In Destiny’s Shadow

by Ingrid Weaver

  He walked to the window to check the street while he gathered his thoughts. Yet again, he considered how much he should tell her. He wasn’t accustomed to sharing anything—as she had said, he preferred to be the one in control. Yet Melina needed to know more of the truth if she was going to help him. “It’s more than just an angle. It’s why Benedict married my mother.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Her family came from Romania. She had Gypsy blood. Benedict believed she carried psychic power in her genes, so he thought her children would, too.”

  “Oh, good God,” she murmured. “Seriously?”

  “That’s why he talked her into fertility treatments at the clinic where he worked.” Anthony regarded her over his shoulder, gauging her reaction. “He wanted to possess her children the same way he had Ouija boards and tarot decks. Just as he would collect artifacts.”

  “Possess her children?” she repeated. “Innocent children. That’s unthinkable.”

  “Before he was expelled from college, he studied genetics. He thought he was being scientific.”

  “More like he was being delusional. Is that why he was trying to get information about you and your sisters? Did he actually believe you had the potential for psychic abilities?”

  “That’s right. Benedict abandoned us when he fled the country. He wants to reacquire us now.”

  “This is too incredible. Maybe you misinterpreted his motives.”

  “There’s no mistake, Melina. I’ve read the notes he left in my mother’s records from the fertility clinic. That’s how I learned the truth. He documented his theories in her file. He wanted to experiment with all six of us.”

  The color drained from her face. “Experiment?”

  “To train us as psychics.”

  “Then Fredo was right. The guy is over the edge. Who knows what he’s capable of doing?” She paused. “I can see why you’re so anxious to keep him away from your family. This is horrible.”

  Too restless to stand still, Anthony paced to the door. The room suddenly felt too small, too enclosed. He rubbed his forehead. “Benedict went after Danielle first because she was the most vulnerable. She wouldn’t let me protect her. I had tried to keep her safe while we were growing up, but she resented it when we got older. Just like you, she saw my concern as being controlling and overprotective. We had a lot of arguments until she and her son moved away.”

  “Away? You mean out of Philadelphia?”

  “She moved to Chicago. She hasn’t spoken to me in two years. I only heard she and my nephew had had a run-in with the Titan Syndicate when Jeremy told me after it was over.”

  “I’m sorry, Anthony. I didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.”

  “What?”

  “When I called you overprotective. I hadn’t realized you were estranged from your sister.”

  A sore spot? It was more like a gaping wound.

  Not a day went by that he didn’t think about Danielle and wonder how she and Alex were. Hearing about her secondhand only added to the pain. Yet he was the one who had cut off the psychic connection between them. He’d been angry that she’d quit the team.

  But this was no time to dwell on that. He gestured impatiently. “My feelings are immaterial. Jeremy told me she took my nephew to a private island in the Mediterranean where they’ll have round-the-clock protection, so they’re safe. That’s all that matters. My other sister’s new boyfriend has the resources to see to her security, so Benedict won’t get to Elizabeth, either. But I still haven’t been able to warn our other three siblings. I don’t know where they are. I didn’t even know for sure they existed until I went to Wyatt and remembered that night—” He stopped and inhaled deeply, focusing on the patch of sunlight that angled across the wall. The room wasn’t too small, he told himself. He wasn’t enclosed. He could breathe.

  The bed creaked as Melina sat on the edge of the mattress. “That must have torn you up inside, to lose so much so suddenly.”

  He waited until the panic receded before he went on. “I had blocked them out of my memory, like my mother’s murder. After we went to our first foster home, my sisters remembered the babies, but we were told they were mistaken. I’m assuming the other triplets were either handled by another social service agency or were adopted.”

  “Is there any way to find them?”

  “There isn’t much to go on. The memories that came back to me after I went to Wyatt are hazy, more feelings than anything else. All I found in my mother’s medical records is their names, but there’s no way to know if they still have them. My brothers were named Darian and Hawk. My youngest sister was named Cassandra. They probably would have been given a different surname, the same way Danielle, Elizabeth and I were.”

  “You’re right. That isn’t much.”

  “That’s why I’ve been concentrating on finding Benedict before he finds them. It’s the only sure way to protect them all.”

  “All that misery over some superstitious belief,” Melina said. “Somehow, it makes everything more tragic.”

  He looked at her. “I take it you don’t believe in the paranormal?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Many people do.”

  “I deal in facts, and I’ve never seen any proof of supernatural powers.” She hesitated, and her gaze went to the gold hoop in his ear. “What about you, Anthony? Do you think there could be any truth to what Benedict believes about your Gypsy heritage?”

  He almost told her then. Hell, he wanted to show her. He was tired of pushing his needs aside. He did want to forget his obligations. He wanted to seize the pleasure of the moment with her….

  Promise me you’ll take care of them, okay?

  His mother’s words slid through his thoughts, knocking him back on track, as they always did. He went to where he had left the map, unrolled it and bent his head to study the print.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “If I had inherited any psychic ability, Melina, you can be damn sure I would be channeling every ounce of it into finding Benedict.”

