Drawn into Darkness Page 7

  “Strange things have been happening for months: friendly visits from the dead, sandboxes that wriggle, multiple lightbulbs exploding. You know the stuff I mean. Definite crossovers from the other planes. But a spike in the murder-suicide rate is unique to a lure demon.”

  “And this bothers you because … ?”

  The mage put down his hammer and tugged off his gloves. “Most demons can’t spend more than a few minutes on the middle plane before they become exhausted,” he said, “but lure demons both create and feed off human despair. They’re able to set up camp here for extended periods.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you also know what the Gatherer-versus-lure-demon record is?”

  Sensing a trap, Lachlan shook his head.

  “Zip to eight hundred forty-six,” Stefan said, completely serious.

  Lachlan frowned. “No Gatherer has ever defeated one?”

  “No.”

  “Why no’?”

  “Well, for starters, the blasted creatures are next to impossible to kill.” The mage dragged a hand through the sweaty locks of his hair. “In addition to that neat trick they have of manipulating thoughts, they draw power from their liege.”

  “What kind of power?”

  “The unending kind. When a lure demon tires, he renews his strength by pulling energy from Satan—who, as you already know, pulls his power from the innumerable souls who’ve been damned to hell. Trying to slay a lure demon is the same as trying to slay the Deity of the lower plane himself. Impossible.”

  “Then what good will a new sword do me?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. But it can’t hurt. Mystically speaking, it’s the most powerful sword I’ve ever made.”

  Lachlan returned to the long wooden box and unfastened the brass latch. Lifting the teak cover, he stared at the gleaming weapon inside. His heart pumped a little more heavily at the familiar sight. “A claidheamh mòr.”

  “Not a perfect replica, of course. This one is high-tensile steel and titanium, and weighs only five pounds. Those ancient Ogham markings up the blood gutter will ensure your aim stays true, the peridot in the pommel will ward off his negative sway, and I’ve augmented the demon blood-enhancement spell. With any luck, it’ll do the trick.”

  “I’d rather no’ depend on luck,” Lachlan said, lifting the weapon out of the case. From tang to tip, the sword ran more than five feet.

  “Then stay out of the lure demon’s way.”

  Lachlan replaced the sword and latched the box. He had no intention of running from Drusus, unquenchable power or no. His honor demanded he face the bastard.

  “And if I can’t?”

  Stefan grimaced. “Hope like hell the sword is enough.”

  5

  At lunchtime, Rachel strolled out to the corner hot dog vendor. Normally she ate at her desk, but the mood in the office today did not encourage relaxation. Stressed-out designers, each of them battling the clock to come up with fresh material, were swearing, popping Tylenol like breath mints, and snarling at the mail girl whenever she added to their in-boxes.

  Getting out of the building kept her sane.

  “Chili dog and a Coke,” she ordered, smiling at the rotund man under the striped umbrella. Then she recalled her pledge to lose a few pounds. “Uh, make that a Diet Coke.”

  For once, a nice breeze blew in from the coast, and she peeled off her khaki three-quarter-sleeve jacket as she grabbed a sunny spot on a nearby bench. She’d give anything to sit in on Lachlan’s chat with Em this afternoon, but there was no hope of that. Not today. Celia stalked the halls like a lion, pouncing on the slightest pause in activity.

  Leaning over the napkins spread across her lap, she bit into her meal. A big blob of chili plopped onto the paper.

  “I love those things,” a low male voice said.

  She glanced left … and almost choked on her hot dog.

  Sprawled on the bench next to her was Em’s guy friend from the fairgrounds, smiling as if they were best buds. His short haircut created a disarming cap of blond curls upon his head, and his clothing bore the casual stamp of American Eagle, but all Rachel saw was the hard, polished look in his green eyes.

  She swallowed a lump of food.

  “Unfortunately,” he added, wrinkling his nose, “they don’t love me. I get heartburn every time.”

  Doing her damnedest not to let on how much his sudden appearance disturbed her, Rachel placed her chili dog carefully in her lap. “Do I know you?”

