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"Five Hearts! It was really hard to put this book into just so few words. There is so much I want to say. This story pulls you inside right from the start. Angelica Hart has taken the idea of a cult and created a paranormal suspense that is outstanding. I couldn’t put this book down. Jared and Geena remind us just what love should be between a man and a woman. The way Jared slowly and patiently taught Geena that making love brings pleasure instead of pain was so beautiful. Be sure to read the ending very carefully. Angelica Hart writes a great story that gives surprises even to the end. I will read this again and again." The Romance Studio
"Four Stars! Angelica Hart has written a taut, exciting occult thriller, well-plotted
and fast-paced. This book doesn't slow down, and it doesn't disappoint you, with one
exciting plot twist after another. A good scary read." Sim-Gen Reviews
"The Gathering is a love story surrounded by pulse-pounding action and the
paranormal. Part of the time it had me on the edge of my seat and in the
next, unbuttoning my top. I was; sad, scared, angry, and touched to my
core. I've been looking for faults in books as I read them and all I can
say here is that this is old style fiction freshened up for the here and
now. I loved it." Buzzy's Reviews
"4 1/2 Stars! Angelica Hart writes a tautly disturbing, richly evocative horror novel
which also satisfies the romantic in each of us. Although the evil seems to be supernatural, the threat is very real, and Genna and Jared are going to
need all the help they can get to save their loves and their immortal
souls." Affaire de Coeur Magazine
"Excellent! A real page-turner! Talented Angelica Hart weaves a spell-binding tale of good vs. evil. You'll be alternately chilled by the darkness and warmed by light and love. A must read! I couldn't put it down!" Candace McCarthy, author of Irish Linen, Sea Mistress
"The good guys in The Gathering seem to glow with an inner purity. The bad guys seem to have been dragged up from the depths of Hades. Good or bad, these are intense characters that drive an intense story, one that encompasses violence balanced with a story of undeniable love. A must read!" Karlyn Thayer, Writer's Digest Instructor
". . .a taut, foreboding thrill." Romantic Times Magazine
"Wow! I read this one in a single day! If you like thrillers. . .READ THIS ONE!" Huntress Book Reviews
THE GATHERING
Angelica Hart
ISBN 1-891020-04-8
Rocket eBook ISBN 1-58608-032-6
Cover art by Eliza Black
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
OTHER NCP TITLES BY ANGELICA HART (CYNTHIA LAWRENCE)
Impetuous Heart/Reluctant Heart
This book is dedicated to
Tony and Tara
for their patience, support, and love.
CHAPTER ONE
It was another of those Philadelphia winters that locked itself into a cold spell. A damp, penetrating wind rose from both the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers, slicing through skyscraper canyons until it settled in a neighborhood that was west of the Spectrum, east of the Platt bridge and south of city hall. Yet, it wasn't considered part of South Philly. It was a neighborhood unto itself with few loyalties and no allies. Not quite the worse area around, yet corrupt enough to keep Detective Jared Kincaid alert and cautious.
He lit his third cigarette and cursed. When was he going to learn it didn't pay to follow up leads on his own time? Considering the snitch was already an hour late, Jared doubted he would show.
It was a hell of a way to earn a living, and one of these days he intended to get out. At thirty-five Jared no longer viewed the department with the same starry-eyed naiveté that he had as a rookie. Now, he saw the corruption, the favoritism, the injustice. He also saw that he wasted a lifetime fighting a system he couldn't beat.
God knows he tried. He had a phenomenal arrest record with a thousand nights spent undercover, a multitude of scars and a drawer full of commendations, but he also had a reputation for being quick-tempered and somewhat impudent. He couldn't tolerate rules that coddled felons and ignored victims' rights. The brass, however, thrived on regulations. In the end, Jared not only lost several promotions, but developed a cynical, hard-nosed attitude. If he hadn't attracted the mayor's attention while solving the grotesque murder of a politician and his family, Jared's career would have been over years before. The mayor had seen Jared's potential and appointed him as head of a special task force that dealt exclusively with serial killers and psychopaths. His staff was small, forcing Jared to put in long, grueling hours. Perhaps it would have bothered him if he had someone special in his life, but after a disastrous marriage he couldn't bring himself to make another commitment.
A blast of wind cut through his battered coat. Shivers raced down his tall, muscular frame. What he wouldn't give for a parka and thermal gloves. However, flimsy as it was, Salvation Army garb allowed him to blend with the locals. His three day beard growth and the scar nipping his right temple didn't hurt either. Then again, he didn't know why he bothered with camouflage. Around here, anything that breathed got rolled.
That was why he was still a cop. He had this stupid fantasy that he could make a difference. That was also why he was out here freezing his butt off waiting for a lead that would probably go nowhere. He needed something, fast. A nun had been murdered right in the middle of a cloister that was locked up tighter than death row. The sisters only got visitors twice a year. Even then, they saw lay people through mesh screens. Still, the perp got in and slit her throat. It was a senseless, brutal murder with no witnesses, no suspects, no motives and even less evidence. Jared had absolutely nothing to go on except for Bernie Cruz, a jittery, street-wise snitch with a Ph.D. in burglary and a minor in cocaine. The repulsive little man had his ear to the ground and more relatives and contacts across the city than a politician.
Technically, it was against regulations to talk to known criminals. But where did the brass expect him to pick up information, a library? The only way to get the job done was to crawl under rocks and get acquainted with the slimiest snakes.
Jared tossed away the half-smoked cigarette and searched the cluttered service alley for Bernie Cruz. It was lined on both sides by the backs of stores and restaurants. Street lights, positioned sporadically, illuminated groups of trash barrels, shadowy doorways and nondescript shapes. A variety of scents, from garbage to exotic food, mingled with the frigid air around him. Five more minutes, he thought, just five. Yet, Jared was still there ten minutes later, smoking another cigarette that he didn't want and studying the cracks in the asphalt.
Suddenly the hair on his neck stood up. Footsteps! Slow. Deliberate. Assessing. Then silence. He peered into the shadows and noted a figure moving just beyond the light.
A satiny feminine voice slid through the darkness. "Need some help?"
Jared didn't let down his guard. In this neighborhood, some women were as lethal as men.
Without looking up, he feigned a drunkard's slur. "Go 'way."
The woman stayed put. "There's a shelter a few blocks away, just across from the park." She paused as if trying to string together the right words. "Wouldn't a warm bed and a hot meal sound good about now?"
Damn, just what he needed, a Good Samaritan. "Don't need no charity," he spat, still searching the shadows.
She gave a tired sigh. "It's not charity, just a little hospitality on a cold night."
"You can take your hospitality and shove it." Jared's hand gesture emphasized his statement. "Now, get the hell away from me."
"Being macho won't protect you from frostbite, y'know."
Though Jared's patience disintegrated, he managed to keep his words slurred. "W... W... What's the matter with you, lady. Can't you understand English? Go away!"
"No," she said in a calm, compassionate tone.
Jared spewed a string of profanity that would earn a pimp's envy.
She laughed. Actually laughed. It was as honey-smooth as her voice and just as appealing. "Ah, com'on, you really don't think that's going to scare me away."
Jared couldn't help but admire her tenacity. Still, he had to get her out of here before Bernie showed up. "All right, then tell me what will scare you?"
The woman's answer was quick, a bit angry. "Finding you in the morning frozen over a grate because you were either too drunk or too stupid to come in from the cold."
The sincere caring in her tone touched something in Jared; something he hadn't known still existed. "Listen," he started, then broke off as she stepped into a pool of light.
To his amazement, the woman wasn't the typical frazzled-looking social worker who roamed the night streets gathering up the homeless. Over a slim delicate figure, she wore a dark green coat and black, front laced boots. Calm serenity illuminated her porcelain-pale complexion while her confident stance suggested she didn't fear him or anyone else for that matter.
A novice, he thought. Only a novice would be too stupid not to be scared. However, her superiors should know better then to send out a bit of fluff without a partner. Didn't they realize what could happen to someone with her looks? One of the manic degenerates this city spewed like rabbits in heat could very easily eat this lady alive.
