One thing would not change, however—this demon’s lust for blood and its preference for killing women.
Howie laughed again until he wheezed. “Well, we all watch the women, man.”
“Not like him.”
Something quick and intelligent flashed in Howie’s rheumy eyes briefly. Lips tight, he asked, “He the one got that little girl early this morning?”
“That’s him.”
“We know what he looks like?”
“No.” Damn it. The demon could be anyone. It took on and cast off identities with every kill. That’s why there’d been so many different “eye witness” reports on Jack the Ripper. Some had seen an older man, tall. Others swore he was a short man of not more than thirty. Scotland Yard had discounted all of them. Only Kieran had known that every witness was telling the absolute truth.
Idly pushing and pulling his shopping cart, Howie turned a look on the street and frowned when one of the hookers draped herself over the opened window of an SUV. He nodded in her direction. “Girls like Heather there, ought to be warned.”
“You can try,” Kieran muttered, knowing that warnings were never taken seriously. Even those who should know better were always convinced that nothing would happen to them. Hell, he’d done his best to convince Julie Carpenter that she might be in danger and all he’d accomplished was making her scared of him.
Not that he gave a good damn, he assured himself.
Still, thoughts of her brought a buzz to his veins and an ache to his groin. In those few stolen moments, she’d gotten to him. A couple of kisses, a quick grope, and those big green eyes and she’d infiltrated his mind.
“Nah,” Howie was saying now as Heather climbed into the car with her latest customer. “They won’t listen.”
“Probably not.”
“You’re huntin’ this guy?”
“Yeah,” Kieran said softly. “I am.”
“Then you’ll get ’im.”
He would. But in Whitechapel, five women had had to die miserable deaths before Kieran had caught up to the demon. And if it hadn’t enjoyed itself so much with its last victim, Mary Kelly, giving Kieran enough time to track the scent of blood and fear…
“Keep your eyes open for me,” he said abruptly and reached into his pocket for the wad of bills he kept ready. Peeling off a fifty, he handed it over and watched it disappear in a wink into Howie’s coat pocket. “If you see something, contact me.”
“Always do, Mac,” the older man said, already starting down the street, looking for cans and bottles, “always do.”
Kieran watched him go, thinking briefly of all the old soldiers he’d known over the centuries. No matter their circumstance, there was always a core of steel to be counted on. And for this hunt, he would need all the steel he could find.
It felt the Guardian’s frustration. His anger. And it smiled.
A dark, gleeful joy rose up inside it and the demon held it close, savoring the rush of anticipation. The world had changed much in the last century. Though some things remained the same. It lifted its hands and idly studied them. This mortal it inhabited was young. Strong. The man’s soul had been as dark as any it had ever encountered and the demon smiled. It was always so easy to find a willing partner.
Swallowing the mortal’s will was simple enough. And so would learning anew how to become a part of humanity. Mortals had advanced much in the last century, but the hungers were still there. And it would feed on those hungers until the city itself wept for mercy.
The beast would slide into the shadows that reached out for the unwary. Become a part of that darkness. It would learn. And kill. And this time, it would not be stopped.
This time, it would defeat the Guardian sent to cage it once more.
Wondrous, to be matching wits with its enemy again. Satisfying to know it had already outmaneuvered MacIntyre. It had left the party earlier, just long enough to lead the Guardian away from the selected prey.
And while MacIntyre roamed the streets, the demon returned to the bright lights and the pulsing music.
To the woman who would die before sunrise.
Julie sat up all night.
Kieran MacIntyre, rich, gorgeous…crazy wouldn’t leave her mind. Thoughts of him kept stirring up feelings she really didn’t want to examine too closely even while her brain kept trying to warn her off. A gazillionaire recluse who came with his own sword?
Just didn’t make sense. A few months ago, she’d dug into MacIntyre’s life, learning as much about him as she could before beginning her efforts at gaining an interview with him. And nowhere in any of her research had anyone mentioned that the great man himself might just be a real wacko.
“You’d think that would have been worthy of at least a footnote or two,” she muttered, gaze darting around her room—every light she had was on and blazing, chasing off any hint of a shadow. “But apparently not.”
No mention of craziness. She frowned, remembering that in all her research there really hadn’t been much of anything mentioned. No one seemed to know much about the man who lived in a veritable fortress high in the Hollywood Hills. Oh, there was plenty of information about the charities he’d supported over the years. About the endowments he’d made to inner city foundations and women’s shelters.
But there’d been nothing on his background. Who he really was. Where he’d come from. He’d only been in L.A. for ten years, and yet, nowhere was there a note of where he’d been before coming to California.
Why?
Had all previous reporters been too afraid of him to dig too deeply?
Remembering the flash of something dangerous in his icy-blue eyes, Julie could understand that. But at the same time, she had to wonder how Kieran MacIntyre had managed to intimidate all the press. Frowning, she thought of the sword he kept at his side and realized that maybe it wasn’t all intimidation. Maybe he just dispensed with reporters who got too close or weren’t scared enough to back off.
“Oh, that’s a lovely thought,” she mumbled, shaken.
Her eyes felt gritty, her stomach was twisted into knots and her brain hadn’t stopped racing all night. Arms wrapped around her up-drawn knees, she heard Kieran’s voice over and over again in her mind. She saw his eyes, those pale blue depths that seemed to stare right through her. And she tasted his kiss on her lips.
Everything he’d said replayed over and over again in her mind. Fear warred with desire and lost miserably. She had no proof he was dangerous. After all, he hadn’t killed her. And he’d had plenty of time to.
“Great,” she whispered. “Just the quality a woman should look for in a man. ‘Hey, he hasn’t killed me yet.’ Yeah. My hero.”
Outside her room, the night crawled past. The party carried on for hours, music, laughter and shouts subtly invading her room at the back of the house. And despite being irritated by the rumble of sound, she was also grateful for it. At least she didn’t have to be alone in a silent house with nothing but her own crazed thoughts for company. At least she knew there were other people nearby.
And when the party finally ended, she knew that Alicia and Katie were there in the house with her. She wasn’t alone.
Staring blankly while her mind raced, she waited hours for the dawn to streak the sky outside her window. Rocking in place, she watched