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  Her faith in him hadn't been enough to sustain her. Had Rolland been right? Had he always expected more than she could give? Had his wish that she match him in strength of head and heart been beyond that of which she was capable? Had the pressure of his wants driven her to such a drastic end?

  Not again. Never again, he swore on her soul because his was already forfeit.

  Perhaps the kindest thing he could do was to remove the turmoil he caused from her troubled life.

  Right after he freed her from Zanlos.

  Then, if fate had decided he was not to bring her happiness and her the answer to all his prayers and dreams, she could find those things with another.

  His search for fulfillment of a centuries’ old promise was gone. All that remained was for her to find peace.

  And as Gabriel saw her to a cab and instructed the vehicle to see her safely home, a figure far enough away so as not to be detected smiled with self-satisfied pleasure. Things couldn't be going better on the course of well-suited revenge.

  * * * *

  "What the hell happened to you?"

  The sound of the cab had woken Rita from her light sleep. Oddly, she'd been keeping a half ear open for the sound of Naomi's return. Just to make sure she got home safe. The maternal instincts amused her. And perhaps were unnecessary. Somehow she didn't think her little roommate was as fragile as she looked. She'd sensed steel there, no less honed for protection than the sword Gabriel had wielded at the Excalibur. Strength wasn't Naomi's problem. She had backbone to spare. It was the streak of vulnerability that had Rita concerned. Hawks were drawn to a wounded bird. It was nature at its most elemental. And Rita meant to protect Naomi from predators, not just because of her promise to Gabriel and her debt to Rae. She genuinely enjoyed the other woman's company.

  And if Naomi brought company home with her, Rita meant to discreetly withdraw.

  But Naomi came in alone. And it was obvious from one look at the trembling, shattered creature slumped against the door jamb like a refugee of a natural disaster that things hadn't gone well.

  Rita received no response to her first demand and only a vague reaction to her second alarmed entreaty. Dazed eyes remained fixed and vacant for a long moment, then Naomi's gaze lifted. Rita gave a soft cry. Never had she seen such pain and anguish in another's face.

  "Nomi, what happened? Are you all right?"

  Seismic tremors began in her slender shoulders, jerking through them before shuddering down her spine. Her teeth chattered. Recognizing the ravages of shock, Rita enveloped her in a supportive embrace, the only thing that held her together as her knees gave way. Rita half dragged her to the sofa and eased her down upon it after a sweep of her forearm sent a contentedly dozing Mel lumbering under the table, where he glowered in displeasure. Rita gathered a comforter up about the spasming shoulders and began to chafe the limply hanging arms. Then Rita took quick inventory. Despite the disheveled hair and zombie-like expression, Naomi looked as impeccable as always. The seams of her skirt and her pantyhose were smooth and hopefully undisturbed. But Rita had to make sure.

  "Sweetie, talk to me. Where's Gabriel? Did you get separated? Why didn't he bring you home?"

  "He—he tried to h-hurt me. I said no, but he wouldn't stop and he was too strong.” The horrible words hiccupped from her, telling a story that had Rita's jaw clenching. Naomi continued to stare off into space, the shadows swirling in her eyes as the moment played back within her head. “I was such a fool. He'd always been so n-nice to me."

  "That son-of-a-bitch.” Growling that epithet, Rita hugged her quivering roommate close and vowed, “No one will hurt you again. Not ever, if I have anything to say about it."

  But Naomi didn't respond. She continued to stare with that wounded intensity off into the horror of her memories.

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  Chapter Twelve

  Where's Gabriel?"

  Marcus looked up in surprise as Rita flung her bag down upon the stage. She was sleek as a seal in her black unitard, but her manner befit a more dangerous animal.

  "Haven't seen him yet. The girls are all waiting. All but Jeannie. She didn't show up. And Gracie's dragging again."

  Rita nodded absently at the news because at that moment she caught sight of Gabriel McGraw striding down the center aisle. An almost feral snarl from her startled the big bodyguard. Something was up. And he hit it with his first question.

  "Where's Naomi tonight? She usually checks in before she goes upstairs."

  "She's staying home. A migraine."

