Prodigal Son Page 4

  “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. When’s the last time you heard from Danny?”

  “None of your business.”

  He sighed. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I find people for a living.”

  “Maybe.” Her heart pounded, her mouth dry. “All I know is that you broke into my stepbrother’s place.”

  “I could hand you the phone, and you could call the police. Clear this up.”

  “Or you could stay right there and I could use my cell.” Trying to hold the pepper spray steady with one hand, she rummaged in her purse with the other, keeping her eye on him. Just as her fingers closed around the phone, he moved.

  Anticipating a blow, she tried to fire the pepper spray, but he ducked beneath her outstretched arm and grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms. He jerked her right off her feet, her back against his chest. Her purse and phone went flying. So did the pepper spray.

  “Hey!” She struggled to pull her arms free. Damn, he was strong. And powerful. And determined, if his unrelenting grip was anything to go by.

  “Easy,” he said. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, but with you waving that pepper spray around, I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “So you just picked me up off the floor? Great way to make me trust you.”

  “If I wanted to do something to you, Cara, I could have done it at any time. The pepper spray wouldn’t have stopped me.”

  His voice lowered at the end, almost sexy, triggering a curling warmth between her legs. Holy Hannah, was she getting turned on by the bad guy?

  Unnerved by the unexpected—unwanted—attraction, she jerked her head backward and connected with what felt like his chin. She saw stars but was rewarded when he grunted, and his grip around her arms loosened for a second. She jerked free, but he grabbed her shirt and they both went down.

  As soon as she hit the carpet, she scrambled forward on her hands and knees. Where was the pepper spray? Had it slid under the coffee table? But he caught her ankle and yanked her flat on her belly. Before she could right herself, he was looming over her on all fours, trapping her. For an instant his hips pressed against her rear. Her stomach did a little flip at the intimate position, muscles trembling with a sudden burst of arousal. He flipped her onto her back, then pinned her down in a primitive move that male had used on female since the beginning of time.

  His face looked like stone, his body a cage of lean, hard muscle. He smelled of citrus and sandalwood and fabric softener. Heat swept through her limbs, warmed her belly.

  No way. She wasn’t going there. She didn’t care how good he smelled.

  “Let me up.” She bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him, and shoved at his shoulders. Her palms tingled at the contact.

  “No.” He grabbed her hands and pinned them to the floor above her head, then shifted to manacle one hand around both her wrists. “You’re not playing nice, Cara.”

  “Miss McGaffigan to you.” The position arched her back, giving her way more cleavage than she had ever intended in her yellow V-neck shirt. He didn’t even glance down.

  “You can call me Rafe.” He yanked off the sunglasses that sat crookedly on her face and tossed them aside. “Let’s see what’s going on with you.”

  * * *

  Rafe tried to ignore the soft female body beneath his. Tried to pretend he didn’t notice how her hips cradled him. Or the way the neckline of her shirt pulled down to reveal a glimpse of really nice breasts and a peek of white lace bra. How her feminine scents called to him, cinnamon and vanilla and something elusive—something her—that teased him with possibilities.

  The Hunter stirred, lured by the presence of female. Hungry after the most recent burnout. Curious after the vision he’d had of her at Sal’s office.

  No. This is business.

  He shoved the beast back. Once he had regained control, he tilted up her chin with one hand and gazed long and hard into her face.

  Her eyes were amber brown and full of annoyance and fear. For a moment he got lost there, lured into warm, sweet caramel. The promise of sex shimmered on the edges of his mind. Then the vision slammed into him like a bullet.

  Murder. Death.

  Cara’s broken body lying at the side of a desert road, her eyes staring sightlessly at the sky as a vehicle burned nearby—he couldn’t tell what make or color. There was too much smoke, too much destruction. And the vision was in black and white.

  The pain, the grief, slammed him in the gut as the emotions of the future rushed over him. Death. Murder. No, no, no. Not Cara. An innocent pawn in an evil game. Used and discarded. A bright light extinguished for greed and power.