She took several steps toward him. Jared felt something hot and sharp rip right through his hard-boiled exterior. Up close the woman was even more beautiful than he had originally thought. Her face, swathed in a woolen scarf, was delicate, fragile like an etching of a banished princess in a fairy tale. The perfect shape of her slender nose and the sensuous fullness of her mouth balanced high cheekbones. Glossy waist-length hair, the color of new pennies, spilled from beneath the scarf. Her eyes, while lighter than her hair, flaunted the same coppery hue; thick dark lashes contrasted against whites as clear as fresh milk. Altogether she had a kind countenance, a face as full of compassion and tenderness as it was of intelligence and beauty. He also detected pain. Or was that just his imagination?
This lady was a contradiction he would prefer not to deal with. In his experience, beautiful women didn't wander city streets picking up homeless people. They were a bit more selfish than that. Had he just met the exception to the rule? Or, did she have a hidden agenda? It wouldn't be the first time a mugger used charm to outwit a victim.
At that moment, she reached into an oversized pouch that hung from her shoulder. Jared's street smarts went into overtime. Weapon, he thought. With swift, precise movements that were second-nature, he caught her arm, swung her sideways, then slammed her against the wall with enough force to restrain but not harm. The pouch dropped to the ground.
The lady was quick to respond. Her knee jerked upward towards his groin. With well-honed reflexes, Jared twisted the lower part of his body just enough to deflect her blow with his thigh. Before she could offer any further resistance, he flattened her against the wall with his own body and trapped both her hands, in one of his own, above her head.
"You're not drunk," she declared with just a trace of astonishment.
"I'm also not stupid, sweet thing. Now, care to tell me what's in the pouch?"
"Soup," she answered, her tone amazingly composed.
Jared blinked. "Soup?"
"Yes, tomato soup to be precise. It's in a thermos. It's cold out here. I thought something hot would do you good."
Jared shook his head in disbelief. "I told you I'm not stupid."
"Yes you are." She gave him a condescending look. "Only an idiot would attack someone who is trying to help."
Jared ignored both the look and words. He needed to check the pouch, but he didn't intend to take his eyes off her until he made sure she didn't have a concealed weapon on her person.
"Okay, lady, you're going to turn around real slow, face the wall and spread your legs so I can pat you down."
"I don't think so."
Jared lifted a brow. Did she really think she had a choice?
"Actually, I think it's time you let me go. Otherwise, I'll be forced to hurt you. I don't want to do that."
Jared nearly laughed. He was at least seven inches taller and had a good ninety pounds on her. And she didn't want to hurt him. Right. "Give it your best shot, sweet thing. I'm game."
"I'm not bluffing."
Jared didn't believe her. Despite her perfectly composed expression, he felt the wild thudding of her heart. Or, was it his own? He was suddenly very conscious of the soft curves beneath him, even more aware of her clean, feminine scent and generous, inviting lips. Without warning, he was thoroughly aroused. Shocked at his lack of control, Jared unwittingly loosened his hold.
It was all she needed. She jerked her hands from his and stomped on his instep with her boot. Jared yelped and stumbled back. Before he could recover, she snapped the underside of her knee against his while at the same time she grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand, his chin with the other, and pushed. The combined effort had him on his back in under two seconds.
He had enough training in Tae Kwon Do to know that maneuver ended with either a kick in the groin or a blow to the wind pipe. The lady did neither. Instead, she backed away and picked up the pouch. "Now, do you want some soup? Or, do we play a few more games?"
Jared pushed himself up slowly. Splinters of pain shot down his back and legs. He didn't take falls like he had a few years ago. Still, if he had cared to pursue matters, he could have her right back against the wall in a matter of seconds. This time she wouldn't take him by surprise. There wasn't a need, though. He finally got it through his cynical skull that she was harmless.
"Sorry," he said. "I thought you had a gun or knife in there."
Her expression grew tender. "You've been on the streets far too long. You have to start learning to trust again."
She slipped her hand into the pouch, plucked out a disposable cup and thermos and poured thick broth. "Here."
At that moment, he realized she wasn't as immune to fear as she pretended. Her hand trembled. His eyes met her steady gaze. Damn, what a combination: bravado and beauty. He bet quite a few men got burnt by this little package of dynamite.
He took the cup. "Thanks."
"There's better at the shelter."
"I told you I'm not interested."
She cocked her head and studied him. "Just what is your game: drugs, prostitution, illegal weapons?" She stared at the space around him and muttered,
"No... You're not that type. There's something..." Her face puckered in confusion. "Who are you?"
Jared gulped a mouthful of broth and allowed it to warm his joints before answering. "Curiosity can be hazardous to your health, sweet thing."
"Is that a threat?"
He tossed back the remainder of the broth and threw the cup into a nearby trash bin. "Take it anyway you want."
She placed the thermos in her pouch and swung it over her shoulder. "Let me give you a little bit of advice, mister. If you want a good meal, or a warm bed, or even the opportunity for some decent honest work, there are a lot of us at the shelter who can help. But if you're out to make a buck the wrong way, then get out of my neighborhood before I personally throw you out." She turned on her heel and walked away. "And that, sweet thing, is a threat."
Jared had all he could do not to laugh at her audacity. She really was something else. Against his better judgment, he found himself wanting to get to know her. Not smart, he thought: instant attraction equaled inevitable disappointment. Still, she felt awful good against his body, so warm, so feminine. It wasn't just the response of a healthy male either. Jared was more aroused by a woman's personality. He couldn't see climbing into bed with someone simply to satisfy primitive urges. It was no better than making love to a paper cut out. He needed to get inside a woman; to understand her feelings, her dreams, her needs. He simply refused to get naked and vulnerable with a stranger. Unfortunately, he hadn't understood all that before he married a mainline socialite whose charm and beauty concealed a malicious, insensitive manipulator. If he had taken the time to know her before eloping, he would have saved them both a lot of grief as well as one very nasty divorce.
He suspected this spit-fire social worker wasn't anything like his ex-wife. Maybe, it was time to let down the barriers. Besides, this celibacy stuff was getting a little old. For the first time in years, Jared thought about something other than his job. And that something had coppery hair and bewitching eyes.
* * *
Wind bellowed through the alley ways of the sleeping city, muffling the distant sound of a wailing siren. Roman flipped up the collar of his leather jacket against the biting chill and scanned the street. A paper cup tumbled down the gutter; a cat scurried behind a trash can. Nothing human moved.
Roman stepped from the shadows and made his way to a crumbling walk-up tenement. After checking the street once more, he passed through an unlocked door. The foyer was small and poorly lit with rows of dented mailboxes and pitted linoleum. A junkie shivered in one corner. Knowing he wouldn't be a threat, Roman ignored him and climbed five flights of stairs with little effort. Roman was all muscle, all energy. Righteous energy. Straight from the Almighty.
He made his way down a hallway that smelled of spices, garbage, and stale, hot air. Mesh screens protected low-wattage light bulbs. Graffiti and gang insignias decorated the wall. Stopping at the last door, Roman knocked.
No one answered.
He knocked again, harder. At first there was silence, then a soft shuffling of feet. "Who is it?" asked a quivering, feminine voice.
"Police," he answered, the lie coming easily to his tongue.
The door squeaked as it opened. A pale, disheveled woman peered over a flimsy chain lock. Behind her, he caught a glimpse of worn furniture and a tattered rug. Despite the dinginess, the room was free of clutter with an overpowering odor of disinfectant. It reminded him of the Saal, home of the one true religion.
"May I come in?" he asked with feigned politeness.
"What do you want?"
"Information."
She stared at him long and hard, obviously taking in his black leather coat and beret set at an angle that shaded his eyes.
"Where's your badge?"
He offered her a chilling smile. "Don't have one."
Fear flashed across her face. She slammed the door shut. Anticipating her action, he simply kicked it back open. Splinters of wood shot outward as the door frame cracked. A quick search revealed the woman heading for the fire escape outside the window. His long legs cut the distance between them in seconds. He moved in front of her before she could reach her destination.