  There was a patio made of red brick behind the house, separated from the gravel parking area by a black wrought-iron fence. It was sheltered from the wind by an overgrown yew hedge and was pleasantly warmed by the sun. Melina decided it was a good place to make her calls—she couldn’t get a clear signal inside the house. Yet she could feel her hand tremble as she held her phone to her ear. It wasn’t from cold; it was from nerves. Was this how Fredo had felt before he had died?

  If even half of what Anthony had told her was true, the Titan story promised to be bigger than Melina could have imagined in her wildest dreams. The professional thing for her to do at this point would be to step back and verify as many facts as possible. Anthony had said he’d seen notes in his mother’s medical records. For starters, she should demand to see the entire file. Then she should fill in some more pertinent background by questioning him about what else he remembered of Benedict from his early years.

  But she didn’t want to hurt Anthony by probing further into his personal tragedy. She’d seen pain on his face again today. She had thought his pain had stemmed from witnessing his mother’s murder and losing his siblings, yet there was so much more to it.

  How did he feel, knowing he had been born to fulfill some madman’s superstitious delusions? The very idea stirred Melina to anger. Children weren’t possessions, they were gifts. They needed to be loved, they deserved to be cherished. There had been six of them—three babies and three toddlers. That house in Wyatt where they once had lived should have overflowed with the sounds of life, but they had never had the chance to be a family.

  And what about the heartache Deanna must have felt? Anthony had said his mother had believed she was in love, but her love had made her vulnerable. That was what love did. It had allowed a man to use her, to betray her trust and to end her hopes and dreams in an outburst of violence.

  Melina shuddered. Was she thinking of Deanna,
or of herself? The circumstances had been different, yet at the core there were similarities. Eight years ago she had been used and her own dreams about children had been shattered in an instant by a man she had believed she loved….

  The phone crackled. Melina pulled her thoughts back to the present in time to hear a woman’s voice come on the line. “Special Projects Unit. Harriet speaking.”

  “Harriet, this is Melina Becker. I’m calling for Agent Brooks.”

  “One moment, please. I’ll transfer your call.”

  “You already transferred me twice. Just tell me if Liam’s there—”

  The line clicked. The receiver filled with a dull hiss. She was back on hold.

  Melina lowered the phone and terminated the connection. There was no point eating up any more of her minutes. This runaround had nothing to do with the switchboard—her FBI contact still wasn’t taking her calls. Liam either had nothing new, or he had information he considered too important to share with the press. Either way, she wasn’t going to get anything from him today.

  She crossed the patio, tapping the phone against her leg. How close were the authorities to arresting Titan? Did they know that Titan was Benedict Payne? That information would be valuable to them. Would she be betraying Anthony’s confidence if she informed them of what he had told her?

  That was a silly question. She intended to publish what he had told her, didn’t she? That was her job. That was why she was asking him so many questions. It was the only reason they were together.

  The only reason? She reached the fence that bordered the parking area and wrapped her free hand around one of the arrowhead shapes that ran along the top. She hung on until the cold metal bit into her palm. She realized she couldn’t afford to lose her professional detachment on this story, yet how could any woman spend time around Anthony and remain indifferent? It would be like trying to stand close to a fire and not feel heat.

  There hadn’t been much opportunity to sort out the facts she had been learning, let alone reflect on them. Anthony didn’t ask for sympathy. He didn’t accept it when it was offered—he’d said flat out that his feelings were immaterial. He was a complex man with many layers. A fascinating man. A lonely man.

  Did he realize how much he was revealing about himself to her through his actions? He seemed to think it was his responsibility, and his alone, to keep his family safe from Benedict. He even wanted to protect the younger sister and two brothers he only recently realized existed.

  He was so…intense about everything he did. The way he drove, the way he talked with no wasted words, the way he did what he thought best without waiting for anyone’s permission or worrying if he offended. All of it arose from his passionate sense of purpose.

  Passionate. Oh, yes. That described Anthony. She focused on where her fingers wrapped the top of the fence, and she thought about the big, pine four-poster bed in Anthony’s room.

  It seemed as if she couldn’t spend more than ten minutes in his company without having her thoughts stray in that direction. Thank heavens the acute sexual awareness from the night before had faded. Yet there was still a connection. It was as if she were being drawn to him on a level she was unfamiliar with. Could it really have been only two days since they had met?

  It took her a moment to realize her phone was ringing. She put it back to her ear. “Melina Becker,” she said.

  “Melina! Where are you?”

  It took her another few seconds to recognize the voice. “Oh, hi, Neil.”

  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

  She had. She had been putting off responding to them. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

  “I called your hotel but they said you had checked out. Are you still in Santa Fe?”

  She hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Neil, but there were many other people who were involved with production of the Daily Journal. It might be safer not to take the chance of revealing more than necessary. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Neil. Things have been crazy here.”

