Dealers of Light (7 page)

“That’s a good idea. I wish I
had time to go with you, but a delivery from the farmer’s market is due soon. I can’t leave Susan here by herself.”

Bells over the door tinkled
as a few customers strolled in. Amber greeted them all by name. She placed her tea cup in the saucer and pointed to the book beside Cara. “Enjoy your book. I’ll be back after I help them.”

Cara sipped her rose-hip tea and closed her eyes, savoring the spicy aroma
. She melted into the comfy, old stuffed couch and sighed. The bells jingled again and she opened her eyes to see who’d entered. Her gaze met the stare of a tall, striking man. He paused in the doorway, ice-blue eyes boring into hers, his hand still on the doorknob. Those eyes mesmerized her, compelling her like a hypnotist’s might. Several seconds passed before he blinked a few times and turned his gaze to survey the rest of the store.

She swallowed but her mouth had gone dry. A
tingling sensation spread over her body. He stood so tall and commanding, the room shrunk in his presence. His stark raven hair sprouted up in a spiky crew cut. Black must be his favorite color: black T-shirt, black leather jacket, and black jeans with a silver belt. Even his shoes were black Italian loafers. He strode across the shop in her direction. Like a prowling panther, his powerful muscles shifted beneath his clothing. She sank back in her seat.

He paused a few feet from her and
raised both eyebrows. Then he redirected his path to the bookshelf and leaned forward with his hands behind him, scanning the titles. She let out the breath she’d been holding. His aristocratic bearing was at odds with the laid back, hippy style décor of the health food store and the typical patrons she encountered here. The man slowly made his way down the entire length of bookcase. As he passed behind the couch where Cara sat, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and she caught a whiff of his cologne—something dark, musky and exotic. Was that warmth coming from him?

Amber
returned and stood beside the sofa before he completed his search. Cara made rolling eye gestures toward the strange man behind her. She mouthed, “Do you know him?” Amber shook her head, frowning.

The man
reached the end of the bookcase and whirled about so abruptly Amber jumped.

“H—h—hello. M—m—may I help you with anything?” Amber retreated a step.

H
is brows came together over those cold eyes. He stared at her for a moment, angular features and high cheek bones highlighted by his slanting black brows. Then his grimace smoothed into a smile, lips a thin, sensual curved line. “I was wondering if you had any books about—” His blue eyes focused on Cara. “—crystals?”

Cara’s
fingers closed on the book beside her. What game was he playing? “This is a good one.” She rose and took a few steps, stretching her arm to hand the book to him, but, at the last moment, she dropped the book and gasped, backing up. Even from a few feet away she felt the heat of a powerful Dealer emanating from him. Hotter even than Alistair, the oldest of them all. She clasped her hand against her chest.

The man’s s
mile vanished. He bent slowly, keeping his eyes on hers, and retrieved the book from the floor. “Ah, yes. Thank you,” he said without glancing at it.

“Who are you?” Cara
asked, breathless. Obviously, the man was a Light-dealer but one of enormous power. He must sense her as one, too. His presence here fascinated and terrified her at the same time. She’d never met anyone like him.

“Please
, accept my apologies. My name is Rolf Van Harding.” His smile broadened and his icy gaze softened. His gaze traveled over Cara, leaving her body a tingling mess.

“You’ve never been here before
.” Amber glanced between him and Cara.

“No, I’m new in town.
And you are?”

“Well, um, my name is Amber
. I own this store. This is my friend Cara.”

“Very pleased to meet you both.”
He gave a small bow, clicking his heels together. He turned the book over in his hands, scanning the cover. “Oh, this is not what I’m searching for. Sorry.” He handed it back to Cara and this time there was no radiating heat. “Forgive me for interrupting.” He executed another of his formal half-bows, and strode out the door.

She and Amber turned to each other with mouths open
then to the door where he’d departed. “What the—”

“He’s a Light-dealer
!” Amber put a hand over her mouth.

“No kidding
.” Cara ran her hands over her arms, now chilled with the absence of his heat. “He almost incinerated me from three feet.”

Amber
crossed to the door with Cara beside her and peered out, eyes scanning the parking lot. “He’s gone. Just gone. No car, nothing.”

“He came here for something and didn’t expect to find other Light-dealers. He
was startled when he saw me.” Cara scanned the front yard again. In the parking lot she saw only two cars, a bicycle and a tall telephone pole at the edge whose broken street light flickered on and off despite the bright sunshine.

“I
’m calling Tor.” Amber hurried to the checkout counter for her phone.

Cara returned to the seating area
. She flopped on the seat with an “
Oof
.” Her heartbeat raced and she put a hand to her chest. “Holy moly,” she said under her breath, taking slow, deep breaths to calm her pulse.

A powerful Dealer and
wow
, what an extraordinarily handsome man. But there was something else—an electric disturbance of the atmosphere surrounding him. A disturbance exuding both danger and power which left her breathless.

Amber
returned after several minutes on the phone with Tor, her face pale, her green eyes wide. “There’s been another one.”

“What?” Cara
blinked, breaking out of Rolf’s spell. “What happened?”

“To
r was on a call this morning—a homicide on the east end. They found a body in a dumpster, and he checked before the coroner got there. The poor man was completely empty of Light.”

The news paralyzed Cara with horror.
“A fresh body?”

Amber nodded. “Less than twelve hours old, he thinks.”

“Trauma?”

“No
thing that should cause death—just signs of superficial torture like small, shallow, knife cuts.”

“
Crap
.”

“What are we go
ing to do?” Amber fingered the jade cross she always wore at her throat.