"I don't think so, Angela."
Wild panic invaded faded blue eyes as she backed away. "How do you know my name?"
"Think it over, Angela, and you'll realize you also know me," he said as he pulled a sullied shade over the window. Scanning the dimly lit room, he located a battered arm chair. He dragged it across the floor and braced it against the unlatched door before turning on a bedside lamp. Next, Roman tossed his beret on the dresser and shrugged off his coat and woolen sweater. Well-defined muscles rippled over his bare, hairless chest.
A small whimper escaped her throat. "Please... Please don't rape me."
"Hush," he returned with amazing tenderness. "I'm not here for that. You are of the one truth faith. I wouldn't shame you in that way."
Comprehension came first, then recognition and amazement. "Roman? It can't be."
"It's been a long time, Angela."
"You've come to take me home?"
He smiled. It didn't register in his icy blue gaze. "After you tell me the exact whereabouts of the prodigal."
Angela lowered her gaze. "I told you about the other deserters. I told you how to find all of them. Spare the prodigal. She's good, kind, decent, a true daughter of the Saal despite her desertion. She doesn't deserve what Mother Katherine will do to her."
"Mother will not harm her. The gathering is almost upon us. The Saal needs her."
Uncertainty flashed across her face, then her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Yes... Yes... How could I have forgotten?" Taking small cautious steps, Angela moved towards the bureau.
Watching her, Roman took in her shapeless, white nightgown. It reminded him of a Saron, the habit worn by members of the Saal.
Was the poverty, the simplicity, her way of repenting? Roman knew she wanted to live again in the light of His love. That was why she had contacted the Saal. She had hoped by betraying the location of other religious deserters, forgiveness would be granted. But, mercy would be given only to the prodigal. The rest had to serve as examples. Roman would see to it; it was his mission.
Angela handed him a small card. Taking it, he studied her a moment longer. Her complexion was clear, yet boasted tell-tale signs of aging - the beginning of crow's feet near her eyes, deep lines bracketing her mouth. She was in her early thirties and quite pretty despite the premature gray, streaking long, dark hair. She had a small nose and pale eyes. He wouldn't mind bedding a woman like her, but she was filth, unclean. God knew how many men had used her. Besides, she didn't arouse him as much as the thought of what he intended to do to her. He could live without sex, but not without violence. The Saal nurtured that craving.
He finally glanced down at what she had handed him. It was a plain white business card with a woman's name and an address.
"The prodigal?"
Angela nodded. "Will you take me home now?"
His expression became hard as he unfastened the black pouch strapped to his waist. Plucking out a leather whip, he ran it through his fingers like a man caressing his lover, then placed it on the dresser. A lethal looking blade came next, followed by a roll of adhesive tape and a wad of soft cloth.
Angela backed away, shaking her head as instant comprehension mingled with acute terror. "You're a warrior. No... Not you, Roman. You swore you'd never be like them."
"A lot can change in fourteen years."
He closed the distance between them. His gaze took on a strange, twisted gleam. "It's time to go home, Angela. The Lord's home."
* * *
"Hey man," intoned a slick, slightly accented voice. "What's happenin' bro."
Jared spun around. Bernie Cruz had managed to do what no one had done since Jared was a rookie: he caught him off-guard. The social worker had gotten to him more than he had realized.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Bernie's sideways grin resembled a sardonic sneer. "Hey man, don't be gettin' all up tight. I said I'd deliver, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but you were supposed to deliver almost two hours ago." Jared tugged another cigarette out of his pocket. He knew he was smoking too much, but he lit it anyway. "Dammit, Bernie, I have better things to do than hold up the friggin' wall in an alley."
"Hey, it weren't my fault, bro. I did what I could. You know what I'm sayin'?" His bony hands made slicing motions; his body moved to an inner beat. Jared doubted Cruz could stay still for more than a nanosecond.
"Okay, okay," he said, wanting to get down to business. "What do you have for me?"
Cruz put out his palm. "Plant some green first."
Jared took a long drag on the cigarette, letting the smoke out in an endless stream. "You know the score. Information before pay."
Bernie hopped from one foot to the other. "I did my part, man. I did better than good... Like I delivered. You know what I'm sayin'?"
Jared dropped the cigarette and stomped on it. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Geena."
"Who the hell is Geena?"
"The hot little body who was helpin' you hold up that wall. She's your lead, my man. She was the last person to see the nun alive."
CHAPTER TWO
Hands squeezed together, teeth chattering, Ruth sat in the back of the taxi feeling like an imbecile. Her lover even called her as much when, on the pretense of a late business meeting, she deserted his bed. Ruth, however, had this intuitive need to check on her sister.
It just wasn't like Angie not to answer her phone for five days straight. After all, she was always in bed by ten, and she didn't have a social life. She worked as some sort of social aide and sent most of her meager salary to a TV evangelist who promised eternal salvation. Ruth didn't believe in salvation, or God for that matter. She believed only in herself. From the moment they had escaped the Saal, Ruth had seized life with both hands and gobbled it up like a ravenous, wild animal.
In the beginning, she sold her body to wealthy tycoons and enjoyed every second of it. When she finally saved enough, she invested in a cheeky boutique in the right part of town. Unlike her sister who couldn't get out from under years of brainwashing, Ruth made a success of her life. Angie, on the other hand, refused to sample a single worldly delight. So, except for a weekly phone call and an occasional visit, Ruth left Angie to her world of self-denial.
Yet, if anything happened to Angie, Ruth would be lost. It was not so much that she loved her sister. Hell, Ruth had forgotten how to love anyone but herself. Angie, though, was the only person who cared whether she lived or died. Without Angie, she would be alone.
"Stop it," she ordered herself. "Everything is just fine."
"You say somethin', lady?" the cab driver asked, as he studied her through the rearview mirror.
"No," she answered quickly, not quite believing she'd spoken out loud.
"Swore I heard..." He shook his head. "Ah, never mind. After twenty years in this business you start hearing things."
He took a right. Elegant townhouses and fashionable stores gave way to middle-class row homes with concrete stoops and window-boxes. Several more blocks sped by and they were surrounded by tenements and empty lots.
"You sure you have the right address, lady."
"Of course, I'm sure," she bit out curtly.
Albert Dolby shrugged. It was her funeral. Still, he couldn't help wondering why a classy broad wanted to visit the armpit of the city. Drugs, he thought.
He stole a glimpse in the rearview mirror. She didn't have the glassy-eyed look of most addicts. Her dark-rimmed brown eyes were alert, darting, like a sharp-eyed eagle. Her fashionably tousled hair was dyed a flattering shade of blond. He guessed her to be in her early thirties, but she could have been older. Draped in fur and diamonds, she obviously had the money to indulge in plastic surgery.
Yeah, it was a mystery all right - the likes of her going to an address just this side of hell. But that was her business not his.
He parked the cab between a pink caddy complete with mink interior and a rusting VW. "That'll be..."
"Keep the meter running," she said. "I'll be right back."
Albert didn't like this part of town during the day let alone in the middle of the night. "I don't know, lady, I..."
She handed him two fifties. "You get the same if you wait ten minutes."
With two kids in college, Albert couldn't afford to turn down a couple big ones. "Okay, lady, but make it quick."
True to her word, the woman was back in the taxi within ten minutes. Only, she suddenly looked older. Hard lines formed around her mouth. Her hands trembled.
"Get me out of here," she implored in a weak, raspy voice.
Knowing something bad had just gone down, Albert didn't hesitate to comply.
* * *
Jared felt as if he had been punched in the gut. It figured the one woman in ages who had piqued more than a casual interest might be involved in a murder.
"Let's go," he ordered the mustachioed Chicano. "I'm freezing my butt off. We'll finish this in my car." He paused, blew out a stream of vapor. "That is if it hasn't been stolen."
Cruz shuffled backwards, palms out as if defending himself against a blow. "No way, man. It ain't safe for someone like me to be seen talkin' to no cop."
