Ingrid Weaver - In Destiny's Shadow

A deep, tearing anguish that went straight to her heart. What had it done to him to lose his family as he had? “Anthony, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, Melina,” he said. “I want you to keep your word. Tell me where Titan is.”

What could she say? She hadn’t deliberately lied. She hadn’t actually told him she knew. “I can’t answer that.”

His gaze burned into hers. “You said you didn’t want to play games, so don’t.”

He was leaning so close to her that she could see a rim of gold inside the green of his eyes. She brushed a silky, almost sensuous strand of hair from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear. Melina recalled his command. She wanted to do a lot of things with Anthony Caldwell. But playing games wasn’t one of them.

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This book is dedicated to the gracious and talented ladies who told our Family Secrets: Jenna, Marie, Candace, Linda and Kylie.

It’s been way too much fun to call work!

admits to being a sucker for old movies and books that can make her cry. “I write because life is an adventure,” Ingrid says. “And the greatest adventure of all is falling in love.” Since the publication of her first book in 1994, she has won the Romance Writers of America RITA ®Award for Romantic Suspense, as well as the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Suspense. Ingrid lives with her husband and son and an assortment of shamefully spoiled pets in a pocket of country paradise an afternoon’s drive from Toronto. She invites you to visit her Web site at www.ingridweaver.com.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Benedict fondled the woman’s body, feeling the stone warm in his hand. No one knew how old she was. Her previous owner, the late collector who had last possessed her, had claimed her age was ten thousand years. She had been caressed like this for eons; her rough edges had been smoothed by the touch of countless handlers. She was squat and gray, not much longer than the length from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, but she contained all the essential elements. Yes, whatever prehistoric craftsman had fashioned this figure knew exactly what mattered most in a female.

He rubbed his thumb across the woman’s breasts, pausing to flick his nail over a distended nipple. No pert, Barbie doll silicon implants on this girl. These breasts hung in a V like heavy, overripe pears, swollen with the promise of nourishment for the child she carried in her belly. She had no face on her tiny head, which was another point in her favor. Her arms were mere suggestions in the stone, short grooves that angled backward out of the way and would be incapable of putting up a fight. Her thighs were wide, her legs short and sturdy. She had no feet because she would have no need to go anywhere. Her sole purpose was to bear children.

The stone grew slippery from the sweat on his palm. Benedict moistened his lips and rubbed harder. Too bad real women weren’t more like this. It would have been so much simpler if Deanna had been like the stone carving, all breasts and womb, no brain. He had entrusted his plans to her body but she had betrayed him. She had stolen the six children who would have given him the future.

She had paid for her crime with her life.

He replaced the priceless figurine in its case. Turning in a slow circle, he contemplated the other treasures that lined the spot-lit alcoves of his inner sanctum. There was a sphere of solid crystal mounted on a pounded copper circlet, a deer hide medicine pouch, a jade amulet, the sword of a Samurai, marble from the Temple of Athena, a fragment of stone from the Pyramid of Cheops…The extent of his collection was too long to list. Every item was reputed to possess mystical powers. And now he possessed them.

That was how it worked. Possess them, possess their power. He was going to need it. His enemies were growing stronger. They had destroyed much of his empire but they would never find him. They didn’t understand that with each blow they struck, they pushed him closer to his ultimate destiny.

Benedict climbed the steps to the platform in the center of the room. At the top was a plain square table and high-backed chair fashioned from alder wood. The chair creaked as it took his weight, the dry wood making a noise like a scream. He laughed at the sound. The wood had been taken from a Welsh valley once said to be used by Druids. Whether their old gods liked it or not, the power that lingered in the wood was his now, too. Soon he would be invincible.

He had reinvented himself before. He would do it again. He had begun life as Benedict Payne. After Deanna’s betrayal, he’d assumed the identity of uber-criminal Titan. His next transformation would be his last. He smiled and slipped a deck of tarot cards from his suit pocket.

Like the stone woman, the edges of the cards had been worn down from handling. He dealt a pattern for himself on the table and turned over the first card. His smile deepened as he saw the figure depicted on the front. It wore different guises in different decks. At times it was a blue-robed sorcerer, other times it was a rabbit, but its true identity remained the same. The Magician—working in secret, gathering power, using any means to control those around him.

Yes, control was the ultimate power, he thought, tapping the card against his lips. Soon, the world would see the culmination of the plan he had set into motion over three decades ago. He had been patient, watching and waiting for the right time to make his move. Five times he’d almost had Deanna’s children within his grasp. Five times they had eluded him.

Yet there was still one left. The firstborn, the boldest, the one who dared to hunt him. This time the hunter would become the hunted. The Magician would prevail.

And then the future would be his.

“If you help me, Fredo, I’ll help you.” Melina put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the sharp outline of his bones through his denim jacket. He was trembling. The night carried the taste of autumn, but Fredo’s tremors likely weren’t due to the cold. “We don’t have to go to the local police if you don’t want to,” she said. “I know someone in the FBI. They would protect you. They could get you somewhere safe.”

“You don’t understand what Titan’s turning into.” Fredo shrugged off her grasp and stepped from the sidewalk into the alley where the streetlight didn’t reach. “Nowhere is safe. You can’t trust anyone.”

“Fredo—”

“The feds got all his labs. They destroyed his drugs, his equipment, everything. Half his guys were arrested. It made him flip out.”

Wind gusted past the canvas awning of the closed fruit market beside the alley, rattling the strings of dried chilies that hung out front. Melina’s skirt swirled against her calves, the wool rubbing over her suede boots with a noise like stealthy whispers.