Edge of Darkness

by Cherry Adair

  If he could fool himself into believing that what he felt was purely physical, it would make him feel a damn sight better. But he was a realist, there was nothing laid-back about the intensity of his emotions for Serena.

  Be that as it may, he needed to address the problem of how he felt, and what the hell he could do about it, soon. Very soon. The longer he put off the inevitable, the harder it was going to be. For both of them.

  By tacit agreement they hadn’t discussed Paradise Island since they’d left it the night before. Duncan had teleported her home, then gone back to his London flat where his sheets still smelled of her.

  He’d always been honest with the women he dated. Any other woman, and by now he would have already told her up front that nothing could come of a relationship between them. Some walked away, some stuck around, some hoped for the best.

  Perhaps that was part of his incredibly strong draw to Serena. She didn’t need any explanations, she didn’t have to be convinced. Not only could he tell her about the ancient Curse, he actually had told her, and she understood it. And its ramifications.

  “You’ve been shot four times, had surgery on your kidneys, had your appendix removed, and I counted at least five knife wounds. Did I miss anything?”

  She’d had a damn good look at his body last night.

  He’d had a crush on her since first grade. He’d lusted after her by the time they were sixteen. He’d wanted to kill Trey when the two of them had started dating. Jealousy didn’t even come into it. He’d felt feral seeing his friend with the woman he l—lusted after.

  Thinking about how he felt—hell—wallowing in his…feelings was a useless endeavor. Last night had been an aberration. A lowering of his shields.

  He realized they’d stopped walking, and Serena was looking up at him, a frown between her brows. “Hello?”

  “Yeah, you missed something.” He touched a hand to the back of his head, remembering her fingers tangled in his hair as he pressed his head to her breasts.

  “I was hit on the head a couple of years ago.” In Libya. Tango’s bomb had detonated twenty-two seconds early, jettisoning shrapnel all over hell and gone. The percussion had thrown him, head first, into a truck parked nearby. He’d been unconscious for a week. “That one required twenty-seven staples.”

  Want to kiss all my old war wounds better? Want to touch me? Make love until we can’t move again? Christ, he had it bad. His emotional shields weren’t just lowered. They were down, and blown to shit, just like that tango’s bomb two years ago.

  “That explains the brain damage,” Serena said lightly, pushing open a door. “This is Henry’s roo—Oh,” she said, surprised to see Henry already had a visitor. “Hi, Trey.”

  Trey’s head jerked around when he heard them come in. For a second he didn’t look any more pleased to see them than Duncan was to see him. What the hell was Trey doing here? After his initial surprise, Trey immediately rose from the straight-backed chair beside the bed, smiling his relaxed, easygoing smile as he walked toward them. “Hey, guys. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Yeah whatever, Duncan thought instinctively. She’s mine, asshole. He tried to ignore his flare of irritation as they shook hands briefly. Focusing beyond Trey, he got his first look at Henry.

  Ah, Christ. His friend was hooked up to tubes, monitors, drips, and looked more dead than alive. Duncan had known Henry was in a coma, but seeing him like this made him confront the possibility of Henry’s mortality.

  Serena slipped her cold hand into his. Duncan tightened his fingers around hers, drawing her closer to his body. If it bothered him seeing Henry like this, it must scare her a helluva lot worse.

  “Hey beautiful. No ill effects from the fire?”

  Fuck you, Duncan thought with unexpected savagery. Back off.

  “No.” She smiled at Trey. “I am woman, hear me roar. Winning trumps losing every time. Better luck next time, boys. Oh. No.” Her eyes went wide and wicked with humor. “Sorry. I’m going to win that one, too. Just to put you both out of your misery.”

  “Competitive as always, Fury.” Trey shook his head. “If you win you’ll shock the Council by being the first woman Head in hundreds of years. Give me a kiss hello, before you’re my boss.”

  It pleased Duncan that, when Trey tried to kiss her, she turned her head in time for his mouth to miss hers. He bussed her cheek instead. “The Head of Council isn’t your boss, Sparky. It’s an arbitrator position.”