"I doubt anyone will notice. For Christ's sake, we're probably the only idiots out in this weather. Besides, if you don't move that bony butt of yours, I'm going to drag you to my car by your damn scrawny neck."
Cruz smiled nervously. "Since you put it that way, man."
Jared shoved the man ahead of him. "Thought you'd reconsider."
The instant Jared slipped into the department's car, he started the motor and turned on the heater. The first blast of air was frigid. Unlike his own Jeep Cherokee, Jared knew the Buick would take awhile to warm up.
Jared took out a small notebook and lead pencil. "What's the woman's full name?"
Cruz eyes darted about like a caged animal. "Geena Ryan"
Jared wrote the name. "Geena," he muttered, liking the feel of it on his tongue. "How do you know that Geena was the last person to visit Sister Emanuella?"
"I got a cousin, Anita, who works in the kitchen at Our Lady of Peace. Geena used to visit the nun all the time. Anita said a lot of the staff knew Geena and used to turn a blind eye whenever she snuck in. Anita told me the nun were real sick, but after a visit from Geena it were like the sister took a hit of somethin' real fine."
The air in the car started to warm, but something cold settled in Jared's gut. "You can't mean Geena supplied the nun with dope?"
Cruz laughed and slapped his thigh. "That be good, man. Geena pushin' dope... That be real good. Half the people 'round here think she be a saint, the other half..." He shook his head. "Never mind, that be just too wild."
"Spill it."
Cruz hesitated, then in a conspiratorial whisper. "They think she got the power, man."
"Power?"
"Yeah, like that crap the preachers do on the tube."
"What crap?"
"Y'know, man, they cure people and stuff."
"They think she's a healer?"
"Yeah. I told you it's wild."
"Are you sure we're talking about the lady I just met?"
"Hey man, why you think I made you meet me in that particular alley? Like I knows this is her route. She does it like every night, goin' round gathering up lost sheep like a damn shepherd."
"Why haven't I heard of her? I've been in this precinct for years."
"She was just appointed director at the shelter about a year ago. Heard she transferred from hell's kitchen in North Philly."
Shock widened Jared's eyes. How did a beauty like Geena survive that part of town?
"Besides, man, you might know every pimp, pusher and whore this side of city hall, but you don't have no business dealings with a fox like her." Bernie's eyes glazed with a licentious light. "Man, I'd sure like to have a crack at that honey."
Without conscious volition, Jared grabbed Cruz by the throat. "Don't even think it!"
"Chill, man. You think I be crazy. For every fool who wants a piece of her, there's ten more who'd slit his throat if he tried. She helps the neighborhood, bro. She cares. People knows it. Nobody tends to mess with her, 'specially not me."
Releasing him, Jared took a breath. He then handed Cruz a fifty and told him to get lost.
Once the snitch had left, Jared berated his own violent behavior. After years of being a hot head, he thought he'd finally learned to control his temper. But the thought of that slime bucket touching Geena pricked a nerve. The lady really did get under his skin. He didn't like it. He especially didn't like that she was his only lead in a murder investigation. Having been the last person to see Sister Emanuella alive, she even fell under the heading of suspect. No, he'd stake his badge that Geena couldn't hurt a fly. Scam artist? Possibly. That healing business sounded suspicious. He didn't want to believe it, though. He wanted her to be everything she appeared to be. Regardless, he'd investigate her. It was his job.
Jared thought of her warm, intoxicating eyes and muttered a curse. At that moment, he didn't like his job very much at all.
* * *
Once in her high-rise apartment, Ruth locked the door and made her way straight to the bar. She didn't bother with a glass, just plucked up a bottle of bourbon and took a generous swig. It seared her dry throat and hit her stomach like a burning ball. Turning, she faced the luxurious room and slid down the side of the bar until she hit the floor, then chugged another healthy dose.
For long minutes, she sat there, legs akimbo, skirt rucked up around her hips, eyes wide and staring. She took yet another swallow of liquor and thought of her sister's corpse. It had happened. They had tracked her down and killed her. Just like they swore to track down everyone who dared to leave the cult.
In her mind's eye she could still see her sister's body outline in the glow of the bedside lamp. Whip marks had lacerated her body. Ruth knew the markings of a whip; she knew the bite of it as well. But it was the lethal throat wound that panicked Ruth.
It was the Saal's traditional execution. Then again, she could be jumping to conclusions. Angie had lived in a cesspool that bred psychos. Furthermore, didn't she work with all those vagrants? Ruth relaxed a little. Sure, that was it. People in Angie's neighborhood were killed every day. Just because it resembled an execution didn't mean the Saal had sent a warrior. Besides, it had been years since they had escaped that schizophrenic cult. The Protectors, an organization devoted to rescuing cult members, had even helped them to relocate. The Saal couldn't possibly have tracked them.
Pressing the bottle to her lips, she let the soothing liquor burn another path to her stomach. She felt calmer, more rational. The absence of fear left the realization that she was alone. Forever alone. Could she deal with it? Slowly, she got to her feet and placed the bottle on top of a silver tray. Ruth knew she'd survive. She always did.
Crossing the elegantly appointed living room, she picked up the cordless phone and punched a single button. A second later, a deep masculine voice flowed over the receiver.
"What can I do you for?"
"Carl, I'm coming over."
"After what you pulled?" he said in a sulky tone.
"Be good, golden boy, and tomorrow we'll go shopping for that Porsche' you wanted."
"In that case, baby, the martini will be dry and the bed warm."
Ruth hung up the phone.
The apartment felt very, very cold.
* * *
A few nights later, Jared sported a fresh set of derelict attire and an even thicker growth of beard. A brief flare of a match illuminated the shadows as he lit a cigarette. Inhaling, he waited outside the shelter for Geena to return from her nightly rounds.
The St. Francis Shelter was an old building built in the last century as the Motherhouse for the Franciscan Order of the Sisterhood. Encased in wrought iron fencing and constructed entirely of stone with numerous turrets and Cathedral windows, it resembled a European castle.
In the course of his investigation, he had discovered that the Franciscan sisters donated the building to PUB, People United for a Better Life. It was an independent organization established to turn the homeless population into productive citizens of society. Geena was on the board. She was also on the board of several other charitable organizations, had a sterling reputation, worked tirelessly for the homeless and had no social life. Or, at least no one knew about her social life. They didn't know about her alleged healing ability either. Then again, the people he had interviewed weren't being totally cooperative. She evoked such fierce loyalty within the community no one would admit to anything that might get Geena in trouble. Having been raised by a series of beautiful, but superficial women, Jared wasn't used to finding substance in the midst of such loveliness.
After Jared's mother died in childbirth, his father couldn't seem to hold on to a wife. As an adult, Jared realized good old dad had an ego the size of the Grand Canyon and needed younger and prettier women to make him feel important. Not being a priority in his father's life, Jared spent much of his childhood alone.
With a practicality that was astonishing in one so young, Jared became fiercely independent. He learned how to do his own laundry and make his own meals. Although school provided companionship, his true friends were a series of pets. He still had carvings that he had whittled of each animal.
During his freshman year in high school, Jared's father had died. He had downed a bottle of bourbon and drove off a cliff. Jared never knew if he did it on purpose or not. Afterwards, Jared lived with his uncle. It was the first time Jared ever felt loved. Despite being a bachelor and a full-time cop, the man did everything right. He took Jared fishing and hiking, sailing and flying. He attended all Jared's sports events and helped him expand his wood-carving skill. If Jared had the flu, Uncle Joe stayed home. If Jared had a major test, Uncle Joe canceled a date to help the boy study. If it hadn't been for his uncle, Jared didn't think he would have made it this far in life without a major emotional crisis. Once his uncle passed away, Jared couldn't bring himself to let down his guard completely with anyone.
