Angels On Earth:
          Lucifer - Love's Redemption
                       by
                  Robyn Crane
                        
                    Synopsis
FBI Special Agent Skyelar Thomas Garfield is a modern woman with a
modern life. Her career - busting the bad guys to make them pay for the
pain and suffering they cause their victims - fills her days and nights,
leaving little time for the frivolous pursuit of the perfect man. Sure, she
hopes some day to find a good man, maybe a fellow agent, to join her in
the white-picket-fence-and-babies thing. But that day has yet to come, and
she sure as hell isn't going to wait around for it, moping in her corn flakes
while life passes her by.
The last thing on Skye's mind while undercover in a Satanic, baby-killing
cult was coming face-to-face with a man who stopped her dead in her
tracks. Tall, dark and gorgeous with enough attitude to fill a football field,
Luke SantAngelo practically took her breath away for the two seconds it
took Skye to decide that he absolutely did not fit into her well-thought-out
mold for her future mate. She wanted nothing so much as to slap that
superior smirk off his face! He would never be her man, no way, no how!
Luke SantAngelo finds Skye beautiful, but he's seen great beauty and felt
nothing, certainly not this need to know more about its source. She has
spirit, but spirit has never before stirred him, made his blood boil as does
this fascinating woman. She will surely prove to be an interesting toy.
When the blazing sovereign of Hell meets the ice-strong heart of a
determined woman, lives end, tears fall and two lost hearts find...Love's
Redemption.



                  Chapter One
                        
"Hey, Barbie, you ready for the meeting tonight? It's gonna be a `don't
miss'."
Dave Jansen from accounting pressed his inflated crotch against Barbara
Mason's thighs as she leaned over the copy machine. Normally, she tried
to ignore him as much as possible. He was beneath her, and she would
never be beneath him except in his dreams, so she didn't see any reason to
waste her time. She turned to face him, nearly gagging on the scent of
spearmint pouring from his mouth as he smiled up at her. He had no
choice. She was eight inches taller than his five-foot-two.
After taking a quick glance around to see if anyone might observe their
conversation and finding them alone, Barbara eased her hand between
their bodies - Jansen still hadn't backed off - and slid her palm over the
hard bulge behind the zipper of his seersucker slacks. Pale brown eyes,
magnified by the thick lenses of his accountant's glasses, widened till they
looked as though they might drop from their sockets.
`Better finish this guy off fast before he creams his jeans, so to speak,' she
thought in disgust. She watched him as she slowly applied pressure,
knowing the second she had passed pleasure and found his pain by the
furrowing of his brow and the tensing of his shoulders. Leaning close, a
pseudo lovers' tete-a-tete, she whispered for his ears only.
"Listen to me, you number-crunching shrimp. If I ever see this," she
squeezed for emphasis, ignoring his soft groan of pain, "near me again, I'm
gonna start thinking Lorena Bobbitt. And I don't think Cain would like
hearing that you had been touching something he considers to be his
personal property, do you?"
At mention of Cain Danson, all the color left Jansen's face. He shook his
head vehemently, nearly dislodging his glasses from his long nose. His
voice was strained.
"No, please, I didn't mean...," he squeaked.
Barbara released him with a snort of disgust, turning back to the copier.
"Go away, little man."
She waited till the sound of his padding feet had faded, then she sighed
and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Realizing she had just rubbed
the black toner she had been refilling onto her face, she nearly laughed out
loud.
"I've been at this too long, insanity beckons. Oh, well, maybe tonight, I'll
get what I really want and it will all be worth it."
She could hope.

The abandoned church was illuminated by the eerie glow of hundreds of
black candles. They burned in every available nook and cranny, flickering
in the tiny breezes that worked their way through the cracks in the walls of
the old church, making the light come to seemingly evil life. An unholy
congregation, their face hiding black robes flowing across the dirty floor,
gathered near the altar. Standing facing them, his robe distinguishable by
the red velvet that climbed from the hem to circle his face and fall back to
the floor, was their leader.
Cain, the High Priest of Satan's church, was holding mass tonight.
Raising his hands, he slid the hood off his face, revealing a shockingly
handsome face with dark blue eyes and blond hair that curled endearingly
around his ears. The murmur of noise that had existed in the church
seconds before silenced instantly.
"Welcome," Cain spoke, his deep baritone speeding several hearts, male
and female, "I am so glad you could all make it this evening. I have
something very special planned."
Standing somewhere near the middle of the hooded assembly, Barbara
Mason tried to slow her breathing. She needed to keep her wits about her,
remember to say and do all the right things. She'd never succeed in
acquiring her desire if she screwed up and made Cain angry.
Cain continued to address his congregation.
"First," he reached behind the altar and placed a small animal carrier on
top of the blood-stained marble. A frightened `mew' came from inside the
plastic and metal vessel, the sound bringing a smile of the purest evil to
Cain's handsome features.
"Sounds like our little black friend can't wait to participate in our party.
Patience, little one, you time is near."
Barbara had attended several meetings where small animals had given
their lives for the glory of Satan. She, like the rest of the congregation,
was surprised. They had expected something different this evening.
Cain tipped his head to one side with an expression of surprise.
"What's this? You aren't happy with my offering? Barbie," Barbara's heart
shot into her throat and lodged there, refusing to beat or allow breath past,
"come forward and assist me."
She took a deep breath through her nose and quietly blew it out between
her lips. This was it, he had noticed her, singled her out. It was up to her
to make it work for her. She dropped her hood as she made her way to
Cain's side, unable to ignore the predatory gleam that entered his eyes as
the veil of her platinum hair was revealed. She wondered if he intended to
take her on the altar, a thought accompanied by a thrill of both fear and
elation. As she reached the altar, Cain offered her his hand, palm up.
Hoping her palm wasn't sweaty, she placed it lightly into Cain's hand,
which closed around it. His smile belonged more on a wolf than a human
being.
"Ah, what a precious porcelain doll. Open the box and show everyone the
`pet' they have greeted with such disdain."
Carefully opening the animal carrier, her long blood-red nails giving her
only a minimum of trouble, Barbara warily peeked inside, not sure what
kind of four-legged creature Cain might have rounded up. What she saw
made her throat tighten so painfully she thought she might lose her dinner
right there on Cain's Italian leather shoes.
Inside the carrier lay a tiny human baby, no more than a few hours old. It
was wrapped in a piece of burlap, its little arms and legs bare and still
showing the residue of birth.
Her ice blue eyes flew to Cain's face, knowing, hoping she was mistaken.
His smile broadened.
"Take it out, Barbie."
Swallowing hard to discourage the loss of her dinner, Barbara carefully lid
her hands beneath the tiny figure, nearly jumping out of her skin when the
baby moved and mewed again. Pulling the little body close to her own,
she turned so the congregation could see Cain's `offering'. The collective
gasp made her think of a pack of hungry hyenas just waiting for their
leader to tell them he was finished with his meal.
"You are ready, Barbie."
The whisper in her ear made her jump. She turned her head to be pinned
by Cain's deep blue gaze. His whisper was a lover's caress.
"Our master will surely deliver your heart's desire this night, my beautiful
Barbie doll. And I shall initiate you as my High Priestess."
What was wrong with her? This is what she had wanted, worked for these
last six months. Why were her hands shaking, the tremors threatening to
work their way to her feet? She could do this. She could!
Forcing her lips into the best semblance of a smile she could manage, she
spoke softly to Cain.
"I...I just hadn't expected...," she shrugged, "I don't want to fail the
Master."
Cain placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. Slowly,
his eyes never leaving hers, he slid his hand down over her breast to rest
on the baby's tiny head. The infant seemed to sense the danger in that
seemingly innocent caress. It began to fuss, its tiny face screwing up in a
preface to crying. Cain frowned in disgust.
"Put it back in the box. I don't want to listen to its caterwauling until I'm in
the mood."
Barbara carefully laid the baby in the bottom of the box, covering it as
best she could with the pitiful blanket. She closed the carrier securely,
then turned back to the congregation. She could feel the tension in the
room building to a crescendo. Knowing what the climax of this evening
was to be, she wondered - Could she handle it?
From behind the altar, Cain produced the sacrificial knife. It was a long
wicked-looking thing made of some black metal, it edge jagged and razor
sharp. Stifling a shiver, Barbara wondered how much blood the lethal
blade had spilled over the centuries of its existence. Cain held it above his
head and the congregation as a whole obediently murmured their
approval.
"Ah, I see you have changed your little minds about my offering for this
evening. The master's presence is strong tonight. The sacrifice to The
Dark One of this child of my own blood, the epitome of innocence, is sure
to gain us his favor, perhaps even his visible presence. Prepare
yourselves."
The black-robed figures took seats in the dilapidated pews. Hands
searched through the folds at the front of the robes, their own or anther's,
to pave the way for the orgy that would follow the sacrifice. Barbara took
a step to join the others and found her way barred by a black-clad arm.
"No, Barbie," Cain's spoke as though to a small child, annoyance tinging
his voice, "As I said, you are to be my High Priestess. You will assist me."
Leaning close, his husky, breathy words were for her ears only.
"After we honor the master, you and I shall join on the altar, baptizing our
union in the blood of our offering."
How Barbara wished she could raise her hood to cover the horror she
feared was escaping her control to write itself across her face. Cain didn't
seem to notice as he turned back to the congregation. He raised his voice
dramatically, his arms lifted in supplication.
"Oh great Lucifer, angel of light, Prince of darkness, we beseech you to
accept this worthy sacrifice and cast your favor upon us. This child, blood
of my blood," he glared at Barbara, then motioned with his head toward
the animal carrier. Jerking like a marionette in inexperienced hands, she
opened the box, pulled the tiny infant from inside and laid it on the cold
stone altar. As soon as any of its skin touched marble, the baby let out an
indignant howl that quickly melted into the inimitable cry of a newborn.
Cain's scowl turned to a smile of satisfaction and Barbara wondered if he
thought she had deliberately done something to make the baby cry.
"...blood of my blood," he repeated for emphasis, "free of all Earthly sin,
we offer to you as a sacrifice. I created this being for your glory, Master. I
have served you long and well and..."
"Blah, blah, blah."
With a collective gasp, the congregation as one turned to the back of the
church. Leaning against the entryway, his arms crossed over his chest, legs
crossed at the ankle, a man none of them recognized insolently addressed
Cain. This new arrival was cast mostly in shadow, though his dimensions
appeared quite impressive.
"How dare you!" Cain was indignant. "Do you know whom you are
addressing?"
Slowly unfolding like a cat waking from a long winter's nap, the stranger
straightened to his full height of six-four and began his careful entrance
into the light. As he was fully revealed two women, and one man, sighed
loudly. A sardonic smile split his face at their appraisal.
His shoulders were broad enough to match his height, his hips slender. He
wore a black silk vest, open down the front, adorned with intricate red
embroidery, black jeans and black cowboy boots. Muscle rippled under
every square inch of exposed flesh. He walked as though he were
comfortable inside his skin. And as though he ruled the known universe.
His face was handsome, if one overlooked the cruelty that lurked behind
the near-black eyes, the suspicion that seemed to permanently furrow the
black brow. His eyes were slightly sunken in his face, his high brow
shadowing them, hiding their secrets. He had a classic Roman nose, his
lips were full and well-defined, his rugged chin a near-perfect square.
Sable hair, held securely at the back of his neck by a piece of black
leather, brushed the middle of his broad back.
This guy is bad news in spades, Barbara thought, even as she found herself
admiring his confidence, his 'I've got big ones' self-assurance, and, yes, his
jaw-dropping good looks.
As he approached the altar - surprisingly enough, no one attempted to halt
his progress - he responded to Cain's inquiry.
"Do you know whom you are addressing, High Priest Cain?"
Cain's eyes looked like they might explode from his face at any minute, he
was so angry.
"No," he hissed, "who might you be?"
The stranger lifted one finger and laid it beside his nose, wiggling it back
and forth. With a sound much like an explosion, all of the candle flames
leaped several feet into the air, the sudden additional light acting like a
flash bulb on their eyes. When they could see again, the stranger was
standing face-to-face with Cain. His dramatic whisper carried through the
building.
"Got a clue now, High Priest?"
The color drained from Cain's face on a sigh and Barbara actually
wondered if he might faint at the stranger's feet. The congregation seemed
to erupt into sighs of pleasure and gasps of horror. Chaos threatened. This
was it. Barbara's next move meant success or failure. Gazing at the tiny
face framed by still-damp curls, she knew failure was not an option.
Fingering the tiny heart pendant that hung from a silver chain at her
throat, she pressed the concealed button at its point and waited.
The stranger turned to the congregation and hissed, "Silence!" Barbara
was amazed at how quickly the church became quiet as a tomb. His smile
held no humor as he gave a slight mocking bow.
"Thank you."
He returned his attention to Cain who started to drop to his knees before
him. The stranger's hand closed around Cain's throat, freezing the High
Priest in a semi-crouch. With what looked to be very little effort, he raised
Cain into the air by his throat.
"Cornelius Frazier, you are a pitiful excuse for a man. How do you think
your congregation - That is the way you have always addressed them,
yours, not mine - how do you think they'd take it if I told them your
insignificant little tool will not rise to the occasion except at these little
shindigs? That you bought that baby - 'blood of your blood'," he sneered,
"from an obstetrician friend with a nasty barbiturate habit? That you do
charity work and confess your sins every week to the good Father James,
just to keep your bases covered?"
Cain - a.k.a. Cornelius - had stopped struggling and was beginning to turn
an ugly shade of blue. Barbara decided she had better make a move or she
was going to lose an essential part of this gig. Slipping her hand into the
front of her robe and along her bare thigh, she pulled the gun from the
concealed holster, stepped forward and pressed it into the small of the
stranger's back, hoping the voluminous folds of her robe would hide the
weapon from the congregation. She kept her voice low.
"Put Cain down or you will be the sacrifice this evening."
She felt as much as heard the deep chuckle that rumbled through him.
Great, a nutcase that isn't afraid of guns. She pressed the gun more firmly
against his back, deliberately changing the angle.
"Okay, so maybe you're not afraid to die, but how do you like the idea of
being crippled and without the tip of your precious tool for the rest of your
life?"
She breathed a sigh of relief as Cain's nearly lifeless body dropped to the
floor with a loud thud.
"It would seem the only thing you did right, Frazier," the stranger hissed,
"was to choose a loyal, if foolish, High Priestess. I'm going to turn around,
Barbie."
Barbara tensed, pressing the gun what she hoped was painfully into his
flesh.
"You're gonna to stay put until I tell you otherwise."
Slowly he began to turn toward her. Short of shooting him - she did not
want to be explaining that for the rest of her life - she could do little but
let him turn and keep him in her sights. Stepping back, she raised the gun
in both hands, bringing it to her chest level. Which put it aiming
approximately at his solar plexus. Then she raised her eyes to meet his,
knowing that every move, every thought shows in the eyes first.
As soon as their eyes met, she had a feeling she had made a mistake, one
that might cost her her life. Staring into his eyes was like gazing into the
center of an erupting volcano. His eyes were black, truly black, with tiny
specks of red that seemed to flare into being, then disappear. If the eyes
were indeed the mirrors of the soul, this guy's soul was one dark place. For
the first time in six months, she wanted to pray to God in Heaven.
His eyes narrowed as he took in her stance, the look of steel in her
ice-blue eyes.
"Why, Barbie, I didn't think you had it in you. You're misguided and..."
As he lifted his hand, she barked, "Freeze!" His sinister smile revealed a
row of perfect white teeth with what looked to her to be unusually sharp
canines.
"Freeze? An interesting command, especially when issued to me. Some
might say I am incapable of freezing. In my experience, only those of the
police persuasion use that term with any frequency. I believe the bad guys
avoid using it out of fear that their own inadequate colleagues might
mistake them for the authorities, shooting first and making apologies later.
You are becoming more and more interesting by the moment. And you,"
he hissed over his shoulder at the prone Cain, "are proving to be more of
an ass than even I had realized."
The stranger tipped his head to the side, listening. One jet black eyebrow
rose slowly as he returned his attention to Barbara.
"Fascinating."
Doors and windows suddenly burst inward as men in blackout gear
exploded into the church. Shouts of "FBI!" and "Freeze!" accompanied
their dramatic entrance. Releasing a breath dangerously close to a sob,
Barbara addressed her prisoner.
"You're under arrest..."
"For what?"
The stranger's unexpected interruption angered her more than it should. Or
was it his nonchalant attitude, as though he got busted every day, that was
making her teeth grind? Who was she kidding? It was those damn eyes,
looking at her now as though he could see...What? Shaking her head,
thinking she was definitely going to take a few days off after this one, FBI
Special Agent Skyelar Thomas Garfield responded brusquely, 
"Kidnaping, attempted murder, trafficking in illegal substances,
trespassing..."
"Trespassing? A tad petty for the illustrious FBI, don't you think?"
"It's been a slow week! Now would you mind closing your mouth long
enough for me to read you your rights?"
Ignoring the gun that still threatened - Skye would never know why she
didn't shoot him - he stepped forward and touched one fingertip to her
chin, sending a lightning bolt of sensation through her nervous system. He
spoke in a husky voice as she fought to control a shiver of unknown cause.
"Do you really think you can arrest me, Bar...What is your real name?"
"Skye."
Who said that, Skye wondered, refusing to recognize her own husky voice.
"Skye."
The way he said it, as full of meaning as Moby Dick, made her glad she
had revealed her name. Somewhere deep in her brain, a voice was trying
to break through to her, a voice of warning shouting words like `hypnosis'
and `exhaustion', but she was having such a wonderful time listening to
this oh-so-attractive man that she refused to hear that inner voice.
"Skye, you know who I am, don't you? Turn the gun on your colleagues,
Skye. Once you have taken care of them, we shall have a most amusing
time, you and I. Wouldn't you like that, Skye?"
Skye blinked once, a catlike smile spreading her lips as her eyes narrowed
menacingly.
"Nooo, I'd really rather shoot you. But Management frowns on that sort of
thing, so how about I just see to it that you get the Presidential Suite at the
local hoosegow? Wouldn't you like that, Mr I-think-I'm-Satan?"
The stranger jumped as though he'd been slapped. Skye's smile widened,
though it still held little humor.
"I don't hypnotize well, though I've gotta give it to you, you had me going
there for a minute. Now put both hands on the altar and spread your legs
wide."
His nostrils flaring with indignation, eyes narrowed to slits of anger, he
hissed, "Very well, Special Agent, let the game begin."

