Touched by Light

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Touched by Light Page 8

by Spangler, Catherine


  She sniffed, scrubbed at her face with her free hand. “Why?”

  He made an exasperated sound, grabbed her other arm, and turned her toward him. Determined to regain her composure, she lifted her chin and glared up at him. The compassion in his eyes unsettled her even more.

  “Julia, you are not—will never again be—a victim. You are a brave, resourceful woman, and you have my utmost respect.”

  He must be up to something—he was being far too nice. “Like I believe that.”

  “It’s the truth, but you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  She tried to hold on to her anger, but it was edged out by a growing physical awareness of Adam, of the feel of his hands on her arms, of his scent and heat and vitality. Of a growing sexual need permeating the emotional fog. Back to that again. She supposed it was better than the pain. Marginally.

  She pushed against him and he loosened his hold, but didn’t relinquish it. “Are you all right now?” he asked.

  “Oh sure, I’m just grand. I think it’s safe to conclude the meltdown is over.”

  “Then you should feel better.”

  Despite her personal mantra of logic and control, his neutral reaction annoyed her. “Do you always have to be so freaking calm?”

  “One of us has to be,” he pointed out.

  The rest of the fight went out of her. “It’s usually me,” she said wearily. “I’m always the voice of objectivity and reason.”

  His tugged her closer, one hand sliding to her shoulder. “I think you’re a brilliant woman. Quite capable of logic, when your focus isn’t disrupted.”

  “And I think you’re an overbearing jackass.”

  “You’ve already said that. You might try for something new and original.” His hand moved to skillfully massage the knot of tension between her shoulder blades.

  It felt so good she almost moaned. Great. Her control was still in shreds. She shoved against him again. “Let me go, Adam.”

  He did, but she noticed he shifted so that she was hemmed in between the car, the open door, and him. He obviously wasn’t taking any chances. “It’s cold and wet. Why don’t we get back in the car to finish this discussion?” he suggested, still in his annoying reasonable mode.

  But he was right. Shivering despite the protection of his coat, she got into the car. He waited until she was settled, then closed the door. He came around and slid behind the wheel, closed his own door. After tossing his briefcase, her purse, and her cane onto the backseat where she couldn’t readily reach them, he turned toward her, one hand resting on the steering wheel.

  Despite the fact his once-crisp shirt was now filthy, he was cool and composed, while she was a mess, inside and out. She felt oddly compelled to defend herself, although she had no reason to impress this man. “I’m normally not weak like this.”

  “I never thought you were. That’s why I resorted to strong-arm tactics. I assumed it was the only way to gain your cooperation.”

  “You know what they say about people who ‘assume.’ ”

  The corners of his sensual mouth kicked up. “Ah, there’s that acerbic wit. Yes, I know what they say.” He leaned over, reached inside his coat she was wearing, and produced a handkerchief. “Here.”

  She took it, her gaze sweeping over his bruised face. First his nose, now this. “I’m not a violent person, either.”

  One ebony eyebrow arched. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” She slipped off her glasses, blotted her eyes with the handkerchief.

  “Julia, I owe you an apology.”

  She lowered the handkerchief. “That’s the understatement of the year.” Okay, so maybe that was the pot calling the kettle black, since she probably owed him a few apologies, but still. “I just can’t believe you’re admitting it.”

  “Why not? You’re right. I didn’t stop to think that my actions put me in the same league with Bennett, perish the thought. Free will is a tenant of humanity, and of the Sentinel code of honor. I should have respected your choices. I assumed that since you had assisted us once, you’d do so again, and that the situation warranted desperate measures. I’m truly sorry my actions stirred memories of Bennett.”

  He sounded so sincere, she felt the tightness in her chest easing. “Bennett’s release from prison had already resurrected the memories. But an apology from you is very . . . unique.” She cocked her head, studied the swelling along the right side of his face. “I think I hit you too hard. Maybe you have a concussion.”

