Green Fire

Green Fire by Monette Michaels ISBN 1-55316-123-8 Published by LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Original copyright © 2003 Monette Michaels Artwork copyright © 2003 Ariana Overton Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, Ontario, L6M 2Y1. All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Michaels, Monette, 1952Green fire [computer file] / Monette Michaels Also available in print format. ISBN 1-55316-123-8 (ebook) ISBN 1-55316-878-X (REB1100 & 1200) I. Title. PS3613.I25G74 2003 813'.6 C2003-901341-3 I dedicate this book to my editor, Dee Lloyd, and as always to my own hero, Tom. Table of Contents: Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

-Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Excerpt from DEATH BENEFITS Excerpt from FATAL VISION About The Author Publisher info:

Prologue "Do not go gentle into that good night." Lon MacDougall halted his nocturnal patrol. Standing under the denuded branches of an oak, he knew he was a sitting duck for the men who stalked him, but he'd had enough of their games. His affairs were in order. They wouldn't get the land and the treasure it sheltered, the treasure he'd protected since the day his older brother Rob had left North Carolina, turning his back on his birthright. Wheezing heavily then wincing at the sharp pain caused by the cancer eating away at his insides, Lon moved from his quasi-shelter and headed back toward his cabin. He mentally chuckled. The shadows followed. Stumbling silently over a small rise in the land, Lon swore. In younger, healthier days, he'd have moved through the night like a bobcat, silent and lethal. No way some damn foreigners would have been able to stalk him on his own land. But the cancer had ended all that. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Tonight, he'd die. He'd chosen his manner of death--the quick death of a defender rather than the inevitable slow torture of the disease. The bastards didn't know it, but they were doing him a favor. Reaching the porch of his ancestral home, Lon stopped, then smiled. Yes, the land would be safe now. With Rob long since dead, he'd finally tracked Rob's child to New York City. It had taken him almost a year to find the last surviving MacDougall. His brother had done what he'd sworn he would never do--produced an heir. And the heir had the power. The poor fools trying to get the land and the treasure it sheltered would never know what hit them. Lon frowned, wishing he could push fate off a little bit longer, wishing he could be around to help Rob's child acclimate. Well, he'd done the best he could. The land was in the heir's name. The tools the heir would need to learn to harness the power were safely away from North Carolina, awaiting the word of his death. He'd done all he could. The rest would be up to her--Rob's daughter. Lon's still keen eyesight pierced the dark shadows within the forest, zeroing in on movement where there should be none. The night air resonated with the sound of stealthy footsteps. Lon shook his head and sighed. Yep, too bad he wouldn't be around to help her. He turned to meet death head on. A sound like a hornet. The prick of a dart. It was over that quickly. As Lon fell off the porch onto the pine needle-covered ground, he smiled. He'd won; they'd lost--and they didn't even know it. "Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight..."

Chapter One Two months later--New York City. Lisa MacDougall checked over her shoulder one more time. He wasn't there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she returned to the task of removing the platinum and diamond rings from the case in front of her. What a time for Suzy to get sick. Lisa never closed the shop, never stayed long enough to be alone with him, but what could she do? The insurance company required the jewelry to be locked up at the end of the day,

and she was the only who had the authority to close and lock up the shop besides Suzy or Andrei Romanoff, the owner of the store. Damn Andrei and his overly active libido. After Andrei had accelerated his sexual harassment at work, he'd begun stalking her outside of business hours. That's when Lisa had begun to rethink her four-year plan to save up for her own small custom design shop. Deciding to trash the more conservative and fiscally smart business plan, she'd scrambled to find more expedient financing. And, she'd managed to hold Andrei off for weeks. However, her continued refusals to sleep with him had only fueled his desire. Now, she feared being alone with him and arranged to be in the shop only when others were around. The oppressive solitude of the empty store smothered her. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Lisa's heart raced as she placed the last velvet case in the store safe and shut it, the time lock echoing loudly in the room. Rushing to her bench, she reached down to grab her purse. A noise. She froze and held her breath. The electronic door lock beeped. Someone was coming! The door thundered shut. The cleaning crew? She should be so lucky. Whipping around, she backed against her table while keeping the only door into the room within her vision. The man who appeared would appeal to most women. He was rich and darkly handsome in an ascetic way--a modern-day Medici prince. To Lisa's mind, he was a shark. And, like the man- eating fish he resembled, he circled her. His prey. "Ah, Lisa, my pet," Andrei purred in heavily Russian-accented English. "I'm glad to find you are still here." Lisa watched warily as Andrei glided into the small room. Instinct took over. Her heart raced as her breathing grew erratic to the point where she gasped for lack of breath. The air in the room grew thicker. Damn, she couldn't breathe. Her vision dulled. No! She refused to faint. Breathe, damn it. Slowly now. Good. Now, get out of here. Pushing away from the table, she said, "I was just on my way out. Everything is locked up." Feigning confidence, she walked toward Andrei, the door behind him her ultimate goal. "Nyet, my dear." Andrei grabbed her arm as she attempted to pass. "I think you and I should have a little tête-à-tête about your future with the company." Struggling to shake off Andrei's clawing fingers, Lisa rasped, "What do you mean? My designs are a draw for your shop." He couldn't know about her business plans. She'd been so careful, so cautious with whom she'd dealt. "Ah, but you have been trying to go behind my back and obtain financing to start a store of your own." Andrei's voice chilled Lisa. "Did you not think I would find out, my little traitorous one? Do you think to escape me so easily?" He licked his lips as he stripped her naked with a glance. The jig was up. He knew. Anger finally won out over panic, according Lisa a strength she wasn't even aware she had. She jerked her arm free from Andrei's iron grip. "Who do you think you are? I have every right to set up my own design shop. I've signed no exclusive contract with you. This is America, not Russia." Breathing fire, she spat the next words. "I'm not your serf."

"You bitch!" Andrei lunged at Lisa and slapped her. Tearing at her blouse, he roared, "I made you. Without my backing, you'd still be making cheap silver trinkets in the Village. You owe me, Lisa, and you will stay here at Romanoff's and," Andrei leered down at the lace-covered breasts he'd exposed, "you will be mine." Her newfound strength seemed puny against Andrei's superior anger-induced might. Lisa could only lean away from the lips targeting hers. She needed to get the hell out of there. Too late. His mouth captured hers in a cruel punishing kiss. His fingers bruised her delicate skin as he ripped at her bra. The crystal pendant on her chest burned icy hot as her anger and fear escalated. Use the flame. The words wafted through her mind like a feather on the wind. Now, where had that come from? What flame? Thinking frantically, Lisa reached behind her with one hand while fending Andrei off with the other. Scrabbling fingers found her jeweler's blowtorch. Yes, she could reach it. Grabbing the torch, she flicked the switch, thanking God she'd spent the extra for electronic ignition. The low whoosh of the blue-hot flame reassured her as she whipped it around, bringing it within inches of Andrei's face, close enough for him to feel the heat. Andrei recoiled with a curse. Freed, she moved away, breathing heavily. "Stay...away...from me." Andrei retreated a few steps, but he was still too close for Lisa's comfort. Waving the flame from side-to-side, she ordered, "Farther, or I'll burn you." "You wouldn't really hurt me, would you?" "Do you want to take a chance on that?" Moving backward, Lisa distanced herself from Andrei. Switching the torch to her other hand, she fumbled to find her purse that had dropped on the floor when Andrei had attacked her. Groping behind her, she snatched her purse with one hand while holding him off with the flame. "Out of my way." She gestured with the flame to underline her words. Andrei smiled, his lips thinned, his slightly pointed teeth peeking out. "How are you going to hold me off and open the door? You don't have enough hands." "Open the door." Lisa damned the weakness in her voice. Andrei widened his wolfish smile and shook his head. "Open it yourself." Then he laughed. "I believe you Americans call this a Mexican standoff." Lisa stood. Frozen. You have to use the fire. No, she couldn't. Yes-s-s, you can. She shook her head at the sibilant sound of the word reverberating within her mind. All the while, Andrei

shifted ever so slowly toward her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Stop." Lisa gestured with the flame, turning it higher with a nudge of her finger. He stopped and glowered at her. "You're not going to use it, so why don't you put that away before someone is hurt?" He blocked her path to the door. "I promise not to hurt you if you just accept the inevitable. You might like being my lover. I'm told I'm very good at pleasuring a woman." Lisa struggled not to gag. "No." "No?" Andrei shook his head and snorted. "You flame-haired bitch. I'll love the taming of you." Andrei started forward once more. She retreated, holding the torch out in front of her like a shield. Except both she and he knew she was too much of a coward to use it. Her necklace turned hot against her skin, burning like she'd never felt it before. A sound like a sigh fluttered through her mind. Use the other flame. What other flame? Lisa became conscious of an awareness building within her, similar to the feeling she experienced when choosing stones and metals for custom pieces. How could her artistic intuition help her against a man's rage and lust? The back door's warning beep startled her from seeking the answer. The noise effectively stopped Andrei's forward motion. "Mr. Romanoff?" a voice called out. "Cleaning crew, sir." "We're in here!" Lisa cried out, almost faint with relief. Distantly, she felt the strange awareness melting away. A sense of loss washed over her. Had she missed a discovery? Never mind, she was safe. For the moment. "Just wait," Andre muttered harshly. "There will be another time. You won't be able to avoid me forever." The hustle and bustle of the cleaning crew startled Lisa into hurried motion. Turning off the torch, she placed it on the table behind her. Keeping Andrei in sight, she brushed passed him, backing her way to the door. To freedom. As she reached it, she stopped and caught his feral gaze. "I quit." Rushing through the door, she heard his roar behind her, sensed him reaching out to grab her. "Never! You will be mine." Lisa ignored the shocked glances of the cleaners and ran out the back door. She didn't stop until she reached the street. Raising her hand, she signaled a taxi. No subway tonight. Every second counted. She had to get home behind locked doors. She wouldn't feel safe until she did. Maybe not even then. She finally accepted what she'd suspected all along--Andrei was crazy-- and she was in danger. *** Lisa sighed with relief as the lobby security door of her apartment building clunked solidly closed. She was safe. He couldn't get her here. No one in the building would ring him in. They all knew she feared him. As Lisa began the climb to her third floor apartment, the manager's door opened. "Oh, there you are, Lisa dear."

Lisa smiled at her landlady. Mrs. Hobbs was a sweetie, looking out for all her tenants like a watchdog. No, Andrei wouldn't get by Mrs. Hobbs. The gates of hell hadn't been guarded as closely as this building. "Good evening, Mrs. Hobbs." "What happened?" The older woman stepped out into the lobby, running a concerned gaze over Lisa. She cast a suspicious glance toward the beveled glass door of the building. "Someone follow you home?" "No, no," Lisa rushed to reassure her own personal Cerberus. "It's nothing. I'm just tired." Her landlady just sighed and shook her head. "I don't believe that, but not to worry. You're home now...and safe." "What did you want?" Lisa smiled to take the edge off her abrupt change of subject. "You got a registered letter and package from some law firm." Mrs. Hobbs turned and went into her apartment, reappearing within a split second. "I signed for it. Figured it would save you a trip to the post office." Taking the package, Lisa hugged the woman. "What would I do without you?" Blushing, Mrs. Hobbs waved her on up the stairs. "Just remember that when you finally decide to talk about whatever's bothering you." "I will." Lisa called down the stairs. "Thank you." Her phone was ringing as she let herself into her apartment. She threw the package onto the hall table. Running to the phone, she picked it up. On the other end, she heard harsh breathing. Andrei! "Leave me alone, you bastard!" Lisa disconnected as Andrei cursed. Shaken, Lisa unplugged the phone. Realizing she was crumpling the letter in her hand, Lisa calmed down, then ripped it open. She gasped. She had inherited land in North Carolina from an uncle, Lon MacDougall. An uncle? Lisa thought her father had been an only child. She was sure her parents had told her that. No one had come to her father's funeral other than friends. Well, it was easy enough to find out. She'd just call her mother in California and ask. Lisa plugged in the phone and dialed. Struggling out of her coat, she listened to the phone ringing. No answer. Finally, voice mail kicked in. Tapping her foot, she waited out the lengthy message and the interminable beeps. "Mother, call me...I need to know about my Uncle Lon." Lisa disconnected the phone, leaving it plugged in. She needed to speak with her mother. She'd just have to take the chance that Andrei would not call again. The abrupt message would have her mother calling as soon as she heard it. If not that, the tone of her voice would. Lisa knew she'd sounded as hurt as she felt. It had always been just the three of them--her mother, father and her. Now, it was the two of them. Lisa discounted her mother's new husband, although a nice enough man, because he wasn't her father. Plus, he'd moved her mother to California. The idea that she might have other relations in the world, like normal families, excited her. The fact that she'd lost one of them without ever getting to know him saddened her.

Picking up the letter once again, Lisa moved to the small kitchen, picking up the package along the way, then laid both on the counter while she prepared a turkey sandwich and heated up some soup. Settling at the counter with her food, she reread the letter, just to make it seem more real. Dear Ms. MacDougall, It is with great regret that we have to inform you of your paternal uncle Lon MacDougall's death in Ben Lomond, North Carolina. Our firm was contacted by Mr. MacDougall's lawyer to locate you. You are Mr. MacDougall's sole heir. With this letter, you will find a package with instructions and items the North Carolina firm has asked us to forward to you. We will be available to assist you, if you should so wish, in claiming your inheritance of land and assorted other property in Ben Lomond... Lisa passed over the formal ending of the letter. She still couldn't believe it. Turning to the package, she opened it. Inside the box were an old leather journal and a velvet pouch. Opening the book, she found the inscription Callista Barrymore MacDougall, 1898. One of her father's relatives? The writing was spidery and blotched in spots. Lisa was too tired to decipher it. She set it aside for later. Picking up the velvet bag, she noted the weight. Opening it, she reached in and felt the coldness of metal. Then a flash of heat seared through her. Gasping, Lisa pulled her hand out of the bag. What was that? She noticed no burns, but the heat had been unmistakable. Opening the drawer next to her, she pulled out a hot pad and set it on the counter. Then she dumped the contents of the bag onto the pad. "Oh my God!" On the pad lay a gold rope necklace. Her trained eye saw that it was handcrafted, not machine-turned, gold. It possessed the rose color of old-fashioned gold made in Europe in the late nineteenth century. But it was the pendant at the end of the golden rope that had caused her to exclaim. The pendant held a green stone unlike any she'd ever seen. An emerald. It had to be. No other stone could be that green with that kind of depth. And in the depths, Lisa saw fire. Shimmering waves of fire. Lisa shook her head. It had to be a figment of her imagination. Or the way the spotlights above her counter reflected off the stone's unusual cut. Tentatively, Lisa reached out a finger to touch the pendant. Hot. It was hot to the touch. How could that be? Sucking on her finger, she pulled it out of her mouth and saw no burn marks. Curious, she could have sworn the stone had burned her. Like a child, she reached out once again. And again, she quickly removed her finger. It felt hot, yet it did not cause a burn. Shaking her head, she wrapped the precious necklace in the hot pad and placed it back into the bag. Lisa was now more curious about her uncle than before. Where had he gotten this necklace? Why had he left it to her? Lisa glanced at the journal. Maybe the answers were in there. Lisa reached to pick up the book. The phone rang. Lisa picked it up. "Hello?" She held her breath, praying it wasn't Andrei. "Lisa." It was her mother. Thank God.

"Hello, mother." "Lisa...about your Uncle Lon..." "So, I did have an Uncle Lon?" Lisa cried out. "Honey, I'm sorry." Lisa heard her mother's sigh and what sounded like a sob. "Your father told me we were never to speak of his relatives or North Carolina. Ever." Her mother sniffed, then coughed. "And I never did." "Oh mother, don't cry." Lisa felt tears well in her eyes. She knew her mother was crying because of her father and not the broken promise. Her mother always cried when she spoke of Robert MacDougall. "It's not your fault. You didn't break any promises to Dad." "How did you find out about Lon?" "It seems I'm his sole heir." "Oh, Lisa." Her mother breathed. "What did he leave you?" Lisa hesitated to mention the journal and the necklace. She wanted to learn more about them first, so she hedged. "Some land in North Carolina and, I have to assume, contents of a house or something. I'm not really sure." "I've been to the house, more like a grand cabin, really. Near Asheville, I believe." "Ben Lomond, North Carolina is what the letter says." "Ah, yes, Ben Lomond." Lisa listened to her mother speak to someone in the background. "Jack says 'hi.' Uh, honey, you'd like Ben Lomond, I think. Especially if you want to go ahead and open up your own store. It's a tourist town. Just your cup of tea. Lots of arts and crafts stores, if I recall correctly. It's probably even bigger now. Sort of like Gatlinburg, Tennessee, but not as trashy." Lisa grinned. Her parents had taken her to see Rock City and Gatlinburg as a child. She'd loved it. The main street filled with shop after shop of just the sort of gaudy souvenirs an eight- year-old liked. Her mother had hated it. They'd never gone back. Lisa knew her mother thought anything outside of Fifth Avenue or Rodeo Drive was trashy. So her commendation of Ben Lomond was of the highest order. "Thanks, Mother. Coming from you, I know it will be perfect." "What about Romanoff's?" Her mother's concern came across the miles as clearly as if she were in the room. "I quit." "Oh, Lisa." Her mother's tone sharpened. "Did that bastard touch you? Jack and I will come tomorrow." Lisa smiled. She knew they would. Jack was a prosecuting attorney in Los Angeles. He was a bulldog and would hound the New York police and courts to protect his wife's precious child if she asked. "Nope. Not necessary. I'll go see the lawyer tomorrow and find out what I have to do to get my inheritance. I'll let you know." "Call me after you speak to the lawyer, honey. I want you away from that man. I told you I never trusted

him, but you wouldn't listen." "You were right, Mother," Lisa said. "I'll be careful." After exchanging a few more reassurances, Lisa hung up. The phone rang within seconds of Lisa's disconnecting. Thinking her mother forgot something, Lisa answered. "You'll never leave me, Lisa." She hung up on the sibilant sound of her name on Andrei's lips, then pulled the phone plug. Call it synchronicity, fate or karma, this inheritance couldn't have come at a better time.

Chapter Two Next day--Miami, Florida. The sultry evening air enveloped Marco Santiago as he sat in a low-slung convertible in front of the Verde Fogata cartel's warehouse. The drug bust planned for this evening had been almost a year in the making. The revenge for his mother's and grandmother's deaths had been in the works for far longer than that. Bringing down Manuel Norda and his filth wouldn't bring his loved ones back, but it would go a long way to making him feel a lot better. Opening the door, he swung his long legs out of the sports car, and then stood up. Casually, he stretched and surveyed his surroundings. He knew at least fifty DEA agents hid in the warehouse area waiting for his signal. He checked in on his pager by clicking it once. He felt the answering vibration. They were in place and receiving him. Manual Norda and his vermin were a double-click away from paying their debt to society. Marco closed the door to the car, then strode toward the warehouse which now stored more than three tons of uncut cocaine. The deal Marco had ostensibly set up to sell that amount of cocaine had brought Manual Norda from his island fortress in the coastal waters off Florida to the mainland. The DEA would never have a better opportunity to get Norda and his lieutenants. Entering the warehouse, Marco smiled and saluted the guard at the door. "Hey, Marco," the guard called out. "Where you been? Boinking some puta?" "Nah, got held up on the freeway." Marco's tardiness couldn't be helped. The warrants had been late in getting signed. The higher-ups had wanted all the i's dotted and t's crossed. The search, seizure and arrest were going to be clean. "Traffic's a bitch, ain't it?" The guard laughed. "The boss is waiting. Where's the buyer?" "He's coming in his own car. Didn't trust me--can you imagine that?" Marco shared a grin with the guard. "Was right behind me last I knew." "I'll keep my eyes peeled." The guard winked at him. "You do that." Marco nodded and entered the main part of the warehouse. Stacks and stacks of crates holding Peruvian pottery filled with cocaine occupied over ninety per cent of the floor space. He had to be careful not to bump into the walls of crates and bring them down like dominos. Cursing the lack of maneuverability in the tight quarters, Marco fought off a feeling of claustrophobia. Focusing on his goal,

he followed the maze through the boxes back to where he knew Norda was waiting. This would be the tricky part--his greatest time of danger. He had to placate Norda for his lateness, then get back out using the excuse of finding out what was keeping the nonexistent buyer. Once clear, he'd confirm Norda's presence on the premises by signaling the other agents to close in. With the building's exterior blanketed by agents, Norda would be trapped like the rat he was. Marco gritted his teeth against the profanities he would like to throw at the drug lord. Manual Norda was the epitome of all that was evil in the world, a perfect caricature of a drug lord. All his wealth and power couldn't disguise his ugliness, his coarseness. Once, Marco had overheard Norda's chief aides discussing their boss's sexual proclivities. They said that Norda had to pay prostitutes huge amounts of money just to screw him. When he'd gotten tired of paying out so much of his wealth to get laid, he had his minions kidnap young girls off the streets of Costa Rica and other Central American countries to satisfy his urges. The aides would then get the leavings before disposing of the bodies. Marco could only thank God his mother and grandmother had been spared those indignities. From the place where his grandmother had hidden him, he'd watched Norda shoot them. Twenty long years that eight-year-old boy had to wait for vengeance. Tonight was the night. "Hey Marco," Herve, Norda's chief lieutenant, called out. "What's up? You lost the buyer?" "No, just got hung up on the damn freeway--an accident tied up all the lanes." Norda waited for Marco like a spider in his web. Marco, feeling every bit the prey, shivered, invoking his loved ones' souls for strength. He needed a cool head and nerves of steel to survive the next few minutes. With so much at stake, he dared not fail. Once Norda was behind bars, Marco could live--maybe even love again. "So where is the buyer, Marco?" Norda's voice slithered through the air. Although used to the drug lord's sibilant tones, the hairs on Marco's neck stood up. Something was different about Norda tonight? But what? Danger. He knows. Marco shivered. His inner voice was never wrong. Maintaining his undercover facade, Marco answered, "He was right behind me, patrone." Marco looked over his shoulder as if to see whether the man was walking in. "Do you want me to go check? Maybe he went to the wrong building?" "Sure, sure, Marco." Norda waved him on. "You go find him. I haven't got all evening. I'm having a party to celebrate this sale. Of course, you are invited. In fact, I insist you be there. I'm sure you'll enjoy the wine, women--and entertainment." The drug lord's coarse laughter repulsed Marco. He bit back the words he wanted to say and replied, "Thank you, patrone. I'd be very honored." Marco backed away, watching Norda's eyes for some hint of what was going on. The atmosphere in the warehouse was thick with tension. Marco beat down the urge to run. Running would get him a bullet in the back for sure. "I'll just go see if he's out front yet." "You do that." Norda's smile didn't reach his slitted eyes.

Finally, he could back away no longer. Turning his back toward Norda, Marco forced himself to walk calmly as he started back through the labyrinth. His preternatural senses told him the danger was not in the room with Norda. But it was in the building. As he walked, he double- clicked his pager--the signal to bring the rest of his team in. His signal was earlier than he would have liked--he didn't relish getting caught in the ensuing crossfire--but he intuited waiting until he was clear would be too late. Something was wrong with the whole setup. All his senses literally pulsed with the danger in the air. Hopefully, it would all be over soon. Once out of Norda's sight, Marco sped up. As he turned the next to the last corner of the box- lined maze, once more the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Danger. Watch out. He checked over his shoulder. No one followed him. Maybe he was just spooked and imagining things. Feeling for his tiger eye amulet, a gift from his deceased grandmother, a white witch of some fame, Marco perceived the heat. Definitely danger. His amulet had never failed him. Crouching down to make himself a smaller target, Marco hugged the boxes as he double- clicked the beeper again. Where he hell was his backup? Would they arrive in time? "Marco." Herve's hissing of his name chilled him. It came from above. "I'm coming for you, traitor." Marco pulled his gun from his back holster, then chambered a round. The sound echoed loudly, even above his pounding heart. He used all his God-given senses, but couldn't pinpoint Herve's exact location. Where was he? He could be anywhere above him. Even, he feared, right on top of him. The sound of the rapid fire of automatic weapons stopped Marco in his tracks and drove him back the way he'd come--back toward Norda. His team was busy. Someone had to make sure the drug lord didn't escape in all the confusion. As Marco hugged the box walls, a shot whizzed past his right ear. It came from above and behind. He turned to look just as Herve popped out to take another shot. Marco slipped around the next corner, then aimed around and up and took a blind shot at Herve's last position. The lieutenant returned the fire, confirming his position. Marco moved farther back into the warehouse, away from Herve. "Yo, Marco!" His partner Saul Ramirez's voice sounded close. "Saul! Above! Watch out for snipers!" Marco yelled. He knew the word would be spread. "Box them in!" "We got trouble outside, brother. They got a nest on the roof." Saul's voice was closer. Where in the hell had Herve gone? It wasn't like the little snake to just slither away without taking a big bite. Marco's answer came sooner than he liked. In front of him, a round of shots crashed into the crate above his head. A splinter of wood gouged his cheek. Marco cursed. He turned and let off a few rounds of his own in the direction of the shots. "Coming at ya, brother," Saul called out. Marco checked over his shoulder while laying cover for his partner's approach. Saul was coming down the aisle in a crab-like run. "Shit," Marco swore at a flash of movement behind his partner. "Get down, Saul." Saul dropped as Marco took a shot at the sniper taking aim at his partner's back.

The gunman fell from his high perch. "Nice shooting, buddy." Saul smiled, giving Marco a thumb's up. Just as quickly, his wide grin vanished. Marco turned and shot at the same time as Saul. One or both of them got the man who'd crept toward them. "Let's get out of here," Saul urged. "It's too close in here to maneuver." Saul returned a sniper's fire. "No." Marco turned and started to climb the box stacks. "Cover me." "Are you crazy?" Saul cried as he took out a gunman aiming at Marco. "I've got to get Norda!" Marco yelled down before he pulled himself onto the top of the box wall. "Get out of here now, Saul!" Staying low, Marco crept along the top of the boxes. He was surprised not to see anyone. At the sound of movement behind him, he turned, gun at ready. It was Saul. "I thought I told you to get out of here," growled Marco. "We're partners," snapped Saul. "Somebody has to cover your butt. Now, let's go get this Norda creep, so we can go get a beer." Marco laughed and resumed crawling back toward the middle of the building where he'd left Norda. Saul followed him so closely that Marco could almost feel his partner's breath on his ankles. "Where is everybody? All the snipers seem to have flown the coop." Saul stated the obvious. Marco could still hear sounds of gunfire outside of the warehouse, but inside all he could discern was his and Saul's heavy breathing. Marco swore viciously. No way Norda could have escaped. The only unguarded way in or out was the way he had come in--the front door. Marco had checked and double-checked all the available exits just this morning. Reaching the core of the warehouse, Marco peered over the edge. Norda was gone. Marco roared his outrage, using words he didn't even know he knew. The bastard was gone. Gone out through a tunnel that Marco hadn't known about. Its opening blocked only minutes earlier by a stack of crates, now pushed to the side. Marco scrambled down the stacks and stalked over to the drug lord's escape route. Kicking at one of the boxes that had blocked the tunnel opening, it moved easily. "Damn it all to hell." Somehow they had known about the raid. Herve's attack on him and Norda's quick escape proved that. His cover had been blown, and if it hadn't been for his instincts and his grandmother's protective amulet, he'd be dead. Saul moved to stand beside Marco. "They knew we were coming?" "Yeah." Marco shook his head in disgust. "Over eleven month's of living in the muck down the tubes. Fuck, just fuck." "Yeah, that about sums up my feelings." Saul walked over to a crate a short distance from the maze entrance and pried it open. Pulling out a pot, he broke it open. A bag glistened bright white among the remains of the pottery. Using his pocketknife, he slit open the bag and took a taste. "The shit is still here--at least some of it. They couldn't move all this without our knowing. We had people watching the

place all day." "Well, that's something, anyway." Pissed, Marco kicked at another box and glowered at Norda's escape route. He turned as some of the other DEA agents entered the open area. "Did you get anybody?" Marco called out. "We got us a lot of dead bad guys, a few no-nothing grunts, and one grievously wounded aide who has forgotten his name, rank and serial number and is on his way to the hospital under guard," Dan Stewart reported as he, too, kicked an empty box out of his way. "What clued them in?" "I don't know," Marco said grimly. "But I intend to find out." *** Amid remains of fast food and half-filled cups of coffee, Marco and Saul sat at a conference table, going through some of the records found in the warehouse office. For all their efforts, what they'd mostly retrieved were bills of lading and customs documentation for Peruvian pottery. "How in the hell did customs let all this coke into the country in crappy pottery?" Saul asked. Marco shot him a get-real look. "Money buys a lot of looking the other way. Box up the customs' paperwork and shoot it over to them. I'm sure some heads will roll, if they're still around to get them chopped off." Marco threw the stack of papers he'd looked at into a box. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He winced as the cut on his cheek pulled against the stitches the ER doctor had insisted on using to close it. Like one more scar would bother him. What bothered him was that murdering bastard had gotten away again. "Yo, boys, lookee what we found in some of the files," Sandy Peach trilled as she entered the room waving a bunch of papers. "Hard copies of email! One of the grunts was trying to burn them when we broke in. We managed to save most of them." Marco sat up. "Are we on-line yet?" "Been there, done that, junior." Sandy shot him a do-you-think-I'm-stupid look. "First thing I did. The ISP said no one by that name now exists on that server. They're checking for records. Wanna bet they're all gone?" "Nope. I don't bet against sure things." Marco held out his hand. "So let me see what you've got there." Sandy grinned as she handed them over. "I do believe, boys, we got us a lead." Marco skimmed through the email. "Hey Saul, didn't the phone logs indicate a bunch of calls to a number in the North Carolina area?" The phone logs had come through just that morning along with the warrants. Justice didn't always run smoothly or swiftly in Miami-Dade County, Florida. "Yeah. I've got one of the clerks checking on whose number it is." Saul scooted around to peer over Marco's shoulder. "Why?" "Well, as Ms. Peach just so grandly informed us, I think we got us a lead...and it leads us to a place called Ben Lomond, North Carolina."

Saul yelled, "Yo Peggy! You got us a name for that number yet?" "Yeah," Peggy called back. "Some lawyer by the name of Beau Crawford in a place called..." "Ben Lomond, North Carolina." Saul finished the sentence. "Well, if you knew that already, why did I just waste my time calling directory assistance?" Peggy yelled back. Saul laughed and blew her a kiss. To which, she flipped him the bird. Turning back to Marco and Sandy, he asked, "What kind of business do you think Mr. Beau Crawford has with the cartel?" "Monkey business?" chirped Sandy. Marco laughed as Saul tousled Sandy's hair and she slapped at his hand. "Well, it seems it has something to do with 'green fire'--whatever the hell that might be," Marco said, glancing back through the stack of emails. "The phrase is used several times." "Code? Password?" Sandy asked. "Maybe," Marco said. "But whatever it is, it looks like they are still in negotiations for it." "We going to North Carolina?" Saul asked. "Yeah. I do believe we are."

Chapter Three One month later--Ben Lomond, North Carolina. Lisa sat on the sleeping porch of her Uncle Lon's cabin watching the sun rise over the next mountain to the east. Home. She was home. The sense of belonging she'd felt a month ago upon her first visit to her inheritance was even stronger now that she'd finally moved in. To claim her sanctuary and keep it secret from Andrei, Lisa had endured a hectic month. In order to throw the persistent bastard off the scent, Lisa had packed up and shipped her belongings to North Carolina via California, then followed them. She'd stayed with her mother and Jack for a few weeks and allowed them to fend off Andrei's calls and even an attempt to visit her. Jack, playing the heavy-handed prosecutor that he was, threatened Andrei and bought Lisa enough time to fly back east where she lost Andrei through a circuitous trail of airports. Her trip ended with an untraceable ride, provided by a relative of her Asheville lawyer, out of Greenville, North Carolina, on the northeastern coast, clear across the width of the state. She'd been here two days, and each day something in the land drew her out. She'd walked the ten acres and fell more and more in love with each step. How could her father have left it? What had driven him away and made him ask her mother to never mention or visit it again? Even now, her mother was reluctant to come to the cabin in the mountains. Both Lisa and Jack urged her to reconsider. Rob MacDougall was long dead, and the cabin was now Lisa's. Surely, the promise died with him. Caving in to their combined pleas, her mother had finally agreed to a visit later in the summer. Lisa knew everything would be all right. Nothing here could harm her or one of her own. She just knew it. According to the title abstract, MacDougalls had held this property through clan marriages since the late 1800s. It was right that Lisa should hold it now.

Pushing up out of a bent willow chair, Lisa entered her bedroom and dressed. Today, she would go into Ben Lomond, open a bank account with the huge advance from the estate, and hunt for a storefront to house her jewelry design shop. Uncle Lon had given her the freedom to do what she'd dreamed of doing for as long as she could remember. Lisa's only sad thoughts were that she'd never met the man who'd provided her this opportunity. After she'd taken care of her other business, she would take some flowers to her uncle's grave and say a prayer for his soul. Leaving the room, her eyes were drawn to the drawer where she'd placed the pouch with the emerald necklace. Her suspicions that it was an emerald and not a tourmaline or some other green crystal like a garnet were correct. Her former gemology professor had confirmed this after performing several tests. He'd said he'd never seen such a perfect specimen and asked Lisa to try to discover where her uncle had gotten the stone. She still couldn't touch it without feeling the burning sensation, but her professor had felt nothing. When he hadn't said anything after first handling it, she'd blurted, "Did it feel hot to you?" "No, Lisa. It feels cool like all gemstones," he replied. "Why do you ask?" Lisa shrugged. "Maybe it was where I had it stored or something." The professor had smiled, but she was sure he thought her strange. Funny, Lisa thought, when he'd held it, it was all wrong. It didn't match him. The gem belonged to her. Even now she felt the need to take it from the drawer and look at it, touch it and be burned by the heat that didn't blister. No, until she figured out why the necklace felt hot, she wouldn't be tempted. Besides, it was worth a lot of money. The best place for it was in a safety deposit box. She'd take it with her into town and get a lock box at the bank. She'd sleep better knowing it was safe. Safety is in the possession of the emerald. Lisa shook her head. Again she heard the voice that had urged her to use the flame back in New York. Was she crazy? She'd been under a lot of stress with the move. Voices didn't just come out of nowhere. It had to be her imagination playing tricks on her. Opening the drawer, Lisa took out the bag and refrained from looking at the necklace. She placed it in her purse, then picked up her car keys. The sooner this was in the bank, locked safely away, the sooner she could calm down. The voices would disappear with the lessening of her stress. *** Marco sat in the front office he'd claimed as his and stared out over Ben Lomond's town square. He and Saul had set up their cover, an investment brokerage office, two weeks ago. The fact that the office was in the same building that held the office of Beau Crawford, Attorney-at- Law, was not a coincidence. Within twenty-four hours of moving in, Marco and Saul wired the lawyer's office for sound and video. The federal court judge in Asheville had issued permission for a wiretap, based on the phone logs and the email. The DEA had Beau right where they wanted him--unfortunately, the cartel hadn't contacted the man since Saul and Marco had arrived. "Yo, buddy." Saul stood in the doorway of Marco's office. "You going to talk to our investors today, or

am I?" The citizens of Ben Lomond, well, the female citizens of Ben Lomond, had beaten a path to the office from the day it had opened. Obviously, unattached males with the potential of making a six-figure income were rare as hen's teeth in this small tourist town. Saul and Marco were doing a booming business in IRAs and small bond fund accounts. They also were the bachelors du jour on the party circuit. Saul was having the time of his life. He'd gone out with every single, presentable woman in town...and Ben Lomond grew quite a few of that species. Marco, on the other hand, had managed to avoid the dating scene. "What do you think?" Marco snapped. Saul liked to pull his chain. Saul entered and sat in the chair opposite to Marco. "I think you need to lighten up and have some fun." Saul put his feet up on Marco's desk as he crossed muscled arms over a lean waist. "The ladies are always asking me why you don't date." "Tell them I'm a recent widower. Tell them I'm off women right now." Marco aimed a narrowed glance at his partner's feet. Saul dropped them to the floor and grinned. "Tell them I'm gay, for all I care. I'm here to do a job--not get laid every night." "Hey," protested Saul. "I'm not getting laid every night." "Well, it sure sounds like it from what you've been telling me," snapped Marco. "Got to keep up my image." Saul grinned. Marco had to laugh. Saul was not a playboy, or at least if he was, he hadn't bragged about it back in Miami. "News to me. This image of yours." "It's my cover," quipped Saul. "I'm making the scene, pumping the lovely and very talkative ladies." He winked suggestively. "Can I help it that they come on to me?" "Guess not." Marco straightened up. Beau Crawford was walking across the square. "Learning anything?" Saul's alert posture suggested he had also noted Beau's progress toward the building. "Well, I learned that our man Beau is the proverbial bad boy. Has a rep with the ladies. Had some run ins with the law back in Asheville and moved his practice here to this little backwater town to escape the fallout." "Run ins?" Marco's gaze followed Beau all the way to the front door. Opening his lower desk drawer, he checked to see if the recorder for the wiretap was on. It was. "What kind of trouble did ole Beau get himself into?" "Embezzling client funds." "How come he's still practicing?" "He's just come off his suspension. Moved here to start anew, I guess." Saul shrugged. "Good to know that he is culpable, though." "Yes," said Marco. "It just underlines the fact that the cartel would approach him. He's already dirty and likes to make the easy buck."

The whir and click of the recorder startled Marco. Reaching down he turned up the volume. "Law office." Beau answered his own phone. "Green fire," a machine-altered voice said. "Yes. Why haven't you called? I've been waiting to hear from you." Beau's voice held a whine. Marco snorted in disgust and heard an echoing snort from Saul. "Silencio. Is the MacDougall woman there yet?" The mechanical voice sounded tense. MacDougall woman? Marco and Saul exchanged puzzled glances. "Yes. She moved in two days ago." "Make the offer. Make it soon. Follow the plan." "Right. Right. The plan. Soon. But what about my money?" "You've been paid enough for no results. Not another dime until the plan is completed." "Yes, yes. I understand." Beau's caller disconnected. The lawyer gulped, then said, "Shit." Turning down the volume, Marco left the recorder on to monitor any other calls Beau might make or receive. Turning to Saul, he asked the questions uppermost in his, and he was sure his partner's, mind: "Who is this MacDougall woman? And what is 'green fire'?" Saul added, "And, what is 'the plan'?" Marco summed it all up. "It's getting curiouser and curiouser, old friend."

Chapter Four Two days later. Lisa absorbed the turn-of-the-century feel of the two-story building on the town square. The realtor, Mitzi Monroe, told her it had once been a drugstore, the kind with a soda fountain. The pharmacist had lived above the store. Now, the first floor had been gutted and refurbished to serve as multi-use retail. Perfect for her jewelry store. The second story could serve as a workspace and office. "Well, Ms. MacDougall, what do you think?" Mitzi hovered like a bird of prey, just waiting for Lisa to make a false move. "How much?" Lisa asked, turning in a circle and taking in the space once more. Mitzi swooped over to Lisa and pulled out her listing sheet. "The owners would like eight hundred a month in rental. You'd pay all the utilities, of course." Pulling out another sheet from her briefcase, she added, "Would you like to read the lease agreement?" Lisa turned and stared at the eager woman. "No. I meant how much to buy the whole building?" Mitzi's surgically-tightened jaw dropped. "Oh, well...I don't know." Rapidly recovering her killer instincts, she said, "But I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement with the owner. He's my second cousin on my father's side." Reaching out with her scarlet talons, Mitzi urged, "Why don't we go over to my office and give him a buzz?"

Lisa smiled. "Yes, why don't we?" As they left the building, Lisa stopped and surveyed the surrounding area. It was an excellent location, right on the town square. The bank was across the street, next to the realty office. There was a coffee shop, a bookstore, a small café, several white-collar businesses, and lots of trendy boutiques and antique shops all within a block or two. With the kind of foot traffic she could expect to get, she could make the place pay for itself and not have to touch her sizable inheritance to live on. Once again, she blessed her uncle for giving her the ability to be independent. Now all she had to do was hammer the eager Mitzi and her second cousin down to a competitive price. A half hour later amicable terms had been reached. The price was well within a reasonable range. The whole purchase price equaled about one and a half year's rent in New York. Lisa signed the purchase agreement on the spot. *** "Freda, cut me a cashier's check in this amount. The funds are to come out of Ms. MacDougall's asset account." The bank manager handed a sheet to the teller. "Bring it to me in my office when it's ready." MacDougall? Standing in a bank line, Marco turned and followed the bank manager's progress back to his office. There, Marco saw the back of a woman with titian-red hair. Was this the MacDougall woman mentioned in the drug cartel's phone conversation with Beau Crawford? Realizing he was next up, he walked to the teller. Presenting his deposit, he casually asked, "Is that Ms. MacDougall in with the bank manager?" The chubby-cheeked teller smiled. "Yes. Her name is Lisa. Isn't she beautiful? She's a jeweler, and I hear tell she's going to open a custom design shop right here in Ben Lomond. She's from New York, ya know." Marco smiled at the young woman and winked. "No. I didn't know. She just move here?" "Uh huh." The teller nodded. "She inherited her uncle's place about five miles out of town. On MacDougall Ridge." "MacDougall Ridge?" Marco encouraged. "Yeah. There's been MacDougalls in Ben Lomond since the turn of the century. The nineteenth century, that is. She's the last of them. Sad, isn't it?" The clerk leaned over the counter and whispered, "My ma said there's something strange about MacDougalls and that land." Marco leaned closer and whispered back, "How strange?" The teller shrugged, then looked around before replying. "Not that I believe any of it, but my ma says that all the MacDougalls have the power to one extent or another." "The power?" Marco arched his left eyebrow. "You know, like magical power." The clerk handed Marco his deposit slip and cash back. She smiled at him. "Like I said, I don't believe it. It's just what is said around here. Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too...and thanks." Marco smiled at the teller once more, making her blush, then turned and left. He didn't go far. Stopping at a small counter, he ruffled through the bank literature while staring at Lisa MacDougall. She stood up and shook hands with the bank manager. Good, she was leaving. Now he would get a closer look at her. *** After exchanging parting pleasantries with the bank manager, Lisa turned to leave. As she walked across the lobby, she noticed a man staring at her. He was tall, dark and hard--like black diamonds. His staring disturbed her. Looking away from the intense scrutiny, she hurried to the exit. As she reached the door, the dark man bumped into her. "Excuse me," she mumbled, looking down at her hands. It had been his fault, maybe even deliberate, but her response came out automatically. "No, excuse me." His purred apology caressed her. "It was my fault. Allow me." He held the door for her. Passing through, she looked up to thank him, then gasped. His eyes were the color of the stone called cat's eye--variations in gold. Black diamonds and cat's eye. A formidable combination. Recovering her senses, Lisa realized they were blocking the entrance to the bank. Hastily, she said, "Thank you." "You're welcome, Ms. MacDougall." And like a large cat he moved stealthily away. Shaken, Lisa entered the realty office next to the bank to finalize her purchase of the building. It wasn't until she sat down in the reception area that she realized that the dark stranger had known her name. She shivered, blaming the air conditioning of the office for her chills and not the memory of a golden-eyed stranger's predatory stare. *** Back in his office, Marco watched as Lisa walked across the square from the realty office. She stopped in front of the building next to the one in which he, Saul and Beau Crawford had space. It couldn't be a coincidence. Marco didn't believe in synchronicity. How was she involved with the cartel? With a jewelry store as a front, she could be laundering money for them as well as passing stolen gem stones through in the form of jewelry. Or was she a front for the drug smuggling? Ben Lomond would be a great place to hide a distribution center. "Yo, Marco." Saul entered the room. "Who's the redheaded babe?" "Lisa MacDougall." Marco fought the urge to blast his partner for calling Lisa a babe. Why should he care what Saul called the woman? She was nothing to him. "Whoa, she's hot." Saul sat on the corner of Marco's desk, observing the woman they discussed as she spoke with one of the locals on the sidewalk between their offices and the adjacent building. "Do you think she's gonna rent the building next door? Damn convenient, wouldn't ya say?"

Marco bristled. Again he didn't understand why his partner's criticism irritated him, but it did. Damping down the irrational feelings, Marco replied, "Yeah. I was thinking money laundering. She's opening a jewelry shop. From what I overheard at the bank, she bought the building outright." "Man, that takes some cash." "Yeah, just what I thought." Marco glowered at Lisa, whose vital energy reached out to him even through the plate glass window of his office. Why in the hell did he have to be attracted to this woman, at this time? Shit. From the moment he'd run into her and stared down into her emerald eyes, he'd been hot for her. So hot, he could have taken her on the town square and cared less that God and everyone would have seen. Double shit. "Marco, man, what's wrong with you?" Saul jabbed him in the arm. "What?" Marco shook his head and looked away from the red-haired temptress. "I asked you if you thought we should start the paperwork on getting a wiretap for her phone." Saul eyed him quizzically. "Are you sick or something? You look kind of peaked." "No, no. I'm fine." Marco swiveled his chair around so he couldn't see Lisa any longer. "I think a wiretap is premature. We don't actually have anything on her--yet. Just a passing mention in a phone call. Since she's next door, we can keep an eye on her comings and goings." "Sure, whatever you say, buddy." Saul got off the desk and was just about to leave when he stiffened. "Well, lookee here. Old Beau is paying our Lisa a visit." "What?" Marco growled and spun back around. Sure enough, Beau Crawford was smiling down at Lisa and holding the door for her. Surging from his chair, Marco headed for his office door. "Where in the hell are you going?" Saul yelled. "Out," Marco snapped. Marco left the building and ambled toward Lisa's. As he approached the first set of windows on her storefront, he observed Beau and Lisa standing just inside the door. Leaning on the edge of the building, he stood and watched. The two were far too involved in their conversation to notice him. If they looked up, they would definitely see him. But at this point, he didn't even care. Just the fact that Lisa was in there and allowing Beau to smile down at her ticked him off. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help it. He'd seen her first. *** "I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood." Lisa smiled up at the brown-haired lawyer who'd stopped by to welcome her to town. "Why, thank you, Mr. Crawford." "Beau, call me Beau." He smiled, his brown eyes left unwarmed by the gesture. "Okay. Beau it is."