                  Chapter Two
                        
"Agent Garfield?"
Skye blinked, mentally shaking herself back to the present. A dark blush
stained her porcelain white cheeks. Very professional. Staring off into
space, daydreaming about a case that had occurred months ago in a city a
thousand miles away. An automatic response brought her to her feet, her
hand extended to accept the proffered one of the man standing beside her
desk.
"I'm Frank Preston from the New York office. I believe you were
expecting me."
His disdainful tone made his opinion of the way she had been spending
government time quite clear. He looked down his sharp hawk's nose at
her, and Skye recognized the attempt to make her feel inferior. It
happened all the time with these bureaucratic types, especially the older
men. She put on her best FBI persona, waving her hand toward the
visitor's chair in front of her desk.
"Of course."
A glance at her watch, a slight furrowing of her brow.
"The traffic must have kept you."
She smiled as Agent Preston furtively glanced at his watch. Making them
think their precious schedule had been disturbed always threw these guys
off. They were so easy.
"I find a few minutes of meditation several times a day keeps my body
relaxed and my mind alert. Didn't the New York office have that Yoga
seminar yet?"
Squirming uncomfortably in his seat, unwilling to admit there was
anything the New York office, or he, didn't know, Preston smiled wanly.
"I've been away from the office quite a bit. I probably missed it."
Skye gave him an understanding look touched with just enough pity to
bring a tiny spark to his eyes. Skye cast a surreptitious glance at the
appointment calendar that lay on the side of her desk. As she had
suspected he would, Preston assumed she had allotted him only so much
time and, since he had been late - which, of course, he hadn't - he must
hurry, which was what Skye wanted.
"Agent Garfield, I'm here mainly as a liaison between you and one of our
New York informants. This man has proven extremely valuable in the
apprehension of several high profile criminals. His information has always
been flawless."
`How nice for him,' Skye thought with a grimace.
Another glance at the calendar, then at the watch on her wrist, followed by
a polite, get-on-with-it smile. Preston frowned.
"Mr SantAngelo says he has information about some activity in the D.C.
area. He wished to relate it directly to this office. As a matter of fact, he
asked for you specifically. Though we thought that a little strange as he
has no connection to you of which we are aware, he refused to give the
information to anyone else, so..."
"So you gave him a trip to Washington on the people. Where is this
gentleman, I'd love to find out why he asked for me? His name doesn't ring
a bell, but that means zip. Probably has a dozen alias."
"He excused himself when we got here."
Concern, and ill-disguised suspicion, darkened Preston's face as he
strained his neck to see down the corridor.
"Perhaps I should go see what's taking him so long. I'll be right back."
Skye nodded and smiled. She didn't like Agent Frank Preston. He struck
her as a self-important jerk. She secretly hoped his informant had flown
the coop, leaving him to explain the useless expenditure of two plane
tickets to Washington, D.C. Shaking her head, she gave her appointment
calendar a legitimate check, wondering if she were going to have to cancel
her appointment at the shooting range because of Preston's folly.
"I thought he'd never leave."
That voice!
Ice-blue eyes flew to meet a volcanic black gaze of amusement.
"Hello, Special Agent Garfield."
"You!"
"Eloquent."
A deep breath chased the shock from her mind. She eased back in her
chair and regarded him with her bug-under-a-microscope perusal.
"You're Preston's informant?"
He sighed with mock drama as he coiled his big body into her guest chair.
"Guilty."
"You bought your way off by becoming an informant. Figures. We didn't
have much on you, turning you would have been the best use of you as a
resource. I wondered why your picture hadn't graced my file."
"Were you disappointed?"
His intimate tone was beginning to annoy Skye. She folded her hands on
her desk and, choosing a spot between his eyes, stared right through him
as she had learned to do in her classes on interrogation.
"Not in the least, Mr SantAngelo. If I want to look at pictures of
good-looking men, I'll buy a copy of Playgirl. Now, I'm rather busy, so
why don't you tell me what you came here to say."
"Oh, he's here."
Skye glared up at Agent Preston, then sighed.
"Yes, Mr SantAngelo found his way. He was about to impart to me his
breathlessly-awaited information. Please," she motioned to the second
visitor's chair, "have a seat and...what?"
Her question was nearly a growl as she responded to SantAngelo's slowly
shaking head. His smile warned her that she was going to hate whatever
was about to fall out of his mouth.
"My information is for your ears only, Agent Garfield"
He turned a very insincere smile on Agent Preston.
"Sorry, Frank."
Skye had reached her limit. She took a deep breath, releasing it loudly
through her teeth as she rolled her eyes heavenward. Though she kept
down the volume, her words carried the strength of a shout.
"Look, SantAngelo, you," she pointed a finger at his chest, "work for us.
You don't dictate the terms. The only reason you're not behind bars is
because the powers-that-be decided whatever information you might be
able to provide would eventually be worth more than convicting your
sorry butt. So, speak!"
Tiny, and not so tiny, sparks of red flame flared in his eyes as she berated
him. But before he could respond, Agent Preston came to his defense.
"Garfield, what are you talking about? Mr SantAngelo came to us of his
own free will, he was never arrested."
Skye stared at her fellow agent as though he were running around her
office headless.
"You're out of the loop, Preston. I arrested this man myself a few months
ago out in Colorado."
"I assure you, you're wrong, Garfield."
"And I assure you..."
"Please, agents, I feel like a piece of meat over which two vicious dogs are
fighting. Isn't my information the important thing?"
Narrowing her eyes first at Preston, then at SantAngelo, Skye sat back in
her chair and nodded.
"Sure. Who cares who you are," she snarled at Preston, "or how many
times you've been arrested," she returned her level gaze to SantAngelo, "if
you prove useful."
His regal gaze made her suddenly long for the days before Miranda and
the ACLU when brass knuckles had been many agents' jewelry of choice
on occasion. Rearranging his pretty face would bring this jerk down a step
or two.
His eyes narrowed as though he could read her thoughts. Though he spoke
to Preston, he kept his eyes on her.
"Agent Preston, I believe you have fulfilled your duty by delivering me
into Agent Garfield's competent hands. If you would excuse us?"
"Of course," Preston sounded miffed. Skye knew she should give her
fellow agent her full attention, but she liked knowing SantAngelo's exact
location. Keeping him in her sights seemed like a good idea. "I would
appreciate a memo, Agent Garfield, to let me know that I didn't waste my
time."
Forcing herself to look away from those hypnotic pools of ebony was
more difficult than Skye would have liked. She stood and offered her hand
to Preston. He gave it a very perfunctory shake.
"I'll let you know. Thank you, Preston."
Preston turned and left, the crisp slap of his receding steps telling her he
was very miffed indeed. With a dismissive shake of her head, Skye took
her seat behind her desk. She pulled a legal pad and pen from a drawer,
then looked at SantAngelo expectantly.
"Is this where I `speak'?"
His tone, which she chose to ignore, told her that he hadn't liked being
referred to in such a fashion.
"It's your quarter."
"You have such a steely way about you, Skye, one would almost believe
you're as hard-hearted as you appear. You remind me of a kitten who
constantly unsheathes her claws to keep the world she fears from getting
too close while secretly wishing someone would brave those sharp little
warnings and force her to let them scratch her behind the ears."
Skye swallowed convulsively. This guy was too sharp by half. And why
was it she kept practically forgetting her name every time she looked into
those impossibly deep eyes of his? She'd never before been the
stars-in-her-eyes-over-a-guy type. Using her most no-nonsense tone, she
calmly reprimanded him.
"As I have no other reason to speak to you, SantAngelo, I would
appreciate it if you would get, and keep, to the business at hand."
"But that can be so lonely and unsatisfying."
Rising to the irresistible bait of his pun, Skye purred, "Not if you know
what you're doing."
Surprised, and pleased, by her witty response, SantAngelo smiled a true
smile, one that lit his face and brought a soft glow to his eyes. His deep
voice rumbled with his chuckle.
"Touche. This is going to be more enjoyable than I had planned."
Seeing her eyes narrow impatiently, he raised his palm toward her.
"All right. Business. There is a gentleman here in your office, a fellow
agent, who has been taking part in some rather nasty ceremonies which
promise to get even nastier. No human has given their life as yet, but last
week's little soiree included the rape of a hitchhiker one of the
congregation picked up on his way to church. The young lady, having no
idea where she had been taken, or by whom, was released with a very
explicit warning not to tattle to the police. Which she heeded, by the way.
Pretty girl, very wealthy father. The fools should have recruited her, but..."
Skye arched one brow, tipping her head in a clear declaration of disbelief.
"Let me get this straight. You honestly think I'm going to investigate a
fellow agent because an informant from another state tells me he took part
in a Satanic ceremony?"
Both of his coal black brows rose in an expression of innocence.
"You don't believe me?"
"Good guess. One," using the tip of her pen, she counted on her fingers,
"how would you know about meetings taking place in D.C.? Two, those
cowls do help maintain anonymity. How would you know this guy was
FBI? And three, how did you do that trick with the candles?"
Caught off-guard by her third question, SantAngelo dropped his head back
and laughed, a deep, rich sound Skye thought she could listen to for a very
long time without tiring of it. Straightening, he blinked slowly, the
epitome of bedroom eyes.
Skye could not believe what this guy was doing to her libido. Just the way
he was looking at her was making her a tad moist in the nether regions.
Dropping her eyes to the legal pad that lay untouched on her desk, she
used it as an excuse to avoid his disturbing gaze.
"I know the meetings have taken place because I have attended on
occasion and I have extensive connections in the field of Satan worship. If
you had thought the question through you would know that the agent must
be the high priest, the person most likely to dispense with a hood at said
meetings. The candles," he made a dismissive gesture with his hand that
Skye caught out of the corner of her eye, "a few chemicals tossed into the
flame. An old Ninja trick actually."
That got her attention.
"And I suppose you know one of those?"
"I do get around."
"From one loony bin to the next," Skye mumbled under her breath.
Leaning forward, SantAngelo pinned her with his black stare. His voice
took on an intensity that made her hear every word.
"Skye, these people are petty, insincere wretches who seek an excuse to
satisfy their depraved lusts. In Satan, they have found the perfect fall guy.
They can blame anything they do on him. They try to one-up each other,
bringing first a kitten, then a puppy, then an innocent girl to be raped and
brutalized. Eventually their altar runs with blood, its only true purpose
being to lubricate their loins. You and I both want to put a stop to their
farce of a religion. Will you help me to do that?"
He was so sincere, Skye nodded before she even knew what she was
doing. Who was this guy? Was he for real? What was he getting out of
this? He slid his hand across the desk and enfolded her hand in his. If
possible, his intensity increased. Skye had the fleeting thought that if it
increased much more, the building was Hiroshima history. His voice
dropped to a near-whisper.
"Help me, Skye, and we will both achieve our ends. Perhaps we shall reap
even more than either of us could imagine."
Snapping out of her trance, Skye pulled her hand from his grasp. She
straightened, her back ramrod stiff, her voice nearly as cold as her icy
glare.
"Business, Mr SantAngelo."
"Luke."
"Mr SantAngelo, I will work with you as long as your information proves
accurate. The first time you feed me a load of crap, I'll send you back
home in the coach section of a very full plane so fast it will make your
head spin. Do we understand each other?"
Eyes narrowed, Luke watched her face - her eyes, her lips, the flaring of
her nostrils - taking in the emotions tearing at her. What did she fear? He
intended to have a wonderful time finding out. And exploiting that fear to
the fullest.
"Perfectly, Agent Garfield."
Skye nodded, feeling as if she had just entered a battlefield with pitifully
few weapons and even less intelligence.