  “What are you doing here?” Duncan demanded before their friendly fucking repartee made him puke. As far as he knew, Trey hadn’t see Henry since the other man had taught part-time at wizard school some fifteen years ago. Trey wasn’t the sentimental sort.

  “Serena told me about Henry. I liked—like the old guy. It’s not a crime to come visit him, is it?”

  “Of course not,” Serena assured him. She let go of Duncan’s hand, and crossed to sit in the chair Trey had just vacated. Scooting closer to the bed, she lifted the old man’s hand, slipping her own beneath it. Her fingers trembled as she curled them around Henry’s. “Hi Poppy, it’s Serena,” she said cheerfully. “Duncan and Trey came to visit you, too.

  “Did Trey tell you the three of us are all finalists for your job on the Council?”

  Duncan caught Trey’s eye, and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s give them a minute.”

  Trey nodded, following him out into the hall, letting the door swing shut behind him. He gave Duncan a curious look. “What’s the deal between you and Fury? Every time I see you lately, you’re together.”

  Duncan leaned against the wall, most of his attention on Serena agonizing over the only family she had left. He gave Trey a mild look. “We’re all Testing for the same position, remember?”

  Trey grinned as he took up a position against the wall. “If you think you’re going to get lucky, forget it. Unless she’s changed for the better, she won’t put out.”

  Duncan thought of Serena’s cool hair spread across his stomach and thighs as her mouth drove him mindless. “Is that so?”

  “I dated her twice, remember? That year in tenth grade. And for a couple of months again, several years ago. She might be hotter than hell, but I had blue balls both times. Too bad the gift wrap is nothing short of spectacular, but there’s no prize inside.” Trey materialized a Coke. In a glass. With ice. He lifted it to his mouth.

  “Anything new on the killer?”

  “Not yet. It would help if we could pin down a motive.”

  Trey drank from his glass. “Maybe the two men had a common enemy?”

  “Could be,” Duncan muttered noncommittally. It was frustrating to have so little to work with. “Any word on the streets?”

  Trey laughed. “I told you I don’t do streets, Edge. And I’m not likely to learn anything about a serial killer in the circles I do move in. My acquaintances are more likely to dabble in insurance fraud than murder.”

  Which just proved, Duncan thought dryly, that bad guys moved in every socioeconomic level. He wasn’t going to waste his breath debating that with Culver. “Nose around anyway.”

  “Like James Bond?”

  “Yeah. Exactly like double-o-seven.”

  “I’ll start with all the women I’ve screwed,” Trey said with a lascivious smile. “Pillow talk garners the most intimate, delicious information.”

  “I just want to know who knows what about the deaths of these wizards.” Duncan leaned against the wall, and stuck his hands in his pockets. He wondered if he should go inside and see how Serena was doing. “Pillow talks,” he told Trey, annoyed, “unless you’re counting wizards in that number, are useless.”

  Trey winked as two young nurse aides walked past them. “I’ve fucked plenty of female wizards, Edge,” he bragged, turning his head to watch the giggling duo disappear around a corner. “Plenty. I’ll start with them. See if I can help you do your job. Make you look good. That work for you?”

  “I’d appreciate you doing whatever you can to help,”
Duncan said mildly.

  As tempting as it was to shoot his fist into Trey’s teeth for being such an asshole, he wasn’t prepared to leave any stone unturned. Still, Trey was in the right place to have reconstructive surgery done after he was pounded to a fucking pulp. It surprised him how intensely he disliked Culver today. “Catching this guy before he kills again is imperative.” He could hear the soft sound of Serena’s voice behind the closed door as she did a monologue for Henry. He wasn’t totally sure if he believed that Henry could hear her, but he understood Serena’s need to try to reach him. This must be ripping out her heart. He’d seen her at Martha’s funeral—almost inconsolable. Serena didn’t accept death well. Why would she?

  The dead people in Duncan’s life deserved to die, but Serena didn’t live in his world. Ice chinked as Trey twirled his glass between his fingers, and he also turned his attention to the closed hospital door. “At first I thought she was a lesbo, you know? Then I finally realized that she’s just one of those unfortunate women who have absolutely no sex drive. Probably why she married Campbell. For her a match made in heaven. No sex and a shitload of money. For him a hot bit of eye candy to show off to his associates. At his age I doubt he could get it up even if he had a splint taped around it.”