He tended to be a loner and was comfortable with his personal lifestyle. Every now and then, though, he would crave the companionship of a woman. Not just for sex either. He wanted to talk about nothing and share his daily ups and downs. He wanted to laugh at stupid jokes, and be intimate without sex or words. He wanted to love and be loved. After his failed marriage that hadn't even come close to any of his youthful expectations Jared had thought he was doomed to a life of loneliness. Then, Geena smiled at him. Although she was beautiful, it was a natural beauty unmarred by cosmetics or gimmicks. He found himself thinking about her constantly, wondering what it would be like to taste her sensuous lips, to run his hands through the tangled mane of her hair. And her eyes, sweet Jesus, how could he resist the untapped passion he saw there? He was man enough to realize she didn't have the moves or body language of a woman who had experienced a variety of men. She didn't even know how to flirt. Or was she simply a con artist who played the game better than most? Could she fool a whole community? Could she fool a man like himself? He had seen such atrocities and deceit that nothing shocked him any longer. Yet, interview after interview confirmed that she was a caring, unselfish individual. The whole world couldn't be wrong. Plus, his own instincts insisted there was an ingrained sweetness and decency about her. The cop in him, though, refused to relax until he crossed her name off his suspect list.
He could have waited until morning to interrogate her. Now, though, she would be tired and less evasive. Catching people off guard was a specialty of Jared's. It never used to bother him.
He watched a dark blue van pull into the circular drive. Geena climbed out and leaned against the hood. Her shoulders slumped inside the same dark green coat she had worn the other night. Wayward strands of hair, escaping a pale green ribbon, framed her face like a halo. She stood there for a full minute looking so utterly exhausted that Jared almost decided he couldn't take advantage of her condition.
She took a deep breath, expelled it and opened the side door. Two elderly women peered out. Geena escorted them from the van to the door where a smiling middle-aged priest offered a hardy welcome.
"Father Quintin will take care of you, now," Geena said. "He'll make sure you get a good meal and a warm bed."
"Ain't you comin'," asked one of the women nervously.
"I'll be by to check on you tomorrow, okay?"
The woman still looked anxious, but she nodded and allowed the priest to take her by the elbow.
Father Quintin hesitated, looking over his shoulder. "Don't you think it's time to call it a night?"
Geena shrugged. "Just one more pass around the neighborhood."
"Give it a break, Geena Anne. I bet you haven't even had dinner."
"I'll grab something when I get back."
He shook his head. "Even the Lord rested on Sunday."
Tired eyes managed a spark of humor. "It's not Sunday."
He chuckled. "You're impossible. But if you're not back soon, I'll send Father Damien out after you. Then, you'll really be sorry."
"Can't threaten me this time Quintin. Father Damien is on a retreat until the end of the week."
"Then I'll just have to come after you myself."
"You do and I'll put you to work."
Feigning horror, he backed away. "No... No... Anything but that. Stay out all night. See if I care."
Geena laughed as the priest entered the shelter. The moment the door closed, all humor faded from her expression. She started to open the driver's side of the van, then paused, resting her head on her hand.
"He's right, y'know," Jared said, tossing his cigarette away as he stepped from the shadows. "You should get some rest."
Geena spun around at the sound of his voice, looking startled. Then, just as quickly a beguiling smile appeared. Jared felt any lingering suspicion scatter like brittle leaves in the wind.
"It's you," she said.
"That's what I always thought."
"I mean, I've been looking for you. I was worried."
Is that how she saw him: just one of her lost lambs? He winced as the ego she had inflated a second ago collapsed. "Sorry I was an inconvenience."
"Oh no, never that," she said, her gaze taking him in all at once. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "Tired? Do you need a place to sleep?"
She took his arm and led him towards the door.
He inhaled sharply as her touch sent hot splinters of desire cascading through his body. Pulling away, he stared at her upturned face. How could she possibly be more beautiful than the last time he had seen her? She was, though. It was her eyes; they appeared brighter, more intense with smoldering depths of desire that he doubted she knew existed. Or was it her mouth? It was moist and sweet and full of passionate promise? This was nuts. How the hell could he want a woman this much, this quickly? He swallowed the impulse to give into some very primitive urges.
"Hey, not so fast," he said. "We need to talk."
Geena took a step back. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? She was stumbling over herself like an infatuated adolescent. Considering she had known him all of twenty minutes, her feelings were ridiculous. Then again, Geena knew more about this man in an instant than most people would know in years. She could see auras and sense pain. Some people, like this man, drew her as if they were magnets. Others repelled her so fiercely that she sometimes became physically ill.
His aura was unbelievably pure. It wrapped around her like gossamer, blending with her own until she couldn't find any lines of distinction. The man didn't realize it, but they were soul mates.
The other night she had matched his tough demeanor with a bravado of her own. Geena, though, wasn't the type to keep up a pretense. How could she when she knew this man would never hurt her? Although she tried not to let him see just how much he affected her, it wasn't easy considering he was so darn attractive. Not that he was exceptionally handsome. His rough-hewn features would have been threatening if not for smoky, gray eyes and an indescribable warmth and gentleness lurking in his expression. High chiseled cheekbones and thick raven black hair that curled over the collar of his jacket, betrayed a few drops of Indian blood. His complexion held bronze overtones as if he spent plenty of time outdoors. He was nearly a head taller than she, with the shoulders and biceps of a lean, hard construction worker and the oversized hands of a football player. There was also something immensely sensuous and powerful about him.
The urge to crawl into the protective circle of his arms nearly overwhelmed her. She hadn't forgotten what it was like to be in a man's arms. She remembered security and strength. With this man, she instinctively knew she'd feel much more. Just looking at him turned her knees to rubber and her mind to mush. Images of naked flesh against naked flesh flashed across her mind. She envisioned entwined limbs and probing tongues and... Her imaginings stopped there. She simply didn't have the experience to take it any further. She wanted to, though. What would his hands feel like touching her body? Would they be insistent? Tender? A pleasant combination of both? Would they be able to arouse her beyond resistance? Was that even possible, given her history? What would his hard lips do to her ingenuous mouth? Her thoughts shocked her. But it was the waves of passion tumbling through her body that frightened her. She took another step backwards, hoping distance would keep the tumultuous emotions at bay.
"Would you like to talk inside? It's a bit chilly out here."
"There's this diner a couple of blocks away," Jared said. "They have great chili. Interested?"
Geena couldn't resist spending time with him, and decided she really didn't need to make another round after all. "It's nearly midnight. Will it still be open?"
"Twenty-four hours."
Just then Father Quintin opened the door. Tall and thin, he had a thick crop of graying hair and deeply dimpled cheeks. His eyes were large and piercing; his voice theatrically deep. "Oh, good, Geena, you haven't left." His gaze passed critically over Jared. "It's Julie, she's feverish again. Her mother is asking for you."
"I'll be right there."
Turning to Jared, she offered him an apologetic smile. "May I take a rain check? Julie's only two. I can't..."
"Hey, don't worry about it. I understand," he interrupted. "I'll be back, okay?"
"Good. I..." She broke off abruptly, then grabbed his hand. "Don't go. I'm afraid you'll disappear again. It's cold out here. I can't stand the thought of your being outdoors on a night like this."
Something soft and wondrous settled in the vicinity of his heart. He couldn't remember the last time a woman cared enough to be concerned about his welfare. He had to remind himself that she was only doing her job.
"I have a place..."
"Please," she said, squeezing his hand. "Please, come in. I'll try not to be long."
There was something in her eyes that tugged at his heart. Her touch, though, kept him from resisting. It had been too long since a woman evoked such passion so easily. He simply couldn't pull away.
Still holding his hand, she led him up a short flight of stairs, then down a dimly lit corridor. They paused before a heavy door where Geena knocked lightly.
An overweight girl of not more than eighteen emerged. "She's burning up. Please, Miss Geena, you have to help her."
"Julie's going to be fine."
"I can't afford no doctor."
"If she needs medical care, the shelter will cover her expenses. Don't worry, Amy, okay?"
With Jared in tow, Geena stepped into a small, tidy room. Twin beds flanked either side of a window. One of the beds had a rail. Steam from a vaporizer dampened the air. A thick, raw cough echoed through the room, drawing Jared's attention to the small form under a well-worn quilt.
"Hey," Geena said softly as she approached the bed. "How's my princess?"
