But she had to admit the odds of that happening were pretty slim. She hadn’t been able to settle down for what seemed forever. Her nerves were jangling, her stomach was in a constant churn and every time the phone rang or there was a knock on her door, she braced herself to be arrested.
The living room in her townhome was dark but for the fire burning in the white-tiled hearth. Firelight spilled through the room in a soothing pattern and she watched the shifting colors chase each other around the room. She sent a quick look at her cell phone again, hoping to see it light up with a text message, but there was still nothing.
“God, you idiot,” she murmured to herself as she took another sip of wine.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. That was all she could cling to for comfort. Staging a prison break at a small internment camp in Omaha should have been simple. They had done all the research. They had had the plans for the place, and a man on the inside, so Deidre’s group had known exactly where the guards were stationed and what time they made their rounds. It should have been simple to avoid them. Heck, Deidre had managed to give her Secret Service detail the slip. Anything after that should have been a cakewalk.
She let her head drop to the back of the sofa as she stared up at the ceiling, her gaze tracking the dancing shadows even as she concentrated on the soothing hiss and snap of the fire.
And while she zoned out, her mind replayed the last few moments of the mission she and her group had called Operation Deliverance. Shaking her head now, she sighed at their naïveté. Filled with righteous indignation at their government’s treatment of women and witches alike, they had been so sure they could pull it off and give the “justice” system a black eye at the same time.
But it went so wrong.
Everything was going according to plan. They had five witches free of their cells, the white-gold chains off their necks. Six members of RFW were in on the raid and four of them were already out in the vans, having done their part in cutting open the fences to allow Deidre and one other to go inside and get the witches.
Susan Baker, the same woman who had argued with Deidre’s mother at their White House meeting, had made all the arrangements. She’d paid off their informers and had vans waiting outside to hustle the women away to where they could hide until RFW could come up with a permanent place to take them.
Deidre, terrified but determined, had led the witches down the dimly lit hallway. In a hurry because the two guards were due back in fifteen minutes, she kept them moving, signaling them all for silence.
She needn’t have worried about that, though. These women had been tortured and locked up. They now knew to keep quiet if they hoped to survive. Their bare feet hardly made a sound on the cold cement floor and Deidre ran on her toes, the soles of her ballet flats whispering gently.
Susan waved her on and as Deidre and the others passed her, she pulled a gun from under her jacket.
Horrified, Deidre could only keep going. It was too late to stop and question her friend about what she was up to. But weapons hadn’t been part of the plan. No one was supposed to be armed, just in case they were caught. Bad enough to be captured breaking into a federal facility—especially if you were the president’s daughter—but to be carrying weapons, too?
Besides, no way was Deidre prepared to kill someone. No one was supposed to get hurt in this raid. Their mission was to save people. Raise the plight of witches in the public consciousness. Garner sympathy for them.
Why did Susan have a gun?
Deidre led the five women down the long hall and through the darkened reception area toward the front door. Then they were outside, darting across the dead grass, puffs of their breath clouding in front of their faces. The cold October night pressed down on them and Deidre felt …
Something.
A presence.
She could have sworn that someone was watching her. But she shook off the feeling, knowing that if anyone was watching their escape, floodlights would have flashed on and a warning siren would be wailing. Still, that prickling sense of something different stayed with her.
They were at the front gate and Deidre hurried the witches on, waving her hands, pointing at the two black vans waiting for them. The women didn’t need any further encouragement. They took off at a dead run once they were free of the compound and Deidre smiled as they piled into the vans and were driven off.
“Mission accomplished,” she murmured just before she heard a single gunshot from inside the building. It was inordinately loud in the stillness and the echo of its report shocked Deidre like a cold hand that fisted around her heart.
She whipped around and the floodlights snapped on, nearly blinding her. She ran back to the small enclosure she had just left, afraid that Susan had been shot and knowing she had to get her friend out of there before the guards responded to the noise.
From somewhere close, she heard men shouting and she realized they didn’t have long. Heart pounding, straining for breath, she dashed down the hall, then skidded to a stop.
“What did you do?” she demanded.
Susan was standing over a guard, the gun still pointed down at him. A fresh pool of dark red blood had formed around him and continued to grow, spilling across the cement, tracking toward the toe of Susan’s shoe.
“He tried to stop us,” Susan whispered, her voice nearly lost over the sudden shriek of the siren erupting. “I had to do it,” she said, flicking her gaze up to Deidre. “I had no choice.”
“Damn it, Susan,” she cried and reached out to grab her friend’s arm. Pulling with all her strength, she tugged her along behind her, down the hallway, back toward the front of the building and the only escape route they had. “Come on!”
“I had to,” Susan muttered, shaking her head, looking back over her shoulder at the dead man lying in a puddle of blood. “I had to. I had to.”
Deidre kept running, kept dragging a reluctant Susan along behind her. Heart in her throat now, she could hardly draw a breath. Her nerves were screaming and tears blurred her vision and still she kept running. They were locked in now. They had to get out. If they were caught, they’d all be jailed and it wouldn’t be for helping witches escape.
