His leg was aching again tonight. He would have to take some more anti-inflammatory tablets when he got back to the condo. The thought made him want to snap the cane in half and hurl the pieces into the nearest trash bin. The memory of the shooter coming out of the bedroom, surprising him, flashed in his head. Get over it. Could have been a hell of a lot worse.
He went toward the Jeep, keys out, still on alert for movement in the shadows or anything else that didn’t seem right. The garage was empty, except for the hulking shapes of the vehicles. There was nothing out of the ordinary to disturb his cop intuition or his psychic senses. So why the whisper of unease? Thanks for giving me the willies, Ray. After all I’ve done for you.
When he got close to the SUV he used the remote to unlock it. Automatically, he gave the garage another quick survey. The concrete stairwell that led upstairs to the old hotel lobby and the entrance to the nightclub was to his right. The light was off inside. It had been on earlier when he parked.
Adrenaline scalded his veins.
The narrow beam of a penlight appeared first, prowling around the stairwell landing, illuminating the concrete steps.
The person gripping the small light rounded the corner a second later and started down the steps. In the darkened stairwell he was only a tall, lean silhouette but his aura pulsed hot with the colors of violence and raw power.
Luther concentrated, getting the pattern in focus, just in case. The man halted at the foot of the stairs. Although his aura was running red-hot, he made no move that could be interpreted as violent. There was no gun or knife in his free hand. He just stood there, aiming the flashlight at Luther’s chest.
Rogue waves spiked across the stranger’s aura. Luther sent a crushing tide of energy at him.
Nothing happened.
In the next instant he realized that his parasenses were fading fast, going blind. It was suddenly hard to make out the stranger’s pattern. That wasn’t right. He should have been able to see it clearly.
“I’m afraid you have become a problem, Mr. Malone,” the man said. “But I’m an old hand at fixing problems like you.”
The words sounded as if they came from the bottom of an abyss. They were laced with the promise of death. Luther could barely hear them. The garage was filling with a rising tide of shadows. The gathering darkness rapidly blotted up what little light came from the overhead fixtures. Now his vision was fading. A great weakness settled on him, saturating his bones.
He knew with absolute certainty that he was dying. There was pain where the pencil-slim flashlight beam struck his chest. He realized that it had to be the light that was swiftly neutralizing his aura. When your energy field went out, you went out with it.
He tried to summon the strength to move but his muscles would not obey. His will to live was a weak and flimsy weapon against the numbing power of the penlight.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
“William Craigmore. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
“Council.” He could barely get the word out. Fallon and Zack Jones were right. They had a spy in the highest of high places within the Society. “Nightshade.”
“Very good,” Craigmore said approvingly. “I am most certainly Nightshade, and I’ve been a member of the Governing Council for fifteen years. Sadly, I’ll be disappearing soon. I’d have preferred to stay on for a couple more years but that’s not possible now that Zack Jones is in charge. He’s simply too good, much better than his predecessor. It’s a damn shame, you know. I was almost able to prevent him from taking over the Master’s Chair but, unfortunately, things went wrong.”
Luther said nothing. He could no longer speak. He started to shake uncontrollably. His breathing was getting tight. The pain grew worse, searing his senses.
“You’re stronger than I expected,” Craigmore said. “Most men would be unconscious by now. Fallon Jones did a good job of covering up your true talent level in the files. But after all these years on the Council, I know most of the Society’s secrets, including how to bypass the J&J encryption codes. I am aware that Miss Renquist is something more than what she appears, as well. When I’ve finished with you, I will remove her. That should take care of all the dangling threads.”
Grace. He had to survive to protect her. Grace. Somehow just thinking her name clarified his fevered mind for a few seconds.
It occurred to him that the only thing keeping him on his feet was willpower and the cane. He had a death grip on the handle, knowing that if he went down, he would not get up.
If he went down.
He allowed himself to stop fighting the effects of the beam. The last of the strength went out of his fingers. The cane clattered on the concrete. Predictably, he, too, fell hard and fast onto the unforgiving floor. Pain jolted through his bad leg but for a precious few seconds, the penlight lost its focus on his chest.
His senses slammed back with jolting force. The lights came up in the garage. The thunder of the rock music and the noise of the crowd grew loud. He could breathe again.
He rolled under the Jeep, instinctively seeking the darkness like some night creature scurrying from the sun. Craigmore swung the penlight back and forth in an arc, trying to track and pin him again with the beam.
He sensed the slender ray slicing like a surgeon’s scalpel, striking his legs and, briefly, his shoulders and back as he scrambled under the Jeep. When the killing light hit his lower body, it did not have nearly as much impact as when it glanced across his core. It hurt like hell but he could keep moving.
In the two seconds it took to get under the Jeep, all his senses sparked on and off like faulty electrical wiring, a dizzying, nerve-rattling whirl of sound and silence, sight and blindness.
Once in the narrow space under the vehicle, he kept going, wriggling beneath the undercarriage and out on the far side.
“Give it up,” Craigmore ordered.
There was a new note in his voice now. Anger, maybe. Or maybe sheer outraged amazement. That was the thing about being an aura talent. No one took you seriously.
Craigmore walked closer to the Jeep but paused several feet away, keeping a wary distance. Maybe it had occurred to him that an ex-cop might carry a hold-out gun.
If only, Luther thought.
“I watched you come down the street a short while ago,” Craigmore said. “We both know you can’t run. Not with that bad leg. Even if you were in good shape, you’re not fast enough to evade my little flashlight. You might as well come on out from behind the Jeep. It will all be over very quickly, I promise.”