  “I hope that means your new lead is paying off.”

  “Yes. I’m getting great material.”

  “Terrific. What time will your flight be getting in tomorrow?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got meetings scheduled pretty solid all day, but if you get in after seven I should be able to swing by the airport and pick you up myself.”

  “Neil, I’m not coming back tomorrow.”

  There was a silence. Melina listened for the creak of his chair but heard nothing. “Neil?”

  “You said two days tops.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “I see.”

  He had switched to his reasonable tone. She had always disliked it, she realized. It was too civilized a way to express his displeasure. If she had tried to put Anthony off like this, he wouldn’t be accepting it so calmly. He would get loud. He would probably hop on a plane, come to where she was calling him from and haul her into his arms and—

  “Okay. How much longer will you need?”

  Melina knew it was stupid to feel disappointed. She liked Neil because he wasn’t passionate. He was comfortable. He let her walk all over him—

  No, that wasn’t fair. He was simply a nice man. “Maybe another week.”

  “I don’t know if—Hang on, I’ve got a call on my other line.”

  “No, don’t put me on hold, Neil. I—”

  There was a click and then a blank hiss. It was too late. She was back on hold again.

  She lowered the phone and switched it off. In truth, she felt relieved the conversation was over. And she felt guilty for being relieved. She focused on the ringless fourth finger of her left hand. She had told him she would think about his proposal, but she hadn’t thought about Neil once since they had spoken yesterday morning.

  That was the kind of relationship they had. It wasn’t intense and consuming, it was easygoing. Friendly and undemanding. Safe.

  You have passion, yet you keep it locked inside…. What made you learn to control your emotions?

  In all the years she and Neil had worked together, he had never once asked the question that Anthony had.

  Would Neil have believed her if she’d answered with the same lie she had told Anthony?

  “Was it bad news?”

  The voice startled her. Melina lifted her head and saw that she was no longer alone on the patio. A small, dark-haired woman was walking toward her from the direction of the house. She held a muffin in one hand and clutched a fringed shawl around her shoulders with the other.

  This wasn’t Mrs. Rodriguez, the owner of the bed-and-breakfast, whom Melina had met the night before—a lively, white-haired, seventy-something widow. So she assumed this woman must be the other guest Mrs. Rodriguez had mentioned. “Not really,” she replied. “Just some work issues.”

  Gold bracelets tinkled at the woman’s wrist as she took a dainty nibble of her muffin. There were streaks of silver in her black hair and lines of middle age on her face. Her green gaze was full of lively interest. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but you seemed distressed. Would you like to talk about it?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but it’s nothing.” Melina gave her a smile and looked at the swirling red, amber and gold pattern on the wool that covered the stranger’s shoulders. “What a lovely shawl. It’s so colorful.”

  “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. It reminds me of autumn, the season of endings.”

  What an odd thing to say, Melina thought. She detected a faint accent in the woman’s voice. Something from central Europe, she guessed. “Are you here on vacation?”

  “Unfortunately, no. There is still much I must do before I can rest.” She tilted her head. “You say your phone call was not bad news, but you squeeze your phone as if you might break it.”

  Melina slipped the phone into the pocket of her pants, then flexed her fingers. “I guess I don’t like being put on hold.”

  “No one does. It is not fair to either party. One s
hould make a decision to either go forward or to end things. Only then will you be free.”

  Perhaps it was her accent that made the comment seem more meaningful than it was meant to be, or maybe Melina’s ambivalence over Neil’s proposal was making her paranoid. Whatever the reason, it sounded as if the woman was trying to make a point about Melina’s treatment of Neil.

  Had she been listening while Melina had been talking to him? Perhaps, but even if she had eavesdropped on the conversation, she couldn’t have heard enough to deduce what was going on between them, not unless she was psychic….

  Melina caught herself before she could get carried away by her imagination. After what Anthony had told her about Benedict, it was little wonder that she had the paranormal on the brain. Still, it was ludicrous to suspect that this friendly, middle-aged stranger who was nibbling a muffin in the morning sunlight had some kind of, well, special telepathic power.

  The woman finished off her breakfast, brushed the crumbs from her fingers and headed for the edge of the patio. “I must go. I hope you find what you are seeking.”

  Melina started. Again, it was a comment that seemed to carry more meaning than it should have. “What do you mean? What do you think I’m seeking?”

  She drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Why, your heart’s desire. That is what we all seek, is it not?”

  Chapter 6

  The clouds that had started gathering in the west at noon were continuing to build, growing darker as they thickened, cloaking the mountain range on the horizon with shades of indigo blue. It was late in the year for an electrical storm in this area, but Anthony knew one was coming. He felt a whisper of energy brush across his face. An echo of distant thunder tickled down his spine. Off-season or not, it promised to be a big one.

  “There’s a left turn coming up,” Melina said. She traced her finger along the map she had spread out across her knees. “The Antelope Pueblo should be about eight miles south.”