Catherine Spangler - [Sentinel 02] - Touched By Fire (v5.0) (html) (2 page)

Regardless of his motives, Marla didn’t date
anyone
, gorgeous stud or otherwise. She hitched her shoulder, trying to shrug his arm away without being rude. “Thank you, but no.”

He took the hint and dropped his arm, but his gaze remained locked with hers. “Why not?” He sounded disappointed, which was very strange.

Even stranger, she felt a . . . link, almost, with him. She told herself it was just the stunning chemistry between them—and she wasn’t biting. “I’m sorry,” she said with real regret. “But I don’t know you.”

“I don’t know you either. I’d like to learn more about you. What harm could there be in us having dinner together?”

He certainly was persistent. She drew a deep breath, decided to be blunt. “You’re not my type.”

His brows rose again. “And what is your type?”

No man was her type. None, nada.
Damn. If she had more experience, maybe she could better deal with this. But she’d never had to deflect regular men, much less one with the looks and stature of an Adonis. “I don’t make it a habit of picking up men in bars,” she said. “Nor do I go out with strangers.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned toward her, his hand trapping hers again. More energy buzzed through her. This pub had a serious static problem.

“So we’re basically strangers,” he said. “And you’re cautious about going anywhere with a man you don’t know. That’s understandable, and smart. But if we let it go at that, we won’t get a chance to learn more about each other. Let’s do this: Let’s meet somewhere tomorrow night—any restaurant you want. You don’t have to give me your phone number or address. We’ll just meet, have dinner, and see where it goes from there.”

His touch had her distracted again. His thumb stroking over her skin was sending little waves of sensation up her arm. Yet at the same time, she was starting to feel comfortable, very relaxed, almost light-headed, as if she’d had several drinks. “Well . . .”

“Where do you want to meet?” His voice was low, hypnotic.

Wow. That wine must have been extra strong. She was actually considering having dinner with this guy.
What harm could it do?
she asked herself. Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe she was finally ready to put what had happened to Julia behind her, to let go of the terror and the guilt. God only knew she had normal biological urges, which for some reason, hadn’t yet fizzled out with Luke, as they had with others.

“Just name the place and time,” he said in that deep bedroom voice.

Her body tightened, and she felt a renewed rush of dampness between her legs.
Maybe it is time
. Surely it couldn’t hurt to meet him in a public place, to do a little socializing. She was so damn tired of being wounded. Here was a chance to test the waters. Although why he wanted to have dinner with her remained utterly mystifying. Still, she found the opportunity intriguing, even . . . exciting.

“Marla.” His voice rolled over her in a warm rush. “Say yes.”

“I—oh . . . yes.” She let out her breath, felt as if she’d just reached the top of Mt. Everest.

He smiled again, and she almost melted then and there. “That’s great. Where do you want to meet?

“Um, what do you like to eat?”

His eyes gleamed. “Oh, I eat
everything
.”

Code red, code red, there’s a fire here
. Marla resisted the urge to fan herself, instead focused on a restaurant choice. “Do you like Italian?”

“One of my favorites.”

“How about Damian’s Cucina Italiana? It’s on Smith Street, not too far from here. They have wonderful food.”

“Damian’s. Smith Street.” He turned, extracted a heavy gold pen from his inside jacket pocket, and wrote the information on a cocktail napkin. His writing was bold and sure, like him. “I’ll find it. What time?”

Tomorrow was Saturday, and they’d have a long wait if they got there too late. “How about seven?”

“Great.” He wrote that down. “Do they take reservations?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’ll reserve us the best table available. How does that sound?”

Terrifying. Exhilarating. Stomach twisting.
Go for it
, she told herself.
It’s time to get on with your life
. She knew Julia would approve. “Sounds good.” She looked up as Rebecca strode toward them, managing to look both elegant and efficient at the same time.

“There you are.” Rebecca’s gaze was as sharp as her British accent was crisp. She took in Luke, couldn’t possibly miss how he was turned toward Marla, or his body language proclaiming—amazingly—his interest. “Hello.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Rebecca Smithson. I work with Marla. And you are?”