Lisa couldn't help but compare this man to one she'd run into at the bank. Beau definitely wasn't hard, nor did he remind her of a predatory cat. But, there was something about him she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was rare that Lisa couldn't match a gemstone with a person. Allowing his voice to wash over her, she turned within, seeking a comparison, a match. Shale. Shale? Lisa shook her head to clear the thought. And tried again. Shale. "Lisa?" Beau's impatient voice broke through her transcendental state. Shaking away the unusual image, Lisa said, "Um, I'm sorry, but what did you say?" Beau smiled once again, displaying a lot of orthodontically perfect white teeth. "I asked if you were thinking of selling your uncle's property. I have a very motivated buyer." "No." Lisa smiled to soften the abruptness of her answer. "I love the cabin and the land. It's been in my family for generations. Nothing could persuade me to sell it." Beau's smile thinned, his eyes narrowed. "Gee, I understand that, but did you know about the wild animal problems out there? I mean, your uncle knew how to use a gun and could handle himself from what I hear, but you're out there all alone--defenseless. Something bad could happen, and you'd be miles from town and help." Lisa shivered. Did she imagine it, or had Beau just threatened her? He almost seemed to relish the thought of her alone and defenseless. "Wild animals? What wild animals? I haven't seen or heard anything more wild than a few birds and some squirrels." "Bears, wolves and bobcats, just to name a few," said Beau, not meeting her eyes. "Snakes, too." The last thrown in as if it were a deal clincher. Beau was lying to her. Shale. Layers of soft rock. Exactly, Beau wasn't what he seemed. Just like shale, he looked like a hard rock, but proved to be something other. Lisa shivered. What would she find if she scratched through the surface layers of Beau? Calling his bluff, Lisa shrugged. "I guess I'll have to get a gun and have someone teach me how to use it." For just a split second, Lisa caught a glimpse of the real Beau as he threw her an ugly look. Images of slimy depths flitted through her mind, then the images disappeared as Beau's fixed smile was back in place. "Well, I'll have to give it to you. You've got guts, Lisa." "Thanks..." Lisa forgot what else she wanted to say. Images of black diamonds and cat's eyes forced their way into her mind. His eyes. Turning her head slightly, she saw the man from the bank. He leaned on the corner of her building, spying on Beau and her. Beau asked her a question. Shaking her head, she pulled her eyes and thoughts from the dark-haired man. Turning her attention back to Beau, she said, "What?" "Lunch," said Beau.

"Lunch?" Beau cut her off before she could frame a refusal. "Great. My treat." He reached for her arm then led her out the door. Lisa glanced to the right. The dark man was gone. *** Realizing Lisa had seen him, Marco went back to his office. He kept her front door under observation. Willing Beau to leave. But when he did, the slimy lawyer had Lisa with him. Dark, disturbing thoughts flitted through Marco's head. Damning his unreasonable attraction to Lisa, he visualized Beau flat on the ground, unconscious. A grim smile touched his lips. He could almost feel the bruising on his knuckles from beating the shyster to the ground. If he had his hands on Lisa at that moment, he would shake her for causing him such turmoil, for being involved with Beau and the cartel's dirty business, and, most of all, for being so beautiful and tempting. This attraction he felt for Lisa was dangerous. What was he going to do? Marco combed his hands through his hair and wrestled with the images and thoughts fighting for supremacy in his head. Groaning, he turned his back on the window to the square and the café into which Lisa and Beau had entered. His job. He grasped at the thought like a lifeline. He would do his job. Bringing down the cartel had been his life for twenty years. The souls of his mother and grandmother cried out to be avenged. Nothing could be allowed to come between him and his chance for retribution. Nothing. Especially not a red-haired temptress he suspected of sleeping with the devil.

Chapter Five Later that night. Groaning, Lisa stood up straight and arched her back. She'd finally unpacked the last box. Now she could go about the business of putting her imprint on the cabin, making it more hers than Uncle Lon's. Sorting through a pile of books, she started placing her collection of gemology and jewelry books on the shelves built around the fireplace. Her Uncle Lon had quite a collection himself, some of them first editions. Once again, Lisa felt a sadness wash over her that she'd never met her uncle. From the collection of rocks mixed in on the shelves of books, her uncle and she had shared the same interests. Lisa admired the large pyramidal quartz crystal holding the place of honor in the middle of the mantel. It was a beauty. It must have cost her uncle a lot of money. Lisa swept a gentle finger over the glassy surface and felt a frisson of awareness sweep through her body. Energy. Since she'd moved to the cabin, her awareness of her ability to sense energy in stones had increased tenfold. A lifetime of denial was rapidly wearing thin. This extra sense had always been a part of her; now, she could no longer ignore or disregard it. Lisa had always known that she was different than other people. From her careful questioning of others as she grew to adulthood, she learned that not everyone could feel stones giving off energy or see auras around other people, and that they especially could not change those auras by choosing the right combination of gemstones and metals. Lisa's father had always seemed the most upset, to the point of

being frantic, when she asked questions about her affinity for stones. Eventually, she'd learned not to mention the subject around him. Lisa's mother would just smile at her and tease her about having a great imagination. However, it had been that very affinity which had attracted her to geology and, in particular, gemology. After receiving her bachelor's degree in geology and gemology, she coupled her knowledge and affinity with a hitherto undiscovered artistic ability and set out to make a name for herself in New York City as a jewelry designer. She'd been working in a Greenwich Village artists' cooperative when Andrei had found her. Lisa sighed and went back to shelving her books. Andrei. What a mess. Through her former landlady, she'd discovered Andrei had caused a scene at the apartment building when he'd found that Lisa had moved out. Then, he managed to track her to California. So far, he hadn't been able to find her here. She hoped he'd just give up. Reaching for the next book in the pile, she found it to be Callista MacDougall's journal. In all the rush to escape New York and move to North Carolina, Lisa had neglected to settle down and read her great-grandmother's writings. The emerald is the protector. Lisa shook her head. Now why had she thought of the necklace? It was locked away in the safety deposit box at the bank. Probably seeing the journal had reminded her. Turning to put the book on the coffee table, Lisa became aware of a sense of anticipation in the air, like the pressure before an impending thunderstorm. No, that was crazy. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and no rain was predicted for the next couple of days. Placing the book on the table, Lisa turned to walk into the kitchen to check on her casserole for supper. A slight breeze swept through the room from the open windows. The sound of thunder followed it. Retrieve the emerald. Danger. The emerald is the protector. What was that? It had to be the wind making those sounds. Either that or she was letting Beau Crawford's warnings get to her. Images of black diamonds, cat's eyes and her emerald flashed through her mind. This is crazy. It had to be a result of atmospheric conditions and her overly active imagination. Lisa took a detour and stood on the front porch. Lifting her face to the dusk sky, she saw only clear skies and twinkling stars. No wind stirred the trees around her cabin. In fact, the atmosphere was preternaturally still. Lisa trembled at the sense of unease that flooded her body. Hugging herself, she reentered the cabin, then shut and locked the door, checking it twice before she went back to retrieve her supper. Food would help. She probably was a tad hypoglycemic. Maybe a glass of wine would relax her. After eating her supper, Lisa felt better, more centered. She'd been right. All she needed was some food and a little alcohol. As she went to her bedroom, Lisa found herself taking a detour past the coffee table and picking up Callista's journal. Well, why not? She could read some before bed. From her past glances at the handwriting, she'd fall asleep before the end of the first page. If she could decipher it at all with all the loops and swirls of her relative's Spencerian script. After changing into her nightgown, Lisa creamed her face and brushed her teeth. All she needed was a

good night's sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day receiving her new equipment and moving in her materials to set up her store. On her way to the kitchen, Lisa checked that all the doors and windows were locked, then she poured a glass of wine and settled down on the chaise located on the sleeping porch adjacent to her bedroom. The alcohol would assist the soporific effects of the journal. Tossing a handmade quilt over her feet, Lisa picked up the book. Taking a deep breath of the mild night air, Lisa took a moment to enjoy the night sounds of the mountains surrounding her--birds and small animals rustled in the thick flora that bordered her cabin on three sides. She heard no howls, growls or hisses, which didn't mean there weren't such creatures in the woods as Beau had alleged, but just meant they weren't near her cabin. Just in case, she'd left the cabin's corner spotlights on, hoping the animals would be scared off by the evidence of man. Lisa opened the journal and read the opening entry: To my future heirs, I hereby pass down the lessons I have learned. Heed them well for they did not come without a great deal of trials, tribulations and heartache. I hope that you will benefit from my mistakes as I had no one to teach me. Lisa laughed. She'd heard of such books where the women had passed down recipes and household hints but had never seen one. Intrigued, she turned the page and read on. The power over the stones seems to occur in greatest strength every third to fourth generation, which is why my parents and their parents could not teach me. My great-grandmother who possessed the power, long ago deceased, left no writings. Stories of her abilities were told around the fire and passed down within the family. I hope that whoever of my great-grandchildren inherits the power receives these writings in a timely manner so that he or she may learn not to fear the gift of lithomancy. Lithomancy? Literally, it meant power over the stones. Then she wasn't the only person to have this ability. There were others like her. Intrigued, Lisa hurriedly returned to the journal, all thoughts of sleep gone with the surge of excitement pulsing through her. According to legends, the powers have always been within the MacDougall clans. Long before the first MacDougall settled in the hills of North Carolina, one or two children every generation would receive the gift to some degree. Be it a blessing or a curse, I was of the generation to receive the gift in full measure. Although no one in my family could advise me how to control the gift, I was accepted. Through much trial and error, I learned the ways of the great power found within the earth in its minerals, rocks and precious gems. I vowed no future heir of mine should have to suffer the agony of uncertainty which I have. And suffered I did. It seems that the land settled by the first American MacDougall bore a treasure that heightened the power passed down through the clan. For lack of a better word, the treasure channeled and allowed the energy to be used at its fullest capacity. The device used to increase the power is contained in the amulet which has passed from each MacDougall lithomancer to the next. Lisa gasped. Maybe the answers to her questions about why the emerald felt hot, yet did not burn, were in this book. Years of skepticism now cast aside, she turned back to the diary. Finally, the instincts she had suppressed her whole life were validated. Even though she was different, it felt good to know she

was not the first--nor the last--to possess such abilities. My heir, listen to the voices of the stone. Heed them. The stone will protect while allowing you to use your powers to their utmost. Always use the powers for good. Evil thoughts and deeds lead only to catastrophic events beyond your ability to control. Learn these lessons well. For I sacrificed the only man I loved in this world because of jealousy and fear. Remember, seed of the MacDougall, power used unwisely is power unleashed. Chills swept through Lisa's body at the last words on the page. Who had her great- grandmother sacrificed? How? Was that why she'd consciously denied her abilities? Had she somehow sensed they could be dangerous? Flipping through a few more pages, she saw that the rest of the book contained lessons. The first being, channeling the stone's energy to match the new holder of the power. Lisa definitely wanted to try this and couldn't wait for morning to come. Reading ahead, Lisa became so drawn into the words and teachings of her great-grandmother that she hadn't realized how late it had become. Midnight. She'd better get some sleep. First thing in the morning she would get her necklace out of the lock box and see if Callista had written fairytales or not. One thing was for sure, if what was written in the diary was true, Lisa didn't want to be out of control. She needed to learn how to channel her powers. There had been a few times recently when she felt that there was something more there, but couldn't quite figure out how to reach it. Maybe she was instinctively afraid to hear it. Tomorrow, no--later today--was going to be busy. Lisa threw the quilt off her feet and swung her legs off the chaise. Something brushing up against the house startled her. Funny, there wasn't any breeze to speak of. Standing up, Lisa walked to the screened walls of the porch and peered out into the yard. The security lights on the corners of the house cast odd shadows through the foliage surrounding the yard. Was there movement out there? Or was it a trick of the lighting? So much for the security lights making her feel safe. The noise sounded again. Yes, it was a brushing and then a scratching noise. Maybe there were bears in the woods like Beau Crawford said? Or, maybe it was just a coon or a opossum waddling through the brush? A slight breeze wafted through the screen, ruffling Lisa's nightgown against her legs. She laughed at her fears. Maybe it was just some shrubs brushing up against the house. She'd definitely have to trim some of the shrubbery and trees around the house so she wouldn't have to listen to the noise and worry about them crashing through her windows. Finally satisfied that the night noises were innocuous, Lisa turned, picked up the quilt and the book from the chaise, and entered her bedroom. Only after she locked the French doors to the sleeping porch and rechecked all the other locks in the house, did she finally lie down to go to sleep. *** Beau laughed silently as he watched Lisa inspect all her windows and doors--twice. The noises he'd produced scared her just like he knew they would. Planting the idea in her head of wild animals on the mountain had only been the first step in his plan to force Lisa into selling the land to MinGemCo and its owner, Manuel Norda.

Tonight he'd initiated the second phase. Besides the noises, he would actually leave marks to prove there were bears in these woods. Bears in them thar woods. Sometimes he amazed even himself. He chortled. The sound echoed among the thicket of trees, startling an owl into flight. Beau shivered with alarm--or, more likely, with the early symptoms of withdrawal. Figuring a little more of the prime cocaine Norda had sent as a signing bonus wouldn't hurt, he took another snort. Now, he shuddered in anticipation of the confidence the drug would soon bring. Once more in control, Beau checked his surroundings. Yep, he was alone. Just him, the bear claws and assorted creatures of the night. Holding the bear paws up, he examined them through drugged eyes and senses. So, they weren't exactly fresh bear claws--he'd bought a stuffed bear at an estate auction and cut off the paws. He wasn't even sure what kind of bear he'd bought. For all he knew this particular type of bear wasn't even found in North Carolina, but the claws would do the job. Giddy with his creativity and drugs, he inched his way toward the house, making sure to stay in the shadows created by the trees. The open area between the copse and the cabin was dimly lit by the security lights. Reassured that all was quiet, he crept to the front porch. What was that? Beau stepped back off the porch, then turned around, seeking the source of the noise he'd heard. He saw no one. And heard nothing now but the sounds of the night and the breeze rustling through the bushes and trees. Turning toward the cabin, he listened. No noise came from within. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he took a paw in each hand, then stepped quietly onto the porch. Using a firm pressure, he scraped the sharp claws down the pine door. Screeeech. The noise, like fingernails on a chalkboard, could wake the dead. He hadn't expected it would be so loud. The claws hadn't made that kind of sound on the exterior log walls of the cabin. He stopped, his breathing erratic from the combination of cocaine and fear, and listened. Still no sound from within. The sound must not have carried inside. Grinning, he applied the claws once more for good measure. Beau stepped back to look at his work. That should put the fear of wild animals into her. He snickered. After a few nights of bear attacks, Lisa MacDougall would beg him to sell the land. Slinking off the porch, he shifted both paws into one hand. He spied a large branch lying on the ground. Bending over he picked it up, then used it to break the small window on the side of the house. The sound of breaking glass was like an explosion. There, that should wake the bitch up. His job done for tonight, Beau ran back to where he'd left his car. He hadn't had this much fun since he stole cars to make extra money to pay for law school. *** Lisa sat up with a start. Breaking glass! It sounded like it had come from the other side of the cabin. Clutching her covers, she listened. She heard nothing more. No footsteps. Nothing, except the thumping of her heart. Deciding that no one but she was in the house, Lisa flung back the covers and got out of bed. After slipping on her shoes, she picked up a fire poker from the wood-burning stove in her bedroom. Just in case. Creeping on her tiptoes, Lisa headed toward the front of the house. The kitchen was empty, silent except for the ticking of the clock over the stove. Moving laterally, she noted that the front door was still closed and locked. Good. The only rooms left were the living room and the guest bedroom. Stepping into the living room she saw the side window was broken. A branch lay half in and half out of the jagged opening

in the glass. But as far as she could tell, there still didn't seem to be any wind to speak of. Had it just fallen? No matter. There wasn't much she could do about it tonight. Lisa got a broom and a dust pan, then swept up the glass. Thinking quickly, she shoved the bookcase over in front of the window. It wasn't much; any strong man--or animal--could push it out of the way, but it would keep birds and smaller critters out. Having done all she could do, Lisa went back to bed. She wouldn't get a restful sleep with the security of her house at issue, but some sleep was better than none at all. As she lightly dozed, Lisa thought she heard a woman's voice promise to protect her for the remainder of the night.

Chapter Six Next morning. Lisa shivered as she looked at the large scratches on her front door. Bear? Was Beau Crawford right? Scared at what she might find, Lisa crept around the corner of the house to the broken window. Examining the soft ground under the window, she found no animal tracks, not unless the local fauna had taken to wearing athletic shoes. Someone was trying to scare her. But who? And why? Images of splintery shale and cold brown eyes whipped through her brain, chased by black shards and golden eyes. She'd be damned if she'd let someone drive her away from her inheritance. Before she went into the shop this morning, she'd just pop in and have a talk with the sheriff. Let him know something strange was going on. Maybe her threat to get a weapon was a good idea. She'd ask the sheriff if he could recommend a gun and someone to teach her how to use it. Walking back into the cabin to get her purse, Lisa glanced at the diary sitting on the bedside table where she'd left it the night before. With a prowler around, she couldn't take the chance that someone might steal the precious book before she learned all its secrets. Where could she hide it? Try the fire. Lisa shook her head. There was that voice again. What was it? What fire? Was she going crazy? A crash in the other room caused Lisa to jump. The noise came from the vicinity of the fireplace. Running into the living room, she noticed that the grate had tipped over causing a brick under it to shift slightly. Lisa knelt on the hearth and felt around the brick--it was loose, by design, not as a result of an accident. Using the fireplace poker, she pried it up and found a metal-lined hiding place under the brick--just big enough for the diary. A piece of paper was also in the compartment. Pulling the paper out, Lisa read: Dear Lisa, If you have found the diary's secret compartment, you will know that you have the power. Follow the lessons in your great-grandmother's diary, and you will learn the full capability of your gift's strengths. I wish I could have been there for you, but as a MacDougall of the wrong generation my powers never reached the levels to allow me to defeat my enemy. My body failed me in life and in death.

Be careful. There are those who seek to steal the green fire. Hold onto the land. Trust your instincts. Listen to the stone's voices. They have brought you this far; they will carry you farther. With love, Uncle Lon Staring at the letter, Lisa ached for the man who wrote it. He must have felt so alone. She still didn't understand what had caused the separation in the family. Now, she'd probably never find out. But the least she could do was protect the necklace--it was the only green fire she was aware of--and hold onto the land. Placing the letter inside the diary, she secreted both in the hole, then replaced the brick and the grate back into their proper places. Tonight she would begin her lessons in learning how to channel her power. She had a gut feeling she'd need the skills to follow through with her duty toward her family heritage. *** Beau fumbled with the lock on the door to his office. Damn, he was getting shakier faster each time the coke wore off. He thought of the small stash he kept in his desk for emergencies. At his current rate of usage, he'd need to find a new source of the drug, or do more favors for Norda. Shudders wracked his body as he thought of the drug lord. He'd definitely need to snort a line before he called to make his report. It wouldn't do to be jittery when talking to the leader of the Verde Fogata cartel. Beau swore the man could see through the phone lines. After he managed to unlock his desk drawer, Beau pulled out the small plastic pouch that contained his coke and paraphernalia. Despite his shaking hands, he carefully spooned out the precious white powder onto a small mirror, then using a razor blade, he lined it up. Using the coffee stirrer from yesterday's latte, he sniffed the white granules up, then shivered, this time in anticipation of the power he'd feel in a few seconds. There was nothing quite like it. The high was better than the best sex. The control he felt was indescribable. He could deal with anything or anybody--even Manual Norda. Warmed by the confidence boost of his white mistress, Beau punched Norda's number into the phone and leaned back in his chair. "MinGemCo. May I connect your call?" "Green fire." "Gracias, senor. Hold please." Idly, Beau observed the pedestrian traffic on the town square. He sat up when Lisa walked by. She turned into the sheriff's office. He laughed. She must have had quite a fright if she was going to report his little animal attack to the sheriff. Beau snorted. Sheriff Dodge was a plodding idiot. There wasn't anything the sheriff could do about bears, except report the incident to the forest ranger station. Yep, a signed deed for the land would be in his hot little hands by the end of the week, especially after what he'd planned for tonight. "Green fire." Beau swiveled around and gave his attention to the man on the other end of the line. Manuel Norda would know if his minion was not hanging on his every word.

"Yes, sir." "What have you to report? Do you have my land yet?" "No, but I should have it soon." "How so?" "I put a good scare into the MacDougall woman last night. She'll be more than willing to sell after tonight." "How can you be so sure?" "She's just a woman--all alone out there. Believe me, she was scared good last night. I plan to up the threat tonight. To be on the safe side, give me until the end of the week. You'll have your title to the land then." "Bien. See that it is so." "Uh, sir...about my payment. I could use more--" "No. Not until you have shown me a result. I have been more than generous in my down payment. I would suggest you exercise some restraint." "Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever you say." Beau winced as the phone was slammed down on the other end. He broke out in a cold sweat, the euphoria of the drug diluted by his fear of Norda. He'd have to up the terror quotient more than he considered safe tonight so he could clinch the deal soon. His money and drug supply were both running low. *** Marco looked over at Saul. They'd both been eagerly listening to Beau's call to the cartel-- only the second since they'd set up shop in Ben Lomond. "Sounds like the MacDougall woman is a victim in all this." Saul didn't sound absolutely positive about his conclusion. "Yeah--that's what it sounds like. It also confirms my impression of her." Marco wouldn't admit to his partner the intense relief he'd felt when he heard Crawford mention the campaign to scare Lisa. "Wonder what he did to frighten her?" Anger coursed through his body, replacing the gladness that Lisa was not the enemy. "Don't know, but don't you think we should keep an eye on her?" Saul asked. "It looks like she might be the natural bait for us to trap the cartel." As much as Marco would like to deny the need to use Lisa, he knew Saul was correct. She was already involved. It was up to them to use her, while protecting her. He hoped he wouldn't have to make a choice between the two duties. *** Joyas Muchas, an island off the Florida Keys.

"Little coke bastard." Manuel Norda looked up from his desk and sought the eyes of Herve, his right hand man and loyal weapon. "Herve. Be ready to go to the assistance of Senor Crawford. I sense that he will fail. I wish to end this once and for all." "Si, Manuel. I am packed and ready to leave at your word." "Bien." Norda smiled. Herve had never failed him. For he knew what would happen to him if he did. What happened to all those who failed him--death. Norda did not suffer incompetence lightly. *** Ben Lomond. Lisa liked Sheriff Travis Dodge the moment she met him. Her intuition told her she could trust him when the chips were down. "May I help you, Miss MacDougall?" The sheriff smiled at her as he stood up. "Good morning, Sheriff." Lisa returned his smile with one of her own as she shook the hand the lawman extended across the desk. She sat at his gesture in the chair in front of his desk. "How did you know my name?" The blond-haired giant in beige khaki grinned at her, his sapphire eyes crinkling at the corners. She sensed he was a man who smiled a lot. "Everyone in town knew who you were, where you were from and your family business before you had been here for a day. Besides, it's my job to know my constituents." Lisa laughed. "Small towns are sure different than the big city. It'll take some getting used to." "Well, if you have any problems adjusting, please feel free to ask me. Having moved here from Asheville, I ought to be able to help you through newcomers' culture shock. By the way, my friends call me Travis, not Sheriff." "Travis, then. I appreciate your offer." Lisa's face burned hotly at the intense look of interest reflected in the deep blue of Travis's eyes. Looking within, she saw bedrock and the mutability of deep blue seas. A complex man, one who could be strong when required and flexible when necessary. A good man. Someone she could trust. "What can I do for you today?" Travis asked, breaking through her introspection. "I may be imagining things, but..." Lisa hesitated, not quite sure how to explain what was going on. She couldn't tell this straightforward man that she had a treasure that someone wanted to take. Plus, he wouldn't understand her power. And one thing she was sure she wanted was this man's respect and friendship. Travis's smile dimmed. "Miss MacDougall. Lisa. Is there some sort of problem?"

"Something attacked my house last night. Broke a window." A growl filled the room. Lisa was surprised to see the formerly light-filled man turn dark and dangerous. "What happened? Why didn't you call 9-1-1 last night?" "I wasn't sure. I thought the wind blew a branch through my window and caused the bushes to brush against my house. This morning I found claw marks on my front door." Lisa looked at Travis. He watched her closely. Did he think she was going to get hysterical after the fact? Or, was he wondering if she'd made it all up--a woman alone in the mountains, jumping at sounds and shadows? "When I went to check on the window, I found human shoeprints, not animal." Travis surged to his feet, and his chair scraped across the floor and banged into the wall behind his desk. "Let's go. I want you to show me those marks and footprints. Your Uncle Lon complained about trespassers, but we could never find evidence of anyone being there." "I need to open the shop. I've got some deliveries coming this morning," Lisa said. "Could we do it later? At lunchtime, maybe? I don't think the scratches or marks are going anywhere. I covered the shoeprints up with a large tub." "Good thinking. Why don't I just go up there now, since you've already marked the evidence? I'll make a report of my findings over lunch. Let's say around noon at the coffee shop on the square?" "I'd like that, Travis." Lisa smiled. "Thank you for checking things out so quickly." "I'd have come out last night if you'd called," said Travis. "Remember that in the future." "I will," promised Lisa. "Don't worry. I'm not all that brave, but I don't intend to let anyone chase me off my land." Travis frowned. "Why would you think someone is trying to chase you off your land?" Lisa shook her head. She wasn't ready to discuss her uncle's note and his fear that someone was after the green fire and the land. "Why else would someone try to frighten me?" "I don't know, but I intend to find out." *** New York City Andrei swore at one more dead end. The private investigator he'd hired in California reported that Lisa MacDougall hadn't been seen around her mother's home in weeks. What was even more frustrating was the investigator's inability to get access to Lisa's mother's phone records. The stepfather was a prominent prosecutor, and his records and life were better protected than anyone but the president of the United States. Maybe even better. The whole California angle had become a dead end. She could be anywhere, and he had no way of tracing her. His only recourse now was to use his mob ties. He hadn't wanted to do that, because it made him look weak. Andrei snorted in disgust. He hated this need, this desire he felt for Lisa, but he couldn't help it. Ever

since he'd first discovered her in that shabby little artist's cooperative, he'd lusted for her. But she never noticed. At first he'd played it easy, thinking that once she got used to him, once she realized what he could do for her career, that she would turn to him, her mentor. Later, he'd demonstrated his personal interest in increasingly overt ways--flowers, invitations to dine out, a casual touch now and then--but she'd repudiated all his overtures. The only reason he'd remained so patient for so long was because she had no other love interest. He figured like water on stone he'd eventually wear her down. Then, he'd discovered her treachery, her plans to leave him. She'd never intended to stay. She'd been using him and his shop to establish herself. Calculating, cock-teasing bitch. Andrei refused to acknowledge the pain she'd caused him, the affront to his masculine pride, the fact that he still wanted her. Pride and desire be damned. Boiled down to the bottom-line-- without Lisa his shop would not survive. Without his shop, he couldn't launder money for the Mafiya; he'd lose face. Thus, the search for Lisa had become a matter of survival--his survival. He would do whatever was necessary to find her. Andrei reached for the phone. He'd start with the west coast mobs. She had to move her furniture somewhere after it reached California. If he could follow the furniture, he'd find her. Or, at least, he hoped he would. And when he did, he'd make sure she stayed put the next time. She would learn that she wasn't a free agent and that he was her master. She would learn.

Chapter Seven Ben Lomond. Marco drew the first watch on Crawford. While the sleazy lawyer schmoozed the coffee shop waitress, Marco sat in a corner booth and nursed the coffee and pie he'd ordered. Why did women always fall for a smooth-talker? He'd never perfected the art of making small talk with a woman. His approach was either to let them know up front that he wanted a good time or avoid them altogether. Not the politically correct viewpoint for a man in the twenty-first century, but hey, he admitted to being a throwback. His lifestyle didn't allow him the luxury of a long-term relationship. Women didn't like being left for months at a time while he was undercover. Hell, he couldn't even promise them he'd come back alive. Marco took another sip of coffee, long since gone cold, then ruffled the newspaper opened in front of him. Since the Ben Lomond daily paper was only ten pages long and mostly ads, he'd long since finished the hot topics. He should've brought a book--at least he would have gotten some serious reading done. By the looks of it, old Beau didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. Damn. Marco hated this part of his job--waiting around for the bad guys to do something. But, he would bear it. Saul drew the assignment of walking the MacDougall land to see if he could figure out why the cartel would be interested in it. Saul had laid odds that the cartel was looking for a new distribution site for the east coast. Miami was too "hot" now. He intended to see if there were caves that could be used as hiding places for stashes of drugs. The lighting in the café grew brighter as the street lights came on in the square. It was just past dusk now. Beau should be heading out to Lisa's any time. If Crawford intended to hurt Lisa tonight, Marco would

be there to stop him. Maybe all this waiting around would lead to action after all. *** Lisa finished drying her dinner dishes. She hoped tonight would be more quiet than last. She glanced at her newly installed window. After lunch with Travis Dodge, he'd insisted on helping her fix the broken panes. While he went to the hardware store to get the necessary materials, she had gone to the bank where she'd taken the necklace out of the lock box. He, then, followed her home and installed the new glass. Finding the sheriff to be good company, and the truth be told, still leery of someone stalking her, Lisa invited him to dinner. By an unspoken agreement, they talked about everything but the attack on her house. It wasn't until Travis was about to leave that he said, "Call me if you hear anything unusual." He handed her a card. "This has my home number and pager. Don't be afraid to use it. I'd rather respond to a false alarm then to find you hurt...or worse." Lisa touched her cheek and smiled. Travis had kissed her, then fled like the hounds of Hell were on his heels. A shy sheriff. Only in the mountains of North Carolina. Now, if he'd been a man like Andrei Romanoff, she'd have been on the floor and half-naked in the same amount of time. No. The sheriff was the strong silent type, sort of like Gary Cooper in High Noon. Trust your power to seek the one. The sheriff is not for you. That voice again. She'd better figure out how to control her power--and soon--or the voice in her head was going to drive her nuts. After hanging up the dishtowel, she left the kitchen. She went to her purse and pulled out the velvet pouch which held the necklace. Warmth flowed through the thick bag into her hands. Eager to get the channeling ceremony over with as quickly as possible, Lisa recovered the diary from its hiding place. Earlier that day, Lisa had set up the altar for the ceremony, cleansing the stones, sanctifying the makeshift shrine. In the center of her coffee table sat the pyramidal crystal quartz she'd inherited from Lon. She'd purified it at sunrise using the ritual Callista described in the diary. Chills tripped up and down her spine as she recalled the surge of power flowing from the stone as she'd held it against her abdomen in the final step of the ritual. The clear crystal still radiated warmth, almost glowing. When she touched it, images of pure light shimmered through her mind. Once she'd arranged the quartz with its dual role as a receptive and projective stone, she organized various colored gemstones from her uncle's collection around the larger stone-- amethysts for prophecy and protection, citrines for protection and psychic powers, aventurines for luck, moonstones for protection after dark. Interspersed among the stones she wished to charge and attenuate with her emerald amulet were pure white beeswax candles. Lighting first the candles, then the pile of logs in the fireplace, the scene was set. Opening the diary, she placed it on the edge of the coffee table. Cautiously, she removed the necklace from the bag. The ever-present heat reached out to her. Lisa detached the pendant and cradled it in her cupped hands. The heat hadn't diminished since the last time she'd touched the stone upon her arrival in North Carolina. In fact, she imagined it had grown hotter; there was almost a sense of anticipation in the heat, but still it did not blister her skin. It was as if the heat only existed in her mind. Mentally or physically, she wasn't sure how long she could stand the fire, so she held the stone over the

peak of the pyramid crystal and chanted: Banbha, goddess warrior of Eire, Fodla, goddess of wisdom, and Erui, earth goddess and keeper of the golden goblet, Hear my words. I am the MacDougall. The power of the stones is within me. Take the fire from this amulet. Imbue me with the strength to channel the flame, and The wisdom and courage to use the fire for good. I will do no harm, lest it be done to me or mine. Upon my oath and the soul of Danu. As the echo of her last word trailed off on the cool night air, a warm wind swirled through the room, lifting her hair. The emerald stone began to vibrate. A buzzing sound like a swarm of hornets surrounded her. The sensations burrowed into the very marrow of her bones. Just as the sensory overload threatened to overwhelm her, green flames shot from the core of the emerald into the air where they swirled then found the channeling stone on the table. Now, the fire was in the center of the quartz, a chrysalis of green tendrils of energy, twisting and turning upon itself. Lisa gaped at the pyrotechnics and wondered what she'd unleashed. The floor of the house shook in time with the increasingly violent vibrations of the channeling stone as it seemed to struggle to contain the green fire. Just when she thought the quartz would shatter from the violent forces within its core, the green fire shot back out, finding once more the emerald still cupped in her hands. Yet it was not over. The energy hummed within the emerald for what seemed like an eternity but, Lisa knew, must have only been a few seconds before it streaked toward the fireplace. The golden fire in the hearth burned briefly in variegated colors of green before flaming out, sending tourmaline-colored smoke up the chimney. Shaken by what she'd just seen, Lisa sank abruptly onto the couch before her knees failed her. Somehow, the emerald remained safely cupped in her hands. Now it burned icy hot to the touch, almost like menthol. The intense heat sensation in her brain was gone. In fact, her mind seemed clearer now, different than before, more balanced. Whatever the feelings, she knew they were right. With unsteady hands, Lisa replaced the pendant on the golden chain, then hung it around her neck. The pendant still glowed, but her instincts, her gift, told her that it was truly her stone now, tuned into her power. The ceremony had worked. The diary stated the emerald would burn cold until she died, when it would again burn hot until the next MacDougall with the power came along to claim it. A sense of calm permeated Lisa's body. She'd carried out the first step of her family's duty. She was the MacDougall. How that fit into the grand scheme of things and her world--well, she wasn't quite sure, but she could learn. Although she still had a lot to master concerning her power, instinctively she knew a gun would be unnecessary for protection. She had the ability with the aid of the stone around her neck to protect herself, the land and those she cared for. Her great-grandmother's words had made that clear. Picking up the now quiet pyramid quartz, she placed it back on the mantel. Peering into the quartz, Lisa saw a small remnant of the chrysalis of green energy lingering within its core. According to the diary, the channeling stone along with the protective stones tuned during the ceremony would guard the house better than any electronic system on the market. The emerald would guard her person.

The grandfather clock struck eleven. She needed to hurry in order to set up her magical web of protection. Lisa gathered up some of the other stones on the coffee table and placed them around the inside of the house. Her last step was to go outside and bury four of the amethysts, one at each corner of the cabin. Satisfied that she had done all she could, Lisa locked all the doors and windows, just in case, then prepared for bed. *** While waiting for Lisa to turn off the lights and go to bed, Beau took another snort of coke. He was down to his last two toots. The bitch had better sign over the land soon, or he'd have to go into Asheville and hunt down his former dealer and pay for some new shit. Glancing over at the house from his hiding place behind an outcropping of rocks and bushes, he checked to see if the cabin was dark yet. Whoa! What was going on? An unearthly green glow seemed to spill out of the windows. Curious. He crept toward the house. Beau stopped under the window he'd broken last night. Being careful not to make a sound, he peered into the living room of the cabin. In the candlelit room, Lisa stood with her back to him, holding something out over a low table. Her red hair blew in a nonexistent wind up and away from her head and face. Beau swore the house, even the ground, vibrated. A hum, like a swarm of angry bees, surrounded him and beat against his ears. It was so real he turned to see if he'd disturbed a nest of the hornets. What was this? Did he get some bad dope? He shook his head, blinked his eyes. Nope, the sensations were still there. A stream of green fire swept around the table and the room. The unusual firestorm seemed to last forever. Finally, it shot into the fireplace where the mysterious light changed the formerly normal fire into a blaze of green, then, poof, the flames were gone, leaving only green smoke. Whoa--what was that? Beau stood frozen, stunned by what he'd seen. Lisa moved, startling him back to reality once more. Beau crept backward, away from the window. He had to think, to assess what he'd just seen. What was Lisa? What had she been doing? What was that green flame he'd seen? Beau's coke-powered senses told him he'd seen what he'd seen. But his mental faculties deadened by years of drug use couldn't quite process the evidence. Damn, if his boss were anyone other than Norda, what was left of his human instinct for survival would have him beating a path back to Asheville or environs even farther away from the woman. Lisa was damn scary. But Norda was scarier. Besides, if Beau did his job correctly, by tomorrow or the day after at the latest, the land would be Norda's, and Beau would never have to deal with Lisa MacDougall again. Convinced that going ahead with his plan was the only way to proceed if he wanted to stay alive, Beau gathered up his bear claws and waited for the house to go dark. *** Marco growled under his breath as Crawford crept toward the house. Too intent on following the man

who'd sworn to harm Lisa, he didn't notice the eerie green light until he stood ten yards behind Beau. What was happening? For several minutes, Beau stood still, reflected in the glow of the green light. When the light disappeared, Beau backed away. Marco hid behind a boulder, waiting to see what the man would do next. He'd worry about what the green light was after he was sure the danger to Lisa had diminished. Marco didn't have long to wait. As soon as the lights in Lisa's bedroom went out, Crawford crept back toward the same window through which he'd been peeping earlier. He carried something large in his hands. Using night-vision binoculars, the objects became clear. Bear claws. Curious, Marco moved out from behind the boulder, then crept closer, ready to pounce on Beau if he attempted to enter the house. All Marco's protective instincts surged to the forefront. Even if it ruined his cover, he couldn't stand by and see a woman terrorized or hurt by the long arm of the cartel. Who are you fooling, Marco? You've allowed plenty of people to get hurt while undercover. It's Lisa you're protecting, not just any woman. No. He'd protect any woman. Lisa couldn't mean anything. He wouldn't let her. Shaking off the thoughts of this fatalistic attraction, Marco concentrated on Crawford's actions. As the man raised the claws, Marco slipped his gun from his holster. The snick of the safety sounded loud in the still night air. As Beau struck out at the window, Marco held his breath, waiting to hear the crash of the glass and a scream from Lisa. Instead, there was a thud, as Beau fell back, away from the house, and landed on his ass. The claws flung from his hands as if they were hot potatoes. Marco stepped back under a sheltering oak and waited to see what the fallen man would do next. There was no outcry from the house. Maybe the noise hadn't awakened Lisa. But why hadn't the glass shattered? The thud he'd heard and Beau's consequent fall indicated that a lot of force was used. Strange. Beau was up again. This time, he picked up a large rock and threw it at the window. He had to duck as it bounced back at him. Damn. What was going on? Once again, Crawford had put some force into his attempt to destroy the window. At the very least, it should have cracked. The lights came on. The second obstacle hitting the window must have awakened Lisa. She appeared in the front window, a glowing green object hanging around her neck. Marco forgot to breathe. She was the image of a goddess in her white nightclothes with her red hair blowing in the breeze. Breeze? Marco looked around him. The leaves on the trees were still. Her window was closed. Yet her hair and her nightclothes moved as if a wind swirled around her. Then Marco noticed the urgent build up of heat in his amulet. Damn, his pendant only glowed under two conditions: danger and attraction to corresponding magic. From Beau's inept performance this evening, Marco didn't particularly think he was a danger to either Lisa or him. Could it be glowing in response to the emerald stone around Lisa's neck? Marco crossed himself, fingered the large cat's eye, and whispered, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, bless and protect me." Hedging her bets, his mother had taught him the litany as a child. He was to say it whenever his grandmother practiced her magic. His mother hadn't gotten the power, but she had been a

very good Catholic. She'd taught him not to question things that were not of this world, but to cover his ass when exposed to magic. Did Lisa have a gift like his grandmother's? The cartel killed his grandmother because she wouldn't use her magic for evil. His mother had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Helplessly, he'd watched them burn, while he'd been protected by the amulet his grandmother had placed around his neck. He had never taken it off since the day his grandmother died. Since that time, he'd faced death many times, but survived because of his skills, intelligence, and his own powers of magic brought to the fore by the amulet his grandmother had bestowed upon him. The attraction he felt for Lisa was now coupled with awe. Had he met his female complement? Even if he hadn't, he vowed he'd never allow the cartel to harm this woman. Good magic was rare in this world. It was his duty to protect her. Yeah, lie to yourself. You want her. Magic or no magic. Shoving aside an issue that couldn't be solved tonight, Marco stayed in the shadows, waiting to see what Beau would do next. The lawyer's plans for Lisa, whatever they were, forestalled for the night, Beau ran off. Marco remained at his post until Lisa left the window, taking the magical green glow with her, then he slipped back to his bedroll under the shelter of a large pine. He vowed to stay alert. His belief in her magic reassured him that Lisa's house was protected, yet his knowledge of the real world advised caution. It would be a long night. *** Lisa searched the darkness beyond the reaches of the security lights. Someone--no--two people were out there. She touched the pendant that still glowed as it had since she'd been awakened by the noises from outside her house. It was strange. She should be afraid. Mind- pictures depicted a man, his face hidden in shadows, his soul a mass of murk and rot. He held the claws of a bear. He'd tried to get into her house. But she knew he couldn't. The stones protected her and the house. Now, the stone's glow lessened, then changed--from fiery flames to smoldering embers. Another image flashed through her mind, and she knew for a certainty that the other shadowy person was also a man. Unlike the other, this one was a protector--solid, hard like a rock. But she sensed he, too, could be dangerous. Why couldn't she see the faces? Was it because she was too new to this magic stuff? Or because it wasn't the time for her to know these things? A protector. A destroyer. Who were they? Why here? Why now? Exasperated at her inability to see who was hiding in the darkness, Lisa turned from the window and returned to bed. She was safe as long as she remained in the house or wore the stone. Yet she was sure she wouldn't sleep--the protector, whoever he was, was still out there, watching, waiting. But for what? *** Lisa knew she was dreaming. Either that or she was having an out-of-body experience, because she watched herself walking the land near her cabin.

Noting the landmarks, she found herself near a small waterfall covering the opening to a cave nestled under the edge of a ridge where it fell off into a deep valley. It was night. The moon was shining. A full planter's moon. The sound of a waterfall drew her. Walking up a narrow rocky path, she entered behind the shimmering water. Lisa could go no farther. She faced a solid rock wall. Reaching out, she touched the wall, expecting the coolness of water-sprayed rock, but to her amazement her hand went through. Gasping, she withdrew her hand. Something important was behind the wall. She just knew it. She only had to walk through the wall to find it, but she was afraid. "It's your destiny to seek what is beyond the wall." Lisa turned. A white-haired woman in the garb of a lady of the nineteenth century stood close behind her. "Great-grandmother?" "Yes, Lisa. I'm your great-grandmother." The old woman smiled. "Sleep now. We've come far enough for one night. The power is strong in you. You will serve the MacDougalls well." Despite her fears, Lisa slept deeply.

