In Destiny's Shadow

Her carelessness jarred her. “Thanks for your concern, but as you can see, I’m fine. And I believe I already mentioned to you how I don’t take orders.”

“It was advice, Melina.”

“We won’t quibble over semantics,” she said, deciding it was time to take control of the situation. She stepped forward, expecting him to move aside. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant downstairs.”

He didn’t budge. “I’ll walk down with you.”

She wished she had taken the time to put her boots on—she could have used the psychological advantage of the extra three inches. Not that she felt threatened by Anthony’s presence, which was odd, considering his size. He had to be at least six foot two, maybe three, and he’d already demonstrated how easily he could manhandle her. Back in that alley, he had picked her up and lugged her around as if she weighed nothing.

So why wasn’t she nervous? He had appeared uninvited in her hotel room, she’d known him for less than six hours and she didn’t entirely trust him. Source or not, why didn’t she simply step around him, grab her boots and leave?

Those were good questions. She didn’t have answers for them, other than to chalk up her lack of fear to a gut feeling.

Her gaze dropped to his throat. She noticed his pulse beating at the base of his neck where he’d left his shirt collar unfastened. She caught a hint of his scent, the musk of warm male skin, and she remembered how she had felt when he’d sheltered her with his body.

A few dark hairs showed at the top of his shirt. She had a sudden urge to test their texture with her fingertips, to unfasten more of the buttons and slip her hand inside and run her palm over his bare chest and drag her lips across the swells of his muscles and—

She didn’t realize she had moved nearer until her toes came up against the hard leather of his shoes.

She blinked and leaned back. When had she leaned forward? And when had she lifted her hand? Her fingers were only inches away from his top shirt button. She snatched her hand away and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. The touch made her shudder—her lips were tingling.

What on earth had just happened?

Melina didn’t know what to say. She felt ridiculous. How could she explain reaching for him like that? He must think she was coming on to him. All right, she found him attractive, even compelling, but she was a mature, rational woman. She wasn’t ruled by her impulses. She clenched her jaw and looked up.

God help her, she wanted to reach for him again.

“On second thought, Melina,” Anthony murmured, turning away, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

There were only a dozen people in the hotel dining room—November seemed to be a slow time of year for the Pecos—so Anthony had his pick of the tables. He chose one at the far end, near the terrace doors, where the ventilation system and the music that played through the speakers in the wall would mask any conversation. The spot also provided him with a good view of all the exits and the courtyard beyond the terrace, as well as everyone in the room.

He draped his jacket over the chair back, ordered coffee, then angled himself so he could study the other guests over the rim of his cup. Beneath the wrought-iron chandelier that hung in the center of the beamed ceiling, four men in suits sat at a round table. Businessmen, from the look of them, he decided, likely no threat. A young couple, possibly honeymooners, were at a table secluded behind a clay planter full of cacti. A small, middle-aged woman with a colorful fringed shawl draped around her shoulders sat by herself in a corner. The rest of the patrons were seated in pairs or alone, all of them occupied with their meals, none of them particularly suspicious.

Still, Anthony remained alert, observing their reactions as Melina entered through the archway from the lobby. He looked for anyone who paid too much attention, or was trying to seem as if they were paying no attention at all. He was confident no one had followed Melina and him when they had left the Grand, so they should be safe here for a while, but he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.

And he couldn’t afford to get distracted, either. What was happening to his control? Maybe it was fatigue. Or maybe it was Melina. The mere sight of her walking across the room toward him was making his pulse race.

She had a straightforward, no-nonsense stride, her slender legs making quick work of the distance to the table that Anthony had selected. She likely had no idea how tantalizing she looked, with her hair tumbling in rich curls over her ivory sweater, and her skirt swaying in rhythm with her hips. Her boot heels clicked delicately on the wood floor, a sweetly feminine sound. Her chin was lifted, her fingers were wrapped around the strap of her shoulder bag and there was no smile on her face—she was obviously prepared for business. Yet, except for the honeymooner, she drew the regard of every man she passed.

