Bound by Darkness Read online

  Both Gatherers pulled sharply into the shadows. Long, heart-pounding seconds ticked by. When no one new appeared at the top of the stairs, Brian breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Nice takeout,” he said to Murdoch sarcastically.

  The Scot shrugged. “He won’t wake up for a while.”

  As the big Gatherer dragged the guard’s body around the corner and stuffed him into an armoire, Brian climbed the stairs to the second floor. He paused and glanced up. The bedrooms were on the top level. More people, more risk. “On second thought, maybe I should take the third floor. Sometimes your control ain’t what it ought to be.”

  Murdoch sent him a cold stare. “We stick to the plan.”

  Since Brian had drafted said plan, based on data he himself had dug up, he could hardly argue. He nodded, then strode down the second-floor hallway in search of the vault.

  Every Soul Gatherer was handed a toolbox of primal spells on his first day, some of them more useful than others. Deaden and unlock always came in handy, as did speed. But enhanced senses were a double-edged sword. Not remotely convenient when stuck in an elevator with a guy who hadn’t showered recently, but a veritable godsend when hunting.

  Even when the prey was an inanimate object.

  Metal had a very distinctive smell. Most vaults were made of steel-reinforced concrete, so he was seeking a large deposit of steel, hidden behind a panel of some sort. For a discerning nose, no problem.

  Checking for occupants before he unlocked each door, Brian searched the rooms one by one. An art gallery, a home theater, a library. The gym, filled with metal weights and equipment, took him the longest. When he reached the last door on the left side of the hallway, he stopped.

  People.

  One, two ... he sniffed a little deeper ... three.

  The breathing noises sounded slow and even, but there was no way to know whether the folks inside were awake or asleep, not without cracking open the door. The odds favored their being awake; these weren’t bedrooms. But the gain outweighed the risk—according to the floor plans, this was Duverger’s office.

  Praying the group inside was seated, Brian zapped the room with a sleep spell. Then he opened the door and slipped inside.

  The boot heel that connected with his jaw came out of nowhere. Had he been a regular guy, the powerful, well-aimed blow would have knocked him out cold, guaranteed. Even so, the unexpected attack rocked him off balance, and he was headed for a face-plant in the colorful Moroccan carpet when his attacker kindly snagged his arm and eased his fall.

  With a small hand, he noted. A kid, maybe.

  There was no time to be offended. He grabbed an ankle and yanked his attacker to the ground. A little twist of his hand and the body fell atop a nearby leather armchair with a soft grunt. No attention-calling crash or bang, he noted with pride. Bounding to his feet, his hand still latched onto a slim ankle, he glanced around the room, verifying the slumbering state of two guards on the sofa before turning to his captive.

  His breath snagged.

  Not a kid, a woman.

  To be more precise, an elegant woman with killer brown eyes and masses of gleaming dark hair pulled into a tight knot. Her black military-type outfit was boring, but the body inside was anything but. An endless cascade of long limbs and lush curves, it triggered the floodgates on his hormones and he got swept away like a drowning man. About a mile downstream, he realized his fingers were digging into the soft skin above her boot and he loosened his grip.

  A quick snap of her leg against the man’s relaxed thumb and Lena cleared his grasp. A miracle, really, considering her heart was ricocheting around in her chest and her muscles barely had the sense to do her bidding. Her first kick should have been followed by a prompt second. Instead, she’d hesitated. Why? Was she really that easily undone by a handsome face?

  A heart-stoppingly handsome face, to be fair, but still...

  Punishing him for her brief enthrallment, she delivered an uncompromising kick to the intruder’s crown jewels. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slid to his knees with a faint moan. Lena wasted no time. Leaping from the chair, she dove over the big teak desk and snatched the coin box from the open vault. Any normal man would have succumbed to her sleep spell. The fact that this one hadn’t spoke volumes.

  Get out, get out, get out.

  There was no time to finish the job, no time to clean up, no time to collect her knapsack. In a brief, thoughtless moment, this fool had ruined all her carefully laid plans. And it wasn’t just her reputation on the line this time.

