Night Demons Page 2

  Kalesia perked up. In return for his assistance, maybe she could offer Gabriel Steele more than money. As a small business person herself, she knew the value of appearance. Maybe he'd be open to a few suggestions.

  "Blast!"

  The word burst forth as the left tire dropped into a pothole that could have easily doubled for a small crater. Her first suggestion would be to fix the road. She patted the car's dash reassuringly. "It's all right. If anything is permanently damaged, we'll sue the pants off the man."

  Her teeth snapped together painfully as the low-slung car found another pothole. "Maybe we'll sue anyway," she muttered, carefully trying to weave a path between potholes and ruts. She just hoped Harley knew what he had been doing when he suggested she look up Gabriel Steele. Hopefully, the man was better at solving problems than running a business.

  Low growing palmettos and palms crowded the limerock graveled path like huge, malevolent toads and their minions just waiting to pounce. Kalesia fought growing dismay and panic at the general air of neglect. If the man was in no shape to take care of his own place, how in the world was he going to help her?

  Rounding a bend, Kalesia stomped on the brakes. A cloud of white dust settled on the car and flew in the window to coat the inside with a fine powder. She blew out a gust of air, waving away the dust. Amazed, she stared at row after row of precisely aligned potted plants and shrubs. The lawn surrounding the house and leading toward a huge greenhouse flanked by two smaller greenhouses, was immaculate. She doubted there was a mole cricket alive that could muster the nerve to invade that expanse of green.

  "Well, so much for first impressions. Maybe Major Harley knows what he's doing after all." Gabriel Steele, it appeared, was a neatness freak.

  Easing her foot off the brake, she let the little car roll under a stand of ancient live oak. She sat there for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere surrounding the nursery. Above the small compact, Spanish moss swayed with ghostly elegance as an errant breeze played a silent minuet.

  Kalesia rubbed her palms over her forearms as a sudden shiver engulfed her.

  AN INTENSELY grey gaze measured the woman as she alighted from the car. Little more than an indistinct shadow against the darker shade under the eaves of the greenhouse, the man watched as ridiculously high heels carefully negotiated the uneven flagstone walkway in the dim light.

  Gabriel blinked lazily at the outrageously sassy color. The lady's shoes were a bright, shocking yellow, a perfect match for her car and skirt. Intrigued, he allowed his gaze to travel up shapely calves and settle on a firm derriere.

  A hard fist of desire hit him, its very intensity catching him by surprise. The tightening in his loins intensified as his gaze settled on the gentle sway of lushly curved hips. Gabriel willed his body under control. His lips thinned in shock when it refused to yield immediately to his command.

  Leaving the concealing shadows of the greenhouse, he stalked after the woman responsible for his body's unwonted betrayal.

  "May I help you?" he growled.

  Chapter 2

  KALESIA, HAND poised to knock, whirled around and met ghost-filled grey eyes.

  The first thought that flitted through her mind was that his eyes weren't brown like Major Harley's, they were grey, a pure crystalline color that penetrated straight to the soul, leaving a person with nowhere to hide. Kalesia stood very still as her mind screamed for her to flee. Trapped and pinned by that haunted gaze, some atavistic knowledge warned her that if she did, she'd incite a predator's bloodlust.

  She blinked in sudden confusion as the expression in his eyes changed, became neutral. Had she imagined the ghosts? Kalesia searched the opaque depths for answers, but ran up against a wall mirroring reflections but not the soul within. Whatever she thought she had seen, was gone. Now she couldn't read impatience, curiosity, or anything at all. She suppressed a shiver in the warm, fragrant night air.

  "What can I do for you?" Midnight soft and whiskey warm, his voice slid through the evening and stroked her nerve endings. The unexpected sensation of being licked and enveloped by hot flames, shook Kalesia to the core. She tightened her fingers on the strap of her purse until the leather cut into the soft skin of her palm. Mouth dry, she held out the crumpled business card in her hand.

  "My name is Kalesia Brannigan. Tom Harley sent me."

