Forbidden Passion (13 page)

So protecting her wasn’t personal. His declaration shouldn’t hurt but it did. It was a reminder to her that she was getting too close and had to safeguard herself.

So she turned and rushed up the steps to the safety of her bedroom.

But even then the house, her mother’s voice, her sister’s cries taunted her.

And she felt empty inside.

Dante stayed on guard all night. Hearing Marlena move around upstairs, knowing she was cozy in her bed alone, listening to the shower water kick on and imagining her naked and wet was pure torture.

But he had been tortured before—a different kind of pain entirely—and survived. And he would survive now.

So would Marlena.

But this demon killer would not.

Finally the early morning sunlight peeked through the window, tiny slices of light bleeding through the dark gray clouds hanging heavy in the sky. He brewed a pot of coffee, stewing over the case to distract himself from thinking about Marlena naked in the shower.

When she finally appeared, she was dressed in a black pantsuit that hid her curves, and her hair was pulled back in a low knot at the nape of her neck. A bitter chuckle collected in his throat. That prim hairdo and the suit couldn’t possibly alleviate the ache in his groin.

“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked as she poured herself some coffee.

“I’m meeting with patients at the clinic.”

He crossed his arms to keep from touching her. “I’m going to check with the ME and see if we have an ID on the second body, then forensics. Maybe they’ll turn up a lead.”

She blew on the steaming cup, then lifted her gaze to his. “I thought you said this killer was like the monsters who killed my family.”

He hesitated. “I said he might be one of them. If we find a connection between the victims, it could lead us to him.”

“You’re right. Studying the victimology would indicate who he might target next,” Marlena said.

He nodded. “When you’re ready, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“That’s not necessary.” Marlena jutted up her chin. “I can drive myself. I’ll need my car to get to the lab.”

He gripped his coffee cup, debating. “I don’t want you to be alone, not now the killer has been in your home.”

“Dante,” Marlena said as she sipped her coffee. “You can’t stay with me and do your job. And I can’t let this killer prevent me from doing my work.”

Damn stubborn woman. “You can’t work if you’re dead either.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ve been fighting the monsters and my fear all my life. If this has anything to do with my family’s murder or me, I can’t run.” Her mouth tightened. “I won’t.”

Pain shimmered in her eyes, but determination set in, too, and his admiration for her rose, as well as his hunger for her.

He itched to touch her, tear down that hair and kiss her, destroy any barriers between them. But first he had to find this killer. “Just be careful, Marlena. And call me if you sense any trouble.”

“Of course, Sheriff.”

His gut pinched.

He didn’t have time to analyze her stubborn independence. It was better they forgot about the kiss. Concentrated on work.

She reached for her keys, and he caught her arm. “I mean it, Marlena. If Daumer or anyone suspicious approaches you, don’t confront them on your own. Call me.”

Marlena looked reluctant to agree, but did so, then grabbed her purse, and he walked her to the car.

Anxiety knotted his shoulders as he climbed into his SUV and followed her to the hospital.

The sooner he found this killer, the sooner he could put distance between him and Marlena. Maybe she’d leave town again. That would be the only way to keep her safe after the fallout.

He couldn’t let her find out what he was, or allow his dark side to surface in front of her.

After making certain Marlena arrived at the hospital safely, Dante ran by his house for a quick shower. He dragged on a shirt and jeans, but a pounding on the front door made him pause. Shit. No one ever visited his private sanctuary.

Suspicious, he moved quietly to the door and checked the peephole. Two big, broad-shouldered men about his size stood on the stoop, looking menacing. Both had dark hair, one with a short cut like a feebie, the other with longer hair, a squarer jaw, and wearing shades.

Except for the scent of their demon blood, they seemed human.

And dangerous.

He opened the door cautiously, braced for attack. Their scent was strong, definitely otherworldly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

The guy with the short hair cleared his throat. “Vincent Valtrez, FBI.” With a scarred hand, he gestured to the other man. “This is my brother, Quinton Valtrez, with Homeland Security.”

Dante frowned. What did they want with him?

“We have to talk.” Vincent shoved a newspaper in front of Dante, and Dante zeroed in on the article about Jordie McEnroe’s murder. “We heard there was a second murder last night. Both women were torched.”

Dante gritted his teeth. This was all the luck he needed, damn feebies and Homeland Security breathing down his neck. “You came to take over my case?”

The two men exchanged questioning looks, then Vincent spoke in a commanding voice, as if he was accustomed to giving orders and having everyone drop at his feet to obey. “Not to take over, but we want to know what’s going on.”

Vincent pushed past Dante, then paused by the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Quinton’s boots pounded the floor as he joined him, the two of them a formidable team. They looked as if they expected him to bolt—or attack any second.

Dante crossed his arms. He refused to let them intimidate him. “I don’t need help from the Feds or Homeland,” he snapped. “I have the investigation under control.”

Vincent narrowed his dark eyes. “You have a suspect?” Hell, more than one. But he didn’t intend to reveal anything to these men. “Yes.”

Quinton removed his shades, and for a second, Dante felt some kind of strange connection, as if he’d met this man before.

“Who is the suspect?” Quinton asked.

“A psych patient who escaped from the mental hospital nearby.”

“Is he one of Dr. Bender’s patients?” Vincent asked.

Dante frowned. “How do you know Dr. Bender?”

“She alerted me when some vials of blood from one of her studies were stolen. And the news mentioned her name in connection with the crimes. What do they have to do with her?”

