Dark Sins and Desert Sands (7 page)

It screams with no voice, and when it ends we rejoice.

P
ain
. Ray was holed up in his motel-room-by-the-hour with a bottle of bourbon, a handful of aspirin and a crushing headache. He’d managed to slip out of the hotel room before the cops showed up, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they broke down his door any minute now. Ray swallowed the pills down with a big swig of liquor in the vain hope that it would at least take some of the edge off the agony.

“Thanks for following Layla to the Luxor,” Ray said to Missy. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“It’s Layla now, is it?” The teenaged hooker whistled. “Do you really think you should be taking the booze and the pills together? Maybe you should stop using your powers so much. It’s like, you know, maybe you’re burning your brain out.”

Maybe. Or maybe Layla was killing him. It wasn’t just that her mind was different than anyone else’s. It was that controlling her was a struggle every time…as if she had powers of her own. “I’ve got no choice,” Ray decided. “She’s the only one who can help me clear my name.”

Missy shrugged. “Did you ever think about maybe just taking her to lunch and asking her some questions like a normal person would?” He shot Missy a look and it actually shut her up for at least one whole minute before she added, “You still need me to spy on her?”

It’d probably be smarter for him to get out of town, but now that Layla had called the police, time was running out. He’d try to get to her, at least one more time. “Yeah. Go to her office. Make an appointment or whatever. She counsels troubled youth, and you definitely fit the bill.”

“You’re a real ass, Ray,” Missy said, but he knew she’d do what he asked.

The war god found the atmosphere of Layla’s office to be utterly detestable. The sterility of the place was marred by burning candles and vibrant pots of flowers. As water bubbled over a faux rock garden, the war god tried not to scowl. Seth couldn’t abide the shabby-looking young man with paint on his fingers sitting in the waiting room next to a girl who looked like a streetwalker. It didn’t better his mood to see that Layla’s choice in associates hadn’t improved.

As the two teenagers flirted with one another in the waiting room, Seth furtively glanced down at the folders on the receptionist’s desk, looking for names.
Carson Tremblay. Artemisia Sloan.
No one he should
know or care about. Instead, he centered his attention on the receptionist, whose lush curves annoyed him. The sign on her desk said that her name was Isabel.

Her pupils widened as if she took pleasure in just the sight of him. “I was just gonna tell the kids over there,” she said. “Dr. Bahset isn’t seeing patients today. She’s having a rough week.”

“I’m afraid it’s about to get rougher,” the god said, flipping open his wallet. “I’m Seth Carey. I work for the U.S. government.”

“¡Qué interesante!”
Isabel smirked, standing up to get a look at his identification. “Scorpion Group? Like Navy SEALS?”

As she drew close, Seth was disturbed by the scent of her, so feminine and fertile. He was even more disturbed that he’d come here himself, in his mortal guise. Normally, he had minions to do these kinds of things, but this matter with Layla was very personal. “Scorpion Group is a defense contracting firm. We work in counterterrorism alongside the Department of Homeland Security.”

Isabel looked less impressed than she ought to have been. When she brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, a red bracelet fluttered down to her elbow like a butterfly in flight. He noticed that her blouse was patterned like snakeskin, and fell open to expose the tops of her breasts. He shouldn’t have noticed either of these things, but there was something potent about her. Something powerful. Something not entirely…mortal.

He knew most of the old gods, but Isabel was a stranger to him.
Could it be?
Had Layla somehow acquired herself a divine companion? Shaking off his
curiosity, he assured himself that it was of no consequence. Las Vegas was filled with cast-off deities of bygone eras; he ought not ascribe too much significance to Isabel, so he continued the ruse. “Dr. Bahset may be in danger, ma’am. That’s why I’m here. It’s important that I speak with her.”

“Maybe you can come back
mañana,
” Isabel said, leaning provocatively across the desk to reach her calendar, briefly exposing her belly. “Let me write your name on her schedule.”