  One eyebrow shot up before his face hardened. "And to think it isn't even my birthday," he drawled. "Somehow I had the feeling you weren't here to buy a caladium." Despite his obvious reluctance, he opened the screen door and motioned her inside.

  Kalesia hesitated before entering.

  He reached around her and switched on a lamp. His scent, faint and earthy, caused a warm glow in her stomach. Kalesia sat in the nearest chair. She noticed that he chose one across from her so that the glow of the lamp fell full on her face, but kept his in shadow. It was unsettling that she couldn't tell what he was thinking as he sat there so still.

  Again, she was reminded of a hunter as he waited with infinite patience for her to begin. Emotionless grey eyes watched as she glanced about the room.

  The room reflected its owner. There was an austere quality to Gabriel Steele's home, a starkness that disturbed Kalesia on some basic level. It had none of the casual clutter a person usually gathered, not even a magazine to mar the polished perfection of the wood coffee table. She shifted, uneasy.

  Somehow, on the way over, she'd formed the impression he'd be a lot like Tom Harley--tough, hard-bitten, skeptical. A tomcat scarred by the rougher side of life. The image had buoyed her hopes. After all, she had a soft spot for scarred tomcats, at least for the four-legged variety. How different could the two-legged kind be?

  Very different, it seemed.

  Gabriel Steele was nothing like she'd envisioned. For one thing, he was much younger than she'd expected, early forties, maybe. Another, he was very large, perhaps six three or four and solid, with an aura of leashed power, of strength without bulk--much like a panther's lethal grace--hovering about him.

  A mistake, she realized as she watched the minute shift and slide of muscles beneath dirt-stained jeans, it had definitely been a mistake to watch him. Her palms itched to pet and stroke him the same way she would Hannibal, her cat.

  Kalesia shivered, unable to tear her eyes away from the man lounging across from her. His hair was night black with a few threads of silver running through the short length, like moonlight on shadows. He reminded her of an archangel: hard, implacable and filled with the promise of retribution.

  A frisson of primordial awareness, an unsettling combination of fear and fascination, snaked down her spine. Beset by a faint sense of panic, she blurted out her request. "I need someone to protect me," and then braced herself.

  "Go to the authorities."

  "I did. They sent me to you." She began twisting her fingers in her lap. He wasn't going to help her.

  Gabriel noted the nervous gesture. "If they can't help you, what makes you think I can?" He closed his mind to the affect her long legs were having on his senses as she crossed them neatly at the ankles. On a silver chain circling one slender ankle, a tiny unicorn with bells for hooves winked at him.

  A mythical beast on a fantasy woman. Great.

  "Because Tom Harley seemed to think you can."

  Gabriel sighed. "Start at the beginning." Tom had a nasty sense of humor, but he should have remembered payback was hell.

  "Someone is going to kill me."

  That caught his attention. "And the authorities won't offer protection?" Tom Harley was the ultimate professional, but if he felt there was the slightest chance to save someone from harm, he'd say to hell with the rules. If the woman was truly in danger, why send her to him?

  She exhaled and settled back in her chair. "They can't," she admitted. "They have nothing to go on but my word."

  "Threats, phone calls, near misses?" Just what the hell was Tom trying to get him into? Gabriel wondered in disgust. Harley knew he hated games.

 
She shook her head. "No, none of those things."

  "Then just what do you have to go on?" Gabriel asked, making his voice very soft.

  She drew a shaky breath. The sound cut straight through him. "Mr. Steele, all my life I've had the ability--or curse, depending on your point of view--to be able to see things that have happened."

  "What sort of things?"

  "Murders."

  "Lovely. Harley's idea of a joke is to send me a flake," he bit out.

  "Now wait just a minute!" she fired back, sitting up straight. "You have no right to call me a flake, especially without hearing me out." She stood up, the anklet charm tinkling with the force of her anger. "I don't know where Major Harley gets all his faith in you. He, at least, was willing to listen." Emotion shimmered in her gaze, intensifying the vibrant green of her eyes. Her eyes were the color of a deep lagoon in shade. He had to resist the sudden, overpowering urge to dive into their depths.

