In Destiny’s Shadow

by Ingrid Weaver

  “He only got as far as Santa Fe.”

  “We made sure he’s dead,” Gus chimed in. “He won’t be talking to anyone else.”

  Benedict stopped and whirled to face them. “Anyone else?”

  Habib waved his hand. There was a strip of gauze around his palm. “He met that reporter from New York. They spoke for only a few minutes. If he did say anything to her, she won’t be talking.”

  “Ah, so you eliminated her, too. Good work.”

  Gus cleared his throat. “We weren’t able to kill her. We gave her a warning instead. It scared her spitless. She took off so fast—”

  “You made a mistake,” Benedict said. “You should have killed her. Melina Becker is becoming more of a nuisance than the FBI. Where did she go? Where is she now?”

  “Habib was driving,” Gus said. “He lost her.”

  “The truck we stole couldn’t keep up with her friend’s Jeep,” Habib said. “And they left so fast we didn’t have time to pick up another car.”

  Benedict spoke through his teeth. “What friend? Don’t make me drag the story out of you piece by piece.”

  “The reporter had a man with her,” Habib said. “He was tall, dressed all in black. He had a black ponytail like one of those martial arts guys. I’m not sure, but I think he’s got some kind of earring, too. He didn’t look like a cop.”

  Benedict stared at Habib. As he sorted out the disjointed description of the reporter’s companion, his anger transformed to excitement.

  A tall man who wore his dark hair in a ponytail and who had a gold earring. The description matched the one that two of his late confederates had given him several months ago. They had tried to acquire Anthony for him in Philadelphia and had failed.

  Could it be true? Could the oldest of Deanna’s children already be this close?

  Benedict’s excitement grew. He licked his lips and rubbed his thumb over his fingers as if he were back in his inner sanctum, holding the pregnant stone woman. There was no time to waste. The preparations were almost complete. Soon he would be able to set the final phase of his plan into motion.

  It was beginning to happen just as he wanted. The power of this place must be working, after all.

  Chapter 4

  The one-story, cinder-block building that housed The Oasis Bar had been painted turquoise once, but weather and time had reduced the paint to peeling strips of faded color. It squatted on the outskirts of Antelope Ridge, across the highway from a gas station and hard against the chain link fence of a construction company. The neon sign over the door buzzed in a glow of violet and gold, like a pale reflection of the sunset that streaked the horizon.

  Melina paused in the gravel parking lot, the hem of her skirt brushing against her calves. She was thankful for the warmth of her suede boots. The night wind that swept in from the mountains carried a foretaste of frost that was different from the dampness of November in the city. Everything out here seemed to be done on a large scale. The office towers of Manhattan were impressive, but when it came to sheer grandeur they couldn’t compare to the rugged landscape that surrounded her. She held her jacket closed at her throat and inhaled deeply. There was the scent of dust and a faint trace of wood smoke.

  “The place looks rough. Better let me handle this.”

  There was also the scent of leather and of Anthony. She exhaled on a sigh and looped her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’ve been in worse places. Remember, I’m a New Yorker. I can take care of myself. It might be better if you wait for me in the Jeep.”

  He cupped her elbow. “No way.”

  “Anthony, I’ve done this kind of thing before. You don’t have to—”

  “Tag along?”

  She looked at him. His jaw was clenched. She wanted to stroke away the tension with her fingertips. She tightened her hold on her purse. “You might want to lighten up a bit. You don’t want to scare everyone away before I get to ask any questions.”

  “The way you look, no man’s going to pay attention to your questions.”

  It was a backhanded compliment, so she didn’t acknowledge it. She didn’t want to acknowledge the pleasure it gave her, either. “Don’t go getting all macho here. We’re partners, remember?”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” He started forward, guiding her past the row of pickup trucks and motorcycles that were angled in front of the building.

  The moment they entered the barroom, Melina was thankful for Anthony’s presence. She had been wrong—she hadn’t seen anyplace as bad as this.