Again, her sensuality shouldn’t have caught his attention. She had some powerful magic indeed if she could make anything stir inside him at all. This intrigued him because most of the old gods had lost all their powers altogether. Even the once great Osiris now lived amongst the mortals as a funeral director and Horus had become an ordinary airplane pilot. Unfortunately, Seth couldn’t even take pleasure in seeing his old rivals reduced to such circumstances; he feared becoming like them. It was bad enough that he’d been forgotten, but as long as wars were fought he still had power. There was just no one left to appreciate it anymore, no challenges for him, which was why he wanted his minion back….

Just then, Layla appeared in the doorway to her office, startling him from his thoughts. If Seth had a heart, surely it would have seized in his chest at the sight of her. Layla looked drawn and pale, completely unsteady. But she wasn’t reacting to him. She didn’t remember him.
Couldn’t
remember him. He’d seen to that. He’d buried her pleasures and joys, her ability to know herself and be known by others. And along with those lost pleasures, he’d locked away her memories,
too. Even so, it still angered him that she didn’t drop to her knees in supplication.

Layla’s clothes angered him, too. The high-necked white blouse covered her well enough, but where was her modesty last night when she wore a red dress that exposed her arms and knees? When she actually kissed the cheek of that puny, pathetic, mortal man?

Disloyal whore
.

“It’s fine, Isabel,” Layla said, motioning for the man to come into her office, where she’d been organizing her case files. She wanted to have everything in order when she broke the news to her patients that she couldn’t treat them anymore. Most of them would take it well, but she’d worked hard to earn Carson Tremblay’s trust. She knew the young artist was in the waiting room, and she needed a few more minutes before she could face him. She was sure that talking to Mr. Carey would be easier. He claimed to be affiliated with the government. Maybe he had something to do with the men she’d seen in the casino last night. She actually hoped so; maybe Mr. Carey could make some sense of it all.

However, just as Mr. Carey took a seat, too rude even to remove his shades, Layla was struck by something terribly familiar in the way he folded his hands. She’d seen those hands before, those bony knuckles and elegantly cruel fingers. Somehow she was certain that if she touched them, his palms would be dry.

She knew him.

He was another man risen from the ashes of her past, and his dark presence frightened her to her core. Her heart seemed to have gone dead and dull in her chest,
but she wasn’t ready to admit she didn’t remember him. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Carey,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster.

He took off his sunglasses and looked at her. He didn’t gaze at her with the gentle respect Nate Jaffe had always shown her. He didn’t even stare at her like Ray did—with primal rage and animal need. No, Seth Carey looked at her as if he had every right to let his eyes roam over her body. He took his time, his scrutiny harsh and judging, as if finding every line on her face and every unwanted spare inch of flesh on her hips. “How long has it been, Layla?”

So they were on a first-name basis, then. Layla’s mind raced. They were colleagues, perhaps, but not friends. No. They
couldn’t
have been friends because everything about him made her want to run. She remembered that he’d asked her a question. How long
had
it been since they’d last seen one another? “At least two years ago…”

He was silent, as if he expected her to simply wait patiently for him to speak. All the while, something inside her thrashed madly, like a wild animal in a trap.

“Layla, I thought you might like to know that Rayhan Stavrakis escaped prison. He’s come for revenge. He’s already attacked his jailers and—let’s just say, they wish they were dead. Now he’s likely after you. He may have killed Dr. Jaffe last night in an effort to get to you. I understand you had a relationship with the deceased…” The
deceased
. What a horrible word. Sadness over Nate Jaffe’s death welled inside Layla again, the tears she couldn’t cry all but drowning her on the inside. “You think Rayhan Stavrakis killed Nate Jaffe?”

That wasn’t possible, because Ray had been with her last night. She should say that. She should tell him that. Somehow, she couldn’t make her mouth form the words.

“Don’t you remember the Stavrakis case?” he asked with a smile, teeth sharp and threatening.

Layla realized he was toying with her, as if he knew she couldn’t remember. “Of course.”

“Then you know he’s a madman. There’s no telling what he could do. We don’t know who his coconspirators are, or what act of violence he’s planning here in the homeland.”

Something about the way he said the word
homeland
was antithetical to every ideal of the nation he was supposedly trying to protect. It set her teeth on edge and made it easier to lie. “I hope you catch him.”