  Get out now.

  Box clutched to her chest, she sprang for the huge picture window overlooking the gardens. Headfirst, she smashed through the leaded glass, then rolled in midair to drop to the ground on her feet amid the shards. She shook her head to rid her ponytail of glass, then ran. The breaking glass should rouse the household, but Lena took the added precaution of flinging an enliven spell back at the house.

  The alarms immediately sprang back to life, and seconds later she felt the motion sensors pulse a silent message to Duverger’s guardhouse. Her intruder had been in stealth mode, slinking about the room like a panther on the prowl. He didn’t work for Duverger. Chances were very good his intent had been the same as hers—to steal the coins—and the Frenchman’s army of bodyguards would be all over him in minutes.

  Deal with that, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Annoying.

  Batting away a twinge of guilt, she cleared the wall and veered left, keeping to the shadows as she sprinted for the car park. Ridiculous. Why was she feeling bad for a stranger? He’d be fine. In fact, judging by how easily he’d thrown her into that chair, he’d probably be back on her tail in a heartbeat, hell-bent on getting the coins.

  That would be a disaster.

  Ruthlessly gagging her conscience, she reactivated the perimeter alarms.

  Murdoch thrust the BMW into drive, hammered the accelerator with his big foot, and sped out of the parking lot, gravel flying. His cheeks were flushed and his hands squeezed the steering wheel with barely contained fury. Blood dripped off his jaw from a graze above his right ear. “Tell me I didn’t get shot for nothing, Webster. Tell me you got the coins.”

  Brian dug a bullet out of his thigh with his pocket-knife. Not the most graceful exit he’d ever made. “Sorry, no. She beat me to them.”

  “She?”

  “Keep your eyes on the road, dickwad.”

  “You let a lass get the better of you?”

  Yeah, he’d been stupid. He shouldn’t have assumed she was mortal, nor should he have softened his stance because she was a woman. But, frankly, he’d been caught off guard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such a wicked-hot lick of attraction. “Obviously not a human woman. Demon, maybe.”

  “Christ, you’d better hope not.”

  Ignoring him, Brian pulled his BlackBerry from his pocket and speed-dialed MacGregor’s number. When the phone was answered by a woman, he said, “Hey, Mrs. L, is the big guy around?”

  “He’s in the training arena with Em.”

  “It’s important.” A glance out the rear window told him there were no headlights in pursuit. They were home free. Which, given that he’d just lost a hugely valuable relic with the power to sucker punch the world, felt wrong. “He’ll forgive you for interrupting, I promise.”

  As Rachel fetched her husband, Brian peered at Carlos, who sat in the backseat, head propped against the door, one foot on the leather upholstery. His eyes were closed and deep creases framed his mouth. Brian put a hand over the phone mouthpiece and asked, “You didn’t get hit, did you?”

  “No.” The teen cracked one eye open. “Unlike you old geezers, I can run.”

  Brian flipped him the finger.

  “Webster?” MacGregor’s displeasure rippled over the phone line. “What happened?”

  “I screwed up,” Brian confessed without preamble. His shoulders were broad; he could take the fallout. “I lost the coins. To a woman who was impervi
ous to my sleep spell and who managed to drop me with a kick that’d put Bruce Lee to shame.”

  “She was immortal?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  “Did she escape through a rift in the barrier?”

  “No,” Brian said, the pinch in his chest easing a bit. Good point. That meant she wasn’t a demon and Satan didn’t have the coins. “Through a window.”

  “So she’s a Gatherer.”

  “A what?” Brian blinked. He knew female Soul Gatherers existed, but in six long years of serving Death, he’d never run across a single one. Shouldn’t a woman capable of delivering the beat-down to a demon be bigger and less ... soft? “Really?”

  “Let me check the database.” A brief pause, then, “Aye, here it is. The system has a tag on a female Gatherer no’ far from your position. Lena Sharpe. She’s in a car, about to pass through the tollbooth on the A8, headed toward Nice.”