                 Chapter Three
                        
Skye woke to the high-pitched, and quite annoying, buzz of her cellular
phone. Glancing at the clock on her night stand, she narrowed her eyes at
its led display - `3:30 AM' - and wondered who was taking their life in
their hands by waking her.
"This had better be good," she growled into the receiver.
"Skye, what if I were one of your FBI superiors?"
Recognizing his voice, she felt her stomach muscles tighten and made a
physical effort to keep that tightening from drifting any lower.
"I'd send a really nice, expensive flower arrangement to your funeral if
you woke me up at this god awful hour for no good reason! What do you
want, SantAngelo?"
"I do wish you'd call me Luke. It would save time, if nothing else."
"SantAngelo!"
Her growl was met by a rumbling chuckle that successfully sent that
tightening the rest of the way down her body.
"Very well. A rather unsavory business meeting is going to take place
between some self-proclaimed Satanists and a Columbian national. I
believe a large quantity of a very illegal substance will be exchanged for
an equally large quantity of cash. Those witless worshipers of gold and
their own lusts encourage their drug-addicted pre-pubescent dealers to sell
to their little friends, putting a bullet through their brains when they
become a liability." As he continued, his tone darkened with sarcasm and
anger. "They have killed ten, maybe fifteen, children and not one of them
sacrificed to their supposed Dark Lord. Once a month they get together
with a few of their seedy friends and say a few Latin words they
memorized out of a book on Satan worship over a punchbowl filled with
wine-coolers and cow's blood they buy from their butcher. They get drunk
and have a well-protected orgy in my...uh, in the Devil's name. That's it.
No sacrifice, no praise, no subservience. Once again, Satan becomes the
blame-bearer for all their bad habits."
Angry or not, his voice was like warm whiskey washing over Skye's stiff
muscles. Leaning back against her pillow, she let him rant on, planning to
interrupt him if this diatribe went on much longer. He spoke so well, his
words crisp and strong, yet caressing and seductive. How would that
fur-wrapped-granite voice sound purring her name, demanding more,
encouraging her to reach higher, higher, to that place she had never been?
"Skye? Skye?!"
Suddenly realizing where her thoughts - and her hand! - had been drifting,
Skye felt a deep blush stain her cheeks. Not wishing SantAngelo to jump
to any of his infuriating conclusions, she chose to hide behind her normal
hard-as-nails bluster. She faked a loud yawn into the receiver, certain she
could feel his anger singe the phone lines.
"Am I keeping you awake, Agent Garfield?"
"Barely. Where and when is this little assignation supposed to go down?
And why couldn't you wait till morning to tell me about it?"
His near-whisper was razor-edged.
"I just learned of it myself tonight during their once-a-month fete. I could
not wait until morning because it is `going down', as you so quaintly put it,
this morning."
That got her attention. She sat up, grasping the phone in one hand while
reaching for the writing implements resting on her night stand beside her
gun.
"This morning?! Damn it, SantAngelo, why are you wasting time going on
about their failure as Sunday school teachers? Where and when?"
Poised to write the important information, Skye nearly dropped the phone
when the dial tone sounded in her ear. Had they been disconnected? She
checked her battery indicator, though she was pretty certain it was
fully-charged. No little red light warned her of imminent shut-down. Had
SantAngelo's battery gone belly-up? Somehow she doubted he was the
kind of guy to slip up like that.
Wait a minute! He'd mentioned being at the bad guy's party. Certainly he
wasn't stupid, or cocky, enough to call her from there. Was he? If someone
had overheard him, pegged him as a rat...
Tossing everything in her hands onto the night stand, Skye sprang from
the bed and ran to her closet to dress in record time. She was pulling on
her jacket when the blare of the doorbell brought her gun halfway out of
her shoulder holster. Shoving it back into place, she breathlessly called,
"Who is it?" as she put her eye to the peephole in the center of her front
door. Seeing SantAngelo standing there, apparently unhurt, sent her heart
racing. She threw open the door, stopping herself just short of wrapping
her arms around his neck in her enthusiasm.
"Luke! What happened?"
Remembering herself, she stepped back and took a deep breath. It was
then she noticed the look of smoldering anger lighting his black eyes, the
thin line of his mouth, the stubborn set of his jaw. As he pushed past her
into her apartment, she could have sworn he growled. She closed the door
and slipped the lock, wondering as she did so if locking herself in with
this man was the brightest of moves. Facing him, she relaxed into
readiness. Whichever way he chose to vent his obvious anger, physically
or verbally, she was prepared to meet him on equal ground.
"We have to reassess our relationship, Agent Garfield," his words hissed
through gritted teeth, "I am allowing you to use my knowledge of the
netherworld to your benefit. I am your informant. I am neither your
servant, nor your underling. If you cannot afford me at least the respect
you would give a co-worker in that amusing little bureau of yours, then
our association is at an end."
Between her reaction to her imagination taunting her with what his
associates had been doing to SantAngelo on their blood-stained Satanic
altar, and her relief at seeing him in one unscathed piece, Skye found
herself slightly confused.
"Respect? What are you talking about?"
"Respect. `Proper acceptance or courtesy.' From the Latin respectus
meaning consideration or regard, of which you give me none."
Skye tipped her head to one side, comprehension dawning, albeit slowly.
"What are you, pouting? I don't know how they treated you in New York,"
Skye's voice rose with her temper, "but here in DC we don't bow at our
informants' feet to thank them for doing their job. A job, I might remind
you, that kept your pretty butt out from behind bars where, I assure you, it
would have been greatly appreciated. Respect? Hah!"
She rolled her eyes heavenward with a sarcastic laugh, then returned her
attention to his face, her eyes narrowing.
"Wait a minute."
Her silky tone should have warned him, but he was too angry to take heed.
"SantAngelo, did your phone battery go dead?"
"Of course not," he answered in disgust, "I terminated the conversation. I
felt..."
Crack!
The sting in her palm as it came into contact with SantAngelo's cheek was
comforting to Skye, soothing her wounded pride, helping her forget her
frantic run to save his worthless life. The sympathetic pain she had felt
imagining the atrocities the bad guys might commit upon his helpless
body before she could find him, the guilt at not having asked his location,
the helplessness - they all flowed down her arm and into her palm to be
obliterated against his handsome face. She stood toe-to-toe with him, not
even noticing the strain as she bent her neck at an unnatural angle to hiss
directly into his face.
"Don't you ever hang up on me again. There may be a time when I will be
the only thing between you and a very unpleasant end to your worthless
life. You're gonna want me on your side, so," she emphasized each word
with a fingertip jabbed into his chest, "don't push me!"
Everything in Luke's vision was painted the color of fresh blood, even
Skye's pale face and hair. Anger surged inside of him like a blood tide.
Never, never had anyone treated him as this woman dared. He should swat
her like a bug, degrade her as only he could, then toss her aside like the
insignificant thing that any human was to him. But...
But.
The flesh on his chest where the tips of her breasts had brushed against
him while she berated him was on fire, the discomfort caused by each jab
of her sharp nail-tip sent a shiver down his spine, and the fire in her eyes
as she hissed her fury at him like an angry she-cat set his loins ablaze with
desire. He could take her body, force her to receive him, even use his
wiles to extract a response from her unwilling body. But Luke knew he
couldn't force Skye, the essence of the unpredictable, annoying, beautiful
woman, to give herself to him. And suddenly, that seemed very important
to him. To have this ice-fire hellion gazing up at him with desire in her
frosty blue eyes. To feel her long, sharp nails scoring his back as she lost
herself in the pleasures of the flesh.
Faster than Skye had ever believed a human being could move, Luke
caught her hand in his own and wrenched her arm behind her back, in the
blink of an eye to be joined by its mate. He pulled her hard against him,
letting her feel her effect on him. Seeing that as his vulnerability, Skye
tensed the muscles in her leg, preparing to violently introduce her knee to
his inflated groin.
"I assure you, Agent Garfield," he whispered against the side of her face,
his warm breath tickling the inside of her ear, "I can match and defeat any
move you might make."
Sensing a power play, Skye raised the knee, nearly growling with
frustration as SantAngelo neatly side-stepped, sending her knee
harmlessly slamming into the space his body had occupied a breath
earlier. Holding both of her hands in one of his, he used the other to cup
her nicely rounded buttocks and force her tightly against him, leaving her
no room to try that move again.
"Predictable. Isn't there anything in your FBI bag of tricks that might
surprise me?"
Glaring at him, Skye resorted to the only move she had left. Dropping her
head back to gain momentum, she attempted to slam her forehead into his
nose. He saw it coming at the last second and raised his head so that her
forehead made violent contact with his jaw.
"Ow! Very good, but I daresay that caused as much damage to you as to
me. Admit it, Skye, in this physical battle, I am, and will always be, the
victor."
Stiffening in his embrace, Skye tossed her head to remove her platinum
locks from her vision and glared up at him, her tone at the midpoint
between `I-couldn't-care-less' and
`you're-an-insect-I-would-like-to-grind-under-my-heel'.
"Your point?"
If he stared into her pale blue eyes for a moment, Luke was fascinated to
find that the ice in their depths would slip slowly into his blood, chilling
and thrilling him in equal parts. A shift in her weight from one foot to the
other warned him he'd better keep his mind alert if he didn't want to find
himself most foully wounded.
"My point, Skye, is that if you continue to illustrate your temper by
physical means, I will be forced to retaliate in kind. I don't believe either
of us would enjoy that."
That truthful revelation surprised Luke. He usually enjoyed violence.
Human pain and humiliation made for great entertainment. But for some
reason as yet unknown to him he didn't wish to reduce Skye to another of
his victims. There was something special about her and he didn't want to
risk losing the opportunity to explore that distinctive quality by venting his
temper over her lack of proper respect. Releasing her, he stepped back
until her baleful stare could be given without bending her neck at such an
unnatural angle. She blinked and dropped her eyes to the ground at her
feet, exhaling loudly through her lips. When she once again looked him in
the eye, malice had been replaced by apology.
"Okay, I don't wake up well. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Slightly taken aback by the polite inquiry, Luke cocked a brow, tilting his
head to one side.
"Why, yes, that would be nice. I'll take mine without poison, please."
Skye smiled.
"I'll do it anyway. And I'm all out of poison. Why don't you make yourself
comfortable while I go do my `nice' deed of the day." She continued her
smart remark as she left the room, "I like to get it out of the way early so I
won't have it hanging over my head all day."
Luke removed his long, black raincoat and hung it on one of the thick
round pegs by the door. Moving to the chocolate leather couch against one
wall, he sank into its overstuffed cushions, wondering if the thing were
going to devour him before he stopped sinking. Leaning back, he gazed
about the room, curious what he might learn about Skye from her
surroundings. White carpet, meticulously clean, covered every inch of
floor. The sofa was fronted by a chrome and glass coffee table strewn with
magazines that ran the gambit from Hollywood entertainment gossip to
hard news. A large mahogany armoire stood in the corner opposite the
sofa, its closed doors peaking his interest. Noticing the cords that lay
against the wall behind it, Luke surmised it held a television and perhaps
other objects of entertainment.
A floor-to-ceiling bookcase that matched the armoire filled the wall
opposite the door. Scanning titles, he found once again that Skye's tastes
could not be predicted. Romance, mystery, horror, science fiction and
science fact were all represented in nearly equal parts. The only constant
was that the books were all hardbacks that looked as though they had been
well cared-for.
The fourth wall of the living room was a sliding glass door that opened
onto a small, empty balcony. Walls, and balcony, were stark white.
The contrast and neatness of the room spoke of a person who liked to be
in control at all times. The variety of book and magazine titles said she
liked to keep informed, thus avoiding surprises. The room was
comfortable, furnished by someone with elegant and expensive tastes who
was not too flamboyant. But it was obviously meant to be experienced
alone. There was little room for company, no extra chairs to be brought in
from the balcony, no comfortable chair facing the couch from which to
conduct intimate conversations.
This was Skye's sanctuary.
"Any questions?"
Luke blushed as he realized he had actually jumped like a child caught
with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
"Questions?"
Skye sat the silver tray she carried on the coffee table, then lowered
herself to the sofa beside Luke. She smiled wryly as she poured coffee
into glass mugs.
"The way you were scoping the room, you must have me figured out back
to the cradle. I just wondered if you wanted to ask me any questions to
verify your conclusions."
Luke smiled and took the cup she offered. Adding a spoonful of sugar
from the silver chalice on the tray, he declined cream from a small
matching pitcher. Taking a sip, he looked at her over the rim of his cup.
She was smiling, relaxed as she drank her coffee. Her platinum hair
floated about her shoulders and chest like a silver cloud, her ice-blue eyes
were soft, her full lips inviting.
"Umm, delicious."
"Thank you. It's the finest dirty money can buy."
"I beg your pardon."
Skye laughed softly, a sound that set Luke's blood coursing through his
veins with a single destination in mind. Shifting, he adjusted his black silk
suitcoat.
"Confiscated property. The big things like cars and houses we use in
stings or undercover operations. But the smaller, less important stuff," she
indicated the room around her, "we auction off to the highest bidder.
They're supposed to be public auctions but we don't exactly advertise.
Those in the know get the best stuff at the cheapest prices. If you're nice,
I'll let you know when I hear the next auction is happening."
A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth.
"Thank you."
"Sure. So, do you have any questions? I figure if we're gonna work
together, we'd better get any personal misconceptions out of the way."
Luke gave the room another quick perusal, then ran his eyes over her with
the same attitude of inspection. The gray pinstripe suit she wore fit her
well, the dark grey silk blouse with matching lace collar complimenting
both the suit and her unusual eyes. Her platinum hair shone like the silk of
the blouse. She wore minimal make-up, just enough to draw his eyes to
her eyes and lips. The latter she painted a dark red that made Luke think
of her other lips, engorged with blood, throbbing, begging him to enter.
Neither realized what was about to happen until his lips made the first
electric contact with hers. Their worlds tilted as neither acted to stop the
intimate contact. Quite the contrary. Luke buried his hands in the waves
that framed her face, reveling in their satiny softness. Her lips parted ever
so slightly in tentative welcome. He needed no more than that. His tongue
softly rimmed her lips, teasing the sensitive inner flesh. As he sucked on
her lower lip, he dropped one hand to the warm skin of her throat. Her
breath caught then released in a flood as his fingertips gently caressed her,
easing beneath her veil of hair to stroke the back of her neck. He brought
their lips back into full contact, forcing his tongue between her teeth in an
act of penetration, the symbology of which was lost on neither of them.
Her back arched and she moaned quietly. A shiver ran through Luke to
settle in his achingly heavy loins.
That was when his phone rang.
Skye jumped as if stung. Her eyes flew open, a dark blush staining her
cheeks as she pushed against his chest. She spoke as though the words
were choking her.
"You'd better answer that. I'll clean up."
She grabbed the coffee tray and bolted from the room at a near run.
"Damn it!"
Luke's fists clenched in front of his chest, longing to slam into something,
someone. Growling, he ripped his cellular phone from his jacket pocket
and brought it to his ear.
"What!"
"Boss?"
The tentative whine at the other end of the line did nothing to soothe
Luke's mood.
"Unless you wish me to use all the anger I'm feeling at this moment to
create some truly unpleasant entertainment with you as the star, I suggest
you tell me why you have disturbed me. Quickly!"
After ten cowardly minutes of hiding in the kitchen telling herself she was
cleaning, Skye entered the living room, fully planning to ignore what had
happened between her and Luke and get on with business. Finding the
room empty, she glared at the couch as though he were still sitting there.
She didn't know whether to feel relieved that the confrontation had been
averted or angry because the lowlife had left without so much as a
goodby!
Sitting on the sofa, Skye gently touched her lips, remembering every
second of contact with Luke. It had been wonderful! Exciting, arousing,
frightening. For the first time in her life she had actually wanted
something more. If he had stayed, would things have been different this
time?
With a sigh that bordered on a sob, Skye stood and headed for the door to
become an FBI agent once again, knowing she would never be sure what
might have transpired if Luke SantAngelo had stayed.

