by Lyn Horner
“Yes, Master.” She wove across the room like a sleepwalker, latching onto the table to support herself.
“I want you to tell me where your sister is right now,” he commanded.
“Yes, Master.”
“Don’t let her know you’re in her head.”
“I won’t.” She blinked several times then stared into space, a blank look on her face. A long silence ensued, making him impatient. Finally, she said, “Lara is in a tall building across from the park.”
“What park?” he prodded.
“Central Park.”
“Ah, very good, you’re doing fine, my dear. Now tell me the address on the building.”
She scrunched up her face. “There isn’t one.”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her furiously. “There has to be an address. Look for it.”
Fear entered her eyes. “I-I-I don’t see … oh, there it is on the green awning.” She rattled off a string of numbers that he scrawled on a handy sheet of paper.
“Excellent. Now where is Lara in the building?”
Sara tilted her head, frowning. “She’s on top in … in … what’s the word?”
“In the penthouse?” he guessed.
“Yes, that’s it.” She smiled foolishly.
“Good. You’ve done very well.” Motioning her guard forward, he said, “Take her back to her room. And tell the matron to clean her up. She stinks.”
As the guard obeyed, Balor picked up his phone and ordered more men to go after the prizes he so badly wanted.
*
Char caught her breath when she and Tristan stepped off the elevator into a shocking scene in the lobby of the apartment building. A woman with a screaming toddler in her arms and an older couple stood staring in dismay at a man sprawled on the floor, leaning against the concierge’s desk. Recognizing him as Joseph, the helpful doorman, Char cried out at the sight of his blood-stained gray uniform.
Kneeling beside Joseph, the young valet, Omar, pressed a towel over the older man’s bleeding shoulder. William, the concierge, was on the phone, obviously calling for help. As soon as he hung up, he rushed over to Char and her group.
“Miss Dixon, I was about to buzz you. A man was just here trying to get to the penthouse.”
“Oh no!” she stumbled back a step, clutching at Tristan as he wrapped a supportive arm around her. His alarm added to hers.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” William said. “He told Joseph he had to see you and attempted to force his way in. Joseph stopped him, hitting the outside alarm, automatically locking the doors. The creep shot him and ran off. I just called 911. The police and an ambulance are on the way.”
“William, I’m so sorry this happened. I-I should have warned you that some very bad people broke into the Cantrell estate. We didn’t think they would find us here, but they must have.”
He looked floored by this news. “But why? Are they enemies of Mrs. Cantrell?”
Char shot a glance at Tristan, not knowing what to say. He gave her a light squeeze and answered for her.
“None of us can answer that, William, but I am Johanna’s cousin and I assure you she will deal harshly with anyone who breaks into her homes, or anyone who allows such a desecration to occur.” His highbrowed tone drew Char’s startled gaze, but it had its intended effect.
The concierge paled. “I have no doubt she will, and I will call for extra security to protect her residence. And her daughter, of course.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“We need to go,” Conn said. “Have your valet bring my SUV around,” he told William with a stare that brooked no argument.
“Yes, sir. Right away.” Hurrying to Joseph’s side, the concierge knelt and took over applying pressure to his wound, ordering Omar to fetch the SUV.
Char turned to Tristan. “I don’t feel right leaving now. We should stay and make sure Joseph will be alright. And what about Marilee and my mother? What if the Hellhounds return?”
He gripped her arms. “The cops will be here any minute. They’ll scare off any lurking thugs, but if we stay, they will want to question us. We’ll never make it to the plane on time.” He meant the plane to Dallas, for which Conn had purchased last minute tickets. “William promised to call in more security, but by staying we might invite another attack. You don’t want to place Marilee and your mother in greater danger, do you?”
“No.” Tears clogged her throat. She hated to run off, leaving the wounded man and her loved ones, but once again she realized they had no choice.
“We have to go. Now!” Lara blurted suddenly. Her face had turned milk-white. “The Hellhounds are close, very close.” She clutched Conn’s arm and he led her to the doors.