“Luke Paxton.” He shook her hand.

“Watch out for static,” Marla muttered.

Rebecca shifted her blue eyed stare to Marla. “What?”

“Didn’t you feel anything?” At Rebecca’s confused look, Marla said, “Never mind.”

“Right, then. Stephen over there has offered to take me to my flat, so I’m heading out with him. Thanks for the transport today.”

Relieved that she could also go home, Marla said, “Will you have your car in time for your trip next week?”

Rebecca had resumed staring at Luke; with apparent reluctance, she turned her attention Marla. “Don’t know yet. I’ll ring the garage tomorrow and see if my roadster is ready. And I’d like to pay you for petrol.”

“We can settle up later.” Marla slid off the bar stool. “Good night, Luke.”

His gaze locked with hers, intense, hot. “Don’t forget. Tomorrow at seven.”

As if he was remotely forgettable. She managed a smile. “I won’t. Thanks for the drink.” She walked away, acutely aware of him watching her.

Rebecca followed. “You’re actually going out with him?”

Marla paused just inside the entry. The strange energy wasn’t present here, and her head felt clearer. A twinge of doubt snaked through her. “I was planning on it. Why? Did you sense anything wrong with him?”

“Oh, no. He’s bloody gorgeous. Probably incredible when he’s starkers.” Rebecca sneaked another peek his way. “Makes me wonder if I even want to bother with Stephen. Poor comparison, and all that.”

More doubt crowded in. “I’m wondering now if I should do it,” Marla murmured.

“Oh, don’t be barmy. I haven’t seen you with a single bloke the whole time I’ve known you, and that’s—” Rebecca considered a moment. “Over three years. I was beginning to wonder if you might be a homosexual—mind, not that you acted like one.”

Marla suspected many people thought something was wrong with her, and they were right, since post-traumatic stress disorder was a definite problem. But it was something she didn’t want to share. “I just haven’t found the right man,” she hedged.

“You’d be barking mad not to go for
him
.”

“I guess.” But away from the strange electrical charges and the sexual energy inundating the pub, Marla had more clarity; common sense told her this might not be a good idea.

Rebecca glanced toward the corner booth. “Oh, Stephen is signaling. Listen, I want to hear all about this hot date. I don’t leave for Mexico until Monday—assuming my roadster is ready—so we’ll chat before then. Cheerio.” She was gone with a flash of red and a whiff of the Burberry perfume she favored.

And Marla was left with growing doubts. Digging out her keys, she stepped into the night air. It was early April and already warm, which, along with the ever-present humidity, was normal for Houston. Looking around, Marla walked quickly to her car, beeping it unlocked as she approached. Since that night, she’d taken self-defense classes, learned all she could about staying safe—even if it was belated.

She was about to slide into her car, lock the doors, and drive away without delay, when a movement caught her attention. She looked over to see Luke striding through the parking lot. He had on the black leather coat, which made him look even more dangerous. He glanced her way and she took an involuntary step backward, but he didn’t appear to see her.

He strode on to a huge black and chrome motorcycle—a Harley, if she wasn’t mistaken. She watched as he straddled the large bike with surprising grace. The motor started with a deep, smooth rumble, and he wheeled the bike out of the parking lot and down the street, accelerating rapidly.

Marla stood there, her heart pounding, until the sound of the motorcycle faded away.
Are you crazy?
she asked herself.

What the hell was she doing, agreeing to go out with a man who was drop-dead handsome, unbelievably sexy, and wore black leather and rode a Harley? He was definitely not the ideal “starter” date for a woman who’d avoided all nonplatonic encounters with men since she was nineteen.

She was playing with fire—the gasoline and blowtorch kind of inferno—with this one. And she knew then—knew with absolute certainty and considerable disappointment—that she wouldn’t be meeting this man at the restaurant tomorrow night.

Her instinct for survival was too great for her to take such a high-stakes risk with a guy like Luke Paxton.

