In Destiny's Shadow. Ingrid Weaver
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down when it came to Melina. The effect had never been this strong or this swift before.
He was careful to avoid touching her as he pushed in her chair, yet a trace of her perfume reached him, anyway. It was a mixture of floral and musky tones, soft and sensuous, making his nostrils flare. For a greedy moment, he inhaled. He thought about sweeping aside her hair and pressing his nose to the pulse point behind her ear.
She wouldn’t object, not if he opened the connection fully. The fact that he could smell her perfume meant her body heat was already elevated. They fit together well. And he’d been so alone for so long….
But he couldn’t do it. Damn, he was crazy to consider it. The safety of his family was at stake. He wouldn’t risk it for what would only be a fleeting pleasure, a temporary relief. He knew what he wanted from Melina. How many times did he have to remind himself that it wasn’t this?
He returned to his chair, picked up his coffee and drained the mug. The liquid was no longer scalding, but it was hot enough to burn his tongue. He concentrated on the prick of pain. It was almost as effective as a cold shower. He reined in his power as well as his thoughts.
Melina cleared her throat and busied herself with her purse. Her hair swung forward, hiding the blush on her cheeks.
She looked embarrassed, as well as confused, Anthony thought. That was understandable. He judged she wasn’t the kind of woman who normally got carried away by her passions; several times he’d seen her try to suppress them. She had the right idea. It would be easiest for both of them if they didn’t acknowledge this…complication.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, withdrawing a small notepad from her purse, “I’d like to get started right away.”
He glanced around the room to verify that no one was sitting close enough to overhear. “Fine with me. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Exactly,” she said. There was a small earthenware vase of dried wildflowers on the table. She pushed it aside and set her notepad in front of her. Her hands weren’t quite steady. She took a pen from the pad’s spiral spine and clicked it a few times with her thumb.
He spotted a waiter approaching. “Breakfast is on me, Melina,” he said.
“Thanks, but this is my interview, so breakfast is on the Daily Journal.”
“You must have a generous boss.”
“Yes. We work well together.”
Something in her tone caught his attention. Before he could pursue it, the waiter arrived to take their orders. The moment he left, Melina flipped through her notepad to a clean page and made a scribble at the top. “All right, Anthony. You claim your friend was attacked by Titan’s people.”
He thought of the last time he had seen Jeremy. The man he had known for almost twenty years had been unrecognizable. He’d been swathed in bandages, hooked up to machines and fighting for his life. “Claim? There’s no doubt there. I know they did it.”
“Because they wanted information about you and your sisters. Is that right?”
He nodded. “My sisters and I used to work for Jeremy Solienti, the man who was attacked. I still do.”
“The first thing I’d like to know is why Titan is interested in your family. Was this the prelude to an extortion attempt?”
“He didn’t want money. He wanted us.”
Melina looked up. “But why?”
It had taken Anthony months to figure out the answer to that question. He decided to give her only part of it. “To understand that, you have to know Titan’s real identity.”
Melina’s fingertips whitened as she squeezed her pen. “This had better be on the level,” she said.
“It is.”
“I’ve been tracking this guy since June, when he started moving his drug network from Europe to North America.” She lowered her voice. “Interpol had nothing on his background. He seemed to appear out of nowhere with his one name. He’s a fanatic about secrecy. No one I’ve talked to will tell me who he is or where he came from, so how do you know?”
Anthony saw the spark in her eyes. He had a moment’s regret that it was because of her story, not him. But this was what she was here for. “Tell me where he is,” he said.
She frowned. “I promised to call you when I’m ready to break my story. You can be there when he’s arrested.”
“Not good enough. I need to know now. Every minute he’s free is too long.”
“That’s not the deal we agreed on.”
“We’re making a new one.”
She tossed her pen down. “Don’t play games with me, Anthony.”
“It’s no game. I know who Titan is. I saw him commit his first murder. How much is that worth to you?”
She braced her forearms on the table and leaned toward him. “Who is he?”
“Where is he?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you what I know as soon as you tell me who Titan is.”
Anthony probed her gaze, trying to discern whether she meant to keep her word. It was difficult to gauge—she had her defenses back up and firmly in place—but he was fairly certain he’d pushed her as far as she would allow.
She didn’t respond well to his bullying. He couldn’t help admiring that. She reminded him a little of his sisters that way. He dipped his chin in agreement and waited until she had retrieved her pen. “Titan’s real name is Benedict Payne,” Anthony said. “He’s an American. Fifty-eight years old. His last known address in the United States was in North Carolina.”
Melina listened, her expression a mixture of concentration and excitement. “Wyatt, North Carolina?”
“That’s right.”
“I went to Wyatt because I heard the FBI were investigating there. I didn’t find anything about Titan, so I thought it was a dead end.”
“Most of the relevant records were destroyed. You would have needed to know what to look for to connect Titan with Payne.”
“And what would that be?”
“Around thirty years ago, Benedict Payne worked at a fertility clinic in Wyatt run by his older sister, Agnes. He had been expelled from college for selling drugs, so she gave him the job to keep him out of trouble. Not because she cared, but because she didn’t want him drawing any more attention from the cops. She had her own illegal schemes going.”
“That’s some family.” Melina made some more scribbles on the paper. “You’re giving me great material, Anthony. Please, go on.”
“Agnes Payne is dead now.”
“Tell me more about this Benedict Payne.”
“He had a wife. Her name was Deanna Falaso.”
“Falaso. Is that Italian?”
“Romanian. She married him to get a green card. He tricked her into believing it was love.”
“That sounds like Titan. Do you know where Deanna is now?”
The memory sprang full-blown into Anthony’s head. The argument, the screams, the choking scent of gardenias from the clothes in the closet, all of it as vivid as the night it had happened.
“Stay here with your sisters, Tony. Be a good boy and don’t make a sound until Mommy comes back. Promise me you’ll take care of them, okay? Stay here, no matter what.”
Ruthlessly, he took control of the memory. He’d suppressed it for most of his life, but it had resurfaced in its entirety two months ago, when he’d been in Wyatt himself. His mother’s death remained as raw in