  “Probably,” Duncan agreed blandly, before he changed the topic. Trey was the last person he’d talk to about Serena’s sexuality. “What do you do for a living?” He’d never been interested enough to do a background check. He knew Trey came from money. But maybe he’d wanted to make something of himself, instead of riding on his family’s coattails.

  “Import/export.” Trey pushed away from the wall, getting rid of his drink at the same time. “Tchotchkes from China, electronics from Japan. There’s a shitload of money in crap.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a lunch date, gotta go. Tell Serena I hope Henry recovers. I’ll see you guys at the next Test.”

  Trey waited until a nurse, walking toward them with a tray, slipped into a room. Then he vanished.

  Duncan frowned. Had Trey always had such disregard for women? If he had, Duncan hadn’t noticed it over the years. Or was he just especially attuned to it because of what he and Serena had shared last night?

  He was profoundly pleased that Serena had never had sex with the other man. He’d hated the two of them dating, imagining…Imagining Trey doing what he and Serena had done last night had just about killed him.

  Years ago, he’d agonized, for an embarrassingly long time, about stepping up to the plate. Telling her how he felt—fuck—breaking the two of them up so he could have her. The problem had been that Serena had been fully engaged in her relationship with Trey. And Duncan, even back then when he’d been a randy teenager, had respected that she’d made her choice.

  And maybe, he thought, absently watching a woman emerge into the corridor wheeling an IV stand, followed by what appeared to be several members of her family. Maybe he’d known even then just how dangerous to his future Serena could be.

  Duty o’er love was the choice you did make.

  He, Gabriel, and Caleb had all agreed to stop the Curse from continuing for different reasons. His main reason was, and had always been, that if somehow, the Curse were broken, he might lose his powers. And while his brothers seemed capable of having lives without magic, to Duncan that was who he was. A wizard.

  He wasn’t willing to take the chance that he’d lose his powers. And if the Tests played out as he expected them to do, Serena having won Test One notwithstanding, he’d become Head of the Wizard Council. And the most powerful wizard of all. The only way for him to control his own destiny.

  He wanted that. He’d always wanted that. And by God, he was going to have it.

  Serena went to Schpotistan while Duncan shimmered directly to T-FLAC’s HQ in Montana. The underground command center took up a footprint the equivalent of five city blocks, and was four stories deep underground.

  The bottom floor housed the nerve center of the organization. Direct satellite feed to triple-mounted plasma screens. Fiber optic connections between a wall of surveillance screens from two dozen simultaneous live shots, 3-D infrared imaging superimposed over the topographical map of the Middle East. Wireless and Bluetooth keyboards, voice-recognition-capable phones on every desk.

  “Patch into the T-FLAC radar sat.” Duncan stood behind Juanita Salazar, the specialist assigned to his team, as her nimble fingers plugged in the coordinates he’d just given her. He had a hunch on the recent suspect movements of the Korean satellite. And a few other things. But first things first. “Hey,” he greeted Gary Landis as he joined them.

  “Hey back. What’cha got for me?” Landis asked Salazar.

  Without looking up, Salazar, who rarely talked unless it was to make a specific point, handed him a thick file folder of satellite images while still typing like a one-handed maniac. She was a heavyset, rather plain young woman, with frizzy black hair and a permanent frown. She was cranky, insubordinate, and brilliant at what she did. She had surprisingly pretty hands, and was as talented on the keyboard as a grand pianist on a Steinway. She could also be counted on to locate the tangos just by analyzing the aerial views of the Earth’s hot spots. Juanita was so good, in fact, that she could practically tell you what the tangos had for breakfast.

  But the best thing about her was that she anticipated everything. Knew what to report to who, and when the information would be needed most.

  “Just looked at that.” Duncan nodded at the file in the other man’s hand. “When Lark alerted us to the slight anomaly of the Korean satellite, it was starting to shift. Supposed to be a communications satellite, which means it should be doing a twenty-four-hour rotation, making it practically stationary in respect to Earth. Right now it should be over the Yeongi-Gongju region of Korea.”