“The killer left his trophies on her doorstep.”

“Why?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Quinton’s deep-set eyes probed his as if he was dissecting him.

Dante gave him a glacial look. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Another strange, disconcerting look between the brothers, but this time Quinton spoke, his tone bushed, almost hypnotic. “You don’t have any idea who we are, do you?”

Dante stiffened. “I know you’re part demon.” There, he’d tossed the cards on the table. See if they’d come to attack.

If so, he’d set them on fire with his hands.

Vincent’s mouth flattened. “And so are you.”

Dante maintained, a cool expression. “All right, now we’ve established that. What do you two really want?”

A tense silence ensued, fraught with distrust. Finally Vincent cleared his throat. “We have reason to believe you’re our brother.”

Marlena finished counseling her morning patients, but she couldn’t shake her worry over Prudence Puckett’s behavior the day before. She’d tried phoning her but Prudence hadn’t answered. She hoped the woman didn’t do something rash. She certainly understood her anger and resentment, and she needed therapy badly.

Even more disturbing, often abused individuals grew up to be abusers themselves.

For a brief moment, she contemplated the possibility that Prudence, not Gerald, might have torched Jordie and this other woman. That her resentment of men might have transferred to other women men found more attractive, women men chose over her.

The profile fit. Prudence had been burned by her mother to make her less appealing to men—what if Prudence had snapped and done the same to these women?

But the majority of serial killers were men. And hadn’t Dante mentioned that the killer bit the women’s necks first, causing them to bleed out?

So why torch the women? That seemed like overkill…

Dante suspected the killer was a monster like the creatures she’d seen years ago in the woods. She still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around that.

Pressing a finger to her temple to massage away the headache forming, she glanced at the clock. Time to leave for the lab.

She typed up her notes, saved them, then switched off her computer and headed out of her office. Ruthie Mae Stanton approached her, her complexion slightly pale against her short brown hair.

“Are you all right, Ruthie?” Marlena asked. Ruthie Mae sank into the chair behind the nurses’ station, “Yes, just tired.”

“It’s only been four months. It takes time to get your energy back after open-heart surgery, Ruthie. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“It’s not just that I’m tired.” Ruthie tugged at her heart-shaped ruby necklace.

Marlena frowned. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been having weird dreams,” she admitted in a distant voice. “Bad ones, filled with violence.”

Marlena placed a hand on Ruthie’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about them?”

Ruthie Mae dismissed her anxiety with a shrug. “I guess these murders just have me on edge, but I’ve dreamed there will be more murders. Sometimes I even see shadows of monsters in the corners at night.”

Marlena frowned. “That’s understandable considering what’s been happening. Sometimes patients experience strange dreams as a result of the anesthesia and painkillers given after surgery.”

Ruthie nodded, her mouth pinched. For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to say more, but she stood and brushed at her uniform. “Forget I said anything. I’m sure that’s it. My husband always says I worry too much.”

Marlena frowned as Ruthie Went back to work, then rushed outside and drove to the lab. The temperature had dropped to the forties, the storm clouds hovering as if a permanent grayness bad been cast over the sky.

Dr. Sneed approached her as soon as she entered, tapping his pen on a chart. “Come and look at this, Dr. Bender. I think I’ve found something.”

Marlena’s pulse kicked up, and she followed him into his lab. He gestured to a printout from the lab. “Take a look.”

Marlena studied the notations. “There’s an extra chromosome, and other genetic abnormalities.”

“Yes. I checked the subject’s file and this sample came from Gerald Daumer.” He glanced up at her over his thin wire-rims. “This mutated gene might prove that your theory is correct. That his condition is biological and chemically related.”

Hope bubbled in Marlena’s chest. If they discovered other similar genes and isolated specific abnormal genetic properties, maybe they could alter them, thereby altering the violent behavior as well.

Dante clenched his jaw as he stared at the Vaitrez men. “I don’t have family. Never have. Never will.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “So get the hell out.”

Quinton’s eyes turned to lasers, piercing and defiant. “Yes, you do. I have premonitions.” Quinton removed a newspaper article from inside his jacket.

Dammit, a story Jebb Bates had written.

“When I held this photo, I had a vision of you as a child,” Quinton continued. “I saw us together when our mother left us with the Monks. We’re fraternal twins.”

“Your last name is Zertlav,” Vincent said. “Zertlav is Valtrez spelled backward.”

Dante’s ears buzzed. “What kind of game are you playing? I never knew any Monks.”

Yet even as he protested, déjà vu struck Dante. Something about another boy as a child…. He’d been small, scared, as he’d looked up at two mysterious men wearing long dark cloaks. Later they’d locked him in a tiny, dark concrete room.

Was that a monastery?

“The Monks separated us to keep us safe from our father,” Quinton continued.

Dante’s gaze locked with Quinton’s. The man’s eyes were just like his. Dark brown, bleak, filled with horrors. Cold, as if he could kill without blinking an eye.

And other resemblances—the wide jaws. High cheekbones. A hint of devil in the voice.

Still, he didn’t dare trust them. This could be some kind of trap.

He had no family. He was alone, belonged nowhere, belonged to nobody but himself. And he didn’t want it any other way.

“Bullshit,” Dante said. “My family was killed long ago.”

Quinton frowned. “You were raised by demons. They probably lied to you about your family.”

“I didn’t believe we were related in the beginning when Vincent came to me,” Quinton said in that deep hypnotic voice again. “But blood tests proved Vincent and I are related. Marlena Bender conducted the tests.”