  “What I have is a conscience. And the Sentinel code of honor I’m sworn to uphold. In my concern over the situation in San Antonio, and my refusal to ask my Sentinels to hunt one of their own, I overstepped the boundaries.” He leaned back, stared out the windshield. “I’m taking you home.”

  Surprise jolted through her. “Back to Houston?”

  “Yes. I should never have forced you to come with me.”

  “But . . . what about Matt Stevens? The fire at the IMAX?”

  “I will deal with them as soon as I reach San Antonio.”

  “What about the fact I’m supposed to interview Dr. Curtis for a position with the math department?”

  He shrugged. “As I said, you’re very resourceful. You’ll think of something.” He started the car, adjusted the heat to a higher level.

  She considered this, righteous indignation building. He was telling her what to do again. He’d jerked her around, created upheaval in both her personal and professional lives. And after everything, he was going to toss her back into the melee of her personal life, a mess that he’d created? Like hell he was.

  “Wait just a damn minute. You can’t make this decision for me. I get a vote here.” She shifted toward him, poked his arm hard. “Who died and made you God?”

  He started to speak, but she held up her hand. “Don’t answer that. You’re definitely not God, although you think you are. Let’s get something straight. You’ve made it very clear that I have free will. Therefore, I’m choosing to exercise my right to make my own decision. I’m going to San Antonio with you.”

  “Julia—”

  “Adam!” she mimicked him. “For once, you’re not calling all the shots here. You dragged me into this. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

  “I’m beginning to see that. What exactly has convinced you to help me?”

  She wasn’t even sure herself. She picked up the crumbled newspaper, smoothed it out to study the article. “A lot of people were there for me after . . .” She shook her head, shutting off the memories. “For some reason, the attack left me with this ability to see future events. If it can assist you in helping that poor tormented Sentinel and preventing more people from being hurt, then I can only assume I’m supposed to go with you.”

  He did a passable job of keeping the smugness out of his expression. “So you’re accompanying me of your own free will?”

  She gave him her narrow-eyed professor look. “I just said that. But let me clarify something else. I won’t jump just because you tell me to.”

  “Really? There’s another surprise. Now let me tell you something. You will agree to defer to my knowledge and experience in these matters. To listen when I give you crucial directives.”

  “I’ll concede you’re the expert here. I do actually have enough good sense to listen when necessary. But I also want your word that you won’t do any of that pseudo magic crap to me. No paralyzing stuff.”

  “I will not give my word on that. If I think you’re in danger, or for that matter, if I’m in imminent peril of losing a body part because of your temper, I won’t hesitate to do what I think necessary.”

  “I don’t have a temper. I’m very rational and calm.”

  “You’re quite capable of becoming a loose cannon.”

  She gave an unladylike snort of denial.

  He raised an arrogant I’m-right-and-you-know-it eyebrow.

  They glared at each other a moment.

  He finally inclined his head. “Shall we
call a truce?”

  She considered. “For now.”

  A quick smile flitted across his lips. “Oh, I certainly wouldn’t expect the peace to be permanent.” He stared at her another long, unsettling moment. “You know, Professor,” he continued, “since you have made the decision to work with me, there is one other thing you need to keep in mind.”

  “What’s that?” she asked warily, suspicious of the sudden glow in his eyes.

  He lifted his hand to the side of her face. “This.”

  Just that one touch sent tingling frissons of sensation down into her body. “Not going there,” she said firmly, trying to shove his arm away.

  He didn’t move. His fingers were warm against her chilled skin, generating combustible sparks at points due south. He leaned closer. “There’s this perfect, precise conductor /Sanctioned match between us. Not to mention what I’ve seen in my visions.”

  Her body went on full red alert, alarms blaring at every key nerve junction. And he was merely touching her. “I don’t want to know what you’ve seen.” She pressed back against the seat, tried to squirm sideways and create more distance between them. But there was nowhere to go.

  He slid his other hand along the opposite side of her face, effectively trapping her head. Starbursts of light flared in his eyes, and the air around him glowed brighter, like a halo.