Chapter Eight Next morning. After tailing Lisa into town, a well-rested Marco met Saul at the office. He still couldn't believe he'd slept. But he had...and he'd had the strangest, most erotic dreams about Lisa and a cave filled with an unearthly green glow on the night of a planter's moon. Stranger yet, he could recall the dreams vividly in the light of day. His arousal was proof of that. "Que pasa, Marco?" Saul stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "Rough night?" "I look that bad?" He must not have gotten as much rest as he'd thought. "Well, no. You just look odd, sort of strained, if you know what I mean." Yeah, he knew what Saul meant. A hard-on would cause a strained look. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself not to dwell on his night fantasies and turned to the business at hand. With recalled anger, he said, "Crawford attempted to break into Lisa's house last night." Saul whistled and raised an eyebrow. "Attempted? What did you do to stop him? Are we still undercover?" "Yeah. We're still undercover," Marco snapped. What kind of idiot did Saul take him for? An idiot infatuated with a woman in a case. Hell, his partner might be right. "I wouldn't break our cover unless he attempted to harm her directly. Besides, I didn't have to do

anything. Lisa had already ensured protection for herself and her cabin." "Do I have to pull this out of you word-by-word?" Saul asked. "How did she protect herself? Did she have an alarm system installed? I know the sheriff spent the day with her, fixing a broken window, and ate dinner with her last night. In fact, they're on for dinner again tonight." "What?" Marco shouted. "Where did you hear all this?" Saul shrugged. "It's all over town. I heard it at the coffee shop when I got breakfast, then at the bank and then from the guard in our building lobby." Saul considered Marco through slitted eyes. "The fine citizens of Ben Lomond have been saying that he's never quite shown an interest in a woman like he's been showing in Lisa." "Shit." Marco sat back in his chair with a thump. "Problem with that, buddy?" Saul hitched one leg up on the corner of the desk as he sat and scrutinized him. Marco knew what his partner was thinking. And he would be right. Marco was seriously attracted to Lisa MacDougall. Not a good idea since she was involved in an ongoing investigation, but it couldn't be helped. He'd been attracted to her from the get-go. Not just her looks, God knew she was gorgeous, but her soul called to his. He knew he frightened her. He probably wasn't right for her, but they had this connection, a shared magic, that couldn't be denied. Hell, the sheriff was the far better man for her. He'd just have to fight the attraction and get on with his job. Getting the cartel was far more important than a relationship with a woman, especially when she could get hurt during the course of the investigation. If the attraction still existed later, after Norda was put away, then he would seek her out and allow fate to run its course. "No," Marco said with some reluctance. "It's not a problem. The sheriff is a good guy. He'd be good for her. She's involved in a case. She's off limits. Right?" "Yeah, sure, old pal. Whatever you say." Saul grinned. "How did she protect her house? You took a detour before you said." "Magic." "What?" Saul stood up and leaned over the desk, catching Marco's eyes with his own. "Like mumbo-jumbo or more like pull-a-rabbit-out-of-the-hat kind of magic?" "Like earth magic," Marco said. "Our Lisa seems to be a white witch like my grandmother. My amulet glowed in response to a pendant around her neck." "Well, hell, that makes the case much more interesting." Saul whistled. "Is she as strong as your grandmother and some of the others we've seen in Central America?" "Yes. Maybe more so." Marco knew Saul referred to the Santeria rites they'd observed while undercover in El Salvador and Nicaragua. "What kind of power from the earth?" Saul sounded hesitant. "There was wind when none blew the trees. The earth vibrated. A strange green glow emanated from her pendant." Marco didn't want to tell Saul about the dreams. Visions had never happened to him before. Plus, they were too private, too personal. So, he hedged. "My amulet recognized the protective energy of

hers and responded to it. Grandmother had told me it would only do this if the energy was of the earth. Psychic energy would not affect it. Only earthly danger and earthly power would affect my talisman." "Whoa. Weird. I have to assume this doesn't go into our report?" "I'd say that's a safe assumption. No one would believe it unless they'd had our experiences or knew my background. I mean, have you ever told anybody about what happened in Central America?" Saul said, "No. I'm not crazy. Who'd believe me?" "No one." Marco recalled the first time he and Saul had worked as a team. They'd encountered a Santeria rite. Marco's amulet had glowed in response to a ritual asking the earth to punish trespassers, the very drug smugglers he and Saul were there to observe and bring to justice. It hadn't so much been the glowing that had unnerved Saul and him, but the surge of heat that had shot out of the amulet later, killing one of the drug smugglers who at the time tried to stab Marco. Saul had become an instant, deferential believer. And Marco paid closer heed to the warnings issued by his amulet--and vowed to learn to control his powers. Marco waved his hand as if to erase the topic. "What did you find on the land?" "Nothing except rocks, trees, some small caves, some almost dry stream beds and a couple of trickling waterfalls. Beautiful property, but nothing that would be useful or valuable for a bunch of drug smugglers." "Caves? How big were they?" Marco thought of the green cavern in his dream and felt himself hardening again at the images of Lisa's white limbs intertwined with his. "Small caves. Wouldn't hold more than a box or two, besides being easily found and out in the open." Saul shook his head and blew out a disgusted breath. "There's nothing I could see with the naked eye. Maybe you can do better when you go over it today. You're the one with the feel for the earth--just like your Lisa." "She's not my Lisa." He glowered at his partner. Saul was just trying to push his buttons and he was doing quite a good job of it. "Well, yeah. You keep on telling yourself that, old buddy, and you just might be able to convince yourself." Saul laughed. Marco frowned. "Just keep an eye on old Beau, old buddy, especially if he approaches Lisa." "Sure, sure. What about the sheriff?" "What about the sheriff?" He made no attempt to disguise his dislike of Saul's poking his nose into what wasn't his business. "Should I keep an eye on him, too, if he goes sniffing around Lisa?" He refused to answer. As Saul left the room chuckling to himself, Marco broke the pencil he'd picked up. *** Beau woke up with a splitting headache and a ravenous desire for another snort of cocaine. Visions of

the night before flashed through his pounding head. What in the hell had happened? He remembered attempting to break the window, then being knocked on his butt, claws flying. He recalled trying again with a rock, but that too bounced off, just barely missing his face. But the most vivid detail etched into his mind was Lisa and the spooky green light that had seemed to come from her. What was it? What was she? Was she a witch? A psychic? A lingering feeling of dominance, a holdover from the drug high of the night before, convinced Beau that he could control it, whatever it was. Control her. All it would take was a little time to gain her trust, win her over. Time. Something he was running out of. He still had to deal with Norda. Somehow he had to placate the drug lord. Put him off just long enough to take advantage of Lisa's strange power and put him beyond the long arm of the cartel. He wasn't due to report until tomorrow. He had twenty-four hours to start his courtship of Lisa and to think of a stalling tactic to buy him even more time. That decided, Beau did a line of coke, took a shower, and set off for work--confident in his innate charm and ability to woo and win Lisa. After all, she was just another woman. *** Lisa approached her shop a few minutes later than she would have liked. Her first stop of the morning had been at the sheriff's office. Travis wasn't in, so she left him a message. The urgency she'd felt ever since she left her cabin this morning and found a new set of footprints in the soil under her window pulsed through her body. She hadn't imagined the intruders on her property last night. One of them, the same one who had been there the night before by the looks of the shoeprints, had again tried to damage her property. To what end? Lisa didn't know, couldn't even guess. The other male she'd sensed--the one she'd labeled as a protector--well, she didn't know what to think about his presence. Was he really looking after her? Or just following the attacker? Her head ached thinking about the possibilities. She wasn't sure how much to tell Travis. Her impressions of the sheriff told her to limit her revelations to the five senses--the facts that she'd heard a noise and found the footprints would be all the sheriff would comprehend. She couldn't share her impressions, and she definitely couldn't tell him how she'd rebuffed the intruder. He wouldn't believe her anyway. Pulling out her keys, Lisa started to unlock her shop door. "Lisa!" A man's voice called to her. Looking around, she saw Beau Crawford waving from the front steps of his office building. An instant sense of familiarity flooded Lisa's mind. Before she could figure out what about Beau triggered the recognition, the dark-haired man from the bank left the same building, brushing by Beau who blocked the door. Her perceptions doubled, pummeling her conscious mind with mixed messages. Her pendant vibrated then emitted a burst of heat. Then she knew. These were the two men outside her cabin last night. But which was the protector? The evil one? If she had to rely on her normal senses, she knew how she would answer those questions. On looks alone, the dark-haired man was menacing, and Beau appeared to be a yuppie lawyer-type, superficial,

but harmless. A niggling at the back of her mind warned her to wait. Looks were often deceiving. Hadn't she learned that lesson with Andrei? Trust the stone to show you the one. One is your destiny. The other will meet his fate without any help from you. One is my destiny? No, that can't be. I control my destiny. My child, do not fight your fate. Accept your true mate. With him you will be whole. Scared by the voice she could not block from her mind, Lisa ignored both men, one curious, one demanding attention, and entered her shop. She needed a cup of coffee and some work to distract her. She wasn't sure what she believed anymore. She'd just become used to the idea that she had a unique ability and could learn to control it. She wasn't ready to listen to a voice telling her she'd just seen her true life partner. Her past experiences with men had left a bad taste in her mouth. Right now, friendly dates with an uncomplicated man like Travis Dodge were all she felt she could handle. Beau Crawford had depths she wasn't sure she wanted to know about, and the other man, the dark one, for some reason, just plain scared her. *** Beau Crawford alternately shivered and stewed. Lisa had to have heard him, but she just turned her back and ignored him. A cold sweat filmed his body in the overheated office. He had to find a way to make her respond to him...and soon. Time was running out. He'd never had trouble getting women to fall all over him in the past, but Lisa looked right through him with those glittering green eyes of hers. Witchy eyes. What did she see when she looked at him? Beau shuddered, not sure he really wanted to find out, but acknowledging she might be the only person who could save him from his own folly in getting mixed up with the cartel. No matter how he examined it--he either had to get the land from her for Norda and then get as far away from the cartel as he could, or he had to use Lisa's strange powers to protect him. But none of that could occur unless he got her attention, and right now he wasn't batting a thousand on that score. Resolve born out of fear and necessity gripped him. Well, he'd just have to work harder at it. Lunch. He'd try for lunch. If that didn't work, he'd ask her out to dinner. He'd persist. If he had to, he'd slip her some Rophynol, then take her to bed. Once he had her there, he'd keep her until she either fell for his skills and charm or he pumped her full of drugs, forcing her to submit to his wishes and sign over the land. She was his ticket to staying alive. *** Marco still tingled from the look Lisa shot Crawford and him. She knew. Somehow she realized that he and Crawford had been outside her cabin last night. Fleeting memories of his grandmother's stone powers passed through his mind. Visions were one of the properties of the power, usually enhanced by channeling through a talisman stone. The emerald pendant must be Lisa's channeling stone. Realization hit Marco. How had he known that Lisa recognized him and Crawford? Was his amulet tuning into hers? Were her powers supplementing his? He'd never had visions or feelings like this before. Previously, his powers amplified by his cat's eye talisman had only worked when there was impending or direct danger, allowing him to protect himself. Did her stone recognize, affect, other protective talismans in its vicinity? The more he learned about Lisa, the more he wanted to know. Yet, it was a yearning that would have to

be unfulfilled until Norda was captured.

Chapter Nine "I'll have the wax for your redesign finished early next week, Mrs. Johnson. Why don't I give you a call?" Lisa smiled at the young woman who wanted her wedding rings remounted into a more contemporary platinum setting. "Sure. I'm just so happy you understood what I needed. The idea of using partial bezels is just so elegant and unique. I'll be waiting for your call." Mrs. Johnson waved as she turned to leave Lisa's shop. Travis Dodge entered the store and held the door for the departing woman. "Hi, Lisa." Travis took his hat off. "Sorry I couldn't get back to you sooner, but the desk clerk didn't give me the message until a half hour ago." Travis walked over to the counter where she stood. "I figured it wasn't an emergency or you would've said." She heard the implied "you better have said if it was an emergency" in the sheriff's tone. "Hi, Travis." Lisa hesitated, realizing she was in hot water. An attack on her home would be an emergency in the sheriff's book. "Well, I wanted to tell you someone did come back last night. There were fresh footprints in the garden under my window, but--" "I thought I told you to call me if--" She held up her hand. "Let me finish, please." Lisa took a deep breath. "Nothing happened. He couldn't get in, so I was okay." "Not good enough." Travis combed his fingers through his short hair, ruffling it so it stood straight up. "At the very least, he's a goddamn Peeping Tom. You should have called me! Maybe you should move into town for awhile, just until we can get this guy." "No," she said. "I didn't feel in danger or threatened. Plus, I'm not letting some two-bit prowler scare me off my land." Travis placed his hands on the counter and leaned over, closing the distance between them. "That was this time. Maybe he was casing the place. Maybe next time, he'll break in while you're asleep and rape you...or worse." She winced at the harshness underlaid with personal concern coloring Travis's face and words. He cared for her. Damn. Bad timing. And the wrong man. Lisa denied the inconvenient voice in her head and turned her attention to convincing Travis that she would be all right in her home. "I can't explain it, Travis, but I'm safe in that house...safer than anywhere else in the world." She pleaded with her eyes for the sheriff's understanding. "Lisa, be reasonable," Travis begged. "End of discussion, Sheriff. The only reason I told you was because I covered the prints, so you could

check to see if they were made by the same person. I didn't report it for you to force me off my land." Lisa crossed her arms and dared Travis to try to talk her out of staying in the house. The large man sighed and shook his head. "I'm not forcing you off your land. I'm just worried about you--all alone out there. The nearest help is at least twenty minutes away. A lot can happen--" She reached out and touched Travis's arm cutting off words she didn't want to hear. "Thanks for caring. But I assure you, I'll be okay staying in the house. Believe me, I've been stalked before. If I thought I was in danger, I'd be in town so fast it would make your head spin." Travis was distracted as she knew he would be. "Stalked? When? Who? Where?" Lisa smiled grimly. "I'll tell all, if you feed me like you promised. You did say the best barbeque in the Blue Ridge mountains, didn't you?" "Yes, ma'am. I sure did--and I'll hold you to that explanation. Don't think I won't." Travis gestured for Lisa to precede him out of the store. After Travis held the door for her, he said, "Give me your keys. I'll lock the door. Then I'll go round back and double check the service entrance." Since it was obvious that Travis wouldn't take no for an answer, she handed him her keys, then stood on the sidewalk, idly looking around the crowded square at the peak of the after-work rush hour. Without any warning, Lisa's necklace grew icy hot. Looking down, she saw the fiery glow within. Just like last night. Was there danger here? On the street--in broad daylight? Scanning first up, then down the busy street, she searched for some indication of trouble. Her eyes were drawn to the next building. Beau Crawford left it, followed by the dark-haired man, whom she'd learned was an investment broker named Marco Santiago. Like this morning, her pendant signaled their presence. Or was it a warning? And was it for one or both of them? Which one of them had stood outside her window last night and attacked it? The obvious course of action was to test her pendant with each man individually, see which one caused her pendant to shoot flames. Then she would know the man who endangered her. Once she figured it out, how could she tell Travis? Damn. This power of hers was useful, but it might prove to be complicated. "Ready?" Lisa jerked. "I didn't mean to scare you," soothed Travis as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Turning her around, he trapped her within the shelter of his brawny arms. "What were you staring at just now? You seem skittish." Travis looked over her head at the building next door. He frowned at the sight of the two men standing there, glaring at Lisa and him. She hurried to say, "Nothing. Just watching all the people going home for the day." He tipped her chin up, then shook his head. "Little liar. It wasn't nothing. You were staring at the building next door as if you expected it to eat you. You jumped almost a half foot off the ground when I spoke to you. And you were, and still are, pale with shock. What are you frightened of?" Glancing over at the two men still frozen in place on the stoop of the neighboring building, Travis growled, "Or should I say

whom?" Pulling out of Travis's arms, she glanced at the two men. Both men were scowling. She could almost smell the testosterone bouncing among the three males. Travis drew her attention back to him by grasping her shoulders once more and shaking gently. "Are you afraid of one of those men...or both? That Santiago is a new guy in town." An unholy gleam lit his royal blue eyes. "Is he the stalker you told me about?" Travis tightened his grip on her shoulders. "Trust me, Lisa. Tell me what's going on?" She rushed to correct his misconception. "No, no. I don't know those men. Mr. Crawford just introduced himself to me several days ago, and the other man I've seen around town." Shrugging off his hands, she then pulled on one of his arms, attempting to turn him away from the two men. "Come on, Travis. I'm starved. I was just thinking, and you startled me, that's all. There's nothing wrong." "Okay, sure, whatever you say." He didn't believe her. He was humoring her. But Lisa couldn't tell him the truth; he'd never believe that either. *** Marco seethed, his escalating anger directed toward the tall rugged lawman who had his hands all over Lisa. It was all he could do to keep from going over there and ripping Dodge's hands away and staking his claim on the beautiful woman who'd bewitched him. Saul and his gossip had been correct. The sheriff wanted Lisa and was making sure all the men in the town knew it. But what did Lisa feel? She'd pulled away. That probably only meant she didn't like public displays of affection. Hell, Santiago, you're on a job. Straighten up, man. You don't need--and can't afford-- this emotional clap trap. He snorted with disgust. Who was he fooling? What he felt was real, and it wasn't going to go away. He was attracted to Lisa MacDougall, and he was jealous as hell of any man in her vicinity. So what in the blazes are you going to do about it, Santiago? Nothing. Not a damn thing...for now. Marco mumbled several pithy epithets under his breath, then turned to stomp to his car. As he did so, he brushed against Beau Crawford who stood in the middle of the walkway. It was obvious from one territorial male to another that the too-smooth lawyer was also transfixed--and upset--by the sight of Lisa with the sheriff. Marco shivered at the look in the lawyer's cold, flat, brown reptilian eyes. The look in Beau's eyes indicated that the lawyer was more dangerous than he and Saul had previously thought. But dangerous to whom? If looks could kill, Travis Dodge would be dead on the ground. Marco accepted the horrible realization--Beau didn't just want Lisa's land, he wanted Lisa, too. Damn. They had better keep a closer eye on old Beau. Like it or not, Lisa would be safe with the sheriff for now. But to be cautious, Marco turned and reentered the building to update Saul on his observations and conclusions. Beau was not to be out of their sight or hearing until they were ready to take him out of the picture. Lisa's--and Dodge's--lives just might lie in the balance. ***

Travis escorted Lisa to her front door. He'd enjoyed dinner despite her story about Andrei Romanoff, her stalker. He'd listened with growing anger to her matter-of-fact description of how and why she left New York. In those words, the fear she had of the Russian came through loud and clear. So much so, that she'd felt the need to create an elaborate ruse in moving her things clear across the country and then back again to throw the bastard off her trail. Could this Andrei creep have found her? Was he the man stalking her cabin at night? Maybe Travis was wrong about Crawford and Santiago? Possessed with the need to protect Lisa, Travis didn't want to say good night. Who was he kidding? He was attracted to her and wanted to stay for more than just her safety. He resisted the urge to reach out and pull Lisa to him for a kiss. He wasn't sure he could stop with a light, friendly good night peck, when what he really wanted to do was to bury his tongue in her mouth and mark her as his woman. On the drive up the mountain, he'd debated about angling for an invitation to come in for coffee, then using that step to take a mile. But he wasn't that kind of guy, and he was pretty sure she wasn't that kind of girl. She was a take-home-to-meet-the-family kind of gal. And he didn't think she was ready for a closer relationship. But his gut told him she did need his protection. He didn't want to leave the stubborn little minx out here all alone, so he made the decision that he would double back later with his dog and camp out in the woods to watch over her. If someone came tonight, he'd get them. Lisa would have his protection whether she liked it or not. "Good night, Travis. I loved the barbeque...and the music was great, too. I had a very nice time." Lisa smiled up at him. There was no recognition of him as a man in her look. All he saw was friendship. Being friends was okay--for now. It would give her the chance to get to know him, to trust him. He'd gotten the impression she was down on men in general because of the Andrei person. Well, he'd show her that not all men were animals. His momma always said girls liked to be treated like ladies. He'd play the gentleman and woo her. After all, he had the inside track--he was the sheriff and she had problems. "Good night, Lisa." He smiled. "Maybe we can do it again sometime soon." Giving in to his original urge, Travis leaned over and brushed a kiss across her berry-stained lips. "Call me if anything scares you. I mean it." He stroked her straight little nose with his finger and tapped the end of it lightly for emphasis. "I'm on my beeper tonight. The number is on the card I gave you." "I've got it. Thanks, Travis...for everything." "I haven't done anything." "You listened. It helped." Lisa stood on her tiptoes and returned his light kiss, but hers touched his cheek instead of his mouth. "Night." Satisfied that he'd made some progress with Lisa, he stood on the porch with a big grin on his face until the lock clicked. Then he patrolled the area around the cabin, noting the box over the footprint in the garden. He had no doubt it was the same man. He already had a cast of the other shoeprint. If he was lucky, he'd nab the person who wore those shoes tonight.

Chapter Ten Next morning. Travis sat in his patrol car in front of Santiago's office. The only signs that he was agitated were the

strumming of his fingers on the steering wheel and the muscle in his left jaw, clenching and unclenching. His patience, usually unlimited, was near breaking point. He had had a fairly restless night, especially after his dog roused him to the presence of another human in the woods near Lisa's cabin. The human had been Marco Santiago. Travis wanted to know why the man had stood in the woods staring at Lisa's darkened cabin for an hour. Was he someone the Russian had hired to keep an eye on Lisa? Or was he a run-of- the-mill stalker who wanted Lisa for himself? Travis gritted his teeth against more curses, curses that seemed to come easily since he'd seen Marco spying on Lisa's house. He'd been waiting in front of Santiago's office for over an hour. He wanted to check Santiago's shoes to see if they matched the cast he had in the trunk of his patrol car. He was prepared to ask nicely, but had a warrant in his pocket, if needed. The judge hadn't been too thrilled to be kept from his early morning fishing, but Travis had been persistent. Finally, Santiago and his partner walked to the door of the building. They threw him a quick, but comprehensive glance. Funny, he thought, they didn't even seem curious about why he sat smack dab in front of their building. Every other person who'd passed by had been nosy as kittens, either stopping to look or calling out to him. But these two men, in mere seconds, looked as if they'd sized up the situation, quietly and thoroughly. He'd bet his retirement plan they were even now discussing his presence. Almost as if they were criminals...or lawmen. Speculating wouldn't get him any answers. He'd wasted enough time sitting and thinking. Travis got out of the car. After retrieving the cast of the shoeprint, he walked up to the building. A crawling sensation on his skin told him he was under observation from both within and without. The fact that he'd walked into this office building with a piece of evidence, which had been thoroughly discussed from the coffee shop to the barber shop ever since the mold was taken two nights ago, would soon be all over town. Nothing was a secret for long in Ben Lomond. Striding into the brokers' office, he was met in the reception area by Saul Ramirez. "Hey there, Sheriff. What can I do for you?" Ramirez's gaze fixed on the plaster cast under Travis's arm. Only a slight lift of his brow indicated that he knew what it was. The man was calm, too calm to Travis's way of thinking. "I need to see Santiago about a matter." He looked beyond Ramirez at the closed office door. He'd bet his next month's salary that Santiago listened to every word being said in the outer office. "Yeah, sure." Ramirez gestured. "Follow me." Ramirez led the way to the closed door, opening it partially, then ducking his head around the corner. "Yo, Marco. The sheriff wants to speak with you. You can pay me later, old buddy." Ramirez laughed. Travis shoved past the laughing man, then stopped. "Pay you? What about?" "He bet me that some husband was mad at me and had issued a complaint," Ramirez said. "It seems I have the reputation as a ladies' man, and the men in this town don't like me too well. The fact is, it was a sure bet--I don't mess with married women. So I knew you had to be here to speak with Marco." Ramirez winked at him, followed him into the room, closed the door, then leaned against it. "I think I'll stay." Travis shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself."

Turning to Santiago, he got right to the point. "Where were you last night between the hours of midnight and one o'clock?" Santiago didn't move. Instead, he threw Travis a glance some might classify as deadly. "Why?" "I'm asking the questions, Santiago. We can do it here, or I can read you your rights and drag your ass to the jailhouse." "On what charges?" "Trespassing for starters. And, if the shoe fits, stalking and malicious destruction of property." Santiago looked past him to where Ramirez stood, then nodded his head slightly. Travis held his breath. He might have underestimated these two brokers. Damn, why hadn't he brought backup? The rawest rookie would have thought of that. He'd allowed his ire, his jealousy at Santiago's presence on Lisa's land to cause him to forget basic procedure. He hoped to live to lecture his deputies never to be so foolish. Cautiously, he backed up against a wall, then set the cast on the nearest surface. His hand moved to open his jacket, all the while waiting to see if the two would attack. As he moved to unholster his gun, he realized neither of the men had moved to counter his defensive maneuvers. Was he overreacting? The silence in the room was unnerving. Why didn't they say--do something? Travis swallowed hard and waited. Then, Ramirez moved to sit on the edge of Santiago's desk. "Noticed the cast you just set down, Dodge." Santiago nodded toward the object. "Try Beau Crawford's foot. I think you'll find he's the man you're looking for." "Nope. You're the man I saw last night on Lisa's land," Travis said, his voice harsh with a mixture of repressed anger. "So I'd be looking for you." Santiago stiffened, then glared at him through narrowed eyes. "What were you doing on Lisa's land at midnight?" A stab of pain in his right shoulder caused Travis to jerk. What had hit him? It felt like electricity. His gun hand was numb. "Marco! No!" Saul's harsh warning cut through the charged atmosphere. Santiago nodded abruptly, but didn't noticeably ratchet down the intensity of his lethal glare. The pain in Travis's shoulder lessened and feeling tingled into his hand. Wiggling his right fingers, he looked back and forth between the two partners. What was going on here? Santiago blew out a breath. "You didn't answer my question, Dodge. What were you doing at Lisa's?" "As if it's any of your business, Santiago, my job." Santiago visibly relaxed. "Well, I was just doing my job. So I guess we don't have a problem." Nodding his head toward Ramirez, he added, "He's Saul. I'm Marco. We're on the same side here." "What side is that? And what has it to do with Lisa?" he asked in clipped tones. At the mention of Lisa's name, the icy hot look reappeared on Marco Santiago's face.

What had he said now? He was the law and had a right to know why Santiago had taken a personal interest in Lisa. Hell, who was he kidding? Where Lisa was concerned, Santiago had more than business in mind. The Latino wanted her. And so did Travis. The sheriff growled. Well, he'd seen her first. He wasn't going to allow Santiago to waltz in here and stake a claim. The tension in the room was palpable. Electricity sizzled in the air. Travis could feel it. Smell the ozone. Even see it. Something was going to happen. Travis made a move for his gun just as Saul broke the stalemate. "Back off, Marco." Turning to Travis, he said, "We're doing our job. We're DEA agents on undercover assignment. As Marco told you, we're on the same side." "Why hadn't I heard anything about it? I'm just the goddamn sheriff around here." Travis snorted his disgust, but left his weapon holstered. "You got any ID?" Saul pulled out his badge. Marco sat, unmoving, his eyes never leaving Travis. Satisfied that Saul and Marco were who they said they were, he asked, "How is Lisa involved? You aren't telling me she's into drugs, are you? I won't believe it." Saul glanced over at Marco, who hadn't moved an inch, and sighed. Travis got the impression Saul would like to hit his partner almost as much as he would. Finally, Saul shrugged and said, "No. She seems to have something a drug cartel wants. Something to do with her land." Travis glanced over at the cast of the shoe. "So how does Crawford fit into all this?" "He's trying to get Lisa to sell him the land. He's the local poster boy for the drug cartel." Saul chuckled. "Hell, he probably takes his pay in cocaine. Old Beau is a user." "So, you figure Crawford is the one who's been sneaking around Lisa's place, scaring her?" "There's no figuring about it. I saw the bastard." Breaking his silence, Marco's statement echoed loudly in the room. "Damn. I always knew I didn't like Crawford. He seemed too smooth, too charming. A little bit of the con artist in him." "You got that right, Dodge," Saul said. "So, Marco Santiago, if that's your real name," Marco nodded slightly, "why is Lisa afraid of you?" Travis could have sworn his question shocked Marco. Damn, Marco really cared for Lisa. An urge--fomented by plain old-fashioned jealousy--to claim Lisa for his own in front of this man was so strong that Travis had to bite his inner lip to keep silent. He couldn't honestly claim something that wasn't true...and if he were honest, might never come true. Lisa had shown no interest in him other than as a friend and a confidant. "How do you know this?" In his distress, Marco's formerly unaccented speech trumpeted his Hispanic heritage. His face paled. "She said this to you?" "Nah. I just sensed it." Travis shrugged, fighting the urge to feel sorry for his rival. "Yesterday evening she seemed skittish. She was looking at Crawford and you. I guess it could have been Crawford."

"Yes. It had to be Crawford." Marco relaxed slightly at Travis's concession. "I've never met Lisa formally, except to hold the door for her at the bank. How could she be afraid of me?" Travis sensed Marco asked the question of no one in particular. It was as if he needed to voice the concern out loud to realize how ridiculous it was. Then Travis realized what he'd not heard and became pissed. "You mean Lisa doesn't know you two are DEA and that she could be in danger? " "That's right." "That's bull shit. She has a right to know." He clenched his hands into fists. "Hold on, Dodge. If we tell her, she could be in more danger. She might innocently let on she knew," Saul explained. "Besides, we're watching Crawford." "How? Where is he now?" Travis sneered. "He's upstairs." Saul went over to a cabinet on the far side of the room and opened the doors. On the screen of the television inside was a live shot of Beau sleeping at his desk. "When we arrived here over a month ago, we wired his office for video and audio. Plus, his phone is tapped." "When we overheard the threat to Lisa two days ago," Marco added, "we've been on him twenty-four hours a day." "I'll help you. You can have a few of my deputies," offered Travis. "You guys will get burned out fast if you keep up a two-man rotation." Saul and Marco looked at one another. Silently communicating? He wondered if they could actually read each other's minds. Marco broke the silence first. "We'll call Washington. Clear it with the powers-that-be. If they say we can cooperate on this, we'll brief you and your men fully." Marco shrugged his shoulders. "On the other hand, if they say no, then I promise we'll advise D.C. of the need for backup from some of our own agents. You're right. We won't be any use to Lisa if we're exhausted. Does that work for you?" Travis realized Marco hated to make any concession to him. As with all territorial males, Marco sensed his feelings for Lisa and resented them, but was willing to cooperate to protect the woman they both wanted. "Fine with me. Just let me know." He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against then ambled toward the door. Before he opened it, he turned and pinned Marco with a narrowed stare. "Don't let her get hurt, Santiago, 'cause if you do, I'll make it my business with or without the DEA's permission. Understand?" Marco stared back at him, then nodded abruptly. "Yeah." He returned the nod, then left the room, closing the door with a soft, but firm, thud. "Whew." Saul let out a breath. "I thought for a moment there you two were going to draw down on one another." "No," Marco said, his voice rough with repressed anger. "Dodge and I just established territorial battle lines. He wants Lisa. He knows I want Lisa. He just isn't ready to admit that the only person who can say

what Lisa wants is the woman herself. Besides, he already knows she doesn't think of him that way." "You got all that out of one look?" Saul asked, eyebrows raised. "Yeah." Marco smiled his first true smile in days. "Dodge had his chance the last two days to mark her as his. He didn't even get to first base. I mean he spent the night in the woods, for Christ's sake. Now, it's my turn--and he's scared I might succeed where he didn't." Saul shook his head. "I must have missed something in that little exchange. What makes you so sure you can succeed where he didn't?" He fingered his talisman. "Magic, old buddy. Magic." *** The ringing phone woke Beau up. Groaning, he sat up. Damn, his head hurt. That shitty cocaine he'd bought outside of Asheville last night had really done a number on him, plus sleeping on his desk didn't help either. Fumbling for the speaker phone button, Beau answered the call, then leaned back in his chair with eyes closed against the glare shining off his office window. "Law office." "Green fire." Beau sat up and let his feet thump to the floor. "Yes, sir. Crawford, here." Norda's disgusted release of breath and mumbled curses came clearly over the phone. Laughter blared loudly in the background. Beau knew they laughed at him. Damn, he needed to think straight...to be careful. He didn't want Norda getting suspicious about what he was or wasn't doing. He'd barely started his campaign to get in Lisa's good graces. His slight setbacks demonstrated he needed drugs to stay sharp and in control, thus the quick trip to Asheville and his supplier. Now that he had his stash replenished, and some Rophynol for Lisa as backup, he could start to work on her in earnest. He just needed more time. If he controlled her and her power, then he could deal with Norda. Maybe even become a distributor for the cartel instead of a paid flunky. Think, Beau, think. "Have you got my land yet? Senor Crawford, are you listening to me?" Damn, what had he spaced? Had he gotten the land yet? Geesh, the man was a broken record. Beau needed to find out what was so important about the land. Control of Lisa was control of the land. Beau smiled. "Senor Crawford? Senor..." "No, dammit...not yet...but I'm working on it...sir." Great Beau, sound subservient. That's the way to impress the bastard. "I want it by the end of the week, Senor Crawford. You have four days. Use them well." Norda disconnected before Beau could even answer the man. Four days. It wasn't much time. He'd have to win Lisa over, drug her into cooperation, or find a hole to hide in, because he knew Norda didn't take

failure at all well. *** Norda turned to Herve. "Call up my pilot. Fly to North Carolina and take care of this situation. I want that land." Herve smiled. He stroked the bare leg of the woman sitting on his lap with the dull edge of his knife, while stroking her to climax with his other hand. "Free hand, patrone?" "Si, mi amigo." Norda showed his vulpine teeth. "Use any methods you wish."

Chapter Eleven Same day--New York City. Andrei listened while the Los Angeles Mafiya boss, Alexi, delivered the results of his inquiries about Lisa. "So," Andrei sighed. "You are saying you can find nothing else. No evidence of where exactly on the east coast Lisa moved?" "Dah," Alexi said. "We traced her furniture to Kansas City, then to New York, then after that we lost it once more. Vanished into thin air." Andrei threw the knife he'd been fiddling with at the wall, just missing a Monet confiscated from The Hermitage during WWII. "Any other news? Anything at all?" "Wel-l-l-l...not about the furniture." Andrei's old KGB compatriot hesitated, then sighed loudly. "This is pretty weak. One of our comrades in Miami called this morning about another matter, but mentioned something that might be of help." "What, Alexi?" growled Andrei. "Just spit it out." "The Verde Fogata cartel has it in for some woman in North Carolina. A jeweler who has a source of emeralds that could knock MinGemCo out of its controlling position in the world emerald market." "Lisa? Could it be? Emeralds?" Andrei laughed. He knew deep in his gut that this was it. The lead he needed. "I owe you one, my friend. Good-bye." Andrei leaned back in his chair and contemplated the portrait he'd had painted of Lisa. The image was from a photo taken at a function they'd attended to support the Jeweler's Association charities. In it, she wore a creamy white strapless silk evening gown, her glorious red hair streamed over creamy, bare shoulders and down her back. Around her neck she wore a fine platinum chain at the end of which hung a ten-carat emerald nestled in her cleavage. The white of her dress was only a shade or so darker than her skin; the fabric worshiped her curves. The lighting created the illusion that she was naked. He remembered her nipples had poked through the fabric. All that evening he'd gloried in the knowledge that she was his date. Men envied him. He remained hard the entire night just from watching her charm his fellow businessmen and potential clients. He'd breathed the rarified air of her charm just as he'd inhaled her unique scent. He grew hard even now just remembering. Many a night since she'd left him, he'd masturbated in front of her image. Yes, she was essential to his business success. But it was more than a matter of saving professional face

and pride--he needed her. She was his addiction. Whatever trouble she was in with the cartel--he would fix it. She was his--he wouldn't allow any jumped-up uncouth drug lord to harm what belonged to him. He would use his MinGemCo contacts in New York. Put the word out. If that didn't bring him the information he needed, he'd go to Miami personally and contact the head of the Verde Fogata cartel. And if the cartel did not cooperate, then, well, he'd killed before, he could kill again.

Chapter Twelve Later the same day--Ben Lomond.. Images of slimy depths interfered with Lisa's concentration on a client design. Her pendant's sudden drop in temperature to a frigid, burning cold forced Lisa to look up to see what caused the phenomena. Beau Crawford leaned on the doorjamb, smiling at her. Now why didn't she believe the smile genuine? Was it because the slimy depth images hadn't changed one iota from the first time she'd met the man? Or was it because it wasn't so much a friendly smile, but more like a leer? Yep, that would be it. The man didn't smile. He leered, sneered, and smirked. What a sleaze. "Yes," Lisa said. "May I help you, Beau?" "I was wondering if you'd like to drive into Asheville, do dinner, then take in a movie with me this evening?" Once more he flashed his much-practiced smile. Once more, Lisa forcibly tried not to shudder. "I'm sorry, Beau...but I have other plans for the evening." Lisa didn't, but she would make some pretty darn quick once she got the lawyer out of her office. "What kind of plans?" Beau's question was rude; his smirk had gone south, leaving a petulant pout in its place. Lisa bet the little-boy-hurt look got him lots of TLC from some women, but it didn't carry much weight with her. Movement behind Beau distracted her from the sharp put-down she'd been about to deliver. Images of black diamonds flashed across her consciousness. Her pendant changed from frigid to warm in mere seconds. An answering warmth in her soul sought out whatever--or whomever-- caused the change. Lisa trembled in anticipation, her mind picturing him an instant before he appeared. "She's going to dinner with me." Marco Santiago's velvet tones disguised steel. Even Beau had the sense to realize the power in the dark tones and shrank visibly from the man breathing down his neck. "Oh, uh, well...um, I didn't know you two knew each other," sputtered Beau as he moved away from Marco. "Why should you?" Marco's blunt intonation brooked no further repartee. "Well, uh, maybe some other time, Lisa?" "I don't think so," Marco answered for her, ignoring the indignant looks and noises she made at his high-handedness. "She'll be busy." "Well, uh..." Beau stammered, red-faced. "Lisa?" "Go Beau. Please," she said, gritting her teeth. "Thanks for asking."

Beau nodded, cast a look filled with hate and laced with fear at Marco, then left as if a herd of raging bulls were on his tail. "Just what was that all about, Mr. Santiago?" she asked, biting off the end of each word. "I hardly know you, have never been formally introduced to you, and you have the nerve to barge into my private office and dictate my personal life." "Well, you weren't going to go with him, were you?" Marco pinned her with a glance she was sure had cut many a woman or man to the quick. Stiffening her spine, she touched her pendant, taking courage from the power she felt flowing through her. "No, but I could've handled a weakling like Beau Crawford, thank you very much." Lisa looked down her nose at the darkly handsome man who scowled at her response. Then, he surprised her by laughing out loud, a belly laugh of pure joy. She fought the urge to smile at him, join him in his laughter. She knew somehow he wasn't laughing at her, but at himself. "I don't scare you, querida, do I?" Marco murmured, once he'd gotten his laughter under control. "Well, no," she admitted. Not much anyway, she thought. "Does this mean our date is canceled?" Marco smiled at her, urging her to share the joke. "Right. No date." She smiled. "But thanks for asking. Sort of." He laughed out loud. "I have rarely been put in my place so adroitly, Lisa MacDougall. Maybe some other time, heh?" "Maybe," she conceded. Marco smiled, then saluted her as he left. She sat in her chair, smiling into space for minutes after the mysterious Marco Santiago left her doorway. Then she sobered. Stroking her pendant, she pondered her feelings. She was fascinated by the dark man, had been since she'd first seen him. But her pendant glowed for both Beau and Marco--but in different ways. Her gut told her that both men were dangerous--one to her person and the other to her heart. Why was it that she felt that somehow she had just turned an important corner in her life?

Chapter Thirteen Two Days Later--Ben Lomond. Lisa scanned the town square once more before leaving her shop. The coast was clear. No Beau Crawford, no mysterious Marco Santiago, and no overprotective Travis Dodge within sight. Turning she waved to Mandy, her first and only employee, then left to grab a bite to eat at the grocery story deli and to run some errands. Over the last two days, every time she turned around, whether it was at lunch, or grocery shopping or just walking around town on business errands, one or the other of the three men seemed to pop up. Other than her newfound shadows, her life ran smoothly. Business was good. She was making lots of new friends. And most importantly, there had been no more thumps or bumps in the night. Either the protective powers of the stone and the spells she'd cast worked, or it had all been her imagination.

Those weren't imaginary footprints. Shaking off unwanted thoughts of unknown watchers, Lisa set out for the small grocer's kitty-cornered from her office. Since it was the peak of the lunch hour, the deli counter would be busy. Lisa didn't mind. It gave her a chance to get better acquainted with her new neighbors and potential customers. Nearing the store entrance, Lisa checked an instinctive urge to look over her shoulder. Someone was watching her. Ignoring the desire to look, Lisa smiled and nodded at the president of the chamber of commerce as he held the door for her. This constant barrage of psychic impulses or whatever they were was becoming scary. One minute she would be enjoying the day, the next, images or silent voices would flit through her head, urgent feelings surging through her body. She needed to get a grip. Great-grandmother Callista's diary hinted that the stone could also channel and strengthen all psychic abilities in the holder--and Lisa planned on putting that theory to work. These visions, if they could be called such, were becoming more frequent. She would have to figure out how to control them. Control could very well mean, at the least, her sanity or, at the worst, the difference between life and death. A flashing sense of heat from the stone around her neck told her danger was near. The perception was quickly followed by a rush of swamp images. Instant recognition. Beau Crawford approached. Her psi abilities had become clearer with each passing day. "Hi, Lisa!" Lisa whirled at the sound of the lawyer's voice. Faltering, she smiled and said, "Oh, hello, Beau." Another flash of impressions swept over her. Swamp images, soil, slime. Looking down at Beau's feet, she visualized dirt on his shoes and him standing outside her window. Beau Crawford was the one who'd attacked her cabin. But why? Because he was attracted to her? Or was it something else? The explanation was out there, just beyond her reach. It wasn't clear...yet. Maybe she was trying too hard. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" Beau again smiled his ingratiating smile. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her out of the path of a mother loaded down with a tray and two children clutching at her skirts. "Watch it. She's loaded for bear." "Thanks." Lisa attempted to smile at Beau as she pulled away from his grasp. She wanted to place him at a more comfortable distance. She failed at both attempts. At her move away from him, Beau frowned, but quickly closed the distance, then asked, "Are you meeting anyone?" He was angling for a lunch date, the third time in three days. The guy wasn't going to give up. Lisa refused to take pity on him. She didn't find his persistent pursuit at all flattering. He gave her the creeps. Looking around, she noted no tables were available. Thank God. She'd intended to grab one to eat in and talk with any of her fellow merchants who happened to be there, but now...now she had the perfect excuse to avoid Beau. "Uh no...I have work to do. I hadn't planned on sitting down." Lisa lied without a qualm. Maybe the stone had increased her ability to protect herself. Lisa had never been able to lie with such impunity before. "I'm just grabbing something to take back to the shop." Once more, Lisa moved away from Beau toward the order counter. "This is Mandy's first day, and I don't want to leave her alone too long."

"Too bad." Beau seemed to hesitate as if he weighed her statement for truth, then decided to give her one more try. "Come by my office after you're done. I have the original file-marked copy of the deed for your land. Just picked it up from the recorder's office today." "That was fast," Lisa said. And damned convenient. So was her land this guy's angle? Her attraction for him? Was he still trying to get the land for his client? "I didn't expect it for at least three weeks. Would you mind telling me how you got my deed?" "Well, I had them expedite it for you." Beau grinned. "Told them you were a special friend." "You shouldn't have done that." Lisa gritted her teeth. "My lawyer would've gotten it to me sooner or later." "Hey, no problem. I was there, saw it on the pile, and the clerk did me a favor. No big deal." Beau flashed her another toothy smile--this time topped off with a wink. Lisa shivered at the smarmy look. Hell, he was trying to hit on her. Yuck. No way was she attracted to him. Her mind visualized slimy pools of muck filled with hissing snakes. The visions were so real she could even smell the damp rot of the foul water and feel the snakes slither across her skin. Yes, Beau definitely was the bad guy in her vicinity--whatever his motivations. God, was it only days ago she would have bet her pendant that Marco Santiago was the bad guy? And Beau, if not the good guy, at least harmless? Oh my God, if Beau is the attacker, then Marco is the protector in the woods. The sudden realization threatened to take her to her knees. Yes, he's the one. No. I barely know the man. You will. Faint ghostly laughter trailed off. Lisa rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. Now she was hearing psychic laughter. Was it Callista? Could Lisa channel the dead now? "Lisa?" Beau's voice and his hated touch broke through her shock simultaneously. "Are you okay?" How long had she been standing there with him touching her? It couldn't have been too long, because she could barely tolerate the light grip he had on her. Casting a fulminating glance at him from under her eyelashes, she caught flashes of impatience intermingled with Beau's false look of concern. Since she wanted him out of here and because she held up the line at the height of lunch hour, Lisa chose expediency over truth. "Sorry, Beau. I got distracted. I have something important to do back at the shop." She pushed his hand away. "I'm fine. I'll meet you at your office in an hour." Lisa waved him on his way. "Great." Beau flashed her a toothy grin, filled with what seemed to be relief. What had she let herself in for? Beau waved. "See you later, then." Pasting on what she recognized as his "aren't-I-charming" smile, he left the deli, empty-handed. His professed interest in lunch totally forgotten. *** Herve turned his nose up at the lawyer's office. The man was a careless slob. Any two-year- old could

have broken into the place, and the filing system was a mess. But then, cokeheads usually lost all semblance of pride in themselves and their possessions, so it was not surprising. After being in the drug business for over fifteen years, Herve had long ago vowed never to touch the stuff himself. For him, it was just a business, a way to make a living. And for the drug business, you needed all your wits about you, or you'd be dead. The woman's last name began with an "M", so where in the hell had the idiot filed it? Calling Beau every foul name he knew in two languages, Herve riffled through the files for the third time. Finally, he found it--under "L" for Lisa. Stupido. Flipping through the file folder, the disorder once more caused Herve to cast multi-lingual aspersions against Crawford's forbears. Ah! Yes. Here is what he sought--a deed transferring the woman's land to MinGemCo. Still unsigned, but at least it was ready. All Herve had to do was to get the woman's signature, then he could leave this backwoods town. How hard could that be? If she refused him, he would force her. Herve chucked evilly--he liked coercing women. Violence made his job more interesting. The door slammed in the outer reception area. "Just come on in while I pull the file." The lawyer was back, and he had someone with him. Herve looked for a place to hide. Rejecting the closet, he slipped into a small restroom off the office. Yes, he would be able to see if he cracked the door. Herve automatically palmed his weapon, then slipped the safety off--just in case. The lawyer's voice grew louder as he approached his office. Then they entered the office. "Lisa, I just wanted to let you know that the man who wished to buy your uncle's land has changed his mind." Herve swore under his breath. It was the bitch herself. What kind of double-cross was Crawford trying to pull? Would the idiot actually condemn himself within Herve's hearing? His fingers itched to pull the trigger and kill the man where he stood. Instead, he listened. "That's nice, because I wasn't going to sell," she replied. "I told you that when I first met you." The MacDougall woman had no intention of selling? Never had. Crawford had been lying all along. His patrone's instincts had been on the money. What could the shyster hope to gain? Were his brains so fried from drugs that he hadn't realized he was a dead man if he crossed Norda? "Well, now that I no longer represent this party, I'd like to move our relationship...uh, onto a more personal level." Herve stifled a snicker. So, the bastardo wanted in the woman's panties? Herve sneaked a peek through the crack in the door. Jesu, he didn't blame the man. The Americana had flame red hair and a body made for sex. Herve wouldn't mind having a piece of that action himself. Yeah, he hoped the Americana refused to sign. He had many ways to convince her while taking his pleasure. He rubbed his hardening cock through suddenly too-tight pants, while imagining the woman on her knees in front of him sucking him off. "I'm sorry, Beau, but that's impossible." The Americana backed away from Crawford. She had good taste. She recognized a loser when she saw one.

"Lisa, please, give me a chance." Did only Herve hear the pathetic whine in the lawyer's voice? The cry of a desperate man. What had been his plan? To get the land--and the woman--for himself, then try to outsmart Senor Norda? Herve almost laughed out loud. Only a coke addict with a head full of fried neurons would even concoct such a stupid plan. The sound of running feet and the slamming of the door told Herve the woman had left. Cracking the bathroom door even further, he found Beau staring at the doorway, shoulders slumped, hands clenched at his side. Shoving open the door, Herve slipped into the room. The lawyer remained still. Hadn't he heard the banging of the door against the wall? "Ah, Senor Crawford. It is good that the woman did not agree to help you double-cross Manuel," Herve intoned, "for then I would have to kill her, too." Finally a reaction. Crawford turned slowly. Was the man drugged or scared? Crawford's eyes gave him away. Scared. Most definitely. "What do you mean 'kill her, too'?" White-faced and shaking, Crawford attempted to stare Herve down, but didn't succeed. "Why, this." He aimed the silenced pistol he'd held hidden at his side, then shot Crawford in the forehead. The sound of the man's lifeless body hitting the floor reverberated like thunder in the still room. Walking over to the fallen man, Herve nudged him with his foot. Satisfied the man was indeed dead, Herve holstered the gun, straightened his jacket, then left through the front door. His next stop was the woman's cabin. He had a deed to get signed. *** Halting on the stoop of his office building, Marco stared after a distant figure of a retreating man. A wave of déjà vu swept over Marco. Somewhere, somehow, he'd seen that man from this angle before. Marco unconsciously reached up to smooth the tiger's eye pendant, his fingers sensing the heat before touching. Danger. "Saul," Marco whispered urgently. "Take a look at that man a couple of blocks down the street. Does he look familiar to you?" Saul turned to look in the direction Marco pointed. "Well, yeah. Sort of." Saul turned to look at his partner. "Can't place him exactly. Who do you think it is?" Marco shrugged. "I'm not sure, but he's out of place somehow. It'll come to me. But something is definitely wrong." Saul grinned. "You've been jumping at shadows lately, my friend. Especially since the good sheriff shared the story of Lisa's New York stalker with us." "It's bad enough she's got something the cartel wants," he growled. "Now we have to keep our eyes peeled for some crazy Russian who thinks he owns her."

Saul held the door. "Well, he'll soon learn, won't he?" "Learn what?" Marco shot Saul a slanted look as he preceded his partner into the lobby. Saul followed him across the lobby into their offices. "Why, that Lisa is off limits...and he'd have to go through you to get to her." He smiled. "Yeah, and it would be a lesson I'd be more than happy to teach him, the bastard." Saul laughed. "Shall I check on good ole Beau? He should be in his office. Before he had to respond to a major accident out in the county, Dodge's man followed Beau to the building. Told the deputy not to worry about breaking surveillance, shit happens." Saul paused. "Uh, the deputy also said Beau met up with Lisa in the deli. What's up with that? Think he's still trying to put the moves on her?" "Working with locals is always damn iffy. If something doesn't break soon, we'll need to get another agent in here to keep Crawford covered. Damn." Marco growled, then threw a convenient notepad at Saul, who ducked. "Just check the damn tape. Oh, and Saul, Lisa has better taste than to be suckered in by the sleazoid." Chuckling, Saul keyed up the tape. After a few seconds, he gasped, then shouted, "Holy shit. Marco, that man--on the street--it was Herve. He shot Beau." Marco beat Saul to the door. "Damn. That's why I couldn't place him. Wrong man, wrong place." Running across the hall, they entered the lawyer's unlocked office. Beau's body lay where he'd fallen. As Saul called for the sheriff, Marco stooped to check Beau. No pulse. With a head wound like that, death would have been instantaneous. He sat back on his heels and scanned the office. What had Herve come here for? Norda wouldn't have sent his right-hand man for less than a stellar reason. Especially not to kill a nobody like Crawford. Any hitter could have done that. "What do you think Herve wanted?" Saul asked. "My thoughts exactly, partner." He noted a file drawer left slightly open. Standing up, he walked over and pulled out the drawer. "Man, Beau was a slob. What sort of system did he use?" He muttered as he pawed through the files, seeking something to give him a clue as to what Herve's mission was. A name leapt out at him. Lisa. He pulled out the file. Flipping through the dead man's notes, he swore. "He's here to get the damn land." "Lisa!" They yelled simultaneously. Both men hit the door running. Sprinting to the shop next door, they barged in startling the young girl behind the counter and her customer. "Where's Lisa?" Marco shouted. The young girl stared at him. "Lisa. Where is she?" The urge to reach over the counter and shake the frightened girl pulsed through him.