Tristan caught Char’s hand. “Come on. If we leave now we may actually lead the bastards away from here.”
Nodding, she rushed outside with him. Omar pulled up in the SUV within seconds and Tristan gave Char a hand into the back. Before joining her, he hailed the valet, requesting him to drive his Porsche to his normal parking facility and lock it up there. He pulled several bills from his wallet and handed them to Omar. The young man beamed and promised to take good care of the car.
By now, Conn had helped Lara into the front passenger seat and taken his place behind the wheel. The moment Tristan piled in next to Char, Conn took off, weaving in and out of traffic, heading for JFK International Airport. While Tristan twisted to stare out the back window, watching for followers, Char studied Lara. The High Guardian had regained a little color, but she sat stiff as a board, obviously still frightened. Feeling the same way, Char clutched Tristan’s hand, picking up his worry and determination – to keep her safe, she realized with a tug at her heartstrings.
Smiling at her, he laced his fingers with hers and returned his gaze to the back window. “We’ll make it, angel. Don’t worry.”
To distract herself, she asked, “How did Gus take it when you told him you’d be gone indefinitely?” He’d called his partner from the penthouse before they left.
He chuckled. “The big guy wasn’t happy about it but he understood when I explained you were in danger and I had to protect you.”
She smiled. “He’s a good man. I hope we won’t need to be gone too long.”
“However long it takes to beat the Hellhounds … .” Tristan stopped speaking and stared hard out the window. “Conn, I think we’ve picked up a tail. It’s a tan coup two cars back. He’s been careful not to get too close but he keeps swerving over like he wants to keep us in sight.”
“Damn. I was going to turn in the car at the rental lot but it’s too risky. I’ll head straight to the terminal. We’ll ditch the SUV there and make a run for it, and pray the checkin line is short.
“I’ve got a better idea. Drive to the wrong terminal, park there and catch the AirTrain. We’ll hop on and off it a few times to confuse the Hounds before stopping at the right terminal. Maybe we’ll lose them.”
“I like that. Not bad thinking for a cook.” Conn grinned in the rearview mirror.
“Hey, I’m a pastry chef, not a cook,” Tristan protested, returning the other man’s grin. “And I used to be a cop, don’t forget. In fact, I actually had a perp pull the stunt I just described, and he nearly lost me.”
“Yeah? Nearly isn’t good enough this time. Let’s hope the goons on our tail aren’t too smart.”
Tristan’s plan worked. Their followers evidently lost track of them with all their coming and going on the train. They made it through checkin and security with no problem and without any overly watchful observers. Arriving at their gate some thirty minutes early, they chose seats facing the windows, away from passing travelers. It was probably an unnecessary precaution since the Hellhounds would need tickets to be allowed past security.
A few minutes before the boarding call, Lara abruptly sat up straight. “They’re here,” she whispered urgently.
Conn and Tristan rose simultaneously and scanned the crowded waiting area and people walking by. Char scooted ov
er next to Lara, taking her hand, finding it ice-cold. They clung to each other, both terrified.
“Over there, leaning against the wall,” Tristan said. The guy with the newspaper, pretending to read.”
“I see him. Are you sure he’s the one?”
“I’m sure. Every once in a while he looks up and gives us a once over.”
“Uh-huh. There, he’s looking straight at me.” Conn grinned and waived. “Hey, you miserable excuse for a human being,” he muttered.
Char glanced over her shoulder, seeing the man straighten away from the wall. He scowled and took a step toward them. Then the loud speaker blared, announcing it was time to begin boarding the flight to Dallas – their flight.
They had pre-boarding status because of Lara’s disability. Conn helped her up and, with Char and Tristan following, made their way to the podium where they showed their boarding passes. As they were about to step into the walkway leading to the plane, Conn turned and jauntily saluted the Hellhound who continued to watch them, scowling.
