So Tempting

by Jean Brashear

  "You are brothers. Your father wished for you to remember the bond, to honor your shared blood." His tone made it clear that their father would be extremely disappointed that even in shared grief, they could not put aside their enmity.

  Dante closed his eyes. There was nothing he wanted less than to pass a night under the same roof as his brother. He wanted silence and space to grieve, but he forced patience, reminding himself that the tests were only beginning. It would require every ounce of brains and guile and courage he possessed to secure the place he had always wanted to occupy—true heir to his father.

  "Very well." He slipped on his ring and lifted one eyebrow in challenge to Markos. "I will stay—and I will succeed. Count on it." He shook off the men who had restrained him and walked with as much dignity as he could muster through the halls of his father's house.

  * * *

  In the night, he jolted awake not to music but to otherworldly screams. Strong bodies held his arms and legs bound.

  He fought, but it was no use. Even with his eyes blinded, Dante felt it missing before he had climbed fully out of sleep, a loss as piercing as if he were minus a limb. Praying to be wrong, he touched his throat, but only neatly-sliced ends remained of the leather thong that had held the amulet in place.

  At dawn the servants came to free him. Dante tore through the house like a madman, the screams in his head piercing.

  His brother was gone without a word. He would return, no doubt, but he would never admit to the theft of what others considered only a piece of jewelry. Papa had long stressed that the true power of the amulet was never to be revealed to one outside the blood.

  What would Markos do with it? He wouldn't know how to care for it, he didn't have the knowledge to guard it, to use it for good, even if Markos cared one whit about goodness and peace. But what would happen to it in Markos's hands?

  Even as he grieved, the younger man vowed never to stop seeking, though dread shuddered down his spine. Would he ever see the amulet again? Oh, Papa, I am so sorry.

  Only in darkness does the Eye lose the True Path.

  Chapter Five

  "Nothing useful turned up in the screening, Jace. No alcohol, no prescriptions, only marijuana." The forensic chemist's monotone shifted slightly at the end.

  "But?" she prodded.

  He hesitated. "Nothing that I can lay my fingers on, exactly. Just an unexplained spike when we did the thin-layer chromatography."

  "Can you run more tests?"

  "Maybe. If I knew what I was looking for."

  "Sam was a known drug user, yet suddenly he dies and nothing but pot is found in his blood. Doesn't that raise some questions?"

  "Not to me. Could have been natural causes. I just run the tests and interpret the results. It's up to the investigator to put everything together."

  "But what about the unexplained spike?"

  "There could be a lot of reasons for that. We're stretched here, Jace. I'd have to have other tests ordered to be able to spend any more time on this. We're a private lab—fee for service. You get me orders, I'll dig deeper."

  Jace sighed, wondering if she could convince Earl that they were needed. "I'll get back to you, Victor."

  "You do that."

  Hanging up the phone, she took her feet off the desk and rose to seek out Earl. He was on the phone. Signaling with one finger that it wouldn't be long, Earl spoke into the receiver trapped between his ear and shoulder.

  A moment later, he hung up. "Whatcha got?"

  Jace leaned back against the edge of his desk, sighing. "Lab reports only show pot in Sam's blood."

  Earl frowned. "So, natural causes."

  "He wasn't that old."

  "He was in lousy shape." Distracted, he perused his messages, then glanced up at her. "Just got a message with the results on the girl's blood screening. No rohypnol."

  Jace cocked her head. "Anything else?"

  "Weird chemical names I don't recognize." He shook his head, reaching for the phone.

  Jace stilled his hand. "Earl, there was something odd in Sam's blood test results, too."

  His gaze snapped to hers. "What is it?"

  "Victor doesn't know without more tests. I was going to ask you to let me order them."

  Earl shook his head. "What's the connection? What does a middle-class teenager have in common with an old drifter?"

  Jace shrugged. "No illegal drugs in her system?"

  "Nothing but a trace of pot."

  "His, too. Could the pot be laced with something, and they got it from the same supplier?"