  The tinny notes of “Rebel Yell” broke the spell.

  The connection snapped. Rafe shoved himself off her, breathing hard. He lay there on his back for a second, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the anguish to subside. Cara rolled over and scrabbled across the floor for the cell phone. As she grabbed it, he sat up so he could watch her while he tried to get his equilibrium back. He knew everything about her now, too damned much. Things like she didn’t intend to use the pepper spray on him unless threatened, so there was no harm in her answering the call.

  But he didn’t want to know that she was going to be murdered. He didn’t want to be sucked in again, Rafe the do-gooder, using his superpowers to save the world. That was his family’s mission, and he had left them to it years ago. He got paid to use his powers now, and he’d sworn he would never go back to the hero gig again. Hadn’t Jack’s betrayal taught him anything? He was better off sticking it out alone and unaffected.

  But here he was, lured by the siren song of an innocent in trouble.

  He knew—knew with all the certainty that he knew anything—that if he let himself get sucked into this, he’d get too close. He wouldn’t be able to avoid it. The vision of her earlier all but confirmed it. He’d known Cara for five minutes and was already drawn to the sweet soul he sensed. He should run like hell.

  But he couldn’t stand back and just let her die. Damn it.

  Cell in hand, Cara sat on the floor Indian-style and flipped open the phone. “Danny?”

  Danny.

  She met his gaze, then averted her own.

  Good. Look away. Don’t look in my eyes, remind me of what I saw in yours, of what I have to do.

  Listening as she again repeated her stepbrother’s name, he searched the area for the damned sunglasses. Great idea, genius. Take off her glasses, gaze into her eyes. Find out who she really is inside.

  Dead. That’s what she was, unless he did something about it.

  “Danny, I’ve been so worried. Where—” Pause. “But—”

  He stretched out an arm and scooped the glasses off the floor, then got to his feet and took them over to her. As he dropped them in her lap, he avoided looking into those golden brown eyes again.

  “Of course I came looking for you.” She lowered her voice, snagging the sunglasses without glancing at them. “Look, you have to come back. My condo—” Silence. “Your old boss called me. He said— I’m staying at the Mesopotamian— I will not go home. You come home. Danny. Danny!” She pulled the phone from her ear and scowled at it. “Crap.” Then she snapped it closed and looked up at him.

  He focused on her nose, her chin, anywhere but her eyes. “He’s alive, then.”

  “Yes, thank God.” She blew out a huge sigh, then frowned down at her phone display. “He’s alive, but something terrible must have happened to make him run away like this.”

  “So you know your stepbrother is okay. That’s good news. Now stay out of the way and let the pros handle the rest.” And don’t get killed.

  “Pros like you, Mr. Bounty Hunter?” She got to her feet and glared at him, shoving the phone in the pocket of her jeans and hooking the sunglasses in the neckline of her shirt.

  He let out a long breath. “It’s Rafe, and yes.”

  “Let’s see this ID you were talking about.” Wordlessly, he pulled out his wallet and di
splayed his bail enforcement license. “Looks legit, but what do I know?”

  “You know I could have hurt you and didn’t.” But someone would, soon.

  “Maybe you need me. Maybe you have to pump me for information or something.” She lifted her chin in a clear challenge, her body tense.

  Something, indeed. The air between them still hummed with tension.

  He shoved his wallet back in his pocket. “You watch too much TV. Did Danny say where he was?”

  “See? I knew you needed me for interrogation.”

  “For Pete’s sake!” He focused on her shirt, on the sunglasses that could save his sanity. The cotton fabric clung to her curves in a way he couldn’t help but notice. She was no showgirl but had handful-sized breasts and curvy hips that sure packed a punch.

  And he had to focus on business. “I need anything you can tell me that will help me find him and bring him back.”

  “Maybe I’d tell you if you didn’t stare at my boobs like that.”

