In Destiny's Shadow

A deep, tearing anguish that went straight to her heart. What had it done to him to lose his family as he had? “Anthony, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Melina,” he said. “I want you to keep your word. Tell me where Titan is.”

What could she say? She hadn’t deliberately lied. She hadn’t actually told him she knew. “I can’t answer that.”

His gaze burned into hers. “You said you didn’t want to play games, so don’t.”

He was leaning so close to her that she could see a rim of gold inside the green of his eyes. She brushed a silky, almost sensuous strand of hair from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear. Melina recalled his command. She wanted to do a lot of things with Anthony Caldwell. But playing games wasn’t one of them.

In Destiny’s Shadow

Ingrid Weaver

This book is dedicated to the gracious and talented ladies who told our Family Secrets: Jenna, Marie, Candace, Linda and Kylie.

It’s been way too much fun to call work!

INGRID WEAVER

admits to being a sucker for old movies and books that can make her cry. “I write because life is an adventure,” Ingrid says. “And the greatest adventure of all is falling in love.” Since the publication of her first book in 1994, she has won the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award for Romantic Suspense, as well as the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Suspense. Ingrid lives with her husband and son and an assortment of shamefully spoiled pets in a pocket of country paradise an afternoon’s drive from Toronto. She invites you to visit her Web site at www.ingridweaver.com.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Prologue

Benedict fondled the woman’s body, feeling the stone warm in his hand. No one knew how old she was. Her previous owner, the late collector who had last possessed her, had claimed her age was ten thousand years. She had been caressed like this for eons; her rough edges had been smoothed by the touch of countless handlers. She was squat and gray, not much longer than the length from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, but she contained all the essential elements. Yes, whatever prehistoric craftsman had fashioned this figure knew exactly what mattered most in a female.

He rubbed his thumb across the woman’s breasts, pausing to flick his nail over a distended nipple. No pert, Barbie doll silicon implants on this girl. These breasts hung in a V like heavy, overripe pears, swollen with the promise of nourishment for the child she carried in her belly. She had no face on her tiny head, which was another point in her favor. Her arms were mere suggestions in the stone, short grooves that angled backward out of the way and would be incapable of putting up a fight. Her thighs were wide, her legs short and sturdy. She had no feet because she would have no need to go anywhere. Her sole purpose was to bear children.

The stone grew slippery from the sweat on his palm. Benedict moistened his lips and rubbed harder. Too bad real women weren’t more like this. It would have been so much simpler if Deanna had been like the stone carving, all breasts and womb, no brain. He had entrusted his plans to her body but she had betrayed him. She had stolen the six children who would have given him the future.

She had paid for her crime with her life.

He replaced the priceless figurine in its case. Turning in a slow circle, he contemplated the other treasures that lined the spot-lit alcoves of his inner sanctum. There was a sphere of solid crystal mounted on a pounded copper circlet, a deer hide medicine pouch, a jade amulet, the sword of a Samurai, marble from the Temple of Athena, a fragment of stone from the Pyramid of Cheops…The extent of his collection was too long to list. Every item was reputed to possess mystical powers. And now he possessed them.

That was how it worked. Possess them, possess their power. He was going to need it. His enemies were growing stronger. They had destroyed much of his empire but they would never find him. They didn’t understand that with each blow they struck, they pushed him closer to his ultimate destiny.

Benedict climbed the steps to the platform in the center of the room. At the top was a plain square table and high-backed chair fashioned from alder wood. The chair creaked as it took his weight, the dry wood making a noise like a scream. He laughed at the sound. The wood had been taken from a Welsh valley once said to be used by Druids. Whether their old gods liked it or not, the power that lingered in the wood was his now, too. Soon he would be invincible.

He had reinvented himself before. He would do it again. He had begun life as Benedict Payne. After Deanna’s betrayal, he’d assumed the identity of uber-criminal Titan. His next transformation would be his last. He smiled and slipped a deck of tarot cards from his suit pocket.

Like the stone woman, the edges of the cards had been worn down from handling. He dealt a pattern for himself on the table and turned over the first card. His smile deepened as he saw the figure depicted on the front. It wore different guises in different decks. At times it was a blue-robed sorcerer, other times it was a rabbit, but its true identity remained the same. The Magician—working in secret, gathering power, using any means to control those around him.

Yes, control was the ultimate power, he thought, tapping the card against his lips. Soon, the world would see the culmination of the plan he had set into motion over three decades ago. He had been patient, watching and waiting for the right time to make his move. Five times he’d almost had Deanna’s children within his grasp. Five times they had eluded him.

Yet there was still one left. The firstborn, the boldest, the one who dared to hunt him. This time the hunter would become the hunted. The Magician would prevail.

And then the future would be his.