  Her heart started racing faster than sound, constricting her chest and making it impossible to say anything else. Worse, she found herself leaning toward him, as if being pushed by an invisible force. This was so not good.

  “There’s no need to tell you what I’ve seen, because your body already knows,” he said, his harsh voice mesmerizing. “It recognizes a bond that goes back thousands of years. A bond that is both highly spiritual and”—he leaned in, brushed his lips against hers, sending a bolt of pure electricity through said body—“physical. Very physical,” he murmured.

  Erotic need rushed through her veins like molten lava. Not good, not good, not good, her mind chanted, even as her body voted to take this further and instigate a deeper kiss. No, damn it! It took every ounce of will she possessed to turn her face away, and give a hard shove against Adam’s chest. He released her, sank back into his seat.

  “I already told you in Dallas that there would be nothing physical between us. Absolutely no conductions, no sex,” she said, as soon as she could muster enough air. And why the hell wasn’t he breathing as hard as she was?

  “Denial doesn’t change the truth, Julia. It won’t stop what’s already been set in motion. But don’t worry. Whatever happens between us will be completely of your own free will.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. She wanted to argue, to fiercely debate and vehemently insist that hell would freeze over before she’d become involved in any way with Adam. But he was a master at verbal sparring, and right now, she wasn’t up to stepping into the ring with him.

  She needed to regroup and reorder her thoughts and what was left of her decimated routine—not to mention corral her unruly body. She had to get her balance and find some center of calm in the storm that swirled around Adam Masters, and the turbulence from William Bennett’s release.

  “Nothing to say?” Adam asked coolly. When she just glared at him, he gave her that smug smile she detested. “Good. Then we understand one another. Fasten your seat belt.” He put the car in gear, shot her another look. “The ride could get very rough.”

  Crap, she thought, as she reached for her seat belt with shaking hands. No, make that crap to the tenth power.

  SITTING on her bed, Miriam stared in dismay at the three Tarot cards she’d just turned up. The first was the Magician—manifesting power and fire. Miriam felt certain it represented Adam. The second card was Death—transformation, change, letting go. The third was the High Priestess—wisdom, mystery, and the divine feminine. That had to be Dr. Reynolds. Then there was the Knight of Swords, which represented a man who was courageous and active, a warrior who could also be very domineering. But it didn’t feel like Adam, so it was someone else, but who?

  Miriam blew out a breath. This was her third attempt to convince herself she shouldn’t get involved in whatever was happening between Dr. Reynolds and Adam. The first attempt had also involved drawing three Tarot cards and getting the Devil—entrapment, tyranny, and obsession; the Emperor—authority, protection, discipline (Adam again); and the Tower of Destruction—shattering structures and disruption.

  Attempt two had been using a pendulum to determine if she should stay in Houston or go to San Antonio. The pendulum had done nothing over Houston, but gyrated insistently over San Antonio.

  She really didn’t want to leave her comfort zone and get involved with possible dark forces and a man with an inhuman aura, but she didn’t want the Universe metaphorically hitting her in the head for not listening, either.

  “One more time,” she muttered, picking up the crystal quartz stone and silver chain, and going back to the Texas map spread over one end of her desk.

  She took a deep breath and centered and grounded herself, then prayed to the Father/Mother/God for purity, protection, and guidance. She held her hand over the map and let the chain slide down, with the crystal dangling above the paper.

  When the chain was completely still, she asked her question. “Please show me where I need to be now. Should I stay here in Houston and go about my usual activities, or travel to San Antonio to help Dr. Reynolds?”

  She slowly moved the pendulum over the Houston area of the map. Nothing. She edged the pendulum toward San Antonio. The chain started vibrating as she neared the mapped city; when it was above San Antonio, the pendulum began swinging in small but steady clockwise circles.