They’d be tried for murder.
And being the president’s daughter wouldn’t save her.
She bolted around a corner, paused long enough to make sure no one was there, then ran for it, tugging at Susan’s arm. She heard a sound behind her. A series of sighs, then a couple of heavy thuds as something hit the floor. Deidre spun around frantically to look. And in that split second, she thought she saw—No.
“Run, Susan! Run!” She yelled it now, no need for quiet and stealth as the sirens wailed and more men shouted, their booted feet crunching on the cold, dead grass.
Susan seemed to wake out of her stupor and suddenly bolted alongside Deidre, the two of them racing for the car they’d left outside the fence. The license plates had been blacked out and there was nothing distinguishable about the plain beige sedan.
They jumped into the car and Deidre put it into gear and stepped on the gas. In moments, they were peeling away from the camp and losing themselves in the darkness.
But nothing would ever be the same again.
Her cell phone rang and Deidre jumped, sloshing wine over the rim of her glass and down her arm. She grabbed the phone, recognized the caller and answered gratefully. “Susan? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I don’t think I should tell you where I am, Dee,” she said and her voice sounded distant. It wasn’t so much a miles thing as an emotional distance, though.
Deidre set her wineglass down, picked up the remote and turned off the stereo. Somehow, the silky sounds of soft jazz were a discordant note in all of this. “I’ve been so worried. Are you okay? Tell me that at least.”
“I’m fine. Really. I’m just …”
Heart aching, Deidre could imagine what her friend was feeling. Guilt. Misery. Fear. She knew because she was feeling the same thing and she hadn’
t killed that guard. Though she might as well have. As far as the courts were concerned, she was as guilty as Susan. Hell, as far as she was concerned, she was guilty. If they hadn’t broken into that camp, the guard would still be alive.
But, she wondered, would the witches?
“What about—” She broke off, not wanting to ask a question about the rescued prisoners. Cell phone conversations could be overheard or recorded. Hell, in today’s world, there wasn’t a lot to feel safe about.
“They’re good, too,” Susan told her. “They’re visiting a friend and everyone’s okay.”
“Thank God.”
“Yeah.” Susan paused for a long moment, then said, “I’m not going to be coming back to D.C., Dee. I … can’t.”
“Sue—”
“I’m really sorry, but there’s just no way I can go back there and pick up like nothing happened.” A broken sob carried across the air and Deidre’s heart clenched in despair for her friend. “You’ll have to take over at RFW, Dee. They’ll need a leader and—”
“No,” Deidre said quickly, her voice sounding as lost as her friend’s. She’d been avoiding the members of RFW ever since that night and still couldn’t bear the thought of seeing any of them. “I can’t do it, either, Susan. Someone else is going to have to step up to the plate.”
“I’m so sorry, Dee,” Susan said and her voice broke again on the words. “I ruined everything for both of us. If it hadn’t been for you, I never even would have made it out of there. I really owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” Deidre took a breath and blew it out. “I’m not even sure how we got out, to be honest.” Their escape was pretty much a blur. She remembered running like mad, terrified, the sounds of men shouting and running feet echoing throughout the building. She remembered feeling someone watching her as surely as if that someone had reached out and touched her.
Frowning, she lifted one hand and rubbed a spot between her eyebrows, where a headache that had been born on the night of the escape was still pounding. As a throbbing, incessant reminder of what she’d done and what she’d seen.
Just for a second, she let herself try to remember what had been there in the room with them at the last moment before she and Susan had escaped. But when her friend started talking again, Deidre shook off the memory and listened.
“I don’t know yet where I’m going,” Susan said quietly. “But once I get settled, I’ll call you. Promise.”
“Okay. Just … be careful, Susan. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Right. You, too.”
When she disconnected, Deidre just sat there, staring at the phone, her last link with her friend gone. She knew Susan wouldn’t be calling her again. She would want to cut all ties to that night at the camp. She wouldn’t want a reminder of what had happened. Deidre would miss her friend, but honestly, this way was better. How could they ever just go out to dinner or to a movie or laugh over guys together again? With this terrible secret haunting them both, normalcy was not an option.
Reaching for her wine, Deidre took another long sip and sighed. She turned her head to the window overlooking the small park in her Capitol Hill neighborhood, and stared through the rain that slid like tears down the glass—and saw something entirely different.
For just an instant, she let herself go back to that night. To the moment when she’d heard the scuffling sounds and spun around prepared to defend her and Susan against whatever came for them.
She remembered the darkness.
The shadows.
And she remembered clearly one more thing.
The pair of gray eyes watching her.
Chapter 45
Teresa made the best use of her time once Rune took off to do his security thing.
She turned her mind away from the fact that she was all alone out in the middle of a jungle, filled with God only knew what kinds of animals and bugs, and focused instead on the moon overhead. Her grandmother had always taught her that witches were rejuvenated by the moon.