TWO

“SHE had absolutely no idea what I am. She thought the energy reaction was static electricity.” Luke leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers restlessly on the cheap Formica table. “So it’s probably safe to say she doesn’t realize what she is, either.”

“You know that’s not uncommon,” Adam Masters responded in his gravelly voice. “Conductors can be born into any family. There are no cultural, racial, or socioeconomic barriers. And no instruction manual explaining their purpose on Earth. When the time is right, they are guided where they need to be.”

Luke had never much concerned himself with the process of locating conductors. He left that up to the Sanctioned. His job was to track unimaginable evil and administer karmic justice. But he had to admit Marla’s crossing his path could only be divine intervention. “No doubt she was guided to me.”

“Is she a good match? Responsive to your energy?”

Oh, yeah
. Luke thought about how Marla’s breasts had tightened beneath her silk blouse; of the sweet scent of arousal she’d exuded. “She responded to me, all right. She just had no idea why. It’s a very precise match—maybe the best I’ve ever experienced.”

“Excellent.” Adam released a raspy breath. “We’ll have to educate her, give her time to adjust and accept.”

“There’s not much time for niceties. This Belian just blew up a bus full of
children
, damn it.” Luke gritted his teeth against the surge of pure fury. “May its black soul burn on Saturn for eternity.”

“Those children’s souls have departed the Earth plane,” Adam said with the unwavering calmness of a Sanctioned. “You can’t bring them back. A matched conductor is a rare find, and Ms. Reynolds must be treated with great care, until she fully understands and gives her consent to work with you. Do you think she’ll be receptive to your overtures?”

Luke thought about how reluctant Marla had been to go out with him. “Maybe not at first. She was pretty skittish.”

“Then you will have to handle her very carefully. I again remind you that she must willingly agree.” Steel edged Adam’s quiet voice.

As always, it came down to the Sentinel bottom line, to which Luke was honor bound. Yet sometimes those lines had to be blurred; there were ways to accelerate reaching a goal. “You know I’ve never forced a conductor’s cooperation, Adam. I can convince the lady to help me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be your usual persuasive and captivating self,” Adam said dryly.

Luke had no trouble charming women. Even when he was trying to keep a low profile, he had plenty of ladies willing to scratch any itch he might have. He wasn’t in the habit of notching bedposts when he was between Belian trackings, but he wasn’t celibate, either. He had a healthy libido that didn’t require conductor inducement to kick into high gear.

He could handle Marla Reynolds. “I’ll take good care of her,” he told Adam.

“See that you do. And keep me updated on every development.”

“You know I will.”

“Walk in Light.” Adam disconnected.

Luke snapped his cell phone shut, tossed it onto the table. He studied the information on his laptop screen. Thanks to modern technology and portable satellite service, he had access to the Internet, even in this rural area. And thanks to the skills he’d cultivated as a private investigator, he knew how to find all kinds of information.

While it was true most women responded readily to him, Marla had not fit that mold. She had been wary and reluctant, despite his best efforts to charm her, and despite the sizzling Sentinel/conductor chemistry between them. It had taken mild mental inducement for her to capitulate on having dinner with him, and his intuition told him she wasn’t a sure thing.

Fortunately he had her name and her license tag number. When he left the Red Lion Pub, he’d spotted her getting into her car and had memorized the tag with a quick glance. She probably didn’t even realize he’d seen her.

So now, he had her home address. If she decided to brush him off, he knew where to find her. If he couldn’t woo her over dinner, couldn’t convince her to help him via conventional ways, then he would have to resort to his alternate plan.

He hoped it wouldn’t come down to that.

 

 

“I’M tired of Tom Cruise movies,” Ashley said. “They’re all the same—action and adventure with no real human interaction. But I’d really like to see the new Johnny Depp movie that hit the theaters last weekend.”

Marla sat on the couch, sipping wine and trying to focus on the conversation. She was at the home of her good friends, Ashley and Scott Anderson, and they were discussing whether or not to go out to a movie or watch a DVD there at the house.