  That was said with all the force of a chipper shredder as she pulled on her fingerless gloves and pounded knuckles to palm.

  "You look ready to take on the world tonight,” Gabriel remarked as he slid out of his loose shirt.

  "Maybe some of its less savory elements."

  The snap of her tone had him raising a brow in question, but Rita whirled away and challenged, “Go a few rounds with me to loosen up."

  Alerted by her sudden tense aggression, he hedged. “I'm already pretty loose."

  "Yeah, but I'm wound tight enough to break or break something. Come on, tough guy. Not afraid of the weaker sex, are you? I thought guys like you liked to show women who's boss. Come on and show me.” And she spun back, tossing him a staff. He caught it deftly and climbed cautiously up onto the stage as Rita addressed the curious showgirls. “Ladies, tonight Mr. McGraw and I are going to demonstrate how the weak sex can fight back and fight to win. Surprise is our first and best weapon."

  And she struck. The staff cracked against the side of Gabriel's head, sending him stumbling to one side. He righted himself and took a defensive position.

  "See,” she explained fiercely. “Even the biggest bully will think twice before attacking a capable opponent. So don't let him get his bearings. No fear. No mercy.” And she jabbed the end of the staff into Gabriel's sternum, then into his gut. Another man would have been on his back, gasping and throwing up his dinner, but Gabriel only shuffled back a few steps and regarded her with a perplexed furrowing of his brows.

  "What's going on, Rita?” he asked in a low aside.

  "Like you don't know, you bastard."

  Pushed by emotion, she attacked rashly, and Gabriel was ready for her. He feinted to one side then used his staff to sweep her feet out from under her. Before she could scramble up, he placed the heel of his staff at her throat. She lay still, glaring up at him.

  "Combat is an emotionless endeavor,” he told the dancers without looking away from Rita's livid expression. “Anger, fear, revenge, jealousy—those things cloud the mind's clarity. Don't put yourself at a disadvantage. Cool and in control wins every time.” He moved the pinning stick and put down his hand to his fallen opponent. Rita ignored it, rolling to one side and onto her feet.

  Restless in her anger and unresolved retribution, Rita snatched up her towel. “Run through the hand to hand routine. No sloppy movements. Mentally tough, ladies."

  As the women paired off to spar, Rita finally confronted a confused Gabriel.

  "You shit. She trusted you."

  "Who?” Then the weight of consequence took hold, and his features turned to granite. “Is she all right?"

  "How do you think she is after what you put her through?” Rita leaned closed to hiss. “You stay away from her."

  "I plan to. She doesn't need to worry that I'll bring her any more pain.” Though his words were low and ripped through with his own inner agony, they had no effect on the stoic Rita. He sighed heavily and petitioned, “Just watch out for her, Rita. Will you do that for me?"

  "Not for you, but because she's my friend."

  Before they could continue their conversation, Jeannie's boyfriend Jack, still dressed in his kitchen whites, approached in a frenzy. “Have you seen Jeannie?"

  Grateful to turn to something less volatile, Gabriel told him, “She hasn't been to practice for the past two nights."

  "She hasn't been home either. I was hoping ... I thought ma
ybe you'd know where she was."

  "Me?” Gabriel looked perplexed.

  "She said she was getting some extra help on the routine, the same kind of help Grace got. What kind of private lessons did you give my girl, McGraw?"

  "I haven't seen her since she left with the others two nights ago."

  The distraught man gripped Gabriel's upper arms. “If she's with you, for God's sake have the decency to just tell me. I've been going out of my mind with worry, what with her coming home and acting all strange like I wasn't even there, talking about finding some new kind of heaven. What have you done to her?"

  "Nothing.” Gabriel shrugged out of the man's grasp then pressed his shoulders in earnest. He stared straight into Jack's frantic gaze until slowly the anger and panic came under his control. Only then did he continue, his tone as compelling as that dark, mesmerizing stare. “I haven't seen her. I have no relationship with her other than what's gone on right here. We're worried about her, too."

  That broke the young cook's control. He seemed to crumple, fighting back the sobs.

  "Have you filed a missing persons report?” Rita injected gently, but she was watching Gabriel, her attention speculative and keen.

  Jack shook his head. “Not yet."