  "But why hasn't anyone else turned up dead? The supplier wouldn't likely be selling to just the two of them."

  "I don't know. Maybe there is no connection."

  "You're probably right."

  "So I can order the other tests on Sam?"

  Earl chuckled. "Yeah. I'll clear it with Gonzales."

  Jace rose to return to her desk but stopped when she heard him call her name. "Yes?"

  "While you're at it, ask Victor to explain the results on the girl."

  "Will do." Jace puzzled over their conversation while she was on hold, but nothing came to her.

  "That was quick." Victor's voice sounded amused.

  "Hey, what can I say? They love me around here."

  He chuckled. "I'll try to have the results in a couple of days. See you, Jace."

  "Wait—I need to ask you about another case."

  "Go ahead."

  "Sarah Brown, the rape victim found dead in an industrial park. Did you handle that?"

  "No, but I just got her report. Hold on." She heard keys clicking. "Okay, what do you need?"

  "Tell me about those compounds found in her blood."

  "Some kind of cocktail you don't see—atropine, scopolamine, hyoscamine—"

  "Wait—spell those."

  He sighed, then patiently spelled them out. "Some other weird reading—some macro molecule I've never seen."

  "Any relationship to the spike on Sam?"

  "Can't tell. It'll take more tests. No idea what this one is."

  "You say you've never seen that combination before."

  "Nope."

  "So how am I going to identify it?"

  "You could wait for me to find time to do the research. Or you could call Dante Sabanne."

  "Who's he?" The name sounded vaguely familiar.

  "Zillionaire recluse, lives up on top of a mountain, big wall all around his property?"

  Now she remembered. The name carried a mystique that had tongues wagging and people eagerly awaiting his infrequent appearances on the social scene.

  Not her bailiwick. "What's he got to do with this?"

  "I hear that one of his interests is exotic poisons. These are alkaloids, Jace. They could be synthetic formulations, but they would originally come from plants. Lots of poisons originate in plants or animals."

  "Would he talk to me?"

  "You're the cop—how can he say no?"

  "Pretty easily, if he's not a suspect. Somehow I don't think I'm going to get a subpoena issued, as little as I have to go on."

  "Only one way to find out. Gotta go, Jace. Duty calls. You're not the only one in a rush, you know."

  The phone went dead in her ear.

  Well. One reclusive zillionaire, coming up.

  * * *

  Eyes agog, Jace stood at the doorway of the—well, mansion was the only word for it. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted the high walls that were the only thing standing between her and an endless vista of sky and city and mountains. She'd been buzzed in at the security gate and had driven up a long, winding drive to encounter this adobe palace.

  Golden walls in the traditional style flanked two massive doors carved in elaborate detail, the wood rich and gleaming. Jace reached for the doorbell, but before she could press it, one of the heavy doors swung open to reveal a massive man with brows drawn together in displeasure.

  "I'm here to see Mr. Sabanne."

  The giant grun
ted. "You have no appointment."

  "I'm Detective Carroll with the Santa Fe PD." She flashed her shield. "I spoke with Mr. Sabanne on the phone a few minutes ago." In a polite but remote voice, Sabanne had granted her an interview, but she'd gotten the clear message that he was busy.

  The man stepped back. "This way."

  As he closed the door behind her, Jace registered the deep hush that pervaded the house. Walls the same adobe as the outside glowed a deeper, rosy hue, looking almost polished instead. A faint scent of beeswax perfumed the air, coupled with darker, richer aromas. Coffee. Flowers and...incense? Curving stairs rose through an arch to her right, disappearing from sight. Unusual objects reposed in softly-lit niches tucked into the curved walls, and Jace moved closer to inspect them.

  Before she could, the giant called her. "Come along." He pointed toward a doorway on the left.

  Just as Jace crossed the tile entry, she heard voices from the stairwell.

  "But, Dante, I only want to spend the night with Melinda." A young woman's plaintive tone.