  The walls were bare cinder block; unlike the outside, no one had attempted to add any color in here. With only a few dim overhead bulbs for lighting, the gray cement was a lifeless smudge. On her left there was a bar made of plywood. It had a splintered hole in the front panel the size of a large boot. There were a few mismatched tables near the front window to her right, some made of wood, some with chrome legs and linoleum tops. A pool table crowded the back wall in front of a jukebox with cracked glass. It was playing Elvis’s, “Don’t Be Cruel.” The tune seemed bizarrely perky.

  The patrons were as grim as the decor. The men were dressed roughly, some in plaid shirts and jeans, others in dingy green work clothes. They slouched over the tables or bent over their pool cues or leaned a shoulder against the wall with the air of someone who just didn’t give a damn. Except for Melina, there were no women present.

  Well, this was what she had wanted. It was her experience that one of the best ways to get information about a crook in a small town was to find the seediest bar and the drunkest patron. The Oasis Bar certainly qualified as seedy.

  Anthony draped his arm around her shoulders and brought his lips close to her ear. “Better let me do the talking.”

  She wanted to disagree—she was accustomed to being in control—but the brush of his breath on her ear sent a wave of heat through her body. The awareness was getting stronger, but as she had been doing all day, she did her best to ignore it. She had more important issues to worry about.

  “Two Millers,” Anthony said, stopping at the bar. He had to raise his voice to be heard over Elvis.

  The bartender was almost as tall as Anthony, and at least twice as heavy. A faded Sun Devils sweatshirt stretched over his belly. He took two bottles from a cooler behind him, opened the caps and plunked them down on the bar. He didn’t offer either of them a glass, for which Melina was grateful. She wouldn’t want to stake her health on the hygiene of this place.

  She wiped the lip of the bottle with her thumb and took a sip as she turned to regard the room. If there had been any conversation before they had come in, it had stopped at their entrance. Every face was turned toward them. So much for subtle. She was trying to decide who would be the best one to approach when the jukebox suddenly went black. The music cut off in the middle of a chorus.

  The man closest to the jukebox went over to it and thumped it with the side of his fist. When nothing happened, he thumped it a few more times.

  “Cut that out,” the bartender shouted. “You’re gonna break it.”

  “It’s already broke,” the man replied, hitting it again. “You owe me a quarter.”

  Anthony squeezed Melina’s shoulder, then withdrew his arm and moved to the center of the room. “I’m looking for an individual named Fredo,” he announced. “Anyone know him?”

  Melina almost dropped her beer. She knew Anthony was short on patience, but what did he think he was doing?

  One of the men who had been playing pool straightened up from the table, his cue stick still in his hands. “Lots of men named Fredo around here, mister.”

  “He’s about five-six, looks like an underfed weasel and runs like a girl.”

  The man by the jukebox guffawed.

  Anthony walked over to him. “You know who I mean.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  The man propped his forearm on the jukebox and leaned past Anthony to look at Melina. He gave her a grin. “Yeah, well, I’d like
to talk to the redhead over there.”

  The jukebox lit up. The music started anew, louder than before. Melina couldn’t hear what Anthony said to the man in front of him. Whatever it was, it had an instant effect. The man straightened up with a jerk, his face pale, his jaw slack, as if he’d received an electric shock.

  As much as she disliked being left on the sidelines, Melina decided to remain at the bar and let Anthony handle this his way. He appeared to be making progress. She approved of the way he didn’t pretend to be Fredo’s friend—these people would never buy that. It was also wise to pretend Fredo was still alive. Less than a day had gone by since he’d been killed, so chances were the news might not have spread. In addition, if anyone here learned how he had died, they would be even less likely to admit that they knew him.

  She wondered once again about the nature of Anthony’s “troubleshooting” work. He seemed to know his way around difficult situations. She didn’t know why she believed him when he claimed he wasn’t doing anything illegal. More gut feelings?