  "Then that should be your next step. Do that now, and we'll let you know if any of us hears from her. Okay?"

  He nodded and after mumbling a frazzled apology to Gabriel, wandered rather aimlessly out of the theatre.

  Rita turned to the girls. “If any of you hears from her, I want to know about it, okay?” Then she looked to Marcus who'd been standing off to the side not interfering. “And what's with you? Weren't you supposed to do something? The man was almost homicidal."

  "I'll do something,” Marcus promised quietly, but Rita whirled away, dismissing his vow as inconsequential.

  And as the rehearsal started back up, Marcus watched Gabriel McGraw, planning exactly what he would do.

  * * * *

  "Look at them. Lovely, aren't they?"

  The two men stood at the two-way glass looking down upon the energetic run through on the stage below while Kaz Zanlos hung back with the investor's three bodyguards. Zanlos preferred to stay out of the way when his partner was pitching a deal as he was tonight. They'd been feeling Mob muscle since taking on the Amazon project, and now they were carving out a niche for themselves so they'd be left alone. A rather specialized niche if he did say so himself.

  "Yes, they are, but Vegas if full of lovely ladies. What's your point?"

  Alex smiled at the mobster's gruff dismissal. “Oh, but they're not just lovely. They're lethal, too."

  Tony Gianbano smirked at that. “Those little cream puffs? Get odda here."

  "You would, perhaps, like a demonstration?"

  Gianbano shrugged. “It's your dime."

  A whisper of movement was all the warning they had. A shriek from one of his bodyguards brought Gianbano around in alarm but it was horror that froze him to the spot. A woman, one of the tall, leggy dancers had his best shooter by the head. Only the man wasn't facing forward any more. She'd twisted his head a clean, quick 180, then dropped him to the floor.

  By then, the other two came out of their shocked immobility. One even managed to get off a couple of shots in the soundproof room. The creature—she no longer looked like a woman, let alone human—took the slugs in the chest, but they had as much effect as a pea shooter. The gun was torn from him, hand and all, and cast across the room. Then she ripped the scream from his throat with the slash of razor-sharp teeth. Gianbano stumbled back as blood geysered up, splattering the glass and his three thousand dollar suit. The other guard grabbed the demon from behind, initiating a choke hold. But suddenly he wasn't standing behind her any more. They were face to face. Her crimson-smeared mouth opened wide to swallow up his cry of terror and just as quickly his life. When he was nothing more than a shell, she let him fall and whirled toward Gianbano. A damp stain spread across the front of his pleated trousers.

  Cross held up a hand. “That will be all, Jeannie."

  And the ghoul transformed before their eyes into a beautiful showgirl who just happened to be showered in gore. She took the handkerchief Zanlos offered and delicately wiped her lips and chin. As she turned away, a glimmer of red glinted in her eyes, just enough to convince the quivering Gianbano that he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

  "Forgive the rather graphic demonstration, but I wanted to make sure you got the full picture,” the elegant hotel owner continued. “We'll take care of the cleanup and your suit, of course."

  Gianbano slid to the floor, whimpering like a baby.

  "Now, to business. We offer a unique service—you might say the disposal of your problems. You send that problem to us, to see the show, that problem is gone without a trace. As you've seen, my girls can overcome any opposition. And who'd suspect any threat from ... a cream puff?” He paused, but Gianbano was still in a gelatinous state of shock. “My associate has taken the liberty of preparing some contracts granting us exclusive disposal rights, if you will. I think you'll find us reasonable. Since I'm sure you've seen enough proof of our capabilities, shall we just get down to the signing?"

  Gianbano reached up shaking hands for the pen and paper. The two men standing over him exchanged thin-lipped smiles, and when they looked down at him, their eyes glowed blood red.

  "What are you people?” the mobster cried.

  Zanlos chuckled. “We're entrepreneurs."

  The rehearsal went as well as could be expected with Rita on the warpath, Jeannie missing and Grace stepping on everyone's feet including her own. Finally, Gabriel had her sit it out, dismissing her complaints of lightheadedness and chills with a sympathetic tolerance.

  The marks were back on her throat, raw and fresh.