Finally, the frightened clerk stammered, "She went home to pick up some stones she wanted to work with. I expect her back in an hour or so. I'll be happy to help you, sir, after I wait on this customer." "Damn." Marco cursed. He headed for the door, yelling back at Saul as he ran, "Call Dodge and get someone out to meet me at Lisa's place."

Chapter Fourteen Herve walked around the woman's cabin for the sixth time. Picking up a rock, once again he tried to break a window. And, once again, the rock bounced off the glass like a tennis ball hitting a solid backboard rather than a fragile window. He'd already attempted to pick the door locks. No luck there either. The house was sealed up as tightly as a tomb. It was more than that, though. The house was spooky. He could almost feel anger emanating from the building. Crossing himself, he muttered a few prayers remembered from his childhood days with the nuns. Of course, no house had emotions. It was this stupid mountain, so strange with its other worldly mists and secrets, secrets that his patrone had chosen not to share. Yet, he would swear that there was something here. He felt it. Heard it in the wind whistling through the pines. Norda wanted something in this unearthly place--and what Norda wanted, it was Herve's job to get. So, here he'd stay until the deed was signed. Kicking up dust, Herve stalked toward the shade of the forest just yards from the house. He might as well be cool while he waited. He had no idea when the MacDougall woman would come home, but he planned on being here when she did. Within a few minutes of settling himself under the limbs of a shady oak, the sounds of a car approached the open area where the cabin stood. Getting up, Herve brushed himself off and hid behind the trunk of the tree. The redheaded woman he'd seen in Crawford's office got out of a car, then walked toward the front porch. Cautiously, Herve moved out from his hiding place, then shadowed her to the door. As she fumbled with her keys, Herve crept up behind her. Something, he knew not what, alerted her, and she whipped around to face him. "Who are you?" she cried, throwing her arms up to fend him off. Her keys clutched in her hand dug at his face. "Senorita Lisa MacDougall?" Herve questioned as his fingers found blood on his face. He glowered at her and grabbed for the offending weapon. "Who wants to know?" She pulled her arm out of his reach and continued to back away until she bumped into the still-closed and locked door. "Just call me Herve. I'm the client Senor Crawford most sadly misrepresented." Herve leered at her, biding his time. She was cornered with nowhere to run. "I've come to get the deed to this land signed." Herve pulled the paper from his pocket, showed it to her, then replaced it. "Could we sit down inside and discuss this business?" She shook her head. "No. I told Beau Crawford no and I meant it. Now, please go away."

Herve exulted in her refusal to cooperate. He liked feisty women--once they were declawed, that is. His patrone said get the deed. He didn't say how. Now he could release some of his frustrations by forcing her to cooperate, then...well, Senor Norda didn't like loose ends. Herve smiled grimly as he edged even closer to the woman. She shrank back, but could go no farther. "Ah, senorita, Senor Crawford no longer represents me or my company." Herve shook his head sadly. "He is dead, and now you will have to deal with me." Herve brandished his knife as he reached for the woman. She gasped, then gouged at him once more with her keys as she raised her knee into his crotch. Hard. Herve expected the Americana to fight, but was unprepared for the low blow. He dropped his knife and grabbed his groin. Nausea overwhelmed him. The bitch moved to leap off the porch. Enraged by her resistance, Herve roared his pain and grabbed the woman by the throat. He'd choke the bitch into submission. A surge of energy unlike anything he'd ever felt before flowed from the struggling woman through him. He struggled to keep his hold on her neck, but failed. She ran from the porch. Herve garnered his strength and gave chase. He caught up with her before she could get to her car. Grabbing her by the hair, he swung her around. Once more the surge of energy passed from her to him, but this time he persevered. Backhanding her, he struck her several times across the face despite the burning sensation each hit cost him. With his last hit, he let go of her hair and threw her to the ground. She lay there panting for breath, glaring at him. "Puta!" Herve spat. "Get up! You and I are going to have the rest of this discussion inside." The bitch just lay on the ground, defiance etched in every fiber of her being. "Okay, we'll do this the hard way then," growled Herve. He reached down. The bitch attempted to roll over and scramble away. Herve grabbed for whatever body part or piece of clothing he could in order to contain and overpower her. For several seconds, he struggled to gain control of the woman who was as slippery as an eel. Losing his grip once more, he grabbed for her neck and got instead her necklace. He screamed. The heat from the metal seared his hand. In his fright and rage, he pulled his hand away, taking the necklace with it. He flung it aside, ridding himself of the object that had caused him such pain. Now beyond mere anger, he jerked the woman off the ground and punched her in the jaw, knocking her unconscious. She fell to the ground. Convinced she was finally down, Herve retrieved his knife, then shredded her skirt into strips which he used to tie her hands and ankles. She wouldn't be going anywhere. Now to find the bitch's keys and get into the house. Cursing, Herve kicked around the yard and backtracked the woman's escape route from the porch. He found the keys partially hidden under the bottom step. Picking them up, he stalked back to the woman. A flicker of something shiny in the tree-filtered sunlight caught Herve's attention. The necklace lay a few feet away in the grass. He crossed himself and muttered a little- used prayer for protection. The necklace was somehow menacing, but the emerald in the pendant was worth a fortune. Herve grabbed the necklace. Another surge of heat blasted him. He dropped it, cursing in Spanish. He needed something to protect his hands from the unearthly fire. Spying the remnants of the bitch's skirt he'd tossed on the ground, he grabbed the shreds and used them to pick up the necklace. He placed it,

still wrapped, in the pocket of his leather jacket. The heat was present, but diminished and bearable through his layers of clothes. Maybe the bitch could turn it off. He'd find out when he questioned her. Dragging the unconscious woman along the ground by her feet, he made his way back to the house. Herve left her at the base of the porch while he unlocked the front door. He then half- dragged, half-carried her into the kitchen. Placing her in a chair, he found some dishtowels and used them to secure her. Satisfied she wouldn't be going anywhere, he walked over to the sink and got some water. After drinking a full glass, he refilled it. Refreshed, he turned his attention back to his captive. Time to wake the puta up. Approaching her, he stopped, then threw the remainder of his water over her face. He laughed as she sputtered awake. "Ah, puta, I guess we are going to have to do this the hard way. Yes?" Herve smiled. "Bien. Personally, I like the hard way." Lisa shook the wet hair out of her eyes. Concentrating, she reached for the power she'd felt earlier from the necklace. She sensed it was out there, but for some reason couldn't reach it. What was wrong? Then she realized--her stone was gone! What was she going to do? The man in front of her was pure evil. How could she protect herself without her stone? The stone is near. Use it to protect. How could she use the stone when she wasn't quite sure how it worked? "Now, puta, I want you to sign this deed." Herve waved the deed under her nose. "Maybe then I won't have to hurt you." "You're going to kill me anyway, so why should I cooperate?" she said through quivering lips. "Ah, no, puta, I do not wish to kill you--just damage you a bit." He licked his lips, then chuckled. "However, it will go easier if you would sign. You might even enjoy my little attentions, most of my women like the pleasure--and the pain--I give them." He pulled a knife from his pocket, testing it on the edge of his thumb. Then he smiled, his lips twisted in an awful parody. Lisa groaned. He was lying. He would hurt her, no matter what she did. Concentrate, my child. The stone is near. Use it to show you the future...then when you survive this ordeal, read the diary's lessons so next time you will be prepared. Now, concentrate, Lisa. She closed her eyes. One, because she could focus better, but mostly because she didn't want to see what the Herve-creature was going to do with his knife. "Where shall I start? Hmm, maybe the breasts?" Herve hummed as he cut off her blouse. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. What was she supposed to see? All she visualized was darkness and stars from holding her breath. Then, she saw--flashing images as if a projector had gone mad. Her protector, the shadowy Marco, and Travis were on their way. She also pictured Beau dead on the floor of his office with an obscene hole in the middle of his forehead. A hole she instinctively knew was put there by the man in front of her. Lisa shuddered. Her eyes flew open only to see the lizard-like Herve leering at her naked breasts. She closed her eyes again. Until her rescuers appeared, she'd have to get through the next few minutes. Watching him hurt her was not an option. She hated the sight of blood--especially her own.

"Open your eyes, puta." Her tormentor's sibilant tones crawled over her exposed skin, followed by the blunt side of the knife. She squeezed her lids tighter and held her breath in anticipation of the coming pain. "Open them...now." Herve underlined the order with a small nick to one side of her right breast. "Or, shall I pierce these nipples for you--the hard way?" Lisa's eyes flew open. She glared at the man drooling over her breasts. He rubbed his lower body against her naked thigh. The creep had a hard-on. Sadistic bastard. "Now, this is how it's going to work, puta." Herve lectured while tracing her breasts lightly with the dull edge of his blade. "I will ask you nicely to sign. If you agree, then I will not cut you. If you do not agree, I will slice your so very beautiful breasts to ribbons with each refusal. Understand?" "Fine. Go for it, you depraved sack of shit. I'm not signing." She had to endure, because once she signed--he'd kill her. "Bien." Herve panted with sick excitement. "Let's begin." Lisa clenched her teeth and turned her head away from the gleam of the approaching knife. The first cut felt like nothing, then she gasped as it burned like fire. Blood began to trickle down her side. Any time now, boys, she silently urged her rescuers. Another slice. She shook her head at his repeated question, then bit her lip against the pain. Another slice and she managed to swallow a moan. She prayed not to faint, not to scream--and for help to get to her in time. Hold on, dear. He has arrived. *** The closer Marco got to Lisa's cabin, the sharper his feelings of danger became. His tiger's eye amulet glowed red-gold and seared his chest. Visions of blood--Lisa's blood--flowing against her white skin interfered with his driving. Reflected in his rearview mirror, Dodge's four-wheel-drive tailed him closely. Dangerously close. It would be a miracle if both of them survived this reckless trip up the narrow twisting mountain road. Instead of slowing as safety and caution dictated, Marco sped up. Lisa's only chance to survive the sadistic Herve was in his and Dodge's hands. Dodge stayed right on his tail. Stopping short of the cabin, he swerved into a cutback sheltered by pines and shut off the engine. Dodge pulled in behind him. Marco barreled out of the car. Casting a backward glance at Dodge, he said, "I'll go in through the front. Provide some sort of disturbance in about thirty seconds on the other side of the cabin." "Okay, I'll head for the sleeping porch. I can get in that way. Give me ten seconds to get there." "Forty seconds starting now." Both men crept close to the ground. All was still in the clearing. It was as if nature held her breath,

knowing that he and Dodge only had one chance to get it right. He reached the front door. Sounds of Herve taunting Lisa reached him. There were no sounds from her. Was she unconscious--or dead? No, she had to be alive--he would have seen if she were dead. What are you waiting for, young man? You're the one. She's waiting for you. Marco shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. Besides the visions, he now heard voices--just like he had when his grandmother had lived. A quick glance at his watch told him Dodge would soon be in place. He needed to focus. Five... four... three... two... a loud crash sounded at the side of the cabin. Marco hit the door as the distraction grew louder. The scene as he entered the room was enough to make the most neutral of observers mad. Herve slashed at a bound, nearly nude Lisa with his knife. Marco went ballistic. Rules and regulations went out the window. Vengeance was his primary goal. Growling deep in his throat, he called upon earth powers that had lain dormant for years to aid him in smiting the man violating his woman. Not totally trusting the old ways, he followed his imprecations with a wild dive toward Herve. The jarring contact forced Herve's knife arm up and away from Lisa. Struggling for the knife, Marco tried to shift the fight away from Lisa, but Herve fought back, pushing the fight even closer to the helpless woman. "I'll kill you, then the puta," taunted Herve as he swept his knife from side-to- side. "Like hell!" Marco roared then knocked the knife away. He followed the move by shoving Herve to the floor. Herve wasn't ready to give up and kicked out with his legs, tangling them with Marco's. Marco managed to maintain his footing but gave up some ground to do so. He prepared to tackle Herve when a gasp from Lisa momentarily distracted him. Herve took the opportunity to rise up and grabbed Marco in a bear hug. Once more he reached for his rusty powers. Before he could let loose with a bolt of energy into his opponent, Herve screamed inhumanly and released him. The man fell to the ground, where he lay, whimpering in a fetal position. What happened? He hadn't even released a modicum of his energy. Was Herve playing opossum? Playing it safe, Marco stepped back from the moaning henchman. It could be a trick. Yet Herve showed no desire to keep fighting. He used his belt to secure the man's hands behind him. Ripping Herve's belt from the loops, he used it to immobilize the man's ankles. Only then did he feel safe in turning his attention to Lisa. "You came." Lisa shivered. She lay on the floor, still tethered to the chair. He wasn't sure when that had happened. He thought he'd managed to keep her out of danger. After righting the chair, he untied her, then covered her bare torso with his coat. His hands shook as he stroked her tumbled hair away from her bruised face.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I was almost too late." Using the dishtowels that had bound her, he gently blotted the blood from her breasts. The cuts looked to be superficial, but, he knew, they had to hurt like hell. He swore, damning Herve, damning the cartel, but most of all damning himself for not protecting her. "It's all right," Lisa murmured, stroking his bowed head as he cared for her. "You rescued me, just like my vision revealed. But where's Travis?" He stopped his ministrations, stunned at Lisa's pronouncement. He looked her in the eyes for the first time since he'd entered the room. Her green eyes glowed warmly at him. "You saw us coming?" Lisa nodded. "My pendant..." She gestured toward her breast where the pendant usually rested. She gasped. "Oh, he's still got it in his pocket." Marco turned to retrieve the precious stone, when her next words stopped him cold. "I made it burn him while you were struggling. He had a backup knife." Lisa's body visibly shuddered. "He was going for it. He would've killed you. The backlash from my use of power knocked the chair over. I'm not used to it yet. Must have overdone it a bit." She grimaced. Feeling for his amulet, Marco felt latent heat, a side effect of the danger and his own call for power. It felt different this time, a different kind of heat--more white hot than red. Was this a reaction to her energy? Lisa's eyes followed his movement. "You have a protective stone, also?" Lisa's eyes mirrored her confusion, amazement and-- could it be?--happiness "Yes, my grandmother gave it to me." "My great-grandmother left me mine." As if she just realized she was naked from the waist up, she pulled his jacket more firmly around her. "Please get it for me. It's in his pocket, see...where the scorch mark is." He knelt over the still-whimpering man and placed his hand on the visibly singed cloth. "What's going on here? How could she burn his jacket pocket?" Dodge had come in during their exchange and taken up a protective position over the downed hit man. He'd obviously heard the topic of discussion, because he now stared at Herve's pocket like the devil himself would make an appearance. "Where in the hell were you, Dodge, while I was fighting for my life?" He growled as he reached into the pocket and pulled out first the backup knife and then a beautiful necklace of ancient workmanship. "I figured you could handle it," Dodge drawled. "I'd have helped if you needed it." "Gee, thanks." Marco snorted. Turning his attention back to the pendant in his hand, he let out an awed breath. "Green fire. So, this is what Norda is after. Emeralds." "Does it burn you?" Lisa whispered.

"No. Should it?" "It burned him." Lisa nodded toward Herve. "And it used to feel hot to me until I tuned it." "No. It doesn't burn. It feels like...well," he considered the feel of the necklace as he fondled it between his fingers, "like menthol. Icy hot. A good burn." The white heat his pendant reflected--it was her energy. He gently placed the necklace over Lisa's head. The pendant nestled between her breasts as if it had come home. The impression was so strong he almost heard it sigh with relief. Or was that Lisa sighing? Lisa mumbled something. He strained to hear. He picked up only the words "he is the one, then." Dodge grunted. Marco threw his companion a curious look. Dodge refused to meet Marco's eyes, and instead he busied himself with replacing the belt tethering Herve's hands with handcuffs. No answers there. He turned back to Lisa. "What did you just say?" Lisa blushed. "Nothing." Watching Herve being cuffed, she asked, "Why does he want my land?" "Yeah, Santiago," Dodge leaned over and turned the limp, but quietly moaning, Herve over. "Why in the hell does this piece of dog shit want Lisa's land?" "He doesn't want it--his boss, Manuel Norda does. There must be emeralds on it somewhere," he stated bluntly. "Emeralds," Dodge sputtered. "There haven't been any new emerald findings in this state since the late 1800s. And why does a drug lord like Norda want emeralds anyway? Don't they make enough money selling drugs?" "Drug cartel?" Lisa squeaked. "A drug cartel wants my land?" Before he could explain, Saul bolted through the cabin door, followed closely by two of Dodge's deputies. "Over here," Dodge called to his deputies. "Take this piece of trash to the jail. Book him on attempted murder, assault, extortion, and anything else you can think of. Oh, yeah, I guess you should have a doctor look at him, too. But watch him." "You got it, Sheriff." One of the deputies saluted. It took both men to lift Herve to his feet and drag him out. "Late as always, Saul," Marco said dryly. He picked Lisa up from the chair and carried her to the sofa in the living room. He wanted her away from the spot where Herve had tortured her. Hell, he wanted away from it. All he could remember was the sight of her, hurt, bleeding at the hands of a maniac. Dodge and Saul joined them. When Dodge started for the sofa, Marco hurriedly sat next to Lisa. He glared at the grinning lawman, warning him away. Yes, he was being territorial. But the sooner Dodge--and Lisa-- acknowledged his claim, the better. She was his. If he hadn't been sure about his attraction for her before, he sure as heck was now. Her earth magic complemented his. That didn't happen often--hardly ever.

He wondered if she realized it. Well, he'd help her. A warm rush of relief flowed through him when Lisa responded to his proprietary actions by snuggling closer to him and laying her head on his shoulder. He placed an arm around her and pulled her even closer. She sighed. They fit together perfectly. He chanced a glance at Dodge to see if Lisa's responses to him had been noticed. They had. Shrugging, Dodge mouthed the words "she's all yours," then grinned wryly. He had always appreciated a man who knew how to lose graciously. He tilted his head in acknowledgment. Saul snickered in the background. Good old Saul, he never missed a trick, nor would his partner let Marco's capitulation to his attraction for Lisa go by unnoted--after all, Saul had told him so. "You were telling us why a drug cartel wants Lisa's land, Santiago," prompted Dodge, breaking the silence in the room. He turned red. With his nearness to Lisa, he'd forgotten what they'd been discussing. "Umm, yes. The Verde Fogata cartel owns MinGemCo..." Lisa sat up, pulling slightly away. "MinGemCo? That's the largest gem distributor in the world. I used to receive shipments from them at Romanoff's in New York." He nodded as he pushed Lisa's head back to his shoulder where it belonged. "We've known for a long time that the cartel was laundering money through MinGemCo. We can't prove it though, because on the surface the company looks legitimate. Hell, it's stock is on NASDAQ and a recommended buy all over the world. The DEA could try to prove its culpability, but by doing so, we'd have to confiscate the company and a lot of innocent investors would be harmed. Not to mention the harm to the global economy. So, we have to stop them another way." "What about a receivership?" Dodge asked. "Wouldn't the Feds move to protect the investors by putting a neutral person in charge to protect the assets while they finish their investigation? I'd think you had enough information about possible criminal influences to justify such an action." "That's one of our plans, and it's in the works, but it takes time. Norda has good lawyers and lots of powerful friends." Marco realized Dodge wasn't just some hick sheriff. It took a pretty smart man to understand how the government's racketeering laws operated. "Lisa's run-in with Herve, right-hand man to Norda, will help a lot by giving us evidence toward the illegal aspects of the company's management." Lisa interrupted. "I'm still skeptical about all this. I haven't seen any emeralds other than this necklace." She touched the glittering stone, slightly moving aside the jacket covering her chest. "And I know I haven't had any business dealings with this cartel, or any other illegal entities. No, it has to be..." "Jesu." Marco breathed harshly. "Look at your wounds!" "They'll be fine, he--" Lisa looked down, then gasped. "They're almost gone." She glanced up at Marco. "How?" "White magic--earth magic," Marco whispered, touching a finger to where one of the knife wounds had almost disappeared. "It is strong in you. Stronger than I've seen in a long time--not since my grandmother." "Your grandmother's dead?" Lisa asked.

"Yes, and my mother. The cartel killed them both for grandmother's refusal to use the magic for evil." Marco's voice was harsh with the memory. "Holy Jesus," whispered Dodge. "This is just damn unbelievable." "Believe it, Dodge," Saul said. "I've seen more things that go bump in the night since I partnered with Marco than you could read in a Stephen King novel. But it's real, and it has saved our hides more times than I can count." "Shit." Dodge's blunt pronouncement caused Marco to chuckle. He didn't imagine much of anything shocked the stoic lawman, but Lisa's and his earth powers sure had. "So, what can I do about the cartel?" Lisa asked. "Stopping just one man won't stop them, will it?" He shook his head. Dodge groaned and said "shit" again. "Ditto," said Saul. Marco pulled Lisa closer against him, taking advantage of her nearness to kiss her cheek, then said, "The best thing for you to do is to move into a safe house until we can round up Norda and his top henchmen." "Just how long have you been trying to round up this Norda person and his henchmen?" she asked. Dodge snorted as if he knew the answer. Marco glared at him. Saul answered, "The United States government has been after him for twenty years. Just about as long as Marco has." "Twenty years?" Lisa shouted pushing away from him. "I can't hide for another twenty years." Then she looked at him again, Saul's last words finally sinking in. "You've been after him ever since your mother and grandmother were killed, haven't you?" His abrupt nod elicited tears, something that not even Herve's torture had managed to do. Lisa collapsed back against his shoulder. Her softly whispered "oh shit" expressed his feelings succinctly. Then, he felt her stiffen and knew she was going to get stubborn on him. "I'm staying here." Lisa's statement brooked no argument. "Then I'm staying with you," he said. "No," she said, "you're not. I need time to myself to process all this. Besides, the house and the necklace will protect me." "They didn't protect you from Herve, now did they?" he stated flatly. "Ah, but the necklace did...and you know it." He couldn't deny the truth. It had been her power that felled Herve. She was alive, her wounds all but healed. Even without his direct intervention, she still would be alive and well. She'd figured it out, a little late to be true, all on her own. Furthermore, he'd seen Beau try and fail to get into the house, so he knew her claims about the house were also fact. He had to face it, she really didn't need him. The thought depressed him.

"You belong to me, you know." He made his statement as if saying it aloud would make it so. "Maybe." Not acceptance, but not rejection either. He sighed. How could he prove it to her? Then it came to him. "Hold out your emerald," he ordered. Lisa, obviously stunned at the abrupt change in topic, did so without argument. He held his tiger's eye amulet next to the fiery green pendant. As the tiger's eye came closer to the emerald, the two stones started to resonate and a humming sound pulsated throughout the room. His hair stood on end, even his skin crawled with the sound. The others in the room, including Lisa, gasped. They heard, felt it, also. At a point of what he would call critical mass, the stones emitted green and golden streams of light that twined and twisted upon themselves to combine into a single band of pure white light. The single beam of undiluted energy then wove itself around Lisa's and his bodies, caressing them with its pristine glow. After mere seconds, the energy that embraced and bound the two untwined itself and shot through the roof of the cabin. As a result of the release of power, a warm wind whistled around the living room, gradually dying down to a light breeze. Marco pulled his amulet away from Lisa's. The breeze dissipated completely. The room was undamaged. Yet the people in the room would never be the same. Even he was surprised at the results, and he'd had an inkling of what might happen. "What was that?" Dodge gulped. "Complementary earth magic," he stated. "Apart Lisa and I have certain individual abilities to protect ourselves and our immediate surroundings. Together we can do much more. My grandmother told me that it was very rare to find one's complement during a lifetime. She had never found hers, and thus was weaker for it." "More power?" Lisa quavered. "There's more?" He smiled, then nodded. Much more, my love. Lisa gasped. "Did you just send me a telepathic message?" "Yes," he whispered. "We were meant to be together." "I need to be alone...please?" "I'll give you some time," he conceded. But you can't avoid this--us--forever. Lisa said, and thought, nothing. His lips thinned, but he realized to pressure her more today would be cruel. She'd gone through enough, had enough new feelings to deal with. There would be time later, but not too much later. He was sure that together they could weather anything-- even events orchestrated by Norda.

As the three men turned to leave, Lisa called out, "I just thought of something. If this Norda wanted the land, what if Uncle Lon's death wasn't accidental? What if the cartel killed him because he wouldn't sign it over?" Dodge swore. "What do you think, Santiago?" "I think she just might be right." *** Lisa sat on the sofa for a long time after Marco and the other men left. She recognized she'd come close to death, mostly because she didn't know enough about her powers to use them fully. She wasn't even sure exactly how she'd gotten the pendant to shock Herve from clear across the room. All she knew was that at the time she was so angry--and scared--that she'd imagined Herve screaming in pain--then he did. She'd better read the rest of the diary. As for Marco's revelations about his power being complementary to hers, about him being "the one" for her and actually claiming her for his own--well, she was scared, but also attracted. She'd been drawn to him from the first, even though he'd frightened her with his raw power and animal magnetism. Yet she wasn't ready to take the last step--inviting him into her house, her life. Besides, she might not live long enough to have a relationship with anybody. The cartel could end her life--and for what? What did it really want? Was it the land? Had they killed her uncle for some emerald treasure hidden here? Or was there something else? Maybe Callista's diary could shed some light on the problem. She sighed and pushed her now completely healed body up and off the sofa. She had a long night of reading ahead, she might as well get started.

Chapter Fifteen Next day--Joyas Muchas. Norda threw the phone on the floor and kicked it, wishing it were Herve. Stupido! Herve had botched up the whole job. Yes, Crawford was dead, but the land was still in the MacDougall woman's name, and she was alive to testify against Herve. How had he allowed himself to be caught by small town cops? And what was Marco Santiago, DEA agent, doing in North Carolina? How had they figured out the cartel had an interest there? Someone's head would roll for that slipup. He kicked the phone again for good measure. Herve had to go. It was about time anyway-- the man was getting ideas above his station. Turning to his new right-hand-man-in-waiting, Jorge, he snapped out an order. "Get Herve out of jail! Then take care of him--permanently. I don't care how you do it, just do it." "Si, si, patrone." Jorge backed away, stumbling in his hurry to escape. Norda smiled. He liked his aides to fear him, kept them in line. "Jorge." Norda waited until the man stopped, then approached him.

"Si, patrone?" "Before I got sidetracked with Herve's little indiscretion, you came here to tell me something," he said. "What was it?" "The woman, patrone. The MacDougall woman..." Jorge gulped. "Uh, the Russian Mafiya has put the word out on the street...Uh, they are seeking information on her location." "Mafiya?" He swore harshly. He hated the Russian bastards. They thought he would roll over and allow them to enter the drug trade in Florida. Never. It was bad enough that they ran all the local prostitution rings after taking them over from the New York mob. "Does the word on the street say why they seek the MacDougall woman?" Norda snapped, unable to keep his hatred of the Russian upstarts out of his voice. "Uh, no, patrone, they..." "Silencio. No excuses. Find this out for me, Jorge. Now." His words echoed around the room as he stormed from one side to the next. He had to get his temper under control. He needed Jorge and as much as he would like to kill someone at this moment, he couldn't afford it. Jorge had his uses. None of the other men had enough knowledge and contacts to be his eyes and ears on the streets. Damn Herve. What a time for him to foul up. He stopped pacing, then picked up a marble statue from an end table and threw it at a wall, just missing the cowering Jorge. The white-stuccoed wall, however, wasn't so lucky. "While you are finding the information I need get someone to fix my wall!" he growled in steely tones. "Ah, si, patrone. Right away, patrone." Jorge scurried backward, bumping into the half-closed door. Turning, he fled the room. Norda wondered how long Jorge would last and whom he would need to start grooming to take the man's place. Fear was good, but timidity wasn't. *** Ben Lomond. At the sound of the bell over her shop door, Lisa looked up. Marco! Marco stood in the doorway staring at her. The look in his dark eyes was one she didn't dare identify unless she wanted to go down roads she wasn't ready to travel in her relationship with this man. She'd spent most of last night reading Callista's diary. Some of what she'd read hinted at male-female relationships and complementary earth magic, but she had more to read and assimilate. She'd read enough to know that there was a very great possibility that Marco might be the only man in the world for her. But could she accept that? Her male complement as described in the journal was a typical possessive commanding alpha male. Marco fit the description to a T. Could she, a modern independent woman, deal with a throwback to the Dark Ages? "Lisa?" Marco's deep warm voice broke into her thoughts. "Hi, Marco." Her cheeks burned hotly from the piercing once-over Marco gave her. God, she was even

acting like a submissive female. "Are you okay? You aren't having any side effects from what happened yesterday, are you?" She laughed, a tinge of hysteria creeping into the sound. "What kind of side effects? Shock from finding out a drug cartel wants my land and is willing to kill for it? Shock from realizing that my powers and an emerald can heal wounds and bruises in minutes instead of days? Shock from discovering that my great-grandmother's diary has indicated there is a treasure buried somewhere on my land?" She waved off his attempt to come around the counter. She was afraid he would take her in his arms and then she would prove herself to be the weak, helpless woman he thought. "No. I'm fine, Marco." At his snort of disbelief, she had to grin. "Just had a long night reading and didn't get much sleep. I'll be okay." "Okay, so you don't want to talk about it, but I got the impression when I walked in that I was the last man in world you wanted to see at that moment." Marco hesitated. "Are you afraid of me...of us?" Damn. He was more intuitive than she'd thought. Double damn these powers they shared. Was she never to have a thought of her own again? Did she have to run away from this man, also? Memories of Andrei's obsessive possessiveness caused her to shudder. "Damn, you are afraid of us." Marco's voicing her fears pushed her into a knee-jerk denial. "No, it isn't that--exactly. It's...well, it's...everything." She touched her pendant, which changed from green to yellow- green. "You don't have to explain. If I were in your place, I'd be questioning all this too," Marco said in a reasonable tone. "But I've been around earth magic all my life in one form or another. It doesn't surprise or scare me as much as it used to. You'll figure it out soon enough, and when you do, I'll be here." Marco coughed, then looked away as if embarrassed by the non-alpha reasonableness he'd just displayed. "I came to tell you that Dodge, Saul and I met with the prosecutor about your Uncle Lon. We've all agreed that your instinct about him being killed is probably correct. They want to exhume him. We need you to sign some papers." Her eyes watered as she fought back the desire to cry. Part of her upset was for her Uncle Lon. Another part, the major part, was a result of her own inner turmoil. Who was this man? Was Marco the supreme male being who just yesterday announced she was his? Or was he this understanding, modern male in touch with her feelings? This was just too much to take in all at once. Her attempt to hold back the tears failed as small sniffles turned into great heaving sobs. "Damn, I'm sorry." Marco whispered in her ear as he enfolded her in a gentle embrace. "I didn't mean to blurt it out quite like that, chica." His strong arms pulled her close; he whispered soothing nonsense words into the hair above her ears. How had he gotten around the counter so fast? No matter. He had, and it felt right. She sighed and melted deeper into the warm shelter Marco provided, soaking up the comfort he offered. Her gut told her she could trust this man with anything. Great-granddaughter, I've been telling you and telling you. He's the one. Trust me. Trust your instincts. Trust him.

Yes, Callista. I hear you. I'm getting there; just give me time. "Did you ask what time it was?" Marco's voice rumbled into her left ear. Pushing back out of his arms, she blushed. "Ah, no. Sorry about that. You caught me off guard. I have to sign something?" He swept her with an all-encompassing glance. She blushed some more and wondered what he was thinking. "Chica, I'm thinking you look tired, a little weepy, but more beautiful than any woman has a right to be." She gasped. "Don't worry." Marco smiled and stroked a finger down her warm cheek. "I don't catch all your thoughts. Just the ones aimed at me." "Well, uh, damn." She would definitely have to be more careful of those thoughts, then. "Uh, you said you had a paper for me to sign?" Marco must have caught the hint that the topic was closed. Keeping one arm around her, he pulled out a set of papers from his jacket. "Here they are." She took them and quickly skimmed the exhumation papers. Moving out of Marco's hold, she walked to the counter to sign them. As she handed the documents back, Marco said, "Did your uncle have any papers, a journal or something similar that might indicate what sort of treasure there might be? I mean...the cartel found out about it somehow." "Other than some general references in Callista's diary, I haven't seen anything else. However, I haven't gone through everything yet." She squinted in concentration. "He had a desk, and I've gone through most of that. There are boxes in the storeroom in the lean-to attached to the back of the house. I just haven't felt like going through them yet." "Hey, it's understandable. New house. New business. New psychic powers. You just need time to take it all in." Marco teased. "Do you mind if I go through them?" Damn, there he goes again being reasonable and modern. Hoping that thought hadn't communicated itself to him, she blushed once more and rushed to say, "No. I don't mind. When would you like to start?" "How about tonight? I could bring carry-out--and help you sort through the stuff." She hesitated, then said, "Sure. Why don't you bring Saul? More hands and eyes will make the work go faster." She gave Marco credit, the smile never left his face as he answered, "Okay, sure. Great. Uh, we'll be there...around five o'clock or so?" "Make it five-thirty, and you have a date." She groaned silently. Date? Why did she say date? "Five-thirty, then. See you," Marco said as he rounded the counter and headed for the door. Stopping at the open door, he paused and said, "By the way, this is not a date date. It's a business date. Chica,

when it's a real date, you'll know the difference." Then he left. "Well!" she said to no one in particular. Ghostly laughter permeated the air. I told you, he's the one. You let a man like that get away, and you're no kin of mine. "Oh shut up, great-grandmother." More ghostly laughter surrounded Lisa in a mini-whirlwind of ethereal vibrations. *** Joyas Muchas Island off the Florida Keys. Jorge may have been a timid man, but he got the job done. The evidence was in the repaired and freshly painted wall and, in Norda's hand, the phone number of the man seeking Lisa MacDougall. "So, Jorge, mi amigo, who is this Andrei Romanoff besides being a heathen Russian?" asked Norda as he stroked the naked behind of the woman lying in bed with him, her head buried in his crotch. From his front-row seat, Jorge fidgeted and avoided Norda's stare and the sight of the puta servicing his boss. Licking his lips, he answered, "He is the senorita's former employer. This man, Romanoff, owns a fine jewelry store in New York City. He, uh..." Jorge stopped to check his notes. "He launders money for the Mafiya. Word from our contacts in New York is that he is a crazy bastard, a killer, and may have been given the jewelry store for his previous service to the Moscow branch of the Mafiya." "Ah...and what would that service have been, Jorge?" Norda groaned, then held the head of the woman in a fierce grip to halt her ministrations. Pleasure was always better when it was prolonged. Jorge coughed and looked at the notes in his lap, resolutely refusing to watch the tableaux in front of him. Norda smiled at his aide's embarrassment. So unlike his Herve who would have been licking his lips, eagerly awaiting his turn. "He was a hitter, patrone. It is said he took out some of the old guard KGB to position the Mafiya. It became too hot for him to stay in Russia, so they smuggled him out of the country and gave him this new job." Jorge paused, chancing a quick glance at his boss's face. "Uh, patrone, he has been asking questions about MinGemCo...and Lisa MacDougall." Norda thought for a moment. "Jorge, get me this Andrei Romanoff on the phone." "Si, patrone." Jorge scrambled out of the chair and hurried over to the new phone he'd brought into the room, the old one being damaged beyond repair. As Jorge dialed, Norda pushed the whore away from him, then got up off the bed. He walked to the window. His unrelieved penis jutted out in front of him. As he looked out over the Gulf of Mexico from his villa, he pondered how he would approach this Andrei Romanoff, former hit man for the Russian mob, who now professed to be both a legitimate businessman and illegitimate money-launderer. Should he speak with him as an equal? Or proceed the way he meant to go anyway--as the dominant male in this scenario? The man obviously had scared the MacDougall woman off somehow, couldn't find her, and then got

desperate enough to lower his pride and ask for help from the criminal underworld. This Lisa MacDougall must be some sort of woman if a hard ass like Romanoff would risk his machismo by asking for help in getting her back. Not as equals then--a man who would risk his manhood, his pride, for a mere woman did not deserve respect. He examined his nude reflection in the window while idly stroking his cock. His curiosity about the woman who'd landed both this Russian and his Herve in hot water--and ultimately, the two men's death sentences--grew along with his impending climax. Violence had always been a trigger for him. His reflected smile grew even larger along with his penis. He knew just what he would do-- he would ask this Russian to bring Lisa MacDougall to his island fortress to satisfy both his newfound curiosity about her and his goals concerning the land in North Carolina. The added plus was Marco Santiago wouldn't be expecting a Russian to steal the woman out from under his nose. He roared with his sexual release. His excitement was so intense that he remained hard even after unloading his jism on the window. Post-orgasmic pleasure shuddered through him. He knew this plan would work, besides it gave him a perverted satisfaction--the Mafiya would take all the blame. "Patrone?" Jorge's voice pierced Norda's orgasmic lassitude. "I have the Russian on the line." "Bien." He strode over and snatched up the portable phone. Using what he was sure his associates would recognize as his predator tone of voice, he spoke into the phone. "Senor Romanoff. This is Manual Norda of MinGemCo." "Yes, Senor Norda...I've heard of you." Norda smiled. So, the man did know who he was. "What can I do for the esteemed leader of the Verde Fogata cartel?" Romanoff asked. "You dare to identify my business association on the phone?" He was shocked that a Mafiya member could be so casual about security. But what could he expect from a pussy-whipped Russian? "My lines are secure. Aren't yours?" He bristled at the sneer he heard in the Russian's words. The jumped-up jackal would pay for the snub later--once Norda had the woman under his control. For now, he'd humor the bastard. "Yes, of course they are. After all, we businessmen can't be too careful, heh?" Norda forced a chuckle. "It is not what you can do for me, senor, but what I can do for you." "And that would be?" "Lisa MacDougall." He dropped the name and waited for the man at the other end of the phone's reaction. He wasn't disappointed. "Lisa? Where is she? How did you know--?" He interrupted the flow of questions. "Ah, Senor Romanoff, I know all." He paused to allow his assertion to sink in. "I have a deal which I wish to do with Senorita MacDougall, and you are just the man to help me. And in this way, you also are helped? No?"

"What kind of deal?" Wariness permeated the Russian's voice. Ah, the man is being cautious. Maybe Romanoff wasn't quite as stupid as Norda thought. After all, the Russian had managed to survive communism and service in the KGB. "Your Lisa has something I want. All she has to do is come to my villa and sign over some property, then she can go her own way...or should I say, your way?" "So, you are telling me that you will lead me to Lisa if I bring her to you so you can do a deal? Why haven't you already done this transaction with Lisa? Why do you need me?" "Because currently she is in a place where neither I nor my men can go safely." He snapped out the explanation, angered that this man should question him. "However, I will tell you where to find her, provide a way for you to get her out of the place quickly. For this help, you will persuade your woman to cooperate with me, then we are quits." "That sounds like the deal is all on your side. Why should I do this favor for you?" "Ah, because, senor, I know where she is, and you don't. Because I will eventually get my hands on her anyway--and then you would never see her again. And, because it amuses me to do it this way." He chuckled. "Call me a romantic, but I wish to meet the woman that can bring a macho hombre like you to your knees, asking for help from the streets." Silence reigned for what seemed like minutes, then the Russian answered, "Okay, it is a deal. Where do I find my woman?" "I'll give you to my aide, Jorge. He will give you the details. I expect to see you soon, hombre." He handed the phone to Jorge who walked into the outer room to make the arrangements they had finalized earlier. He felt good. He'd given the Russian no choice. The man had to play the game his way. And, Norda always played to win. Laughing, he called out to the waiting puta, "Come, get me hard again." He grabbed her head as she serviced him. He needed hot rough sex. It would be good practice for when the MacDougall woman arrived. Because, of course, he fully expected the Russian to share. *** New York. Andrei placed the phone receiver gently into the cradle. Anyone looking at him wouldn't realize he was furious; instead they would've seen the urbane Andrei Romanoff, jeweler to the idle rich. He'd learned a lot during his years working in the KGB and the Russian black market. Losing his temper, allowing it to explode and destroy anything in its path, was wasteful. It was much better to nurture the anger, control it, then let it fly at the appropriate target. He would destroy Norda and his gang for their threat to him--and to Lisa. She was his woman, and no stupid Latino pig would take what was his.

Chapter Sixteen

Ben Lomond. Marco, Saul and Lisa made idle chitchat while they worked together to clean up the small dining area after the carry-out meal of pulled pork barbeque sandwiches, slaw and sweet tea. The air hummed with energy. Lisa wasn't sure if it was hers, Marco's, or both. She wondered if Saul felt it too. Or maybe he'd become so accustomed to Marco's psi abilities that he managed to ignore it all. What bothered Lisa most was the sense of anticipation she felt in the energy. Something was about to happen. But what? And when? Shrugging off the antsy feeling, she led the way to the lean-to behind the house. Pointing to the boxes that were her uncle's, Saul and Marco carried them into the breakfast nook and placed them on the floor near the table they'd just cleared. "Why don't we each take one?" Lisa suggested. "If we find anything interesting, we can share with the others." "Sounds like a plan to me." Saul grinned. He ignored Marco's silence, but she couldn't. "Marco?" She hesitated. "That okay with you?" "Yeah, sure," he replied, distracted, like he was listening for something--or waiting. Did he sense the electricity in the air as well? Hear the humming noises? Did she dare ask him? It's okay, chica. I feel it--hear it, too. Together we are strong, pequita. Whatever comes, we will deal with it together. "How do you do that?" she blurted out. "Do what?" Saul asked, looking from Lisa to Marco. "What did he do?" "She means my telepathic ability," Marco said. "I used to do it with my grandmother. Lisa is the first person I've been able to read...and to project to...since my abuela's death." Marco turned to look at her. "You'll figure it out, eventually. I don't know how to teach you to realize you are projecting, but you will learn with experience. But trust in this, if you think about me, I will hear your thoughts." She moaned. "This is so strange. How close do you have to be for me to...uh, communicate to you?" Marco shrugged. "Who knows? I knew when I drove up the mountain the other day you were in pain and that Herve was here with you. That was over a mile away. Maybe it will work even farther once we get used to our combined powers." She didn't say anything. What was there to say? What happens will happen. "That is a good philosophy, chica." Marco reached out and took her hand in his. "Don't worry about what you cannot control. That will only lead you to craziness." After a gentle squeeze, he released her hand. Yet his energy lingered, dancing on the sensitive nerve endings of her fingers, making her wonder how sex would be with this man. She blushed at the thought. Ghostly laughter disturbed the air surrounding her. Callista! Yes, great-granddaughter, it will be unlike anything on earth when you make love with this man. I,

too, had met my complement in earth magic...and it was amazing. Go away, great-grandmother. Go ahead. Ignore me. But you can't deny this...it is your fate. Too many thoughts down that road and she wouldn't be able to concentrate on what needed to be done tonight. She turned back to the task at hand. "What exactly are we looking for?" she mumbled. Saul looked to Marco, then answered, "Contracts, bills of sale, any surveys your uncle may have had made of the land, plat maps and the like." She nodded. "Those are all good ideas. The diary definitely says there is a treasure on the land--MacDougall land. But the clues are all in verse." "Clues?" Marco's head snapped up. He glared at her. "You didn't mention clues before." "Yes, I did...I distinctly remember mentioning that the diary said something about the treasure being hidden on the land." "When?" Marco growled. "This morning in the shop." She almost hissed the words. Obviously, her fated match didn't listen well. Marco thought a moment, then turned red. "So you did, chica. I was distracted by other things just now, and it did not process. I apologize. Forgive me?" If you'd stay out of my mind, then you might have heard me. "Okay, I guess," she said aloud for Saul's benefit. "But don't go all dictatorial male on me. I don't like it." "Because of your former boss?" Marco asked, frowning fiercely whether it was at her mental reprimand or the verbal, she didn't know. "Yes." She turned back to her box. She wasn't going to discuss Andrei. He was history and not Marco's concern. "Let's get to work. We've got to find something to locate the treasure." *** Lisa's hair hid her face as she bent over the box she dug through. Marco shook his head and blew out a breath filled with self-disgust. He'd pushed her too hard. His soul mate was very touchy about her former boss. Yet he couldn't help going crazy, wondering what the bastard had done to her to make her so gun shy about men, particularly strong men. He was afraid the man had abused her sexually. If he found this to be so, Marco knew there wouldn't be any place the cretin could hide that he wouldn't find him. And, once he did find this foul Russian, well, he might have to call up his darker powers, the powers he'd vowed never to use, and teach the abuser a lesson. He absentmindedly sorted through the papers in the box in front of him. His psi powers would alert him to anything of importance. Right now even with Saul in the room as a distraction, all Marco's attention centered on Lisa. He read her more clearly with each passing moment. All her thoughts were becoming accessible--not just the ones about him. However, once she overcame her initial skepticism and learned to read him just as easily, he was afraid she would find a way to put up mental blocks against him. Lisa was an independent type and would frown on his ability to freely traipse through her thoughts.

Have patience, boy. She's my kin, and she will come to know you as you wish. He-he- he. He jerked at the sound of a voice from another plane. Lisa also stopped what she was doing and looked around. Did she hear...feel...the laughter? Did he hear it through her? Or, was this voice addressing both of them? It had been awhile since he'd felt ghostly energy travel over his body. This had been ghostly laughter. Much, much better than the sound of ghostly crying. His mother and grandmother had sobbed for days after their deaths. The crying had only ceased after he'd buried their battered bodies in consecrated ground. Well, at least Lisa's relative was happy in her afterlife. Now, what makes you think that, boy? I just make do. I want to go to my eternal rest and meet your mother and grandmother, but I can't do that until Lisa finds the treasure and accepts the duty of her powers. Help her, so I can sleep in peace! At Callista's final words, several books fell off the shelves surrounding the fireplace. The feisty ghost was making sure he got the point. And he did. He was Lisa's future mate. It was his duty to help her whether she liked it or not. Exactly. Damn. It wouldn't be easy. He had to fight Lisa's past, her reluctance to accept her present, and the cartel who would try to deny them a future. "I'm not sure what the heck is going on in this room--and I'm not sure I want to know what made those books fall, but I found something." Saul's sardonic voice startled Marco and caused Lisa to gasp. "What did you find?" he asked. He'd tell Saul later about the ghostly visitation in case Callista tried to communicate with his partner. Saul always accepted the paranormal better if he was prepared for it. "Some mineral assays." Saul handed them over. "Looks like Lisa's uncle was trying to cash out some of the treasure. Anyway, that's how the cartel found out about it. Look at the assayer's name." "George Constantine." Marco groaned. "Shit." "Why shit?" Lisa asked as he handed her the papers. "George is MinGemCo all the way--bought and paid for," Saul replied. "He makes sure MinGemCo keeps its monopoly as the distributor of the finest quality gems in the world." Lisa read, then looked up, shock evident on her face. "There really are more emeralds like the one I'm wearing! Oh my God, my professor at NYU said such a mine would be worth tens of millions of dollars. He said he'd never seen an emerald quite this perfect before." Lisa was worth millions of dollars. Hell, Marco groaned silently, she wouldn't need him, an underpaid Latino DEA agent in her life. She could have anybody and be anything with that kind of money. He winced when something pinched his nose. Next time you think that way, boyo, I'll heave a swift kick where the sun don't shine. The treasure is Lisa's duty. You are her life. For a ghost, old Callista packed quite a punch.