                  Chapter Four
                        
Skye hadn't heard from Luke in nearly a month. After he left without so
much as a by-your-leave, she had waited for his call all morning, realizing
with a great deal of self-disgust that she had never been given, and never
thought to ask for, his cell number. After three days of phone silence from
his quarter, she assumed she had heard her last of Mr Luke SantAngelo,
which opened a whole new can of worms she would rather have left
untouched. Was he avoiding her personally? Had she seemed easy, slutty?
Had he fallen prey to one of his `netherworld', as he put it, contacts? Was
he gay? That last got a definite shake of her mind. He had initiated that
kiss. And even if he hadn't, the tingling in her lips every time she allowed
the memory to take hold of her mind told her in no uncertain terms that
Luke was a 100% lover of women.
Having that particular `informant' out of her hair was just fine with Skye.
She had a few more important things occupying her mind at the moment
than that pompous example of overblown masculinity. The two most
important: Avoiding insanity due to deskwork-induced boredom and
staying alive.
Both were a result of her connection to Wolfgang Mach, a
save-the-country-by-blowing-it-to-pieces white supremacist who had taken
exception to her infiltrating his little terrorist organization as the girlfriend
of one of his most trusted men. Once she had absorbed enough
information to put most of them away for several lifetimes, Skye had
taken them down, personally snapping the cuffs on Mr Mach. Looking
back, she realized that she really should have followed orders and
maintained cover till after giving her testimony. But after listening to
Wolf spout his `we are all equal' line of bull while fondling every female
over the age of ten that came within his reach, herself included, she had
developed a deep need to look him in the eye and declare herself superior
to him.
Agent Quinn, her boss, couldn't resist pointing that out to her when, two
weeks earlier, he had called her into his office, his normally sunny smile
nowhere to be seen. Skye had smiled nervously as she took a seat, kidding
with him as usual.
"Tony, how ya doin'?"
"Anthony is my middle name, Agent Garfield, a fact I believe you
ascertained from my employment records which are supposed to remain
sealed to the casual observer. I would prefer `Sir', however, `Quinn' will
suffice."
"How `bout `Boss'?"
He had narrowed his eyes while handing her a file, its red color code
telling her it was an active, `dangerous' file. Curious, she had flipped it
open, unhappy to see Mach's ugly mug staring back at her. She had pulled
a face at Quinn, who had taken his seat behind the desk.
"Don't tell me it's time to testify on that one already. I'd thought to have
time to get a rabies shot before...What is it, Quinn?"
The seriousness of his expression had warned her that she was missing
something somewhere.
"Don't ask me how, but Mach walked away from his arraignment. The
limpbrains in Florida are still tossing around the blame to see what rookie
can't move fast enough to keep it from landing square on his head. If you
had kept your cover," he had intended his intensified glare to cause Skye
to squirm in her seat, but it had only succeeded in earning him
narrow-eyed rebellion, "there probably wouldn't be a problem."
"I'm sure Mach has better things to do than come looking for one of the
agents who busted him."
"Garfield, you're not only the agent who worked him and his buddies for
four months to give us enough to take them down, you're also the agent
who, for some reason known only to you, had to personally cuff Mach
while telling him you were going to enjoy thinking about Bubba giving
him loving caresses for the rest of his life."
Skye suddenly felt the need to check her fingernails for imperfections at
that moment. How had Quinn found out about that?
"I'm the boss for a reason, Garfield. Not much gets by me."
Skye had lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, shrugging sheepishly.
"Okay, so I should have listened to your suggestion..."
"Order, Garfield!"
"Semantics."
She had waved away his interruption with an impatient smile.
"So when does my plane leave?"
Quinn had rolled his eyes and shaken his head.
"It doesn't."
Skye had once again narrowed her eyes, this time with suspicion.
"Why?"
"For the short time we had him, Mach declared his vengeful intent toward
you to anyone within earshot. As far-reaching as his organization is
rumored to be, I think it would be prudent to keep you in-house until he's
back in our possession."
"But I..."
"Yes, I know, Garfield. You scoped him, you know how he thinks. That's
why you're going to stay in contact, telephone contact, with the agent in
charge in Florida, feeding him every tidbit of information on Mach and his
scurvy bunch that you can."
Skye had been outraged enough to come to her feet and lean her palms on
Quinn's desk.
"Let me get this straight. I'm desk-bound until Mach is back in custody?"
Quinn had rubbed his palm over his balding forehead, sympathy for her
plight showing in his expressive brown eyes.
"I don't like it anymore than you do. Don't make it sound like a
death-sentence. Think of it as a chance to catch up on all that paperwork
you've been promising me since God was a child."
"Damn it, Quinn, I did not join the Bureau so I could ride a desk.
Especially not because some piece of scum like Mach threatens me. I can
protect myself. He doesn't know where to look for me."
"You know he has hackers working for him, Garfield. They'll know your
real name and home base five minutes after they set their minds to find it
out. I wish it weren't true but we both know it is."
"Quinn..."
Her superior had raised his palms.
"Quit beating your head against a brick wall, Garfield, and turn your
efforts to catching Mach. The sooner we get him, the sooner you get back
on the street."
"Great, just great! Next you'll be asking me to sub in the typing pool."
"How fast do you type?"
His smile had been too little, too late. Skye had known he was trying to do
the right thing as he saw it, but that didn't keep her from feeling like a
little girl who had been grounded for an offense that hadn't been her fault.
She had straightened, glaring down her nose at him, and spoken as though
they had just met.
"Agent Quinn, sir, am I dismissed?"
Quinn had released a sigh worthy of the big, bad wolf and nodded. His
voice had held the weight of the world.
"Yes, Garfield, you're dismissed."
Seeing the dejected slump of his shoulders as she prepared to leave the
office, Skye relented.
"See ya, Tony."
She had walked out, feeling the atmosphere lighten in her wake.
The last two weeks had seemed like two years. Since she detested it Skye
tried to stay pretty current on her paperwork so there hadn't been much to
catch up on. One of her buddies who scheduled the shooting range had
been kind enough to let her know every time someone canceled an
appointment so Skye could blow Mach's brains out in effigy. That helped
a little, but she didn't think it would do much for her psychological profile
if that were ever an issue. Another week of this and her psychological
profile would consist of one word - crazy!
The beep of her desk phone brought welcome relief from thoughts of
impending insanity.
"Garfield."
"Hello, Agent Garfield, how are you?"
Even if Skye hadn't recognized the voice, the polite inquiry and the drawl
would have identified her caller as Agent Digby of the Florida Bureau.
This man had picked her brain about Mach and his known confederates
through several telephone conversations and, as far as she was concerned,
he was still basically clueless. She tried not to let her impatience and lack
of faith in his abilities color her voice.
"I'm fine, thank you, Digby. What's up?"
"I've got some good news for you. Your boy Mach isn't as tricky as you
thought. We brought one of his people in for a little friendly questioning.
After spoutin' about his rights as an American citizen, he decided he didn't
care for our company, told us Mach high-tailed it out of the country on
some fishing boat."
Skye remembered the long days she had spent in Mach's presence. He was
a shrewd, ruthless man, given to truly hideous acts of vengeance against
those he felt had betrayed him. She shook her head.
"No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Digby, Mach's people don't talk. Not ever. If an insider could have been
turned, we would have had him years ago. His people would rather go to
prison till they're old and gray than cross him. You got handed a nicely
painted crock."
"I don't think so."
Great! Wounded male pride rides the phone lines.
"Look, I'm not knocking your abilities. I know these people. They're
scared to death of Mach. They..."
A sudden thought closed Skye's mouth with an audible click.
"On the other hand, I couldn't possibly have come into contact with all of
Mach's people. There's always a weak link and you must have found it.
Good work, Digby! You better report this directly to Quinn, you know
how brass can be about getting it from the horse's mouth."
"Sure, no problem."
"Thanks again. Excellent work."
"My pleasure, ma'am. If you're ever back in my neck of the woods, be sure
to look me up."
Skye's teeth ground so tightly together it took a physical effort to reply
with the proper light tone.
"You got it. Bye."
Skye slammed the phone into its cradle, glaring at it.
"Ego-driven, zipper-led, illegitimate son of a lonely sheep herder!"
She ranted quietly in the direction of the telephone.
"Mach's people don't talk. I lived with them, ate with them, God help me,
slept with them. I did not, however, let them walk out of my custody
because I was too busy diddling myself over the latest Playboy centerfold!
Incompetent agents shouldn't breed!"
She took several deep breaths, letting the exchange of oxygen calm her.
Then she waited for the call from Quinn releasing her from her protective
prison. She was staring so hard at her phone, she jumped when her
superior spoke from the door of her office.
"I read your original case report, Garfield, even if that feather-smoothing,
case-closer in Florida didn't. Mach doesn't blow smoke and he's not a
patient soul. If he said he was going to make you pay, he wouldn't leave
the country. You pressed steel to his wrists, he's going to do his best to
exact his revenge before moving on. I told Digby as much, told him to
concentrate on ways Mach might have left Florida bound for Virginia."
He turned to leave, then, seemingly as an afterthought, shifted and pinned
her with a steely glare.
"Good try, Garfield, but you're still dusting a desk chair."
Skye said nothing, concentrating all her mental efforts on burning a hole
in Quinn's receding back. She was seriously considering finding out how
far she could throw her desk when her cell phone chimed its desire for
attention. Ripping it from her jacket so viciously, the material snapped in
protest, she brought it to her ear.
"Hello!"
"My, my, `hello' as a curse. Wrong side of the bed, Skye?"
Exhaling loudly into the receiver, Skye tried to ignore the little flutter of
excitement Luke's voice inspired.
"Not today, SantAngelo."
"Is something wrong, Skye?"
The fact that his voice sounded as though he really gave a damn threw
Skye more than she would have thought possible. Suddenly the frustration
of the past weeks caught up with her and she felt that clenching sensation
in her throat that meant she was very close to having herself a good, long
cry. Straightening her back and shoulders, she swallowed hard, wondering
how quickly she could be rid of him.
"Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine. Did you need something?"
"I have some information I think you might find gratifying but I wish to
give it to you in person. Meet me for lunch at that charming bistro across
the street from your office. Say, ten minutes?"
"I'm really not hungry, SantAngelo, and..."
"The smell of food will do wonders for that. See you there."
"SantAngelo, I... SantAngelo?"
Skye stared at the phone laying quietly in her palm. As she gently closed it
and returned it to her pocket she spoke to the air above her head.
"He did it again. He hung up on me again. Well let me tell you something,
Mr Show-me-respect-by-jumping-when-I-say, wild horses couldn't drag
me into that restaurant if I were keeling over from starvation. No way, no
how!"