The child didn't speak, only whimpered softly.
As Geena shed her coat, scarf and boots, Jared couldn't help but admire how a simple blue jumper and white blouse enhanced her fragile loveliness. He watched her crawl onto the bed and pull the toddler into her arms.
"You're going to be just fine, Julie," she said.
Jared noted the child's glassy gaze and flushed complexion. Her breath came out in raspy gulps. "This kid needs a doctor," Jared stated.
Geena shook her head. "I can help her."
Jared frowned. What did she intend to do, coddle the illness out of the kid?
The child coughed again. "It's okay," Geena whispered, then looked up. "Would you please wait out in the hall. This won't take long."
Against his better judgment, he obeyed. The child's mother followed. She was so young, she still had an acne problem. Yet, the worry in her dark eyes was ageless.
"Name's Jared," he said.
"Amy," she returned. "That's my baby... Julie."
"Has she been sick long?"
"It started as a cold, but we were on the street. You know what that's like, not enough food, never warm." A small, sweet smile spread across her face. "Miss Geena brought us here. She even got me a job in the shelter's child care center. Julie, though, couldn't seem to shake the cold. It kept getting worse. One night her temperature went up to one hundred and five. Miss Geena brought it down. Until tonight, Julie has been getting better. I'm not worried, though, Miss Geena will take care of everything."
Jared didn't think that would happen. He bet anything that kid had pneumonia. She belonged in a hospital. He'd give Geena ten minutes, then he'd take matters into his own hands.
Pulling out a cigarette, he tried to make out his immediate surroundings, but the corridor was too dimly lit.
"You can't smoke here," Amy said. "This is an old building."
Jared nodded and put the cigarette back into his pocket. After awhile Jared checked his watch. The ten minutes were just about up. "Is there a phone I can..."
Before Jared could complete the question, a blinding light radiated from around the door frame for several seconds.
"What the..."
Again he never finished the question as the sound of childish laughter cut him off. A bright smile blossomed on Amy's face as she flung open the door and scurried inside. Following her, Jared couldn't quite credit what he saw. The child no longer looked sick. What the hell had happened?
"Eena fix me," the child said as if in answer to Jared's unspoken question.
"Oh, she just needed a special sort of medicine," Geena explained.
"Hug," the child said.
"Yes, princess," Geena said, "and lots of hugs."
The child tilted her head. "Love Eena."
Geena smiled. "I love you, too, Julie."
Once they were back in the hall, Jared had to ask. "What did you give that kid?" "Something herbal."
"I never heard of anything that works that quickly." He frowned. "And what was that light? It looked like someone hit the switch at the stadium." She avoided his gaze. "An energy surge."
"An energy what..." Jared broke off as Geena began to sway. He grabbed her shoulders. "Hey, are you all right?"
She had been holding her scarf, gloves and boots. They fell to the floor in a heap. "I... I'm just a little tired."
"Is there someone I should call?"
Her body sagged against his. "No... I... Please, just give me a minute."
Jared held her against him, relishing the feel of her warm, feminine body even as he grew concerned. She shouldn't push herself like this. Where the hell was the rest of the staff?
She took a breath, expelled it slowly, then straightened. "I'm okay, now. I just need something to eat."
Jared would have offered to take her out, only he knew she needed something quick. "Where?" he said.
"I have a room a flight up."
Jared's mouth gaped open in astonishment. "You live here?"
"I like being on hand."
"Isn't that taking dedication a bit far?"
She shrugged. "What can I say? This isn't just a job. It's a commitment."
Her generous, giving spirit awed him almost as much as his growing attraction to her. He wanted her in his arms again. He wanted to crush her mouth under his and elicit responses that would leave them both breathless. Even more, he simply wanted to be with her and uncover each and every layer of her intricate personality. Only, what just happened bothered him. How had that kid recovered so quickly? Could Geena really be a healer? Being a cop, Jared dealt in facts. This psychic stuff was a little too obscure for him. Maybe, the toddler wasn't as sick as he had thought.
Geena's room was small and modest yet as charming as its occupant. Being part of a turret, long sash windows covered over half the wall space. Lace drapes fit in with the romantic hodgepodge of Victorian furniture and Tiffany lamps. A collection of seashells, rocks and childish ceramics decorated a cherrywood curio, while a floor to ceiling bookcase housed hard-bound, second-hand books. The kitchen area, containing a drop-leaf table and two Shaker style chairs, occupied one corner. She didn't have a stove or oven, only a microwave and miniature refrigerator. Geena's day bed was partially hidden by sheer tie backs. A menagerie of pillows tucked themselves around an enormous black cat. He had only one eye and a scar that split his little fur face in half.
"Blackbeard," Geena said, as she put her paraphernalia in a closet, then opened the refrigerator. "I wouldn't get too close, he bites."
Jared had already begun to stroke the cat. "He seems friendly enough to me."
Geena smiled. "I don't believe it. He likes you."
"Is that so amazing?"
"Well, yes. He doesn't like strangers."
"My cat, Cleo, is the same way. She was curled up in my shirt earlier. He must be attracted to her scent."
"No. I think, like me, he can tell you're a decent man."
Purrs vibrated under Jared's massaging fingers. "How do you know I'm decent, Geena?"
She hesitated. Color flooded her face. "I just do." Then, "You know my name."
Jared didn't even blink. "That priest, isn't that what he called you?"
"Yes, Geena Anne Ryan. I'm director here at the shelter, And you're..."
Jared should have pulled out his badge. He couldn't. He feared it would change the easy camaraderie springing up between them. Besides, it was the middle of the night and time to stop being a cop. "Jared," he said, "Jared Kincaid."
"Well, Mister Kincaid, you..."
"Jared," he repeated.
Her smile widened. "Well, Jared, you have a choice: peanut butter and jelly or jelly and peanut butter?"
He pulled a thoughtful pose. "Hard decision. How about just peanut butter? And, I'll make it for both of us. It's time you put your feet up."
"My goodness, not only is the man handsome, he cooks too."
"I'm a real catch, better reel me in fast," he said with a teasing grin.
She bit her bottom lip. Something gentle softened her expression. "I knew you had one in you."
"One what?"
"Smile. You should do it more often. It takes a woman's breath away."
Her flattery touched him like a gentle breeze. "Don't you know it's dangerous to talk to a man like that? He might start to think he could have his way with you."
Geena dropped her gaze, but not before Jared saw the guileless look in her eyes. In amazement, he realized he could do just that. This woman trusted him. She didn't know a thing about him, yet he didn't sense a single barrier. Christ, it would be so easy to take advantage of such vulnerability. Jared never would. He didn't deserve such trust, but he accepted it like a priceless gift.
"Tell me where I can wash my hands, then I'll get to those sandwiches."
She pointed to a pedestal sink in a small alcove near the kitchen area.
After they had sandwiches, fruit and mugs of hot chocolate, they discussed their mutual enjoyment of the city's attractions from the Franklin Institute to the Art Museum as well as the various sports events at the Spectrum and Stadium. Jared found himself liking Geena more and more. Her laugh was infectious. Her insights were alternately comical or deeply insightful. He could listen to her talk forever. Only, he quickly found himself wanting to do more than just talk. Was it too soon to kiss her? With another woman he wouldn't have hesitated. With Geena, he wanted to make sure he wasn't misreading the invitation in her eyes. Besides, dammit, he was forgetting the most important obstacle. She was a suspect. He had to stop forgetting that. He had to stop wanting her with such intensity. Yeah, right hot shot, spitting in the wind would be easier.
Still, for an instant, he imagined taking her into his arms. His lips would tease at first, then grow bolder, harder, more insistent. He'd experiment with her sweet inner regions, wait for her to respond, then act on those responses, following her lead, fulfilling her every desire. Then... Jared caught his breath. He refused to take the fantasy any further. He didn't want to test the limits of his restrain.
Watching her yawn, he knew it was time to leave.
Only, Geena still thought he was homeless. Before he could protest, she had pulled out the trestle from under her daybed and offered it to him.
"You don't know me well enough to trust me like this."
