The Watchers Page 2

  And of course the media people had begun circling like a flock of vultures that’d caught the scent of blood, adding to the noise and general chaos.

  “Lieutenant Dominic DiCarlo. Me and my team were sent to help. We got any idea how many people might be down there, chief?” he asked the fire and rescue marshal as soon as he reached him and gained his attention.

  “Possibly as many as twenty,” Marshal Thompson responded.

  Surprise flickered through Dominic and he responded before he’d thought it through. “Only twenty?”

  “That ain’t bad enough?” one of the other rescuers growled, having sized up the SEAL team and apparently decided they’d come to grab the ‘glory’.

  Anger flickered through Dominic. “It’s a four story building—minimum of forty units, I’m thinking. You’re sure there aren’t more people down there?”

  “Forty Eight—each. Three units down there. Luckily, this was new construction—not completely finished, in point of fact. According to the owner they hadn’t leased but about half of the units and, of those, only a handful of tenants had moved in. So, they’re thinking a maximum of two dozen people could be down there.”

  “Think … not know? Unless somebody was entertaining guests—or more tenants had moved in than he knew about,” Dominic pointed out. “Well, let’s get to it, then. I’ll go in first, have a look around. If it looks doable, me and my team will set up a grid search ….”

  “Nobody’s going down there until we’ve had time to assess the risks! We’re waiting on the engineers.”

  Dominic gaped at the man in outrage. “There’s people down there that need help, man! And I’m guessing they might not be able to wait.”

  “Maybe. We don’t know if there are any survivors. And it ain’t going to help to add search and rescue workers to the list of fatalities! We don’t want another 9/11 here!”

  “And if there are, they won’t be survivors long ….”

  A man shoved his way into the group. “One of our people is down there.”

  The group of men stared blankly at the newcomer. “Who’s ‘our’?” the fire marshal demanded.

  “FSGD--State … geological division. Dr. Claire Collins. Any chance she survived?” he asked.

  “We don’t know if anybody survived … yet. I was about to go down,” Dominic responded.

  “Like hell!” Marshal Thompson growled. “I already told you we’re trying to assess the risk. This is my jurisdiction ….”

  “So I’ll go down and assess the fucking risk!” Dominic barked at him. “That’s what I’m here for! That’s what I’m trained for!”

  “I think we need to get a handle on crowd control,” the newcomer muttered. “If the ground is unstable we’re liable to have a much larger disaster on our hands.”

  “To say nothing of the fact that we can’t hear ourselves think over the noise let alone anybody that’s injured and trying to call out for help!” Dominic agreed.

  It was a lucky break to Dominic’s mind. The state man redirected the fire marshal’s attention and while they were focused on rounding up enough personnel to push the civilians back, he and his men headed over to the hole to assess the situation.

  “Looks like that spot over there is going to be our best bet, Lieutenant,” Jones said, pointing.

  Dominic felt his belly clench as he studied the black mouth yawning like some kind of giant monster maw. Most of the debris had slid down from the side where they were standing, though, creating a small, slope sided underground mountain … that was like a mine field. “Yeah. Jones, you and Diaz go find something to tie on to that seems likely to stay put.

  Jones and Diaz exchanged a look. Several buildings were lying in a heap at their feet. It was anybody’s guess what, if anything, would follow them down. How were they supposed to figure out what would make a safe anchor?

  Dominic had no trouble interpreting the look. He’d considered the dilemma himself. “Use that fire engine over there. Hopefully it won’t end up on top of me,” he muttered as they headed off to secure lines to lower him down.

  They bluffed their way through the interference they ran into along the way and inside of fifteen minutes after he’d landed, Dominic was dangling at the end of a safety line over a hole that looked like the Grand Canyon. The sun had risen in the meantime and a wedge of light was inching its way downward over the mountain of debris, but the bottom could have been a thousand miles down. It was pitch black. As soon as he’d been lowered enough that the racquet created by the crowd at ground level began to fade, he began to shout, identifying himself as a rescuer and hoping he would get a response from at least a few of the people known to be trapped in the debris.

  To his relief, he heard someone—actually several—almost immediately.

  Extracting survivors was rather like the old game of pickup sticks. You had to extract each survivor with exquisite care not to disturb the pile or it would shift and make it impossible to extract other survivors. The first task, though, was to locate as many as possible and see to their immediate needs—primarily water to keep them from dehydrating and/or forced air from air hoses if they were having trouble breathing—while they figured out how to pull them out of the wreckage intact.

  It was near noon—about six hours after the collapse—when Dominic finally made it down to the level where Claire was trapped. They’d already pulled a half a dozen bodies and eight survivors in pretty bad shape from the rubble. They hadn’t heard any sounds from anyone in the rubble pile for a good hour and were beginning to think they’d found all the survivors they were going to find. He didn’t think he would’ve found her then except she was babbling a little incoherently.