Anthony wiped his palms on his thighs and rose to hold out her chair.

She seemed startled by the courtesy—startled enough to look at his face.

Oh, hell, Anthony thought. She wasn’t helping his concentration. The moment her gaze met his, her eyes darkened. A flush pinkened her cheeks. Beneath her sweater, her breasts lifted with her quickened breathing.

He’d wondered about it last night, but after what had happened—or almost happened—in her room a few minutes ago, there was no longer any doubt in Anthony’s mind. It was obvious to him that Melina was as attuned to the sexual connection between them as he was.

The strength of the connection likely puzzled her—she would have no way of understanding the source. Few people outside his family knew the full extent of his special, psychic ability. Fewer still knew about its peculiar side effects.

Anthony’s ability was a legacy from his mother’s Gypsy heritage. He could sense and control energy fields. That was how he’d caused the transformer in the alley to overload, and how he’d guided the live wire into swinging in the direction he’d wanted. It was how he’d deactivated the electromagnetic lock on Melina’s hotel room door a few minutes ago when he’d heard her moan. Normally, he was extremely precise in his manipulations. Sometimes, though, the excess power he gathered in order to exercise his talent…spilled.

In the right circumstances, the effects of the stray energy were the same as arousal—accelerated pulse, increased sensitivity to touch, raised sexual awareness. Not everyone sensed it. When they did, Anthony did his best to tamp it down.

He hadn’t been very successful tamping anything down when it came to Melina. The effect had never been this strong or this swift before.

He was careful to avoid touching her as he pushed in her chair, yet a trace of her perfume reached him, anyway. It was a mixture of floral and musky tones, soft and sensuous, making his nostrils flare. For a greedy moment, he inhaled. He thought about sweeping aside her hair and pressing his nose to the pulse point behind her ear.

She wouldn’t object, not if he opened the connection fully. The fact that he could smell her perfume meant her body heat was already elevated. They fit together well. And he’d been so alone for so long….

But he couldn’t do it. Damn, he was crazy to consider it. The safety of his family was at stake. He wouldn’t risk it for what would only be a fleeting pleasure, a temporary relief. He knew what he wanted from Melina. How many times did he have to remind himself that it wasn’t this?

He returned to his chair, picked up his coffee and drained the mug. The liquid was no longer scalding, but it was hot enough to burn his tongue. He concentrated on the prick of pain. It was almost as effective as a cold shower. He reined in his power as well as his thoughts.

Melina cleared her throat and busied herself with her purse. Her hair swung forward, hiding the blush on her cheeks.

She looked embarrassed, as well as confused, Anthony thought. That was understandable. He judged she wasn’t the kind of woman who normally got carried away by her passions; several times he’d seen her try to suppress them. She had the right idea. It would be easiest for both of them if they didn’t acknowledge this…complication.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, withdrawing a small notepad from her purse, “I’d like to get started right away.”

He glanced around the room to verify that no one was sitting close enough to overhear. “Fine with me. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Exactly,” she said. There was a small earthenware vase of dried wildflowers on the table. She pushed it aside and set her notepad in front of her. Her hands weren’t quite steady. She took a pen from the pad’s spiral spine and clicked it a few times with her thumb.

He spotted a waiter approaching. “Breakfast is on me, Melina,” he said.

“Thanks, but this is my interview, so breakfast is on the Daily Journal.”

“You must have a generous boss.”

“Yes. We work well together.”

Something in her tone caught his attention. Before he could pursue it, the waiter arrived to take their orders. The moment he left, Melina flipped through her notepad to a clean page and made a scribble at the top. “All right, Anthony. You claim your friend was attacked by Titan’s people.”

He thought of the last time he had seen Jeremy. The man he had known for almost twenty years had been unrecognizable. He’d been swathed in bandages, hooked up to machines and fighting for his life. “Claim? There’s no doubt there. I know they did it.”