  Damn. With another sigh, Miriam stilled the pendulum and slipped the chain over her head, sliding the stone beneath her shirt. It looked like she was taking a trip. She wondered how she would explain this to her parents. Or to anyone she knew who was of sound mind.

  She got her traveling backpack and began putting in clothing and toiletries. There was a tap on her door, and she paused. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Papa. May I come in?”

  “Of course.” Realizing she’d locked the door—unusual for her—she went to open it.

  Her father stood there, wearing his beloved Houston Astros T-shirt over baggy sweatpants and holding a ceramic mug in his hand. He wasn’t much taller than Miriam, but his thick, luxurious hair had very little gray, and he was a vigorous man for his age. Tonight, however, he looked tired and worried.

  “What’s wrong, Papa?”

  He held up the mug. “Trouble in the leaves.”

  She felt a sinking sensation. Her father drank hot tea after breakfast and dinner, and always read the tea leaf dregs, a method of divination called tasseomancy, and a family tradition that dated back generations.

  “What about the leaves?” she asked.

  “They indicate challenges ahead—for you, Miri.”

  Surprise, surprise. “Good or bad challenges, Papa?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I also consulted the cards.”

  Instead of Tarot, he read a deck of regular playing cards, another family tradition that was very old—and eerily accurate. Miriam took a deep breath. “What did the cards tell you, Papa?”

  “Strange things. I got the heart queen—that’s you, Miri. I also got the queen and king of clubs—two people you maybe know? And the six of hearts, a trip. Jack of diamonds—trouble ahead.” He stared at her, too perceptive as always. “You’ve been acting thoughtful lately. Something going on?”

  Well, at least she knew she’d chosen a destined course of action. “Yes, Papa, there’s definitely something going on. And I’m leaving for San Antonio in the morning. Why don’t we go scoop some Blue Bell ice cream and I’ll tell you about it.”

  SIX

  SURREAL images came into focus then blurred, except for one vivid image of the Devil, sporting midnight hair and glowing eyes. He didn’t have the tradi
tional horns, but she knew who—what—he was. He beckoned to her; she shook her head, refusing to go to him. He reached toward her, his arm contorting and stretching grotesquely. . . .

  Julia awoke with a start, confused. The motion of a moving car jolted her back to reality. She looked over and there was the Devil incarnate—Adam Masters, calm and in full control—behind the wheel. Oh, yes, now she remembered. Unfortunately.

  She must have dozed off after they got back on the road after her meltdown, which hadn’t accomplished a darned thing. And which she felt certain, although she couldn’t exactly pinpoint how, had given Adam another point on the scoreboard.

  He glanced over, his dark gaze assessing. She noticed his face looked completely normal, the bruising and swelling gone. “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  She shifted, winced as her bruised backside protested. He obviously hadn’t done any healing on her. “Where are we?”

  “Coming into San Antonio. Looks like we’re just ahead of rush hour.”

  She realized they’d already exited off the interstate onto Commerce Street. She hadn’t been to San Antonio in years. The downtown area looked older and smaller than she remembered, possibly because of the newer, larger buildings looming over old churches and government buildings. There was a lot of construction in the area as well; an indication that San Antonio, like most Texas cities, was growing.

  They passed Alamo Plaza, the street that went to the Alamo, the famous historical landmark that squatted incongruously within the San Antonio downtown. Then they turned on Navarro Street and again on College Street, and pulled in front of the Omni La Mansión del Rio, one of the most elegant hotels along the Riverwalk.

  I should have known, Julia thought, trying to finger-comb her hair into some semblance of order. Adam had a penchant for the highest quality, which seemed incongruous in view of the fact that Sentinels and Sanctioned were reincarnated Atlantian priests and claimed their mission on Earth was spiritual.

  The valet attendant came around to open Adam’s door, while a bellhop came to assist Julia from the car. She managed to hastily divest herself of Adam’s coat before her door was opened. But her leg had stiffened and it was a struggle to get out of the car. The bellhop offered his hand, and she reluctantly took it, managing to slide out and stand.

 

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