Chapter 1

“If you help me, Fredo, I’ll help you.” Melina put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the sharp outline of his bones through his denim jacket. He was trembling. The night carried the taste of autumn, but Fredo’s tremors likely weren’t due to the cold. “We don’t have to go to the local police if you don’t want to,” she said. “I know someone in the FBI. They would protect you. They could get you somewhere safe.”

“You don’t understand what Titan’s turning into.” Fredo shrugged off her grasp and stepped from the sidewalk into the alley where the streetlight didn’t reach. “Nowhere is safe. You can’t trust anyone.”

“Fredo—”

“The feds got all his labs. They destroyed his drugs, his equipment, everything. Half his guys were arrested. It made him flip out.”

Wind gusted past the canvas awning of the closed fruit market beside the alley, rattling the strings of dried chilies that hung out front. Melina’s skirt swirled against her calves, the wool rubbing over her suede boots with a noise like stealthy whispers.

She looked behind her to check that the street was still deserted. It was. They were far from the popular tourist haunts of downtown Santa Fe. There were no quaint adobe buildings or historic missions here, just modest shops, video places and liquor stores, all of them closed up hours ago. The only movement she could see came from dead leaves and bits of crumpled paper that skittered along the pavement.

Most women would find the situation unsettling, to say the least. It was two in the morning and she was standing at the entrance to a dark alley with a thief. Yet Melina Becker had faced far worse to get a story. She slipped one arm through her purse strap to loop it around her neck and followed Fredo into the darkness. “Do you know where Titan is now? I heard he has a stronghold. When you called me you said you had information.”

“All I have for you is a warning. You better stop what you’re doing.”

She detected a rising note of anxiety in his voice. Her pulse sped up. She must be closer to paydirt than she had thought. “I can’t stop yet, Fredo. Couldn’t you give me something?”

“You were decent to me once, Melina. That’s why I’m trying to do you a favor now. Why won’t you listen?”

“I’ve put months into this story, and I do realize how dangerous Titan is. I promise he’ll never know you talked to me.”

Fredo laughed, a high-pitched, nervous bark that echoed from the brick walls flanking them. “If you believe he won’t know, for sure you don’t know Titan at all. Ever since the feds raided his labs he’s more paranoid than ever. He scares me. I’m telling you, he flipped out.”

“How? What do you mean?”

“He was always weird, but now he’s over the edge. He’s got a stronghold, all right. It’s a regular fortress. He’s so paranoid now, he never leaves it.”

“Where—”

“Go back to New York. Get out of Santa Fe. Tonight. That’s what I’m doing.”

Melina reached for his arm. “Just give me something, Fredo. Anything. Tell me where to look.”

He turned away before she could touch him, tucking his chin farther into the collar of his jacket. “He’s in plain sight, but even if you look, you won’t see him. Honest to God, he thinks he’s some kind of magician.”

“I don’t understand. What—”

“I can’t go home, but you can.” He started walking toward the rectangle of faint light that marked the other end of the alley. “If you don’t, you’re going to get us both killed.”

Melina hurried after him. Her boot heels resounded hollowly from the walls, making it sound as if she were being followed. She took a second to check over her shoulder, but the shadows appeared empty. When she looked for Fredo again, he was already several yards ahead of her. “Titan’s here in New Mexico, right?” she persisted, increasing her pace. “You can give me that much, can’t you?”

Fredo broke into a jog. “Leave it alone.”

“Wait!” Melina stopped short as she barely avoided running into a utility pole that rose close to one wall. “Fredo, please.”

He dodged past the dark bulk of a garbage bin and left the alley at a run. The street he emerged on was narrower than the one at the other end. It was dimmer, too, lined with warehouses instead of stores. No light showed around the steel doors that were rolled down and locked for the night. Yet before Fredo was halfway across the street, his thin form was suddenly bathed in white.

There was a series of muffled pops. He jerked and stumbled sideways. Dark splotches appeared on his jacket, spreading over the worn denim like giant drops of water.

But it wasn’t raining. That wasn’t water. Melina skidded to a stop at the mouth of the alley and flattened herself against the side of the garbage bin.

Fredo crumpled to the pavement. An engine roared from the darkness, and a yellow van barreled down the center of the street. Gunfire flashed from the open passenger window, illuminating a pale, heavy-joweled face. Fredo’s body continued to jerk. The van lurched. Its right wheels ran over him with a noise like splintering wood. Without slowing down, it reached the end of the block, turned the corner and disappeared.

For an instant, Melina couldn’t move. She felt numb. The bag of chips that had passed for her dinner rose in her throat, making her gag, muffling her building scream. She staggered out of the alley, her legs boneless.

Oh, no. Not Fredo. Poor, hard-luck Fredo. She had just been talking to him. He couldn’t be…

You’re going to get us both killed.