  “I’m not.” Idiot. Of course he had been. He was so damned shaken up by that vision that he was losing his usual discipline. The Hunter jerked at the leash again, wanting to touch her, taste her.

  No way. He didn’t need that complication on top of everything else.

  Forcing his thoughts to business, he glanced around, spotted her purse and the pepper spray, and picked them both up off the floor. He saw her stiffen out of the corner of his eye. Rather than look at her, he called up an image in his head by asking himself where she was and getting the picture as if handed a photo. This way, he could look at her as long as he liked in his mind, just the way he had when she had come into the apartment. It had been pure luck that he had happened to wonder where Cara of the messages was, conjuring her image just as she came in behind him armed with pepper spray.

  “What are you going to do with that?” she demanded.

  He tossed the purse in her direction. “Here.”

  She caught it and hooked it over her shoulder. “And the pepper spray?”

  “I’ll just hang on to that.”

  “The hell you will!”

  “Deal with it. What did Danny say?”

  Guarded again, she narrowed her eyes. “None of your business.”

  This time he made himself look at her. Attraction still simmered, though the shadow of death hovered around the glow of her soul. But he didn’t look away. He braced himself for the pain, but it did not come again. Still, that shadow mocked him. “I’ll find him, Cara Mia McGaffigan. I’m good at what I do.” He handed her the pepper spray. “Watch where you point that next time.”

  She took the can automatically, her lips parted in surprise. “How did you know my middle name? Did you check me out?”

  He pulled out a business card and flipped it onto the coffee table. “Here’s my number. Call me if you hear from Danny again.”

  “Hey!” She gaped as he turned and left the apartment, but he couldn’t refrain from the abrupt exit. He should have asked her more questions about her stepbrother. Should have asked her the identities of the people in the photos he had seen scattered around Danny’s place.

  He should have convinced her to leave Vegas.

  She was too sweet to have anyone mad enough to kill her, this soft-hearted girl from New Jersey. So it had to be her connection to Danny that did her in. If she went home, she would be away from the desert, away from whoever was after Danny, and the terrible vision he had seen might not come true.

  Ironic how finding Danny was the key to the whole thing, but that was the one area where his powers failed him. No visions of Danny. Too many visions of his stepsister.

  He got behind the wheel of his car and pulled out of the parking lot. The more distance he put between him and her right now, the better he liked it. He would find Danny without her help. He knew where she was staying; she’d told Danny on the phone. And the mention of Artie Bartow made the whole thing stink even more. Artie had never been the philanthropic type. Nope, he was no doubt using the pretty stepsister as bait to get to Cangialosi.

  Well, that was going to stop—as soon as Rafe got his bearings back. He would somehow convince Cara to go back to New Jersey, get her out of harm’s way. Because if she stayed, he would have to protect her from that gruesome fate he had foreseen. And no way he was playing the hero again.

  No way in hell.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning dawned as the sun peeked over the desert horizon, casting its infant glow over the city of Las Vegas.

  Rafe sat in his tenplu, the place of worship and peace he had created in the backyard of his home. He had prepared everything according to the old ways, raking out the circle of sand to get rid of anything that might have blown into it, then carefully setting out his amplifying crystals on the seven flat stone pedestals arranged along the edge of the circle. Tumbled ruby, bright orange carnelian, yellow tiger eye. He held on to the dark green moss agate for a moment, allowing the crystal to vibrate along with his heart, before setting it in its place. Turquoise and tumbled sapphire followed. Amethyst. Then he waited for sunrise.

  Clad only in a pair of running shorts, he sat in the middle of the circle, soles of his feet together, hands resting palms up on his bent legs. The sun rose higher in the sky. As the light slowly touched each stone in turn, power hummed to life. Rafe focused on clearing his mind, on breathing, on accepting. Time passed. The clear quartz hanging around his neck grew warm against his flesh as it absorbed and filtered the energy being cast by the other crystals, sweeping it through his own system. He was in a place where hours and minutes did not matter. His body soaked up the power like parched earth to rain.

