Part 10 (2/2)
It wouldn't stop a powerful demon, but it would slow and weaken it. It would have to be enough.
He returned to the kitchen, but Skye wasn't there. Panic clutched his heart and he started toward the kitchen door, fearing she'd already walked off the cliff. Someone, or something, wanted her dead. What if he wasn't strong enough to protect her? What if his faith wasn't powerful enough to save her?
He listened, heard running water, followed the sound and found the bathroom door locked.
”Skye?” he called.
”Leave me alone.”
Guilt flooded him. He'd taken advantage of her. He'd known something was wrong, that Skye wasn't completely herself, but he craved her. Their shared kiss earlier in the evening had fueled a flame he'd kept under control for the better part of his adulthood. Her claim on him was greater than he'd realized, and then she lay on top of him and he saw her in all her beauty, her inner goodness, and he wanted her.
His desire had consumed him and he'd allowed it to happen, potentially damaging their already strained relations.h.i.+p. Worse, he'd given in to wants that he should rightfully postpone until the demon returned to h.e.l.l.
He'd let his guard down, a deadly sin in his vocation.
”Are you okay?” he asked through the door.
She didn't answer him, but the water shut off. ”I'll be out in a minute,” she said.
He wandered through Skye's house and saw her life as clearly as if he were a psychic. True crime books on the shelves. Furniture that was clean, but old and worn. Decorations that, while free of dust, seemed to be remnants of another generation. A lone picture of a young Skye with her parents.
A sense of loneliness a.s.saulted him, a sorrow he understood all too well. It was a pain he lived with every day.
”I have to get down to the police station,” Skye said, standing behind him. ”Someone destroyed the journal.”
He turned around, embarra.s.sed to be a.s.sessing her home. She'd put on her uniform and was pulling her damp hair into a ponytail.
”Skye,” he murmured.
She was still wary around him. Embarra.s.sed, perhaps, and he wished he could ease her fear. Tell her how he loved to hold her. Of course he couldn't, she'd push him away. He understood that about her.
He noticed the crucifix he gave her was around her neck. She glanced down, shoved the cross under her s.h.i.+rt.
He needed to reach out. ”Skye, don't feel-”
”Did you do it?”
He didn't understand. ”What?”
”Did you destroy that journal? Break my things?”
Her voice cracked and he saw the strain, uncertainty, and unease in her eyes.
”No,” he said.
”It's all my fault.” She looked both irritated and physically ill. ”It was evidence, and I brought it home, left it in my bedroom. Stupid.” She ran a hand over her face.
”It was two in the morning.”
”I don't care! I broke protocol and now the journal is ruined. Someone shredded it and must have bleached the pages or something while-” Her voice tapered off.
”Skye, something happened to you this morning. Tell me everything.”
”Why?” Her eyes bored into his. ”Did you have something to do with this?”
He quashed feelings of anger and frustration. That he would use s.e.x as a ruse to keep her from her house? ”You know I didn't.”
”I don't know anything right now,” she snapped. Her voice softened, full of anguish. ”I don't jump strange men on the cliff every day of the week.”
Anthony tried not to be hurt by her comment. ”How did you get out on the cliff?”
”Walked,” she said sarcastically. Her defense mechanism.
”You know what I mean.”
Her forehead wrinkled. ”I was tired. I wasn't thinking straight.” She avoided his eyes and crossed over to the coffeepot. It was half full. She picked up a mug from the counter and poured. As the mug touched her lips, Anthony stepped forward and grabbed it from her hand. Hot coffee sloshed over the edges, scalding them both.
”What the-” she exclaimed, jumping back.
Unmindful of the burn, he smelled the coffee, grimaced.
”What?”
”You drank some of this already, didn't you?”
”Yes, I have coffee every morning.”
”Someone poisoned your coffee.”
”That's a crock.”
He shoved the mug under her nose, trying to be patient. ”What do you smell?”
She breathed in deeply, wrinkled her nose. ”It's sort of metallic.”
”I think it's mercury. Deadly in large doses, but on a small scale it's a hallucinogen. My guess is that someone added it to the coffee grounds or water. The bitterness of the coffee would mask the taste.”
”Why didn't I notice it before?” she asked, still skeptical. ”I need to get this to the lab.”
”You were tired. You'd had two hours of sleep. My guess is that something woke you up, but you don't know what. You rose, started the coffee.” He pulled the tray that held the grounds from the coffeemaker. ”Poured a cup.” He looked at her. ”Then what happened, Skye?”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes coated with tears. ”I . . . I started thinking about my parents. I don't know why, it's stupid, really. I told you about my mom leaving for some whacked-out religious cult, and my dad dying eight years later. I've been on my own for a long time, I don't get all sappy about it, but . . .” Her voice trailed off and she wasn't looking at him.
”But it hurts.”
She nodded, probably without realizing she was doing so. She seemed disconnected, and Anthony knew the drug was still having an impact on her.
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