newspaper clippings, articles from when they died. I know who he is.'
A shadow fell over her shoulder, eclipsing the light from the war room chamber. Slowly, she turned, coming face-to-face with—
Christian Delacorte stood on the stair landing outside the observation deck. His eyes lined directly with hers, as if he knew exactly where she stood on the other side of the two-way mirror. With only thin glass between them, his stare stole her breath like a thief.
Most women would find him strikingly handsome with his dark green eyes, strong jawline, and full lips. Raw sensuality. His physical size surprised her. Up close, his broad chest, muscular arms, and narrow hips dominated her. With his skin still flush from exertion, it seemed to radiate the same heat to her face, warming her cheeks. On a cold night in Chicago, the man could replace her space heater, hands down.
Yet a glacial hardness to his eyes shot chills down her spine—an electrifying sensation that closely resembled desire, in her book. The word 'intimidating' came to mind. Dangerous. Yet it was more than that. His masculinity commanded her senses in every way. No doubt, this man could push all her buttons—even ones not in the instruction manual. But he wasn't a man to trifle with.
Nearly dropping the phone, she cleared her throat and finished her call. 'That's good, Father. We'll be right over.' Fumbling with her phone to disconnect the call, she couldn't take her eyes from Delacorte. His glare never wavered.
She whispered, 'Can he see me, Tony? How the hell can he see me?'
''Cause he ain't human, that's why I think I seen this on
Fiona Dunhill touched Christian on the arm in an apparent effort to stop him from playing his intimidation game. But before Cruella De Vil and Count Dracula joined her and Tony, Raven let her partner know what was going on.
'We've got a stop to make before we head back to the station house, Tony. Our priest may be a witness after all.'
Fiona stepped into the observation room before him. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Christian squinted, searching the room for—
'Detective Raven Mackenzie.' A woman with dark hair stepped forward, extending her hand. Her dark eyes never flinched, even when he returned a glare. She spoke again, 'And this is my partner, Detective Tony Rodriguez.'
With only a brief glance down to her hand, he ignored the gesture and walked by her, totally neglecting the other man. He winced at the pain of a burgeoning headache. Today would be bad. He pressed a finger to his temple, hiding his discomfort.
'Sorry. I need to wash up.' He knew that sounded lame, but he didn't give a damn.
His sweat gave him a pathetic excuse not to be more civil. Normally, he wouldn't care what they thought, but Fiona might. It was the best he could do with the war still raging in his head. His war games took a toll every time he indulged in them. But they were a compulsion he couldn't ignore. They had been his salvation—and his curse.
'Yeah, well—' The woman pointed a finger at him. 'Nice meeting you, too.'
Fiona broke the tension in the room. 'Christian agreed to work with you. As we discussed, he's to be part of your investigative team, with all privileges. That's the only way you'll get my full cooperation. Do we have an understanding? Or shall I call Chief Markham and have him settle this?'
Christian turned back and eyed the female detective. He let his gaze take liberties. The rude behavior had been intended to intimidate the cop. But once he got started, the maneuver backfired. He liked what he saw.
Her shapely legs and the hint of an athletic build under her suit only conjured up distracting images of the bare skin underneath. And her jacket did little to disguise her full breasts. When she caught him staring, the woman crossed her arms and returned the gesture. He cocked an eyebrow.
Her piercing eyes nailed him, strafing his body with greedy interest. And apparently, she had no intention of backing down. She refused to be intimidated.
Her partner's voice interrupted their restrained skirmish.
'No, no need for that, Mrs. Dunhill. I think we understand one another.' Detective Rodriguez stepped forward, placing himself in front of Raven to break the growing tension. Directing his next question, the detective sent a clear message for him to back off. 'I'd say our next step is to set up a game plan. If you're free later this afternoon, say around three, I'd like to have you come to Central Station on South State Street to catch up on what we have so far. Does that work for you, Chris?'
With his deliberate and pointed use of the familiar nickname, Detective Rodriguez got the desired results. Slowly shifting his eyes, Christian refocused his attention toward the man. 'The name's Delacorte. And if you'll give me some time to freshen up, I can come with you now.'
Abruptly, the female detective interceded, 'No, that won't be necessary. And like you said earlier, you need to wash up. An excellent idea.' Her dark eyes full of attitude, she tilted her head. 'Take your time. We have an errand to run. Three will be soon enough.'
He ignored the obvious bum's rush she gave him, curious about the woman. But dark memories had already started to rise to the surface of his consciousness—a white noise that would escalate. He didn't have much time before the onslaught began.
'Raven. That's an unusual name.'
'If you ask Tony here, he thinks it's because I come from a long line of Raven lunatics.'
'I can see the family resemblance.' He hurled the first volley across her bow, but didn't stick around to see the indignation he knew would be in her eyes. 'See you at three.'
Christian had to get out, unable to wait any longer. Leaving Fiona to deal with them, he stepped through the door into the second-floor hallway. His footsteps echoed in the corridor, then down the staircase. He headed for his quarters, a small cottage near the pool that had been closed for the season. All the while, his mind was adrift in the past. With war games fresh in his memory, the images blurred with his childhood terror, as they always did.
The flashes of memory came—wave after wave. Fiona's request must have instigated the intensity of his reaction. But he couldn't stop it. The violent images intruded on everything. Even in broad daylight, their assault clouded the familiar sight of his cottage.
Unending darkness escalated into suffocating fear. Torturous screams stabbed his memory, only drowned out by incessant gunfire and a painful ringing in his ears. And the feeling of being completely defenseless unleashed debilitating despair.
Catching sight of the cottage, he quickened his steps and distracted himself with a recollection. As a boy, he'd been terrified of the dark after that night, when his life had been changed forever. But now, he found an odd sense of relief with the anonymity of it. It took him years to cultivate the feeling. But in doing so, he'd paid a price —isolating himself in his obsession.
Closing his front door behind him, he shut his eyes and slowed his breathing. Clammy skin scurried chills across his chest. His demons were never far from the surface.
'God, Fiona. This time, you've asked too much.'
Gray slush glistened on the road, plastering Raven's wheel wells with melted snow, dirt, and salt. The sun fought a losing battle, eventually covered by the onslaught of dingy clouds. When she drove by the chapel, Raven caught sight of the yellow police tape whipping in the breeze. In the stark daylight, it served as a cruel reminder of what had taken place only last night. Children played on the sidewalk, yards from the barrier. The murder investigation, coupled with the renovations to the cathedral, left this neighborhood without its shining spiritual