“Because they wanted information about you and your sisters. Is that right?”

He nodded. “My sisters and I used to work for Jeremy Solienti, the man who was attacked. I still do.”

“The first thing I’d like to know is why Titan is interested in your family. Was this the prelude to an extortion attempt?”

“He didn’t want money. He wanted us.”

Melina looked up. “But why?”

It had taken Anthony months to figure out the answer to that question. He decided to give her only part of it. “To understand that, you have to know Titan’s real identity.”

Melina’s fingertips whitened as she squeezed her pen. “This had better be on the level,” she said.

“It is.”

“I’ve been tracking this guy since June, when he started moving his drug network from Europe to North America.” She lowered her voice. “Interpol had nothing on his background. He seemed to appear out of nowhere with his one name. He’s a fanatic about secrecy. No one I’ve talked to will tell me who he is or where he came from, so how do you know?”

Anthony saw the spark in her eyes. He had a moment’s regret that it was because of her story, not him. But this was what she was here for. “Tell me where he is,” he said.

She frowned. “I promised to call you when I’m ready to break my story. You can be there when he’s arrested.”

“Not good enough. I need to know now. Every minute he’s free is too long.”

“That’s not the deal we agreed on.”

“We’re making a new one.”

She tossed her pen down. “Don’t play games with me, Anthony.”

“It’s no game. I know who Titan is. I saw him commit his first murder. How much is that worth to you?”

She braced her forearms on the table and leaned toward him. “Who is he?”

“Where is he?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you what I know as soon as you tell me who Titan is.”

Anthony probed her gaze, trying to discern whether she meant to keep her word. It was difficult to gauge—she had her defenses back up and firmly in place—but he was fairly certain he’d pushed her as far as she would allow.

She didn’t respond well to his bullying. He couldn’t help admiring that. She reminded him a little of his sisters that way. He dipped his chin in agreement and waited until she had retrieved her pen. “Titan’s real name is Benedict Payne,” Anthony said. “He’s an American. Fifty-eight years old. His last known address in the United States was in North Carolina.”

Melina listened, her expression a mixture of concentration and excitement. “Wyatt, North Carolina?”

“That’s right.”

“I went to Wyatt because I heard the FBI were investigating there. I didn’t find anything about Titan, so I thought it was a dead end.”

“Most of the relevant records were destroyed. You would have needed to know what to look for to connect Titan with Payne.”

“And what would that be?”

“Around thirty years ago, Benedict Payne worked at a fertility clinic in Wyatt run by his older sister, Agnes. He had been expelled from college for selling drugs, so she gave him the job to keep him out of trouble. Not because she cared, but because she didn’t want him drawing any more attention from the cops. She had her own illegal schemes going.”

“That’s some family.” Melina made some more scribbles on the paper. “You’re giving me great material, Anthony. Please, go on.”

“Agnes Payne is dead now.”

“Tell me more about this Benedict Payne.”

“He had a wife. Her name was Deanna Falaso.”

“Falaso. Is that Italian?”

“Romanian. She married him to get a green card. He tricked her into believing it was love.”

“That sounds like Titan. Do you know where Deanna is now?”

The memory sprang full-blown into Anthony’s head. The argument, the screams, the choking scent of gardenias from the clothes in the closet, all of it as vivid as the night it had happened.

“Stay here with your sisters, Tony. Be a good boy and don’t make a sound until Mommy comes back. Promise me you’ll take care of them, okay? Stay here, no matter what.”

Ruthlessly, he took control of the memory. He’d suppressed it for most of his life, but it had resurfaced in its entirety two months ago, when he’d been in Wyatt himself. His mother’s death remained as raw in his mind as the day it had happened. It was only one part of the truth he had learned. He had yet to come to terms with any of it.

He tightened his fists on the table, feeling the familiar rage stir. Anger had been his constant companion throughout his life. He hadn’t understood its source until two months ago, when he had fully remembered the night it had started.