  His smile deepened. “Yes, of course you do, Rachel. I’m Drew, Em’s boyfriend.”

  What was she supposed to say to that?

  “I know you followed us out to the fairgrounds the other night. I saw you in the trees.”

  She glanced away.

  “I confess you intrigue me, Rachel. I don’t remember my own mother, so this notion of going to great lengths to protect a child is fascinating. And when I look at you”—his eyes briefly dropped to her chest—“I don’t think mother.”

  Rachel decided to ignore the sexual undertones. “How did you find out where I worked?”

  “Em told me.” His eyes lit with humor. “She tells me everything.”

  “I’ll bet,” Rachel muttered. “Since you’re here, let’s be frank. I don’t like my daughter hanging out with you. You’re way too … old … for her. I want you to stay away from her.”

  “I can’t.” Drew sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression took on a serious air, and his eyes met hers with steady strength. No hint of subterfuge or lie. “I know this is hard to believe, but I truly love her. She’s the brightest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met, and she accepts me for who I am. You have no idea how liberating that can be.”

  “What a crock.” Rachel glared. That genial air came naturally to him, and it was easy to see how Em had been charmed. But she was not Em. Her experience with Grant had soured her on boyish charmers. “She’s still a child, while you’re—what—twenty?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Twenty-two and taking advantage of a girl eight years younger than you … Are you crazy, or just criminally stupid?”

  He sat back, smiling. “I see where Em gets her vibrant personality. I like you, Rachel.”

  “Well, the feeling’s not mutual. I want you to stop seeing Em and get out of our lives. Go find a girl your own age.”

  “Not too many of those around, I’m afraid. And none as fascinating as Em.”

  The unyielding note in his voice set Rachel’s chest on fire. If it weren’t for the curious people strolling past, she might have been tempted to grind her chili dog in his face. “What do you want? Is it money? We don’t have a lot, but I—”

  “I don’t want money.”

  “Then what?”

  “I told you. I love Em.”

  “And I told you I don’t believe that bull. No twenty-two-year-old—no sane twenty-two-year-old—falls in love with a kid her age.”

  He reached out and traced a narrow finger along her jaw.

  Rachel jerked back, almost upending the chili dog on her cream-colored slacks.

  Her recoil didn’t bother him. He continued to study her with a mix of curiosity and admiration. “MacGregor must ache when he’s with you.”

  The world tilted, and she nearly fell off the wooden bench. MacGregor? Did he mean Lachlan?

  “The warrior in him would respond to your courage, the same way the warrior in me does. We share a fondness for strong women. Always have.”

  Unsure how to respond, Rachel said nothing. The urge to flee was intense, but she resisted. He wouldn’t try something here, in front of all these witnesses. Would he?

  “Sadly, we’re not having the meeting of minds I was hoping for,” Drew said, sighing. He got to his feet. “I usually do much better, especially with women. I wonder if it’s the protective mother thing? At any rate, I have other work to do. Places to be, people to see.”

  He offered her a wry smile. “I’m disappointed that you di
dn’t warm to me—I’m fond of the arts, and I have a colorful past that I think would intrigue you.” Like an actor out of an old movie, he took her hand and sketched an elaborate bow. “But we’ll get other chances to deepen our acquaintance.”

  Empowered by relief over his imminent departure, Rachel snatched her hand back and snorted. “Not if I can help it. Stay away from my daughter or I’ll sic the cops on you.”

  Drew chuckled. “The police can’t stop me, Rachel. To have any hope of severing my romantic ties with Em, you’ll have to send MacGregor after me.”

  She stared at him.

  “Be sure to tell him I dropped by, will you?”

  With a gracious nod, he sauntered away.

  An hour later, Rachel scuttled out the back door of her office building with one hand clutched to her still-queasy stomach. In hindsight, the chili dog had not been a wise choice.

