I’ve called your partner, too.”
“Wait a minute! Joe’s on leave. His wife just gave birth.”
“And now he’s back at work.”
A smart-ass and a nice voice. Bad mix. “What’s the case?”
“There’s been an—” he paused a beat “—unusual murder at Rock Creek Park. I need your expertise on the case. I’ve already cleared it with your captain, your chief and the mayor.”
Special Agent Winter not only worked fast, but he had clout in the District, too.
“You’re needed there ASAP.” It hadn’t been a polite command, but his baritone had wrapped the words in silken syllables and offered them up like sensual presents. “How soon can you make it to Rock Creek Park?”
“Two hours.”
“Where are you?”
What agency employed this nosey, bossy special agent? And why was he requesting her on this case? She looked forward to getting those answers. She ignored his question and asked, “Where’s the body?”
“Near the jogging trail next to the zoo. Know it?”
“Yeah.”
“Take the service entrance.”
“Okay, be there soon.”
Fala closed the phone, glad she had thrown in the last word. Now maybe she could clear her mind. It felt as if she had somehow been invaded by the hypnotic richness of Special Agent Winter’s voice. There was something strange about it, forbidden, beguiling, almost tangible. She looked forward to meeting this guy. In fact, she could think of nothing better than to be working. It might take her mind off of her impending marriage. Her grandmother’s disappointed face flashed in her mind, and she knew that had been wishful thinking.
Stephen Winter waved a hand over the cell phone on his desk and it hissed off in the emptiness of his office, not a typical government-issue space. Crystals covered the walls of the pyramid-shaped room, and clear, processed ectoplasm bubbled within the space between the crystals, lending the room an appearance that it was alive and moving. The pyramid acted like a cosmic generator and gathered power from the earth’s core, and a beam of pure energy glowed down from the pyramid’s apex. At the moment the beam was a soft blue, the full moon affecting its power source tonight. When the pyramid was fully charged, as it was now, an alkaloid smell seeped from the ectoplasm. Usually the air vents took care of the odor, but not tonight.
Stephen sniffed and wrinkled his nose. He leaned back in his desk chair, snapped his fingers and Billie Holiday’s sexy voice came from the computer speakers on his desk. He and Billie had a long-standing love affair.
He closed his eyes, meditated on Fala Rainwater and focused all his kinetic energy on her. He felt the narrow parameters of his powers, controlled by the blood-binding cloaking spell he was under. It allowed him one clear portal, a direct connection to Fala Rainwater’s mind. His ability to read other humans’ thoughts had all but faded, a consequence that couldn’t be rectified until the cloaking spell was broken. But he couldn’t break it until he was done with Fala Rainwater. An unavoidable catch-22.
The crystals in the office magnified his bond to Fala a hundredfold, and a mental image of her channeled directly into his mind. This was reality unfolding and he was right in the middle of it. Not a bad place to be at the moment.
His chest thrummed at the sight of her, total traffic-stopping gorgeous. Tight jeans curved along her long, thin legs. A royal-blue sweater fell down and hugged her thighs. The way it clung to her shapely breasts, she could definitely turn male heads. And that straight black hair, bound by a braid as thick as his wrist. It hung down to her waist. Several dark strands had been left to drape her face, the glass beads in them shimmering ivory, silver and blue in the moonlight. Her skin radiated a gorgeous burnt sienna. She should have been cited as a menace to mankind.
He felt the blood rush to his groin, heard the seashell roar of his pulse in his ears. He bounced his leg nervously. Up and down. Up and down. He rubbed the stubble on his chin until his skin felt raw, trying to control this purely carnal response. He might as well try not to breathe.
He couldn’t stop his growing erection, nor could he manage the images of her burned into his psyche: her sexy body in the shower, every inch of her soapy skin wet and glistening; the hue of her long hair as it turned coal black beneath the water. Her high-peaked nipples hardening into little nubs when she was cold and stepped out of the shower. The ritualistic way she secured the towel around her, carefully stuffing it into the hollow of her cleavage. How she cocked her wrist downward when she brushed her teeth and the goofy faces she made at the mirror. The slow agony of watching her dress every morning, and the bittersweet torture of watching her undress at night. Day and night, the torment never let up.
He knew how she took tiny bites and chewed her food. The torturous way she let chocolate linger in her mouth, sucking on it until it dissolved. He’d watched the exact way she slept, curled into a fetal ball. Since he’d come under the binding spell, her life was an open book for him, and he’d paid the ultimate price for reading it. Just this morning he’d dreamed about her, and he awakened aroused and wet, and had to take a cold shower. He hated that his weak human side couldn’t control this desire for her. Somehow he had to get a handle on it. Feelings of any kind were dangerous when tracking a target.
A frown tugged at his lips as he forced his attention back on Fala in present time. Fala, whose lithe coltish strides hurried down the heavily wooded path. He watched her long, slender legs in action, her stiff spine and bearing that of a proud warrior queen. He listened to her breath moving over her lips, heard the soft tread of her booted feet on frozen leaves. She was leaving Patomani sacred ground, alone, and…unmarried. Better and better.
Now for her thoughts. The moment he entered her mind, he slammed into what felt like a brick wall. What had happened on the sacred mound? His kinetic power hadn’t been able to penetrate the holy ground of Whitemags—underworld slang for practitioners of white magic. He’d had to wait until the ceremony concluded. Had the old shifter, Meikoda, cast a protection spell for her granddaughter? He could still see Fala but couldn’t read her thoughts. He cursed his luck.
Up until tonight, before the old Guardian had interfered, Fala had been a perfect subject for autosuggestion. He’d used her own disinclination for her chosen mate and added a few mental prods. It had been easy to give her suggestions that she couldn’t marry the guy, and she’d diligently responded to them with very little mental resistance. It had pleased him that she wasn’t in love with this Akando character. It would make his task easier.
He had to give her credit. Her instincts when it came to choosing a mate were better than that of the bringers of her white magic. At least she knew Akando was all wrong for her. Her life force gave off a white, flaming aura. Akando’s essence hardly made a blip on the male radar. She’d incinerate him and blow away the dust. Was there any man on Earth up to the task of marrying the next Guardian? For a moment he envisioned holding her hand. She wore a ceremonial wedding robe, the same one she’d worn to the hallowed mound, and Stephen was also wearing one—not in this life.
His fingers clenched into fists, and he felt his hands tremble as he forced the vision out of his head. The soothing sound of Billie’s voice washed over him before another unbidden memory surfaced. When he had dipped into Fala Rainwater’s psyche, he’d felt the love she held for her grandmother, sisters and her people. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Fala Rainwater didn’t