  He indicated the printout. “But look where it is now. Way the hell off its orbit. Way too fucking close to Russia. And check this out.” He indicated two more satellites, each marked by Juanita on the computer as off its original orbit. Hovering in the same vicinity as the Korean one. “No way is that a coincidence.”

  Duncan gripped the back of Salazar’s chair. “You got the projected new orbit?” He knew where those three satellites were headed.

  She put the graphs and schematics on the screen.

  Eyes narrowed and chest tight, he cursed.

  God damn it. He was right.

  Russia.

  “Overlay it in the optical feed, please, Juanita. Closer. Yeah, right over Schpotistan, close in on the coordinates. That’s good. Hold it right there.” He had an aerial view of the roof of the warehouse.

  “What’s the building?” Landis fished in his pocket for his glasses, put them on, and moved beside Duncan to see better. “Looks like an old warehouse of some sort. Middle of nowhere. Not that I don’t trust your instincts, Edge. But I’m having a hard time connecting the dots.”

  “Serena Campbell has some of the Foundation’s top scientists working on a project that’s in that warehouse right now.”

  Where she’d been shot. Was there a correlation between the two incidents?

  “Okay,” the other man said doubtfully. “What makes you think the satellites have anything to do with the Campbell Foundation and a do-good project?” He glanced from the Interactive Global Geostationary Weather Satellite Images back to Duncan.

  “When I think Russia, Siberia, et cetera, I think Red Mantis,” Salazar said in her quiet, serious voice. “I don’t see a tango group wanting to solve world hunger. Do you?”

  No. Of course he didn’t. “Show me the Foundation location.”

  Salazar switched views without comment.

  Duncan kept his attention on the aerial shot of Serena’s building. The Campbell Foundation logo was painted on the roof of a small hangar housing the Foundation’s helicopter. “I agree with you about Red Mantis. The analysis department is already ascertaining if, as well as their altered orbit pattern, there’ve been any changes to the Korean satellite. Some fucki
ng onboard device that would change the velocity vector.”

  “I just sent the new intel to Analysis,” Juanita inserted, tapping her keyboard to bring up an official-looking notice. “And here’s what North Korea wants us to know. They claim that satellite is operating for NOAA, as well as weather, streaming news, and music radio.”

  “Bullshit,” Duncan said succinctly. Unless the NKs had no idea someone was using their satellite for something more nefarious than streaming the news, but that was highly unlikely. “Sergei Konanykhine and his Red Mantis don’t have a history of blowing things up.”

  The reminder was unnecessary, as Red Mantis was on T-FLAC’s Most Wanted list and every operative, from junior level on up, dreamed of being the one to catch the bastards. Konanykhine manufactured cheap, synthetic narcotics by the ton, distributing them all over the world. In the last two years, there’d been a concentrated dump in the United States. Red Mantis ruled the Russian underworld by intimidation, murder, blackmail, and drugs. The baddest of the bad guys.

  “Perhaps he’s blackmailing some small European country,” Landis offered. “You know, give us X billion, and we won’t kill every man, woman, and child in your country? He was detained in Switzerland three days ago—”

  “And as of yesterday he was out, back home in the protective arms of Mother Russia.”

  Frustrated, he lightly tapped the back of Salazar’s chair with a curled fist. “We’ll explore every angle, just like always,” Duncan said shortly.

  Was he overreacting? Hell, just the thought that he might be alarmed him. He was good at his job because he wasn’t an alarmist. Contrary to Serena’s opinion of him, he thought through and analyzed situations before taking action. He might do that faster than most. But he did it.

  Now, he suspected because Serena was in the mix, he was second-guessing himself, and seeing danger where there might be none.

  Red Mantis was obviously the better suspect for satellite rearrangement, but the attack on the warehouse didn’t fit their modus operandi.

  This, he thought, annoyed with himself, was why it was complicated bringing a woman into his world. Everything was suspect. No matter how illogical. His knee-jerk reaction to the intel was that somehow the satellites were closing in on Serena. While it was not logical in the grand scheme of things, Siberia was where she’d been shot. Duncan didn’t believe in coincidence.