"You had ample opportunity to harm me if that was your intention."
"But, I have a place of my own."
She gave him a look of disbelief. "It's too late to go there now." She smiled. "Don't worry, I'm too tired to seduce you."
Recalling his erotic imaginings, he chuckled. "You're the one who should be worried."
"Naw, you're harmless," she said and retreated to the bathroom.
Cocking a brow, Jared had the irresistible urge to show her just how harmless he could be. Instead, he pulled off his sneakers, vest and flannel shirt, but left on his tee-shirt. He started to undo his belt buckle and thought better of it. He wanted her to know he wouldn't take advantage of her kindness.
Geena emerged from the bathroom engulfed in the largest white flannel nightgown he had ever seen. It floated past her ankles while enormous ruffles swallowed her hands. A Peter Pan collar, edged with lace, circled her neck. Tiny pearl buttons ran all the way down the front. The gown went beyond modesty, yet Jared still felt himself swell with desire. He couldn't stop thinking about undoing those buttons one lingering moment at a time.
Totally unaware of her affect on him, Geena smiled softly. "If you'd like to trade, I'll sleep on the trestle. The bed might be more comfortable."
"I'm fine," Jared said, trying to keep the passion out of his voice. "Night, sweet thing."
She didn't respond, only touched his cheek before climbing into bed. Within minutes, Jared heard her steady breathing and knew she was asleep. Sitting up, he stared at the perfect symmetry of her features, the coppery lights shimmering in her wild hair, the slender arch of her neck.
He lifted his hand and held it inches away from the swell of one breast. Tremors ripped through him as he felt her body heat. His own body tightened with unbearable need. He yanked his hand away lest he give into the temptation to touch her. When that happened, he wanted her aware and responsive.
The cat, curled up next to her, lifted his head and meowed softly.
"Don't worry, fur face, I won't bother her," Jared commented. Yet, he continued to study her for a full five minutes. She was so beautiful. Jared, though, was more attracted to the beauty of her soul. It wouldn't take much to fall for a woman like her. Could she learn to care about him in return?
"What do you think, fur face? Do you think she can ever be interested in a jaded cop like me? I don't want just sex, y'know. I want something that's good and solid and lasting. Is it possible? Do I dare take a chance?"
The cat meowed again.
"You're right. I'd be a fool not to try."
Only, Jared knew he had to wait. Dating a suspect just wasn't the wisest move. Still, he couldn't resist planting a soft kiss on Geena's forehead before drifting into sleep himself.
It felt like only moments had passed when a terrified scream cut through his consciousness.
CHAPTER THREE
Thunder exploded. Lightning split the sky. A driving wall of water drenched Geena's habit. Yet, she ran as she had run so many times before. Only to be caught and punished in ways that made her even more determined to escape. This time, there would be no mercy if they caught her.
"Hurry," her friend Emma called from several steps away.
"I'm trying," she muttered with a gasp.
She didn't have her friend's long legs, or her energy. Geena hadn't been allowed to eat for days. Emma kept getting farther away.
Another bolt of lightning shattered the night. The forest turned eerie, haunted, then the darkness returned, swallowing Geena under its protective cloak. Shouts from her pursuers warred with deafening thunder and snarling dogs. Beams of light pierced the night, catching her fleeing form like a web. They saw her. They were closing in. Pure primitive fear grew like a twisted vine, fear that had a name, fear that had been her constant companion since before she had memories. Geena kept running. Icy air tore in and out of her lungs. Rain lashed at her eyes. Pain pierced her side. Then she saw a light glimmering through the darkness like a beacon. It was a place of safety. She was almost there... almost...
Someone grabbed her arm and flung her to the ground. Terror and pain erupted as fisted blows found tender flesh; as harsh, merciless kicks cracked ribs. It went on and on until she longed for oblivion. They wouldn't allow it. They kept her awake, making sure she experienced a full measure of retribution. Finally, they hanged her by her wrists from a branch and left her to the storm.
Geena bolted upright. Lost in the nightmare, fear pumped through her veins. She still saw lightening crash around her. She screamed once more.
Strong arms engulfed her. "Shh. It's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you. It's okay."
She clung to the muscular body like a drowning woman to a life line. She took huge, gasping gulps of air. "I won't cry. They can't see me cry," she said in a small, terrified voice.
"Go on, sweet thing, cry. It's okay."
"No more! Please, no more!"
"No more," the velvety voice complied. "You're all right now. Shh..."
A gentle hand caressed her hair. The soothing voice went on and on until reality finally severed the nightmare's paralyzing hold. She extracted herself from an all too comforting embrace, and felt herself flush with embarrassment.
"I... um.... nightmare," she explained.
Even though Jared released her, he remained on the bed. "Care to talk about it? I heard it sometimes helps."
She shook her head. "No, I just..." She pulled knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her calves. Her entire body trembled. "I'm just over-tired. When I don't get enough sleep, I have nightmares."
His gray eyes softened with compassion. "Then you'd best go back to sleep, sweet thing. It's past two, morning's already here."
She couldn't sleep after that nightmare. Oh Lord, when would the past stop haunting her? She turned back to Jared, taking comfort in the light of his aura. Who was this man? He had the right outfit for the street, but none of the right moves. He was too confident, too bold and self-contained. She should have known more about him before she allowed him to sleep in her room. His aura, though, told her things that transcended worldly concerns. Jared Kincaid would never hurt her. She could trust him with her life.
"I might have the dream again if I go back to sleep," she admitted.
"It was a visit to hell, wasn't it?"
She shivered. "Yes."
His aura reached out to her. "Talk to me."
"I'd rather just be held," she said, knowing she shouldn't ask; but unable to stop herself.
Without hesitation he pulled her back into his arms. "Go to sleep."
"You won't leave?"
"I'll hold you all night if you want."
"It's too much to ask."
Jared refused to let the passion she elicited show in his voice. "I'm glad you trust me enough to ask."
"You're wonderful, Jared Kincaid."
Jared wasn't used to such constant flattery, yet it eased pain he hadn't even been aware existed. The woman was a tonic to his soul. "You make me feel wonderful, sweet thing. Now, go to sleep."
Like before, sleep claimed her within minutes. Jared's libido wouldn't allow him that luxury. Instead, he spent the night wishing he could take an icy cold shower.
* * *
In the morning, Jared was gone before Geena woke. Warm contentment spread through her entire system as she read a note promising to return. No one had ever captivated her like this before. Years ago, she had ignored a man's aura and attempted to build a relationship. It was a disaster. Now, she realized she had forced something that went against her own natural instincts. With Jared, nothing would ever be forced. Their relationship would grow and blossom into something wondrous and permanent. Only, she had to stop acting like an adoring adolescent. Sure, she knew they were an ideal match, but only the good Lord knew what Jared thought of her. For the first time in her life, Geena wished she was glamorous and alluring. Then again, Jared didn't seem the type to be attracted to such a woman. She only hoped he would see beyond her plain appearance and discover their compatibility.
Over the next few days, Jared showed up every night to volunteer his help. Although he made rounds with her, he refused her offer of a place to sleep. She felt a little hurt. Although knowing how easily she could make a fool of herself, she also felt relieved and contented herself with simply enjoying his company.
Being with him was pure pleasure. He had a considerate disposition and a way of defusing tense situations. A fierce temper lurked in the shadows of his aura, yet his restraint was as remarkable as his sensitivity and endurance. He matched her late hours and never complained about the lack of heat in the van or the grueling pace Geena set. He treated winos, drug users and bag ladies with respect and kindness.
