Touched by Darkness (6 page)

Energy arced from him to her, sparking through her

body like fireworks.

He leaned down, his breath a harsh caress against

her face. "It is not love, but the power of the
sexual

surge, which facilitates the seeking."

She jerked away from his grip, stumbled back. "Go

to hell, Sentinel."

He straightened, his hands dropping to his side.

"We're already there, Kara. Hell is here, on Earth.

And it's here in Zorro. I can guarantee you it's

going to get a lot worse."

"Get out."

He didn't move. "What about Alex? You can't leave

him unprotected."

Alex was her weak link, and this bastard knew it.

She drew a deep breath, looked at the pictures on

the mantle, her son's beloved face reflected in each

of them. She couldn't discount the possible danger

to Alex. "I'll think about what you said."

"You do that. And you—
we
—need to take action

soon, Kara. Very soon." He picked up his duster

and strode to the door, which swung open as he

approached. "One more thing." He paused in the

doorway, glanced back at her. "Check the autopsy

report on Thornton."

She had the sinking feeling she wouldn't like what

she found. "I intend to do that."

He reached into his rear jeans' pocket and pulled

out a card case. "I'm staying at the Magnolia Bed-

and-Breakfast, but you can reach me on my cell

phone." He held out a card, and she took it, feeling

as though she'd just grasped an activated hand

grenade. "Even if I don't hear from you," he

informed her, "I'll be back in touch."

He left then, the chill afternoon air drifting through

the open doorway, not refreshing and soothing, but

insidious, like a harbinger of evil. She stood there

long moments after the sound of his car faded into

the distance, too mentally battered to marshal her

thoughts into any cohesive pattern.

Then she walked slowly to the door, closed it,

bolted it, before she finally looked at the card in her

shaking hand.
Society Magazine, Damien Morgan,

Staff Writer.
His cell number was listed at the

bottom.

She wanted to scream. To knock things over and

kick furniture. To grab Alex and Mac, and load

their most important stuff into the truck and drive

far from here. Far from this resurrecting nightmare

of Belians, of madness and murder. Most of all, she

wanted to be far from Damien Morgan and the

unsettling memories he'd managed to raise, after

she had so carefully packed them away.

But now she feared there was truly no where to

hide. She couldn't outrun the fact Alex was a

Sentinel, or the possibility that his burgeoning

power might be a signal to other Sentinels and

Belians alike.

Another memory came out of nowhere, sucking her

back to the vivid horror of Birmingham...

The state trooper held a terrified pregnant woman

against him, his police-issue pistol pressed to her

head. "Better show yourself real quick like,

Wayman. Or I might get bored and send some more

souls to your cursed One. Ah, there you are. "

He smiled broadly as Richard stepped from the

shadows. "Throw down your weapons
—
all of them

—
Sentinel, or she dies." He waited until Richard

complied, tossing down both his gun and knife.

Then, still smiling, he raised his own gun, aimed

toward Richard, shot him...

No! Shoving the mental pictures away, Kara stared

blindly around her living room, willing herself to

focus on the here and now. She wouldn't—couldn't

—allow Alex to develop his powers or attempt to

use them. It was too dangerous. She had to find a

way to hide his abilities, to help him shield himself.

Even with her determined resolutions, she still

didn't know what to do now, or how to extricate

Alex and herself from any involvement with

Damien Morgan.

Morgan was right about one thing. Hell truly was

here on Earth.

#

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cantrell, but we don't have any

records on a David Thornton," the assistant medical

examiner told Kara.

"There has to be a mistake. Mr. Thornton drowned

six weeks ago. You must have some record on

him."

"I'm sorry, doctor, but there are no files here on

anyone by that name. As far as I can tell, this office

hasn't done an autopsy on a Zorro resident in the

past six months."

Kara disconnected from the Travis County Medical

Examiner's office and took a deep breath. There

had to be an error somewhere. She picked up the

phone receiver again and dialed the police station,

requesting Tom Greer. "This is Kara Cantrell," she

said when he came on the line, then pushed forward

without further preliminaries. "Did you order an

autopsy on David Thornton?"

There was a pause before the police chief said,

"Why are you asking about that, Dr. Cantrell?"

"Because I need the information for David's

medical records," she lied. "Did you, or didn't you,

request an autopsy on him?"

"No, I did not."

She didn't want to believe what she'd just heard, but

as the unrest churning inside her intensified,

Damien Morgan's scenario began to fall into place.

"Why not?"

"I didn't see the need," Chief Greer's gruff voice

came back over the phone. "It was obvious David

had drowned. The dang fool was always too darned

stubborn to wear a life jacket and he never could

swim worth a damn. The medical examiner's office

in Austin has a huge backlog right now, on account

of those murders in Fredericksburg, and with the

flu epidemic, and so many affected folks dying at

home. There wasn't any need to tie up David's body

and prolong his family's grieving."

"So you just released the body?" Kara clenched her

pen, dread circling through her like a vulture over a

cow carcass.