  "I have made it clear that you are welcome to invite her here." It was the voice Jace had heard on the phone—peremptory, impatient.

  She caught a quick glimpse of a teenage girl, petite and beautiful, long dark hair falling almost to her waist. His daughter? But no, she'd called him by his first name.

  "But—"

  "Enough, Cassandra. I have work to do."

  "Miss, you wait in here."

  Busted. She stopped eavesdropping and complied.

  High, arched windows framed a stunning vista of the Sangre de Cristos rising in the distance. The room itself topped the same glowing rose-gold walls with a high ceiling of intricately carved dark paneling. An immense stone fireplace dominated one side of the room across from an imposing mahogany desk. Behind the desk and opposite the windows stood row after row of bookshelves. An assortment of objects, not all readily recognizable, nestled in random openings between books.

  She headed for an unusual sword on the wall.

  A voice spoke behind her. "Are you interested in ancient weaponry, Detective Carroll?"

  "I don't know anything about it," Jace said as she turned, expecting a dried-up old scholar, finding instead someone much younger, with a striking face noble enough to grace an ancient gold coin. His dark hair was scraped back with a carved bone clasp, bringing into sharp relief the harsh planes of his face. There was about this man a coiled intensity, a watchfulness that belied his neutral expression. He moved with a severe, savage grace, his tall frame overlaid with lean muscle. Dressed all in black, he exuded an aura of immense power held under rigid control.

  Something inside her uncurled. Awoke.

  "Detective?"

  Crap. She scrambled to cover the prolonged silence. "Are you a collector?"

  "I am. There are many facets of the ancient world that interest me—rituals, traditional healing methods, the weaponry, the sexual practices...I've studied them all over the world."

  "Is that what brings you to Santa Fe?"

  "Indeed. New Mexico is a spiritual place and one I had not yet visited. I decided to investigate the area, and Santa Fe is a good home base."

  Jace snorted. "These days, Santa Fe's only spiritual if you worship money."

  A tiny smile ghosted across his lips. "You are one of those who do not welcome the influx of new residents?"

  She shrugged.

  "Let me guess. You are not enamored of the so-called New Age mindset."

  She couldn't help a small grin in return. "What about you, Mr. Sabanne?"

  He studied her, and she realized his eyes were so light they were almost...silvery. "As it happens, I find the movement well-meaning but misguided. The truths I seek are much older."

  Well-meaning but misguided. Myra and her bunch, to a tee.

  "Would you care to look around at my collection?"

  "Actually, I would, but first I need to see if you can help us with an investigation."

  He inclined his head gravely and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Please be seated. May I offer you something to drink?"

  Deep, soft cushions enfolded her. "No, thank you."

  Seating himself behind his massive desk, Dante Sabanne clasped his hands on the leather blotter. "What is it you want of me?"

  Jace's gaze arrested at the sight of those lean and graceful hands.

  The large silver ring on one finger.

  Startled, she thought of the man last night. Tried to picture this one in a mask, his bound hair falling to his shoulders instead.

  Focus. She yanked herself back to her reason for being here. "It's my understanding that you're an expert on exotic poisons. One of the victims had traces of scopolamine, atropine, and—" She consulted her notes. "Hyoscamine in her blood. Do you have any idea why?"

  "Datura is most likely, in the form of a plant commonly called jimsonweed."

  "Is it fatal?"

  "In high enough concentrations, it could be. It acts upon the central nervous system."

  "Why would someone take jimsonweed?" Jace wrinkled up her forehead. "Don't I remember that cowboys had to keep their horses from eating it?"

  "Yes, but it's hallucinogenic and was once commonly used in rituals, as well as for pleasure."

  "Pleasure?"

  "Scopolamine has a marked aphrodisiac effect on some people."

  Aphrodisiac. Her pulse picked up. "How?"

