Part 8 (1/2)

”Doesn't that seem odd to you?”

He shook his head. ”We have children from all races and cultures.”

She still seemed perplexed, but asked instead, ”How many live there?”

”At any given time, fifteen monks. We have four young ones-under sixteen. When Rafe and I grew up, there were many more. At one time twenty-two of us.”

”What happened? Women start using birth control?”

Anthony frowned. The truth was, they didn't have an answer to the diminis.h.i.+ng chosen ones. Rafe was one of the last. There had only been six since him, and none in the last ten years.

”It was a joke. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. Look, I should go.”

”Please don't.” He took her hand. ”Do you remember the prayer?”

”Words can't protect anyone from anything,” Skye said.

”Faith can.”

”Please, Anthony, don't do this.” Skye ran a hand through her hair. She'd lost her clip and her hair fell in creamy blond waves, no less alluring being mussed from their earlier ordeal. ”Belief in G.o.d certainly didn't save your friends up on the mountain. And it didn't save my mother,” she snapped.

”Your mother?”

Skye stared into Anthony's dark eyes. Why had she said anything? She didn't want to talk about her mother. But maybe he would leave her alone, stop talking to her about this nonsense. Trapped souls and demons . . .

”My mother left when I was ten. Met a guy, someone who talked all about G.o.d and salvation and dedicating your life to Jesus. And she gave him everything she owned and went away with him. Just like that. She left and never spoke to me again. Six years later a California Highway Patrol officer came knocking on the door and told us she'd been murdered. By the same kook who had talked her into joining his stupid cult.”

Why had she said all that? The last person she wanted to talk about was her mother. She tried to pull her hands from Anthony's, but he held firm. She wanted to avert her eyes, but he turned her face to look at his.

”Skye.”

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, consuming her.

No tentative kiss. He claimed her with a confidence she'd rarely seen, hungry but patient; determined but gentle. She put her hands on his arms, surprised at the dense muscle hidden under his s.h.i.+rt. She wanted to push him away. She couldn't. Her body reached for him while her mind told her to run. Heat pooled in all the right places, her heart beat triple time, her skin tingled from the electricity they generated.

All in a kiss.

His hands barely touched the back of her neck, but his presence captivated her. Anthony didn't try to dominate her, but conquered her nonetheless.

Think, Skye! Forget the kiss, this guy is bizarre.

Shut up, she told herself and wished for once she could separate her physical needs and desires from her logical cop mind.

She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but instead found her tongue seeking his, being the aggressor. If he had carried her off to bed right then, she would have gone. Her body wanted him and no amount of logic would have convinced her to stay away.

Her own guttural moan was lost in Anthony's mouth, but the sound-too pa.s.sionate to be coming from her-jolted her back to reality. She didn't sleep with strangers. She didn't sleep with men who weren't grounded in reality. What was she doing? She was the d.a.m.n sheriff with a ma.s.sacre on her hands.

She pushed Anthony back. Hard. He didn't take his eyes from hers. His confidence was incredible. He already looked like he'd bedded her. ”Don't leave,” he said.

”You're fine,” she snapped, jumping up. ”I have work to do.”

He stood, followed her to the door. ”Please stay. I'm worried about you.”

”Worried about me? I'm a cop, Mr. Zaccardi. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He leaned toward her. ”I think we've gone beyond Mr. Zaccardi, don't you?”

He tried to kiss her again, but she averted her face and his warm lips landed on her flushed cheek. He looked more amused than insulted. d.a.m.n him.

He also looked worried. That didn't sit well with her.

”Look, Anthony,” she said. ”I'm a smart cop. It's after two in the morning. I'll be up bright and early to continue this investigation. With the mission destroyed, I have a lot more work to do.”

”You need me.”

”Only to translate this.” She reached down and picked up the journal that she'd placed on the table. ”I'll keep it with me for now, you can meet me at the station at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning.”

”I can work on it tonight, have a translation for you-”

She held up her hand, antic.i.p.ating his request.

He nodded curtly. ”All right, Skye. May I have my cross back?”

What was she expecting? More protests? To take her kicking and screaming to bed? She didn't know how much she would have fought him. d.a.m.n, but Anthony was hot.

Too bad he was a weirdo. Just like the man who'd lured away her mother.

She pulled his cross-his dagger-out of her belt buckle and handed it to him. ”Don't make me regret this,” she said, more curtly than she intended.

She turned and left, felt his eyes watch her open the door to the stairs because she was too impatient to wait for the elevator.

All the good men were married, gay-or nutcases.

A wall of flames surrounded him, but Anthony felt no heat.

”You again,” the fire spat.

Again? He didn't remember this demon, one so strong it could control the elements.

The flames danced in laughter.