  He wasn’t a man who sought confrontation, yet he didn’t back away from it. He would have learned to be tough early in life—after his mother’s brutal murder, he would have had no other choice. Although the foster care system was full of generous and caring people, it wasn’t perfect. There were all too often cases of abuse and neglect. It was understandable that he had become a man who preferred to keep to himself and to be in control. It would have been his way to cope with the life that fate had given him.

  There was so much she still didn’t know about him. She had only scratched the surface. The more she learned, the more questions arose. It made her wish they didn’t find Benedict right away so she would have the chance to spend more time with Anthony.

  She lifted the bottle and took a hurried mouthful of beer. What was she thinking?

  “Hey, honey. Wanna feel my balls?”

  She swallowed quickly, trying not to choke, and turned to see who had spoken.

  While she had been watching Anthony, one of the pool players had moved toward the bar. She hadn’t heard him approach over the noise of the music. He had left behind his cue stick, and instead he held a pair of colored balls in his hand. He grinned slyly as he rubbed them together.

  Melina glanced at the balls. “No, thanks. It looks as if you’re having too much fun playing with them yourself.”

  His grin stiffened and he leaned closer. “Your friend asked about Fredo. If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll tell you something.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kenny.”

  “All right, Kenny. I’m listening.”

  “Not here.” He nodded toward the door. “Outside. In private.”

  Melina was fairly sure he was lying. But what if he wasn’t? The crude way he approached her might have been an excuse, a cover story, for the benefit of his buddies. She set her bottle on the bar, took a firm grip on her purse and led the way to the door.

  Only a narrow streak of violet on the horizon was all that was left of the sunset. Melina deliberately positioned herself a few feet from the door, in the glow of the overhead sign where she would be visible through the barroom window. She glimpsed Anthony’s tall form near the jukebox, so she judged he should be able to see her, too, just in case he wondered where she had gone. “All right, what can you tell me?”

  “How do you know Fredo?”

  “I met him in New York a year ago.”

  “Yeah, I heard he was trying his luck there for a while. He came back here last winter.”

  “Why?”

  Kenny ran the curve of one billiard ball down her jacket sleeve. “He needed more stuff to sell to some big-time collector.”

  This didn’t sound credible, she thought, easing a step sideways. From what she had seen of Antelope Ridge when she and Anthony had arrived this afternoon, it was a small town that had seen better days. There were vacant storefronts in the modest downtown, and the houses, though neat, were leaning toward shabby. There probably wouldn’t be a lot of Rolexes like the one Fredo had tried selling to her. “What kind of stuff?” she asked.

  “Some old Indian stuff. He said he found it.”

  “What was it? Where?”

  “That’s all I know, honey.” He moved closer, rubbing the ball along her hip. “Now how about being nice to me?”

  She moved nearer to the door. “I appreciate the information, Kenny, but—”

  “I like redheads. Redheads with long legs.” He dropped the balls on the ground and brought his knuckles to her thigh. “What you got under that skirt, honey?”

  Melina glanced toward the window. She could no longer see Anthony. Okay, she had told him she could take care of herself, so she’d better start. She reached into her purse and withdrew the folded bills she kept in one of the compartments for emergency cab fare. “Here’s thirty bucks, Kenny. Buy your friends some more beers on me.”

  “Yeah, good idea.” He plucked the money from her fingers and stuffed it in the back pocket of his work pants. “We’ll all have a party.”

  While he was busy with the money, Melina slipped her hand back in her purse and felt around until she found the slim cylinder on the bottom. Her heart was pounding. She would prefer not to resort to pepper spray, but she wasn’t going to be any man’s victim. Not again. If he made another move to touch her, she was going to let him have it.

  All at once, the lighted sign over the door let out a sizzling crackle. Kenny twisted his head to look up. The glass that covered the light bulbs cracked. A flare of blue-white shot out from one corner, straight toward his face.

