Eve of Darkness (10 page)

It had been his long-held dream that one day he would convince Jehovah that by running his own firm he’d be more productive. Everyone knew that expansion of the mark system was long overdue. He wanted to be the one to step into play when a new firm was created. No one had the field experience that he did.

As usual, the choices given to him were damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. He needed Eve to get ahead. But he wasn’t what
she
needed.

His eyes went gritty with exhaustion.

“Don’t do this to me,” he bit out, glancing skyward. “You know damn well it’s not a good time for me to fall asleep.”

But his wishes were ignored, as usual. He was due for a punishment because of killing Abel, and Jehovah had kept the method of chastisement on retainer. Ben ching him in the heat of the game was an easy and effective way of putting him in his place—behind the curve.

Alec collapsed face first into the mattress and lost consciousness despite his best efforts.

When he awoke a few hours later, his anger surged as if it had been simmering throughout his forced nap. Through the open doorway to the hall, the cries of seagulls and the sound of waves crashing against the beach reminded him of a thousand other awakenings. Too many days of his life all the same, blending seamlessly and unremarkably into each other. He wanted a different life, one he shared with someone. He wanted Eve, but he couldn’t have her.

He would have to find a way to free her, then let her go. Again. He had no idea where he would find the strength to walk away a second time, but he’d do it. Even if it killed him.

“Eve!” he shouted, running his hands through his hair before pushing to his feet.

She was gone. He sensed it. Her absence from the house left a chilling void. It was also life threatening. An untrained Mark was a susceptible and irresistible target for Infernals.

Cursing under his breath, Alec yanked on his clothes and raced out of the house.

Taking a deep breath, Eve pushed open her car door and stepped into the Southern California sunshine.

She paused a moment to run her hands over her Knott’s Berry Farm T-shirt. If she’d turned her brain on, instead of running on instinct, she would have found something more suitable to wear to church than sweatpants and a faded T-shirt. Although she didn’t believe in or ga nized religion, she respected the beliefs of those who did. But she hadn’t planned to come here.

Her gaze moved over the roof of her car to the contemporary, almost-southwestern style of the new Catholic church. In her opinion, it looked more modern Christian than old-world Catholic, but what the hell did she know?

Which was exactly why she was here. She never tackled any project without exhaustive research first. As a child, her Southern Baptist parents had exposed her to religion, but her recollection of those early Bible classes was weak at best.

Eve rounded her car and crossed the massive parking lot, heading toward the carved wooden doors that protected the interior. There were a few vehicles near the front. Some had religious stickers or emblems on the back, but for the most part there were no outward indicators of devotion. The sort of devotion that could drive someone to visit church in the middle of a workweek.

Gripping the handle, she pulled open the door and entered the cool, quiet interior. Like the outside, the inside had a clean minimalist design. The ceiling arched thirty-plus feet above the center of the worship hall and boasted exposed wooden beams in an intricate pattern. Straight ahead, a bronzed statue of the Crucifixion protruded from the wall and shimmered under the glare of a massive spotlight. Eve shivered at the sight, finding the depiction of eternal torment creepy rather than inspiring.

As always, she paused within the threshold, searching inwardly for any sense of awe or contentment. So many people described a sense of homecoming when they entered a house of God. She felt no different than she would entering a convenience store.

The low drone of voices off to her right turned her attention toward a recess filled with a life-size statue of the Virgin Mary and a profusion of lit votives. Two people knelt there, a woman and her child, their heads bent in prayer.

“Can I help you?”

The warm huskiness of the masculine voice froze her in place. The timbre was that of a phone sex operator, which put it seriously out of its element in a church.

Curious, Eve pivoted to face the source.

She was startled to discover a portly balding man in a priest collar. “Hi,” she managed through her stupefaction.

“Hello,” he replied.

Not the same voice. She frowned.

“I’m Father Simmons. This is Father Riesgo.” The priest gestured behind her and Eve canted her body to see whom he referred to.

She almost gaped, but caught herself in time. “Father.”

Younger than Father Simmons by a good two decades, Father Riesgo looked so fish-out-of-water in the collar that it seemed more of a costume than anything else. His features were rugged and blunt, his green eyes extraordinary, his cheek marred by a scar she guessed came courtesy of a knife blade. With his dark hair slicked back in a short tail, he seemed more renegade than missionary.

“Hello.” He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “How can I help you?”

“I need a Bible.”

Both priests blinked, as if taken aback. She inwardly kicked herself for being an idiot. So her father didn’t own a Bible and her mother’s was written in kanji. She should have headed to the bookstore, not driven around aimlessly until she found a church in which to give her moronic tendencies free rein.

Father Simmons set his hand on Father Riesgo’s shoulder and said, “I will begin preparations.”

As odd as her day had been so far, the fact that she’d been left to the care of Father Riesgo was not inconsequential. Perhaps they thought she was a nut who might require some muscle to get rid of. Eve couldn’t decide if that was funny or sad.

Riesgo nodded and waited until the other priest had moved out of earshot. Then he returned his attention to Eve and studied her for a long moment. “What’s your name?”

She winced and extended her hand. “Sorry. Evangeline Hollis.”

“Ms. Hollis. It’s a plea sure to meet you.” His grip was strong and bold, like the rest of him. He gestured to the nearest pew, but she shook her head. “Okay,” he agreed, in that sinful voice. “Are you a member of this parish?”

“To be honest, Father, I’m not even Catholic.”

“Why come here, then? To St. Mary’s?”