"You okay, buddy?" Saul whispered, his eyes switching back and forth from Marco to Lisa, who sat silently. "What am I missing here?" "Nothing. I'll explain later." His abrupt answer startled Lisa from her reverie. "I don't want this treasure and the responsibility of it," she cried out. She'd heard every word Callista had said. The conniving old woman was pushing them together. "The cartel knows it exists. We have to find it before they do, then..." Marco hesitated. "Then what?" Lisa asked. "Then you and I will protect it--isn't that what Callista's diary says?" He'd taken a stab in the dark, but with all Callista's hints he figured that Lisa had either already read something along those lines or soon would in the diary. The crafty ghost's mental pep talk had been designed to demonstrate to the two of them their uniqueness, to show them that they were fated to be life partners. "I don't know. I can't think..." Lisa's voice trailed off. Pale and almost frail in her stillness, she sat, staring at her hands. "You're tired." Marco stated the obvious. "Saul and I will take the papers and follow up. You rest. We'll work on this more tomorrow." Lisa nodded her agreement, but refused to look up. "Aren't you going to demand to stay with me?" She spoke so softly Marco had to strain to hear. "To protect me?" He knew she alluded to the relationship Callista wanted for them and answered her unspoken question. "No, chica, you aren't ready yet. The house and your magic will protect you...for now." Until you give me the right to protect you forever. She didn't respond. He hadn't expected her to. Remaining silent, she followed them to the door where she finally whispered, "Good night." "Good night, chica. Sweet dreams." Some will be; some will not. We are running out of time. She'll need you at her side--and soon. The beasts come. It will take both of you to fight them. Callista! What beasts? Norda? Marco's psychic shout reverberated in his mind. Yes, and the other one, also. What other one? Beau? I don't know--maybe. I just sense the presence of another. Well damn, just what he didn't need to hear. He only hoped Callista knew what she was doing, because he wasn't sure Lisa was anywhere near acceptance of him as her protector, lover or soul mate. *** Lisa allowed the diary to fall onto the quilt covering her legs. She'd been reading for over two hours. She now had a fairly good idea of what fate held for her. Succinctly put, she was the guardian of the emeralds

buried on this property, and she was to shepherd them for future generations of her bloodline. Her and Marco's heirs, because he was the "one" described in the diary. The diary had been very explicit. She would recognize her destined mate when she found the man with whom her pendant resonated and her mind communicated. That described Marco perfectly. The diary also spelled out what would happen if she failed in her responsibilities. Callista had bemoaned the fate of her lover and their short-lived happiness...and shared sexual ecstasy. Callista had failed her mate by misusing her powers, and he'd died. The pages of lectures to the next female of the "blood" were clear--don't mess up like her relative had. Shit. She was stuck on the wheel of fate. Her destiny was to mate with a man who caused her power to blaze white and whose mind spoke to her and hers to him. Lisa recalled the results created by her energy's mating with Marco's. Her green with his red- gold as channeled through their amulets. Blazing, pristine white light. What they--she and Marco--did with that light was important. But Callista didn't spell it out in words of one syllable. No, she went on for pages and pages of what not to do. From the best Lisa could tell, she and Marco were to procreate and raise their children, who would then procreate and have their own children. The process would continue until in the next proper generation another female of the blood would go into the world to seek a male to start the process all over again. The circle of life, magic-style. The only reason the ethereal Callista still hung around was because she'd messed up and got her mate killed. The only child she had born had not had the ability to control the stone, and thus, Lisa was the genetic correction in an off generation--and Callista's only chance of eternal rest. Callista had to stick around until the next lithomancer took on the mantel of protecting the treasure from those who would use it for evil. People like Norda. Swell. What if she didn't want this responsibility and all the trimmings that went with it? Stop lying to yourself, gal. You want him. You knew him when you first espied him. Damn. She hated it when Callista was right. The sooner they found the damn treasure and secured it, the sooner the cartel could be pushed out of her life. Then she'd deal with the rest of it. Picking the diary back up, she continued to read. The clues to find the treasure were here; she just wasn't sure what they meant. She read the passage she'd mentioned to Saul and Marco once more: Where the earth powers meet, you will find what you seek. Air, water and earth, Shelter your duty by birth. What you seek is easily found, By science laws be not bound. For what is solid, is not. Seek the cool that is hot, In a place set high, But not dry.

Tired and disgusted, Lisa threw the book on the end table, then turned off the light. Maybe sleeping on it would help. Something had to, because she still didn't have a clue. After a good night's sleep, she'd read it once more, and then, if she couldn't figure it out, she'd share it with Marco. She knew he felt and heard Callista like she did. Maybe he could get her riddle-laden ghost of a great-grandmother to tell them what the poem meant. *** Lisa walked the land. It was familiar somehow. She'd walked here before--maybe on the day she'd moved in? In her dream, it all seemed surreal, but it was a dream after all. What did she expect? She heard the trickling sound of flowing water. She remembered several streams flowed through her property on their way to the river in the valley. One of these had to be the source of the water in the poem. Following the sound of a stream burbling over the rocks in its bed, she suddenly came upon it. She tracked the course of the stream as it flowed downhill and came to a place where a small rivulet fell over the edge of the cliff then down hundreds of feet to the valley below. What had the diary said? Air and earth and water. They all came together here! A blue heron flew up and out of the waterfall, crying its upset at Lisa's presence. Could there be a ledge behind the waterfall? A place where the bird had made it's home? Looking around she felt drawn to a cairn of rocks. As she approached the pile, she saw a path open up before her eyes. The pathway led to a stone staircase that in turn led up and seemingly behind the water as it coursed its way over the edge of the cliff. Excited, Lisa climbed the water-soaked stairs, then edged her way behind the waterfall. But there the path ended, blocked by a solid wall of rock. This had to be the place. But where was the shelter containing the emeralds? She was in a place that was high and not dry, where the earth, air and water met. She was seeking the green fire of the cool emeralds that were hot. She was missing something from the poem. Something about not being bound by science. Something solid is not! Could it be that easy? She reached out to touch the rock wall, but instead her hand disappeared through it. It was an illusion--there was no wall! Hoping she was correct, she walked through the wall and came out into a cave filled with an unearthly green glow. The cave of green fire. Many of the emeralds were still in their natural dirt-covered state, protected by the very minerals that under great pressure had made the precious gems. But just as many gems had been cleaned and polished. By her ancestors? Who else could have done it? It had to be. She sat down among a pile of the purest green she'd ever seen in a gemstone. Then, a whisper of air caressed her skin. Someone had entered and disturbed the stillness of the cave. Instinctively she knew who it was.

Marco stood framed by the cave opening. His earth energy glowed golden in the cave of green fire. His hand extended toward her, he spoke, "Come to me, my Lisa." She rose and took the hand Marco offered. The cave blazed with the pure white light of their joined power. A trembling overcame her body. Images filled her mind. First, passion, then danger, and finally...death. Awakened, Lisa sat up screaming, "No! No! Marco!" She hugged herself as she rocked back and forth in her bed. Tears of horror and grief dripping from her face unheeded. The dream had scared her. Because if it were precognitive, Marco would first become her lover, then die trying to save her. Like Callista, she was condemned to be the cause of her soul mate's demise.

Chapter Seventeen Three days later--Asheville, North Carolina. Andrei Romanoff leaned against the rental car counter in the Asheville Airport. It had taken him three days to make arrangements to cover his store, round up transportation to North Carolina and contact the Mafiya to provide backup. Patience not being one of his virtues, Andrei would drive to Ben Lomond today. His reinforcements planned to meet him tomorrow at the small bed and breakfast he'd arranged to take over. He wanted--no, needed--to see and talk to Lisa, to confirm she was where the filthy Latino dog had said she was. This need for her mystified him. He'd never desired to own any woman body and soul before. Maybe it was because Lisa was unique--like a perfect gemstone. All he knew was he coveted her--would do anything to possess her. Even go up against the likes of Norda. She was his--he'd seen her first. Besides verifying with his own eyes that Lisa was indeed in Ben Lomond, he needed to case the meeting site in order to position his men effectively. Norda might think Andrei was stupid enough to get on the plane, but he'd never had any intention to board or take Lisa anywhere near the drug lord. He'd heard the avarice in the man's voice. He knew by reputation what kind of sicko creep the drug lord was. Norda not only wanted what Lisa owned, but he also wanted Lisa. And he would kill anyone to get her. Andrei understood the man's thought processes...they were two of a kind. *** Ben Lomond. Lisa smiled at Travis Dodge as they shared a table in the deli. For the first time in days, she felt she could let her mental guard down. After the dreams she'd had, she'd tried both to avoid Marco and keep her thoughts from him when he was around. It had been a strain, and as a result, her head ached from the effort. Without the stringent control on her behalf, Marco would have read her like a book. She couldn't let him catch the odd erotic images in her mind, remnants of her dream of the cave. Even more, she was afraid he would see his death. The diary had been no help in interpreting, what had to be, a precognitive dream. She'd read the journal

from the beginning to the end and back again. The story never changed. Callista had failed her soul mate, and Lisa was very much afraid she was also destined to fail Marco. All Lisa could do was attempt to change fate. And to do that, she could not become Marco's lover. Of course, she couldn't tell Marco any of this. So he was furious with her. When she did see him, they ended up fighting, with one of them, usually him, storming out of the room. All in all, it had been a rough few days. Lunch with Travis was like a picnic. "Uh oh, looks like trouble." Travis stared at a spot behind her. "What's with you and Marco? I got the impression you two were soon to be an item." "He's here?" she squeaked. Damn these mental blocks. They were so efficient at keeping Marco out of her head that she couldn't even tell when he was around. Marco stalked toward their table, an ugly glower on his face. She turned her attention back to Travis and whispered, "Nothing's wrong. I'm just not sure I'm right for him. Plus, it's dangerous to be around me right now--with the cartel and all." Liar. Couldn't you come up with a better excuse than that? Travis choked on the coffee he drank. "Danger? I think the cartel has more to worry about from Marco and you with that mumbo-jumbo stuff than the other way around. So tell me, what's really going on in that beautiful head of yours?" "I can't." She pleaded for understanding with her eyes. "Besides, you wouldn't believe me anyway." "Yes, I would. Tell me later," Dodge whispered out of the side of his mouth as he stood up to head off the angry Marco. "You looking to kill someone, Marco?" Travis joked. "You seem a tad bit testy." Marco looked at her, then at Travis. "I am testy, Dodge, but it's not really any of your business. I need to speak to Lisa...alone." She shivered at the cold angry stare Marco gave Travis. "Well, I guess that's up to Lisa, whether she wants to speak with you or not." Travis looked down at her. "You want me to stay or leave?" "Stay, please." She couldn't meet either of the men's eyes. Her head throbbed anew from the effort to keep Marco out of her mind. What little food she'd managed to eat curdled in her stomach. She felt weak...tired...scared. She didn't know what to do, and Marco glaring at her didn't help any. "Lisa," Marco growled, "I really need to speak with you. We can do it now, here in town, or we can do it later, at your place. But we will speak." What little warmth left in her body vanished at the latent threat in his voice. Flashes of white and red dots colored her field of vision. The aftermath of her dreams and the strain of keeping Marco out of her mind had taken its toll. She stopped fighting the faintness threatening to overtake her and slid limply to the floor of the restaurant. "Good going, Santiago!" Travis roared as he bent over to pick up Lisa. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but it's obvious that Lisa doesn't want to speak with you...so scram."

"Stay away from her," snapped Marco as he moved to take Lisa from Travis. "She's mine." "Not right now she's not." Travis called to one of his deputies who'd been watching the scene. "Harry! Get over here and be ready to arrest this man if he tries to stop me. I'm taking Lisa to the doc's office." "Dodge!" Marco's cry hovered between anger and anguish. Taking pity on him, Dodge said, "I'll call your office and let you know how she is." Marco's face grew stony. Dodge was afraid Harry might finally get to use the new handcuffs the department had just issued. Finally, Marco nodded. All his anger and resentment capsulized in the brusque movement. Before Marco turned to leave, he reached out a finger and gently swept a lock of Lisa's hair out of her eyes. Then he left without looking back. Repressed anger in every line of his body and thudding steps. It was then that Dodge realized how much Marco loved Lisa. He let out the breath he'd been holding. That had been too close. If Lisa's condition had not concerned Marco, the DEA agent would have let loose his jealous anger at him and his deputy. "Harry, catch my six, just in case he decides to circle back." Just to be safe. He wouldn't put it past Marco to be lurking outside to take Lisa away from him. "Gotcha, Sheriff," Harry said. "Is the lady going to be okay?" "I don't know, Harry," he stated as he swept from the room with her in his arms. "I just don't know." *** Andrei cursed the road map, the engineers who'd designed the mountain parkway and every local he'd met on the trip from Asheville to the outskirts of Hale, North Carolina. Somewhere he'd taken a wrong turn, and now he was on the other side of the mountain from where he should be. It'd take at least another hour or two to reach Ben Lomond. After he found Lisa, he would take her back to New York and civilization and make doubly sure not to lose her again. Traveling the United States by car was not his idea of fun. *** Travis paced the minuscule waiting room of the walk-in clinic run by an Asheville hospital. The doctor had evicted him once he'd deposited Lisa on a bed. Checking his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, he noted it had been an hour since he'd carried Lisa into the clinic. What in the hell was going on in there? "Dodge?" He turned, then cracked a relieved smile at Saul. No Marco, instead he'd sent a spy. Guess he was lucky the angry DEA agent hadn't come over in person. "Hey, Saul. Marco couldn't stand it and sent you, huh?" At Saul's grim nod, Travis chuckled. "How's he holding up?"

"Well, if I were a keg of nails, I'd be empty," quipped Saul. "How is she?" "Don't know anymore than what I told Marco when I called him right after I got here." He rubbed his face with his hands. "She was awfully white and barely breathing when I brought her in. If I didn't know better, I'd say Marco scared her near to death." "Hell." Saul expelled a gusty breath. "Marco is over there beating himself up emotionally. Told me as soon as he entered the restaurant he felt her slam a door in her head. He's sure that she's hiding something from him, maybe something she'd found in her great-grandmother's diary or her uncle's papers." "But why would she hide it?" He frowned. "I mean, finding the treasure and protecting it from the cartel was what she agreed to do, right?" "Yeah," Saul said. "Several days ago. But since then, she's clammed up and started avoiding us. Something happened. But what?" He was about to add to Saul's speculations when the door to the examining rooms opened and the doctor came out. "Sheriff?" The doctor threw a wary look at Saul. "You aren't Marco, are you?" "No sir," Saul answered. "That's good. Miss MacDougall said she wanted to see the sheriff. No one else. She was worried that this Marco would try to see her. In fact she got very agitated and lost consciousness again at the thought." The doctor turned to Travis. "I suggest you do whatever is necessary to keep Marco away from her until she recovers her strength." "What's wrong with her?" Saul asked. The doctor hesitated, then sighed. "I'm not sure. She's a very healthy young woman. No heart problems. Her only complaints are headaches and some nausea. We took a CT scan of her brain and found nothing obviously wrong...If I had to guess, I would say Miss MacDougall is under a lot of emotional stress, and this is her body's way of dealing with it." "Thanks, Doc. I'll be in to see Lisa in a few minutes." The doctor nodded and left. He turned to Saul. "Tell Marco I'll update him as soon as I can. Lisa wanted to tell me something before he barged in and upset her at lunch. Maybe it will help clear up what's going on." "I'll tell him, Travis. Uh..." Saul hesitated, turning his eyes to the floor before continuing, "I'd watch out for Marco, if I were you. He thinks you're trying to poach on his preserves." He swore under his breath. "Tell Marco he's full of shit. Lisa loves him. My take from what little she let go at lunch is she's worried about Marco facing the cartel and getting hurt on account of her." "That's crazy!" Saul yelled. "Marco is more than a match for Norda and his bunch. Damn, women get silly ideas sometimes." "You got that right," he said. "Now, go on. Git! Tell Marco she's going to be okay and I hope to have some information for him soon."

*** Lisa pleated the crisp white sheet for the hundredth time. What was she going to tell Travis? What was Marco thinking? Doing? She opened her mind up a crack. She'd had a lot of practice over the last several days and had gotten the hang of controlling the telepathic transmissions, both in and out. His thoughts were still there, hovering, waiting. But not as emphatic as before. When Marco was angry with her, his thoughts pounded on her psychic gate. In reaction, she closed the gates to her mind even tighter. That resulted in the debilitating headaches, which in turn made her nauseous. Hopefully, as she learned more about this ability she had, she could learn to close off the communications both ways without enervating side effects. But since she was in the early stages of a steep learning curve, she'd make do with what worked. The door to the room opened. She held her breath, letting it out on a sigh when she saw Travis. Smiling weakly, she said, "Hi." "Hi, yourself. You scared Santiago and me silly when you just keeled over like that." "I know. I'm sorry...it's just been too much all at once." She gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat. I think I need help, and I can't talk to Marco. He'd tell me I was worrying about nothing. He has no fear, that man." Travis sat in the chair and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. "I'd say he was afraid right now. Afraid he's losing you before he's ever had you." "No, it's not that...Uh, I care for him, more than I'd ever expected." She looked away. "But something's happened, and I'm afraid..." "Afraid of what?" Travis reached out and covered one of her hands lying limply on the covers. "Tell me, maybe I can help." Still not looking at Travis, she moved her hand so she could grip his. After another shuddering sigh, she said, "I had this dream. A prophetic dream about the treasure, about Marco and me, and..." Travis squeezed her hand in encouragement, but remained silent. "And about Marco's death." She turned her face back toward Travis. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She gripped his hand even tighter and cried out, "He's going to die protecting me. I can't let that happen. He has to stay away from me. Away from the treasure. Tell him for me, please. I can't see him again." Letting go of the sheriff's hand, she lay back weakly against the pillows. "I just can't." "Damn. Lisa, honey, it was a dream." Travis's eyes were warm with sympathy, his whole demeanor one of caring. Why couldn't she have fallen in love with a man like Travis Dodge? Safe. Solid. And non-magical. Sometimes life just wasn't fair. "It was real. I know it will happen unless I prevent it somehow." She clenched her teeth, cutting off a sob. "Staying away from Marco is the only way I know to stop it." Travis reached out, took her hands once again in a gentle grip. "I'll tell Marco. But I can't make any promises about him not storming after you."

Pulling her hands away, she turned to stare at the wall of the small room. "Tell him if he does, I'll leave Ben Lomond and hide away where he can never find me. Tell him it would be better for him to leave, and...," her voice broke on a sob, "...tell him to forget he ever met me." "Lisa..." Whatever Dodge was saying fell on deaf ears. She shut him out. She'd said what she had to say and now she wanted to grieve. She didn't even notice when he left the room.

Chapter Eighteen Later that afternoon. Ignoring the doctor's orders, Lisa walked back to her shop from the clinic. She had work to do and felt it would be better to have people around her. By now, Travis had probably reported back to Marco. Knowing Marco, he would try to corner her. She'd rather he did it at the shop than at her house. And she really had meant what she'd told Travis--if Marco didn't leave her alone, she would run again. Great-granddaughter, there are times I'm not sure you are of my blood. Trust the man. You aren't me. Marco is not my Ira. "Get out of my head, Callista," she mumbled. Not until you find the treasure! "Damn!" she said, scaring a mother and two small children approaching her on the sidewalk. She smiled in an attempt to reassure them that she wasn't dangerous and said, "Stubbed my toe." The mother nodded, looking less wary as she passed her. Great, now her great-grandmother had her scaring innocent bystanders. She entered her shop. Mandy looked up from the counter she cleaned and smiled. "Miss MacDougall, you have company." She sighed. Marco. He was here. Mandy ignored her preoccupation and had kept on talking. The words "I didn't know you were engaged" grabbed her attention. "Engaged?" she asked. "Whatever gave you that idea?" Mandy crinkled her forehead. "Why, your fiancé--he's in your office." Marco! How dare he tell Mandy an out-and-out lie? Cleansing anger had her storming around the counter. When she saw who sat at her workbench, calmly examining her work, she screamed in mingled frustration and alarm. "Andrei!" Andrei turned at her voice. "Lisa, my dear," he purred. "What exquisite pieces! They'll sell well in the New York shop."

His smile turned her stomach. She felt faint and reached out to find something solid to keep her from falling. "Why are you here?" she asked. "Better yet, how did you find me?" Andrei stood up, then sauntered toward her. She backed away, using the wall to guide her back toward the doorway. She moved cautiously, keeping him in sight at all times. If she moved too fast, he'd attack--just as he had that last time in New York. And she didn't have a handy blowtorch in the vicinity to save her this time. "Why, Lisa? The why is easy--you belong to me," Andrei murmured. "The how? Well, let's just say I have connections and leave it at that." His words of possession, the crazed look in his eyes and the ominous tone he placed on the word connections pushed her over the shaky precipice upon which she'd balanced during the last several, sleep-deprived days. Flight was no longer uppermost in her mind. Now she wanted to fight, even if only with words. She stopped retreating and lashed out. "You crazy bastard! Can't you take a hint? I don't want you. I'll never be yours." "No," snarled Andrei. "You're mine. Running from me is no good. I'll track you down and bring you back each and every time." Then, he lunged. He grabbed her by the arms, pulling her away from the doorway and escape. Holding her against his arousal, he swooped in to take possession of her lips. Outraged, she found the strength to jerk free. Before he could grab her again, she slapped him hard enough to surprise him into backing up a couple of steps. "Get out of here before I call the sheriff." Her breaths came in harsh gasps, her chest heaving. A dark rage suffused his face. His anger was so strong that its dark energy pummeled her conscious mind, threatening to overwhelm her already exhausted psyche. Oh my God! She'd pushed him too far. Her temporary courage failed as the adrenaline rush receded. She attempted to turn and run. Her fear-weakened legs failed her; she wasn't going to make it. "Mandy! Call the sheriff!" She didn't get far. Andrei grabbed her hair and used it to pull her back against his body once more. His hardened penis ground against her rear. As he dragged her toward the desk, he rasped, "I'll enjoy the breaking of you, my dear. There can only be one dominant in a relationship." Oh my God, he would rape her right here in her own office. He didn't even care that Mandy was even now calling for help. It wouldn't come in time. She fought her fear and heightened nausea. Forcing herself to concentrate, she found a calm well of strength deep within. She couldn't get sick, mustn't give in to panic. She had to stay in control. Then, she managed to wiggle an elbow free. Mustering all the physical strength she could, she jabbed the elbow into Andrei's solar plexus while simultaneously stomping her heel on the top of his foot.

His howl, a mixture of pain and anger, was gratifying. Better yet, her maneuver worked--he let her go. But only for a moment. "You bitch!" He followed his words by grabbing her once again and swinging her around to face him. With his free hand, he slapped her, the force of the attack pushing her into the wall behind her. She struggled to stay upright and not to give in to the urge to throw up. She wasn't sure she could continue to fight this maniac. As he pulled her back toward the desk and her impending rape, she felt a familiar pounding on her internal blocks. Marco! She let the mental walls slip away. Marco would sense her fear and come to her rescue. *** After Lisa had crossed the street to her shop, Marco decided to give her a few minutes to get things situated with Mandy. But no more than that. After Dodge had told him about her threat to run and hide from him, he'd barely restrained himself from storming back over to the clinic and accosting her there. He couldn't--wouldn't--allow her to do that. His mood since the conversation with Dodge had oscillated between anger and admiration, anger that Lisa would be so stupid to think he was afraid of the cartel and admiration that she was courageous enough to try to protect him. Silly woman. Like he would allow her to leave him. If they were going to face down the cartel, they would do it together. Whatever happened, they were meant to be together. His gut told him so, and his gut was never wrong. Ignoring Saul's knowing smirk, he left the office and headed for Lisa's shop. Knowing it was probably useless, he sent out a psychic search anyway. Nothing. The foolish woman was still blocking him, probably causing her a headache to boot. Well, okay, so she had a right to her private thoughts, but this was getting ridiculous. Like he would intrude on her innermost thoughts! He wasn't a psychic vampire. He just wanted to reach out and touch her mind briefly every once in awhile, just to make sure she was okay. In the short time they'd found one another, he'd gotten used to their psi connection, and he missed it, the knowing that she was only a short thought away. He glanced through Lisa's store window. Good, no customers. God knew that Lisa would hate him confronting her in front of clients. A motion caught his attention. What was this? Lisa's shop girl ran for the door, her eyes wild with fright, her mouth opened in a silent shout. Robbery? Was someone robbing the store? Lisa! His mind screamed her name, beating on her mental walls. He hit the door just as Mandy tried to push out of it. Her eyes were wild, and unintelligible sounds came from her mouth. He grabbed her, shook her to get her attention. "What's happening? Where's Lisa?" "He's hitting her!" Mandy cried out gasping for breath. "I heard. She screamed." At Mandy's words, his psi connection zeroed in on Lisa's fear, suddenly unblocked and palpable. A real world scream of terror was followed by a loud thud, the sound of something heavy hitting something hard. He saw the wall as she hit it--Lisa was the thud.

With a savage growl, he leapt the counter. Like a live video feed, he saw what went on in the back office. Lisa's blocks were completely gone now. Her fear, her pain were his. His enraged roar thundered throughout the shop, and later he would learn, even out into the town square. Someone was hurting his woman! Someone was due to get very dead, very soon. *** Lisa felt the moment Marco entered her mind. His psychic nearness filled her with a sense of calm and renewed strength. Just the knowledge he was mere steps away helped clear her mind. And, now that her overwhelming fear of Andrei had fizzled away with Marco's presence, she realized that all along she had the power to deal with the Russian scumbag whose foul body covered hers. Seeking the force within her, she hurriedly built it to a peak. Then mentally, she directed it through her pendant. The power surged forth just as Marco rushed into the room. The air in the room stormed with the force of the green-yellow stream of pure power. It hit Andrei on his chest, throwing him off her and forcing him across the room into a credenza. Amid the shower of papers and objects disturbed by the ensuing burst of cyclonic winds, he slid to the floor, stunned and groaning. The airborne debris surrendering to the now calm air and forces of gravity were strewn on and around him. "Lisa?" Marco's rough voice stroked her soul as his hand reached out to do the same to her hair. "Are you hurt, mi corazone?" "I'm okay." She attempted a smile, then grimaced as she realized her jaw hurt. Marco reached down and lifted her chin with a gentle finger. "He hit you?" Marco kissed Lisa's lips lightly, then used them to caress her sore jaw. After his gentle attempts to lessen her pain, he turned to glare at the still-stunned Andrei. "What else did he do before you released your blocks and let me in?" Marco's ability to read her must extend to memories, or else she'd mentally replayed the whole horrid scene. His next words were snarled in a menacing tone, "He's a dead man." "The bitch asked for it." Andrei moaned from his position on the floor as he shoved some of the detritus off his body. "She led me on back in New York. She's a cock tease. I see she's got you fooled, too. She's mine, you know. She'll leave you and come back to me. She always does." "You liar!" Lisa's gasp of outrage turned into a shout as Marco left her side and stormed toward Andrei. "Marco! No!" Wrapping his hands around the Russian's throat, Marco picked up the dazed Andrei and clean-jerked him up off the ground. "He's not worth it," she cried as she tried to pull Marco's hands away from the gasping man's neck. "He hit you...so he deserves to see what it feels like." Marco set the purple-faced Andrei down, holding him strongly with one hand, then cocked his other arm and let it fly. His fist met Andrei's face in a loud thwack.

"And he called you names, so he deserves it in spades." He hit the Russian several more times like a boxer going at a punching bag, then let go. Andrei slipped back to the floor to settle bonelessly once more among the litter. "Got that out of your system, Santiago?" Travis asked. She turned. The sheriff leaned against the doorjamb with arms folded across his chest. "Yeah," Marco answered. "It felt good, too. You gonna do something about it?" "Nah," Travis said as he unfolded his arms, then pulled handcuffs from his belt. "You just saved me the necessity of taking off my badge so I could do it." Marco grinned. "Glad I could be of some assistance. We wouldn't want you getting accused of violence toward your prisoners, now would we?" She looked back and forth between the two men who grinned like fools. Shaking her head, she mumbled, "Stupid, macho men." Crossing her arms, she stepped between the two and said, "Don't arrest him on my account. I'm not pressing charges." "What?" they yelled. She resisted the urge to laugh at their stupefied expressions; she didn't think they'd appreciate it. Marco pulled her toward him. Holding her less than an arm's length away, he shook her gently. "What do you mean you're not going to press charges? He fucking hit you. Terrorized you." His voice increased in volume with his rage and fear at her treatment. "He goddamn had you flat on that desk and would have brutally raped you." Breathing harshly, he paused, then lowered his voice. "You screamed for God's sake. He hurt you. Don't deny it--I felt it." Fear colored Marco's last words. Her emotions still on a roller coaster ride from the terrifying scene, she started to cry. She hoped her fragile emotions and the resulting tears would distract him and wouldn't allow him to read her. Because God knew she didn't have the energy to block him right now. And God knew, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and let him protect and love her forever. But they wouldn't have forever if her dreams were accurate--and she had to protect him from that fate. If he read her fear for him, saw what she'd seen, she'd never be able to keep him away. And she still wasn't sure who the man was who was fated to kill Marco. It could even be Andrei. "I just want him out of town. Away from here." She sniffed and wiped the tears off her cheeks with shaky hands. "Please?" The weepy "please" must have done it, because both Marco, now cuddling her against his warm body, and Travis, promised her anything if she would just stop crying. The fact was she couldn't stop crying. The toll of the last few days--her worry about Marco and trying to keep him at arm's length added to Andrei's appearance and manhandling of her-- had been too much. She felt she deserved to cry, and goddammit, she would. Sobbing quietly against Marco's chest, she listened as Travis and his deputy ordered Andrei to his feet. Soon only she and Marco were in the office. She wasn't sure how it happened or when, but now she was

on Marco's lap as he sat in her desk chair. For a few moments she just enjoyed his murmured endearments and the gentle rocking motion he used to calm her. These moments might have to last her a lifetime unless she could stop fate. Calmer, she pushed away from his chest, then looked her champion in the eyes. "I love you." Marco smiled at her, brushing some hair off her face. "I know." "Oh." Lisa sniffled once more. "Am I not to have any secrets?" "I can't read you as easily as you seem to think." His face was serious. "It doesn't seem that way to me," she huffed. "Well, trust me," he ordered in a tender, but stern voice. Quickly changing the subject, he asked, "That bastard was your former boss? The one who stalked you?" She nodded, then placed her head back on his shoulder, not wanting to look at him if he asked her whether the horrible things Andrei had said, accused her of, were true. "Okay. Well, he learned his lesson." Marco's voice held a hint of smugness. "Between your little trick with the pendant and my bruising his jaw, he won't be back. Next time, don't wait so long to blast away at someone hurting you." Well, so much for worrying about what he thought about Andrei's damning lies. She snorted. "I forgot I could. Okay?" Marco's lips touched the top of her head. "Okay. I keep forgetting you're just getting used to your abilities." He picked up her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers, taking a nip off the last one he touched. "Now what's this about you running from me to protect me? What kind of foolish thoughts has your active brain been creating? I'm..." She turned her face up to his and touched his lips with her fingers, effectively stopping the scolding he so wanted to give her. "Aren't you even curious about what Andrei told you?" "Nope." She couldn't believe that. "You don't think I led him on or something?" "God, no. Why would you think that?" She tried to look away once more, but he framed her face with his hands. Still trying to hide, she looked at him through her lashes. "Men in my experience think that way." "Well, then, you've met the wrong men in your life, chica. This one knows and trusts you." Marco kissed her, then tucked her head back on his shoulder. "Now stop avoiding the real issue here." "What issue?" she yelped when Marco pinched the side of her thigh gently. "Oh, that issue. Travis told you about my dreams, I take it?" She felt the rumbled "yes" more than heard it. "Well, I was afraid. Great-grandmother Callista caused the death of her Ira. I see no way around it. If you stay with me...and, uh, love me...then you'll die."

"Did it ever occur to you that you aren't your great-grandmother, and I'm not like Ira?" She mumbled. "What did you say?" Marco asked, lifting her face to him. "I said that's what Callista keeps harping on." "Well, then, I guess she would know." She nodded and sighed. "I guess so. It's just..." "Just what, chica?" Marco urged gently. It had all come out in spite of her resolve to protect Marco from the truth, her truth. Maybe this is how fate meant it to be played out, but just in case, she'd slide her blocks back into place. Even though Marco knew what she feared, he still didn't know the why and the how. Her gut told her to keep that from him. She'd stay alert. And when the circumstances in her dream appeared, she would do everything, including running away, to protect Marco whether he liked it or not. Finally, she replied to Marco's question. "It's just that I don't know what I would do, how I could live with myself if something happened to you because of me." "Well, considering the fact that I don't intend on letting anything bad happen to either of us, you don't have to worry about it." His smug assertion rankled. For the second time that day, she exclaimed under her breath, "Stupid, macho men!" *** The bleeding from his nose had finally stopped. Andrei examined the bruise on his jaw in the mirror of the motel bathroom. The Latino bastard had practically broken it. Swearing revenge under his breath, he cautiously looked in the mirror to see if the deputy standing in the next room had heard him. The big, dumb good ole boy still stood, guarding the only way out. He now knew what the quaint American phrase "run out of town on a rail" meant, because the sheriff had told him to pack up and leave town--pronto. The deputy was here to make sure he left. He'd also been warned that if he ever showed his face in the county again, the sheriff would be pleased to provide him accommodations in the county jail. Damn Lisa. She had been nothing but trouble since she'd left New York...but he still wanted her--more than ever. Maybe it was because he didn't have her, or the thought that the Latino would have her, that made him desire her more. An image of Lisa, naked and moaning as the wetback made love to her, enraged him. Lisa was a perfectly faceted gem, far too good for the likes of that swarthy-skinned bastard. Andrei hungered for her, and he would have her. Given the opportunity, he could teach her to love, or at the very least, desire him. She'd never given him the time to show her how well he would treat her. He grimaced at the memory of his previous treatment of her. Okay, so maybe she'd reason to fear him. But he would change, could change, with her love. Plus, she needed his protection now--Norda was a dangerous man. Lisa had something the drug lord

wanted. If he read the bastard correctly, he would kill anyone who got in his way of getting it. Her Latino lover couldn't protect her--only he and his men could. Maybe then she would learn to love him. Women always loved heroes.

Chapter Nineteen "Marco!" Marco and Lisa sprang apart. Saul's voice came from the front of the store. She was miffed. She'd exposed all her fears, declared her love, but had received nothing in return. Great granddaughter, you are an idiot. His actions show his love. Okay, fine. But she needed to hear the words. With Saul's arrival, the moment was lost. Then create other such moments. You're the one who's been avoiding him. You modern women are a bit slow on how to woo a man. I'll do this my way. I need the words. You have a lot to learn about men. Even in my day, men showed and didn't tell. Get out of my head, Callista. "Lisa, I'm so sorry." Lisa shook the remnants of her great-grandmother's voice from her mind and turned her attention back to the two men in her office. "Sorry about what, Saul?" She couldn't imagine he was sorry about Andrei getting his clock cleaned by Marco. Had Andrei escaped? She voiced her question again, this time more sharply. "Is there something wrong?" "You weren't listening, were you?" Marco accused like she should be hanging on his and Saul's every word. "The autopsy came back on your Uncle Lon," explained Saul. "It was confirmed--he was murdered." "Murdered?" Although she'd expected this result, her knees suddenly grew weak. She fumbled for something to brace herself with. She found Marco. Turning into his strong and comforting embrace, she struggled to form her next question and managed to get out only one word, a strangled, "How?" "Chica, is the how really necessary?" Marco murmured. She felt more than concern in his question. She sensed the love he had for her, but hadn't verbalized. It was there in the strength surrounding her, protecting her from the harsh reality of her uncle's demise. Still, she needed to hear the details of how the last of her father's family had met his end. "Yes, please," she paused, then with more intensity added, "I need to know."

Whether it was the force of her verbalization, or his ability to sense her feelings, Marco nodded to Saul. "Tell her." "The pathologist found a puncture wound in your uncle's neck. His thinking was some sort of dart. The gas chromatography performed on the body tissue and blood samples found traces of a fast-acting neural poison." Saul hesitated. "They're trying to narrow it down, but suspect it might be related to some of the more exotic poisons used in South America." As if gauging her ability to handle more details, Saul scanned her face, before adding, "He may have felt the prick, had a moment of realization...but the doctor assured me death would have come quickly after that." "He knew," she stated flatly. "His letter indicated he knew they were coming after him. He prepared for them." Yes, Lon knew...and he met death head on. Be proud of him. "Lisa?" Marco's question held a tinge of concern. "Is it your great-grandmother again?" She turned shocked eyes to Marco's. "You hear her, too?" "Not clearly when she's talking to you...it's more like a shadow of a voice in your mind, a different tone than your thoughts." She nodded. "Callista told me Lon met death bravely. He chose his time." She pushed out of Marco's protective arms, then turned to face him. Reaching for his hands, she took them in a punishing grip. "We've got to get them, Marco. Lon died defending the family's heritage. It's now my job. Will you help me avenge him...and protect the treasure?" "Need you ask?" he scolded. "I'm here. Saul's here. We'll protect you and whatever in the hell this secret hoard is. We'll bring your uncle's murderers to justice. I know something about the need for vengeance." "Thank you." Her eyes filled with tears at the sound of desolation in Marco's voice. Yes, he would know. His twenty-year search for vengeance was still to be satisfied. "I hate to bring this up," Saul interjected, breaking the silence, "but wouldn't it be easier to protect the treasure if we knew what and where it was?" "Have you gotten the geological surveys yet?" Marco asked. "What geological surveys?" she asked. "After we found those mineral assays, Saul thought about checking with the State of North Carolina," Marco explained. "He hit pay dirt. Seems the state surveyed this area from A to Z for a potential site for a new parkway. They ruled it out as geologically unsound because of the numerous caves in the area. They're supposed to be sending us copies of the survey maps." Saul nodded. "Yep. I called this morning. They've been bogged down, but someone will be faxing them later this afternoon. The University of North Carolina geology department emailed me some history of the area. They confirmed a big emerald find in this general vicinity, back in the late 1800s." "So, Callista's diary is right and the treasure is an emerald mine," she whispered. "It would make sense. A new find of the quality of the emerald you're wearing would cause MinGemCo hissy fits. I can't see Norda taking something like that lying down," Saul said.

Marco nodded, a grim cast to his face. "Okay. This is what we're going to do. Lisa, you're going to let Mandy handle the store. I want you to go home and stay in your cabin until we're sure Andrei is out of town." His stern face forestalled her knee-jerk reaction to assert her independence. "I want you to pull out all your Uncle Lon's papers, and the diary. Saul and I will come by later with the surveys, and we'll all look at the stuff again and again until we figure out where the hell it's hidden." "Fine." Lisa knew her uncle's papers showed nothing. The poem in Callista's diary and her dreams were the real clues to where the cave was located. Everything Saul and Marco had discovered just corroborated what, in her gut, she'd known all along--her Uncle Lon had died protecting a fabulous discovery of emeralds, and, if her dreams were batting a thousand, Marco would die protecting her because of the treasure. *** Several hours later. Andrei's men rendezvoused with him at the bed and breakfast in a small town near Ben Lomond. As he told his Mafiya soldiers what he wanted them to do, his confidence, sorely bruised by the Latino pig, returned. No one would keep him from Lisa. No one. *** Sitting in the middle of a circle of cedar-laced, white beeswax candles and amethyst geodes, Lisa fingered her necklace. Choosing--no, needing--to view her dream's warning as an opportunity to alter her life's path, she opened her mind to the power of the potentialities touching upon her future. Picking the wrong path now could lead to the horrific end depicted in her nightmares. As the scent of the cedar candles reached her nose, the reality of her surroundings gave way to ethereal rooms in her mind. All the worldly cares that had gnawed at her for days melted away as she went from room to room. Using the amethysts' prophetic energies enhanced by her emerald amulet, she sought to hone her innate powers. For the first time since she'd realized the extent of her lithomancy, she felt totally in control. The primal urge to protect the man she loved had given her the courage to embrace her power, not fear it. Somehow she would save Marco--or die trying. There had to be something in her visions that could help her. The real world soon set off at a distance...she found herself in the cave once more. The ever-present green glow shimmered off the walls, backlit by some unknown light source. Sniffing the air, she smelled and then heard the water of the falls guarding the magical entrance to the cave. Turning toward the sound of the water, she traced her steps. She had to find out exactly where on her land the falls were located. On the earthly plane, she'd seen three areas where the water only trickled over the mountainside due to the lack of rain. Yet in her dreams and in this trance, the falls gushed full bore. The phantasmic water had to come from somewhere. The nearly dry creeks of her reality would not aid her, but the very real, immutable landmarks approaching the cave's location would.

Without hesitation, she walked through the solid rock wall and found herself outside the cave and behind the magical, flowing waters. Treading gingerly on the slippery shelf of rock behind the waterfall, she followed the way out and then down. After leaving the pathway, she turned in a complete circle to pinpoint landmarks--an outcropping here, a sheer wall of sedimentary rock there, and finally the valley below. The shrill cry of a heron drew her attention to a rock configuration seemingly suspended above the entrance to the path leading behind the waterfall. The rock formation was in the shape of a giant swooping bird, one wing dipped, pointing to the hidden beginnings of the trail... A motion. A sound. Saul and Marco appeared on the rise. Marco raised his arm in greeting. Motioning to them to hurry, she turned back toward the path and began the ascent to go behind the curtain of water when... "Lisa!" Marco's urgent cries shattered the unearthly world of her trance-state. Back in the real world once more, she opened her eyes. Marco's frightened gaze met hers. His hands gripped her shoulders as he shook her with each cry of her name. Behind him, Saul bent over with a wet cloth in one hand; his eyes also reflected fear--for her. "Lisa. Speak to me!" Marco's voice broke on his last words. Swallowing audibly, he said, "Where were you? I couldn't reach you; you were so far away. We've been here twenty minutes. You were barely breathing...so cold...and so pale." His trembling and fear resonated throughout her body. "Dammit, woman. Even your great-grandmother couldn't reach you. She yelled at me to bring you back. Something about you going too far..." Smiling weakly, she hurried to reassure. "Don't worry, she yells at me all the time." Her small attempt at humor didn't erase the gray fear from Marco's face. "I'm sorry. I was looking for some signs of how to find the cavern with the emeralds. The diary had some clues, but they weren't exact, too many areas of the mountain met the general descriptions. So, I went into a deep trance--the method was in Callista's diary--I was just about to go back into the cave to look into the future once more, to see if there were a way to stop you from..." Her voice trailed off as the smile left her face. "Stop me from what?" Marco urged. "Dying? I thought we'd already dealt with that. Can't you trust me to take care of myself...and you?" She sighed. "It's not that I don't trust you...it's that I don't trust me. I might do something stupid to lead you to your death. If it's my action that's the cause, then I want to know, to be able to alter fate's path." "Lisa," Marco groaned. "All you can do is trust that you and I will do the right thing at the right time. Remember, together we are stronger than alone. Dealing with your cretin of a boss should have proven that. I felt the fear leave you when we connected. That's when you thought to use your power. Right?" "Well, uh, yes," she said in a small voice.

Listen to the man, great-granddaughter. And don't scare me like that again. You went too far. Marco started to say something, then stopped. Shaking his head, he sighed. "We'll talk about this later. We need to find the emeralds first. Do you need to look at the survey maps? Or, do you think you know where the cave is now?" She knew the topic of her fears wasn't closed, but she wouldn't be stopped. She would use whatever means necessary to save Marco from fate...from her. Shifting her eyes to Saul, she went with the change of topic. "Is there somewhere on the map that shows a steep drop to the valley with a waterfall and a significant rock outcropping with an indication of caves nearby?" Saul picked up some rolls of paper from the floor near her makeshift altar. Pulling out one, he opened it on the coffee table. After a few seconds of skimming, he pointed. "Here...here... and here. Three potential places with all three of those geological formations. Will you recognize the right one when you see it?" "Yes." She nodded. Three. That agreed with her own walkover. "The outcropping over the entrance to the path which leads behind the waterfall is a distinctive shape. I'll know it when I see it." "Well, let's get started," Marco said. "We've got a lot of walking to do." *** Lisa had left the two men behind. Some inner urge and the increased heat of her pendant pushed her toward the second sight on the map. Even Marco's urgent angry calls, both within and without her head, didn't stop her from going off on her own. Climbing to a small rise, she spied the second streambed. Following its course down the mountain, she scanned the rock outcroppings for the distinctive bird-shape. She'd realized after the last trance that the crying bird being a heron held significance. The bird-shaped rock formation was in the shape of a heron. The stream died down in spots to a thin trickle, and she hoped she would recognize the rock formation even without the waterfall. In her mind, the two were inextricably linked. If only it had rained recently, then the streambed would be full enough to show her the way to the waterfall. At that moment, an unseasonably cool wind blew her hair over her eyes, forcing her to stop and push the offending locks back. That would be all she needed--to trip and fall because she couldn't see. In a matter of minutes, the formerly sunny day turned dark. Ominous sounds of thunder rumbled overhead. A storm? The weather forecast hadn't mentioned anything about rain. Glancing up at the dark clouds rolling in, she shuddered. This storm was weird, almost otherworldly. A flash of sky-to-ground lightning and a boom of thunder obliged her to look around for shelter. She searched out a copse of trees. It was the best shelter she would find this far out in the open. She hoped Marco and Saul had found a safe place. Sending Marco a quick "I'm safe" message, she ran to her only chance of refuge. Once under the thickly branched trees, the storm began to roar around her. As thunder rumbled and lightning lit up the storm cloud darkened sky, she received an image of Marco and Saul crouching under a rock overhang she'd passed while she had tracked the streambed. They were close--and they were safe.

Then the skies really opened up. Sheets of rain fell to the earth, overwhelming the ground's ability to absorb it. The excess rain drained toward the streambed. Then, as quickly as the storm had come, it left. Stepping out from under the dripping trees, she stopped and gasped. The formerly wimpy watercourse was presently a roaring torrent. Her waterfall was now assured. As she ran to follow the gushing waters, she sent thoughts flying back to Marco. "Come. Hurry. I've found it! Site number two." "Okay. I understand. Wait for us. Don't go in. Worried." "I'm fine. There is no danger here. Trust me." "I do. But wait anyway." She laughed aloud. A blue heron flying overhead and its proud cry confirmed she was on the right track. And...her emerald pendant gleamed like fire. *** "Damn that woman!" growled Marco. "I'm gonna beat that sweet butt of hers for wandering off like that." "Uh, Marco," Saul gasped, trying to keep up with his longer legged partner's all out running style, "that storm was weird. Tell me it wasn't some sort of magical thingie." Marco laughed, his laughter echoing off the surrounding rock structures. A blue heron swooped low, circling once, then twice, then led them toward the site marked number two on the survey map. "I can't," he finally answered as he started up the last rise. "Because, my friend, I'm very much afraid that's exactly what it was." The two men reached the top simultaneously. He pointed toward the raging waters of a formerly lazy little stream. "We needed a waterfall to find the cave. Whatever earth magick Lisa possesses, it conjured up the storm so she would see what she needed to see." Saul muttered something under his breath. Just barely making out the words, he looked at his friend and smiled wryly. "Yes, just like a female Prospero. She created her own tempest. Don't ask me how she did it; she just did. She probably wasn't even aware that she did it." "Jesus Christ, Marco," breathed Saul. "Do you realize that she is even more valuable to someone like Norda than the emeralds? She has the power to control the environment." Marco sobered at once. He hadn't thought of it in that way before. He'd been too busy dealing with the situation at hand to acknowledge that she had powers that could be abused by evil men like Norda and Andrei. Just like Norda had tried to use his grandmother. But he had powers, too; powers he'd hesitated using since he learned to control them. Powers that would make Saul's straight coarse hair turn white and curl. Powers that would have saved his mother and grandmother if at the time he'd only known he had them. Powers that would cause Lisa to fear him.