He was angry at Benedict, the man who had pretended to be his father. He was angry at fate. Most of all, he was furious with himself, haunted by the helpless guilt he felt for being unable to save his mother.

“Anthony?”

“She’s dead. He murdered her.”

“When? Can you give me more details?”

“Yes, I can give you details. It was summer, a hot night, and she was wearing a ruffled sundress. He’d beaten her, so there was blood on both of them. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The veins on his arms bulged like snakes as he strangled her with his bare hands.” Anthony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to contain the rage. He couldn’t let himself be drawn into it now. “It was twenty-eight years ago. I was three at the time. He never knew I saw it.”

“Oh, my God. That was the murder you said you witnessed.”

“Yes. I had blocked out the memory of it until—” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I went to the house in Wyatt where it happened. It came back to me then.”

“Why were you in the house, Anthony?”

“I used to live there. Deanna had six children. Two sets of triplets. I’m the firstborn.”

Melina set her pen down. She looked at him for a while, her gaze brimming with sympathy. “You saw Titan kill your mother.”

“Yes. Afterward, he left the country and assumed a new identity to avoid the law.”

“Then that means Titan is…”

Anthony shook his head fast before she could complete the sentence. That was something else he’d only found out two months ago. The one piece of good news. “He isn’t my biological father. He’s sterile. No blood of his runs in my veins. My siblings and I were fathered by a donor. I have the files that prove it.”

“Oh, Anthony. You were so young when your mother was killed. What happened to you and the other children?”

“I don’t know where the younger triplets ended up. My two brothers and my youngest sister were infants at the time. My other two sisters, Danielle and Elizabeth, and I were taken into the foster care system. Some social worker changed our last name to Caldwell so Benedict couldn’t trace us.”

The terse statements were accurate, but they didn’t come close to describing the devastation that had been wrought to what had been a close family. Like the murder, Anthony’s memory of the younger triplets had been blocked out for most of his life, too. Losing his infant siblings on top of losing his mother had been too much for his mind to handle.

“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.”

“Benedict Payne is going to pay for his crimes, whatever he decides to call himself.”

“Yes. He will. Absolutely. But after all this time, why would he want to find you and your sisters if he isn’t your biological—”

“That’s all I’m going to tell you, Melina. I kept my half of our bargain. I told you who Titan is and where he came from.” No longer able to restrain himself, Anthony stood and walked to her side. Gripping the back of her chair with one hand and the edge of the table with the other, he leaned down to bring his face to hers. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Anthony…”

“Tell me.” His muscles hardened. His voice dropped to a rasp. “Tell me where to find the son of a bitch.”

Chapter 3

The lights in the dining room flickered, then brightened. Melina felt her skin prickle, as if a surge of electricity had passed through the air. She rubbed her arms and looked at Anthony.

Had she thought she wanted to know what secrets he hid? Had she been curious about what he kept leashed beneath the surface? She was no longer so certain. The control he usually maintained over his gaze had slipped. What she saw made her pulse pound.

There was anger. Of course, there would be. He had just described in detail his mother’s murder at the hands of Titan. Benedict Payne, she corrected herself. That was his real name. She should be delighted over that piece of information. What a scoop revealing Titan’s identity would be. She had no doubt that Anthony was telling the truth. Whether it was her reporter’s instinct or another gut feeling, she was certain he was sincere.

Yet along with the anger in Anthony’s gaze, there was pain. A deep, tearing anguish that went straight to her heart. His grief struck a chord in her. To lose a parent was painful at any age. She had been twenty when she had lost both of hers, and she had been left so vulnerable, she had been driven to make some horrible mistakes. But for a toddler to witness a murder and then to lose half his family…

What had that done to him? What scars had it left?

She wanted to hold him. It had nothing to do with those sexual impulses he’d stirred before. This was a yearning as basic as the desire for simple human contact. She wanted to reach up and stroke the tightness from his jaw and cradle his cheeks in her hands. She wanted to pull his head to her breasts and comfort him. “Anthony, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Melina,” he said. “I want you to keep your word. Where is the bastard?”