                  Chapter Five
                        
"Get one thing straight, SantAngelo, I'm only here to...What's that?"
Skye had stormed into The Nooner under a full head of steam, her only
reason for being there to tell Mr SantAngelo in no uncertain terms what
she thought of his high-handed attitude. She had pumped her emotional
muscles in preparation for this latest in her seemingly constant battles of
will with this most contrary of informants. She had no intention of giving
in to the warm shiver that was always at the ready whenever he came into
her vision, the flutter of a thousand nervous butterflies every time she
heard his silk-and-honey voice. This time she was going to tell him off
and make it stick.
With that resolve in mind, she had strode purposefully into the `little
bistro', as he had called it, told the hostess her name - the poor girl had
looked at her with please-don't-eat-me doe eyes - and stalked to his table.
SantAngelo had been seated, sipping ice water and perusing the menu.
When he saw her, he rose and waited for her to get close enough to hear
him. But before he could spout a single pleasantry, she had begun her
diatribe. His only response had been the slight lifting of one eyebrow and
a not-quite-convincingly furtive glance at the table. Following his eyes,
Skye spotted a large glass filled with some light brown substance.
"I took the liberty of ordering you a drink to help you relax. Please," he
waved a black-silk-covered arm in the direction of the booth, "have a
seat."
Nostrils flaring, Skye reminded herself that they were in public and she
did not wish to make a scene. She eased her tall frame into the booth,
glancing at the glass in front of her. It was unusually tall for an alcoholic
beverage, with a straw sticking straight up from its center. Filing it under
`I'll figure it out later', she returned her attention to SantAngelo as he
seated himself across from her.
Lord in Heaven he was a pleasant eye-full! Today he wore a black silk suit
with a blood-red shirt. Just enough coal black chest hair peaked out of the
open collar to whet her appetite. Her fingertips tingled as she imagined
how it would feel to run them though that thick mat, easing over muscle
and sinew, stomach and hip, till they glided into even thicker black
Heaven, wrapped around...
"Would you like to order from the menu or just devour me a la carte?"
Blinking to free herself from the grip of her erotic fantasy, Skye fought a
blush, busying herself with laying her napkin in her lap just right. His
warm chuckle made it worse and she glared to let him know she did not
appreciate his humor.
"Please, Skye, could we have a temporary truce? You see, since my first
experience with your gender, I have found women extremely easy to
manipulate. I can usually talk them into just about anything. But you, ah,
you were different. Which, of course, annoyed me so I became a bit
difficult. If you will allow me, I would like to take this luncheon
opportunity to make amends."
Though Skye watched him as closely as she had ever watched a suspect,
she found nothing in his eyes or body language that said he was jerking
her around. His ebony eyes were soft today, glowing like black velvet. The
line of his mouth was more welcoming, his whole attitude more relaxed
than she had ever seen him. Maybe a new start wasn't such a bad idea.
Feeling suddenly shy and off-center, Skye toyed with the straw that
adorned her mystery beverage, taking a sip while she digested his words.
"Malt. This is a chocolate malt!"
His smug look brought back the urge to throttle him, but only for the
second the expression lasted. Then he smiled, showing straight white
teeth, and shrugged.
"Do you like it?"
"It's my favorite. When I was a kid, my grandpa..."
Skye caught herself, wondering what on Earth she was doing talking to a
man she hardly knew - an informant, for Heaven's sake! - about her past.
Desk duty must be getting to her worse than she realized.
Luke listened politely, hoping Skye would elaborate, give him more of
herself willingly. It hadn't taken much research on his part to learn about
her weakness for chocolate malts. He had hoped touching on a pleasure
from her past would make her want to talk to him, tell him about herself,
her likes and dislikes, her desires for her future, her fears, all the things he
found he desperately wanted to know about Agent Skyelar Garfield.
Why? What was there about this beautiful woman that was so different?
He had been with many beautiful women in his life, some skilled, some
innocent, but all just means to an end. He occasionally desired a physical
release so he spent himself inside the feminine organ created for the
purpose. That was all sex had ever been to him. A physical release. He
had never felt true desire for a specific woman. But now, as his eyes
roamed over Skye's well-formed body, warming himself at the hearth of
her ice-fire visage, he felt an ache begin in the vicinity of his loins that
disturbed him. Analyzing her for exploitable weaknesses was acceptable,
falling victim to her feminine web was not.
"May I take your order?"
Luke's eyes rose slowly to pin the waitress with sparks of flame, the
contour of his lips shifting ever so subtly, changing his smile into an
annoyed snarl. His dark tone illustrated his dislike of interruptions.
"I will summon you when we wish to order."
The skittish waitress took two steps back, blinking as though she had been
slapped. Skye felt sorry for the poor kid - she was all of sixteen under her
Cindy Crawford makeup - and came to her rescue.
"I've eaten here enough to know the menu by heart. I'll have tuna salad on
wheat, hold the pickle, chips and a coke - no ice. The malt goes on my
ticket."
Luke had to mentally bite his tongue to keep from tearing into Skye in
front of the help. How dare she countermand him! He kept his eyes on the
waitress as Skye gave her order, not wishing Skye to know how angry she
was making him. Her insistence that she buy her own lunch was the last
straw. He shifted his gaze to Skye's face, letting only the barest tip of the
iceberg of his anger shine through his black glare. The slight widening of
her eyes indicated she had noticed his displeasure, the peaking of one
brow told him she didn't care.
"Skye," he forced the words through tightly gritted teeth, "I will pay for
lunch."
Skye shook her head. The glimmering platinum waves of her long hair
bouncing about her shoulders brought to his mind the image of young,
innocent children jumping rope and giggling.
At him.
Brats!
"Thank you, Mr SantAngelo, but since this is a business meeting I will put
my lunch on my expense account."
Luke inhaled deeply, realizing in surprise that he was actually shaking
with the effort it took to control his fury. How could this woman make
him so angry in such a short time? It seemed a talent only she possessed.
One he sincerely wished she would lose.
"Skye, I invited you, I feel..."
As her warm palm slid over the back of his hand where it lay on the cool
tabletop, Luke felt an electric jolt singe him clear to his toes. Thoughts
froze in his brain, words on his tongue. Skye leaned closer to whisper, "Be
thankful I'm not emasculating you by insisting on paying for your lunch
and give the poor girl your order before she joins Alice down the nearest
rabbit hole, never to be seen again."
The electricity of Skye's touch combined with Luke's temper to create a
maelstrom within his chest that was threatening to explode. He imagined
the restaurant engulfed in flames, the doe-eyed witless twit of a waitress
screaming as the hungry fire consumed her, the cheap Formica tabletops
bubbling as they melted onto the pseudo-parquet floor. Ah, what a
gratifying picture.
Snapping himself back to reality, Luke once again graced the waitress
with his gaze, only this time his eyes were hooded, seductive, drawing her
in. She smiled tentatively, cocking one hip with flirtatious instinct.
"I'll have a steak, very rare, salad with French dressing and a baked potato
with sour cream and chives. Water will be fine."
"Thank you," she squeaked as she fled back to the kitchen to tell her
friends about the strange, sexy man eating lunch with what, in her opinion,
had to be one of those European models.
Luke watched her go, unaware of the feral gleam in his eye, the snarl still
twisting his lips.
"Planning a little waitress hors d'oeuvre?"
Black brows raised innocently as Luke slyly slid his eyes to meet Skye's
sarcastic question.
"That one would be a tender morsel, but I'm in the mood for," his dark
eyes slid over Skye, appraising, complimenting, caressing every inch of
her till gooseflesh rose on her arms, "beef, at the moment."
Skye took great interest in her malt for a minute, gathering her thoughts,
which seemed easily jumbled whenever He was around.
`Good grief," she thought with equal parts awe and disgust, `I just
capitalized him!'
With a barely noticeable shake of her head, she returned her piercing gaze
to Luke's face, catching and holding his fiery eyes with her icy intensity.
"Did you call me here just to make nice, or do you really have something
for me?"
Luke leaned forward, pulling her hand into his grasp before she could
discern his intent.
"Oh, yes, Skye," his husky whisper raised the hair on the back of her neck
and ignited a slow-burning blaze at her core, "I have something for you.
You have no idea."
She found it hard to draw a deep breath as his breath fanned her face, the
soft scent of mint teasing her nostrils. He slid her malt aside, though she
took no notice, and pulled her closer until their lips brushed when he
spoke.
"Anything you wish is yours, beautiful Skye. Open yourself, give me...,"
he growled as he took her lips in a fierce, engulfing kiss, "...everything!"
Skye felt so lost, yet so centered; so confused, yet so certain all the
answers in the universe lay within her reach. Her eyes closed of their own
volition as Luke made love to her with his lips, teeth, tongue. He nipped,
licked, sucked, blew cool fire across her burning lips. Her muscles no
longer obeyed her, answering instead to his commands. When his hand
tangled in her hair and pulled lightly on the silken waves, her head
obediently leaned to one side, then the other, to allow him complete
possession of her mouth. Skye moaned against his lips, shivering with
pleasure as he responded with a deep-throated growl. He gave no quarter,
gently brushing his hand over her ear, then slowly easing one fingertip
along the folds within, while his other hand held her firm, a willing
prisoner to this exquisite torture.
As Luke's tongue began its rhythmic dance, sliding between her lips, then
retreating, entering fully, sliding back to brush along the underside of her
lip, then plunging to fill her, Skye felt tiny contractions begin deep inside
her body. What was happening to her? It felt so good to relinquish her
precious control to this man, this enigma so full of masculine power and
presence she should have been overcome by the need to run in the
opposite direction long ago. Instead, she wanted nothing more than to fall
into his arms and stay there forever.
Forever. Was this the way her mother had felt as she lay in the arms of the
man who had never been called `Father'? As, in a few minutes of mindless
passion like Skye was feeling at this moment, she had destroyed all her
chances of a life of college and career, sentencing herself instead to
depressed motherhood and early suicide? Control - so important, so
precious - given to a man was control lost forever.
Leaving a bruise that, on any other man, would have been visible for days,
Skye slammed her hands against Luke's shoulders, shoving away from
him. Her actions caught him so unaware, he had no time to hide his
feelings. Tiny beads of sweat accented the passion that colored every
plane of his handsome face. His eyelids slid open slowly, his expression
changing from bliss to growing anger as his eyes came into focus.
"Why," he hissed through clenched teeth, "did you push me away?"
Skye's expression had lost all its softness, hardening to a mask of icy
aloofness. Her voice held no more warmth than her ice-blue eyes.
"I am not a plaything for your casual entertainment, SantAngelo. I came
here today on FBI business, not as an afternoon quickie. Either you come
up with something to pique my professional interest or I make that order
to go."
Eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, he fought the snarl that threatened, barely
winning the battle. What the hell was the matter with this woman? She
had him bouncing from flaming desire to erupting anger in the space of a
single breath passing between her beautiful full lips.
"Is being such an accomplished tease one of the talents you developed for
your profession or merely a well-beloved hobby?"
Tiny slivers of pale blue ice shone from behind narrowed eyelids. She
pulled the malt glass to the center of the table, glaring at him. Toying with
the straw, the corners of her mouth began to rise in an evil grin that would
have done him proud. Her voice was black silk.
"SantAngelo, my mother always warned me not to take presents from
strange men. She said it would make them think I owed them something."
Mesmerized by the sudden change in Skye, Luke watched as her lips
closed around the straw, feeling as though those same lips were closing
around the most sensitive portion of his anatomy. He blinked sensuously,
tipping his head back and lowering his lids to watch her through long
black lashes. As she moved the straw slowly through her lips, her blood
red lipstick staining its surface, his loins filled to bursting with the need
for release.
"Just in case she was right."
With a quick flip of her wrist, Skye tipped the tall malt glass into Luke's
lap. It did a perfect flip in mid-air and landed, top down, squarely on his
overheated loins.
Wide-eyed with shock, Luke just stared as Skye rose to her feet and glared
down at him.
"Maybe that will cool you off. Don't bother me again unless you have
something of professional interest to me."
With that, she turned and strutted from the restaurant, head held high,
back straight, hips enticing every man's eyes to follow them.
Especially one pair of jet black eyes, shooting sparks of red flame. Those
eyes, though filled with an anger hot enough to melt the plastic container
full of sugar packets, also shone with a desire that had never before filled
their black depths. Yet deep in the heart of one very angry Luke
SantAngelo grew a grudging respect that, more than anything else,
ensured further contact between the man of fire and his icy prey.