  Once a steady flow had been established, he opened his mind to Ekhia, the center of all life.

  Tell me what I need to know.

  He had expected some clue to the problem with Danny Cangialosi and his powers. Maybe something to do with the terrible vision he had seen in Cara’s eyes. Instead, he got Cara all right. Naked. Opening to him. Welcoming him.

  The sizzling sensuality of the vision swept over him, igniting his flesh, soaking into his essence and grabbing control with relentless mastery. His cock hardened instantly, nearly painful in its demand. He could see her so clearly, her nipples shades darker than her dusky skin, her hair flowing over her shoulders, her arms outstretched. Her legs parted, hinting at the warmth awaiting him, her smile sweet and enticing.

  Home is where the heart is. Let me be your home.

  “No.” His voice sounded strangled. He pushed back with his mind, rejecting the vision. He didn’t deserve a home. Didn’t deserve what Cara offered. He was a loner. It was better for everyone that way.

  “I invoke free will,” he said. “Not her. Not now.” His heart thundered in his chest. His body shuddered with raging desire. A desire that could not be sated. Not with Cara. He had to protect her from what he had seen. He wanted her to live. Which meant he had to stay objective.

  That thought brought a change in energy. The vision of Cara melted away. Instead—gunshots. His mother crying out, running toward a doorway beneath his father’s protective arm.

  Someone had tried to kill her.

  The flow of power faltered. His eyes flew open, his breath coming in pants as his pulse spiked. Was she okay? When had this happened?

  Last night. She’s unharmed. The answers came with a splutter of energy. He focused, balanced out his thoughts so the flow of power stabilized again. He could not risk a backlash.

  Instinctively, he reached for his connection to the family. He could sense it, that bond that tied him to the rest of his blood. It was still there; no one had severed it. But where once a strong channel had flowed, now there was only a weak link that coughed and hesitated like a car with a bad carburetor.

  “Damn it.” Even as the epithet left his lips, the words caused the energy around him to flare with negative heat. He tamped down his annoyance and concentrated on clearing his mind, letting go of fear and frustration and methodical
ly ending the ritual so that all energy released back to the earth in a natural and harmonious flow.

  He would have to use the phone.

  He stalked into the house. The telepathic connection had been part of him since birth. That it was so weak from disuse—by his own doing—burned him even more. Perhaps if he had stayed connected, he would not have found out about the danger to his mother after the fact.

  Was this another indicator of his powers failing?

  He snatched up his cell phone and punched out the number he knew by heart, praying they hadn’t changed it.

  “Hello?” Her voice was thready, shaky, but as dear to him as breath itself.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded. His heart pounded, and he tightened his trembling fingers around the phone.

  “Rafe?” Hope flavored her tone. “Rafe, is that you?”

  Warmth bloomed in the region of his heart. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her voice. “Yes, Mama. It’s me.”

  “Oh, my.” A sharp inhalation. “Rafe. Oh, my.”

  He wished he could see her, to know with his own senses that she was all right. But his abilities had never worked on his family. Visions in the tenplu were one thing, gifted by Ekhia, but anything more than that never worked. That meant he needed to rely on simple conversation.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked again, rougher than he intended. But he was losing it, desperate for confirmation that she was okay and just as desperate to get off the phone. It was so tempting to slide back into the family fold. Just act like everything was okay. But he couldn’t. He was a danger to them, and one phone call couldn’t change that.

  “No, not hurt, just shaken up. It happened so fast, but I got a flash of danger for your father, so I stopped just in time.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding. Thank the Creators for Mama’s famous “flashes.”

  “Dad is right here. Do you—”

  “No. I just called to make sure you were okay.”

  “But—”

  “Bye, Mama.” He disconnected the call and dropped the phone onto the granite counter. Then he slid to the floor, sitting with his back against the breakfast bar, as wobbly as if his knees had turned to putty. If anything had happened to her … He didn’t want to even think about it.