But to save her from Norda--he would unleash them. God save his soul. "Marco, there she is!" Saul broke into his grim thoughts. "She's waving us on! Do you think she's found it?" He sought Lisa with his mind. "Yes, she found it. Come on." *** The two men sat at her kitchen table. They were unnaturally quiet. A pile of rusty-colored and dirt-covered raw emeralds sat in a pile. They'd left a far greater number of both raw and crudely polished gems back in the secret cave. Saul wanted to get some private secure sources to check them out. She knew he didn't believe they were real. But they were. Their energy resonated across her skin like static electricity. "I still can't believe we just walked through a solid rock wall like that," mumbled Saul as he ran his hands through his finger-mussed hair for at least the twentieth time. "I thought I would shit when you followed Lisa through, Marco." "I trusted her." Marco shrugged. "She said it was an illusion, and it was." "It's like you've done that before," Saul accused. "I had." She gasped as Saul's jaw dropped open. "When?" she asked. "The night the cartel killed my mother and grandmother." Marco stared at something not of this world. "My grandmother created an illusionary wall and told me to hide behind it. Being a young boy and trusting, I did. My mother died because she could not believe in the magic my grandmother had created." He swallowed. "Grandmother's wall held even after her death. Her magic was strong, just like yours, Lisa. You may even be stronger than my grandmother." "No." She shook her head furiously. Marco's eyes focused on her. "Yes. Accept it. You caused that storm out there on the mountain." "I know, but I don't know how I did it. I only realized after the rain that my wishes might have caused it. We could have looked for days and never found the cave's path. The elements all had to be there--air, water and earth." She sighed. "My power is--dangerous. Even more than possession of the emeralds." "Saul said the same thing. You had to realize it sooner or later." Marco frowned. "I wouldn't go speaking about it, if I were you. Nor showing off in front of the wrong people." "As if I would, or even could," she huffed. "I'm not even sure how I do most of the things I do. If Callista hasn't written about it in her diary, I don't know it. And trust me, nothing was mentioned about controlling the weather." "You'll learn," soothed Marco. "But not, I fear, soon enough to protect you from evil men like Norda and..." "Andrei," she added. Marco nodded. His fear for her reflected in his eyes and the thoughts reverberating through her mind.

"And Andrei. But Norda is the one to fear the most. He's a practitioner of dark magic-- and proficient enough to try to use your power for evil. He used my grandmother in that way right before her death." "Why is this the first I heard of that little bit of information?" asked Saul, his voice harsh with anger. "I didn't figure it would help the DEA--or you as my partner--to know Norda was a dark wizard." Marco's gaze sought for understanding from his friend. Saul's lips thinned, but he nodded. "Okay. Unspoken apology accepted--but tell me everything in the future, okay? If I can accept you and Lisa, I can accept anything." She watched the two men, a puzzled look in her smoky green eyes. "But if I'm so powerful, I can save myself. I could out-magic Norda, right? I mean, good always wins over evil." "Maybe, if you could control the power, but could you kill, my Lisa? Could you kill to save yourself?" Marco whispered harshly. "I don't know." Saul's cell phone rang. Lisa jumped, startled by the harsh intrusion. "Hello, sheriff." Saul spoke into the phone. "What? When? Yeah, thanks. I'll tell him." "Tell him what?" Marco asked, turning away from her. Saul punched some numbers into the phone and hit the "send" button. "Some of Norda's men broke Herve out of jail. He didn't get too far, though. A female tourist found his mutilated body in her rental car about two blocks from the jail." She gasped. "Why did they kill him?" "He failed," Marco rasped. "Norda hates failure. You know what this means, don't you?" She shook her head. Saul did, though. "Yeah. Norda has men in the area. Lisa is in immediate danger."

Chapter Twenty Joyas Muchas Island. Manual Norda took the phone from his butler. "Report, Jorge!" "We have eliminated Herve, patrone." Norda frowned at a slight hitch in Jorge's voice. Maybe he'd overestimated Jorge's stomach for this sort of thing. Of course he'd never actually had one of his men kill their own brother before. Well, he'd wait and see. If Jorge managed to carry off this job for him, he would reward him. But he still would have to find another enforcer, since Jorge was more the administrative type. "Go on...and what about the Russian and the woman?" "The Russian is here. We've located him and his men at a small inn outside of the woman's town."

He waited while Jorge spoke to someone in the background. "Sorry, patrone. Xavier just reported in. He has a man watching the woman's house and another at her shop. The DEA agent, Marco Santiago, and his partner are with the woman now." A voice in the background interrupted the call once more. "Ah, Xavier says his man on the Russian has followed him to the woman's cabin. The Russian has taken a position in the woods." All the players were in place. Norda cursed. The bastard Marco! He would love to eliminate him, but didn't need the kind of heat the United States government would throw at his operation if he killed one of their agents. If he'd been killed during the raid, well, the costs of a fire fight in a closed space, but singling him out--no. He hadn't gotten to his current position by being stupid. "I've taken care of the arrangements for Marco and his partner. They will be decoyed. This will allow our Russian friend his chance to grab Senorita MacDougall and bring her to the meeting place," Norda said. "Shall we eliminate the Russian then?" "No, you fool! Bring them both here." He wondered if killing Herve had addled Jorge's brains. "We wish him to be blamed for her kidnapping. Besides, we may need him later --as an example to convince the woman to cooperate with us. She knows where the emeralds can be found. Plus, I want her signature on the deed. All nice and legal, just in case someone gets suspicious." "Ahh, si, senor. The Russian has already been thrown out of Ben Lomond once by the sheriff for assaulting the woman." "Good, good. A man led by his balls. There, you see, Jorge? He has fallen into our plans to be the scapegoat so easily. Just make sure you don't allow him to get away." "No, no, patrone. He and the woman will be there by tomorrow evening." "Bien. Call me when you are in the air." "Si, patrone." He disconnected. Now, for cuing the DEA decoy. With Marco and his man out of the way, it should be smooth sailing. Chortling, he placed the call. *** Ben Lomond, Lisa's cabin. Andrei slapped at a particularly persistent mosquito. He hated the great outdoors. He especially hated surveillance in the great outdoors--all the tramping around in the damp and the dirt. It reminded him too much of the time he spent in the Russian army before the Mafiya recruited him into their black market schemes. Scratching at a one of the bites, he swore once more. The cry of a small animal startled him. Probably a victim of a nocturnal predator. The hoot of an owl confirmed his suspicion. He smiled. He wasn't the only hunter out tonight. Settling back against an oak, he prepared for a long night. He wanted to grab Lisa first thing in the morning. His men were in position at the rendezvous site now. It should be simple enough for them to overpower the crew of the jet. As for the Latino bastard and his partner, he smiled, he'd let Norda worry

about them. *** Lisa moved about her kitchen, cleaning counters that to Marco's eye were spic and span. She'd been twitchy ever since Saul had left an hour ago. Was it the whole situation? Or, was it being alone with him? She'd tried to make him go with Saul, but he wasn't leaving her and told her so. If she wouldn't leave the cabin, then one of them was going to stay with her...and there had been no doubt in his mind that he would be that one. Although Saul had offered. He smiled. His friend was getting a lot of amusement out of his obvious attachment to Lisa. "Are you going to just sit there and stare at me all night?" Lisa sounded annoyed. What had he done to tick her off? "No. I thought I might take you to bed." There, he'd brought the topic out in the open. Let's see how she reacted to that. "What?" His smile widened as she shrieked and turned bright red. "I don't recall inviting you into my bed, Marco Santiago. I hardly know you." "Oh, you know me, mi corazone," he rasped. "We know each other's thoughts and desires intimately. You've dreamed of me, of us...together. It is meant to happen, querida. Why not tonight?" It would get your mind off other things. "What other things? Ooh, you did it again! Get out of my head! If you want to say something, say it...don't think it!" Lisa turned her back on Marco and stared out the window. She wanted to slap the cocksure bastard's silly smile right off his face. She loved the man, and was fairly sure he loved her, but because of the prophecy she wasn't going to jump into bed with him. That would only lead to his death. No! Until Norda and his threat were eliminated, she could not sleep with Marco. She'd protect him whether he liked it or not. "Not, querida," he whispered. "If you feel it is too soon in our relationship to have sex, fine. But don't use your dreams and fears to keep us apart. We have control over our future. Trust in our joint powers to keep us safe." "I can't." "Can't what? Sleep with me or trust in our powers?" Marco pulled her back against his warmth and wrapped his arms around her. "Both." His exasperated sigh ruffled the hair lying against her cheek.

"Okay, querida. Have it your way, for now." He kissed her ear, then took a little nip of the lobe. She felt it all the way to her loins. She shivered. God, she was tuned into this man. A simple nibble and she was hot for him. No. She would be strong. One of them had to be. "I'm tired." She pushed out of his arms. Turning to face him, she gasped at the look of love and adoration reflected in his eyes. This abstinence wasn't going to be easy if he looked at her that way. "I don't want to make it easy." He grinned cheekily. "Stop grabbing my thoughts out of thin air like that. It's...it's...well, it's not nice and an invasion of my privacy." "I'll use all the weapons at my disposal to make you mine...totally mine. All's fair in love and war, chica." "Horse feathers." She stomped toward her bedroom. "You can sleep in the guest room. Good night." Entering her room, she slammed the door, then locked it. Standing in the middle of her room, she listened for Marco's footsteps. Yes, he'd followed her. Smiling, she waited. She stifled a nervous giggle when he pounded on her door. "Lisa! Unlock this door. You've made your point." She turned and walked to the door. Unlocking it, she opened it a crack. He stood on the other side, waiting for her. Pushing the door open, he said, "Leave it open, please. Just in case you need me during the night." "I won't need you." "Well, just in case you do." He lifted her chin with a finger and placed a lingering kiss on her parted lips. "Night-night, mi corazone." *** The dream came right away. But it wasn't his dream alone. He shared it with Lisa. They were in the cave... Wake up, great grandson-in-law to be. She's gone! Rudely awakened by the ghostly shriek in his head, he sat up. Lightning lit up the room like daytime. A clap of thunder followed the light show closely. Damn, she was at it again! This was no normal rainstorm. No rain had been in the forecast for days. Running to Lisa's room, he confirmed she was gone! Where? Had someone come in while they'd been asleep and kidnapped her? Was she causing the rain to slow her abductors down? No. He would know. He didn't sense any danger. So where in the hell was she in the middle of the night? The dream, boy. It wasn't one.

Of course, she was in the cave. Good boy. With some guidance, I'll have intelligent and beautiful heirs from you both. Now, go to her. She's ready for you. You trust enough for the both of you. Sending a mental thank you to the ghostly matchmaker, he pulled on his boots, grabbed his gun and a cell phone off the dresser, then pulled a blanket off the bed. On the way to the front door, he found an old rain slicker that must have belonged to Lon. Marco would bet dollars to doughnuts, Lisa hadn't had the sense to dress warmly or for the weather she'd dredged up. Silly girl. She needed him more than she knew. After turning on the outdoor floodlights, he left the cabin. He stopped at his car and pulled a flashlight out of the glove compartment. The lightning made the night seem like day, but he might need it to follow the path into the cave. Once away from the house, his night vision and preternatural instincts kicked in. The frequent lightning, as he suspected, provided more than enough light for him to find his way along the streambed, which once again was in full flux. Lisa had unconsciously caused the storm to cover her trip from the house into the cave from any prying eyes. At least her instincts were cautious about protecting the secrets of the land. He paid only cursory attention to his surroundings, his psychic powers totally centered on reaching Lisa. As he neared the path to the cave, his amulet glowed golden red. She--or at least her amulet--was near. His amulet's aura helped in lighting the way up the rain-slicked path. Surefooted, he jogged up the trail, then walked through the wall into the cave. Yes, she was there just as he'd imagined. Sitting in the midst of the emeralds, the unworldly green glow bathing her. She was an earth goddess...his earth goddess. "Marco!" "Surprised, Lisa?" "No." She smiled, holding her hand up to him. "I knew you would come. I projected the image to you." "Why did you leave the safety of the cabin? And it had better be a damn good reason." He shoved his hands in the pockets of the hastily donned jeans to keep him from reaching out and shaking her for her stupidity. Storm or no storm, someone could have grabbed her--and he would have been too late to help. "The cave called to me. I was, well, I wasn't sure why--so I came ahead, then I knew--you were meant to be here. I'm sorry. I didn't think...just responded." Her eyes begged for his understanding. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing the fear from his body, only to have it replaced with a tension of a different sort. "You know what will happen now? You called me here," he rasped. "I'm not leaving without making you mine. Is that what you want? What about the prophetic dream? Aren't you afraid?" "I want this. It feels right despite the dream. It's meant to be. I have to believe in my power-- our power." Heartened by her trust, he crossed the short distance between them and dropped to his knees, then took her in his arms. He imbued his kisses with all the love in his heart.

As they made love, the atmosphere in the cave transformed around them. A metaphysical- driven wind stirred the musty air, cooling their moist bodies. Their combined auras burned crystalline white in the emerald strewn cave. As he joined fully with Lisa for the first time, the ground shook, the air crackled with electricity, and the smell of ozone followed the release of their orgasmic energy. Lying still in his arms, eyes closed, Lisa sighed. "Do you think the elements will storm every time we make love? I hope we haven't started forces in motion we can't control." He kissed her damp brow, her nose and each of her eyes before placing a kiss on her lips. "Don't worry about it. We'll take it as it comes." Opening her eyes, she smiled up at him, then gasped. "Look at your amulet!" He glanced down at the pendant. Instead of burning its usual golden red, it now burned golden red with a green flame in the center. "My God!" She held up her pendant, which now glowed green with a golden-red fiery core. "It's amazing. Our pendants have exchanged energy. What will that do?" "How should I know? I'm new at this myself." Marco's answer had come out more harshly then he'd intended. Nothing he'd learned about his powers over the years had prepared him for this--or for the powerful forces exchanged when they'd made love. Things he didn't understand scared him--and in turn, made him short-tempered. He shouldn't have taken it out on her. Lisa's eyes filled with tears. "Ah, querida, I'm sorry." He felt like a heel. "I didn't mean to snap at you." He kissed the tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. "I just don't know. We'll learn together. Okay?" "Uh huh." Lisa snuggled into his arms, then shivered. The cave air felt cool and damp now that all the heat generated by their lovemaking and its resultant pyrotechnics had died down. "Marco, just what are your powers...?" She yawned and her question trailed off at the end. She'd fallen asleep. He was saved from answering. He picked her up, carefully wrapping her in the blanket upon which they'd made love, then carried her back to the cabin. He hoped she would forget she'd asked. It's not that he couldn't answer--but that he didn't want to scare her. Not when he had just made her his. She'd find out soon enough, especially if he had to use those powers to keep her safe.

Chapter Twenty-one The Latino bastard carried Lisa in his arms. Roused by an unusual red glow heading toward Lisa's cabin, Andrei spied the two coming from the direction of a stream that now overflowed its bed after the recent heavy rain. Where had they sheltered during the storm?

He had scoured the mountainside earlier in the day to find his hiding spot and knew that there weren't any areas in which to take cover. Had they been going at it like minks on the rocky mountainside during the deluge? The storm, although short in duration, had been violent enough to drive him back into his rental car. He'd figured no one would venture out in high winds, lightning and a downpour. Obviously, he'd been wrong, or he'd missed a cave or something. No matter. He hoped the bastard had enjoyed himself, because he wouldn't have another chance at Lisa after tomorrow. He trailed them from a distance. Once the two were in her cabin, he settled back into his hidey-hole to wait for morning. *** Lisa was trapped. Her only choice was to turn and fight or jump to a sure death on the rocky beach below. The storm she had managed to conjure up had taxed her strength. She wasn't sure she could defeat the man who cornered her, but she would try. Calming the storm, she turned to face him. She wouldn't let him off this cliff if she could help it. She'd take him with her-- over the side and to the rocks below. "Lisa!" "Marco, no! Stay back. It's the prophecy. I'll handle it." "Lisa! Trust me." She watched in horror as Marco came up over the rain-slicked ledge. Scrambling and slipping on the treacherous wet ground, he still managed to take the man down with a low, vicious tackle. The men rolled over and over, grunting at the exchange of brutal punches. It was her nightmare all over again. How could she stop it? How could she save Marco? The struggling men rolled to the edge of the cliff. Abruptly, the fight ended. The man stood up. Marco lay still. The man retrieved the knife that had fallen during the fight and now approached... She screamed. "No! Marco!" "Shhh, querida. I'm here, little love." Marco whispered soothing words into her hair as he curled his body around her spoon fashion as if his body could shelter her from the nightmare that had awakened them both. "It's okay." "No," she sobbed. "It was the prophecy. You'll fight a man and die trying to save me. I saw it!" He heaved a sigh as his arms tightened around her. "It's just a dream. I can't tell you how or why, but I know I'll never die while protecting you. I just feel it in my gut." He lowered his voice. "I'll tell you something I've never told a soul. I knew my grandmother and mother were going to die before it happened and that I would be powerless to help them, just as I knew grandmother would save me from the cartel with her magical wall. I know that neither of us will die at any man's hands." She relaxed slightly at his reassuring words. She pulled his hand from its position at her waist, then placed it over her bare right breast. "Make love to me. Make me forget." "Ah, querida, my pleasure." He turned her onto her back and found that although they didn't create a storm inside the house as they

had in the cave, they managed to create a tempest within their bodies and minds. Afterward, Lisa, exhausted from their lovemaking, fell back to sleep. Marco lay on his back, her head on his chest, her breath caressing his still-heated skin. He'd experienced Lisa's nightmare, also. He'd seen what she saw and knew that no matter what, he would do exactly what he'd done in the dream--climb that cliff to rescue his woman. Being forewarned, he would be prepared. She would just have to continue to trust him. He wanted it all--her love and her trust.

Chapter Twenty-two Next Morning. From his vantage point on a rise overlooking the bed and breakfast, Jorge directed the raid to kill the Mafiya men located inside. Safely ensconced in an armor-plated Mercedes SUV, he watched and waited. Through the open window of the vehicle, the sounds of gunfire and men screaming in anger and pain thundered like a death chorus in the small valley. The smoke from the automatic weapons, the aroma of death, wafted on a light breeze and reached his nostrils. He was firmly in control of the situation in North Carolina. It felt good. Senor Norda would be pleased. Earlier, the men he'd placed on Andrei's tail reported the Russian had spent the night in the woods near the MacDougall woman's cabin. They would trail him and the woman when he nabbed her to the rendezvous site. He allowed a smile to escape his thinly compressed lips. Norda's plan was working smoothly. Once his group cleaned up here, he would split them up--one set of men to dispose of the bodies and the other to go to the airfield and assist in capturing Andrei and the woman. Short, sweet and simple. Maybe he did have what it took to be Norda's right-hand man, after all--just as long as he didn't have to kill another relative. *** Lisa wasn't talking to him this morning. It was like last night had never happened. Marco brooded while she moved mechanically about the small kitchen, fixing them breakfast. She'd refused his help with a negative wave of her hand. She didn't seem angry, just distracted. Had they consummated their relationship too soon? Was she regretting making love with him? Or was it just that nightmare of hers standing between them? He couldn't read her. She'd learned too quickly and too well how to block him. Damn, if this relationship was going to go anywhere, Lisa would have to learn to trust him implicitly. "Lisa, about last--" Before he could broach the thorny topics of her nightmare, their lovemaking and trust, Saul burst into the room. "Yo, buddy. We got to make tracks to Asheville." Saul paused to take a couple of deep breaths. "Got a call from Dan Stewart in Miami. Norda is sending a plane-load of his men our direction."

"A shipment?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "Maybe," Saul answered. "But if so, they are loaded for bear." "You think they are coming to Ben Lomond to help finish the job Herve botched up?" Saul nodded abruptly. "That's the thought at headquarters." "They're coming after me, right?" Lisa uttered in a strained voice. He turned, almost bumping into Lisa, who'd crept as close as she could get to him without touching. No other human on this planet could have gotten so near. That was how in tune they were--she was no threat, and his body knew it. He smiled as she glued herself to his chest. At least she trusted him enough to keep her physically safe, just not enough to take care of himself. "They won't get you, mi corazone. I promise." Placing his forehead against hers, he gently smoothed her hair behind her ears as he kissed the tip of her nose. She raised her lips to his. He didn't turn the invitation down. "Marco," Saul's urgent voice called. "Kiss later. We've got to hit the road, partner. The local DEA and the FBI are setting up a cordon around the private hangers. Dan said the boss wants us there. Only you have seen all the primary players well enough to identify them if they manage to get outside of the security perimeter and into the general population of the airport." "Okay, okay." He waved Saul out of the cabin, then turned back to Lisa. "You need to go to town, stay with Dodge until I call and give the all clear." He tipped her chin up until her eyes met his. "Understand me? I'll call the good sheriff from the road to make sure he knows you're coming and what's going on." He hesitated at the sight of fear in her eyes. He sighed. "Better yet, stay here, and I'll have him send a deputy for you." "I'll be fine. Really! I can drive myself." Lisa reached up and smoothed his beard-roughened cheek. "I'll follow you and Saul out. Just let me get my purse." "Okay, but promise me--no side trips. Go straight to town. Don't stop for anything or anyone. Understand?" He pulled her into his body once more and hugged her close. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered harshly, "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you." "I'll be fine." The blaring sound of a horn startled them apart. She laughed nervously. "Sounds like Saul is ready. Let's go before he wakes the mountain's spirits." He led the way to the door, where he waited while Lisa retrieved her purse, then locked up. From the porch, he scanned the area surrounding the cabin; he sensed nothing, saw no one. Touching his amulet, he concentrated. If there were danger out there, it wasn't imminent. Satisfied for the moment, he ushered Lisa, who'd remained still and silent at his side while he communed with the elements, to her car. Leaning down, he kissed her one more time before pushing her lock mechanism and closing her into her car. "Don't leave Travis's side until I come to get you. Understand?" "I won't leave his side. I promise." She started her car. Before rolling up the window, she said, "Come back to me, Marco Santiago--or I swear I'll have my great-grandmother haunt you for an eternity."

"I'll be back. That's a promise." *** Lisa pulled her car behind the four-wheel-drive pickup. After Marco climbed in and Saul pulled away, she followed them closely down the hill to the county road where they turned north heading toward the state highway to Asheville. She turned south toward Ben Lomond and Travis Dodge. She hated the drive into town and was glad she usually only had to drive it twice a day. The county road was a two-lane maze of hairpin turns, no pass zones, layabouts and truck ramps for the infrequent occasions when a tractor-trailer lost its breaks. Her hands tightened on the wheel of her small car as she approached a particularly sharp hairpin turn, so sharp that it was almost a U-turn. She heard the truck approaching from the other side before she saw it. She slowed down so as not to meet it at the apex of the U. In her experience, trucks always took more than their half of the road, especially since they were on the side of a sheer drop off. She couldn't blame them for hugging the center line and her part of the road. One wheel off, one wrong move leading to a jackknife, the trucker would be hurtling his way down to the river valley a mile or so below. Concentrating hard on hugging the shoulder on her side of the road, she didn't notice the car with darkened windows that slid into place behind her until after she'd passed the oncoming truck without incident. Where had he come from? She could've sworn there was no one behind her when she'd entered the curve. He must have pulled out from the layabout cut into the top of the U for those times when drivers met a road hog or had to pull off because of slippery conditions. Chancing another glance in her rearview mirror, she gasped. The idiot was riding her rear bumper! Unnerved, she tapped her brakes as a warning, then edged toward the right shoulder to allow the vehicle to pass. It didn't. She sped up, and the driver stayed right with her. She wanted to pull off and stop until the crazy driver passed her. But she couldn't--she promised Marco she wouldn't stop for anything or anybody--and that included this maniac on her tail. Speeding up, she hoped the guy would take the hint and back off. Instead, the driver kept pace with her. Breaking lightly, she slowed once more, veering carefully toward the shoulder again, this time blinking her flashers to indicate that he should pass. Her mobile shadow mimicked her movements to the letter. This wasn't just a road hog. The driver's actions were more ominous than that--he was stalking her. Depressing the clutch, then downshifting, she floored it through the next curve and up a small incline in the road. Her compact car took off like an arrow. Hugging the line on the inside of the mountain road's curves, she picked up some distance on the larger, more unwieldy vehicle. But she didn't lose him. In fact, she acknowledged she couldn't lose him until she got down off the mountain and closer into town. By her calculations, that would be in another couple of miles or so. She just hoped she could outmaneuver him for that long. The only good thing about being the hunted was that she knew what she was going to do next--the pursuer didn't. He would have to hang back to adjust for her tactics. Hopefully, that would buy her the time she needed. Speeding up, her goal was the spot just outside of town where one of Travis's deputies would be manning a speed trap this time of day. A speeding ticket would be a small price to pay to be safe. In the short straightaways, she kept an eye on her rearview mirror, groaning in dismay as the powerful engine of the larger car allowed the driver to make up the distance. Coaxing extra RPMs out of her car,

she pulled away in the curves, only to lose what time she'd gained when the road straightened out once more. Each time, the dark car made up a few more inches. Though not totally successful in shaking her pursuer, her tactics had maintained enough of a lead that she felt she just might make it. Only three-quarters of a mile to the speed trap. Entering the last hairpin curve before the city limits, she edged the speedometer up toward sixty--about twenty miles an hour more than safety allowed--and once more she hazarded a glance in her rearview mirror and noted with satisfaction the larger car falling back as it slowed to take the curve. Distracted, she didn't see the truck taking the curve from the opposite direction, its cab over the center line, until almost too late. Yanking her steering wheel hard to the right to avoid a head- on collision, she only had time to scream as her car plowed into a truck ramp. *** Andrei swore once more as he slowed for another sharp curve. She was too close to town now. If he didn't get her before she entered the city limits, he would have to call his men and regroup. To hell with Norda, he just wanted Lisa. As he maneuvered his car through the turn, he shouted a useless warning. A truck was headed straight for Lisa. As she swerved her small car quickly to the right and into a slightly inclined ramp of sand, he did what he needed to do to avoid being hit by the careless trucker. Bastard! He honked his horn and flipped off the burly trucker, who waved carelessly and went on his merry way. Idiot. He pulled his car over onto the paved shoulder of the road and stopped just short of the sand ramp where Lisa's compact car was buried up to its axles. He didn't want to chance his car getting stuck in the loamy earth. He sprang from the vehicle. He ran toward the wrecked car. His breathing turned choppy with fear, and his stomach roiled with nausea. He alternately uttered Russian Orthodox prayers learned at his grandmother's knees and gutter epithets learned in less savory places of the world. Lisa couldn't be dead, not when he was this close to making her his! Nearing the car, he saw no movement from Lisa, who lay slumped over the wheel. Her car had no air bag. He swore again. She had to be dead. The impact had been severe. As he slogged his way through the ankle-deep grit, he cursed her stupidity for driving an unsafe automobile. If she'd been his woman, she would have had a safe vehicle, not this little piece of Oriental crap. Trying the handle on the driver's side door, he found it locked. He walked around to the passenger side. It was locked also. His patience at an end, he pulled his gun and shot out the lock on the passenger's rear door. He opened it then unlocked the front passenger door. With a few more entreaties to a God that had abandoned him years ago, he opened the passenger door and crawled inside. The first thing he sensed was a wave of heat that blasted him in the face. It was familiar. It was the unworldly fire he'd felt in Lisa's shop. She had to be alive. The glowing pendant rose and fell on her chest as it shot chaotic streams of red and green energy. She

was breathing. He wanted to touch her, but after his last experience with the strange power of her amulet, he wasn't taking any chances with the multi-colored flames. Placing his gun on the dashboard, he shrugged off his jacket, then used it to pull the spitting necklace from Lisa's neck. He could still feel the heat through the coat's material, but it was bearable. Setting the bundle on the floor, he turned to Lisa. Although breathing, her respirations were slow, shallow and erratic. Her normally sun-kissed cheeks were chalky white. She hadn't moved, other than breathing, since he'd reached the car. Her forehead was cool and clammy. She was in shock. She needed a doctor, but he knew that was the short road to getting locked up, especially after the warning the hick sheriff had given him. He needed to get her to the drug lord's plane so he could use it to take her back to the Mafiya hideaway in Jersey. There a doctor could attend to her. The confrontation at the plane would only take a matter of minutes, he rationalized, then he could whisk her away. Hopefully, a few more hours would do her no harm. After all, she was a healthy girl. His decision made, he unbuckled her seatbelt, then reached over to unlock her door. From the corner of his eye there was movement. Looking up, he breathed a sigh of relief--not a cop. Then anger flooded his soul, it was the burly truck driver who'd run Lisa off the road. "Hey buddy," the hefty man called out. "Sorry about that back there. I got aways up the road and thought maybe I should double back and see if y'all needed help." He growled in Russian. This cretin had almost killed his woman. Grabbing the gun from the dash, he took aim through the driver's side window. The shot hit the shocked trucker between the eyes. "Now who's sorry, asshole?" He clambered out the passenger side and walked over to the trucker's body. He kicked at the man. No movement, no groans. He was dead. One shot, one kill. He was as accurate as always. Without another consideration for his handiwork, he hurried back to Lisa. He needed to get her away from here before someone else stopped to check on the accident. She hadn't moved during the short time he'd been gone. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but her breathing seemed stronger, less erratic than it had a few minutes ago. Yes, her face seemed to have more color--a tinge of pale peach had replaced the deathly white. Maybe she wasn't in shock after all, just in a deep faint. He checked her limbs, neck and ribs for obvious breaks. Finding nothing but a large knot on her forehead, he concluded she had at the very least a concussion. After they were on the plane, he would attempt to rouse her periodically on the way to the stronghold. For now he had done all he could. Lifting the unconscious woman into his arms, he caught a whiff of her unique scent. It calmed him. Soon. Soon they would be together as he'd dreamed since the first time he met her. He'd missed her since she'd run. Strange pendant and the property a drug lord desired aside, Andrei desired, maybe even loved, the woman in his arms. She belonged to him. He'd seen her first, wanted her for months--now he had her. Stepping around the dead trucker, he carried Lisa to his car. After buckling her into the passenger seat, he turned to shoot out the gas tank of the small car, to set it afire. The blaze and its charred remains would slow any pursuers down. While the crime scene investigators waited for the car to cool to see if Lisa's body was inside, Andrei and his woman would be on Norda's confiscated jet and half way back to Jersey.

He stopped before he shot. Lisa--take me with you. You need me. He could have sworn he heard someone--or something--calling Lisa. The necklace! It was still in the car. Although he would deny it, the superstitious soul of a Russian peasant lay buried deeply within him. Somehow he knew that he needed to retrieve that necklace or something bad would happen to Lisa. He just sensed it. Touching her cool cheek, he whispered, "I'll be back. You're fine." Running back to the small car, he reached in and grabbed up the jacket still radiating the heat of the pendant inside. He hurried back to his car and placed it in the trunk where he wouldn't feel the overpowering warmth. Then he turned and pointed his gun at the gas tank of the compact car. Two shots were all it took to cause the tank to explode.

Chapter Twenty-three On the road to Asheville Something bothered Marco about the urgent call to Asheville. Flashbacks to the failed raid on Norda's warehouse pummeled his brain. Someone had set them up back then. It could only have been someone who'd known he was DEA. By the time of the warehouse raid, he'd been undercover for months and could have sworn that he'd done nothing to cause Norda to suspect him. So, there had to be a leak inside the DEA. Someone had ratted him out. No one else had been privy to his undercover assignment other than the immediate members of his team and the Miami office head. As far as the rest of the Miami office had known, he'd been on an extended leave of absence. Hell, even some of the higher ups in Washington hadn't known exactly where he was and what he'd been doing. Damn, why hadn't he thought about this earlier? Done something about looking into the failed raid and its causes? The traitor was still at large! Could this call to Asheville be just another misdirection? "Saul." He turned to his partner who concentrated on the road. "You said Dan called. Just what did he say?" Saul looked at him briefly. "Why? Something bothering you, buddy?" "Yeah. Does it make sense to you that we'd be pulled off protecting the primary target of Norda's men?" He paused. "I mean, between the Asheville field office and the FBI, why would they need us? You said they knew the plane. Why would they need us to identify the occupants? And even if they did and a few got through, wouldn't it make more sense to have us on the scene protecting Lisa?" Saul didn't comment right away. He could almost hear his partner's thinking processes, knew they would parallel his. Like an old married couple, the two men could finish each others' sentences and thoughts. Finally, Saul answered in taut, clipped tones. "A street informant called. Norda was sending a plane-load of his soldiers to Asheville. Also said there was positive confirmation by Miami- Dade County Airport.

Private jet owned by MinGemCo took off, heading toward Asheville." "What mule would Norda trust with that kind of information, Saul? Not one of our street informants, not one of Dan's either--they only know what is going down in their territory. And if there was a confirmation from someone at Miami-Dade, how would Dan know? He's not in the chain of command. As for that, why would Dan call to pull us off our primary assignment? Why not the boss?" "Damn!" Saul swore. "You think Dan's dirty." It was a statement, not a question. "Yes," he rasped. "I think he was the one who ratted me out to Norda, set us up for a deadly trap at the warehouse...and now he's leading us away from Lisa." Saul checked his rearview mirror, then braked hard, twisting the wheel sharply to the left. After he completed a picture-perfect one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, he said, "And I fell for it like a chump. Lisa is a sitting duck with no protection. Damn." "Don't blame yourself, mi amigo, I fell for it also. Let's just make tracks. I'll call Dodge and let him know what's heading his way." Saul sped back toward Ben Lomond. Marco prayed they wouldn't be too late. As he waited for his call to go through, he mentally drove the treacherous mountain road Lisa would have followed after leaving them. He could think of at least six areas where a cunning driver could pop out, then force her off the road. "Hell!" He swore in low tones, causing Saul to cast him a concerned glance. "Just drive." Saul nodded as he eked a few more miles an hour out of the whining engine. Swearing silently this time, he continued to berate himself. He should have followed Lisa into town rather than calling the sheriff's office, made sure she got to Dodge safely before heading to Asheville. Hell, if he'd been thinking he'd never have fallen for the lure to begin with. "...Is anybody there? This is the Greene County Sheriff's Office. I'm gonna hang up if..." "Damn, sorry, don't hang up!" he yelled into the cell phone. He could barely hear the person on the other end over the road noise and the laboring of the engine. He'd been so busy beating himself up he almost missed his call. "Is Dodge in?" "No sir. Sheriff got called out on an accident with a fatality. May I take a message?" "An accident call?" A fatality? A sick feeling swept over him. Saul must have assumed the worst at Marco's words, because he swore and pushed the already over-taxed vehicle even harder. "Where...?" His voice broke. He swallowed the bile pushing its way into his throat, coughed, then tried again. "Where's the accident?" "Outside of town on County Road Twenty. Some sort of explosion--and a dead body."

His closed his eyes and prayed. County Road Twenty. It had to be a coincidence. Lisa couldn't be the body the dispatcher referred to. He'd know in his soul if she were dead. Wouldn't he? After taking a breath that came out sounding more like a sob, he asked the question uppermost in his mind. "Has Lisa MacDougall made it into your office yet?" "Who is this?" He heard suspicion edge out the formerly gossipy tones of the dispatcher. "This is Marco Santiago, DEA." "Uh, no sir. Miss MacDougall hasn't made it in. Sheriff was getting worried when he got this call. He ran out of here like a bat out of hell. Ya don't think..." "Please patch me through to Dodge's mobile." He didn't want the dispatcher to voice what he feared. "Yes sir. Hold please." While he waited for Dodge to come on the line, he tersely related to Saul what the dispatcher had told him. They had just turned onto County Road Twenty. They'd have to pass by the accident site on the way into town. Hopefully, Lisa had made it to town and decided to stop at her shop first. His gut told him she hadn't. "Marco! You'd better turn around and head back." Dodge's voice sounded terse across the digital connection. "It's Lisa..." His cry of anguish rolled around the interior of the car. Dodge's urgent tones and repeated words finally broke through his mind-numbing grief. "She's not here, man. Get a hold of yourself. Her car was empty." "Not there?" he cried. "Who's the dead body?" A loud sigh came over the connection. "Looks like a trucker who walked into something he shouldn't have. Someone shot him, execution style right between the eyes. The shooter must have taken Lisa away with him after setting her car on fire. Maybe he thought he'd buy some time while we searched the wreck for a body. But..." "But what?" he asked. "It was strange. Some sort of weird weather system--came the hell out of nowhere--dumped a load of rain on the wreck. Put the fire out." Lisa was alive! Tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. Only she could conjure up a rainstorm on a cloudless day. "When we got here the wreck was steaming, but it was cool enough for us to check and see that no one was inside. We searched the immediate area, found some other tire tracks, but no signs of Lisa. Whoever it was got away with her." Dodge sounded disgusted. "We probably passed the son-of-a-bitch while we were en route to the scene....I'm sorry, Marco." "We don't have time for recriminations, my friend. We have to figure out how they are going to get her out of the area."

Saul had been listening intently to the one-sided conversation. "Private plane is the only way. Whoever snatched her can't count on her cooperation on the road and on public transportation." He nodded. He was sure whoever had snatched her would have an escape plan. A private plane made sense. "Travis, are there any private airports near Ben Lomond?" "Why not Asheville?" Dodge shot back. "Because that was where we were supposed to be," he explained. "No. Whoever took her wanted us far away so he could fly out and disappear before we figured it all out." He heard Dodge give orders to someone in the background. As he waited for Dodge to come back on the phone, he and Saul rounded a curve. The accident scene was straight ahead. Madre Dios! He viewed the burnt out wreck that once had been Lisa's subcompact. He vowed her next car would be a utility vehicle with all the safety features known to man. A tank would be better. The small car must have barreled into the truck ramp at a high rate of speed. The front of the car had crumpled upon itself like an accordion. The resulting energy from the crash would have then dissipated into the body of the small car. She would have been shaken like a rag doll in her shoulder harness and seatbelt. Since her car was an older model, there was no air bag to protect her head and chest from flying forward into the steering wheel. She had to have been hurt severely. Why had they taken her? She'd need medical attention. Why would they risk that? Her land could be gotten in other ways. Fear chilled him once more. If she wasn't dead now, she could be soon. Lisa! He screamed to the ethereal plane of existence they shared. Hoping against hope she could hear him and respond. She's alive, my boy. Her power buffered her. She's shaken, but alive. You must hurry. Callista! He'd forgotten Lisa had a guardian angel. Where are they taking her? he asked. I'm not sure...south, I think. Dying hasn't helped my sense of real time direction any. Stay with her, Callista. I will. I want those great-great grandchildren! "Marco," Saul urged, shaking him. "Where did you go off to? Dodge is trying to talk to you." He shook off the mind conversation, then turned toward his partner. Beyond Saul, a concerned Dodge leaned in the driver's side window. "They're headed south," he said.

Dodge and Saul looked at him like he'd grown two heads. In fact, it was almost true. He had Callista in his head, telling him what to do. "Have you found out whether any private planes have taken off in the area?" He pinned Dodge with a steely look. "Only one airfield anywhere near here," Dodge said. "I can get us there in ten minutes." "What are we waiting for?" he growled. "Let's go." Dodge ran to his patrol car. Saul started the engine, then pulled his vehicle behind Dodge's. The two cars took off in a squeal of tires, flashing lights, and the blaring sound of a siren. Dialing the field office in Asheville, Marco asked for the office chief. "What are you calling Asheville for?" Saul asked without taking his eyes off the road. "Covering our ass if they have managed to get off the ground," he explained. "We'll need a plane to follow them." "Good thinking." When the field office chief came on, he outlined their problem and request. A plane was promised, along with backup in case they did encounter Norda's men at the small airfield outside of Ben Lomond. He ended the call with a final warning. "Chief, don't call Miami on this. We've got a leak there. Let me handle it." Having secured the chief's promise, he rang off. With his backup plan in motion, he sat back, shut out the scenery whizzing by and concentrated on trying to reach Lisa once more. The closer they got to the airfield, the more he felt something. But he could never quite get a hold of it. It was like a shadow of the normal mental exchange he had with Lisa--almost as if she left a message in the atmosphere for him to find. She did leave a message. Callista, what message? I can't read it. Why, son, she said 'hurry.' Do Norda's men have her? Yes--but the Russian made it possible. He killed the man on the road. Took her from the car. "Andrei." He snarled the fiend's name aloud, startling Saul. "Marco, what about Andrei?" Saul asked as he whipped the SUV around traffic in the wake of the sheriff's car. "He's working with Norda. The bastard is the one who took Lisa and killed that trucker." "Okay." Saul threw his partner a quizzical look. "Humor me. How do you know this?" "Callista told me. Lisa left a message...and I couldn't read it."

"Oh, it's mumbo-jumbo stuff, right?" "Right." He sat forward on the edge of his seat. He wanted--no, needed--to pound someone, Andrei being his top choice, into the ground. "Can't we go any faster?" Saul shook his head. "Any faster, and we'd be flying. I'm having a hard enough time following Dodge at the speed we're going now." "Try," he said grimly. "I think we're running out of time."

Chapter Twenty-four Small airport near Ben Lomond. Andrei pulled into the small airfield's parking area, confident in the fact that his men would have secured the facility before his arrival, according to the plan he'd meticulously drawn for them the previous afternoon. Near the airport's main building, a small jet stood ready, engines warming up, door open and stairs at the doorway. Shutting off the car, he turned to the unconscious woman next to him. Her color and breathing were still not those of a healthy woman, but considering the impact, he was lucky she wasn't more seriously injured. He'd feel better once they were in the air on the way to Jersey and medical attention. He'd have the pilot radio ahead and arrange a private ambulance. After getting out of the car, he stopped. Listened. It was too quiet. Where were his men? Why hadn't they met his car? He locked the car doors, leaving Lisa safely inside. All his senses on high alert, he strolled toward the small building, pulling the gun from his shoulder holster. It was too damn quiet. As he approached the door of the airport office-cum-waiting area, he smelled it. Death. The smell of heavy weapons fire lingered in the still, humid air. He ran toward the car and back to Lisa. About half way there, he sensed movement behind him, heard the sound of weapons being primed. He turned. A trap! The man who stepped out of the building was a stranger to him. The custom-fitted semi- automatic aimed at his gut was all too familiar. It was one of his men's guns. Cornered and out-gunned, he dropped his weapon and raised his hands. "Ah, Senor Andrei." The man's toothy smile did not reach his cold, dark eyes. "My name is Jorge. I've been asked by my patrone, Senor Norda, to escort you and the senorita." "Where are my men?" "Oh, you mean the trap you attempted to set for me and mine?" Jorge's smile thinned, his eyes grew even more frigid. "Ah, that was not sporting of you, senor. However, my patrone, he was not, as the gringos say, born yesterday. We interrupted their breakfast, I fear. But they did not go to their deaths completely hungry." Jorge laughed.

Andrei bit back the curses rising to his lips. Losing his temper wouldn't help him or Lisa now. "What about me?...Lisa?" "Why you are to be Senor Norda's honored guest, along with Senorita MacDougall, on his private island. He wishes to persuade the lady to give him what he wants, then...well." Jorge shrugged his shoulders, his smile slipping into a leer. "The lady she is beautiful, no? I think he will wish her to remain a guest for some time. As for you, my patrone, he doesn't like double-crossers." Jorge shrugged his shoulders, his teeth in full evidence once more. At a signal from Jorge, someone yanked Andrei's wrists behind his back and cuffed them. Another person frisked him, found and removed his knife and the keys to the car. He was in serious trouble, but he'd been in worse predicaments before. He could only bide his time, watching for an opportunity to escape. Two men led him toward the jet. As they urged him up the stairs, he glanced over at his car. Jorge now carried Lisa, her flame-colored hair flying in the wind. Norda's man touched the cleavage exposed by her blouse. Anger flooded through Andrei. He cursed and tried to throw off his captors. All he got for his action was a sharp cuff to the head and a kidney punch. Even in his pain, he observed the scene through storm-filled eyes. The two men following their leader had cleaned out the trunk of the car. One man gingerly carried the jacket with the pendant, swearing loudly about the heat. Good, he thought, maybe the pendant would help Lisa get them out of this. Even Lisa, as much as she professed to dislike him, wouldn't consign him to the drug lord's tender mercies. She was too kindhearted for that. He sat in the seat indicated by one of the men guarding him. They released his hands and tethered him to the seat, his arms, wrists and ankles locked into restraining cuffs. He couldn't move. No way to escape. He'd have to wait until they arrived at the island to make a plan. Jorge carried Lisa to a seat across the aisle, one row ahead of his. She also was strapped into her seat, which Jorge then reclined for her comfort. Norda's henchman almost seemed concerned about Lisa's welfare. "Why is the Senorita MacDougall unconscious? Did you drug her?" Jorge glared at him. "No, I did not drug her," he sneered. "I am not a vile drug trafficker." The man standing next to him slapped him across the face. "You will speak to Jorge with respect." Jorge smiled at his man. "That is enough, Peter. We must allow Andrei his morals, few though they may be. If she is not drugged, then why is she pale? Her breath erratic? Her sleep like that of the dead?" "She crashed her car, trying to avoid a head-on collision with a truck on the mountain road." "I suppose she was running from you when this accident occurred?" Jorge felt Lisa's skull, stroked her pale cheek then checked her pupils. He swore vilely at what he found. "Just another black mark against you with Senor Norda. He does not like his property damaged." Jorge turned to one of his men. "Have the pilot radio ahead to the island, make sure Senor Norda's personal physician meets the jet. We've already jostled the poor chica enough. Tell them I believe she has a concussion, maybe even a skull fracture, a result of a car accident."