  "It disconnects the central nervous system from the autonomic nervous system. For example, in the past it was used in cesarean deliveries. The mother stayed awake but couldn't feel the pain, nor could she remember it later. It also had a notable side effect. Doctors sometimes experienced women on the delivery table making lewd suggestions to them, often very proper women who would never dream of behaving that way in daily life, yet under the influence of scopolamine, they would be utterly abandoned in their comportment. After the drug disappeared from their systems, the women would recall nothing. Their doctors often thought it kinder not to tell them."

  A thought struck her. "So this drug could resemble rohypnol?"

  "In what way?"

  "Rendering a woman unable to remember having been raped?"

  "Perhaps, but the dosage is quite difficult to calibrate with alkaloids unless they're distilled or synthesized under laboratory conditions."

  "How would datura be given?"

  "A variety of ways exist. The roots can be dried and ground into powder, then made into a tea. The seeds also can be dried and ground. Either can be made into a paste and applied to the skin, sniffed, or mixed into food."

  "How does it taste? Would someone know they'd ingested it?"

  "Most such powders can be mixed with other substances to make them palatable, say, fruit juices or tea laced with honey."

  "How hard is it to obtain?"

  "Not at all. One finds the plant throughout the Americas and in some parts of Europe. There is a particularly potent species called Datura metel found in India. The secret society called Thugees once used it to drug wayfarers before they robbed and strangled them in sacrifice to the goddess Kali."

  He really did study this stuff. The history lesson was interesting, but she was only concerned with the practical. "So you're telling me that the victim could have ingested or snorted the substance, but if ingested, she might not have detected its presence."

  "That's correct."

  "So as with rohypnol, the only way to be certain is to neither eat nor drink anything."

  "Not necessarily. There's one other method of delivery, though it would hardly be fatal."

  "What's that?"

  "Incense. Burned, it would serve to incapacitate the victim somewhat, as well as to wield some of its hallucinogenic impact."

  Uneasily, Jace recalled the smoke at The Club. How dizzy she'd felt, how out of control. "What about its other effects?"

  "Other?" One brow lifted.

  "The...aphrodisiac." Unaccustomed heat stained her cheeks.

  "Ah."
He nodded, a faint curve to his lips. "Yes, that's also possible."

  She ignored his amusement. "How would you sample smoke to test it?"

  "Do you believe this to have been done?"

  She stared at him, attempting to superimpose his image on the man last night whose hair had been unbound. Whose impact she still couldn't shake, damn it.

  But he showed absolutely no sign of recognizing her. There were the masks to consider, however. She looked at the ornate silver ring again, its design intricate and unclear from this distance.

  Memory slammed into her. Hands sliding over her breasts, fingers trailing up her thighs...

  "Detective?"

  Jesus. "What?"

  Still he appeared only bored and slightly impatient. "Is there anything else?"

  Jace gathered her wits. "Not at the moment, but I'd like to be able to call upon you again, if I may."

  "Certainly." He nodded with an aristocrat's grace and rose from his chair.

  On the way to the door, Jace's attention was captured by an unusual mask comprised of glossy black feathers on a glass-smooth base, striking in its design.

  He noticed and gestured. "The Mask of the Dark Priestess, worn by a chosen person in each generation of a matrilineal tribe in a remote part of the Amazon basin." He picked it up carefully and set it in her hands.

  "Amazing." So light.

  "Surprising in its elegance, is it not?"

  She nodded. "I guess I thought primitive tribes would make things that were—"

  "Crude?"

  Abashed, Jace nodded. "Yes." She examined the object gingerly, then handed it back.

  Their hands grazed.

  Abruptly, Jace was cast into darkness so deep her body seized in naked terror. She couldn't breathe. She screamed soundlessly.

  He turned to the case.

  Jace plummeted right back into the moment.

  He replaced the mask as though nothing at all had happened. "Would you like to know its purpose?"

  Jace sucked in air. Blinked.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. Their eyes locked.

  A faint, shimmering trail beckoned her, surrounding her body and his, then journeying beyond them.

  His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?" He stood only inches from her.