  “What’s another Gatherer doing stealing from Duverger?” His question instantly earned him the attention of the two men in the car. Brian offered them a shrug. “Is she in on the plan?”

  “No, according to her record, that’s what she does. She’s a thief.”

  “Huh? Isn’t she supposed to be earning her way out of purgatory like the rest of us?”

  “Her eternal reward isn’t our problem, Webster,” MacGregor reminded him. “Just get the coins.”

  “No problem. I’m on it. Does the database happen to say where she’s staying?”

  “Aye,” his friend said. “A hotel off Rue Jean Allègre. Here’s the address....”

  Brian memorized the street number, then hung up.

  Lena Sharpe. Sounded British or something, but the woman hadn’t looked like your typical English rose. Dark hair and smoky, tilted eyes gave her a more exotic allure. Not that it mattered what her background was or what she looked like. The woman had his coins, and she was damned well going to cough them up.

  “Time to do a little coin collecting, boys.”

  3

  Tariq was waiting exactly where he said he’d be.

  When Lena paused at the street corner in old Nice a few minutes after one in the morning, the Egyptian man hopped into the passenger seat of her little Peugeot, the hood of a burgundy sweatshirt pulled low over his head. Only his thin beak of a nose was visible. “Go left here,” he murmured. “Drive two blocks, and then make a right turn.”

  She drove around the corner. “You have the address in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes.”

  With a deep breath, she slid an envelope and the ebony coin box onto his lap. “Your ticket is in the envelope. Meet me there in three days.”

  His slim hands held the box for a moment before tucking it in the wide front pocket of his sweatshirt. They were an artist’s hands, capable of creating great beauty, but Tariq rarely indulged his gift for sculpting. Fast money had far more appeal. He was the best fence Lena had ever worked with, swiftly locating an eager buyer for any artifact, no matter how unusual or hot, and intuitively sensing just how far he could push without losing the deal.

  “Is it true that making skin contact with the coins will curse you?” he asked.

  “Yes, you risk your soul by carrying them.” It bothered her to ask it of him, but she could think of no one else she trusted enough. He’d handled many sales for her over the years and never once robbed her. Taken his agreed share and no more.

  “It’s a fair trade. You saved my soul the day you spirited me out of Egypt, right from under Reyhan’s nose. He would have killed me.”

  “Carrying the coins is almost as dangerous as your cousin.”

  He smiled. “You can salve your conscience by depositing thirty percent of their sale value in my Swiss account.”

  They had agreed on twenty-five. So much for owing her his life. “That’s outrageous. You know I’m not selling them.”

  He nodded. “But they’re extremely valuable. And I know you’ll pay.”

  “Do you?” She skewed him a serious look. “Then you must also know your life will be forfeit should you betray my faith. I will not give up until I find you.” She smiled to soften the threat. “Of course, our long and profitable history makes that unlikely.”

  His dark eyes met hers.

  The business talk was always of dollars, but pain and death were the true currencies of the black market and Tariq understood that. He knew nothing of her role as a Soul Gatherer, but he’d witnessed her combat skills the day she’d robbed his cousin of a jeweled collar, impulsively saving Tariq in the process. He’d babbled about her speed and agility for weeks afterward.

  He sat a little taller. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  Lena pulled the tiny car to the curb. The instant the vehicle stopped, the Egyptian leapt out and ducked down an unlit corridor between two ancient, crumbling brick buildings. In the blink of an eye, he vanished, lost amid the shadows spilling from wrought-iron balconies and faded awnings.

  She sped off, back toward the center of town.

  The handoff had taken less than five minutes. If she’d done her job right, no one would ever know they had met.

  Brian stared at the brightly lit entrance to the hotel. His lovely little coin thief had chosen a busy, modern Novotel where she could come and go with ease, even in the middle of the night. Exactly the sort of place he would have selected himself.

  For some reason, that bothered him.