  Chapter Two

  Dante supposed he should have expected the humans would waste no time discovering exactly what the overlords had determined they must be prevented from finding, but it had been a very long time since he had dealt with the children of man. They had grown more precocious it seemed to him.

  They had become far more sophisticated than he had anticipated when he had first been awakened—a strong indication, if he’d needed more proof, that a very great deal of time had passed since he was imprisoned.

  They were certainly faster at zeroing in on the forbidden, he thought wryly.

  He should not have been surprised. They were human, after all, and still possessed of the very traits that had landed them where they were so long ago and under the guardianship of the angels for eternity—or until they self-destructed or became too unruly and too powerful once more to be contained ….

  But he was surprised because he had expected them to think and behave as he remembered and the children of that long ago time had been more malleable and far more susceptible to suggestion. He had only to enter their minds to manipulate them.

  They were vastly different now—their minds never truly at rest and therefore mostly unresponsive.

  And he was deeply concerned.

  His stomach churned with dread and resentment as he watched them busily brushing and scraping away at the rock-hard accumulation of thousands of years of sediment.

  He resented both them and the overlords for putting him in a position he despised and forcing him to act in a way that was contrary to his own desires, beliefs, and inclinations. And he felt dread because he could see no way to prevent the inevitable backlash.

  He was very much afraid that some would have to be sacrificed in order to save the many and that had never been acceptable to him as an alternative to destroying them all.

  Because he didn’t see them as one. He saw them as individuals and while there were always a good many that he thought did not particularly enhance the species and that the breed could only be improved by removing them from the gene pool, there were many—far more to his mind—who would be a great and terrible loss, not just to humanity, but to the universe as a whole.

  Claire, for instance. She had a beautiful mind and soul.

  He had wanted her from the moment he ha
d touched her mind and had been struggling ever since to keep his distance to prevent that desire from growing.

  With indifferent success.

  It was dangerous—for both of them—but more so for Claire.

  On the other hand, it seemed the time in stasis had been beneficial in one respect. He was finding it far easier to guard himself from the eavesdropping of the overlords. He was certain they’d noticed he was distracted from the task at hand. They just hadn’t figured out why … yet.

  Or they’d decided that he was still grieving over the loss of Nahla and had dismissed it.

  But he was afraid that wouldn’t last. He’d managed to refrain from seeking her out—so far—but he had also spent a great deal of time trying to come up with a reason why it was necessary to seek her out and struggling with his inner demons.

  He needed to keep his distance—for her sake.

  Not that giving in didn’t carry the potential of being disastrous for him, as well, but he’d long since ceased to worry about any punishments the gods might deal out in favor of indulging his desires. A lifetime was far too long to spend alone for a being who hailed from a species that usually mated for life. If he had not fallen … if his mate had not been killed, he would have a family amongst his own species—a mate to give him comfort and ease his loneliness and a child to nurture. He would never have known what it was like to love a human and to lose both her and the family he had made with her.

  He would not know what it was like to feel this gnawing hunger of loneliness that could not be filled—because he was not allowed to fill it.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the potential danger for Claire.

  Unfortunately, the war inside was liable to be a very short one if he managed to convince himself he could do as he pleased and prevent the overlords from discovering it and he was already well on his way to developing that conviction.

  The only thing preventing him from being totally convinced was the fact that the only evidence he had that he was successfully blocking the overlords from knowing his thoughts was the lack of response from them regarding his reluctance to do what he’d been ordered to do.

  And the dirty bastards had allowed him to hang himself before by ‘ignoring’ provocation and waiting to strike when he’d dug a very deep grave for himself.

  He did not want to spend another ten thousand years or more in stasis when he’d just been released. Death would be better.

  That was why it wasn’t offered to any of the fallen.

  * * * *

  “Hello, gorgeous!”

  Claire had been drowsing. Her eyes popped open when she heard the deep, masculine voice she’d come to recognize as belonging to Lt. Dominic ‘Nick’ DiCarlo, a mixture of pleasure and a vague sense of discomfort invading her at the same time. The greeting was typical of the rather flamboyant, amazingly charming flirt!

  Dominic chuckled. “Yeah, you knew I was talking to you. You know you’re beautiful!”

  The trace of discomfort rose and with it hectic color in Claire’s cheeks. How was she supposed to respond to that without sounding both ungracious and egotistical, she wondered irritably? He knew he’d put her on the spot. She could tell by the gleam of unholy amusement in his eyes. “You ass,” she responded testily but without much heat. “I’ll bet your sisters enjoyed tormenting you when y’all were growing up.”

  He shrugged unrepentantly. “Don’t have any sisters.”

  She knew that. He was a talkative man and he’d spent quite a bit of time entertaining her with his hair-raising—probably heavily embellished—and often unbelievable stories over the past several days. “Ah! I wondered if you’d learned to be an asshole or if it came naturally ….”

  “Oh, it just comes natural,” he responded, completely undaunted by her comment as he leaned over the hospital bed and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I was going to say ‘how’s my girl today?’ but I see you’re in fine form. Ready to get out of this joint?”