She moved beside him and dropped to her knees. He was dead still, lying on his back, his limbs bent in unnatural angles and his head twisted to the side. His eyes were open, unblinking and already starting to glaze. There was a pool of blood under his cheek. More blood gleamed in the moonlight from the dark holes and the zigzag pattern of lines that smeared the front of his jacket.

The holes were bullet holes. The lines were tire tracks. Those sounds…Oh God! She swallowed hard. Her fingers shook as she extended her hand. She laid her palm on his chest. “Fredo, I’m sorry. I never meant—”

At the noise of an engine, she twisted to look behind her. Headlights swept across the pavement. The yellow van was coming back.

Melina’s mind was reeling from the brutality she had just witnessed. It took her a crucial second too long to process what was happening. By the time she sprang to her feet, the van was mere yards away, the glare of its headlights obscuring everything else.

She tried to jump out of its path, but the soles of her boots slipped in Fredo’s blood and she fell. Sticky warmth seeped through her skirt to her knees.

Oh, God. She was going to die. She didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when she was so close to getting everything she wanted—

She grunted with the impact. But it wasn’t the impact of a one-ton vehicle. A hard, male body slammed into her side, knocking her out of the way an instant before the van surged past.

Tires squealed. The van skidded into a U-turn at the end of the block.

“Let’s go!”

Melina looked up. The man who had tackled her was already on his feet. She had a quick impression of dark hair, broad shoulders and the scent of leather, but there wasn’t time to absorb more. He caught her under her arms and hauled her upright. “Come on!”

She wasn’t sure she could have spoken if she’d wanted to. There was no need. Not if she wanted to survive. Hiking up her skirt, she ran with him into the alley.

The van accelerated behind them, the engine whining with the strain. Mortar and fragments of brick sprayed the air as bullets struck the wall of the buildings on either side of them. The stranger grasped her wrist, spinning her to his chest. With one arm clamped around her waist, he lifted her from her feet and backed her behind the garbage bin at the alley’s entrance, using its bulk and his body to shield her from the bullets and the ricocheting debris. “Hang on,” he said.

She struggled in his embrace. Why was he stopping here? They weren’t safe yet. The alley wasn’t that narrow. The van could squeeze past the bin and they would be caught. “No. We have to keep going.”

He tensed, as if he were gathering his strength. A tremor went through his body, but otherwise he remained motionless.

Tires screeched again, so close, Melina drew in the smell of exhaust and burnt rubber. The van’s headlights swung into the alley. She shoved at the man’s chest. “We can’t stop. They’ll—”

Her words were drowned out by an explosion overhead. Melina stretched on her toes to peer past the stranger’s shoulder. Sparks showered downward from a transformer atop the utility pole she had almost run into when she’d chased Fredo. The air sizzled as something long and thin flicked through the alley above them, weaving like the end of a whip. It was a power line, Melina realized. It must have been severed by a stray bullet. It crackled in a smoking trail where the tip danced across the ground—and it cut off their only escape route.

Metal screeched as the side of the van scraped along the garbage bin.

The stranger scooped Melina into his arms and ran straight for the live wire.

She screamed, clutching the front of his jacket, her fingers digging into the leather.

The wire coiled, snakelike, hissing and spitting. It came so close, Melina felt a prickle of energy shoot through her nerves. She shuddered at the sensation and clung to the stranger. At the last possible second, he veered to the side, ducked safely past and set her back on her feet.

The wire swung directly into the front grille of the van that followed them. Bolts of blue-white brilliance arced along the metal. The engine died, along with the headlights. The van coasted forward a few feet but didn’t clear the steel bin. It stopped, caught between the bin on one side and the building on the other, the doors wedged shut. Sparks shot out from beneath the hood as the current passed through it and found a direct route to the ground. The sparks were followed by flames.

The stranger grabbed her elbow, wrenching her around. He tugged her forward. “Run! It’s going to blow!”

Melina didn’t need any more encouragement. She sprinted with him toward the other end of the alley. For a suspended moment, all she could hear was their pounding footsteps, the noise of their breathing and the hammering of her own pulse. One beat. Two. There was a crackling whoosh. She glanced over her shoulder. The van erupted in flames. One more heartbeat and the gas tank exploded. The alley was engulfed in a fireball.

The shockwave caught them before they could reach the street. The man lunged for her, wrapping his arms around her as they were lifted into the air. He twisted so that he took their combined weight on his back when they hit the ground, then quickly reversed their positions, sheltering her beneath him as embers and pieces of burning wreckage bounced from the walls and the pavement around them.

It seemed to go on forever. Melina tucked her face against his neck and squeezed her eyes shut. Her retinas burned with an afterimage of the fireball. Her ears rang. Her knees stung.

And her nerves were humming as if she were still too close to that live wire.