“Too many unexplained events are popping up related to Light-dealing. I should talk to Alistair. He’s the only one who might be able to unravel this mystery.” Cara gathered her pocketbook
from the couch then hugged Amber.

“Maybe you should stay here.
” Amber crossed her arms over her chest. “What if Rolf Van Harding is out there waiting? He could be the killer. I can call Tor.”

“He’s not out there
. I’ll be fine.”

“Honey, please be careful
.”

“You
, too,” Cara said over her shoulder and headed out the door, sending the bell into a frenzy of clangs. Anxiety churned in her stomach, despite her reassurances to Amber. Another death, and now the appearance of this mystery Dealer—too much of a bizarre coincidence not to be connected. She might have just come face to face with a depraved killer. She shivered and hopped into her car, locking all the doors.

Chapter
Six

Rolf stood at the corner of Duke and Freemason Streets. The chill of Taker evil nipped at his skin. He shuddered in a combination of revulsion and anticipation, then slowly turned his head to glance down the street. So much energy. There must be twelve, at least. Over every other sensation, a deeper, more sinister awareness hovered. Desmond. His old enemy.

Careful to suppress the signature of his energy, Rolf moved
along the street, his awareness at the highest level. He dared not risk being captured by this group. Everything about the situation puzzled him. His hunt for Takers usually involved two or three at most—rogue Dealers who turned to Taking and succumbed to the allure of evil. This was something different. Organized and purposeful.

He strolled along, keeping to the shadow of trees lining both sides of the street. Occasionally people passed him, but none glanced in his direction. He stopped across from a three-story brick townhouse. A rush of cold
, putrid Taker essence assured him this was their residence. Tidal waves of disgust slammed into him and he clenched his hands into fists. Desmond’s pungent essence, though lingering, indicated he wasn’t currently present. A tall, lanky man stepped out the front door, and Rolf turned into the driveway of the opposite townhouse, disappearing behind a hedge.

Huddled in the mass of leafy branches, Rolf waited while the man descended the steps to the street. A half dozen other men followed
, piling into a van parked at the curb.

An unaccustomed sliver of fear sliced into him.
So many!
More than he’d ever faced. But he had to take them on. Takers had to be destroyed no matter what.

He glanced at the windows facing the street. Nothing moved in their dark depths and he sensed no other presence. The chill on his skin faded. He scurried across the road to the side of the house. He circled the structure, stopping at the first window to peer in, but no one stirred inside. Luckily, the tall hedges on the sides of the house hid him from view if any neighbors happened to be looking out their windows.

He vaulted over the backyard fence and edged up to the sliding glass doors on the patio. Nothing. He tugged on the door handle and it slid open. What luck. He slipped inside and listened, but no sound of inhabitants reached him.

The living room housed a traditional Queen Anne sofa, loveseat and wingchairs in deep blue. Thick
, off-white carpet softened his steps when he crossed the floor to the walnut wood staircase opposite the front door, then ran up the carpeted steps.  He paused on the landing at the top. To the left lay a sitting room with a focal round table surrounded by book cases and chairs. A two foot high gold statue sat in the center of the table, topped by a milky blue stone. The ancient carvings on the piece clashed with the other décor. Some ancient artifact of Desmond’s, no doubt.

He passed the sitting room and found a door on the right. He paused, listening, but the house remained silent. The chill of Takers dulled to a mere irritating breath against his skin. With one hand
, he pushed open the door a crack. No one inside. He entered and rotated in a slow circle. Elaborate computer equipment lined the left wall as well as the area beside the door. A corkboard covered most of the right wall, and a tall window claimed most of the wall opposite the door.

He crossed to the corkboard and read names of cities on cards with sticky notes posted under each one listing people’s names and government or military positions.
What the hell?
If Desmond had Takers in all these cities he was planning some massive campaign never seen in the realm of Takers and Dealers.

A burning dread hit
Rolf’s gut and exploded.

The click of a downstairs door echoed up the stairway. He froze. Two male voices following the click sent him into action. He strode to the window and slid the bottom half up. Muffled footsteps on the stairs sent him scrambling through the aperture. Feet balanced on the sill, he pushed the window closed, and grabbed the top of the shutter to inch away to the right, out of view through the glass panes.

A cast iron gutter drain ran down the corner of the house about three feet away. He gritted his teeth and leapt, scraping his knuckles on the bricks as he grabbed it. He clung there for a second, his feet clawing the pipe for a foothold. Finally, the toe of his right shoe found a crack in the mortar and he managed to clamber down the drain pipe. The last couple feet he dropped, landing on his feet at the side of the house. Nothing moved above him at the window. He pushed through the tall hedge surrounding the house and hurried away.

What he’d found sent dismay surging through him. One person would not be able to fight such an organized group with Desmond leading them.
Sakhet was right, something big was coming, and he stood directly in its path.

###

Cara drove to Old Dominion University. No classes today, which left the campus deserted save a few random students meandering about, enjoying the clear fall weather. The noontime sun warmed the air and the students took advantage, wearing shirts with sleeves rolled up and shorts. 

She
pulled into the parking deck across from the Ted Constant Center coliseum and hurried up the street to the Batten Arts and Letters building where Alistair had his office. The aroma of disinfectant, old paint, and pipe tobacco hung heavy in the hallways leading to her friend’s office. Her sandals flopped on the tiles to echo along the empty passage.

Cara
passed three open doors yet encountered no one, the atmosphere eerily hushed. She glanced over her shoulder a couple times, unnerved by the quietness and quickened her steps. At the last door on the right, she stopped and knocked on the frame.