“You must enjoy poking the devil,” Tristan remarked. “They now know where we’re going.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know our final destination.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Their flight and the landing at DFW Airport were uneventful, much to Char’s relief. She knew from Lara that a Hellhound fanatic had abducted and tortured Michaela Peterson, one of the other Guardians, in Galveston, off the Texas coast a few weeks ago. The High Guardian feared more of the evil bunch might be waiting for them in Dallas, but luckily they saw no one lurking there, ready to pounce.
They were all hungry, but Conn insisted they rent a car, another heavy duty SUV, and clear out of the area as swiftly as possible. Their destination lay farther west, Lara said, not revealing exactly where.
“Yeah, but we’re heading north first,” Conn said. “I mean to take a roundabout route. It will delay us by a few days but if by chance the Hellhounds somehow track us, I want to confuse them enough to throw them off our trail.”
Char’s stomach was growling by the time Conn finally stopped at a seedy looking Mexican restaurant in a small town somewhere in Oklahoma. Despite the rundown appearance of the place, the food was good. After their meal, Tristan took a turn driving while Conn and Lara napped in the back seat.
As they continued north along Interstate 35, Char stared at the windswept winter landscape and let her thoughts drift. Sadness over leaving Marilee and her mother behind, coupled with concern for their welfare prayed on her mind. Surely the Hellhounds would leave them alone since they knew Char and Lara had left New York, escaping capture. But she worried about Marilee’s medical needs and her mother’s ability to handle everything. At least she could call Sally for help if necessary. Char had given her the nurse’s phone number just before hugging her and a tearful Marilee goodbye.
Sighing heavily, she reached over to touch Tristan’s thigh, longing to snuggle against him and feel his arms around her. He glanced at her and caught her hand, giving it a squeeze, returning his gaze to the road ahead.
“I know you’re worried about your mother and Marilee, angel, but they will be alright,” he murmured, seeming to read her mind. “Your mama is like you, a strong woman. She’ll take good care of my cousin.” He radiated soothing emotions, making her smile.
“You’re right, I know, but I’m a born worrier.”
He chuckled. “So I’ve noticed. Why don’t you try to sleep for a while.”
She sighed again, leaned her head back and closed her eyes, hoping to take his advice. She said a silent prayer, thanking the Goddess for Tristan’s love. Right now it was the only thing she could truly count on.
*
“Tell me where your bitch of a sister is running off to,” Balor hissed furiously. Grabbing Sara’s arms, he shook her hard.
“N-north. Th-that’s all I-I know,” she said, teeth chattering from the force of his shaking.
“That’s not good enough. What is her destination?”
“I-I can’t tell.” She would not tell him even if she figured out the fuzzy picture of red walls in her mind. Her drug-clouded brain had finally grasped the fact that he didn’t really plan to make her a queen and she refused to be his pawn.
He slapped her, tearing her lip and wrenching a choked scream from her throat. The only thing that kept her from falling was his hand painfully shackling her arm.
“I want the scrolls. If you can’t or wont’ help me obtain them, you’re useless to me.” He shook her again.
Tasting blood from her cut lip, she whimpered, “I told you she was coming to New York, Master. She was on a plane. Remember?”
The leader expelled a sigh through the tube in his throat. “So you did,” he hissed, covering the opening. “I suppose it isn’t your fault the imbeciles I sent after her failed.” Releasing her, he shoved her into the hands of the guard standing behind her. “Be glad I may yet find a use for you, my dear.”
She glared at him, to which he grinned in amusement.
“Take her away,” he ordered the guard.
As Sara was led out, Balor walked behind the long table and stared at a fuzzy photo of the ruling scroll. Sara had taken it shortly before her uncle’s death. Malcolm had been instructing her sister on how to translate the pictographic writing on the ancient document. Concocting some emergency to draw them away, Sara had snapped the photo with her smart phone – and sent it straight to him, her trusted confidant back in those days. Now, he was her drug supplier and puppeteer, using her to learn her sister’s moves and acquire what he wanted.
“I’ll possess you yet, my precious,” he hissed at the object in the photo. “You and all the others, and when I do I will rule the world.”