What better time to awaken her own mystical connection to the magic? She had learned as a child that the best time for casting moon spells was when the moon was waxing—growing toward its fullness. The time when the moon was waning, slowly fading away and losing its brilliance, was less powerful.
She glanced skyward and saw the waxing half-moon as a thin layer of clouds parted, displaying its pale creaminess against a black sky. Standing up, Teresa took a step or two away from the fire, then lifted her arms high, cupping her hands as if to catch the silvery light in her palms.
She tipped her head back, watched that moon shining down on her through the dancing limbs of the trees and whispered the long-ago chant she had learned from her abuela.
Sister moon, shine for me.
Mother moon, hear my cry.
Sister moon, I call on you
To share your magic and mystery.
She inhaled slowly, deeply, feeling the warm, humid air fill her lungs with the scents of nature. She drew strength from her surroundings as the moon seemed to pulse in the sky. Silvery light dropped like rain to where she stood, enveloping her in a glow that fed her soul and spirit.
Smiling, Teresa sighed as magic slid through her veins, bubbling, frothing, filling her with an incredible wash of something mystical and ancient. She recognized it and welcomed its return.
“Oh, my goddess …” she whispered, her voice no more than a sigh on the wind that lifted her hair into a tangle around her head. The stars seemed to spin in the sky as the moon continued to throb along with the beat of her heart.
Such a connection. How had she ever managed to live without this incredible sense of well-being? Her body hummed, every cell bristling with life and burning with need. The wash of moonlight brightened all around her and Teresa felt like a pillar of light in a sea of darkness.
The moon’s essence deepened in her, swelling, growing, until she felt like an overfilled bucket and the magic was literally pouring from her in a stream that couldn’t be stopped. And along with her power, her body awakened. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples so sensitive that even the delicate contact with her lacy bra was nearly painful. She hungered for her mate.
Her center was damp and hot and her legs trembled as sensation pumped through her. It was as if she had turned on a faucet, opening herself to the moon, and now she had no idea how to turn it off. More and more of the mystical energies filled her until she trembled with the onslaught and had to fight for breath.
She swayed unsteadily in that pillar of light as the moon reached for its child, as if it were as hungry for the connection as Teresa had been. A door opened in her mind and the past rushed forward, image after image, demanding to be seen, recognized, accepted. She closed her eyes against the frenzied clip show her brain was presenting her with.
But these memories would no longer be ignored. Visions rose up and faded away in a timeless yet hurried slide show. She saw herself across the ages, changing from one lifetime to the next. She watched as the witch she had been took part in that last spell. Watched as demons poured through the opened gate to hell.
Teresa screamed and the images changed. She was a woman in London, a servant in Venice, a wife in Holland. More lives remembered and then cast away. More times with Rune. Always Rune. He was there, in the captured photographs in her memory. Her warrior.
Her mate.
She was so many women in the march through time and yet she was always herself. The heart of her, the soul of her remained the same. Then one clear thought screamed into her consciousness and Teresa finally understood why he couldn’t trust her. Why he held himself back from her even as they moved forward on the most important quest either of them would ever undertake.
She’d betrayed him in the past. More than once. She had hurt him and cost herself the respect of the man she now loved more than she would ever have thought it possible to love. God, she loved him. Hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t planned to. But maybe, she thought, she’d never really had a ch
oice in that at all. They had been destined. And destiny, she was beginning to understand, was not easily fought or ignored.
The moon scrambled her thoughts, its energy creating a tumult inside her that she simply couldn’t withstand much longer. She gasped and fell to her knees, bracing her hands on the dirt and grass in front of her. Her back bowed, her head down, she struggled to find the peace she had enjoyed when she first opened herself to the moon. But she had gone past that now and crossed a threshold. There was no peace to be found anymore—there was simply too much chaos churning inside her.
And still the moonlight entered her, like a persistent lover. Pushing into her body again and again even after orgasm had been reached, until pleasure became pain and the two became so entwined that they couldn’t be separated. She was heated, gasping, shuddering, pushed into a yearning, desperate need that left her curled on the ground whimpering with the aches rattling her body.
“Rune …” She tried to call for him, but her voice was lost in the surging pounding of her own heart. Her blood. Her core burned with an aching need that couldn’t be assuaged. Teresa reached to press one hand against her center, hoping to ease the pulsing need that throbbed incessantly within her. It didn’t help. Nothing could help, she knew, but his body, driving into hers. She literally burned for it. “Oh, God, Rune. Come back …”
“What do we have here?” A man stepped out of the thicket of darkness and was quickly followed by four more men.
Even through the blinding need, Teresa felt a jolt of fear and shock slap at her. Her eyes wheeled to the hard faces of the men leering down at her like slavering dogs over an unexpected feast. She swallowed hard, tried to scream, but she couldn’t find her voice.
The pillar of moonlight still held her in its grasp, saturating her body with the energies of the ages, but she could only moan in response. Twisting and turning on the ground, she reacted to the hunger inside her. She couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t ease the longing or her response to it, even knowing that these cold-eyed interlopers were getting off on watching her.
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