  He shielded his face with his forearm and jumped backward. The flare died as suddenly as it had come up. Swearing loudly, he staggered into the wall and slapped his hands over his eyes.

  Melina was already moving away from the light when she was seized from behind. Strong arms encircled her, pulling her back against a solid chest.

  It all happened within a split second, but she didn’t need that long to recognize the man who had come up behind her. She left her pepper spray in her purse and gasped in relief. “Anthony!”

  “Are you all right, Melina?”

  She could hear the concern in his voice, she could feel it in the tremor that hummed through his frame. She pressed back into his embrace, blinking hard to get rid of the afterimage that danced in front of her eyes. “I’m fine. My, God, did you see that light? What happened?”

  Kenny groaned and stumbled against the wall. Flecks of blue paint drifted to the ground. He rubbed his eyes while he continued to spew an unbroken string of oaths.

  “Something must have shorted out in the sign,” Anthony said. He shifted his hold, clamping one arm around her waist. He started for the parked Jeep. “We should leave.”

  Pebbles skidded beneath her boots as she tried to dig in her heels. How could Anthony sound so casual about that…that miniature lightning bolt? “Wait. We should go back and help Kenny. He said that’s his name. He was closer to that light than I was. He could have been blinded.”

  “The flare wasn’t bright enough to do permanent damage. His vision should come back in a few minutes.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The voltage in those bulbs wouldn’t be high enough to hurt him. It just dazzled him.”

  There was a burst of music. Melina twisted to look behind her. Kenny was staggering through the door to the bar, one hand shielding his eyes. “Something must be wrong with the power here,” she said. “Look at the way that jukebox cut out and then started up.”

  “It probably does that all the time. If there’s a problem, the electric company will sort it out.”

  “But—”

  “We’re done here, Melina.” He ended the discussion by pulling her up on his hip. He half carried her the rest of the way across the parking lot.

  They were leaving. Melina realized it was the wisest choice. Kenny’s friends would see to him if he needed help, and there probably wouldn’t be anything m
ore she and Anthony could learn about Fredo here. She knew she was safe, yet her pulse was continuing to accelerate. She felt little bursts of energy, just as she had when they had been close to that live wire in the alley. Could it be from the faulty wiring in the bar…or was it because Anthony was lugging her around again?

  She grasped his arm, trying to loosen his hold. The muscles under his sleeve were like iron. She had trouble catching her breath. She tried to focus her thoughts. “He told me about Fredo.”

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  Heat spread from her hip to her thigh where she rubbed against him. With each stride he took, a shot of awareness throbbed through her body. “Anthony, put me down.”

  He reached the Jeep, yanked open the passenger door and lifted her onto the seat.

  The impact sent a swift jab of pleasure between her legs. She pressed her knees together and clenched her jaw. This was embarrassing. Crazy. How could she be feeling excited?

  Anthony got behind the wheel and gunned the engine. Gravel sprayed from the tires as he left the parking lot. He turned onto the highway and headed toward town.

  Melina watched his thighs as he worked the clutch. His muscles flexed in smooth ridges beneath his jeans. She touched her tongue to her lips, picturing how he’d look without the barrier of denim—

  Stop it! she told herself. She curled her nails into her palms, trying to distract herself.

  The interior of the Jeep had cooled while they had been in the bar. Melina could feel the bite of cold air on her nose, yet she tasted sweat on her upper lip. Her jacket was too heavy. She unfastened the buttons.

  “Don’t,” Anthony said. His voice was strained.

  She shuddered as her arms brushed the front of her breasts. They felt swollen. Sensitive. Longing to be touched. “What?”

  “Leave your jacket on, Melina.”

  “I’m too hot.”

  “Open a window. The breeze will cool you down.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders?”

  Anthony slammed on the brakes, shifted gears and steered the Jeep off the highway.