  Not nearly as much as it bothered him to enter Lena Sharpe’s small hotel room a few moments later and find her absent, though. She had a ten-minute lead on them. The only good news was that her stuff was still here—a laptop on the desk, a battered old steamer trunk under the window, toiletries in the bathroom—which meant she was coming back. Eventually.

  “Watch the door, Webster,” Murdoch said. “The lad and I’ll search her belongings.”

  The Scot immediately kicked open the lid of the trunk and began pawing, but Carlos displayed far less enthusiasm. Pressing his fingers to his eyes, the young man trudged over to the tiled bathroom.

  Brian followed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” The teen caught Brian’s skeptical look, then shrugged and amended, “Craptacular headache, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t get nicked by a bullet?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. This”—he pointed to his head—“started on the plane. Thought it’d go away, but it’s getting worse.”

  “Take a pill or something. I need you at full steam.”

  “ ’Kay.” Carlos picked up Lena’s makeup bag and peered inside. “She’s got Tylenol.”

  Satisfied, Brian returned to the main room. He stood by the door, listening for the sound of the elevator.

  “What do you make of this?” Murdoch asked.

  Brian glanced over.

  The big Scot held up a wooden cross, a well-thumbed Bible, and a big glass bottle filled with a clear liquid. He unscrewed the cap and took a sniff. “No garlic in sight, but I’m betting this water is blessed.”

  “She hunts vampires?” asked Carlos, peering around the door of the bathroom, his brown eyes wide.

  “Don’t be a dolt. Vampires aren’t real.” Brian shrugged at Murdoch. “Odds are she’s a typical lone Gatherer, just doing her best with the mediocre tools Death provides. Without Romany magic or the benefit of a sword, she’d resort to the traditional stuff. Ignore it and keep looking for the coins.”

  Just as he resumed his vigil at the door, the elevator chimed and light footsteps trod down the carpeted corridor toward them. Brian signaled to the others to get out of sight and hugged the wall as tightly as he could. If she swept the room with her senses before she entered, they wouldn’t have a prayer. But hopefully the lack of obvious pursuit after her getaway had eased her wariness.

  The footsteps paused in front of the room and a key card snicked in the lock. The instant she shoved the door, he leapt. He took her smoothly to the hallway floor, pinning her arms to her sides and using his superior si
ze to hold her in place.

  Lena did not go down easily, however.

  First, she bloodied his nose with a quick head butt. Then she kicked him in the shins. Bigger and stronger than she, he easily maintained his hold, but her hands remained free to inflict damage. She dug her fingers into his leg muscles, pinching and twisting with everything she had. His gonads still throbbed from the kick she’d delivered a half hour before, so he settled his full weight on her and wrapped his legs around her to minimize her struggles.

  Nothing he did took the fight out of her. She continued to pinch, bash, and wrench every available part of his body.

  “Stop,” he said hoarsely into her ear. Blood dripped from his battered nose. “We’re not the enemy. We’re Soul Gatherers, like you.”

  Another head butt, this one to the mouth.

  “Need some help, Webster?” Murdoch asked from the doorway, amused.

  Brian ignored the comment.

  “How do you think we found you so quickly?” he asked her, mashing her face into the garish carpet with his upper body. “We have access to the Gatherer database.”

  Her fingernails found the bullet wound on his thigh and dug in. The healing process was already well under way, but her attack ripped the scab off.

  “Fuck!

  Down the hall, a door creaked.

  “Guys,” said Carlos, his voice low. “Can we take this inside?”

  Brian made one last attempt to get through to her. “Think about it, Lena. If I were a demon, I’d be pelting you with fire right now, not rolling around on the ground, taking a shit-kicking for no reason.”

  Her struggles abruptly ceased.

  His heartbeat sped up the instant she relaxed. Partly because her perfumed scent finally navigated the swollen tissues of his nose, but mostly because he discovered one of his arms was pressed against a pair of very nice breasts. Only a rat-faced guy would even notice something like that at a moment like this, but there you had it. He was a rat-faced guy.