching out insidious tendrils—

"What are you doing?"

The soft female voice jolted him from the

beginnings of a trance. He reoriented himself,

looked around at the slight figure standing behind

him. Her hands jammed into a threadbare cardigan

sweater over a knit crewneck top and worn jeans,

Sara Thornton appeared fragile and vulnerable.

"Mrs. Thornton." He walked toward her, sending

out calming energy so she wouldn't feel threatened.

"I didn't realize you were here."

Her pale skin made her eyes seem even darker. Her

face had that pinched look of someone who was

suffering, and her dark brown hair was tangled. She

took a distrustful step back. "Who are you?"

He stopped. "I'm Damien Morgan. And I'm very

sorry for your losses."

Her lips trembled, but she kept her composure. Her

gaze was wary. "You're that reporter."

"I'm not really a reporter. I'm a writer for
Society

Magazine."

She took another step back, staggered slightly.

"What are you doing here?"

Her voice slurred a little, and he wondered if she

had been drinking. "I write about crimes, and since

there have been several unexplained deaths in

Zorro, I've been investigating them."

"I don't want you here!" Her voice rose to a

hysterical pitch. "This is a private matter. I've lost

my husband and my s-son, and—" Her composure

crumpled, and she turned away, sobbing.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Thornton." Damien knew she

wouldn't appreciate his touch, so he sent her

reassuring energy instead. "I didn't mean to intrude.

I'll get off your property now."

He turned to leave, but something caught his eye. A

scruffy live oak tree. It was on the southern

boundary of the lot, which was probably why he

hadn't seen it yesterday. A big branch had been

severed, leaving a jagged edge. Down the front of

the tree, the bark had been sheared off, as though it

had been struck by lightning. It was the same tree

he had seen in the first conduction with Kara.

His internal alarms went on full alert. Reaching for

the gun tucked in his waistband, he spun around.

Just as he saw a flash of silver coming toward him.

Then darkness.

#

Kara's patient load was light this morning, which

was a good thing, since she was exhausted and

distracted, and she had a grueling conduction to

look forward to later. Maybe she could sneak a nap

in her office at lunchtime. She was headed toward

exam room two when Bonnie intercepted her.

"Dr. Kara, you have a phone call. It's Sara

Thornton, and she sounds upset."

Dread snaked through Kara. What could she say to

Sara, after a loss of such magnitude? No parent

should have to bury a child. It was unimaginable.

Yet, if Sara needed her, she'd do her best. Taking a

deep breath, she picked up the phone and engaged

the line. "Hello, Sara."

"Dr. Kara. I'm so glad you're there!"

"How are you doing? I'm so sorry about Michael. I-

I don't even know what to say."

There was a moment of silence, then a little sob. "I

can't believe he's gone."

Kara's heart ached for her. "What can I do for

you?"

Sara sniffed loudly. "I'm not calling about me. I'm

calling about Julie. She's sick."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She has a fever over a hundred and three, and she's

shaking and says her throat's hurtin' real bad. Will

you take a look at her?"

"Of course. Bring her by, and I'll see her right

away."

"I don't have my truck. We stayed with Beth

Gonzales last night, and she dropped us off at our

house so we could ... so—" A soft sob. "I'm sorry.

Anyways, Beth's off to work, and I didn't realize

how sick Julie was until I just took her

temperature."

"The poor baby. I'll come by your house, then. Give

me thirty minutes. I have one more patient to see

before lunch."

"Bless you, Dr. Kara. I knew you'd come."

"See you soon." Kara hung up, and hustled off to

see little Joy Mason. She quickly diagnosed an ear

infection and took care of that.

Then she told Bonnie where she was going, and

that she planned to be back in time for the

afternoon appointments. She packed some medical

supplies, including antibiotic samples, in her

briefcase, and got her purse and jacket.

As she drove, she wondered if Damien was still

there, if he'd seen Sara and Julie—or they'd seen

him. He'd been planning on heading there around

ten, after people got to work. She glanced at her

watch— almost noon. He should be long gone.

But as she headed north on River Road, she saw

Damien's gray sedan parked on a dirt turnaround

three houses south of the Thornton home. That was

odd, unless he was staying with Sara and Julie until

she got there. He had a deep well of compassion,

and it would be like him to use his powers to make

Julie feel better.

Her thoughts flashed to yesterday, to images of

Damien lacing his fingers with hers as he moved

inside her; of the emotion she'd seen in his eyes. He

hadn't tried to hide his feelings for her, even though

he hadn't expressed them verbally.

She hadn't hidden her feelings, either, but she

refused to burden him with words that would only

cause him more pain. She knew he'd leave as soon

as the Belian was identified and dealt with; just as

she understood he was too emotionally damaged to

commit to a relationship.

But man, oh man, she had it bad for the guy.
And it

was going to hurt big time when he left. Bittersweet

emotions swept through her as she pulled into

Sara's driveway. As she got out of the car, she

noticed a white Ford F-l50 truck parked further up

on the road, just clear of the Thornton lot. Whose

vehicle was that, if Sara's truck was at Beth