“Not Johnny Depp.” Scott made a dismissive gesture. “He’s an offbeat character actor, and you just like him because he’s supposedly so sexy.”

“He
is
hot,” Ashley shot back. “But he’s a good actor, too.”

They bantered on, but Marla hardly heard the discussion, because she couldn’t stop thinking about Luke Paxton. She knew she’d done the right thing when she’d called the restaurant and left a polite
sorry but I can’t meet you tonight
message for him—even though she felt awful about it.

So when Ashley called to see if she had plans for the evening, Marla jumped at the chance to spend some time with her friends and put Luke behind her. Since she’d decided to indulge in a few drinks—or maybe a lot, given her current state of mind—Scott had offered to pick her up and drive her home later.

Forgetting about Luke wasn’t working very well. She told herself again that canceling the date had been the right thing. It wasn’t cowardly, it was smart. He was way out of her league, and she was too damaged to deal with a man like him—maybe
any
man, for that matter. She knew all that on an intellectual level, and yet emotionally, there was a gnawing sense of loss, like she’d given up something very special.

Partly because she knew the odds of a man like him ever again showing interest in her were pretty much nil. And because, for a few moments, she’d actually had a surge of feminine interest in a man. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d felt pure, raw lust; experienced the primal urge to get down and dirty between the sheets.

Even more amazing, she’d felt almost
normal
, as if that terrible night had never happened.

“Agreed,” Ashley said. “Marla, is that all right with you?”

She dragged her thoughts back to the here and now. “What?”

“The movie. Is that one okay with you?”

She shrugged, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you decide?”

Ashley shook her head. “You goof. Scott and I compromised, and agreed on the last
Pirates of the Caribbean
movie. It has enough action and adventure that maybe he won’t whine too much, and you and I can drool over Johnny. It just came out on DVD, and I bought it yesterday. Okay with you if we hang out here tonight?”

“Sure. Go ahead and start it. I’ll be right back.” Marla went to the kitchen and refilled her wine while Scott got the DVD going. Feeling the need for emotional numbness, she took a few gulps and added more wine to the glass.

Returning to the family room, she sat back and tried to focus on the movie. But every time she looked at Depp’s enigmatic brown eyes, instead she saw mesmerizing, sea blue eyes. Kept remembering the stunning chemistry that had sizzled between her and Luke.

A strange, restless energy clawed through her, and her body hummed to life in response. Something was very wrong. And it was triggering memories from that night. Maybe she needed some sessions with Dr. Jackson—although she hadn’t seen the psychologist in over three years. If not therapy, then what? She’d struggled for years to overcome the memories of the trauma and get on with her life. Yet one chance meeting with a handsome stranger had sent her into a tailspin.

 

 

MARLA Reynolds lived in an older suburb on the southeast side of Houston. The homes were circa 1960s, small, but well kept. Luke knew a fair number of astronauts lived in the area, which was fairly close to the NASA Johnson Space Center.

Marla’s house was a neat, beige brick structure with a small front porch that was well lit by a brass light fixture. A sign in the flower bed warned the home was protected by a security company. Luke parked a little way up the street, swung off the bike, and walked up the sidewalk.

The porch light illuminated a solid wood door with a small fan of glass at the top and large terra-cotta pots of azaleas. The woven doormat had a cheerful ivy border and the word Welcome in large block letters. The porch was neat and orderly, just as he suspected Marla was.

He rang the doorbell, heard frantic, high-pitched barking on the other side of the door. But he didn’t hear any other sounds, or sense human movement. He rang again and got another frenzied round of barking. He knocked. Nothing. He’d not only been stood up—a first for him—but apparently she’d gone elsewhere for the evening. Either that or she simply wasn’t coming to the door.

“Trying to avoid me, Marla?” he murmured. “Or maybe you don’t like the way the energy makes you feel.” He knew how disconcerting the Sentinel/conductor energy link could be, especially for an uninitiated conductor. He was a seasoned Sentinel, and he couldn’t always control his reactions to the physical surge.