The man nodded and ran to do his boss's bidding. Andrei let out a sigh of relief. At least Lisa would get the care she needed. If he could hold out on the island until she awakened, then they could escape. If. After casting Andrei one more searing glance, Jorge sat next to Lisa, then buckled up in preparation for takeoff. The man who'd carried the jacket containing the pendant sat across from Jorge. He cried out, "Senor Jorge, the jacket is burning up. I can't hold it." The man held up his red, slightly blistered hands. "Lithomancer-r-r. Lis-s-s-a." The crime-hardened men on board the plane muttered then crossed themselves. The man holding the jacket-wrapped pendant gasped and dropped the bundle in the aisle. A grim smile crossed Andrei's face. The pendant was still doing its magic, whatever magic that was. Problem was, he wasn't sure what the pendant--or Lisa--could do. He'd have to wait and see. "Give it to me." Jorge reached for and picked up the bundle from the aisle. "Jesu, what is in this jacket?" He unwrapped the bundle. A blinding whirlwind of pale green light tinged with pink swept the jet cabin. Andrei could feel the heat waves where he sat. "What kind of magic is this? My patrone did not tell me the woman was a witch." Jorge pinned him with an accusing glance. "Don't look at me," he said. "I don't understand this any more than you. I do know that the pendant does not harm Lisa, so unless you want to burn us all to a crisp, I suggest you put it back on her." He could tell that Jorge wasn't happy about his suggestion, but the man couldn't deny that the temperature in the plane had escalated since they boarded. Sweat poured down his face and back. The other men in the cabin didn't look so cool themselves. "Then Senorita Lisa will wear the jewel until we discover its secrets." Jorge gently placed the necklace around her neck. As the necklace settled around Lisa's neck, the light storm dissipated. The heat in the cabin disappeared as if it had never been. Only a slight shimmer hovering around the pendant itself indicated that the emerald was anything other than a beautiful jewel. Thank God, Jorge had taken the suggestion. Now if only Lisa would regain consciousness and use whatever power she and the emerald had, maybe, just maybe, they could escape. If she didn't regain consciousness or was too damaged to use her strange abilities, well...He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Then this might be the worst trouble he'd ever been in, and it would take all his mere mortal energy, skills and cunning to get them out of it. *** In front of the small airport office, Saul pulled up behind Dodge's empty car.

It was too quiet, Marco thought. He caught Saul's eye, then nodded toward the only other car in the lot. Saul nodded back, then took off to check out the vehicle. He followed Dodge who'd already entered the preternatuarally still building. Inside, Dodge stood over two bodies. Neither were Lisa nor Andrei. One was an older man and the other a younger one in a mechanic's coverall. Dodge turned toward him. "We're too late." "They dead?" He glanced once more at the poor bastards lying on the floor. "Yep." The sheriff pulled out his cell and punched in a series of numbers. "Executed, one bullet to each brain. At least they didn't suffer, poor devils." Dodge issued instructions for a crime lab crew and the coroner's van to report to the airport. He turned and left the building. Lisa had never been in there. He felt no evidence of her presence. The car was his best bet of catching a trace of her life essence. At his approach, Saul shook his head. "She's not here, but she was." He ran the last few steps to the car. "How do you know?" Saul held up several long red hairs. "I found these in the shoulder harness on the passenger side. I also found..." "What?" he growled. "What did you find?" "Blood." He pushed past Saul and stuck his head into the passenger side. The blood on the headrest shouted at him. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, concentrating on sorting through the layers of Lisa's lingering spirit. She had a head wound of some sort...That didn't necessarily mean she was seriously hurt. No, Callista would have told him if that were so. Forcing his fear aside, he closed his eyes and concentrated once more on the threads of emotion he found in the car. Emanations of strong feelings: pain...fear...more pain...and the basic essence of Lisa lingered in the car. Then, he hit an icy void of darkness, casting shadows over the purity of Lisa's spirit: lust...jealousy. Andrei's tainted life essence fouled Lisa's. Chilled by what he found, he rapidly backed out of the car, seeking the warmth of the sunlight--yet even the sun's heat couldn't drive out the ice that had settled in his soul. "Well?" Saul prodded. "She's alive, but hurt...and scared. She's all but helpless now. I get the feeling she couldn't reach her pendant." He paced. "Maybe she's too weak, or still not sure of her power." "Maybe she's seriously hurt," Saul suggested. "If she's unconscious, she might not be able to focus on helping herself." He didn't answer. He, too, feared she was insensate. After all, he couldn't reach her on any level. His gut clenched with renewed fear. "The necklace wasn't at the accident scene." Dodge had come up behind the two men during their

conversation. "What does the pendant do?" "It's too complicated to go into right now," sighed Marco. "Needless to say, she needs it to get through her ordeal. Callista indicated that the necklace helped save Lisa from more serious injury in the car accident. I can only hope it will protect her until I get there." "Well, Andrei must have taken it." Saul caught his eye. "That means Norda will have it--and soon." "Once he realizes what it is," Marco said, "he'll hide Lisa away from me and try to use her power for his own ends." Saul looked skeptical. "Can he do that? Even alone, she's very powerful." He closed his eyes. "So was my grandmother--and Norda killed her because she refused to use her power to destroy life." He didn't want to think of the resources Norda had in the Santeria religious groups. The drug lord would immediately recognize the power in Lisa. He would then make any moves necessary to gain control of her abilities. Black magic could always draw power from white, weaken it, make it malleable. Her only hope was Marco. The fact that they'd mated and attuned their earth powers was in their favor; together they could counteract any black magic Norda might conjure up. Only Lisa didn't realize that--there hadn't been time to explain that to her. The closer he got to her; the easier it would be for him to help her. He looked at Saul. "Call Asheville. Find out where that damn plane and our backup are." "No need, buddy." Saul pointed to the northern sky. "The cavalry has arrived." He looked up. A small jet with the DEA logo on it was making an approach to land. "Be ready to hop on, Saul. I just hope to hell they fueled up before they left Asheville, because we need to get to Miami." Saul ran alongside of him toward the taxiing plane. "Why Miami?" "Because that's where good old traitor Dan is." He smiled grimly. "And he's gonna tell us where Norda took Lisa."

Chapter Twenty-five Miami DEA Headquarters. Marco sat in the corner of the Miami DEA briefing room. Saul took a flanking position by the door after the last of their team entered the room. With the presence of the Miami chief, John Northern, everyone who knew about Marco's undercover assignment with Norda and his and Saul's current assignment in Ben Lomond were in this room. Sandy Peach flirted with Saul over her shoulder, motioning him to the chair next to her with a batting of her lashes and a coy smile. Frowning, Saul shook is head and remained at his station. While Chief Northern spoke quietly into the phone at his place at the head of the table, Peggy Simms and Dan Stewart sat silently, watching the others.

Marco was fairly sure that Dan Stewart was the traitor, but on the way to Miami, Saul and he had discussed the possibility of Norda having more than one plant--someone to back Dan up, to double-check on Dan's data. Norda's rampant paranoia would assure that. Of the team, that left Peggy and Sandy. The chief was above reproach--like him, John Northern had lost loved ones to the drug battles. He'd be the last person to turn to Norda and his ilk. But Peggy and Sandy were both recent hires out of the Miami-Dade Police Department; both had had ample opportunities over the years to develop drug contacts. The chief hung up the phone. It was show time. "Marco," John Northern waved him to the table, "the floor is all yours." Marco stood, then paced the confines of the room as he spoke. "As you all know, Saul and I were on assignment in Ben Lomond to find out why Norda had taken an interest in the Blue Ridge Mountains area." He stopped behind Sandy, who twisted her head to watch him. Her eyes showed interest. Moving toward Saul, he continued, "When we got there we learned of a woman by the name of--Lisa MacDougall." A rustling noise from the table punctuated his slight pause. "We weren't sure who she was and what her part in Norda's plans for North Carolina were, but we soon found out she was a victim, not a participant." "Victim, how?" asked Sandy. He looked at Sandy and smiled grimly. "She had something Norda wanted...an emerald mine." "Oh, MinGemCo." Sandy nodded, then said, "Got it." Sandy kept tabs on all of Norda's "legitimate" businesses. Her quick understanding, he realized, was just a part of her job and not necessarily a sign of inside knowledge. "Soon after Lisa arrived in Ben Lomond, an attorney by the name of Beau Crawford tried to buy her land. She refused. He then tried to scare her off the land." He paused once more for effect. "However, he failed." "What did he do?" He turned toward Sandy who, so far, was the only person in the room acting normally. Peggy avoided his eyes. Dan also refused to return his gaze. "It's not important--he's dead." No reaction from Peggy or Dan. "He was killed by Herve, Norda's right-hand man. Herve then tried to take Lisa captive, but failed." He sat down across from Peggy, pinning her with his gaze. "Herve was arrested, but some of Norda's men broke him out of jail. However, he didn't make it very far--because he was killed also." Peggy cried out. Realizing she'd screwed up, she covered her mouth. She couldn't hold back the tears though.

"What was Herve to you, Peggy?" he asked gently. "My lover," she gulped. "But...I didn't tell him about you being in North Carolina, Marco. Honest! I just told him about the raid on the warehouse...really! I didn't blow your cover--I just warned him about the raid. You have to believe me." Peggy reached across the table, hands out-stretched, pleading. "After the failed raid and ...you almost got killed," she choked back a sob, "I told Herve I couldn't give him any more information. I was going to quit the DEA. I'd already turned in my resignation, didn't I, Chief?" She looked toward the head of the table for John's agreement. He nodded abruptly, his face a picture of mixed emotions of which pity and disgust fought for supremacy. "I believe you, Peggy," Marco said. "Someone else told Norda and Herve that I was the undercover man and set me up to be killed during the raid--the same person diverted us away from Ben Lomond so Norda's men could kidnap Lisa." Dan Stewart pushed away from the table with one hand, his other held a gun pointed at Marco. "So, you figured it out, did you? But Jorge got her anyway, didn't he?" "Put the gun down, Dan," ordered John Northern. "The room is surrounded. The call I made earlier guaranteed that." At his words, the two doors to the conference room opened. Five armed men streamed into the room, their weapons aimed at Dan and Peggy. Saul had his weapon trained on Dan's head. "No," Dan squeaked. "You're not going to take me that easy." Dan grabbed Peggy with his free hand and pointed the weapon at her head. "I'll kill her. I swear. She was a nothing. Herve laughed that she was such a righteous little prig. He couldn't get more than a few of our busts out of her...not that he needed the little tramp. He had me!" Dan's voice broke as he choked on his own hysteria. "He liked the sex, so he kept leading Peggy on, acting like he was courting her. You wouldn't want me to kill her for being stupid, now would you?" He jabbed the gun toward Peggy, emphasizing his point. White-faced with rage, Peggy screeched, "You pig!" Lashing upward with her forearm, she knocked Dan's gun arm toward the ceiling, and the weapon discharged. Then she took a bite out of the arm that restrained her. "Herve loved me! He did! You liar!" She turned on him and started to pummel him with her fists. Several DEA agents pulled her away and took charge of Dan Stewart. Sandy hurried round the table to comfort the distraught woman. "Get her out of here, Peach!" ordered John Northern. To the men holding a struggling Dan, he said, "Secure him. We need some information." "I want to stay," Peggy cried. "I might be able to help. I know more than Dan thinks." Marco nodded at his chief. "Let her stay. They've taken Lisa to Norda's secret hide-away. We need to

know where that is." "What about the plane's flight patterns?" Northern asked as relative calm was restored in the room. "We got the transponder number off the computer at the small airport near Ben Lomond--and we were damn lucky they'd even upgraded to that level of air traffic control." He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He plopped into a chair directly across from a now silent and sullen Dan Stewart. "FAA lost the plane over southern Florida. We think they must have turned off the transponder and descended to a lower flight altitude once they were out of heavily populated skies." Saul added, "The jet had the capability to fly them all the way to Central America." Northern groaned. "So you're telling me they could be anywhere from the Florida Keys to goddamn Nicaragua?" He knew his boss referred to Norda's old Central American stomping grounds, to the place where the drug lord had gotten his start...and killed Marco's mother and grandmother. "Yes." Marco's harsh tones said it all. Lisa could already be hidden away in the rain forests of Central America, never to be seen again. Pinning Dan Stewart with a glance, he resisted the urge to release his magical earth power. He couldn't afford to kill the man. Besides, he wasn't sure what his energy would do to the innocent bystanders and possibly even the building. He feared it wouldn't be pretty. "Marco?" Saul whispered harshly. "Don't even think about it." "Don't worry." He scowled. "I'm not out of my mind...yet." "Then tone it down a bit, old friend," Saul urged. Fear permeated his words. "You're scaring me and the others." He looked around. Without realizing, he'd released a short burst of energy. The pictures on the walls had fallen, and his associates' faces were red and dripping with sweat. Damn! He reached for his amulet. It was fiery hot. In the stone's depths, twin flames of golden-red and green built up for another burst. He shut his eyes and sought control. He hadn't lost control like that since his adolescence when he'd first learned about the capabilities of the strange powers he'd inherited. "I don't want to know what that was all about," sputtered Northern. "I'm pretty damn sure I wouldn't believe it if you told me. Just don't do it again!" Northern took a deep breath and offered a tight smile. "This is, after all, government property." Grinning despite the tension in the room, Marco nodded. "I understand. Maybe I should take Dan outside to question him? I wouldn't want to damage government property." "No! No!" Dan Stewart cried hysterically, struggling against the men holding him in his chair. "Don't let him take me. He'll kill me!" "Then tell me where they've taken Lisa!" Marco ordered. "I don't know." Dan looked at John Northern, then Saul, then Marco. "Really, you've got to believe me. I don't know. I was just an inside man. I'd call a number, give them information and they'd put money in my Cayman Islands account. I've never even met Norda. That's it...I swear it!"

In front of his eyes, the man Marco would love to kill disintegrated into a blubbering, pale mass. He felt sick. He believed Dan didn't know the location. His heart cried out in anguish. Lisa! "I can narrow it down." Peggy's timid voice broke through his dark despair. He looked at Peggy. "You can?" "Well, I don't know exactly," she stuttered. "But I can tell you it's not in Central America or the Carribean. It's closer than that." She paused, closing her eyes. "Herve used to meet Norda for short meetings...and, uh, parties." Opening her eyes, she looked at him. "He'd joke about the short hop and that it was right under the Federales nose. He'd tweak my nose when he said it." She choked back a sob. "I got the impression it was an island off the Keys, but still within United States territorial waters. He used to boast that it had everything--water, beaches, high land, low land. He'd often take a helicopter from the mainland. I took him to catch it once. It was a small one--it couldn't have reached Nicaragua. Does that help?" Marco stood up and walked around the table to Peggy. He placed a hand on her shoulder, then bent to kiss her cheek. "Yes, it helps. Thank you." Turning to the chief, he said, "I'd like it to be noted that Peggy assisted us." Northern nodded. "So noted." To the guards, he said, "Take Ms. Simms and Mr. Stewart to the holding area. Call the federal prosecutor. Let's get the charges down for Stewart and some sort of a deal worked out for Ms. Simms." Turning back to him, Northern added, "Whatever you need, you've got it. Now go find that gal...and get me Norda!" He headed for the door with Saul on his heels. "Yes sir!"

Chapter Twenty-six Joyas Muchas Island. Cigar smoke. Lisa slowly fought her way to consciousness through a pain-induced fog. Who did she know that smoked cigars? Marco had never smoked in front of her. And why would someone be smoking in her bedroom? Moaning, she moved slightly, but stopped when pain washed over her body, starting at her very sore head and traveling all the way down to her toes. She was nude under the sheet covering her. She never slept without nightclothes, so why...? She gasped as realization hit. The accident! Her pursuer must have taken her from the car. So, where was she? Through slitted eyes, she spied a large, airy white room with a ceiling fan. Afraid to sit up because of the nausea-inducing pain, she instead settled for turning her head to the right in small, but bearable, increments. The man sitting in a fan-shaped wicker chair at her bedside was a stranger. She was sure she'd never seen this man before in her life.

"Ah, Senorita Lisa, you have come back to us. Bien." The swarthy man smiled. Lisa shivered at the malice lurking behind the brilliant white teeth. Absolutely no stone images came to her--he was empty--his soul a black hole. "Welcome to my humble home. I am Manual Norda, your host." Norda--the drug lord who'd killed Marco's mother and grandmother! "How...?" she faltered. "Ah, yes. How did you come to be my guest?" Norda nodded his head. "This is a good question and tells me that the doctor was correct--your mental faculties have returned to normal after your healing sleep." She couldn't believe the man's "lord of the manner" tone of voice--it was as if he was taking responsibility for her recovery, her healing sleep. The man's ego was insurmountable. Not only was he dangerous, but crazy to boot. The door to the room opened. In walked Andrei, followed closely by two men. One of the men was armed and aimed his gun at Andrei's back. "Andrei?" Her voice broke. What was happening here? Why was Andrei here? A prisoner also by the looks of things. She felt like she'd fallen down Alice's rabbit hole. Who would come through the door next? The White Rabbit? A dormouse? "Senorita Lisa. You are surprised to see this Russian, yes?" Norda looked back and forth, from her to Andrei, who avoided her questioning eyes. "This Mafiya bastardo made a deal with me. He offered to help us obtain a certain piece of property in exchange for your whereabouts and the opportunity to keep you." She gasped. Andrei must have been the one who stalked her on the road. He hadn't left town as Travis ordered. "Ah, but he tried the double cross," sneered Norda. "As you can see, he failed." Norda reached out from his position by her side and stroked her bare arm with the backs of his fingers. He then traced the skin surrounding her pendant, her only attire, which lay quiescent on her chest. She tried to shrink away from the drug lord's loathsome touch, but couldn't. "What do you think I should do with this piece of shit, my Lisa?" asked Norda. "Don't touch her, you filthy dog. She's not your Lisa," growled Andrei as he attempted to break free from his guards. The one with the gun struck his neck from behind, forcing him to his knees. "Don't hurt him," she cried out. Andrei might be scum, but at least he was scum she could deal with. "Just like a woman--so sensitive and caring," said Norda, stroking the skin exposed above the sheet she grasped like a lifeline. "You know, he really isn't worth your concern, my dear." "I'm not your dear," she spat as she tried to roll away from the evil man's hands. Waves of nausea swept

over her as she collapsed back against the pillows. "Ah, now see what you have done," admonished Norda. "You've given yourself a setback with all this commotion." He stood, then gazed down upon her. "Sleep, senorita. We will do business later concerning the emerald mine you own. And then, maybe you can explain to me what kind of magic you--and that pendant--possess and how it might be of use to me, eh?" He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, then bent over to kiss a spot above the pendant. At his loathsome caress, she whimpered in spite of herself. Norda laughed. "Get used to my touch. I was originally only going to keep you for as long as it took to get what I wanted from you--but because of your pendant and the powers I suspect you possess--well, let's just say that kiss was the beginning of a long-term relationship between us. So, think about how you will choose to deal with me, my Lisa. It can go easy--or hard. Your choice." Horrified at the evil she sensed in the man before her and still weak and nauseated from her head injury, she lost consciousness as Andrei was dragged from the room, screaming obscenities at Norda. *** US Coast Guard Station, Key West, Florida. Marco leaned over the map and studied the ten islands that the US Coast Guard determined met the criteria provided by Peggy Simms. They all had potable water, enough ground area to hold a large facility, with high and low elevations. They were all privately owned and had enough surface area upon which to land small jets. Saul was on the phone, trying to track down titleholders in order to narrow their search. "Agent Santiago, any of these could be the one we're looking for," explained the coast guard commander. "But since they are privately held, we don't usually pay them much attention. None of them can be reached without a warning being sounded--either by air or water. We'd be sitting ducks." "We'll have to approach at night. Probably by water," he said. "Norda will have low level radar capability." The commander nodded his agreement with Marco's assessment. "Do you want us to contact the Navy and request a SEAL team? Maybe they could do a HALO insertion?" He hadn't thought of a SEAL team parachuting into the waters off Norda's island, but was profoundly glad that the commander had. "Yes. Good idea. They can create a diversion, while we sneak in to grab Ms. MacDougall." And find Norda--and kill him if he'd harmed Lisa. "Good. I'll get on it." The commander left. He knew that in the past SEALs had often helped the DEA and the coast guard with drug missions both within and without the continental United States. He had every bit of faith that the commander would get the help he requested. A SEAL team could be on site in a matter of an hour or so from their east coast base--in time for a nighttime invasion. Now if only they could figure out which island to invade. *** Joyas Muchas Island.

Lithomancer! Lisa! Danger! Heed my call. Lisa woke instantly to the harsh, urgent words. Unsure of what had awakened her, she sought to sit up to search for the source of the warning. She couldn't. During the time she'd been unconscious, someone had tied her arms to the corners of the poster bed. Her feet were joined together at her ankles then anchored to the footboard. She wasn't going anywhere. Norda wanted her land and her secrets. She was sure she wouldn't like how he attempted to get either. Desperately, she sought to use her powers to break the bonds. Nothing. She was too weak. Don't try too hard, my dear. Your power will come. Great-grandmother? Yes, child. I'm here. You think I would abandon you? I still don't have those heirs. Did you call me just now? No, the amulet did. You need to wake up and get free. The evil one has dark powers and could try to use your abilities against you. But how? No time to explain. Marco is on his way. When he draws near, his power will aid yours in fighting the dark one. No! He mustn't come here. He'll die. Marco can take care of himself. Just worry about getting away from this filth and hiding. That will help Marco the most. How? My powers are weak...and I'm tied down. You have the ability to free yourself even in your weakened condition...just concentrate on the nature of your bindings. How? See the strength in the rope and imagine it fraying. Trust me. The bindings will fly apart at your order--just as the storms came when you called. Patience is all that it takes. Youth is always so impatient. "That's easy for you to say," mumbled Lisa. "You aren't tied to the bed." Lifting her head from the pillow, she strained to see her pendant lying between her breasts. The emerald alternately emitted golden-red then green sparks. Almost as if it was excited that she was conscious and ready to use it. Faint noises reached her mind's ear. It was calling to her! With concentration, she could hear the noises more clearly. Yes-s-s, lithomancer. Dark danger is near. Get away--we must.

"Great. Talking necklaces! Alice had nothing on me." She began to wonder if the knock she'd taken to her head hadn't been more serious than Norda had let on. Or maybe while she'd been asleep he'd given her some psychotropic mushrooms. Was she hallucinating? No. Us-s-s-e the power. S-s-seek within yourself. Focus. Direct. You are the lithomancer. More than your mortal body, you are. Curls of the golden-red and green energy wafted from the necklace and reached out to her, like a hand beckoning. But for what? What was she supposed to do? Throw off her bonds and fly away? "Damn," she muttered. "I really should have finished reading that diary." Callista's ghostly harumph vibrated through her sore head. Closing her eyes, Lisa sought within herself whatever ability the stone and her great- grandmother seemed to feel she had. It would be her only chance to get out of this predicament alive. God knew she didn't want Marco to have to break into this armed fortress to get her out. Breathing deeply, she focused on the necklace and sought the memory of the power she'd felt when taking out Andrei in her office and creating the storm on the hillside. A humming vibration not unlike the one she'd experienced when she first tuned the stone danced along her skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. As she centered on the sound and the feeling, she missed the sound of the door opening. "What are you doing?" growled Norda as he shook her. Startled, she lost the thread of energy she'd just begun to grasp. Her eyes flew open. Damn. A few more minutes of concentration she knew she would have loosened her bonds. Norda's touch had disrupted her attenuation with the stone, which now lay lifeless around her neck. Playing dead until the evil in the room left. She now knew she could call upon her power--later after Norda left her alone. If there was a later. "What was the buzzing noise? It sounded like hundreds of bees. What kind of bruja are you? White or black?" Norda shook her once more. "Answer me." "There was no noise. You must be imagining things," she whispered. "And I'm not a witch if that is what you were asking." "Liar." Norda backhanded her across the face. "There was nothing. I'm no danger to you," she insisted. She could not forget that this man killed Marco's mother and grandmother, a reputed white witch. She didn't want him to use whatever black magic he had at his beck and call. Instinctively she knew she couldn't fight it--not without Marco's help. "So you say. We shall see." Norda stepped to the side allowing her a view of the other people in the room. "What do you know about this buzzing sound, Senor Big-Shot Mafiya Hit Man? Eh?"

She gasped in horror. Andrei stood, barely supported by two large men. He'd been beaten, cut and burned, by the looks of things. His clothes were tattered and bloodstained. His hands were bound behind his back and his ankles tethered together by iron manacles with a small chain linking them. He couldn't answer Norda because of the gag between his bloody bruised lips. Norda turned back to her. He didn't speak--just stared at her, his eyes lit with an unholy delight at her reaction to Andrei's condition. The buzzing sound momentarily forgotten, he said, "Now, my Lisa, I need several things from you, but being a sporting sort of fellow I will give you a chance to reflect on your responses to my requests. But first I must demonstrate what happens to people who do not give full and due consideration to pleasing me. Andrei over there," Norda gestured with a wide sweep of his arm, "made a deal with me and tried to renege. We'll use him for this object lesson, no?" "No!" she croaked, her words choked off by the fear clogging her throat. He would kill Andrei to prove his point. She couldn't lie there and watch this mad man kill another human being, even if it was Andrei. "Please. I'll consider your requests...and do whatever I can. Just leave him alone." She pulled at her bonds. She sought the power in the necklace, but in her anxious state, she only heard a slight humming, felt a mere tickle of energy flick over her skin. Why couldn't she reach her energy? Before Norda had entered the room, she'd been doing just fine. Was his dark magic blocking her in some way? As she reached deeper and deeper, she felt the power increase, but slowly. Not blocked, but definitely impeded. She feared she wouldn't be able to build it up fast enough to do Andrei any good. "No, I think we'll not spare him," said Norda, an evil smile on his face. "He really does not deserve your mercy, my Lisa. He would've had you submit yourself to him if he could. He is really no better than me. Maybe worse, since he professes to love you. Me--at least I'm honest about what I want from you." Norda strolled over to Andrei. He lifted the man's chin so she could see Andrei's eyes, closed almost shut from the beating he'd taken. "Tell her, Russian," spat Norda, ripping the gag from the Russian's mouth. "You killed many men, women and children in your country while profiting from their deaths. Didn't you?" Andrei nodded as much as he could within the clutches of Norda's grip on his chin. "Tell her you would have dominated her...using whatever means necessary." "No," cried Andrei. "I love her. I only wanted to be with her--for her to love me." He turned his head toward her. "I never would have hurt you. Please believe me." She saw tears streaming down Andrei's face. He believed what he said. Her heart hurt. "I believe you." Andrei attempted to smile, but his bruised and swollen lips made it look more like a grimace. Norda frowned. "He is a liar, this Russian. He will say anything, do anything to save his life, but I will show him no mercy. And neither should you."

The drug lord strolled over to the chair next to her bed. He sat down, crossed his legs, then ordered, "String him up. We'll see what confessions he'll make before we're through with him." *** US Coast Guard Station, Key West, Florida. Saul ran into the ready room, waving a computer printout in his left hand. "Got him!" Marco jumped up and grabbed the papers out of his partner's hand. Scanning them, he smiled grimly. "Yes. We've got him." He put the papers on the map table. Using a yellow marker, he circled the island on the map. "That's our target, commander. Radio the SEAL team the coordinates and have them go straight to the island. We'll rendezvous with them at twenty-hundred hours." The commander looked at the island he had indicated. "Why are you sure it's that island and not any of the other potentials?" "Because," Saul interjected, laughing, "the owner is listed as Joyas Muchas, Limited." The commander looked puzzled. "So?" "It translates as 'many jewels'," Marco said. "Norda's ego is so large he couldn't help but brag even when buying his secret island." *** Joyas Muchas Island. Lisa lay watching the sun set through the room's open French doors, trying to block from her memory Andrei's dying screams. She avoided looking at the area where Norda's men had tortured the Russian to death. It didn't do her any good--the images were indelibly etched in her memory. As they'd tortured Andrei, she'd tried to look away, but Norda would order his men to stop while he held her head forcibly then choked her until she looked. All the while Andrei whimpered like an animal in the background. After a few attempts at avoiding Norda's cruel hands, she gave up and stared at a point above Andrei's bound hands which hung from a hook in the ceiling and hoped they would end the poor man's torment sooner. After what seemed like hours, Andrei cried out no more, his body hung limply, unrecognizable as human. After ordering his men to take Andrei's body and toss it into the sea for the sharks, Norda turned to her. "So, my dear, you now see what happens to people who do not oblige me." He stroked the skin above her breast with his bloody index finger. Andrei's blood. He'd administered the deathblow--a knife into Andrei's heart. "You understand, my Lisa?" She nodded warily as the finger dipped down into her cleavage, its path marked by a bloody red trail against her pale skin. Finally, he slid it over to touch her nipple. She choked back the whimper threatening to escape from her lips. She refused to give the bastard the satisfaction. He fed on people's fear.

"Bien. We have an understanding." Norda gloated as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "I have three things I want from you. "One...," Norda paused as he watched his fingers twist her tender bud, "...I want you to sign over your land in North Carolina to MinGemCo. "Two...," he released the nipple and took a knife from his pocket. He used the dull side to trace a path around her areola, "...I want you to show me the treasure mine from which the emeralds came. "And, three..." Norda turned the knife over and followed the same path as before, but this time drew blood. "I want you," he bent over and licked the blood from her breast, "to share with me your powers--willingly." She froze. She couldn't even breathe as the murdering bastard continued to cut her. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he stopped. "Think on these three small requests. Your full and total cooperation will guarantee you a comfortable life at my side...Your refusal to grant me these things, well, you will die like old Andrei...slowly and in a great deal of pain." He left the room, laughing like the fiend he was. Whether from the memory of Norda's threat or the night air wafting its way into the room, she shivered. Goosebumps covered her exposed skin. She couldn't feel her feet or hands, so tightly were they bound. Lithomanc-c-cer. It is time. She agreed. Enough lying around waiting to be tortured to death or, worse in her mind, ravaged by Norda. She needed to center herself, break her bonds and get the hell out of there. She wasn't sure how long she'd lain there, frozen in fear, but Norda would be back, probably sooner than she'd like. Glancing around the room for hidden cameras, her gaze stopped on the bloodstain on the carpet. Sadness and regret washed over her like a tidal wave. If only she could have used her power, if only... He's dead, my child. You couldn't have helped him...and lived. You have no guilt in this. All you can do now is move on. Get away. How had her great-grandmother known she felt guilt? She hadn't even acknowledged it until that second. Somehow she should've been able to help. No, no. You are hurt. Weak. Besides, the dark one's energy is debilitating to one such as you. Only with your complement power, Marco's power, can you defeat the dark one. How will I get away then? Marco and I will help you when the time comes. Until then, conserve what energy is returning and use your wits. You are smarter than the bastard hoping to control you. He comes! Be brave, my child. She started at the opening of the door. Norda!

Chapter Twenty-seven US Coast Guard Cutter.

Feelings of intense fear and regret swept over Marco as he leaned on the railing of the coast guard cutter speeding them on their way to the island of Joyas Muchas. Marco jerked. The feelings weren't his. They were Lisa's! He closed his eyes to center himself. Concentrating on his memories of Lisa's unique thought patterns, he reached out. He found her energy--weak, but transmitting. Until he'd felt her thoughts, he hadn't been sure that this rescue mission would succeed in finding her alive. Lisa? His mental shout reverberated throughout his body. Marco? Lisa's faint reply was music to his ears. Yes, my heart. I'll be there soon. No! You can't. Not safe. Prophecy. I'll be there--trust in me. He's come for me. Hang on, querida! Use your powers. Can't...too weak...and he's blocking me. I'll help. He got no reply. Now it was his own fear that surged through every fiber of his being. He shouted his anguish to the night sky. They were going to be too late. *** Joyas Muchas Island. Like the predator he was, Norda paced the room never once letting Lisa out of his sight. What in the hell was he waiting for? She couldn't run. She refused to scream. And she damn well wouldn't beg. His basilisk stare unnerved her. What was he thinking? Funny thing. Marco's brief connection with her had given her new resolve. She wasn't sure how he could help from miles away. She wasn't even sure what his powers were other than being able to communicate with her. All she could do was trust that Callista and Marco knew what they were doing. What bothered her more than her own predicament was Marco heading into danger. She knew nothing would stop him from coming to her rescue, so it was more important than ever to stay alive and keep the two men apart. Her death would not accomplish that goal. Marco would try to avenge her and get killed for his effort. Only she could stop the prophecy from being fulfilled. She had to stay alive. Keeping an eye on Norda's movements, she mentally sought the stone. Powers of the earth and sky come to me now; show me the path this villain to cow. Where had that incantation come from? Callista? A ghostly sigh caressed her cheek, like the hand of a mother, reminding her she wasn't alone. The necklace winked brightly, sending out twining streams of golden-red and green energy that wrapped

her in an energy cocoon. She sensed Marco's nearness in the blanket of protection. Yes-s-s-s, lithomancer, the powers of fire and water are anon. Fire and water? Did the stone mean Marco? Yes-s-s-s. The complement to you--keeper of the earth powers. The two halves are now whole as they have not been since many years ago. "What are you doing, my Lisa?" Norda's voice sounded close. "Ignoring me? We'll see about that." She whipped her head around to find Norda. While she'd been staring at the necklace, he had stopped prowling the room and moved to the other side of the bed. Even now he sat upon it, his leg crowding her naked hip. If he was trying to intimidate her--he was succeeding. She refused to answer. Instead, she endeavored to edge away from the malevolent touch of Norda's body. She couldn't. He'd trapped her hips between his arms as he bent over her, his lips less than a foot away from her face. His bottomless opaque eyes demanded her attention. "Now, my Lisa," he said huskily, "are you going to cooperate?" His eyes were hard--not with lust, but with greed. He wanted what she owned and what she represented. If he could have gotten either without her she'd have been dead already. "I'd rather eat toads." She spat at the face hovering so closely to hers, then slitted her eyes, watching, waiting for his inevitable retaliation. Norda wiped the spittle from his face. Then he slapped her. "Don't ever do that again, my dear," he sneered. "Or I will not hesitate to mark you in a way you would not like. Let's see if we can teach you some manners." He moved off her body. He released her shackled ankles only to tie them apart, leaving her open to whatever he wished to do. As he started to remove his clothes, she wondered if she'd pushed him too far. Why had she antagonized him? She needed him to get out of the room so she could make her escape. She had to stop him, but how? She sent an urgent mental cry to Marco, Callista and the stone--or to whomever would listen in the realms between heaven and hell. Tell him he is found out. The double agent in the DEA has been uncovered. Stall him. How do you know...? Just do it, Lisa. He'll leave to confirm the information. Empowered by the knowledge that Marco was still connected to her, she set her mind to the task of putting the fear of God--or earth magic--into her tormentor.

While she had mind-talked with Marco, Norda had moved onto the bed. His hardened member jutted out coarsely from his hairy spider-like torso. She yelled out the words that Marco had given her. "The DEA knows where you are. They are on their way here now." Norda laughed. "Nice try, my dear, but there is no way they can know where my island is located." He moved to touch her intimately. His fingers, first one, then two, roughly penetrated her dry nether lips. She closed her eyes and spoke aloud the words being fed to her by Marco. "The spy you placed on Marco's team has been found out. While Dan Stewart did not know your location, Herve's lover, Peggy, knew enough. They found Joyas Muchas." At her last words, Norda stopped his violation. "You lie! How do you know this? What exactly are your abilities, bruja?" Fear permeated his question. She opened her eyes and smiled. "I have many powers." "What kind of powers?" His eyes gleamed skeptically. "You are still here, under my control. These powers must be less than nothing." Norda spat on the floor to indicate his disbelief. "Then how did I know that Dan Stewart and Peggy Simms have been found out?" she asked. "I've been here under your control, as you said, and prior to that I had no contact with the DEA other than Marco. If he'd known about your island then, we wouldn't be here now. They would've taken you days ago." Norda sat back on his naked haunches. His brow creased deep in thought. "Maybe you should check this out?" she pressed. "See if I'm correct in my vision. What could you lose? I'm not going anywhere. If I could escape, I would have done so by now, as you said." Norda looked her in the eyes, as if to seek the truth of what she said. She didn't flinch at the evil she saw within his black, pitiless gaze. "Can you see into the future, bruja?" he rasped. "If you mean, do I have prophetic visions?" At his abrupt nod, she continued, "Yes, I have prescient dreams. In fact, I've seen you kill Marco on this very island during a storm. I saw it over a week ago. Which is why I would do anything to keep him from fighting you." Her last words convinced Norda. She saw it in the glint in his eyes, the slight upturning of his lips. She had bought herself some time. Not much, but she hoped she wouldn't need much. "Yes," he said. "I will check this out. If you are correct, then I will add one more request to my list." She raised an eyebrow. "Request?" "I will want to know my future." Norda caressed her stomach with his hands before he got up off her body. "Give me what I ask and you may have anything you desire in this world...except your freedom." She closed her eyes. She refused to let him see the knowledge that he would never master her. "Lisa." His whisper sounded loud in the quiet room. "I will have you, you know." The door closed with a

firm click. As the last echoes of the closing door reverberated through her soul, she opened her eyes. No time to lose. She concentrated on the stone's glowing helixes of golden-red and green flames. Praying that Callista would continue to supply the correct words, she called out: Earth and sky, fire and water, unite! Come to me and share your might. As the last word echoed through her mind the room hummed with a buildup of energy. The pictures on the walls shook. The door rattled on its hinges. The formerly gentle ocean breezes whistled like a gale force wind through the open French doors. Even the sound of the waves crashing on the shore sounded louder. At a point when she thought she would be unable to stand the intensity of the energy ricocheting about the room, the strands of golden-red and green energy surged from the emerald into the room where they harnessed the elemental energies flowing within and without. In a final swishing movement, the cable of earth forces streaked back toward her prone body in a stream of pure white light. She was unprepared for the electric surge of power flowing through her body. She inhaled sharply, then stopped breathing, then exhaled as the powers of the earth, water, fire and sky healed and rejuvenated her. As the unnatural winds, tremors and sounds died down, she took stock of her body. She felt stronger than before. But would it be enough to get away? Not wanting to deal with the depraved Norda once more, she turned her gaze inward as Callista had instructed and commanded that her wrists and ankles be freed. Four quick flashes of cold fire burned through the bonds. She was free. She sat up too quickly and had to fight off a wave of dizziness. She recovered in a few seconds and stood up. A slight lightheadedness assailed her once more, then this too passed. With each step away from the bed, she became stronger. She approached the door to her room. She stopped her hand on the doorknob. Opening her senses, she searched the surrounding area for any signs of danger. No one was near, but that didn't mean much. Someone could enter the hallway at any time. Unsure of her sensory impressions, she decided not to chance the doorway to the hall. Instead, she turned toward the patio. Leaving her prison behind, she stepped onto the patio. Beyond the patio wall lay a rugged cliff which dropped off sharply. Not the easiest way out. The drop reminded her of the prophecy and a man's cry as he went over the edge of a cliff. She shivered and shook off the memory. That wasn't going to happen if she could help it-- and she could by getting away from Norda, then finding and leading Marco away from the island. The patio ran the full length of the house with many sets of French doors leading from it. Maybe she could escape through another room? She took a step toward the rear of the house then cried out as her foot found a sharp stone. Her naked foot reminded her that she had no clothes. She'd forgotten all about her nude state in her haste to leave. She wouldn't get very far in the darkness with bare feet and her bare skin exposed to the elements--the elements she would soon set into motion to cover her escape. She shivered in the cool moist night air as her thoughts caused the winds once more to pick up and thunder to rumble in the distance. Dark storm clouds scudded across the night sky. She hoped the storm

would protect Marco and the men with him when they landed on the island. But the storm also underlined her dire need for clothing. Okay. First, find clothing, then escape. Seemed simple enough. She reentered her former prison where she found no clothes. Hastily, she ripped the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it sarong-style around her body. This would have to do until she found something else. Maybe in one of the other rooms. Without a backward glance she slipped out of the room and followed the terrace toward the rear wing of the house, away from the lighted windows at the front where she sensed Norda was just about now finding out that his secret hideaway was indeed discovered. *** Norda cursed as he threw the phone against the wall. The bruja was correct. The DEA had found his snitches. Agents could well be on their way to his island now. He had no time to lose. He had a plan. He always had a plan. He would escape, taking the witch with him to his home in Nicaragua. The plantation in the rain forest was a fortress. No one could approach him there. "Jorge!" he shouted, knowing very well Jorge was close by and could hear him. "Si, senor?" Jorge's eyes reflected the fear he had sense enough to keep to himself. "Prepare to evacuate. Leave just enough men to set up a resistance." "But senor..." "No buts, Jorge, or would you like to stay and lead the defense?" No answer. He wasn't surprised. Jorge may have been able to kill his own relative by the dint of subterfuge, but deep down he was a coward--not even worth a third of Herve. Norda didn't give Jorge more than two months at the most before a stronger aide would eliminate him to sit at Norda's right hand. "Bien. Then see to it." Norda strode out of the room, his shirt flying open and his pants still not fully zipped from his haste in leaving the witch to check out her story. The witch. He lusted for the powers she possessed. He would learn her at his leisure in his mountain hideaway. He had no fear of her--his dark magic had defeated white before. He had confidence he could do so again. He wondered what her price would be for complete loyalty to him? In Norda's experience, everyone had a price, especially women. As he strode down the hallway toward Lisa's room, he noted the heightened activity around him. He imagined he could hear, even now, the small jet's engines being warmed up for takeoff. Jorge had moved fast. Hopefully, his little bruja would cooperate. If not, he would drug her. After all, witches were still mortal, and he'd found drugs affected them just as any other human. Either way, they'd be off the island in less than ten minutes. The door to Lisa's room crashed against the wall in his haste to gather her up and leave. The effect was

as empty as the room. She was gone! The bruja had lied. She had more powers than she'd let on. He roared his outrage. He ran through the room toward the French doors. Out on the patio he looked up then down the length of the house. Toward the front, the only activity occurred near the room from which he'd called Miami. Further along in the same direction, the small runway lights glowed. She wouldn't have gone that way--too much chance of getting caught. He turned toward the back of the house and ran down the terrace checking each opened bedroom as he passed. At the next to the last one, an open doorway into the back hall of the house caught his eye. She had gone through there. As he entered the room, he tripped over a pile of something soft in the middle of the floor. Flicking on the room light, he found a balled-up sheet. She must have found something to wear and had abandoned this. He was definitely on the right trail. After exiting the room, he continued toward the back of the house. She would head for the docks. He would have her then. His men controlled the docks. No woman, even a witch, could fight an armed force of highly trained men. *** She let out the breath she'd been holding. He'd taken her bait and assumed she'd gone toward the back of the house. Cautiously she poked her head out of the hall closet that was located across from the room Norda just vacated. She checked the hallway once more. All clear. She turned toward the front of the house and to the path to the beach she'd seen from the patio. In her mind's eye, she saw Marco and his men coming ashore in a small inflatable boat on a small rocky beach. Her beach. Just as she knew that Marco would be coming in stealthily under the cover of the storm and darkness, she also knew that a diversion would occur elsewhere on the island. The diversion would be coming from the sky near the docks. Tiptoeing her way down the hall, she remained alert to the sounds around her. Panic had set in. She smiled. Good, all the better for her. She'd blend in with the chaos. She smoothed the dark folds of the maid's uniform she'd found in the hall closet. She'd even found a pair of woven slippers that fit well enough to protect her feet. Her gut told her there would be rough terrain--and times--ahead.

Twenty-eight Offshore Joyas Muchas Island. Marco's nerve endings twitched with Lisa's and his combined emotions. Her thought patterns were stronger. He felt her breathing. He sensed her fear. Her relief. She was out and heading for safety. Away from Norda. He read her clearly. She still attempted to keep him from confronting Norda. He shook his head at her foolish courage. Hadn't she realized his confrontation with Norda had been postponed for twenty years? There was no way it could be avoided any longer. And now, he even had more to avenge than just the deaths of his only relatives. Norda had dared touch his woman. She hadn't been able to hide anything from him during her escape and flight. Norda had

struck her, touched her, violated her with his thoughts and deeds. He would make the man pay for his perfidy. "Marco!" Saul's shout brought him out of his dark thoughts. "What?" Had something happened on the island? He looked toward the shore. They were at least another five minutes away. They hadn't been discovered. The activity onshore was hectic. He could make out a small landing strip, its lights all aglow. Norda was preparing to run! "I've been trying to get your attention for the last few minutes," Saul huffed. "What's going on? Is it Lisa?" "She's out of the house," he replied. He cocked his head toward the island. "Looks like Norda is preparing to run." "How'd he know we were coming?" Saul asked. "Lisa. I told her what to tell him," he said. "It was the only way she could distract him from..." Raping her. Marco refused to say the words out loud. "...From harming her. It got him out of the room to check on Dan's capture. That's when she got away." "Damn spooky, how you two talk to each other," Saul said. "It's more like feelings than conversation," he tried to explain. Saul's skeptical visage had him shrugging. "Ah well, it's not easy to explain. It just is. The good news is she has regained her strength." "Agent Santiago?" The commander of the coast guard called from the stern of the eight-man raft. "The SEAL team has hit water. They are now moving toward the docks. They'll be starting their diversion in four minutes, which is our ETA to shore." "Good." He watched the beach rapidly approach. All was quiet at their projected landing spot. His mind-talk had shown Lisa the way to the beach. Where was she? *** Sure-footed like a goat, she felt her way down the rocky path toward the beach. In her mind's eye, the small boat carrying Marco bounced upon the storm-tossed waves. It wouldn't be much longer before he hit the beach. She wanted to be there to dissuade him from taking Norda himself. Let the others do it. He'd sacrificed enough over the years. She couldn't lose him now that she'd found him. Suddenly the darkness once lit only by occasional flashes of lightning and the warm glow of her amulet was breached by a bright white light coming from above and behind her. A shout, men's voices, then the sound of falling rock and dirt told her that Norda had given the alarm. They pursued her. Alarmed cries wafted on the wind. Lights flashed near the docks. Then shots from the front of the house. Marco's diversion had begun. She didn't think she could afford to wait until Marco made land. She had to run, but where? Going right would take her into the line of fire at the docks. Going back the way she'd come would be

certain capture. Going into the sea would lead Norda straight to Marco. Her only chance was to go to the left, up the cliffs, then circle back around to the house. If she could lead Norda on a wild goose chase, maybe by the time she got back to the house, Marco's men would have it under their control. No! Lisa, come to the beach! To me! She ignored her lover's cry. Her decision made; she sprinted to the left. She prayed the light from her amulet would be enough to help her find a way up the cliffs. Upon reaching the base of the bluff, she looked up. It was almost a straight vertical climb. Closing her eyes, she reached down into the wellspring of her powers Earth and rock, hear my cry. Show me the way toward the sky. Scanning the formerly impossible-looking climb with magic-assisted senses, she saw the path she needed to follow to reach the top. After a deep, cleansing breath, she reached for the first handhold. "Here goes nothing," she murmured. "Stop, bruja!" Norda's shout could barely be heard above the roar of the wind and the sounds of the now fully engaged battle on the other end of the beach. Over her shoulder, she saw Norda and a small contingent of men at the bottom of the path she'd taken down the cliff from the house. Once they hit the beach, they ran toward her. Norda in the lead, waving what she guessed to be a gun. Not waiting to find out if he would really shoot her or not, she pulled herself up the face of the cliff, using the handholds illuminated by her talisman. She had to climb, not think about being shot. As she quickly covered the first ten of what had to be two hundred feet of vertical cliff wall, more shots rang out nearby. Marco and his men! He'd made the beach, and even now was fighting her pursuers. The knowledge that he was near provided the surge of energy needed to climb faster. She had to lead Norda away before Marco realized who was leading the pursuers. If she could just steer Norda back to the house, the landing strip, anywhere away from the beach and the cliffs, she would have defeated the prophecy. The next ninety feet of climbing passed quickly. She concentrated on placing one hand over the other, pulling her body up, finding purchase for her feet, then doing it again. All her senses perceived Norda panting and swearing below her as he tried to emulate her smooth climbing technique. She laughed out loud when he cursed as he lost ground and had to start over again with his men boosting him up the bottom part of the cliff wall. She would beat him to the top. *** Marco jumped out of the raft as soon as it entered the shallows. Lisa's amulet glowed against the cliff wall. She had started her climb. And men chased her.