Oh, God. What could she say? She hadn’t deliberately lied. She had never actually told him that she knew.

“Melina?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I can’t answer that.”

His gaze burned into hers. The lights flickered again. “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. A lock of hair had pulled loose from his ponytail. It swung against his face, the soft strand an unexpected contrast to the harsh rise of his cheekbone.

She touched her index finger to the loose hair. It was as soft as it looked. Silky, almost sensuous in the way it curved against her nail. She brushed the strand from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear, then ran her fingertips around the curve to his earlobe. The gold earring flicked gently against her thumb. She slid her thumb down the side of his neck, trailing her fingers over the line of a tendon. His skin was warm and taut, the texture intriguingly male.

He straightened abruptly.

Melina was left with her hand in the air. She looked at it blankly for a moment, then twisted to face the table and groped for her notepad.

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize again. She didn’t. Because, for the life of her, she didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that mindless caress? How could she excuse it? She would be lying if she claimed she didn’t want to touch him.

Dammit, this was so awkward. Why was this happening? He was a source, that was all. He was a potential gold mine of information. With his help, she could build the article she had begun about Titan into Pulitzer Prize material.

But to do that, she had to get Anthony’s cooperation. “Your story moved me,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by—” she lifted her hand and let it drop “—by what I did just now.”

Anthony returned to stand beside his chair. He put his hand on the jacket he’d draped over the chair back, as if he was debating walking out.

Awkward didn’t come close to describing the situation, Melina thought. She wished she knew what was wrong with her. “I don’t know where Titan is—I mean, Benedict Payne. Not for certain. That’s why I can’t tell you. But I do know where I’m going to look. Hear me out, okay, Anthony?”

He sat.

Melina took a few moments to steady her breathing before she went on. “The FBI has smashed the Titan Syndicate drug ring and raided all the labs he had established. They had thought they would find him in one of them, but he got away.”

“Benedict’s drugs were only a means to an end,” he said. “It was a moneymaking scheme. He has a bigger agenda.”

“Yes, I’ve believed that all along. He has a base of operations that’s independent of his drug business. I suspect it’s in this state.”

“Why?”

“There are a few reasons,” she said. “Here’s the simplest—the Titan Syndicate has done some business in every state except New Mexico.”

“The area of New Mexico is over one hundred twenty thousand square miles. How do you plan to narrow that down?”

“Fredo told me he couldn’t go home. I think the reason has to do with Benedict, so that’s the next place I intend to start looking. Fredo’s hometown.”

“And what is Fredo’s hometown?”

“I’ll answer that in exchange for the rest of your story.”

He stared at her, his gaze snapping. The music that had been playing unobtrusively in the background of the room was suddenly interrupted by shafts of static.

“It’s basically the same deal as before,” she went on. “Only I’ll want more from you than just one interview. Your involvement with Benedict before he became Titan completes the picture. You know more about his character than I do. If you tell me everything that you know, I’ll be able to combine it with the information I have and we can both get what we want a lot sooner.”

“Melina—”

“This is what I do for a living, Anthony. I’m very good at digging up the truth and putting clues together. The sensible choice for us would be to team up. You can tag along with me while I work.”

There was another burst of static from the speakers. “I can ‘tag along’?” he repeated.

“All right, we could be partners.”

He leaned toward her, his body rigid with tension. “Define partners.”

Her heart thumped. She was honest enough to admit to herself that it wasn’t only from the prospect of getting his story. The width of the table lay between them, yet she felt the force of his gaze make the back of her neck heat and her breasts tingle. But she should ignore that. She had to ignore that. “It would be strictly business,” she said quickly. “We can pool our knowledge and our talents.”

He continued to look at her. “Bringing Benedict to justice isn’t a matter of business for me,” he said. “It’s personal.”