*
The canyon opened before Tristan’s wondering eyes, a hidden world within the high desert of northern Arizona that surrounded it. He gawked at the tall red rock walls and the narrow green and brown valley with a muddy riverbed winding through it.
“This is Canyon de Shay, spelled de Chelly, our temporary home,” Lara said. “So far we’ve been safe here with our Navajo friends, who you will soon meet.”
“What an amazing place,” Char said, giving voice to Tristan’s thought. “Oh, look up there! It looks like a village carved out of the stone wall.”
Lara nodded. “It was a village once,” she said as Conn manhandled their vehicle over a rough trail along the riverbed. “The canyon is full of pueblo ruins like those. They were built, or carved out, by ancient Native Americans long ago. Our host and his daughter can tell you more about them.”
A short time later, they turned up a dirt lane surrounded by pastures with sheep, a few cattle and horses grazing on winter-brown grass stubble. Conn came to a halt outside an odd multi-sided structure with a roughly domed roof and a fruit orchard nearby.
“This is Leon Tseda’s hogan,” he said. “Leon kindly took in Lara and me, as well as Michaela Peterson and my friend Dev Medina, after he saved Michaela from the psycho who kidnapped her.” Conn stepped out and came around to help Lara out while Tristan followed suit with Char.
A man stepped out of the octagonal structure. His hair was long and steel-gray, his copper-skinned face gently lined with time. He wore faded jeans and a heavy jacket woven in a bold southwestern design. On his heels emerged a petite black-haired woman who broke into a huge smile when she saw them.
“It’s about time you two came back,” she said to Lara and Conn. Then she dashed forward and hugged Lara fiercely.
“Hello, Josie,” the High Guardian said, both of them laughing. “I’m glad you made it home from Colombia okay. Did Gabriel come with you?”
“He did, but he took some convincing to trust me. We’ll explain later.” The young woman turned to Conn, giving him a playful punch in his gut. “What took you so long, O’Shea? We were about to send out a posse after you.”
He grinned affably. “Is that how they taught you to punch in basic training? You hit like a girl, Tseda,” h
e joked.
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh yeah? Just try me, Irish.” Crouching, she made a come hither gesture with her hands.
Tristan chuckled, quickly realizing they were good friends and had likely served in the military together, although in what capacity he couldn’t guess. He glanced at Char. Seeing her grin at the friendly play, he stroked her back and bent close.
“I’m glad to see some color in your cheeks,” he whispered. “You were looking kind of pale back there.” He motioned toward the way they’d come.
She smiled ruefully. “My stomach didn’t like the bumpy trip in here,” she said behind her hand. “I’m feeling better now.”
Another man stepped out of the hogan. “What is going on here?” he said in a Spanish accent. “Do you mean to attack that man, querida?”
Josie Tseda immediately straightened. “Of course not,” she said, turning to the handsome Spaniard. “He’s my friend. I don’t want to hurt him.” She gave a cocky grin, reached out for the man’s hand and began introductions. Once completed, Tristan and Char were ushered into the hogan by Josie, her father and Gabriel Valdez, along with Conn and Lara. Leading them through the nearly bare interior, Josie continued into an attached wood frame house.
“Dev and Michaela went into town to pick up a few groceries, but they should be back soon,” she said. Gabriel took their coats, piling them on a kitchen chair, and Josie invited all of them to have a seat in the living room, decorated with rugs and wall hangings woven in Navaho patterns.
Tristan laid his hand at the small of Char’s back and gently nudged her toward two armchairs standing across the room, leaving the sofa for Lara and Conn. Leon Tseda claimed a rocker near a glowing potbellied stove opposite the sofa while Gabriel dragged in two chairs from the kitchen for Josie and him.
They were sitting and talking, sipping Navaho tea, when the door banged open. A tall blonde woman and her broad-shouldered escort walked in carrying several brown paper grocery bags.
“Well, look who finally blew in. I figured that rig out front might be yours,” the man called out with a grin as the two strode into the kitchen and dumped their load on the table. Josie met them there to unpack the groceries.