  Perhaps if he could spend some time alone with her away from the noise and distraction, he could learn something of who had initiated her and why. But before they were finished for the night, she disappeared, stating she was sick to her stomach. Just as well. He was too on edge to conduct a subtle probe of her subconscious. His concentration waned beneath his concern for Naomi.

  Rita would take care of her, freeing him for his pursuit of Zanlos. Unfortunately, he was almost out of a reason to remain in the hotel. The girls had picked up the martial arts moves with an amazing ease. Already trained in grace, timing and balance, teaching them how to channel control into personal power wasn't like learning a new language but rather how to understand a specific dialect within something they already spoke.

  He'd taught them everything he could without going into a more serious competition mode. They walked through the drills with concise moves and an alluring rhythm. Now they just needed someone to convert that force into dance.

  Without Naomi at the helm, he wondered if it would ever happen.

  Where was she? He wanted to ask Rita, but her cutting glances said she'd just as soon take off his head as answer his questions. Maybe it was better this way, for the break to be quick and clean. And permanent.

  As long as she was safe.

  "That's a wrap, ladies,” Rita called after they completed the workout.

  "When are we going to get costumes?” Molly wanted to know.

  "When do we try it to music?” Candice echoed.

  Rita held up her hands. “You're asking the wrong person. I'll check with Naomi and let you know."

  "Tell her we hope she's better soon,” Marty said for all of them. “There sure is a lot of funky stuff going around.” All the girls nodded, their expressions somber and more than a little anxious.

  Funky stuff, indeed.

  Gabriel packed up his bags and headed for the door. He'd never felt quite so isolated before as the women flocked together on their way to the dressing room. He'd made them into a group independent of him. That had been his job and it was over. Now his real job took precedence. He hadn't been approached by Zanlos since his arrival at the hotel. He'd felt no vibrations, no mental sniffings a
bout, so apparently his cover was intact.

  Or maybe Naomi had already told Zanlos everything.

  Perhaps that was best. All the cards out in the open. Gabriel never shied from a fight. But tonight he was weary in both body and mind. The image of those slender ankles disappearing over the rail wouldn't give him any respite. Maybe he'd stop in to see Rollie and let his friend coax him from his morose mood. He'd been avoiding his friend and felt bad about it. Rolland, the poet, always had some soul-stirring remedy for what they now called the blues.

  He was about to enter the spacious casino when something hard jabbed against his spine. He stopped, not as much alarmed as puzzled.

  "Head for the parking garage, slick. We've got some things to discuss."

  Marcus?

  Curious as to what the big bouncer might want, Gabriel played along. He stepped out into the steamy parking structure. In a few weeks’ time it would be overflowing, but tonight there were just a few workmen's trucks and a line of Dumpsters.

  "What's this all about, Marcus? I step on somebody's toes?"

  "Not just toes, pal, my whole foot, and I'm going to plant it hard."

  "On whose orders?” Had Zanlos ordered him destroyed? Did that mean Marcus knew who ... or rather what he was? If he did, would he think he could hold him captive with a .38 handgun? No, this wasn't about Zanlos. Zanlos wouldn't have sent one of his own in so unprepared. Marcus was going rogue.

  But why?

  Before he could ask, Marcus looped one of the fancy neck chains he always wore about Gabriel's neck and pulled tight. It wasn't the fierce twist of the heavy links that cost him his breath, it was the chain itself.

  Silver.

  The links were silver.

  The metal bit into his skin like acid, the allergen it contained closing off his windpipe as effectively as a garrote about the neck of a human. As he gasped and tried ineffectively to struggle, Marcus maneuvered him easily into the trunk of his Bonneville.

  Once the deck lid was closed and the big car on the move, still there was no relief. The contaminant spread through his system like poison, crippling his body and blurring his mind. Ravaging chills enveloped him. He tried to loosen the chain, but it seared his fingers. And after a few minutes passed, he no longer had the strength to struggle. By the time Marcus dragged him out and let him drop face first into the sand within the glare of the headlights, fever consumed him. Hauling himself up to hands and knees, he surveyed his surroundings. Desert. Miles and forever of it in every direction. And worse, the eastern horizon showed the pinks of approaching dawn.