  She had tried to focus on her designs after lunch; she really had. Work nearly always calmed her down. But dismissing her encounter with Em’s boyfriend had been like trying to hold off a tsunami with a spatula. There was something decidedly not right about the guy, something she could only label as … ugly. Knowing that he had a relationship with Em, knowing he touched her—that he’d kissed her—made Rachel want to vomit.

  Lachlan was the only person who’d understand how she felt.

  It would have been easier if his number had been listed in the phone book, though. She could have made a quick call from the office instead of begging Mandy to cover her for an hour while she snuck out to talk to him.

  She turned the key in the ignition, carefully pumping the gas pedal. The starter gave a frenzied effort, but the engine barely turned over. She tried again.

  Of course, there was that whole issue of Drew knowing Lachlan’s name. Suggesting Lachlan was the only one who could stop him made it seem as if they shared some history.

  She blushed. Crazy thought. Hiding something that important would be tantamount to a lie, and priests didn’t lie. Really, whom was she going to trust, a punk who harassed teenage girls or a man of the church who rescued drowning kids off a school bus?

  On the third try, her car roared to life.

  Thanks to the sparseness of midafternoon traffic, the drive to the apartment took less than ten minutes. A shade after two p.m., she knocked on Lachlan’s door.

  He answered with a frown on his face and a cordless phone to his ear.

  Rachel froze.

  No shirt, no shoes, just tailored black pants and a truly magnificent expanse of bare chest. Nicely toned pecs and a sprinkle of crisp, dark hair. A cornucopia of honed muscle, combined with the tumble of wet hair and a fresh, soapy scent. Was it any wonder her brain detoured into a mouthwatering vision of him standing naked in the shower?

  Breathe, Rachel, breathe.

  “Rachel? Is something wrong?”

  “He came to my work,” she blurted, struggling to rein in her wild imagination. Priest, priest, priest.

  “Who did?”

  “Em’s boyfriend, Drew.”

  His frown darkened and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he abruptly put up a hand to halt her next words. “Thank you for checking on that, Bishop Marley,” he said into the phone. “I’d be honored to participate in the Mass. Monsignor Campbell was a fine man. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  Thumbing the phone off, he stood back and allowed her to enter. “When?”

  “About an hour ago, when I was at lunch.” His face was uncharacteristically bleak, and she suspected the phone call was to blame. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He shut the door. “Did he speak to you?”

  “Yes.” Rachel focused on the living room to avoid looking at his naked chest. Still no furniture. In fact, it looked like a gym with all the water bottles, weights, and towels lying around. “He told me he loves Em. How crazy is that?”

  “Completely crazy.” There was a wary edge to his voice that drew her gaze back to him—almost as if he were waiting for her to drop a bomb.

  So she obliged. “I tried to convince him to leave Em alone, but he refused. Said the only way I could stop him was to send you after him.”

  Lachlan had a terrific poker face. Other than a slow blink, she got no clue to his thoughts. But his very lack of response set off alarm bells in her head, and for the first time she experienced a twinge of unease over her faith in him. Shouldn’t he look surprised or confused?

  “He seemed to know you,” she added carefully. “Told me to tell you he dropped by.”

  That got a reaction. Lachlan’s right fist clenched, the muscles of his forearm rippling under his tanned skin. But his voice was still amazingly calm. “Did he?”

  An icy lump landed in the pit of Rachel’s stomach. “You know him, don’t you?”

  He replaced the phone in the charger. “Aye.”

  “You know the slime bucket who’s involved with my daughter and you didn’t think that was important enough to mention?”

  “I didn’t recognize him at first.”

  “But you knew last night, when you offered to talk to Em,” she accused, suddenly certain, suddenly dizzy with the knowledge.

  “Aye.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated?” A harsh laugh escaped her lips. “Terrific, I can’t wait to hear this. What? Is he your long-lost brother or your ex-lover or something?”

  “No.” He sliced her a reproving look. “I didn’t tell you I knew Drusus, because I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Worry me? How?”

  “Some time ago …” He paused. His gaze flickered to an oil painting of heather-covered hills that hung in the hall, then back to her face. A heavy sigh preceded his next words. “Three years ago, I caught him dealing ecstasy.”