Much to Geena's disappointment, he didn't make any romantic overtures. Her mind, though, refused to stop creating erotic images. It happened every time she caught a whiff of his intoxicating cologne, or when his hand or arm would accidentally brush against her. Once, in the van, they both reached for a thermos. Their lips were only inches apart. Their eyes clashed. She couldn't breath or think, only want. She had moistened her lips in deliberate provocation. Yet, he pulled away, leaving her so aroused, she could barely concentrate on her job. Was she that repulsive to him? If so, why did he continue to come night after night. Plus, he obviously cared about her welfare. Never failing to bring a thermos of hot coffee and a platter, he made sure Geena no longer skipped dinner. He always deferred to her authority, but would wheedle her out of going into a dangerous situation. As they worked the streets, they discussed everything from the fate of humanity to novels and classic movies. Neither, though, spoke of their past. And Geena never asked where he went during the day, or where he slept at night. He was entitled to his privacy. Besides, she believed that he'd eventually confide in her. For now, she simply enjoyed every moment and prayed he wouldn't disappear.
That fear was sparked one night when he didn't show up. As she sought out the homeless, she also searched for Jared. Fear nearly paralyzed her as she considered a multitude of horrors. Once she finished for the night, she parked the van and sat on the stoop outside the shelter's side entrance. She couldn't go in, knowing he might be out there hurt and helpless. Tears burned her eyelids, but Geena had learned long ago the futility of crying. The cold and dark closed around her, yet she remained motionless.
After what seemed like an eternity, he appeared. Dark smudges circled his eyes. His face looked drawn and exhausted. His jeans were torn with patches of dirt and grease. To Geena, he would look wonderful draped in mud.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I had to take care of something."
Geena couldn't stop herself from climbing into his arms. "I was so scared. I thought... Oh, never mind, you're here now. That's all that matters."
After squeezing him once more, she stepped away. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment. "I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"Oh for Christ's sake, Geena, we've spent the night together." He grinned sheepishly. "Of course, it was the most chaste night I have ever, ever spent with a woman. But, I held you for hours. I truly like the feel of you in my arms."
Geena couldn't stop smiling. "Hungry?" she asked.
"Starving," he replied. "Remember that diner I told you about?"
She tossed him the keys to the van. "Chili, wasn't it?"
Though the diner had seen better years, it was immaculate with the fragrant aroma of apple pie and coffee drifting over chrome and linoleum. Since they were the only customers, Geena and Jared had their choice of booths.
Once they ordered, Geena slipped off her coat. She wore a wide collared blouse and black skirt. It was a simple outfit, but it still managed to emphasize her delicate figure. Jared had to drag his gaze away from the gentle swell of her breasts. His hormones hadn't been this active since puberty. He didn't know how much longer he could keep their relationship platonic. He was in a constant state of arousal. It didn't help that she kept looking at him with such longing. Or, was that just wistful thinking? If she wanted him, she would make it known, wouldn't she? Still, it didn't matter. He needed to find out more about her involvement with Sister Emanuella. Until then, he couldn't allow a sexual relationship.
Over the last few days, he'd had half his squad working on the nun case and the other half, along with his help, stalking a sadistic murderer that preyed on elderly women. They had finally captured the creep just hours before and had enough evidence to crucify the bastard. The nun case, however, had gone nowhere. It was as if this killer appeared out of thin air and then disappeared the same way. At least Jared had been able to keep it out of the press. The sisters at OLP, though, wanted Sister Emanuella's body back for burial. He couldn't leave Geena out of this any longer. In fact, he should have told her everything up front. Only, some inexplicable bond had sprung up between them. Part of it had to do with the way she looked at him. He could drown in those guileless eyes. The rest of it, he couldn't explain. Yet, he didn't want to destroy it either. Telling her she was a possible suspect in a murder investigation could very well do just that.
"Geena," he began awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say.
"Yes," she prompted.
"We have to talk."
"I know. You've been trying to tell me something for the last few nights."
He stared at her in amazement. "Yet you never asked."
She covered one of his huge hands with both her delicate ones. "I knew when you were ready you'd tell me."
Jared stared at her slender fingers and clean buffed nails. Her hands weren't perfect. Not only were they chapped from the cold, but both pinkies were slightly crooked as if they hadn't been set properly after a break. They were the loveliest hands he had ever seen.
Reluctantly, he pulled away, reached into his pocket and flipped open his badge. "I'm a cop."
He expected anger for his duplicity. Instead, he received the type of smile that made his blood pulsate. The woman was incredible.
"I should have guessed. I could tell you didn't belong to the streets."
"I thought I blended in pretty well."
"Superficially, yes. It's just that..." She paused and bit her lip. "I guess I'm more observant than most."
Jared suspected she wanted to say something different, but had thought better of it. Her unexpected caution unnerved him; she was always so open. Did his occupation bother her after all?
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked
"I'm investigating a murder."
"And..."
"You're a suspect."
A note of hurt crept into her tone. "Oh, so that's why you've been hanging around."
"I've been hanging around because you're an intriguing woman, Geena. I wouldn't be a red-blooded American male if I didn't find you attractive."
"Oh," she said, blushing a becoming shade of pink. "Um, well, um..." A small, nervous laugh escaped her lips. "Most men don't look beyond a woman's window dressing. I'm impressed."
The statement confused Jared. Wasn't she aware of her own beauty? How could a woman be that beautiful and not know? Before he could question the remark, Geena smiled. It made him forget what he was thinking.
"I'm a bit confused. Do you or don't you think I'm a murderer?"
"I don't think you killed anyone, Geena. It's just that you were the last person to see the victim alive."
She seemed to pull inward, braced for distressing news. "Who was it?"
Just then the chili and coffee arrived. Geena pushed the bowl aside. "Tell me."
Jared took in her pallor, the unnatural brightness in her tired eyes. He slid the bowl back. "Eat. It can wait a few more minutes."
She hesitated a moment, then picked up her spoon.
After he handed the waitress a twenty and told her to keep the change, Jared knew he couldn't procrastinate any longer.
He patted his pockets, searching for his notebook. He found a cigarette, then the notebook, matches, and a lead pencil. He emptied his pockets, opened the notebook, and toyed with the cigarette.
"Geena, before I tell you the victim's name, I need to know where you were midnight, Tuesday, January 11 of this year?"
"You smoke too much," she said.
He stared at the cigarette. "Yeah, it's a nasty habit I can't seem to shake. Now, about January 11..."
Before he could finish, Geena reached across the table and caressed first his cheek, then his forehead. A hot jolt of something he couldn't identify liquefied his limbs. For several minutes, he sat there, totally paralyzed. Her hands slid down his arms and captured his fingers. A blinding white light seemed to build around them. Jared never felt more at peace. All the while, Geena's voice rose and fell in a soothing credence that he couldn't understand.
Then, just as suddenly as she had touched him, she pulled back. Desolation filled him as if a very vital part of his being had been surgically removed. Geena sat there as if nothing had happened, making him wonder just what had happened. About to speak of it, he noticed that she suddenly looked even more exhausted. Her complexion was as fine and white as lace. In contrast, dark circles appeared under her eyes. Concern for her over-rode everything else.
"Are you okay?"
"Of course," she stated. "Wasn't January 11 last Friday?"
"Do you want to go back to the shelter?"
"Jared, I'm fine. Really."
He hesitated a moment longer, promising himself to keep on eye on her. "Yes, it was."
"Will everything I tell you be confidential?"
Jared stared at the cigarette. The thought of smoking was suddenly distasteful. Breaking it in two, he tossed the cigarette into an ash tray. "Depends on whether or not it's needed in court."
"Then, I can't tell you," she said.
"That's not an option."
Folding her hands primly on her lap, Geena lowered her gaze. "Telling you could get someone I care about in trouble."
"Geena, we're talking about murder here."
She hesitated an instant longer, then, "I'm sorry. You're right. I was visiting a friend. She..."
Before Geena finished, the door to the diner burst open, letting in a frigid blast of air. Both Geena and Jared looked up. A bearded priest, with dark, bold eyes and a Fedora, leaned heavily on a cane as he limped towards their table.
Geena groaned. "Is it too late to hide?"
"Who?" Jared started, only to be interrupted by the priest.
"So, this where ya be, Sister Geena Anne. I go on a simple retreat and come back to discover the devil himself gettin' ya into mischief."
"Sister," Jared uttered in a weak, startled tone. "As in nun?"
"No..." Geena started, only to be interrupted by the priest.
"Of course, as in nun, ya imbecile."
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