  "Tom gets paid to listen. Sit." She ignored the order. "I said, sit."

  She shot him a glance, startled into complying by the naked command in his softly spoken order.

  "Tell me exactly what you told Tom Harley." He needed his head examined. But, hell, the woman was right. If Harley sent her all the way out here, the least he could do was listen.

  "Last night I saw a body by a pond," she began, obviously braced for more scorn. "I didn't want to look at the face, so I studied the area around the body. I recognized it." Remembered terror reflected in her voice. "It's a place I go often."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, to take photos, to walk, mostly to think." She waved a slender hand vaguely, dismissing her reasons as not of particular import. "It was in winter or early spring."

  "What makes you say that?" He watched the woman as she described the scene she had witnessed. All the subtle shifts of expression and motion suggested she believed what she was saying. Gabriel felt a tug of interest.

  It was a sensation he thought had deserted him years ago. Abruptly, he squelched the emotion, and again damned Harley for sending the woman his way.

  "The woods were bare and the grass brown. I had the impression of winter or early spring. When I--," a delicate shudder rippled through her small frame, "I looked at her face, I saw mine." Horror darkened her eyes to almost black. She clenched her hands together in her lap.

  "There had been a struggle. She--I had been shot. Once. Through the heart." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his, her expression earnest. "Please believe me, this isn't some sort of a joke."

  Gabriel's nostrils flared as the delicate scent of her perfume teased his senses. Her hand, small and smooth against the ruined flesh of his wrist, felt soft and warm. He stared down for a long minute. He clenched his hand under hers, then surged to his feet.

  "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

  "Just like that?" she asked, sounding stunned.

  "Just like that." Gabriel stared down into her eyes, refusing to allow the fear he saw to move him. When she just sat there, he put a hard edge to his voice. "Tell Tom I said April Fool is past." The insinuation was cruel, he knew, but the alternative was to let her and her problems into his life and that he didn't dare allow. Best she hate him now.

  He didn't offer to help her as she stumbled to her feet, her face white. "I--I'm sorry to have disturbed you so late." Not looking at him once, she crossed the room and fumbled for the doorknob, her movements jerky. On the flagstone walkway, she hesitated like she was about to say more, but then, squaring her shoulders, walked to her car instead.

  A hard tension held Gabriel taut as she climbed inside. He almost called her back, even lifted a hand to stop her, but let it drop when she slammed the door and started the car. He watched her taillights as they winked in and out of the trees as she sped down the drive. Not until after they were long gone did he close the screen door.

  It was for the best, he told himself again as he snapped off the lamp and sat in the dark

  So why couldn't he make himself believe that?

  KALESIA DROVE home automatically, disbelief warring with hurt anger. By the time the front door swung shut behind her, anger won out.

  "How dare he call me crazy? Just who the hell does he think he is?" she hissed, furious. She slammed her purse down before she curled up on one end of the couch. Both arms hugged her body to ward off a growing inner chill. A soft meow drew her attention. Picking up the worried cat, she scratched its head and wailed softly.

  "Tia, if he doesn't believe me and the authorities say they can't help, what am I going to do?" The Siamese washed her face in sympathy, but couldn't offer any advice.

  Kalesia went over their conversation in her mind. What had she said that triggered his reaction? She would have sworn the man was beginning to believe her. What would cause him to turn on her like that? Not even listening to the entire story?

  Strain and humiliation tightened the muscles in her stomach. She'd been stupid to allow herself to hope in the first place, to believe a complete stranger would understand when not even her family did.

  But this was the last time she would open herself to ridicule. From now on she'd be hard and tough, refuse to rely on anyone except herself. In time, the yearning for acceptance would fade. She'd see to it, she vowed with a fierceness alien to her personality. Never again would she leave herself open to scorn or be made to feel that she was more than a little odd.

  A big black head butted insistently under her hand. Kalesia scooted back and the cat hopped up beside her.

