The Warrior. Dinah McCall
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shivered slightly, then leaned back against the seat as the wind whipped through the windows, putting her long dark hair in disarray. But her appearance was the last thing on her mind. For the first time since she’d starting running, she felt as if she was at least partially in control. Maybe this nightmare was going to have a positive outcome after all.
Richard waited for the phone call from Dieter telling him that he had Alicia and was on the way home, but it never came. He left a scathing message on Dieter’s cell, then left to attend a business dinner, confident that everything was under control and his subordinate was just off the radar for some reason.
Dieter, however, was not as certain. Waking up in jail was the single biggest shock of his life. He’d been in jail before, but he’d always seen it coming. This time, he had no idea how or when—or why—it had happened. He swung his legs off the bunk, swiped his hands across his face, then stumbled to the bars, rattling them to emphasize his demand.
“Hey!” he yelled, then winced. Yelling made his head ache. “Jailer! Jailer! I need to make a phone call. It’s my right. I get to make a call.”
A few moments later, the door across the aisle opened and a tall scrawny man in a khaki uniform sauntered in. Dieter stared. The man was rail-thin with a hawk nose and a big bushy mustache.
“What?” the man drawled.
“I get to make a call! Bring me my cell phone.”
The jailer shrugged. “You use our phone and reverse the charges…understand?”
“I don’t understand anything,” Dieter muttered. “How did I get here?”
“Hauled your drunk ass in, that’s how.”
Dieter frowned. He hadn’t been drinking. He’d been—“Oh hell,” he muttered. Alicia. The big Indian. Richard was going to kill him.
“Here’s the phone,” the jailer said as he thrust a cordless headset through the bars. “Make it quick.”
“Where am I?” Dieter asked, realizing he didn’t even know the address of the jail.
“You’re in jail, mister,” the jailer said dryly.
Dieter cursed beneath his breath. “Very funny. What’s the name of this godforsaken place?”
“You’re in Justice, Georgia, and I hope the irony of that is not lost on you.”
Dieter glared. “I need privacy.”
“Tough shit. You get one call, and I’m not going anywhere.”
As Dieter punched in the number, it occurred to him that he was probably safer in jail. At least here, Richard would have a harder time killing him. However, Richard didn’t answer the call, and Dieter was forced to leave a message.
“Mr. Ponte, it’s Dieter. I’m in Justice, Georgia…in jail. I caught up with Alicia at a gas station, but she wasn’t alone. She had someone with her who knocked me out. I’m not sure how I got from there to jail, but I need someone to bail me out.”
As soon as he’d disconnected, he handed the phone back through the bars. The jailer took it, smirked and slammed the door behind him when he left.
Dieter dropped back down on the bunk, then put his head in his hands and groaned. This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
Alicia was accustomed to the best. The best cars. The best clothes. The best of everything money could buy. So when John Nightwalker said he was taking her to his place, she didn’t expect to find much of a house at the end of this road through nowhere, but to say this exceeded her expectations was an epic understatement. His home was a magnificent edifice of wood, rock and glass that appeared to have grown from the very bluff on which it was sitting.
The front of the house faced the driveway, which left the back to overlook the ocean. She could see all the way through the soaring front windows to two stories of glass at the back that seemed to go on forever—disappearing up and into the startling blue of the sky overhead. The panorama they would reveal up close had to be amazing.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat. The beauty of it was obvious, but it was the loneliness she sensed along with that beauty that brought tears to her eyes.
She got out without speaking and walked toward the rim of the bluff, mesmerized by the view beyond. But the longer she stood there, the more she felt he hadn’t built here for the view. As she looked around the area, she realized that from where she stood, it would be impossible for anyone to get to him without being seen. She couldn’t help but wonder what demons John Nightwalker watched for when he looked through those windows.
“Welcome to my home,” John said.
Alicia couldn’t find the words to answer. She just nodded, then turned around and followed him back to the car, picking up her suitcase as he took the groceries and led the way inside.
John was so wired he could hardly focus. After centuries of waiting for this day, it was the closest he’d ever been. Only once before had he been so near. But that had been ages ago, on a train running through Central Europe. That day he’d known, as surely as he knew his own name, that the man he sought was only a few cars away. He’d felt the rhythm of his heartbeat as the pain of recognition spilled through him. He’d been running through the cars, searching for the person who held the key to all he sought, when a hard jolt sent everyone flying out of their seats, followed by the sounds of buckling metal and steam spewing into the air as the train derailed violently. He woke up some time later to the sound of people screaming and a horrible emptiness that meant one thing: the gut-wrenching knowledge that whoever it was he’d been after was dead, but not by John’s hand.
Nothing had been resolved.
Now his mind refocused on the woman at hand as he stepped aside to let her in. The way he figured it, playing things cool and easy was the best way to alleviate her fears, although staying calm around her was almost impossible. He’d waited so long for revenge. He needed to find out if her father was the man he sought. He guessed that he was, but couldn’t be sure—wouldn’t be sure until they were standing face-to-face.
He didn’t know what was going to happen after this quest was over, but right now he didn’t care. If he turned to dust, so be it. Revenge was a cold mistress, and he was tired—tired of it all.
“The kitchen is through here,” John said, leading the way.
But Alicia was so enthralled by this place that she kept lagging behind. The walls were a pale blue. The floor tiles were oblong, rather than square, and in an off-white color with gold veins scattered throughout. The furnishings were different shades of gold and blue, with snow-white throw pillows of every size. She could see a huge library off to the left, containing what appeared to be a well-organized office. The walls were covered with art and artifacts, most of which appeared to be of Native American theme or origin. The ocean breeze funneling through the open windows billowed the sheer white drapes hanging from ceiling to floor like earthbound kites. The faint scent of salty air permeated the rooms, along with another pleasant but less distinctive scent. It took her a few moments to locate the source, and when she did, she was once again surprised. A huge vase of wisteria sat on a waist-high table in the hall, giving every room access to the sweet, sweet smell of the blooms.
“The flowers…”
John paused and turned. “Yes?”
“They’re lovely,” she said softly.
For the first time John felt a sense of guilt. This woman was obviously in dire straits, or at least she thought she was. She was also stunning to look at. He needed to remember that her well-being was just as vital for him, albeit for different reasons, as it was for her.
“They were White…uh…my wife’s favorite,” he said, glancing toward the vase of white and lavender flowers, the slender stalks drooping from their weight. “They used to grow wild where