She struggled to draw air into her lungs. She tasted smoke and ozone…and warm male skin. Her lips tingled where she touched the stranger’s throat. A shiver shook her body. The hair at the nape of her neck stirred.

He rolled off her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and opened her eyes. He was kneeling at her hip, a large, dark silhouette against the fire that crackled behind him. She could see the outline of his square jaw and caught a glint of gold at his ear but she couldn’t see his face. The fire was the only illumination—the streetlights beyond the alley had gone black.

He leaned over to run his hands along her arms and down her legs. He lingered at her knees. “I don’t think that’s your blood on your skirt.”

“No. It’s Fredo’s. I just was talking to him. I can’t believe—”

“I saw what happened. I’m sorry. Was he a friend of yours?”

“I didn’t even know his last name. Oh, God, he—” Her voice broke.

He slipped one arm under her back to help her sit up. “Can you walk?”

She swallowed hard before she could speak again. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…winded. What you did back there…” She sounded scared. Well, she was scared, and she felt sick. But at least she was alive. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Sorry if I hurt you when I grabbed you.”

“We both could have been shot. And that wire—”

“We got lucky.”

“I have to call an ambulance. For Fredo.” She groped for her purse. The strap had twisted around her neck but it hadn’t broken. She pulled the purse to her lap, undid the clasp and shoved her hand inside. “I need my phone.”

“No, you don’t.” He got to his feet and held out his palm. “There’s nothing anyone can do for him now. Or for his killers.”

In her heart, she knew he was right. She had been at enough accident and crime scenes to recognize death when she saw it. Fredo was gone. She squinted at the burning wreckage of the van. Unless they had escaped out the back doors, the people who had killed him were dead, too.

Could she have saved the people in the van if she had gone back to help them? Probably not—everything had happened too fast. If she had tried, she would be dead now, either from electrocution, the explosion or from one of their bullets.

She fought back a wave of nausea. God, this was a nightmare.

“Come on, Miss Becker.” The man leaned over, caught her hand and tugged it out of her purse. “Time to leave before we have more company.”

The slide of his skin against hers sent a strange tickle up her arm, distracting her. She had started to rise before she realized what he had said. She tried to yank her hand free. “How do you know my name?”

He firmed his grasp and pulled her the rest of the way to her feet. “I’ll explain later. You need to get somewhere safe.”

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“My name’s Anthony Caldwell.”

She tried to kick her brain into gear. The name wasn’t familiar—she was sure she had never met him—so how did he know her?

There was a sudden bang and a flare of light from the wreckage. The alley and everything in it was bathed in red. For the first time, she was able to see her rescuer’s face.

Once again, Melina couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. The man’s expression was as unyielding as his grip on her fingers. His features were all harsh lines and sharp angles, too austere to be termed handsome. His hair was thick and raven-black, pulled ruthlessly back and caught by a band at the nape of his neck. A thin gold hoop pierced his left earlobe. He looked hard, uncompromising. Untouchable.

Yet his gaze…oh, those green eyes snapped with power that shot right through her body, jolting her nerves to vivid awareness, sending her racing pulse into overdrive, reaching deep inside where she hid the pain….

She trembled. She felt as if she were being drawn forward. It took all her strength to keep from swaying into him. What was happening here?

The flare of light died. Oily smoke rolled over them. A dog barked somewhere in the distance above the crackle of the flames, jarring her back to reality.

“You have no reason to fear me, Miss Becker,” he said. “We’re on the same side.”

Melina yanked her hand free of his and stepped back. Her pulse still pounded. Traces of awareness trickled down her spine and hardened her nipples. Her nipples? She couldn’t be aroused, could she? Not now. What was wrong with her?

Her reaction to this man had to be shock, that’s all. Or adrenaline. She had to get herself under control. She had to think logically, objectively. Set aside her emotions and put the facts together. That was what she did best. That was who she was.

But who—and what—was he?

Anthony Caldwell was a complete stranger. She definitely had never met him before, or she would have remembered. Any woman would have remembered a man who caused a reaction like that.

She shoved her hand back into her purse. Her fingertips brushed the edge of her phone. This man had saved her life, but that was the only thing about him she knew for certain. The prudent thing to do now would be to call the police. “You said we were on the same side. What does that mean?”

“We both want the same thing.”

She turned the phone in her hand until her thumb was positioned over the keypad. “And what’s that?”

“Titan.”

This wasn’t how Anthony had wanted to play it. He did his best work in the shadows. He had never intended to meet Melina Becker face-to-face. It would have been simpler to follow her until he had the opportunity to take what he needed. But the man who called himself Titan had been a step ahead of him. Again.

Because of that, yet another soul had died.

Anthony’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the steering wheel. How many deaths were on the bastard’s hands now? How many more would there be before Anthony stopped him? Would any of them have happened if he had been stopped twenty-eight years ago, after the first one?