  "Why couldn't he be more like you, Hannibal? Starved and injured, you had every reason not to trust humans. Yet you let me close. You gave me a chance." She rubbed her cheek against the long, silky fur, feeling scared, forlorn and lost all at once.

  "It's too bad he didn't give me a chance, Hannibal. Because without him, I have the feeling I don't stand one."

  STARK HORROR made a rigid mask of her face as the violence raged, unabated. Rage, fear and hatred swirled about, threatening to encase her in their fetid grip. She couldn't escape. It was going to trap her forever. A scream locked in her throat, the tendrils ripped asunder without warning.

  Torn from sleep, Kalesia stared into the diffuse light of pre-dawn, and wondered at the startlingly real sensation of terror gripping her.

  Sitting up, she rested her head on her bent knees and drew in a steadying breath. Talk about your megawatt nightmare. She hugged her legs tighter. At least it wasn't a vision this time. That was one thing for which she could be thankful.

  Kalesia rolled her head to one side and peered blearily at the alarm clock. Four forty-five. She'd been asleep for less than three hours. She rubbed her neck, feeling the tension there. Lord, she was tired. For ten straight hours, she'd sat in front of the computer finishing a detailed market analysis. Daniels Designs, her best customer, had called late yesterday informing her they needed it by eight this morning instead of by the end of the week. She flexed her shoulders, easing out a recalcitrant kink. A day! If they weren't her best customer, not to mention ones who paid on time, she would have told them to get lost. But the reality was, she couldn't afford to lose their business.

  Kalesia stretched. So she worked herself to death in order to deliver a professional looking report and gave herself nightmares to boot!

  Sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered why she'd ever thought that being in business for herself was a good idea. Sliding back under the covers, she yawned. This was definitely one of those times. Remember the money, she told herself. Kalesia closed her eyes. After she delivered the report, she'd treat herself to a trip to the Paddock Mall, she decided as she hitched the cover higher over her shoulder. It was high time she quit hiding behind bolted doors like a frightened child, afraid to venture out, afraid that every stranger was the killer. She was a grown woman with a reasonably successful business. She would not be made a prisoner in her own home. Bolstered by the plan, she drifted back to sleep.

  Several hours later, juggling two bags of groceries, a small sigh of
relief escaped as she unlocked the front door. Putting the groceries down on the table, she tilted her head and listened for the cats. A smile curved her mouth. They, at least, didn't shun her as if she were nuts.

  Putting the last can away, Kalesia realized that the cats still hadn't appeared. A frown creased her forehead. Odd. Usually they were underfoot, pestering her for attention and something to eat. A niggle of concern grew.

  "Tia? Hannibal?" Walking through the house, Kalesia checked downstairs and then upstairs. When there was still no sign of them, she decided to check her office as a last resort.

  "Come on, you guys. Where are you?" The tip of a black tail swished from under the front of her desk. She began smiling. "All right, you two, what are you doing hiding--" Kalesia shut up abruptly. The door to her office was kept shut at all times. Cat hairs and computers were not exactly compatible. So, how had they gotten in? Raw panic began gnawing at the edge of her composure.

  Dear God! What if the murderer was in the house right now? What if he were waiting for her? Frantically, her gaze darted all around as she searched for something she could use as a weapon. Her eyes lit on a powerful police-style flashlight.

  Hefting the flashlight, comforted by its weight, she sought to regain control. Okay, take a deep breath and think Brannigan. You can't afford to panic at this stage. Think!

  She had already searched most of the house looking for the cats. That left only the bathroom, laundry room and the closets. Holding her breath and tiptoeing, she peeked into the bathroom. To her relief it was empty. Same for the laundry room and the closets. Once assured no one was in the house, doubt began to replace fear.

  Had she overreacted? Maybe the cats had sneaked in as she retrieved the Daniels' report. Lord knew, after the stress of the last few days, it was entirely possible. Shrugging off the persistent uneasiness, she was trying to coax the cats from under her desk when the files on her computer desk caught her eye.

  Kalesia's breath caught in the back of her throat, nearly choking her. The files were on the left side of the keyboard. Her heart began slamming anew in her chest.