                  Chapter Six
                        
Skye was angry, furious. Luke SantAngelo made her see red with great
regularity. That was okay. Mad, she could handle. It was the confusion,
the occasional overreaction that was making her crazy. Couldn't he see
that she just wasn't interested in his kind of one night party? He wasn't
stupid. She could see the 500 Watt halogen bulbs burning behind his black
eyes. So why couldn't he keep their relationship on a business level?
Who was she trying to kid? Most of her anger was aimed point-blank at
her own foolish heart. That little flutter it gave when she heard his voice,
thought about the way his jacket smoothed over his hips, that was the real
source of her fury. She'd dealt with plenty of guys who wouldn't take `no'
for an answer until it was accompanied by a threat, or the reality, of
violence. She had always blown them off and gone on her merry way
without a backward glance. What made Luke so different?
Her thoughts were centered on the problem at hand, a stupid, dangerous
thing for Skye to allow. A person in her profession couldn't afford even a
second's tunnel vision. Head down, mind churning with frightening,
comforting, confusing emotions, Skye didn't see the dark blue sedan pull
slowly away from the curb. Not that she would have considered that a
happening of note. A car pulling out of a parking space was hardly an
alarming occurrence. But, if she had been paying better attention, she
might have been suspicious of the way it eased toward her at a speed
slower than necessary on that road. Or, as it got closer, she might have
taken note of the crazed intensity in the driver's eyes, the white of his
knuckles where they gripped the steering wheel. As it was, she knew
nothing of the ton of dark blue steel until she heard the engine race and,
looking up, saw it baring down on her at a speed much too great for her to
avoid.
Though her logical mind told her it was wasted effort, her survival instinct
kicked her reflexes into high gear and she began a tuck-and-roll, hoping to
lessen the impact to her internal organs. She hit the ground hard on her
back, rolled twice, then regained her feet with gun in hand. It was only
then that her mind registered the crash that had sounded sometime when
she was still on the hard pavement. Bending at the knees, gun held
securely in both hands, she took in the sight before her with the sharp
analytical mind of the FBI agent.
And felt it short circuit.
The sedan was a few feet from her. The front end looked as though it had
hit a brick wall at fifty miles an hour. Steam hissed from bent metal, the
engine coughed twice, then was silent. There was nothing left of the
windshield but tiny, safety glass diamonds scattered over the front of the
destroyed car and on the ground at her feet. From her vantage point it
looked as if the passenger compartment had compressed to about half its
original size.
The driver, his wild eyes open but unseeing, still gripped the steering
wheel, though half of his hands had disappeared from inside his chest
cavity.
"Everybody get away from the vehicle! There's a possibility of explosion
and fire here, folks. I don't think you want to see that quite so up close and
personal. Whoa! Okay, ma'am, you wanna lower that gun slowly to the
ground? Ma'am?"
The patient, though slightly confused, voice finally got through to Skye.
She turned to find a police officer, the napkin still tucked in his collar
indicating he had been having lunch somewhere nearby, holding his gun
in the same way she held hers. A defender of the law at the ready.
Drawing a deep breath to give her voice more power than she felt at the
moment, she addressed the officer.
"I'm FBI. I'm going to slip my hand into my pocket for my ID."
"Do that real slow, if you don't mind, ma'am."
Skye smiled in spite of herself. God bless him for being careful, even if it
did cost her precious moments of investigation time. She slowly pulled
her badge necklace from her jacket pocket and slipped it around her neck.
The officer kept his gun on her as he eased forward enough to examine the
badge. He must have deemed it authentic because he blushed and
holstered his weapon.
"Sorry, ma'am."
"No problem."
"Got an idea what happened here?"
Skye shrugged, cautiously stepping closer to the vehicle. It didn't look as
though it were in danger of exploding, but auto accidents could be tricky.
"I'll check on the driver."
Skye's eyebrows shot high and a smile actually tugged at the corners of her
lips. By the book meant checking on any possible victims first, but she
couldn't see any reason to hurry to check the vital signs of a guy who was
wearing his car. That there weren't going to be any, and that the officer
was going to get messy coming to that official conclusion, was a `duh'.
While the officer pulled gloves from his pocket and made faces as he
neared the mess that had once been a man, Skye made herself a bet on
how long he'd last before losing his lunch. Taking into account age,
neatness of uniform, desire to follow rules and time since last meal, she
gave him about two minutes.
Crouching at the front of the car, Skye examined the bent and twisted
metal. Turning in both directions, she scanned the street and sidewalk for
anything that could have caused that kind of damage. Though there were a
couple of light poles nearby, neither showed any sign of collision. She
doubted they could have taken that impact and remained standing anyway.
There were no other vehicles showing damage. If this had been a
car-to-car thing, the other car would surely be a few feet down the street
with its rear end in its glove box. She doubted a Mac truck could have
driven away from this one. And if it had, she would have heard it.
Come to think of it, she probably would have been the cheese in that
sandwich.
Hearing sounds of retching by the side of the car, Skye glanced at her
watch and, seeing that the officer's reaction was within the time frame she
had allowed, promised herself that new red silk blouse she had been trying
to justify for weeks.
"Garfield, you okay?"
Quinn stood glaring down at her, concern crinkling his brow.
"Fine. What brought you out of your cave before dark?"
Her boss' face relaxed into its normal disapproving frown.
"I heard a bleached-blonde in a nice suit had been involved in some kind
of accident out front. When I called your office, expecting an answer,
since I had benched you..."
Skye stood to face Quinn, her six feet matching his.
"I do get to eat, don't I?"
Quinn narrowed his eyes in his best I'm-your-boss-quake-when-I-speak
expression. Skye's catty smile told him he was wasting his time, which
was far from news to him. With a resigned sigh he tilted his head toward
the tangled heap that had once been a rather expensive automobile.
"You have something to do with that?"
Skye returned her attention to the car, her expression turning serious.
"I'm not sure. I think he was trying to take me down, but..."
Her voice trailed off.
"But? What did the poor bastard hit, anyway?"
Skye shrugged.
"That seems to be one of the mysteries of the universe at the moment,
Tony. I can't find any likely culprits. Even if he'd hit one of the street
fixtures, it'd be in its death throes on the street or sidewalk. Another
vehicle, hell, even a tank, would at least have stopped if it had been hit
that hard." She shook her head in bewilderment. "I'm stumped. I wouldn't
be surprised to find out that the stiff driving is a kissing cousin of
Wolfgang Mach, that would explain his desire to get me intimately
acquainted with his fender. But what stopped that scenario from playing
out is anybody's guess."
Scanning the sidewalk, hoping to find - what, a totaled Cadillac she'd just
missed on the first look?! - Skye's breath caught in her throat and her heart
began to pound so hard she could actually feel it against the wall of her
chest. Leaning on a parked car directly across the street from her was
Luke SantAngelo, a canary-filled cat grin lifting the corners of his lips,
some secret knowledge lighting the usually ebony depths of his eyes. As
she watched, he shifted those pools of black mystery to the wrecked sedan
then slid them back to her face. Arching one eyebrow, he tilted his head to
the side. She had the weirdest feeling his body language was saying
`how'd I do?'.
Taking a deep breath, Skye broke from his hypnotic gaze with a shake of
her platinum locks. Deliberately using her most determined stride, she
crossed the street to stand directly before him. Unfortunately, she couldn't
use her height to intimidate him as she often did with other suspects.
What was she thinking? How could he be a suspect in this? She didn't
know how, but every instinct she had developed in her 10 years of law
enforcement told her SantAngelo was somehow involved. And she was
going to find out how if it cost her her shield!
"SantAngelo, what are you doing here?"
A newborn baby had nothing on Luke's expression of innocence.
"Why, Agent Garfield, I'm leaving the scene of my latest crime, of
course."
"Which would be?"
"Taking your time without a professional reason."
Skye's eyes narrowed as Luke's teeth appeared in a slow smile.
"Who was that creature who tried to end your life?"
"How do you know he was trying to kill me?"
"I witnessed the incident first-hand. Had that vehicle made contact with
your lovely body at that speed, I assure you, you would be very dead. That
would have made me extremely angry. And sad."
That last seemed to surprise him. Skye watched, amazed, as his eyes
shifted from black velvet to fire-specked onyx in a single blink. His voice
cut like a blade.
"Who was he?"
"Probably a part of a continuing case that I worked on a few months ago."
"Are there likely to be others with your demise on their agenda?"
What she had intended as a bragging chuckle came out more like a
nervous giggle.
"Comes with the territory."
Luke was as surprised as Skye when his hands came to rest gently on her
shoulders, his deep voice insistent, yet warm.
"Perhaps you should leave the territory. I would hate for anything to
happen when I wasn't around to interfere."
Was it belated shock from the murder attempt, or the heat from his strong
hands seeping through her clothes to burn the sensitive skin of her
shoulders, that made Skye begin to shake? Suddenly, she wanted to be
home in bed with the comforter over her head, hiding like a little girl from
the Bogeyman. Luke sensed the weakening of Skye's diamond-hard
exterior. She gave no resistance as he pulled her into his arms and held her
securely against his muscular chest.
"It's all right, Skye, I will protect you. Nothing," his voice lowered to an
intense growl, "nothing and no one will cause you harm without going
through me. And, believe me, not much can get through me."
Skye couldn't imagine what was the matter with her. She had never been
the kind to bask in a man's comforting babble. `Everything will be okay,
honey' when the ship's on fire, sinking, and there's a shark convention just
off the starboard bow. But there was something different about Luke. He
had more strength in him, in his eyes, his voice, than any man she had
ever known. She wanted to believe him, to believe in him. Though she
recognized the inherent danger in doing so, she knew she was losing the
battle. She had always tried to be honest with herself, especially in matters
of the heart, and she had to admit she wanted more of Luke. She wanted
him as a friend, someone she could lean on, a...lover.
Warning lights went off in Skye's head. She would have pushed away
from the warm comfort of Luke's chest if he hadn't beat her to it. Holding
her shoulders, he pushed her back to look into her face.
"Skye, who is trying to kill you? Tell me, and you will no longer need
concern yourself with that particular threat."
Skye rolled her eyes as she pulled from his grasp.
"I see. You're going to just take care of the guy, right? The Bureau has a
nation-wide APB out on him, every law enforcement agency in the
country considers him priority one, even Interpol has been alerted, but all
of that is a waste of time. If I really want him gone, I'll give his name to
you, Mr Luke SantAngelo, caped crusader, and he'll disappear. Who do
you think you are?"
Seeing one of Skye's fellow agents looking their way, Luke decided he
didn't wish to be disturbed at the moment. He took Skye's arm in a
no-nonsense grip and pulled her back into the restaurant which was pretty
deserted due to the fact that nearly everyone had gone outside to gawk at
the dead body.
"Hey!"
Skye began to protest but ceased when he released her.
"I know exactly who I am but I won't waste my time trying to convince
you of my sanity. Let me explain in terms that will not alarm your
sensitivities."
"I'm not an idiot, SantAngelo."
"No, you're a victim of lifelong induction into a sect of hatred that started
long before your existence. Someday, perhaps, you will be willing to hear,
truly hear, the truth, but for now pieces will have to suffice."
"Pieces..."
"Are better than nothing!"
Glaring silver icicles through SantAngelo's head, Skye crossed her arms
over her chest and sat on a barstool. Though she looked anything but
receptive, she gave a single stubborn nod.
"Fine!"
"I am the head - I always did like the title `godfather' but my ethnicity
does not lean that way at the moment - anyway, I command a world-wide
organization that makes its living, so to speak, by encouraging and
exploiting the evil in men's souls."
"That's dramatic," Skye mumbled under her breath. Luke sighed in
exasperation.
"You think I'm dramatic? Betrayed, beaten through the streets of the
biggest city in existence at the time, then left to die hanging from a tree
like a piece of forgotten meat. Now that's dramatic. I'm merely exuberant
and, perhaps, a bit showy."
"What are you talking about?"
Luke cleared his throat.
"I digress. I have connections in every big city and backward berg on the
planet. I assure you, I can find anyone in a matter of days; hours, if he's a
particularly disreputable man."
"Gee, maybe he works for you."
"Doubtful, but one of my people may know him."
"Fine, then come to my office, make some calls, and we'll move on your
information."
"So you can put him in jail for a ridiculously short period of time, decide
he's rehabilitated, then release him to look you up once again. I love your
system of justice, all the wonderful things that men do to each other when
they're caged or have absolute power over the lives of others who are
caged, but I don't care to waste my time assisting that system when it
might mean your untimely demise."
Skye had heard enough. She shot to her feet, clenched fists resting at her
side.
"Look, I happen to work my butt off for that system. I think it's the best to
be had. If you have a better idea, run for Congress. Now, if you'll excuse
me."
"Skye, wait."
He stepped into her path, the heat in her eyes warning him she just might
attempt to physically remove him if he stayed there too long.
"All right, try this. Give me the name, I'll find him and give you the
opportunity to arrest him. You have my word. Before you give that insult I
see blazing in your eyes, my word, though I rarely give it, is as absolute as
granite."
For several deep breaths, Skye mulled over SantAngelo's claims. Could he
really find Mach? Would Luke keep his word if he did locate her nemesis?
She couldn't help feeling flattered that Luke cared so much for her safety
but telling him about Mach would be breaking the rules big time. On the
other hand, how many people would Mach injure or kill before the
bastions of truth, justice and the American way found him by the
numbers?
"Okay, SantAngelo, his name's Wolfgang Mach. He calls himself a white
supremacist, but he's really just a sick sadist using that self-righteous title
to justify his actions. I was instrumental in taking down a large piece of
his organization, himself included, and he seems to have taken exception
to that. He was last seen, or not seen, releasing himself from a Florida
lock-up."
Luke closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, and Skye couldn't help
admiring the long black eyelashes fanning his cheeks. No matter how
much obnoxious mascara she piled on her own skimpy allotment, she
could never make them appear that long, that fine.
"Figures," she grumbled. He slowly opened his eyes, one eyebrow rising.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing. Just complaining to the powers-that-be."
Luke grinned and she felt her heart do an Olympics-perfect backflip.
"Watch that. It can get you relocated to a nasty neighborhood."
Skye's brow furrowed with puzzlement.
"You know, you don't always make sense."
He leaned close, brushing a strand of platinum from her cheek.
"Does any man?"
Skye felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. She mentally commanded it to
return to the depths of sixteen-year-old girlhood from which it had come.
"So, is he one of yours?"
"The name doesn't ring a bell, but if he's truly as despicable as you say, I'm
certain one of my assistants will know his whereabouts."
Remembering things she had hoped to forget, things Mach had done, the
looks on the faces of his minions as they helped him, as they held his
victims so he could... Skye shook herself from her musings, forcing the
memories back to the pit where they belonged.
Luke frowned toward the door of the restaurant.
"It would seem your presence is desired out front. I'll get back to you
when I have the information we both desire."
He turned and began walking toward the back of the restaurant. Skye
smiled, wondering if he were trying to be dramatic using the back exit.
"Uh, Luke?"
He turned, tipping his head in silent query.
"There's no back exit, just a door that leads to a very aromatic dead-end
alleyway."
Luke's smile spoke of secrets she longed to know.
"For me, sweet Skye, there is always a doorway to any destination I
desire."
He extended his hand toward her, palm up. His voice was a velvet
promise.
"Come with me now and I will show you things you can barely imagine. I
will light your flesh with desire and fulfillment till you burn like a star in
the night sky. Take my hand, beautiful Skye."
Staring into his eyes, Skye thought she saw...what? An end to all the
unpleasant things in her life? Security? Happiness? Love? Her mother's
blood certainly ran through her veins.
The transformation from temptation to disgust took Skye's face from
ethereal beauty to disgust in the space of a second. Luke wondered what
could cause such a change, what demons tortured her mind when she
dared to hope? Knowing he had lost this battle, he dropped his hand to his
side. His voice reflected the anger and sadness he felt at that loss.
"I will return to you soon, Skye. Till then."
He didn't wait for a response, just turned and walked through the swinging
door into the restaurant kitchen. Skye waited for several minutes, thinking
he would have to return with his tail tucked between his legs to exit out
the front of the restaurant. He didn't. Somehow, deep in her heart, she had
known he wouldn't.