  Ecstasy? The blood left her head in a huge rush. “You’re telling me he’s a drug dealer?”

  “I’m afraid so. At the time, he seemed genuinely repentant, and promised to clean up his act, so I didn’t turn him in. Suffice it to say, I now regret my decision.”

  “Oh God.” She stumbled back a step.

  Lachlan grabbed her arm, apparently sensing the puddinglike consistency of her legs. He half carried her to the kitchen island, lifted her onto a bar stool, and quickly retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge. Twisting open the cap, he handed it to her.

  “Drink this.”

  She took a swallow, but only one. Her mind was whirling. “D-do you think he’s got Em addicted to that stuff? Is that why she’s been acting so strange?”

  “I saw no sign of ecstasy use at the fairgrounds,” Lachlan said, crouching beside her. His hand covered hers, squeezing gently. “And she declined the pot they were smoking. Let’s assume the best for now.”

  “No, let’s call the police and have him arrested.”

  “Based on what? A hunch? We’ve no proof of wrongdoing. That’s why I must speak with Emily. To find out what she’s seen and heard.”

  “I need to do something.” She grabbed Lachlan’s hand, her fingernails digging into his flesh. “I need to keep her from ever seeing him again.”

  “What are you going to do, Rachel? Lock her in her room? Stop her from going to school? Stay home day and night to make sure she doesn’t leave?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  He shook his head. “No, Drusus is the one who needs to be stopped, no’ Emily.”

  “How? He doesn’t seem too easy to scare off.”

  “He wants me to come after him, so I will. I’ll find him and … talk to him. Maybe his interest in me will deflect him from Emily.”

  “Talk to him? Do you really think talking is the answer?”

  His gaze, steady, met hers. “Maybe no’. But it’s a start.”

  “You do know he’s dangerous, right? I mean, you just have to look in his eyes to see he’s not your average creep.”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment. Then he reached up
and grazed a calloused thumb over her bottom lip. “Trust me, Rachel. I won’t let you down.”

  She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. “Okay.”

  As the heat of her chin seeped into his hand, Lachlan’s gut twisted into a vicious knot. He’d asked for her trust, and with one simple gesture she’d given it to him. But he wished, more than anything, he could make her take it back.

  What had he been thinking?

  She couldn’t trust him. Not one bit. Not only had he lied about the drug dealer nonsense, he’d assured her he could handle Drusus, which, so far, wasn’t matching the facts. Yesterday, the bastard had burned the rectory housing Monsignor Campbell to the ground, killing everyone inside. Today he’d brazenly dropped by Rachel’s work to talk about his undying love for Emily. It was clear who had the upper hand—and it damned well wasn’t him.

  Yet here he was promising not to let her down.

  Was he mad?

  Rachel sighed, her warm breath drifting across the skin of his wrist. Oh yes. Definitely mad. With desire. He desperately wanted to fall into her arms, sink into her body, forget the real world. Need pounded at him, and right now, with her mouth only inches away, the impulse to snatch her up and toss her over his shoulder was fierce.

  Not all of his primitive urges had been tamed.

  But if he succumbed, if he gave into temptation, he would give her expectations he could never fulfill. A relationship between them was impossible. He would end up hurting her. And for what, a temporary sating of the ache in his heart? No, he couldn’t do it.

  Regretfully, he said, “You should go back to work.”

  There was a palpable pause as she digested his words.

  “Mandy’s covering for me,” she said softly. Her eyes held a note of encouragement, as if she’d sensed his craving and shared it. Her body swayed toward him, loose and open. Willing.

  Lachlan swallowed. Bloody hell. Could this be any more difficult? “Then it wouldn’t be fair to leave her for long.”

  A shadow flitted across her face, and she pulled away.

  He wanted to protest the sudden emptiness of his hand … but couldn’t. As miserable as it felt, distance was better, for both of them. And he didn’t deserve even a moment in her arms.