Dark Victory. Brenda JoyceЧитать онлайн книгу.
fury, there was horror and dread. And there was love—the kind of love she had never felt before, but had dreamed of.
She loved him.
An expression of bewilderment crossed his dark face.
The fire wall blazed between them.
Even if he wanted to, he could not cross it.
He turned and leaped out of the window; Tabby felt her legs give way.
CHAPTER FIVE
KIT MARS HUNCHED over her desk at HCU, staring at her computer screen. She was watching the tape of last week’s Rampage, for the hundredth time.
She knew she’d missed something, and it was bothering her to the point that she wasn’t going to eat or sleep until she figured it out. She wanted to nail the little bastards terrorizing the city. She’d never rest, not until every demon had been wiped off the face of the earth.
She owed it to her twin sister, Kelly.
As always, Kelly stood behind her, approving—or it felt as if she did.
Kit had been recruited by Nick last year, while she was at Vice. He’d been stalking her for a few weeks, turning up at crime scenes or in the precinct corridors. At first she’d assumed he was a Fed, working a case. Then she’d begun to realize he was after her. But he was clearly one of the men in black. Finally, he’d caught up with her in a bar at the end of a really lousy day. After buying her a few drinks, he’d asked if she wanted to spend her life busting drug dealers and porn traffickers—or if she wanted to get into the real action.
She’d known exactly what he meant.
And she hadn’t thought twice about taking him up on his offer.
From her first day on the job at HCU, all the pieces of the puzzle had begun to fall into place. She’d already been keenly aware of evil. It had taken her sister from her, and she encountered it daily on the street. So when the revelation came that evil was a race and that there was a goddamned war, a million times more important than the war on terror, she had not been surprised. It had almost been a relief.
The war on evil was her life.
Kit stared at the computer screen. Hidden cameras were installed in sixty-nine percent of the city, at traffic lights, in restaurants, hotels, department stores, groceries, in every major airport, on every bridge and in every tunnel. Only a handful of lawmakers on the very secret Committee for Internal Defense, a half-dozen generals at the Pentagon and the President knew about the hidden cameras. The Civil Liberties Union would have a field day if it ever found out.
The surveillance system was CDA’s baby.
Kit tensed and leaned close. She watched the screen with absolute clinical detachment, as the two boys and a girl began starting the fire beneath their victim’s feet. The kids were possessed; the tape was proof. Real demons only appeared as dark, ghostly shapes on film and could not be individually identified. Sub-humans—or subs, as CDA referred to the possessed—could be filmed just like any flesh-and-blood man or woman. However, they also cast dark shadows, even at night. Subs on tape were simply impossible to miss.
Five passing civilians had stopped, gawked, then fled, all one-hundred-percent human. She jammed the pause button, hit Rewind. A civvie was fleeing. Kit zoomed in.
There was an odd blip just behind the man’s shoulder as he ran away from the gruesome crime—the hint of something grayish and almost oblong.
She hit Pause, backed it, then zoomed in on the civvie again. She froze the screen, and zoomed on his left shoulder at the odd blip.
It wasn’t oblong now. It was a shapeless form, becoming more and more indistinct the farther she looked from the center. She went back to the darkest part of the blip. A face began to emerge from the grayish light.
“What the hell?” Kit asked.
Now, she saw two eyes and a mouth—she would swear to it.
So someone had been standing there, watching the burning.
No, not someone—something.
TABBY SAT ON ONE OF the children’s chairs, hugging herself, exhausted. CDA had been all over the scene for hours—she’d been interrogated by Nick and his agents five times. The children had been picked up shortly after the crisis. Now, Nick was seated with Kristin and the principal, sipping coffee. She knew he was questioning them, but his demeanor was so casual he might have been at Starbucks with a couple of friends.
Those last moments of the morning kept replaying ruthlessly in her mind. She saw the look in the Highlander’s eyes just before his sword had flashed and he decapitated Angel; she saw the look in his eyes when he’d walked back into that schoolroom to avoid the police, his gaze hard and cold and devoid of all feeling, all fear. She trembled. Calling that man savage was an understatement—she couldn’t find the right word to describe him. She had witnessed violence for most of her life—evil was cruel and barbaric and it was everywhere. But the Highlander wasn’t evil—yet he had not had any conscience when he’d beheaded Angel. They could have tried to retrieve Angel’s soul, but he hadn’t hesitated. It was obvious that such brutality was second nature to him. He was a barbarian; he made Randall look like a saint.
She shivered.
But what really bothered her was how he’d stood on the other side of the fire wall, and how she’d felt standing across from him, the flames blazing between them.
For one moment, his hard face had changed, filling with surprise. Tabby wasn’t sure what he’d thought, but he’d suddenly seemed reluctant to leave her. She had been terrified and desperate, afraid that it was the end for them.
But there was no “them.”
Except, standing there with the fire between them, she’d felt as if she loved him.
Of course, she did not love him. He was a total stranger and as medieval as a man could be. She was a civilized, modern woman and a gentle soul. There would never be any kind of relationship between them, except for her helping him, if she could. But now, the idea that she might want to help a barbarian was laughable. It had to be a joke. As far as her feelings of déjà vu went, they were simply inexplicable.
Her temples hurt and she rubbed them. He needed medical attention, and then he had to go back to wherever he belonged. She’d feel better—safer—when he’d gone back to his primitive world. Maybe he’d left already—she would be relieved! She’d go back to the Met and try to figure out why that amulet had made her feel evil and so much more. Then she’d determine what she was supposed to do about it—and him.
Sam laid her hand on her shoulder, her face grim. “Nick said we can leave.”
Tabby got up, relieved to be able to go home. At least the police had been called off. Sam had told her that. He was running from the cops unnecessarily. But maybe that was a good thing. Otherwise, he might be hanging around. “Sam, if he hasn’t gone back in time, he needs medical attention.”
Sam grimaced. “So you said, a dozen times. If he’s still here, Nick will find him and have him taken care of.”
Tabby looked into Sam’s eyes, carefully shielding her thoughts—but not from her sister. Sam had told her she was certain Nick could read minds. Tabby thought it likely. She’d seen him in action once or twice and he was not your average mortal.
She had not told Nick what had happened yesterday at the Met. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to be secretive now—not that she worked for Nick, anyway. But Nick was a control freak and he had his own agenda, always. He would be on the Highlander’s side, but she was oddly afraid of Nick’s interference. Involving him now, before she knew what was really happening, felt wrong.
Because she’d been covered with Angel’s blood, Tabby had borrowed an older student’s gym clothes. She picked up her white wool coat, slipping it on, and her purse and tote. Sam gestured and they started for the