                 Chapter Seven
                        
Skye was freezing, which didn't make any sense because she was
surrounded by great geysers of flame shooting so high above her head she
couldn't see where they ended. She should be melting, not wrapping her
arms around her shoulders and shivering, as she was. Turning in a circle
as she tried to remember how she arrived at this strange destination, she
came face to face with Wolfgang Mach. She reached for her shoulder
holster, only to realized that she was naked. Refusing to waste any time
with embarrassment, Skye brought her knee into Mach's groin. At least,
she thought she had. But the grinning face before her showed no sign of
pain. Pumping her arm muscle, she made a fist and pulled back her arm,
intending to punch Mach right in his laughing face. Even as she prepared
to ignore them, she heard the instructions of her hand-to-hand instructor
inside her mind.
"Never John Wayne it. A punch might look good on TV, but it'll feel real
bad when you break all the bones in your hand on the perps' teeth."
But that didn't matter to Skye. She was going to use all the fury and hatred
she had for this guy and break his face!
Mach shook his head slowly back and forth, his grin fading. Words hissed
past tobacco-stained teeth.
"You've got it all wrong, Skye. I'm not the one you should fear. I'm
straight-forward, bad as they come and proud of it. You're seeing with
your eyes only, hearing only what you wish to hear. Look around."
He waved his hand over his head, indicating the flames.
"Things are not always as they seem. Listen to your little voice, Skye.
Something is nagging at you. I'm the smokescreen. Blow hard, Skye.
Make me disappear."
Feeling like a idiot, Skye nevertheless listened to that nagging voice that
had been with her for as long as she could remember. It had never steered
her wrong and she'd bet her life many times that it never would. Inhaling
deeply, she pursed her lips and blew as hard as she could.
Slowly, Mach's face began to shimmer and lose cohesiveness, breaking
apart to reveal something beneath the skin. Something, someone
familiar...
Skye shot up in her bed, beads of sweat stinging her eyes as they flowed
from her forehead. Before she could acclimate herself to her own
bedroom, she nearly jumped out of her skin as her ever-present cell phone
demanded her attention. Flipping it open, she growled, "What?!"
"My, my, ever the friendly public servant."
A voice of black silk blown over ice caressed her frazzled nerves. She
exhaled a deep breath, flipping her slightly-damp hair from her face.
"SantAngelo, do you know what time it is?"
A pause. Skye felt the tips of her mouth start to rise as she imagined him
calmly turning his wrist and looking at the inevitably expensive watch that
resided there.
"It is 2:53 AM. I would have preferred to wake you in a more personal
manner, but I feared you might shoot me if I just showed up in your
bedroom unannounced. The next best solution seemed greeting you at
your front door. However, it would seem that you don't find your doorbell
enough of an annoyance to allow it to drag you from the gentle embrace of
slumber."
Making a quick connection she hoped was incorrect, Skye blushed and
hung her head.
"Do you mean you're standing at my front door?"
Two sharp raps answered her question even as he replied, "Precisely" in
that smug tone that made her want to slap him silly!
"I'll be right there."
Trying to regain some composure, Skye warned, "And this had better be
good, SantAngelo!"
Climbing from bed, Skye pulled on her black silk robe. She finger combed
her hair away from her face, then, after a quick glance through the
peephole, she opened her front door. Arms akimbo, she narrowed her eyes
at him.
"Well?"
Telling herself she wasn't going to pay any attention to his looks, Skye
nonetheless took in his casual appearance. A blue work shirt hung open
nearly to his waist, exposing a great width of bronze skin and dark brown
chest hair that looked soft enough she had to catch herself before she
tested its texture. The shirt was tucked into a pair of pale blue jeans that
looked as though they had been sprayed to fit his masculine planes and
curves. Black cowboy boots completed his I'm-so-normal ensemble.
Muscular thighs bunched as he shifted his weight, and Skye realized that
her perusal had returned to the bulge at the apex of those massive thighs,
and stayed.
Forcing her eyes to meet his, Skye mirrored his peaked eyebrow, bringing
a boyish grin to his lips.
"See anything you like, Skye?"
Skye gave him one more quick up-and-down, settling once again on his
eyes.
"The boots are nice."
Luke chuckled.
"May I come in?"
Skye considered that for a minute. She'd prefer not to be alone with this
guy, but she didn't want him to know that. Shrugging, she stepped back
from the door.
"Sure."
Luke glanced sideways at her as he passed by on his way to plop down on
her couch. He leaned back and placed his crossed ankles on the coffee
table.
"There are certain advantages to this casual style."
Crossing in front of the table, Skye took his boot by the toe, leaned
slightly, and dropped it to the floor in front of the couch.
"That isn't one of them."
Luke's brows rose in a slight pout.
"I see."
He straightened, crossing his legs, ankle to knee.
"Let me guess - you wish to get directly to business?"
Skye sat on the edge of the couch as far from SantAngelo as she could get.
She gave him a sarcastic smile.
"Good guess."
With a dramatic sigh that was answered by a role of Skye's ice-blue eyes,
Luke produced a piece of white paper folded in perfect quarters from his
shirt pocket and handed it to her.
"That is the nom de guerre Herr Mach is using at the moment. He is
staying at the home of his latest conquest, Mrs Elizabeth Waterston, a very
bored woman with too much money, too little sense, and a husband who
spends too much time at his office in Manhattan with his
twenty-words-a-minute, 38D secretary. The address of their condo in
upstate New York is also noted."
Skye unfolded and glanced at the paper before setting it on the coffee
table. With slightly narrowed eyes, she returned her attention to Luke.
"Good work."
Her tone held suspicion.
"How'd you do it?"
Luke shrugged nonchalantly.
"As I suspected, one of my underlings took an interest in Mach some time
ago. He's quite the consummate sadist."
Skye sincerely wanted to rip the smile from Luke's face as flashes of
Mach's brutality touched the edges of her mind. Her tone was sharp
enough to slice steel.
"You consider that a good thing?"
Again, Luke shrugged.
"You're as sick as Mach."
Standing, Skye began to cross in front of her guest, intending to show him
to the door in dismissal. Long, warm fingers sliding into her palm froze
her in her tracks. Luke stood, his body so close to hers, the tips of her
breasts brushed against bare chest. The contact caught Skye off-guard just
enough that she admitted to herself how much she enjoyed it. She tilted
her head up to make eye contact.
"Skye, I'm not a sadist. Human pain means very little to me. It's the black
enjoyment of the person inflicting the pain that interests me."
Nearly hypnotized by the combination of heat from Luke's body, the
mysteries buried deep in his sunless eyes and his deep, warm voice, it took
Skye a minute to respond. When she did, her single query held more air
than sound.
"Why?"
Luke leaned closer, one hand tangling in her hair, the other caressing the
sensitive spot in the small of her back. She could feel his words on her
lips.
"Do you really wish to know, Skye? Do you really want my secrets, or are
you asking because it is your job, so that you can trip me up at some later
date?"
The closer his eyes came to hers, the more inexplicable fear filled Skye's
heart. What in Heaven's name was wrong with her? And why was she
letting this man kiss her?
Luke's lips joined with hers in an undeniable claiming. A consummate
kisser, he applied just enough pressure to let her know that she was his
without deeply bruising her lips. Each time Skye thought to end the kiss,
he would move slightly, change his position, and some new sensation
would assault her senses, causing her to lose her train of thought.
Skye couldn't have stated with any amount of certainty if the kiss lasted a
minute, an hour or an eternity. She didn't regain true contact with reality
until she felt cool linen touch her back and realized that Luke had carried
her to her bedroom and laid her on her own bed. She probably wouldn't
have noticed then if he hadn't pulled away just enough to rid himself of his
shirt.
"No!!"
She slammed her hands against Luke's chest and vaulted off the bed to
stand across from him, knees slightly bent, ready to run if he tried to
pursue her.
Luke stumbled away from the bed with a look of surprise that quickly
transformed to dark anger. As his attention shifted from the bed to her
face, Skye could have sworn she saw something...horrible...writhing
beneath his skin, trying to escape. For a frozen second, his beautiful eyes
held slitted pupils, his sun-bronzed skin shattered into something
resembling scales and his perfect white teeth grew ragged, long
razor-sharp points extending from his upper canines.
Skye blinked and shook her head, slowly opening her eyes. As she had
suspected, Luke looked the same as always, though quite obviously
furious. Must have been a trick of the light.
Luke jerked his shirt back over his chest, his teeth showing in a snarl of
frustration.
"What is your problem?"
Skye quickly snapped to her full height, jerking the tie on her robe so hard
she thought she might have a bruise in the morning. Her tone was the soul
of indignity.
"Problem? I have no problem, Mr SantAngelo. I am not the one who
shows up at all hours of the night without notice, nor do I find it
impossible to keep my mind on business for more than two seconds!"
"Business?!"
Luke placed one knee on the bed, bringing his face nearer to hers. His
smile was sinister as he dropped his tone to a whisper that came
dangerously close to the growl twisting in his gut.
"Business is your refuge. You hide in the shadow of the FBI, a place most
people would find frightening, but not you. Oh, no, you're not afraid, are
you, Skye?"
Skye watched him warily, answering softly.
"No."
Luke shook his head slowly, sneering as he imitated her.
"No. Of course not. There is nothing in this world you fear more than you
own desires, your inner self. Your..."
He tilted his head, then grinned with realization.
"...soul. You fear your own soul."
Backing off the bed, he stood, shaking his head.
"That's rich."
Anger flared behind Skye's icy eyes.
"Excuse me, did I just miss the 'Dr' proceeding your name? A Ph.D. in pop
psychology, perhaps?"
She cut him off with a slice of her hand.
"How dare you analyze me! My interpersonal skills don't include
sacrificing babies and screwing in the blood. I don't think I'm some kind
of demon. I don't need the pain of others to help me make love. I..."
"Then what do you need to complete the act? An audience? Another
woman? Or perhaps just the correct price!"
As the sight of a twenty dollar bill lying on her mother's night table the
morning after one of her 'boyfriends' had spent the night burst behind her
shields, Skye found her service pistol in her hand.
"Get out!"
She was screaming, tears streaming down her face.
"Get out of my house, you son-of-a-bitch!"
Luke's brow rose with his ire.
"You're going to shoot me?"
He spread his hands.
"I'm unarmed, innocent of anything more horrific than giving my opinion."
His eyes grew so cold, Skye actually felt a shiver creep up her spine. His
voice was a winter breeze in the Arctic.
"Go ahead, Skye, shoot me. Obliterate whatever imaginary past horror
fills you with guilt and replace it with a deliberate action."
Anger shone in his dark eyes, but it warred for space with sadness and
world-weary loneliness.
"Choose to be mine, Skye. Do it!"
His yell made Skye jump, only her many years of training freezing her
trigger finger a hairs-breadth from Luke's demise. Shaking her head, she
slowly laid the gun back on the nightstand. Then, to her utter horror, a
damn within her heart shattered. She turned away from Luke, hoping he
might take the hint and leave, but knowing from past experience that this
man never did anything she hoped he'd do.
Slumping to the floor, the bed at her back, Skye gave in to her tears, even
as she cursed her own weakness.
"Stupid! It's not my fault! I didn't ask to be born! The stupid woman could
have kept her legs closed. She could've flushed me down some doctor's
sink. She could've...oh, dammit, she could've loved me enough to stay
with me."
Feeling strong arms wrap around her shoulders, Skye lost what little
dignity she'd managed to hold onto this far. She turned into Luke's chest
and let the pain flow out through her tears.
Luke wondered what the hell was the matter with him. Human pain was
good. He existed to cause it. He should revel in it. Then why were Skye's
sobs ripping out his heart? His chest actually hurt, as though her tears
were acid, burning where they touched! And why, if that were the case,
didn't he push her away?
Whispering senseless words of comfort into Skye's hair, Luke realized if
someone had tried to take Skye from his grasp at this moment, he would
have gladly tortured them for eternity.
After several minutes of totally embarrassing feminine behavior, Skye
wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe and tipped her head back to look
into Luke's face. Her voice was soft and sweet, the sound of a confused
child.
"Who are you?"
Luke smiled down at her, a true smile that lit his face and made Skye's
breath hesitate. He brushed his fingertips through her hair, shifting her
weight in his lap. When she was comfortably resting against one strong
arm where she could more easily look at him, he spoke, his deep tone
serious.
"Are you sure you want me to answer that, Skye? Though some might say
it is rare for me, I will tell you the truth, and you may find that disturbing."
He laughed softly, speaking as though to himself.
"There's an understatement."
Skye slowly raised one hand to trace the fine line of his bottom lip with
one fingertip.
"I need to know."
He sighed and nodded. His tone became that of a college professor
lecturing his favorite student.
"Very well. I have been called by many names."
Skye gave a little nod.
"Aliases. Figures."
Laughter caught Luke unawares. He playfully glared down at her.
"Are you going to keep interrupting me?"
Skye raised her chin a notch, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"If I have something to say."
A grin softening his lips, Luke nodded.
"Of course. As I was saying, my aliases are probably too numerous to
mention. My given name is Lucifer."
"Now your mother had a hard labor."
Once again, laughter threatened Luke. He was glad to see Skye's eyes
shining brightly once again. He had hated seeing them darkened by pain.
"I have no mother, just a very malicious father."
"That's a new one. 'My mother left before I was born.' That doesn't work,
Luke."
"In my case, it does. I assure you, if you'd let me finish, it would all make
a certain amount of sense."
Skye sighed to show her disbelief of that statement.
"A long time ago, I guess you might say I tried a coup on the old
homestead. I have several brothers, all of whom Daddy likes better. I and
my army fought against them and their minions and my side was beaten,
leading to my banishment to this little burg you call home."
"Are you from Europe?"
The question caught Luke by surprise. His eyebrows raised, he said,
"What?"
Skye shrugged.
"You use words like 'banished'. That smacks of a very formal education.
Makes me think Europe, or maybe Ivy League."
"Could you stop interrogating me long enough to let me finish, then I'll
answer any questions you might have. All right?"
Skye raised one eyebrow.
"Testy, aren't you? Makes me wonder what you're trying to hide."
Exasperation raised his voice.
"Skye, I'm not trying to hide anything. That's just the point, I'm trying to
tell you..."
"Well, I wish you'd get to the meat and potatoes. A problem childhood just
isn't all that interesting nowadays, you know? Everyone had one, from the
president to the janitor."
Tiny sparks of flame lit Luke's chocolate gaze. His heated tone held a hint
of sarcasm.
"Fine. I did not have a problem childhood, as you put it. I had no
childhood. When I rebelled against His stupid policies, my Father cast me
out of my rightful domain. Then He badmouthed me to my new neighbors.
Understandably, I was quite perturbed. I used every chance that arose to
get in His face, playing this chess game as He laid out the board. His
people chose to paint Him as the ultimate good, which, by the way, He is
not. He's got a temper, He's jealous, He's petulant, in short, 'like father like
son'. I'm no more the 'ultimate evil' than He is the perfect nice guy. I see
by your expression that you've jumped to the end of the story.
Unfortunately, I also read in your beautiful eyes the diagnosis of insanity.
'Nice guy, good looking, too bad he's a jungle full of bananas.' Ah, well.
To conclude. My most common alias is Satan, the great adversary of all
that is bright, shining and good in the world. Also known as The Devil,
Beelzebub, Old Nick, or, my personal favorite even if it is the truth,
Lucifer. Luke, for short."