"Lisa!" His words were blown back at him by the unnatural wind. "Damn!" "What's up?" Saul panted as he came up to his side. He pointed to her distant figure. "Lisa can't hear me." "Think it to her then," Saul said as the coast guard commander and his men came up alongside the two men. "I tried. She's blocking again. Damn her little hide," he growled. "Norda and his men are chasing her. Divert some of them. I'm going after Norda and Lisa." The coast guard commander gave the order to attack. His men took defensive positions in the sand and started firing at the men pursuing Lisa. Marco ran along the edge of the water. His keen vision and the lightning-ridden sky disclosed an alternate path up the seaside cliff wall. With luck, he could make it to the top at about the same time as Norda. As he ran, he shucked off his extra gear. He kept only his knife, gun and a couple of extra clips of ammo. He wanted nothing to slow him down. Lisa's prophetic dreams or not, he knew that if he didn't get to the top to protect her--she, not he, would die tonight. *** She almost shouted her triumph as she pulled herself onto the top of the cliff. Norda still panted and swore below her. She had some time before he reached the top. Again she looked inward for guidance. Her mind showed her a worn path hugging another cliff wall. It led back toward the house. As she set out for the path, she again felt Marco's urgent nudge against her mental blocks. She couldn't let him in. He'd know her plan, and he would only try to stop her. He was much better off fighting Norda's men down on the beach. She could handle Norda. If she had to, she'd kill him herself. She had the power--all she had to do was find the nerve to use it. She ran as swiftly as she could on the slippery rough terrain. She followed the beaten down sea grasses and only occasionally looked over her shoulder to see if Norda had managed to pull himself over the top of the lower cliff. Stop! She halted at Callista's frantic cry. Just in time. She teetered on the edge of a crumbled pathway. Sometime recently, part of the trail had fallen onto the rocky shore below. She couldn't go forward. She was stuck on this plateau. Her only way of escape was back the way she'd come or down the other side of the plateau. Norda's curses were getting closer now, but she still had enough time to check out the other access to the seaside plateau. She ran to the side of the bluff away from Norda. The view was even worse than at the crumbled cliff path. Whereas the path had crumbled onto a rocky shore, this side of the promontory had rocks and violent whirlpools of water. She shivered.

Damn. She was trapped. She turned in a circle seeking shelter. Nothing. The bluff was open to the sea on two sides. The cliff path gone. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Calm acceptance swept over her. She turned to face the bluff's edge where Norda would appear. So be it. She'd deal with him. She'd avenge Marco's mother and grandmother. She'd defeat the prophecy before Marco even had a chance to find her or Norda. She waited. Norda's vile curses preceded him over the cliff's edge, then his hands clawed at the tough sea grasses as he pulled himself up onto the bluff. Once on top, he lay prone for a few seconds to catch his breath. Her eyes never once left him as she waited for him to notice her. So intent on waiting for Norda to rise, she missed the swift movement of his hand as he drew a bead on her with a gun. He was going to shoot her. She sought her powers--she would kill him before he killed her. No! Remember my diary! You cannot use your powers to kill--that is the sure way to both your and Marco's death. Run! Heeding Callista's warning cry, she ran in a zigzag fashion back along the beach side of the cliff, back toward the damaged pathway. Norda's first shot went wide and hit the dirt beside her feet. He aimed low, trying to stop her, but not kill. He wanted her alive. He wanted her power. Fear lent wings to her feet. She would find a way down. She had to. At least with him chasing her and Marco occupied elsewhere, the prophecy would remain unfulfilled. Running harder than she'd ever run in her life, she again almost didn't stop in time. Teetering on the edge, she whispered the incantation that had shown the way up the cliff. Earth and rock, hear my cry. Show me the way toward the sky. This time no path was shown. The storm she'd called up increased in its ferocity and now produced torrents of rain. This had the effect of slowing Norda's pursuit. She couldn't even see him through the sheets of water. If she couldn't see him, he definitely couldn't see her to shoot at her. She had bought herself some time. There had to be somewhere to hide until help came. A particularly close flash of lightning illuminated a narrow ledge left behind when the pathway had crumbled. How had she missed it before? Had it even been there or had she conjured it up? No matter. It was chancy, but it was her only way off the death trap of a cliff. She reached for a hold on the rock wall, then slid one foot onto the remaining thin strip of dirt and rock. So far so good. Plastering herself against the rough rock, she slid her other foot onto the narrow rim. She felt a slight giving way of some loose dirt, but on the whole it held. Embracing the rock wall like a lover, inch-by-inch, she slipped along the treacherous path to the other side.

One misstep, and she would fall to the rocks below. Rain pelted all around her, making her already dangerous escape harder, but she couldn't allow the storm to let up. Norda would surely see her and shoot her where she stood. Her pursuer's shout fought its way through the wind. She looked back. Norda's blurred figure appeared through the downpour--he was closing in on her position. She hurried along the ledge as fast as she dared. Each step knocked loose dirt, then clods and finally rocks. She hoped she wouldn't run out of the minuscule ledge before she got to the other side. Finally she reached solid ground. She sighed. She was safe. There was no way Norda could follow her. Yet he was. And he looked to be making quicker work of it than she had. She had just turned to run when something sharp stung her leg. She fell to the ground. She'd been shot. Get up, child. Run. Use the power to help you. Calling on the power her great-grandmother had so much faith in, she let go of the storm and her mental blocks. She figured she'd need all the energy she could gather--and she needed to do it fast. *** Marco reached the top of the bluff just as the storm's fury hit. He sensed rather than saw Norda pursuing Lisa. Pulling himself up and over onto the cliff, he took off running. Maybe he could intercept Norda before he reached Lisa. Slipping and sliding across the increasingly treacherous ground, he slid to a stop as he reached a gap in the ledge. Where had they gone? He heard rather than saw the waves roaring into the shore below. His memory dredged up an image of a rocky shore at this point of the island. Could both Lisa and Norda have fallen to their deaths? Lisa! No answer. He'd know if she were dead, wouldn't he? She was his other half, and he still felt her life signs. His mind still butted against her mental blocks. She had to be alive, but she could be hurt. He sent another anguished cry to the skies. Lisa! Then the blocks were off. The storm ceased as abruptly as it had started. He saw Lisa lying on the ground bleeding from a wound in her leg. Norda stalked her. He had no time to lose. He had to get across to the other side. There was no way he would make it along the thin strip. He called upon his powers, and the storm-tossed seas responded. A tsunami formed offshore, then traveled toward the cliff side where he waited to catch the curl. As the crest of the two hundred foot wave reached the broken path, he leaped upon it. Body surfing the perfect wave to the other side, he tumbled off as it dissipated upon his command.

Rolling to a standing position, he sought Lisa. He was too late. Norda was already upon her. "Norda!" he roared. "Get away from her." Norda turned and fired at him. The drug lord grabbed Lisa by the arm, jerked her up and pulled her around in front of him. He held the gun to her head. "Come any further, Santiago," sneered Norda, "and your little bruja is dead." Norda jabbed the gun into her neck near her ear. Marco gritted his teeth and silently vowed retribution Then once again, he sought the elemental power of fire from the only source at hand--from the storm clouds' electricity. As lightning streaked from the dark clouds, it sought the metal in Norda's hand. Norda shrieked as it hit--and let go of Lisa. He dropped the gun as he nursed his burnt hand. "Run, Lisa!" cried Marco. Lisa stumbled away from Norda just as Marco hit the bastard low and hard. The two men rolled on the slippery rock and vegetation of the cliff path. The fight grew more ugly and vicious. It was her dream all over again. Despite her best intentions, the prophecy was being fulfilled right before her eyes. "No!" she cried to the heavens and the earth, somehow she had to find a way to stop the inevitable. As the men rolled over and over, several times coming close to the edge of the cliff-side path, she sought a method to get Norda away from Marco long enough to hit him with her stone energy. Saving Marco wouldn't be using her power for evil, would it? And even if it was, she couldn't stand by and watch Marco die. Her heart would die right along with him. With all the rock around, she was sure she could summon enough stone power to kill the bastard and save Marco. But the opportunity didn't seem like it would ever come, the men were glued together in a battle to the death. Just when it seemed that Marco had the upper hand, Norda would use a dirty maneuver and take control. The two men gouged, bit, hit and kicked at each other. Then, they stopped. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Marco lay still under Norda. Norda stood up, then looked over to where she stood. "Now I'll kill your precious lover just as you foresaw." Norda moved away from Marco's body.

Marco groaned and attempted to turn over. Norda kicked him in the ribs. Marco's head bled. He must have hit a rock when they'd rolled over. He was stunned. She started toward Marco. She wouldn't let Norda kill him. As she covered the cliff, she gathered its energy. Norda walked to the edge of the promontory looking for something. He picked up an object. He'd found his gun! She'd have to hurry. She took the energy she'd gathered and channeled it through her pendant toward the ground beneath Norda's feet. A loud roar preceded the edge of the cliff falling away onto the sea and rocks below. The drug lord screamed as it gave way. She'd changed the dream. Norda, not Marco, was the man who'd gone over the cliff's edge. She felt Marco's eyes on her. She turned. "I love you, Lisa." His harsh whisper floated on the wind. He'd finally voiced his love aloud. She cried out, "I love you, too!" as she ran toward her lover. Just before she reached him, the ground roared. The cliff below Marco was crumbling! "Marco! Move!" She stumbled, crawled, then clawed her way over the short distance separating them. After all they had gone through, she wasn't losing him now. As the rock beneath him broke into multiple pieces, she reached out with her hands, her powers and her mind to grasp him. As the remainder of the ledge gave way, their fingers met. Help me save you, my love. Anything for you, querida. Marco grasped her wrists. She held onto him as their earth powers mated once more, healing, rejuvenating and giving them the strength to pull each other to safety on a cloud of air, fire and water. Once over solid ground, the cloud gently dissipated, allowing them to float to the earth from whence their powers originated. Finally safe, she sought his lips. As they deepened the kiss, she sought to reassure herself that he was unhurt. I'm fine, querida. I'm here in your arms. How could I be anything else? Marco. My love. Forever. Forever.

Excerpt from Death Benefits by

Monette Michaels Copyright © 2001 Monette Michaels ISBN 1-55316-052-5

PROLOGUE "Elinor Grace is dead!" "Yes?" The man in the doorway hearing the unspoken "so what" came into the large office suite and closed the door behind him. Walking over to stand in front of his employer, he said, "There was no medical reason why she should die. I know. I examined her records myself." "Old people die, Dr. Martin. Now, if you haven't any business reason for taking up my time, why don't you go home? Enjoy your weekend." "I'm going to ask the family to have an autopsy done." Victor Hardman sat up in his chair and said, "No, you won't." Eric Martin shuddered at the three words. "Why not?" "Because I own you, Doctor, and you will do as you're told, or else. Now, go home, have that drink you so obviously need and think about what you owe me and the company. Need I say I don't want to hear about this again?" "No. I understand perfectly." Dr. Martin turned and left the room. Victor Hardman frowned after the retreating man. Doctor Martin might become a problem. He reached over and hit a stored number on his phone.

CHAPTER ONE Two weeks later. Rob Craig took his house key from under the fake rock in his garden and let himself into his 1930s cottage-style home in Broad Ripple. His morning run had left him feeling invigorated and ready to face the body lying in the embalming room of the mortuary where he occasionally did his private autopsies, especially the Jewish ones. Jewish mortuaries didn't have the stainless steel tables and drains he needed since they didn't embalm the bodies. Hell, they put their dead in the ground so fast, they were barely out of rigor. If the truth were told, he'd rather the bodies were brought to his autopsy room. He didn't like making

macabre small talk with strange mortuary attendants. Rob had always had trouble making small talk even with people he knew - let alone total strangers. He knew people called him, at the very best, standoffish and, at the worst, a troublemaker. Oh well, as his mother always told him, "Robbie, you can't control what other people think about you." Rob, taking his mother at her word, never tried. Rob walked into his kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of sports drink, which he drank on the way to the bathroom. "Laurel, get out of the shower." Rob's Great Dane puppy looked up from his nap on the cool tile floor. "Yeah, I know it's hot - Indian Summer, old boy. But you've got to get out of there so I can get cleaned up. I've got to go to work." Laurel didn't move. Rob reached in, turned the water on full blast and stepped away just in time to avoid getting hit by ninety pounds of very wet dog. Laughing, Rob stripped off his running clothes and stepped into the stall. From what Karen Grace, granddaughter of the deceased, had said upon hiring him, Elinor Grace had never had an incidence or indications of any heart problems. That didn't mean anything, of course. Elderly people can die of heart failure without ever presenting symptoms. But, he did acknowledge that such a clean medical history should have been an indicator for an autopsy. Rob shook his head in disgust. Shoddy work. That's why he had left the med center. They did okay with the obvious coroner cases, but, to cut costs, they overlooked the less obvious. The emergency room doctor saw an elderly woman, dead with no signs of trauma, assumed a heart attack or some other cardiovascular event and signed off on it. The family, now past their initial shock and grieving, had to go to the time and trouble of hiring a lawyer, exhuming the body and having an autopsy done to pinpoint the cause of death. What a waste. Rob stepped out of the shower and stopped short of stumbling over his very disgruntled dog. Rob grinned at the sight. "Okay, I'm sorry I turned the water on you, but you should have moved. Look, you putz, you've got Hardy feeling sorry for you. You don't need me, too." Hardy, a twenty-pound cat of unknown origins, was grooming the Great Dane after his untimely shower. Hardy stopped licking her housemate, meowed, walked over and started licking Rob's bare wet leg. Rob stooped and scratched Hardy's head. "Thanks, old girl, but I think a towel will work faster. Appreciate the thought, though." Rob dressed in scrubs, then on his way out the door grabbed the copies of Elinor Grace's medical records sent over by the lawyer's office. Locking up the house, he reflected on his conversation with the lawyer, Mici Smith. He had gotten the impression that she was humoring her clients and didn't expect much out of this procedure or him. Mentally he shrugged - he was used to that; most people didn't understand what a forensic pathologist could do. After locking up, he placed the key, per his established routine of switching hiding places, under a stone

bunny rabbit in the garden and climbed into his Dodge Ram truck. The trip to the mortuary took less than five minutes. His new pathology assistant's beat up old Sunbird was already in the lot. Good, Rob thought, maybe this med student would work out. We'll see if he can keep up on this one. An elderly woman who hadn't been embalmed and had been entombed for over a month would not be a pretty picture. Nor a sweet-smelling one. Rob walked into the back entrance of the building. He could already hear the sounds of Metallica coming from the embalming room. His diener shared his musical interests. If this one lasted longer than the previous four, maybe they could hit some concerts and clubs together. Rob had always gone alone in the past, but some company would be nice once in a while. Hell, Rob thought, Tod probably wouldn't last either. If the smells and sights didn't get him, Rob's obsession with his work would. That's what scared off the others. That's what skewed his ability to work with his peers at the Center - he was a perfectionist and they didn't give a flying fuck. Tod looked up as Rob entered the room. "Good morning, Dr. Craig. I think I've got it all set up." Rob saw the expectant look in Tod's eyes - like an over-eager puppy starving for affection. Since he couldn't scratch his diener's ears, Rob fumbled around for an appropriate ice-breaker. "Looks great. Thanks for turning on the music - nothing like a little Metallica to get things going." Rob guessed he'd said the right thing, because Tod's face lit up. Approaching the body on the embalming table, Rob slipped on gloves and began to unzip the body bag containing Mrs. Grace's body. "Okay, let's get started. We have here Mrs. Elinor Grace, a sixty-eight-year-old Caucasian woman of Jewish faith who died approximately one month ago of a suspected infarction and was buried unembalmed within twenty-four hours of her death. What condition would you expect the body to be in?" Rob turned to look at Tod, who had been watching the bag as Rob unzipped it, but Rob had yet to open it all the way. "Well, Dr. Craig..." "Tod, call me Rob. This isn't the med center." "Okay, uh, Rob. The deceased would have no rigor since the enzymes that cause the muscles to stiffen up would have dissipated." Tod stopped as if to see if he was right so far. "Good, go on. I'll stop you if I disagree." "Uh, well, there would be dependent livor mortis - the lower part of her body would be a purplish color with mottling above it. Superior skin would be pale, as would pressure points such as the elbows and other bony areas that had made contact with a hard surface like the coffin. Because she would have been unembalmed, her abdomen would be protuberant from the gas-producing bacteria in her gastrointestinal tract. There would be autolysis, the cellular detail in her body would disappear because of the lack of oxygen to the cells. I guess that's all. Other than that she would be in pretty good shape unless the coffin had leaks or cracks so that insects and worms could get inside and do other damage." "Very good. I'm impressed." This second-year medical student was more with it than some first year residents. "Where did you learn all that?"

Tod turned slightly red at the praise. "Well, I studied some of the forensic texts after I got this job, and then I went to the coroner's library and read some of your old dictated cases. I'm not kissing up to you when I say that I learned more from your case dictations than the books. Really!" Rob was speechless. He had never had someone look up to him before - other than his pets. "Well, thanks, I appreciate the compliment. Let's get to work and see what killed this woman." "Yeah, it sure wasn't a heart attack if her medical records were accurate," Tod said as he turned to confirm that the instruments were ready and laid out for the autopsy. "What makes you say that?" "Well, I don't know, but it's a gut feeling I've got. The medical records have no indications of any ill health other than the usual colds, flu and such. Her family history shows no heart problems. If there's a fire, there has usually been some smoke. No smoke." Tod shrugged. "No smoke. I couldn't have put it better myself. My gut tells me the same thing. Tell me, what do you plan to specialize in after you graduate?" "Pathology and then a fellowship in forensics. That's why I would have killed to get this job - no matter what everyone else said." Tod grinned. "And just what did everyone else say? Or, better yet, let me guess: 'Watch out for that Dr. Craig, Tod. He's a crazy, obsessed, anti-social bastard.' Something like that?" Tod nodded, embarrassed. "Yeah, something like that. But they're wrong." "How do you know? You've only worked with me for a week." "I just know. They're wrong. Hey, just ask around sometime - my classmates think I'm weird because I want to be a pathologist." Rob didn't know what to say about Tod's willingness to accept him at face value, so he warned, "You might want to wear a mask. The smell when we get to the gut will be awful." In what was for him a companionable silence, broken only by the throbbing base of the Metallica CD, Rob unzipped the body bag and exposed Elinor Grace to the harsh light of the living world. Without even asking, his assistant had turned down the CD player and switched on the cassette recorder for Rob's gross dictation. Rob dictated the preliminary information he had previously covered with Tod, including pertinent medical history and official cause of death, and then had Tod help him turn over the body. "Upon complete visual examination, there are no abrasions or indications of external trauma of any kind on the deceased." Rob stopped dictating and clicked the foot pedal to pause the recorder. Rob took several pictures. "Help me turn her back over." Tod had anticipated Rob's request and was already positioned to turn Mrs. Grace over. Rob shook his head. He had never had a diener who had worked in tandem with him before. Rob took more pictures of the front. His gut and the note from the lawyer advising him of the family's theory that Elinor had been murdered said to document the absence of abrasions and any signs of trauma. As a highly trained scrub nurse would have done for a surgeon, Tod had the scalpel ready and waiting for

Rob to use in the process of getting into the chest. Rob made a large V-shaped incision around the breasts by cutting diagonally down from each side so that at the bottom of the V, the skin and attached tissue could be pulled up over the deceased's face like a blanket shielding her eyes from the process. Rob then made a midline cut down her abdomen and pulled the skin with its tissues to each side. With the ribs exposed, Rob accepted the rib cutters from Tod, cut the ribs protecting the heart and placed them on a tray. "Let's see how your heart looks, Elinor." Rob was in the zone now - communing with the body itself, asking it to give up its secrets to him. Rob cut the right carotid, then the left, and finally the left subclavian. Making a cut just pass the arch of the aorta, he removed the heart intact so that he could look at all the major vessels in situ. "Looks normal on gross. I'll want some slides." Tod held the tray for the heart and took it over to the side bench where he would later take the tissue for the slides. Rob continued his examination of the chest cavity. "You were in excellent shape, Elinor. You could have lived a lot longer on this heart and these lungs. You sure as hell didn't die from any infarction I can see." Getting ready to look at the brain, Rob turned to ask for the Stryker saw and realized that Tod had again anticipated him. A warm glow of what could almost be called contentment flowed through him. "Thanks, Tod. As you guessed, we're going to keep hunting for cause of death. I'm ninety- nine percent sure she didn't die from heart failure and the lungs look good, too. Our guts were right." Rob made an extra effort to include Tod in the process. No diener had ever been able to share the zone with him. Tod smiled and nodded. Rob started up the Stryker and gently placed the flap of skin back down over the open chest cavity. The saw would vibrate through the bone and stop at the tissue, just like it did when taking off a cast and stopping at the skin. One saw, two uses. Rob swiftly and cleanly removed the top of the skull. The brain looked normal - a gelatinous gray mass with peaks and valleys. "It looks normal." Tod voiced Rob's exact thoughts. "Yes, it does. We'll weigh it and take tissue for a tox screen." Tod looked at him with a satisfied expression. "Poison?" "Maybe. I'm not ruling out anything, yet. We'll take all the usual tissues for a tox - brain, liver, kidneys, and ocular vitreous. Since she wasn't embalmed, we'll try to see if the bacteria left us anything in her stomach contents." Tod grimaced. The autopsy had been routine so far, but the next half hour promised to be gruesome. Unembalmed abdominal cavities were gross - even for old-timers like himself.

"Let's put on the space suits. Who knows what kind of stuff is growing in Mrs. Grace. Sorry, Elinor, we know you can't help it." Tod got the suits, and they both quickly suited up. The opening of the abdominal cavity was as bad as Rob thought it would be. With Tod's efficient assistance, he got in and out quickly with enough samples to satisfy the most Type-A toxicologist. Since he had seen nothing out of the normal in Elinor's body, he went ahead and took samples from under her nails. Rob didn't want to overlook any possible avenue for evidence. "Good job. Let's put Mrs. Grace back together so the mortician can fix her up all nice and pretty, then she can go back into the ground for her well-deserved rest." "Okay, Rob." Tod turned and retrieved all the removed body parts and handed them respectfully to Rob who carefully reconstructed the remains of Elinor Grace. "Don't worry Elinor, we'll get the evidence so that the police can find your murderer." Then he rezipped the body bag, once again shielding Elinor from the prying eyes of the world. "Rob, you're sure it's murder. How?" "Considering the lack of evidence of heart failure or any other system failure, then it's Ockham's Razor: Don't complicate things more than you need to; usually the simplest hypothesis is the best. "Why not suicide? How do you know she didn't take poison?" "You saw her. You read her charts. You read the family reasons for the autopsy. Do you really think she committed suicide?" Rob looked at Tod. "No. I don't. Are the police going to be able to get the guy who did this?" "I don't know, Tod, but it won't be because we didn't give them everything we could. I can promise you that much."

CHAPTER TWO Three weeks later. "What else could go wrong today?" muttered Michelle Smith as she looked around the dimly lit and crowded elevator. The non-moving elevator. As the walls closed in on her, Mici whispered repeatedly under her breath, "Breathe, damn it." A mantra that might just get her through this living death. Mici knew that her fellow prisoners were looking at her, wondering what her problem was. Tough. Let them. If someone didn't get her out of this elevator - and soon - she would really give them cause to stare. God, she hated small spaces! As if some god in the machine heard her prayer, the elevator started jerking downward. With each slowly moving second, Mici voiced her mantra. Finally, the doors opened. Freedom. Mici breathed a sigh of relief and vowed to never take an elevator again - even if the probate courts were

on the top floor rather than the seventeenth! She knew it was an unreasonable fear, but she couldn't help it. Her father had a lot to answer for. *** "Great!" Mici gasped after climbing the six flights of stairs to the offices of Benjamin, Tyler and Harrison, P.C. "Everyone went home." At six o'clock on a Friday evening, there was usually some die-hard associate still working. Oh well, she thought, I guess they have lives. My pillow and that mystery book will wait - their significant others won't. Mici dropped her briefcase and fumbled for her office key. Hell, she needed a bottle of aspirin, a cold Pepsi and a chair, in that order. Finally making it inside her office, she noticed a large package on her desk with a note attached. Mici picked up the note and read, "Boss, Well, here it is - the Grace autopsy. Karen Grace brought it over around 3 P.M. Said to call her tonight - no matter when you got in. Urgent. I didn't peek - tempted to - but didn't. Sherry." Mici grinned. She knew what it must have cost Sherry not to peek. Oh well, she'd let her read it Monday. Good secretaries were hard to find, so you kept them happy. Before she even attempted to read, she needed that aspirin and Pepsi. Mici walked over to the small bar refrigerator cleverly hidden in the built-in wall units. It had taken years, but she had finally earned the right to a corner office with many windows and high ceilings. Already she had made the room her own - pale peach walls set off by the mahogany of the built-in wood shelves, Chinese wool area rugs on the parquet wood floors and pastel water colors - the feminine touches needed to lessen the severity of the formerly masculine domain of a recently deceased partner. Her office gave her peace of mind; she had made it in a man's world. Headache assuaged for the time being, Mici looked at the extremely thick report and said to no one in particular, "What did Dr. Craig think he was writing? The sequel to War and Peace?" The two times she had spoken with him by phone he'd been so short with her that she knew how he had come by his antisocial reputation. The only information she could get out of him was that the report would be done after the toxicology screens came back. Now it was here. Opening the report, the words "Elinor Grace was murdered" leapt off the page. Even though she was somewhat prepared for this, it was still a shock. Before reading any further, Mici picked up the phone and dialed Karen Grace. "Karen, this is Mici. I just saw the report. Your family's suspicions were correct. I'm so sorry." Mici listened to Karen's anguish over her Gran's death at the hands of an unknown person and the relief that the waiting to know was over. "Wait a minute, Karen. Slow down. Did you say something about a phone call and Elinor's death?" Mici sat stunned as Karen Grace told her that the real reason the family had insisted on the exhumation and autopsy was a phone call that Karen had received from an unknown caller. They had suspected it

was murder all along; they just needed the physical proof. "Karen, if you knew this over a month ago, why didn't you tell me at the time? We could have gone to the police with this." Mici rubbed her temples, willing her headache not to return. As Mici listened to Karen's explanation, she flipped through the report and read that Elinor had been poisoned with nicotine. She cringed at the photos of Elinor's poor body and vowed that someone would pay for her death and the indignities that came with being a murder victim. Mici interrupted Karen's flow of grief and anger. "Karen, I'm taking this to the police tonight...Yes, you heard me, tonight. I don't care what Dr. Craig said about the police not listening. The police will listen to me." *** Mici stared at Homicide Detective Mitch Adams in disbelief. This just wasn't her day - stuck elevators, beloved client proven murdered, and now this - a stubborn, close- minded police detective. Mici massaged her pounding temples. She didn't think Excedrin had a number for her current headache. "Ms. Smith, one more time: You have nothing that convinces me that Mrs. Grace was murdered. Nothing." "Detective Adams, I will admit everything we have alone wouldn't indicate a murder, but together they make pretty convincing circumstantial evidence. Look at this logically, we have an autopsy report -" Detective Adams interrupted Mici. "Look at what I have here on my desk, Ms. Smith. See these stacks of folders? Those are the case files for the murders committed in Indianapolis to date this year. There are well over a hundred cases there. On these cases, we either know who did it or have a pretty good idea. Now, you want me to add to the very large pile of cases, being handled by my overworked homicide detectives, a case where the woman could have accidentally ingested her rose poison? I don't think so." Mici recognized a stone wall when she met one. Standing up, she looked Detective Adams in the eye and said, "You want more evidence. I'll get you more evidence. Then you'll have to open one more file for your stack whether you like it or not."

Excerpt from Fatal Vision by

Monette Michaels ISBN 1-55316-050-9 Copyright © 2001 Monette Michaels

CHAPTER ONE "The Moon" Hidden enemies; unforeseen trials. Darien had hit the mother lode.

Looking over at the body of the woman lying dead on the Chinese silk rug, he smiled. He had known she was rich, that's why he'd targeted her, but he hadn't realized she was stupid enough to leave this much wealth just lying around her townhouse. He turned back toward the safe, not so cleverly hidden under the hearthrug. Pulling his backpack closed, he loaded it with the bundles of cash and jewels he found. "Damn her." His voice echoed loudly in the room. If only Wilhelmina Fairchild, "Willie" to her close acquaintances, had left well enough alone. She may have been stupid about the security for her valuables, but had been smart enough to have him checked out prior to marrying him. Tonight, she'd taunted him with everything she knew and then committed the cardinal sin she'd laughed at him. "You stupid little man. Did you think I would marry just anyone?" She looked him up and down like he was trash. "I have more respect for myself than that, and for the wealth, which my dear departed Edgar left me. The private detective I hired tells me you're a wanted criminal; well, I'll tell you something Darien Storm...or should I say Bud Hoffman? Whatever your real name is you showed me a good time in bed and for that I have some affection for you so my parting gift to you is a head start. Go on, run, young man, and don't let the door hit you on that sweet little ass on the way out." Then, she'd laughed. That's when he killed her. His gloved hands broke her neck before she'd stopped laughing and realized her danger. The shock in her pale blue eyes fixed for eternity. Darien moved over to the silly French Provincial desk. He needed to find the name of the private investigator she'd used. He had to cover his tracks; no use getting away with the old biddy's murder if her hired snoop was out there waiting with enough information to hang him. Did they still hang deserters and murderers in the Army? No matter. He didn't intend to get caught in order to find out. Ruffling through the drawers, he found a folder with his name on it. Yes, this was it. Walter Nichols, Private Investigator. Darien turned toward Willie and threw her a kiss for being organized. Taking the file, he stuffed it in his backpack. Before he left the townhouse, he would just check out the bedroom again. His gut - no, some extra sense that had saved his butt too many times to be ignored told him to check her bedroom for something else. He'd recognize it when he saw it, just like he had known her secret hidey-hole under the hearth rug when he approached it. Walking through the bedroom, he responded to the urge to look in her bedside table. Yes, there it was. A journal. The pathetic old woman had kept a diary. He knew without looking he figured prominently in it, so he stashed it in the backpack. His sixth sense told him it was okay to leave now. All evidence pointing a finger at him was gone. He was going to get away with this crime just like all the others. He left the townhouse by the backdoor. He'd never used the front during the four- month long affair with Willie. She'd called him her "secret lover," and that had been fine with him. He hadn't counted on her marrying him, so he had kept a low profile. Good thing. Now, the only person who could connect him was the private dick. Well, he knew how to take care of that. *** Morgan Smith ran to catch the subway. She reached the door and squeezed through just in time. The next train wouldn't come for twenty minutes and she was already later than usual. Someday, she would be her own boss instead of a clerk, then closing time would be closing time. As she moved toward a seat at the back of the car, Morgan stopped abruptly, hitting a wall of psychic energy of such power and darkness that she shivered in the overly warm subway car. Swaying, she let out a moan of distress and reached for a strap to keep from falling.

"Here, miss," a female voice called from behind her, "you look as if you need to sit down." Morgan turned to a motherly woman who patted the seat beside her in invitation. Attempting a smile, Morgan sank into the proffered seat and whispered a "thank you" to the woman. Feeling the need to explain her weakness with something mundane, she offered, "I must be more tired than I thought." The sympathetic woman nodded an acknowledgment and turned her attention back to the knitting in her lap. The niceties taken care of, Morgan closed her eyes and turned her mind inward, knowing from past experiences the nausea and dizziness would settle more quickly that way. Fighting the visions did no good, so she'd learned how to control them. Seeking the source of the psychic energy she had encountered, she centered herself and concentrated. Was it near or far? More importantly, was it a threat to her and everyone in this car? Morgan had learned at an early age that she was not like everyone else - that she had a connection to a different level of communication with the world around her. After much trial and error, she'd also learned not to ignore this extra sense. The times she had, had been disastrous. Breathing shallowly, she pulled images out of the maelstrom in her mind. The colors of this energy were dark. She knew the danger was near. Far would be shadowy, more grays and sepias, like old-fashioned tintypes. These colors were black, brown, purple...and blood red. Murder. Pale blue eyes wide open in shock as hands closed around her neck. Death. Morgan let out a gasp. The woman next to Morgan looked at her askance and inched away. Get a grip, Morgan. Before you scare the whole darn car. Morgan knew her inner voice was telling her the danger was not directed toward her or anyone near. If the voice switched from "you" to "us," then Morgan could start to worry. Right now, she just needed to chill out. Morgan glanced over at the woman and gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Cautiously, she began looking around the car seeking with all her God-given senses. The hands that choked the woman in her mind were here in this car. Now, all she had to do was find the man to whom they belonged. Yeah right, Morgan. Then what are you going to do call Ghostbusters? Seeing several young men in black leather, she opened her mind fully letting in all sorts of images - images that were common to most hormonal young men. Violence. Sex. But no death. As she moved her eyes and mind toward the other end of the car, she felt the wall of blackness and ice once again. He looked so normal - no, not normal - civilized, with his Italian silk sports coat and neatly combed blond hair. He could have been any businessman going home after a long day at work carrying his brown leather satchel. But, he wasn't. He was a murderer and Morgan was the only person in the world who knew.

Well, what do you do now, Morgan? You've found him. How do you explain it to the police? You psyched him out? Read it in your tea leaves? Saw him in your crystal ball? Morgan shook her head. No matter how much ridicule she had withstood in the past, she knew she'd have to go to the police. If for no other reason than the dead woman was all alone and deserved better than rotting in her home like unwanted garbage. It could be days, Morgan sensed, before the victim would be found. Plus, she could never live with herself if she allowed a murderer to go free. So are you going to make a citizen's arrest? Tackle him and hold him for the police? No, much better to memorize his looks and watch where he gets off, then to go to the police. Staring at the killer, she imprinted his face on her mind. She would never forget him just as she would never forget the images flying through her mind. The house. The dead woman, Willie. Yes, her name was Willie Fairchild. The stolen money and jewelry in his backpack. The file. Nickles. More death not yet occurred. Yes, it was imperative to let the police know. Another life was in danger. Morgan shut her mind like a door slamming closed. He was looking at her. No, she breathed a sigh of relief, he was just scanning the car. She turned her head from his searching glances. She'd felt a weak probing from the man. He, too, had psi abilities, but not on the level of hers. Thank God. He couldn't read her. She was safe. *** Darien felt itchy. Damn subway cars - always hot and humid with the stench of a mass of humanity. Riding subways would be a thing of the past now. Once he eliminated the private detective, he'd head out west. Wide open spaces, clean air, few people. He had an idea for a new con. He was through making love to old ladies for their money. The Bible Belt had better get ready for him. A buzzing in his head distracted Darien from his plans. Looking around, he saw no insect - nothing that could be making the noise. Maybe a fluorescent light was going out. No. It was coming from someone in the car. All he knew was that he was in danger and he needed to leave. Hearing the call for the next stop, Darien moved to the end of the car away from the source of the buzzing. Whatever it was, he wanted no part of it. He'd relied on his instincts all his life and they had never been wrong. He wasn't going to start ignoring them now. First things first, kill the private dick, then to the Bible Belt and salvation - his, definitely not theirs. Smiling, he exited the car.

CHAPTER TWO "The High Priestess" Secret about to be revealed. Morgan's journey entailed changing trains and backtracking - the murderer had already been on the train when she'd gotten on - but even during the long ride back to the city she hadn't wavered. The images of the dead woman - Of Willie, she had a name dammit - were indelibly etched in her mind's eye. Morgan felt sad, grief-stricken, angry. The images would not go away; the sightless eyes, the lonely body compelled her to act. Once she'd reported the matter to the police, she would be excused. Scared, but determined, Morgan entered the precinct in Manhattan. She knew her life would change

now. It always did once people realized she was different. No matter. What was a little disruption in her life compared to the fact that Willie didn't even have a life any longer? Willie didn't deserve to be murdered and left to rot. No one did. Glancing around the precinct lobby, Morgan almost turned and left. The mass of humanity with their problems and attendant strong emotions made her nauseous. Abruptly, she cut off her extra sense. Even then it took all her willpower to keep the whirlwind of feelings from overwhelming her. Morgan knew a debilitating headache was in her future if she didn't get away from the thieves, murderers, and victims milling around in the close quarters of the lobby. But, she knew she wouldn't, couldn't leave, the images of Willie wouldn't allow it. Approaching the officer on duty at the desk, she waited until the man finished talking on the phone. Breathe, Morgan, keep breathing. Center yourself and control the sensations. You can do it. "May I help you, miss?" The officer smiled as he raised his voice to speak over the din. "I have to report a murder." "Murder, miss?" The officer was no longer smiling, his emotions adding to the beating her control was taking. Morgan nodded and waited. Was it her imagination? Or, did the crowd in the room suddenly quiet as if they knew that here was a drama greater than their own? "You'll need to see someone in Homicide. I'll get a detective out here." "Fine. I'm not going anywhere." Morgan sat down on a vacant bench by the water fountain. Massaging her temples, she wondered if it would be appropriate to ask for aspirin. It was going to be a long - and exhausting night. Watching the officer talk into the phone, she took a chance and opened her mind. Mistake, still too much emotion in the room. Plus, she didn't need her psi powers to know that he was wondering whether she was for real. Guess he didn't get too many women walking into his precinct calmly reporting a murder. Well, after she told her story, he would be able to relate that he knew she was crazy when she first came in. All cops thought she was crazy - at first - then they believed. Cynical, suspicious, skeptics - the whole lot of them. Morgan guessed that's what made them good at their jobs. A few minutes later, Morgan observed the approach of an older black man wearing a suit. She saw him nod at the desk officer. This must be the homicide detective. "Miss, I'm Lieutenant Riggs. Come with me, please." Riggs led Morgan to a small room off the lobby and shut the door. "I don't believe the Sergeant caught your name?" Blessed quiet. Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, then taking a deep breath spewed out what she had come to say. "That's okay, Lieutenant, I didn't give the Sergeant my name. I'm Morgan Smith and, yes, I've a murder to report. She's lying there all alone and something needs to be done. The murderer is getting away and he's not through killing yet." Morgan not only saw, but sensed the Lieutenant's confusion.. Okay, Morgan, try to remain coherent. He's more likely to believe you that way. "Where did the murder take place?"

A linear thinker, the Lieutenant. Or, more like a dog with a bone. "That's the problem. I know who was murdered, how she was murdered, and saw the man who did it, but I am not sure where the house is." Struggling to maintain a calm she really didn't feel, Morgan looked Riggs in the eye and added. "You see, he left by the back door and I couldn't see the street or house number." The Lieutenant stooped down in front of Morgan and gave her a look she'd seen before - suspicion. "Just when did this murder take place? Who was the victim? Where were you when the murder took place? And, where is the murderer now?" "Lieutenant, you aren't going to believe this..." That's it, Morgan, put ideas in his head. You want him to believe you. "...but I was at work in upper Manhattan when the murder occurred, the victim is a woman named Willie Fairchild. I saw the murder images when I came across the killer as he rode the subway away from the crime." Shaking his head, the Lieutenant continued asking linear questions. Morgan knew he couldn't help it, but just once, she wished someone would believe her the first time she told them. "Miss Smith...just how did you see the crime if you were at work and this Fairchild woman was in her home?" "I just told you I saw the images in my head. You see, I'm psychic, Lieutenant." *** Listening to the stillness of the slumbering neighborhood, Darien came out of the protective shadows of the alley across the street from Nichols' brownstone where he'd been waiting close to an hour. The streets were abandoned, dogs had stopped barking, and lights in the lower level of the residences were out - the neighborhood had settled in for the night. It was time to do his work. Darien crept to the back of the brownstone in which the detective had both his office and living quarters. Nichols must be fairly good at his job - he had a nice building in a nice upscale neighborhood to show for it. Plus, he'd traced Darien's identity. That made this guy damn good - and a danger to Darien's continued freedom and good health. Too bad - Darien didn't mind killing, but destruction of good property always bothered him. Such a waste. Well, it was either the building and the snoop in it, or him. No contest there. Darien had noted the security alarm in his earlier walk-through of the area. No chance of getting inside without a lot of trouble, so he'd have to destroy the place from the outside. No time like the present. The private dick was home and all was quiet. Some quick stops at a hardware store, a gas station and a few dumpsters had provided him with the materials for enough Molotov cocktails to set two houses on fire. The gas line into the house was icing on the cake. Once this baby started to burn - well, nothing or no one would survive the flames. Nothing. Keeping an ear tuned for a change in the neighborhood's nocturnal rhythm, Darien hummed under his breath as he assembled the homemade bombs. He was still disturbed that someone on that subway had read him. In his life, there had only been one woman who had pegged him - a woman in a traveling circus - but she hadn't lived to tell. Yet, even she hadn't made him feel like ants were crawling down his spine. This one tonight had been different - more powerful. Whoever this person was - he or she was a great danger to him and he knew that he needed to get out of New York...and fast. Sticking around and eliminating a psychic who could read him wasn't in his

playbook. Plus, whoever it was, couldn't point out someone who wasn't there. Darien grinned. His weapon of destruction complete, Darien moved silently to the gas meter and loosened the pipes. The hiss and smell of gas coming from the ruptured joint signaled his success. Now, for the pyrotechnics. Jogging away from the escaping gas, Darien lobbed the first flaming cocktail at the gas meter and ran. The explosion at the back of the house shook the earth as he lit and lobbed another bomb at the side, another at the front, and finally one on the other side. Lights came on in the adjacent brownstones, dogs barked and voices shouted. Aware that his sole ownership of the night was about to end, he walked briskly away from the burning building and didn't stop until he was half a block away. Melding into the shadows of a doorway on the opposite side of the street, he watched the private dick's house explode several more times as the gas and other flammables within obeyed the laws of physics and sought maximum randomness. Damn, he loved entropy. In the distance, he heard the sirens. Too late. The fire was fully involved. Exit one private investigator and any evidence that might have pointed the finger at his connection with Willie Fairchild. *** "Listen, I am telling you. I...am...a...psychic. I see images - especially ones that are connected to strong emotions, like anger. This man was very angry at Willie Fairchild and he strangled her. He was still mad on the subway and was planning on killing someone else. I can describe the killer and the inside of the house where the murdered woman is, but nothing else made any sense to me. Plus..." Morgan hesitated to complete her thoughts. The look on the Lieutenant's face was one with which she was highly familiar patent disbelief. "Go on, Miss Smith, plus what?" Morgan really hated it when cops humored her, all the while thinking she was the nut of the month at Fanny May's. Go ahead, tell him what you felt. He can't think you're any crazier than he already does. Yeah right. "Miss Smith, you were going to say?" The Lieutenant smiled at her, skepticism tinging every aspect of his demeanor. "He was psychic also." The Lieutenant muttered an obscenity under his breath, which Morgan ignored as she continued, " I blocked my mind to his after that. I was afraid he would find and kill me, too." He still doesn't believe. Next comes suspicion again. Morgan sat back, folded her arms across her chest and waited. She knew that the police had found Willie. Macabre excitement exuded from the young officer about to enter the room. He'd seen Willie and she was seeing everything he'd just seen. The body. The carpet. The open floor in front of the hearth. The rifled desk. "Lieutenant, we found her." Not waiting for instructions from his superior, the young officer blurted his news. "She's dead all right. Strangled and her neck was broken. Coroner can't say exactly when, but not more than a couple of hours. He'll know more later." The enthused officer ran out of words and breath at the same time and turned to stare in fascination at the woman who had psyched out the murder. "What in the hell are you staring at, Sergeant?" The Lieutenant growled.

The rookie cop stammered, "I've never been near a real psychic before, sir. She looks so normal." "Oh, I doubt very much you're near one now...more like a murderer." The Lieutenant accused as he turned his frigid glance toward Morgan. Morgan returned his look calmly and remained silent. What could she say? They'd figure it out for themselves soon enough. There was no way she could have murdered that woman. No connection they could make. Plus, somewhere in New York the murderer was killing again and somehow that death would connect to this one, and, well, she was here. Alibied. "Nothing to say for yourself, Miss Smith?" Waves of barely controlled anger emanated from the homicide detective. Images and names of other female killers he'd known were flitting through his mind. Go ahead, Morgan, show off. At least, it will shut him up and he'll only hold you - can't arrest you if he doubts his own conclusion, now can he? Plus, he has no evidence. Taking a deep breath, Morgan stared Riggs right in the eye and stated dryly, "I am not like the other women whom you have arrested, Lieutenant Riggs. I am not Sally Blades, Peggy Liptack, or Ida Mae Brown. Those women killed during domestic disputes. I am Morgan Smith, psychic...not murderer. And, Willie Fairchild's murder didn't involve a domestic dispute." Smiling at the shock and dismay on the Lieutenant's face, she went on, " May I have a soft drink, please, while you wait on a preliminary report?" Morgan's peripheral vision registered the young officer rushing out of the room, whether to get her a drink or to tell his fellow officers about her newest trick, she didn't know. She was too busy watching for the Lieutenant's reaction. It was memorable: Morgan had never seen a black man go white before, but she did now. "How did you know what I was thinking?" Riggs gasped. Morgan watched as the Lieutenant attempted to regain control of his thoughts and the situation. "No, wait, what the fuck am I saying? You couldn't read my mind...could you?" The Lieutenant looked to Morgan almost pleading for an answer he could live with. Morgan shook her head, "Sorry, Riggs, I read your mind. You were angry and I read it - just like I did with the murderer." Taking pity on the confused man, Morgan waited until he had his color and breathing under control, then quietly suggested, "You might want to get a sketch artist in here so I can get the image of this guy out of my head and onto paper. I got the impression that he wasn't going to stick around after the murders." Riggs looked at Morgan, then at the fascinated young officer who had returned with a Pepsi in his hand. Riggs shook his head, said a particularly foul word, and stormed out of the room. Morgan uncrossed her arms, took a cleansing breath, and accepted the Pepsi from the young cop. Riggs would be back...with an artist. He believed her now. Didn't want to, but he did. She knew it was already too late for the murderer's other victim - the images of death had been uppermost in the killer's mind - the past kill and the future kill. She also knew that she'd have to be the one to find the connection between the two. Maybe once she got the murderer's image out of her mind and Willie laid to rest - she could remember more about the file and the stolen items. She'd recall better when she wasn't so stressed. Well, no use forcing the images - they'd come back. They always did whether she wanted them to or not.

About the Author Monette is a lawyer/arbitrator living with her pathologist husband, teenage son, a cat and two parents, one hers, one his, in Carmel, Indiana. Writing under the pen name Monette Michaels, she is the author of several electronic books (also available in trade paperback) published by LTDBooks and Atlantic Bridge Publishing. Death Benefits, published by LTDBooks in 2002, was a finalist in the 2003 EPPIE Awards in the Suspense Category. You can visit her website at http://home.att.net/~medraper/.

Publisher info: Stories that stimulate your laughter, Provoke your tears, Evoke your secret fears, Stories that make you think...The stuff that dreams are made of...LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com