Marla was a good case in point. Last night, her close proximity had sent a knockout punch of sexual energy through him. Hell of a deal to get a massive hard-on in a public place, with a woman you didn’t even know. Fortunately for him, she’d been too disoriented by the energies to pay much attention to his lap. But he hadn’t missed her strong reaction. She’d been turned on, her body responding to his, which would make what he now had to do easier.

He knocked again, and then used his mental powers to slide back the dead bolt. He opened the door, stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. A table lamp in the living area was on, giving him a visual of the room.

“Hello!” he called out. “Marla, are you here?” He sensed she wasn’t in the house, nor were there any other humans, although he was rushed by a “killer” apricot toy poodle with the aggression and bloodlust of a third-world dictator.

Damn
. What was it about small dogs that made them so warlike? And that high, incessant yapping was incredibly annoying. He sent a quick flash of power; with a little whine, “Fifi” stopped barking. Tail tucked under, the fluffy peach-colored mass masquerading as a real dog circled warily behind Luke, with intermittent, low growls.

“Keep that up, and I’ll knock you out completely,” he told the fur ball. It scuttled beneath the sofa, where it regarded him with hate-filled eyes. No love lost there. Wondering why a seemingly down-to-earth woman like Marla would have such a froufrou pet, Luke tracked the warning beep down the hallway, found a state of the art alarm system in a small closet and disarmed it.

He returned to the front room and looked around. It was comfortable and homey. The contemporary beige sofa, with brightly colored pillows on top and psycho dog beneath, took up one wall. Two matching upholstered armchairs, done in a deep green, with a dark oak table between them, were situated away from the wall, closing in the area and making it cozier. An oak entertainment cabinet held a modest television and stereo equipment. The pale carpeting was lush and immaculate.

Closing his eyes, Luke inhaled deeply, sent his senses flaring out. It felt good here, serene and welcoming. He wondered if this was Marla’s haven from the world, again wondered why she’d been so nervous around him.

Sudden barking and a sharp tug at his leg jolted him from his reverie. He looked down to see psycho dog clamped on his leg, jerking at the chaps he wore over his slacks. Fortunately the leather was thick and durable; a must for driving a motorcycle on the frenetic Houston freeways, and the dog’s teeth weren’t even penetrating.

“That’s it,” he said, pointing at Fifi. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re out of here.” He directed a power flow and the dog slumped, unconscious, its mouth still gripping Luke’s ankle. Shaking his head, he bent down and gently pried the jaws open before moving away. It should be out for about an hour.

He did a quick sweep of the house, confirming no one was there. Then he went to the kitchen and through to the door leading into the garage. There was a car parked inside, a sporty red Solara convertible, the one he’d seen last night. Sweet. Luke took a moment to admire the classy lines of the car before returning to the kitchen.

What now? Most single people didn’t own more than one vehicle, so Marla had either walked somewhere or gone with someone—a date? That would be a pisser, but maybe she’d been so damned skittish around him last night because she was seeing someone. Yet Luke didn’t think that was the case. There’d been something about her—a vulnerability and wariness that told him she was a loner.

Regardless, he planned to wait for her. To try to explain what he was, and convince her to help him. He didn’t have time for a civilized dance of getting acquainted. But what if she didn’t come home tonight? Blowing out his breath, he considered his options.

If she didn’t return soon, he’d have to track her down.

 

 

HE watched the blood oozing from the self-inflicted cut on his lower arm. His arm throbbed where he’d slid the knife through skin and muscle, slowly, so slowly. Pain was good. Pain made him feel real. Alive. He liked pain.

But he liked blood even better. Liked the red color, liked the smell and the feel of it between his fingers.

Blood was life. Blood was power.

He rubbed his forehead, listened for the Voice that came to him sometimes. The Voice could be annoying as hell, ordering him to do things when he was already taking care of it. He knew what to do and how to do it. He didn’t need the Voice to tell him what he already knew. Sometimes he wanted to scream at the Voice, tell it to leave him the fuck alone.