                 Chapter Eight
                        
Skye gathered her thoughts. She'd known this guy was off from the first
moment she'd set eyes on him, so why did she find it so disappointing to
discover that he was a certifiable loon? This would teach her to let her
heart - what was she thinking? her loins - get involved in a case. That long
vacation was looking sooo good.
Skye dropped her eyes to her examine her fingers in her lap. She didn't
want SantAngelo to see the truth in her eyes. Spooking a nutcase was
never a good idea.
"Okay. Thanks for sharing, SantAngelo."
She began to rise, only to have strong arms pull her back into Luke's hard
lap.
"Not so fast. I think fair should be fair, don't you? I've told you my deep,
dark secret. Now it would only be fair for you to unburden your soul to
me."
In spite of her resolve to not look him in the eye, Skye's gaze rose in
surprise.
"I don't have any secrets."
Damn, how she wished her heart would stop taking that extra beat every
time he touched her with that soft heat shining in his eyes. He gently
smoothed her hair back from her face. His voice was gentle and insistent,
almost hypnotic.
"Skye, tell me what keeps you from giving in to your natural desire for
pleasure. Why won't you let me lie with you, love you."
The unwelcome flame returned to her eyes and her tone became steely.
"What has 'love' ever had to do with a man getting his jollies?"
Luke wasn't sure which shocked him more, Skye's venom or the fact that
he had said 'love' without planning on using it to hurt the person to whom
he was speaking. This was a dangerous woman. So why wasn't he
running?
"Who planted the seeds of hatred that bloom every time I try to get too
close to you, Skye?"
"You're quite the poet, aren't you?"
With one fast, slithery move, Skye escaped the sweet prison of his arms
and stood. Luke sighed and frowned, then smoothly rose to his feet.
"I've been called worse. Where are you going?"
Skye headed out of the room, adjusting her robe as she went.
"I refuse to have any kind of conversation in my bedroom. Would you like
some coffee?"
With amazing speed he was before her, his long-fingered hands grasping
her shoulders firmly enough to make her take notice.
"You don't have to entertain me, Skye, I have imps for that. I want to
know about you, from your lips. I don't want the facts repeated to me by
some underling. I want to hear the autobiography of Skyelar Thomas
Garfield."
Skye raised an eyebrow, then deliberately stepped around him, a tight
squeeze that made her acutely aware of his musky male scent, his
muscular chest.
"I am not entertaining you, SantAngelo. I want a cup of coffee...,"
"...or something a little stronger..." she said under her breath, "...so I
thought I'd be polite and offer a cup to my guest. If you have a problem
with that, I will endeavor in the future to be impolite to you at every turn."
Luke, quite enjoying the view of her nicely rounded derriere as he
followed Skye into the living room and reclaimed his seat on her couch,
responded under his breath, "That would be something new?"
Skye stopped and turned to face him, arms akimbo, a tart reply on the tip
of her tongue, but the look of impish innocence he sent her way caught her
unaware. Fighting it all the way, a smile nonetheless found her lips, a light
chuckle accompanying it.
"Okay, SantAngelo, how about we start this evening over and try to
remain civil?"
Luke looked at the couch where she had been seated when their passionate
embrace had begun earlier, then returned his gaze to her face and raised
an eyebrow. Skye's face lit with her smile as she shook her head and
continued into the kitchen. She called through the wall.
"I warn you, the coffee was brewed last night so I'm going to nuke it. Want
some?"
"I am not..."
Skye jumped as he spoke at her side. She hadn't heard him come into the
kitchen, hadn't realized anyone was with her until he spoke. She must be
slipping something awful.
"...accustomed to yelling my conversations through walls."
"Keep that up, SantAngelo, and I'm going to shoot you yet. Accidently, of
course."
Luke smiled, enjoying the domestic scene as Skye poured coffee and
placed the cups in the microwave.
"Of course. Starting over doesn't negate remaining fair. You owe me a
secret."
Her back to him, Skye sighed heavily an leaned her hands on the counter
top. The tiny spots in the tile began to blur as she allowed herself to drift
back in time to the day she walked into the kitchen of the tiny apartment
they could barely afford and found her mother sitting in one of the two
kitchen chairs, the only real chairs they had owned. She had been slumped
slightly to one side and Skye had wondered why she just kept staring at
her even after Skye said "Hi!" Then she had seen the line of blood running
down her mother's face from the small hole at her temple. It really wasn't
much blood, certainly not enough to panic. But Skye had been a very
astute five-year-old. She knew before she saw the little gun her mother
had kept for protection laying on the floor at her mother's feet that she was
an orphan.
Watching the whole scene from a point far in the future, Skye saw the
small girl scream "Mommy!", then fall to the floor, crying the last tears
she would cry for the woman who had chosen the most selfish escape.
After a while, minutes or hours, it hadn't mattered anymore, Skye had
calmly wiped her face on her dress, called her best friend's mom and
asked if she could stay the night while the police came and took away her
mommy's body.
"Did you have any relatives?"
Blinking the past from her eyes, Skye realized with a start that she had
been giving a running commentary of her memories. Still staring at the
counter, she nodded.
"A spinster aunt who believed I'd be better off in a boarding school than
living with a woman who knew absolutely nothing about raising a child.
Like giving birth instantly imbues a woman with that knowledge."
Snapping out of her morose ramblings, Skye opened the microwave.
Turning, she avoided Luke's eyes as she handed him a cup.
"Please, continue, I find you fascinating."
Though she tried desperately to control, Skye's face darkened with a rosy
blush that Luke found most attractive. She shrugged and returned to the
couch, knowing he would follow. And assuming, correctly, that he would
take a seat much too close to her. She pointedly looked beyond him at the
expanse of couch he had ignored to sit so that their knees touched. Luke
followed her gaze then raised one eyebrow as if to say, "So?" Skye shook
her head with exasperation but she couldn't keep the rebellious corners of
her mouth from rising just a little in a tiny smile.
"To complete a rather boring narrative, I graduated from college with a
4.0 GPA. I applied to the Bureau and they accepted. The end."
"Why the FBI?"
Pink once again lit Skye's face, and her voice dropped.
"I was afraid you'd ask me that. I don't suppose you'd buy the money was
good?"
Luke raised his eyebrows and slowly shook his head.
"For the work, you may be adequately compensated, but for the danger to
your lives, your wages are an insult."
"Thank you. How would you like to speak to my boss about a raise?"
Her light laughter was music to Luke's ears, a melody that played along
his nerve endings, igniting specific areas of his body that, at the moment,
he was trying to forget existed. Shifting to a more comfortable position,
Luke replied, "If you would like more money, Sweetheart, I assure you I
can arrange it."
Skye hadn't missed Luke's shift in position, nor the reason for it. To her
surprise, she enjoyed the idea that she was arousing him. Usually, causing
that reaction in a man made her uncomfortable. But Luke was different
somehow. He didn't make her feel cheap. It actually seemed as though he
desired her as a complete woman, not just the sum of her parts.
Casting that dangerous thought from her mind, she decided to try to bring
this conversation around to business.
"The TV series, 'The FBI' was in reruns when I was a little girl. I used to
watch it all the time. I thought Efrem Zimbalist was the perfect man -
smart, sensitive, soft-spoken. And armed."
She smiled.
"I decided that was the kind of man I wanted to work with, so, voila',
Special Agent Garfield."
"Why were you concerned about the kind of man with whom you'd be
working?"
"You ask too many questions!"
One eyebrow rising, Luke leaned slightly away from her, surprised by her
sudden change from friendly narrator to angry defender. Skye sighed and
studied the empty coffee cup in her hand.
"Sorry."
Suddenly, her eyes met Luke's, the pain that nestled beneath the anger
flaring in their icy blue depths hitting him like a blow to the chest.
"You want the whole sordid truth," she hissed through clenched teeth,
"My mother was just this side of a whore! Typical sob story, accepted
whatever she got from men as the 'love' she didn't get at home. Pregnant at
sixteen, uptight parents gave her the boot so she lived off the state and
whatever 'presents' her boyfriend of the moment gave her. One of those
was a twenty-two revolver he'd probably stolen."
Skye once again studied her coffee cup, the vehemence leaving her voice
to be replaced by the sound of lost little girl.
"She always told me my latest 'daddy' left because he didn't want to be a
father. When I got old enough to know better, I figured out that most of
them left because they just plain got tired of her, moved on to something
younger, prettier, bigger busted, whatever.
"But when I was staring at that little hole, wondering where all the blood
was, too young to know that a .22 doesn't usually have the guts to exit
when it encounters something as tough as a human skull, I still believed
everything that bitch had told me. She was alone because of me, because I
existed, so everything bad that had ever happened to her was my fault. I
had put that bullet in her brain."
"Skye..."
Unmindful of the tears coursing down her face once again, Skye raised a
hand to ward off Luke's comfort.
"No, let me finish. You're right. You told me how messed up your head is,
you have a right to know about mine."
She wiped her robe-encased arm across her nose, reminding Luke of a
little girl. The urge to take her into his arms was so strong, he doubted he
could resist it much longer, but he could tell that she hadn't said all she
needed to say.
"I lived with that guilt for years. Then this marvelous thing happened. I
developed breasts and found out about men all in the same summer. And
you thought the kids in 'Friday the Thirteenth" had it bad. I bought some
guy's line about me being the woman he had waited for all his fifteen
years. I listened to my heart - at least, I thought it was my heart, now I
know it was actually something a lot lower in my body - and I gave in to
the jerk. Next day at MacDonald's, all his friends snickered when I walked
by, and he told me he didn't know when he'd be able to see me again. Like
a bolt out of the blue, I knew. It wasn't me who ruined my mother's life, it
was lust. Hers for everything she could never have - a loving family,
perfect husband, 2.5 children, picket fence - and men's for her willing
body. If she'd been able to keep her legs together, she might have had a
great life."
Her tears had retreated to form great pools in her eyes.
"After waiting the longest three weeks of my life, my body finally let me
off the hook on the pregnancy thing. That day I swore I would never be
like my mother. Never!"
Skye took a deep breath. Amazingly, she f