"I did. And there's no reason to make a big deal

over it," Tom said evenly. "It was a judgment call,

and I made it."

"Who signed the death certificate?"

"Bill Sampson, the JP over in Johnson City. He's

worked with us many years, so it seemed easiest to

let him do the paperwork."

And it had also left Kara, who liked to do things by

the book, out of the mix. She was the outsider, and

a woman besides. She hung up the phone and

stared blindly at the neat stack of lab reports on her

desk.

She couldn't believe the police chief hadn't reported

an unattended and potentially suspicious death, and

that Bill Sampson had gone along with it. For one

thing, the law demanded that Tom do so, and for

another, as far as she knew, he had always followed

correct protocol. Why had he deviated in this

instance?

Unless he had been psychically influenced by a

Belian... or...

Panic pressed down, threatening to suffocate her.

She shoved back from the desk, almost tipping over

her chair. Forcing her trembling legs to move, she

paced back and forth, making herself take deep,

steady breaths. It couldn't be true. She still had no

real evidence that Damien Morgan was right, only

the ghosts of her past resurrecting all the old fears.

She was a physician, scientific and logical. Chief

Greer's reasoning made perfect sense. Why would

anyone want to murder David Thornton? He'd been

a genial, good ole boy, who'd lived in Zorro all his

life and was liked by everyone. It was too

preposterous.

Yet Kara found herself in the small alcove off her

office, where her patient files were stored, spurred

by Saturday's confrontation with Morgan;

particularly with one specific, horrifying aspect of

the discussion:

' You're not that naive, Kara...
.
Not all Belians

enter the Earth through physical birth."

"Possession."

"Exactly. You probably also know such a thing is

easier if the possessed person's body or mind is

weak. "

Those words reverberated through her, and Damien

Morgan's dark, chiseled face flashed into her mind.

Forcing his vivid image away, Kara pulled David's

file, along with those of Tom Greer and some

patients who had chronic health problems. She felt

compelled to review them closely, while at the

same time, she found herself praying that the

suspicions beginning to take root were totally

unfounded.

She didn't know what she'd do if they weren't.

#

Dr. Kara Cantrell's blue truck was parked on

Johnson Avenue, in front of her office. It was 2:00

p.m., and hopefully she had afternoon

appointments. Damien had plans that would go

more smoothly without interference from Dr.

Cantrell.

Not that he minded dealing with her. On the

contrary, he found her fascinating. Few humans,

conductors or otherwise, offered much resistance,

but Kara Cantrell had been an intriguing blend of

strength and defiance. Her inner light had glowed

with a fierce vitally.

Physically, she wasn't hard to look at, either. He

saw her clearly in his mind, her hair a rich auburn

color, cut in a classic style that fell, straight and

smooth, to curve below her stubborn jaw line,

framing a face that was strong, yet feminine. Her

eyes, a shade that was not quite gray, but not quite

blue, had that odd translucence that seemed

common to true psychics and conductors (often one

and the same). Her complexion was the pale,

creamy hue common to many true redheads, her

nose was ordinary, and her mouth a little on the

thin side, as if she kept it firmly compressed,

finding little in life to smile about.

Hers wasn't a striking beauty, but rather an

understated attractiveness, with an appeal that was

enhanced by her obvious intelligence and integrity.

Not that female conductors had to be beautiful to

be effective. Why some women made good

conductors and others didn't was one of the

universe's mysteries.

One theory was that conductors were reincarnated

souls of the wretched creatures who had been

created in Atlantian experiments and enslaved by

the Sons of Belial; and whom the enlightened

Atlantians had tried to help. Perhaps that had

created a karmic link between the rescued creatures

and the Children of One, now facilitating

conductors helping Sentinels track down the Sons

of Belial, but not even the Sanctioned knew for

sure.

Psychic ability was often present in conductors, but

not always. There was no doubt in Damien's mind

that Kara was both psychic and a conductor. The

connection with her had been undeniable. The

minute he had stepped onto her porch on Saturday,

Damien had felt the familiar flare of chemistry and

sexual energy surging from the base chakras of his

body.

It was fortunate he'd found her, because conductors

weren't all that common. It was even more

fortunate that they matched so well, because

putting a Sentinel and a conductor together didn't

automatically guarantee a powerful enough

chemistry for conduction. It was like sex—some

partners created potent heat together, some partners

left each other cold.

Damien had connected with a few of the

conductors he'd met— enough to get his job done.

But he'd been pleasantly surprised to so readily find

a conductor receptive to his particular energy,

especially in rural Texas. And his and Kara's

connection was very powerful. He'd thought he'd

gotten used to the one-two punch of lust and the

ensuing hormonal rush over the years, had honed

his control over his body to minimize the effects.

Yet he had experienced an immediate, primal

response to Kara's energy, his body reacting as if he

were a green initiate rather than a seasoned

Sentinel. He'd been grateful his duster hid his

obvious physical arousal. Such a thing hadn't

happened to him in years, and while it was

unacceptable, it was also proof positive that Kara