She hesitated a moment, reluctant to display any further stupidity. Riesgo was the kind of man one approached without facetiousness. His green eyes seemed to take in everything with a laserlike intensity, and the set of his square jaw warned against subterfuge. But in the end, Eve went with the truth simply because that was her nature. “I’m not sure. I’d like to refresh my memory about some biblical stories, particularly the one about Cain and Abel, and I realized I don’t own a Bible. This building just happened to cross my path at the wrong time.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t wrong.”

Eve took a tentative sidestep toward the door.

Riesgo stepped as well, keeping abreast of her. “We offer classes, Ms. Hollis. The Rite of Christian Initiation. We would love to have you participate. For many, the Bible is a journey that needs a guide. I wouldn’t want you to feel lost or overwhelmed.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in joining the church. I just need a research source.”

Riesgo’s smile returned. “Wal-Mart sells Bibles. They’re priced around five dollars, I believe.”

“Of course.” She mentally kicked herself. “I should have thought of that. Thank you.”

Eve continued to edge her way toward the door.

Father Riesgo kept pace, grinning. “Ms. Hollis?”

“Yes?”

He reached into his pocket and held a business card out to her. “If you have any questions, please feel free to contact us here.”

“You’re too kind.” She accepted the card only in the name of politeness. “There are churches closer to me, so I doubt I’ll be bothering you again.”

Father Riesgo was disconcerting by nature, but when his focus narrowed, the intensity was arresting. He wasn’t handsome by standard definition, but charisma . . .he had it in spades. Combined with the husky voice, he probably lured a ton of women to mass.

“Hmm . . .” His skeptical hum made her slightly defensive.

“I have a bad sense of direction.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re looking for answers, and your search brought you here. Would you mind waiting a moment? I have something for you.”

“I’m in a hurry,” she demurred, fearing a long lecture and hard sell ahead of her.

“A minute only. I’ll be quick.”

He set off at a lope down the center aisle. She watched in fascination, absently noting that the severity of his black garb did nothing to detract from the grace with which he moved.

“Go,” she ordered herself.

Eve retreated toward the door. She figured if she made it to the parking lot before he came back, her escape was meant to be.

There was a padlocked tithing box on the wall near the exit. She dropped his business card into the slot and reached for the door handle.

Her hand had barely made contact with the cool metal when Riesgo reappeared at the end of the aisle with a dark red bag in his hand. Her often lamentable curiosity kicked in with a vengeance. The priest looked both excited and impassioned, making it impossible for her to turn away.

He reached her in no time and began to speak in a rush. “Last week, I was compelled to buy this—” he reached into the bag and withdrew a book “—although I didn’t know why. My sister owns a Bible that’s been passed down in my family for generations and my mother is no longer with us.”

Eve accepted the proffered Bible with tentative hands. It was covered in satin-soft burgundy leather and trimmed with ornate, feminine embroidery of floral vines and colorful butterflies. Such craftsmanship was costly. She stared at it in confusion.

“It’s yours,” he said.

Her stunned gaze lifted to meet his. “I can’t accept this!”

“I bought it for you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his eyes twinkled, “I did.”

“You’re nuts.”

“I believe in miracles.”

She thrust it at him. “Take it back.”

“No.”

“I’m going to drop it,” she threatened.

“I don’t think you can.”

“Watch me.”

“Borrow it,” he suggested.

“Huh?”

“You need a Bible. I have one. Borrow it. When you’re done, bring it back.”

Her nose wrinkled.

His arms crossed, making it clear he wasn’t budging.

“You’re wrong about me,” she said. “I’m not a lost soul looking to be found.”

She’d already been found. That was the problem.

“Fine,” he countered easily. “Do your research and bring it back. The Good Book should get some use, not sit in a bag in a desk drawer.”

When Eve stepped out of the church a few minutes later, she couldn’t believe she had the Bible in her hand. Frustrated by the bizarre twists that were marring the once steady course of her life, she paused on the sidewalk at the edge of the parking lot and groaned.

“I don’t like this,” she said aloud, figuring the proximity to the church couldn’t hurt her chances of being heard by someone upstairs.

A drop of water hit her cheek. Then another splattered on the end of her nose. Frowning, she looked up at the cloudless blue sky. A droplet hit her smack in the eye and stung.

“Ow! Damn it.”

High pitched chortling turned her gaze back to the church. She rubbed her eyes and searched for the source. Just as her vision cleared, a stream of liquid hit her dead center on the forehead.

Eve jumped back and swiped the back of her hand across her face. Her gaze lifted to the archway above her.

“Ha-ha!” cried a gleeful voice.

Her eyes widened when she found the source, then narrowed defensively when she realized the water spraying her was urine.

Gargoyle urine.

The little cement beast was about the size of a gallon of milk. He sported tiny wings and a broad grin. Dancing with joy, he hopped from foot to foot in a frenetic circle that should have toppled him to the ground.

“Joey marked the Mark! Joey marked the Mark!” he chanted, pissing all the while.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, pinching herself.

A sharp whack to the back of her head knocked the bag from her hands and confirmed that she wasn’t having a nightmare.

“Shame on you!”

Clutching her skull, Eve turned to face her attacker—a stooped el der ly woman brandishing a very heavy handbag.

“It’s not what you think,” Eve complained, rubbing at a rapidly swelling knot.

“Whack her again, Granny,” suggested the angelic-looking heathen at her side.

“Beat it!” the woman ordered with a menacing shake of her bag.