“We hope you’ll use your intimate knowledge about him to
help
us catch him.”

Intimate knowledge?
What was he implying? There was no mistaking the note of contempt in his voice when he said it. Mr. Carey leaned forward so that his bald head gleamed ruddy in the light from the window. “Just because you parted with Scorpion Group on less than amicable terms, doesn’t mean you’re not a patriot anymore, does it? He’s a monster, Layla. Do you really want more deaths on your conscience?”

Layla faltered, instinctively fingering the edge of the sixpence dangling from her neck. What exactly was Scorpion Group and just how many deaths
were
on her conscience? What if Mr. Carey was right? Layla had already experienced Ray’s strange powers firsthand. He hadn’t hurt her last night, but maybe that was only because he’d collapsed before he could. Ray was
a huge, violent and troubled man; if everything he’d told her was true, he had every reason in the world to hate her.

“I want you to come to a safe house with me,” Mr. Carey said, reaching for her hand. “Somewhere we can protect you.” Layla had never believed that someone could make her flesh crawl until that moment, and she pulled away. Her every instinct screamed that she shouldn’t trust him. Especially when he added, “You’re not safe on your own.”

She’d studied sociopaths long enough to know that he wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her to be terrified. It fed something in him. And it fed something in her too: a wild defiance. “I’m not afraid,” she lied. She
was
afraid of Rayhan Stavrakis, but she was even more afraid of Seth Carey. “But thank you for the warning. I’ll be extra careful.”

“Layla, even with all the locks and bolts on your condo door, you’re not safe.”

It wasn’t an offhanded comment. She understood the subtext perfectly.
I know where you live. I can get to you
. He reached for her hand again and this time, she was too frightened to pull away. “He’s coming for you, Layla, and there’s going to be a reckoning.”

A reckoning
. That’s what the note had said, and looking now into the sand-swept eyes of the man sitting across her, she realized that
this
was her stalker. This terrifying man who carried not only a gun, but a badge. The blood drained away from her face as she desperately tried to steady herself. Layla had counseled abuse victims. She would have told them to get out of this situation without enflaming it. She just never
thought she’d be in a position to have to take her own advice.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Layla said with as much calmness as she could. “Can you leave me your card and contact information so we can arrange something?”

He grinned, as if she’d amused him. He took a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. It was white ink on black with a scorpion design and she recognized it instantly. She’d had cards like this once, too. “I have a lunch appointment,” Layla said, grabbing her purse and willing him not to see through her deception. “But I promise I’ll call you right after and you can take me to the safe house.”

“Layla—”

She didn’t wait to hear whatever it was that he had to say. She wouldn’t call him. Not after lunch. Not ever. And by the time he called her, she’d be long gone.

Layla murmured something to Isabel about pushing appointments back, but she didn’t break stride. It wasn’t until she was out of the building that someone caught up with her on the sidewalk. It was Carson Tremblay. “Wait! Dr. Bahset!”

Gratified to see that it wasn’t Mr. Carey on her heels, she kept walking. “Carson, I’m sorry but I can’t see you today.”

The young man kept up with her, practically running at her side. “But I have a show. My artwork is going to be on display.” He handed her a flyer advertising the exhibition, as if to prove it. “I’m worried about what I might do.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, with a wary glance over
her shoulder. “I’ll—I’ll call you. I’ll talk you through it. But right now, I have to go.” Layla folded the flyer and thrust it into her skirt pocket, picking up her pace. She hated the look on the young man’s face as she left him standing there beside the glass windows of a bank, but it couldn’t be helped. She had to leave.
Now
. It was a matter of survival.

The walk to the parking garage wasn’t very far, but it seemed miles and miles too long when her cell phone started ringing. The display said SCORPION GROUP. She wondered if she should answer it. If she should stall for time. Maybe tell Mr. Carey to meet her somewhere in the opposite direction from where she was going. But to answer the phone was to risk he might hear the fear in her voice. Besides, she had to get rid of her phone. It had a GPS system that could be used to track her.