In Destiny's Shadow. Ingrid Weaver
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whatever you claim, you’ve got some nerve thinking I’d give anything away. I’m not telling you where Titan is. This is my story. I’ve been tracking him for months and I intend to be there when he’s arrested.”
“You can’t plan to continue. You were almost killed tonight. They won’t give up.”
She turned away. There was a pale green carry-on bag on a suitcase stand beside the door. She picked up the bag and took it to the desk in the corner. “I don’t give up, either,” she said. A laptop computer sat on the desk, surrounded by disorderly piles of handwritten notes. She unplugged the laptop and slipped it into a pocket on the outside of the bag, then gathered the papers and stuffed them in, as well. She zipped the pocket closed and faced him, her chin lifted and her shoulders squared. “And just in case you’re thinking of stealing this stuff, don’t bother.”
That was exactly what he’d been thinking. It would have been the simplest solution, after all. That was why he’d been watching her room earlier tonight—he’d planned to enter when she was asleep and help himself to what he needed. But when he had seen her go out, he’d decided to follow her instead. “Miss Becker…Melina.”
“Because it wouldn’t do you any good,” she continued. “I use the computer mostly for research and for sending finished copy to my editor. And I use my own brand of shorthand for my notes.” She tapped her temple. “Most of what I know is in here.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to be concerned about your safety.”
“I am concerned. That’s why I’m packing.” She placed the bag on the bed. Her gaze dropped to the bloodstains on her skirt. For a moment she wavered, clenching her hands the way she had in the Jeep.
It was obvious to Anthony she was still struggling to control her emotions. He took a step forward, but she recovered quickly and turned to the dresser. It was just as well. He probably shouldn’t touch her again.
Moving mechanically, she emptied the dresser drawers and the room’s small closet. With the skill of a habitual traveler, she rolled the garments smoothly—there weren’t many—and squeezed them into the middle compartment of the bag. She walked to the bathroom. “If you’re not doing a story, then what’s your connection to Titan?” she asked over her shoulder. “Did you work for him?”
Anthony followed her. The bathroom was small and didn’t appear to have a window, so he stopped in the doorway. “I’ll answer that question if you tell me what you know.”
“That isn’t the way it works.” She used her forearm to sweep the belongings off the counter beside the sink into another pocket of her bag. “You should be giving me information, not the other way around.”
“And you shouldn’t be risking your life for a story.”
“My work is my life, Mr. Caldwell,” she said. “And I’m going to break the news about Titan. What he did tonight to Fredo is only the latest in a string of crimes that’s more extensive than anyone believes.” She hitched the strap of the carry-on over her shoulder and brushed past him.
He turned to keep her in sight. “You don’t have to convince me of that, Miss Becker. His thugs attacked and almost killed my friend.”
She paused at the foot of the bed to look at him. Some of the antagonism eased from her expression. “Why?”
“Because my friend wouldn’t tell them where to find my sisters and me.” He moved toward her and reached for her bag. “Here. I’ll carry that for you.”
She curled her fingers around the strap. “No, thanks.”
“You still don’t trust me?”
“No, but if Titan hurt your friend and is threatening your family, I can understand why you would want to see him brought to justice.”
Anthony didn’t respond. If she ever discovered what he really planned to do with the bastard, she would be even less inclined to trust him. He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob. “The five minutes are up. Time to go.”
Melina gave the room a final survey, then moved to join him. She put her free hand on his arm. “Why would Titan be after your family?”
“Where is Titan hiding?”
She hesitated briefly, her lips thinning, then sighed and gave a crisp nod. “All right. If it turns out you’re telling the truth, we might be able to make a deal.”
He looked at where her fingers rested against his jacket sleeve. Her nails were trimmed short and bare of polish, her grip firm, yet there was a delicate femininity in the shape of her hand. Her touch couldn’t penetrate the leather, but he sensed it just the same. “What kind of deal, Melina?”
“You might have information about Titan that I could use.”
“And in return?”
“In return for an interview, I promise to call you before I break the story.” She patted his arm. “Aside from the FBI, you’ll be the first one to know where he is.”
It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start. He took her hand. The contact teased through his palm and raised the hair on his arm. At her intake of breath, he lifted his gaze. Her lips seemed closer to his than before. Had she swayed toward him? Had she felt it, too?
Anthony released his grip and forced himself to look away. He knew what he wanted. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t this.
Melina Becker was a means to an end, that was all. Anthony didn’t have the time or the right to indulge his cravings with her. He had to control this connection between them. He had no choice.
For Anthony’s destiny had been determined twenty-eight years ago. He had been three years old when he’d watched Titan commit his first murder.
Back then, Titan had called himself Benedict Payne.
And back then, Anthony had called him father.
Chapter 2
“I have a new lead, Neil.” Melina pushed down on the handle of her hotel room door with one hand while she held her cell phone to her ear with the other. She swung open the door, snatched up the Santa Fe Examiner that lay on the threshold and bumped the door closed with her foot. “It’s going to take some more time to check it out.”
“How much more time, Melina?”
Tucking the newspaper under her phone arm, she straightened her sweater as she walked back to the bed. It was a relatively long walk. The proportions of the rooms in the Pecos Lodge were far more generous than those at the Grand Inn. They were more distinctive, too. The Pecos had a Southwestern flavor: red and black Navajo-style patterns brightened the bedspread and curtains, warm varnished pine planks made up the floor, and the window was set into a thick plastered arch. It was nice, but she knew she wouldn’t linger. She seldom did. “I’m interviewing him this morning, so I need another day. Maybe two.”
“That’s what you said last week.”
“I know, but this is promising, Neil. No one else is on it.” She laid the paper flat on the bed and scanned the headlines.
“Maybe no one else is on it because there’s nothing to be on. Titan is just another drug dealer. He’s news, but not big news.”
She turned the pages and continued to skim the articles as she squatted down to grope beside the bed for her boots. “We’ve had this discussion before, Neil. Titan has a bigger agenda, I’m certain of it.”
“What happened to the lead you were chasing—the thief you interviewed last year? What was the guy’s name? Pablo? Paco?”
The newsprint blurred. Melina left her boots on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. “His name was Fredo. He’s dead.”
“What? How?”
“Titan had him killed.