  Claire plucked at the sheets, ignoring the flirtatious comments, which she’d already learned were simply part of who he was and not to be taken too seriously. “I was ready for that five minutes after I got here.”

  “Well, today’s your lucky day! I’ve come to let you know they’re booting you out …. Uh, releasing you.”

  Claire sucked in a thrilled breath, hardly daring to believe they were finally going to let her go. “Seriously?”

  “I’m rarely serious.”

  Her smile wavered. “This, I already figured out, you big flirt, you!”

  “Moi?” he asked, pretending to be shocked as he pointed to his chest.

  Claire shook her head at him. He was a hopeless flirt—just about the most charming rogue she’d ever had the good fortune to run across, or maybe misfortune. Only time would tell. But she was pretty sure he also had a heart of gold, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen—to say nothing about the gorgeous, well-honed bod!

  Taken one at the time, she didn’t suppose any of his features were particularly remarkable. They were more harsh, angular and masculine than pretty or especially well made. There was even a slight crook in the bridge of his nose, as if it had been broken at some point. But, taken together, he had a very appealing face—well above average.

  Unbidden, the vision or dream or whatever it was that she’d had when she was trapped in the sinkhole rose in her mind to contradict that assessment—that he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen—but she didn’t suppose that counted since she’d been hallucinating.

  She dismissed the errant thought.

  She didn’t know what she’d seen down there and it wasn’t likely she was ever going to find out either.

  Thankfully, she discovered Dominic was totally serious about check out. The doctor made his rounds a short while later and gave her a go ahead. It still took nearly two hours to wade through all the hospital red tape, pack up her gifts from well wishers, and take that last wheelchair ride to the exit.

  Despite her pique that it had taken so long, she was well aware of just how lucky she’d been as she headed out with Dominic at last. She’d not only survived when a number of people had lost their lives, she was pretty much intact. She’d had a mild concussion and a wealth of bruises and small lacerations—lost a good bit of blood and been dehydrated by the time she’d been pulled out—but nothing extremely life threatening. She hadn’t been in critical care even briefly.

  There were other survivors that hadn’t been nearly as lucky.

  Unwilling to dwell on such dark thoughts, she focused on being outside for the first time in almost a week when Dominic left her at the curb with the nurse and went to get his car, taking in her surroundings with a rare appreciation for things she’d always taken for granted.

  Then she saw him, approaching from the direction of the small, wooded park that adjoined the hospital grounds.

  She didn’t know what it was about him that caught her attention and held it, but she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away once she’d spotted him.

  Well, she did know. There was something about the way he was built and the way he moved as he strode confidently toward her that excited her libido, something about the way the body beneath filled out the suit he wore, indicating a tall, leanly muscular frame and very appealing proportions.

  The suit he was wearing was totally black, which was enough in itself to make him stand out—totally black except for the starkly white collar against his swarthy throat.

  Despite her fascination with him, in spite of the fact that she knew she was staring rudely and he could hardly fail to notice, she was still startled when he walked directly up to her—almost as if he knew her.

  Stopping beside the wheelchair where she sat waiting for Dominic to return for her, he crouched in front of her and took one of her hands in both of his, smiling at her in a way that made her belly shimmy.

  Or maybe it was the fact that she was pretty sure she’d never seen s
uch a beautiful man—up close or otherwise? Every feature seemed perfectly formed—almost too perfect and more symmetrical than seemed completely natural—but certainly pleasing, so much so that she couldn’t decide whether she thought his sapphire blue eyes, surrounded by thick, curling black lashes were his best feature or his straight, aquiline nose or his beautifully molded lips.

  His dark, curling hair was tipped with gold—either sun bleached or salon, although there was something about him that suggested he wasn’t particularly prone to primping and that it must be natural. Maybe the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw when it wasn’t yet lunch?

  “Claire. It’s good to see you up and about. I’d thought to stop in for a visit—to see if you felt like you wanted to talk about your … experience. They’re releasing you?”

  Her heart revved upwards several notches at his touch as he, seemingly absently, lightly massaged the fingers of the hand he held and Claire could feel her face heating with a combination of discomfort and something she certainly should not be feeling for the man! “I’m sorry …. Father …? Do I know you?”

  He chuckled—a rich, deep sound of amusement that made her kegels clap. Down girls! Discomfited, Claire squeezed her legs together.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Father Dante Moreno.”

  Absently, trying to focus on anything except his affect on her, Claire turned that bit of information over in her mind. The name sounded Italian. She supposed that explained the strange accent he had.

  He didn’t look Italian, though, definitely foreign, but he didn’t have the olive complexion common among Italians.

  But then she was pretty sure the Vatican was in Italy, so ….

  She frowned, chasing an errant memory for a few moments before she gave up on it. Why was he behaving as if he knew her when she couldn’t recall ever having met him? “You look familiar, but I don’t …. I can’t quite ….”