The Light Walker Read online

  Newly-minted detective Jace Carroll’s innocuous first case plunges her into a world of shifting realities. At the center of the tangled knot is the mesmerizing and mysterious billionaire Dante Sabanne, a recluse whose proficiency with ancient poisons, mystical lore and exotic sexual practices makes him by turns a crucial expert witness, a devastating lover…and possibly the man behind a cult whose profane rituals have turned from depraved to deadly.

  Dante is the last of the Light Walkers, guardian of a magical amulet with healing powers—but that amulet has been stolen, and Dante’s powers are fading. As he seeks to fight the evil intent on perverting the amulet’s powers, Fate plays a cruel joke: the beautiful detective—who only believes in logic and the tangible—is his Prism, able to separate Light and help him walk the path back to his birthright.

  The powerful attraction between them complicates everything, as the Jace who thought she knew exactly who she was and what she wanted becomes both pawn and queen in a battle between the dark and the light. Innocents will die if she makes the wrong choice between the evidence before her eyes and the yearnings of a heart she is no longer sure she can trust.

  The Light Walker

  Jean Brashear

  Copyright © 2011 Jean Brashear

  EPUB Edition

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About The Light Walker

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Texas Refuge

  About the Author

  Connect With Jean

  Prologue

  The mage lay on the earthen floor inside the circle he’d warded with runes, clad in a simple woven robe embroidered with spells of focus, of strength, of protection for his physical shell as his essence cast outward.

  One last time, he sought the Light. The Song that would lead him to the Soul Star which animated the amulet he’d once sworn to protect.

  The Eye of the Magos, gone twenty years now.

  He was the last of the Light Walkers, a people descended from the star voyagers and older than the Romany they favored.

  But his skills had faded with his faith. He could still see the starbursts, but he could no longer separate them into the ribbons, the hues he had once Walked as his father had done before him. As he’d done so easily in his youth.

  Before. When he’d believed in the legend.

  The Eye of the Magos heals when honor defeats hate, when love vanquishes lies

  Love breeds Light

  Light grants Power

  Only in Darkness does the Eye lose the True Path

  Before he’d lost his only love, watched her die as he stood helpless.

  Before his birthright had been stolen, and his heart had grown colder with each passing year, his powers diminished.

  His father had told him of the existence of a Prism able to separate Light into its colors, that could, in times of great need, show the Protector the path of the Song that would lead to the Soul Star. He’d searched the world over for the object, investigated every belief system, every religion, every rite, however obscure, hoping that somehow one would lead him to the Soul Star and onward to the stolen amulet.

  Here in these high desert mountains, studying the Ancient Ones, was his last stop…and he’d found nothing.

  You will be a powerful mage, possibly the most powerful of all, his father had told him.

  You were wrong, Papa. I have failed all the generations before me, father to son back in time to the first of our people. The grief he’d thought to be done with, once more assailed him.

  One more time, he would try, but this would be his last. Slowly he slipped from this world into the Other Sky as he slowed his breathing, as he began to chant in a tongue few would recognize. He floated, searching even as faint hope waned…aimless, every direction the same to a man gone blind, rendered deaf…

  The world cracked.

  Abruptly he plummeted. Spiny, poisoned tentacles slithered around him. Stung him until his skin burned. Grime and filth swirled through the opening, covering him, drowning him…

  Gasping, he awoke on the hard-packed earth, the hem of his robe stained, his feet smeared with unspeakable filth.

  And in the dark recesses of his lost soul, the Eye of the Magos screamed.

  The amulet was found, and Evil had claimed it.

  The mage shuddered, but inside him, hope was born. At least he knew that the amulet still existed.

  He was its only Protector. There was no time to waste.

  Chapter One

  Crisp morning rays sliced through Santa Fe’s high desert air, painting the alley just off the Plaza with clean lines of light and shadow. Above them, the crystalline blue bowl of sky was streaked by wispy cotton clouds. Against a backdrop of golden adobe walls, deep in the cool shade that would vanish by midday, newly-minted Detective Jace Carroll stood over the body of Sam Sunshine.

  She jittered like a racehorse, poised just before the gate opened.

  Not that she didn’t feel a little shame cast a pall over the thrill of being there. Sam was a grizzled old drug addict who’d been a fixture on the Plaza, panhandling with a funny, harmless grace for as long as she could remember. Jace had liked him—everyone did. He was a piece of an older Santa Fe being lost to the influx of money and bored socialites searching for a new playground.

  The crime scene techs kept working, oblivious to anything but measurements that needed taking, photos to be shot.

  Earl Ramsey, the veteran detective who’d let Jace accompany him on this first case, stood beside her, hands shoved into his pants pockets, head lowered and voice soft. “I could never reach him.”

  She glanced up in surprise. “You knew him?”

  Earl, a shambling big bear of a man, shrugged. “I was a young cop; he was a flower child. I’d never seen anything like them. They lived in teepees just outside of town. New Buffalo Clan, they called themselves.”

  His gaze peered into the past. “Sam tried to convince me to change my way of thinking. Make a new world.” The creases around his eyes deepened. “I couldn’t see what needed changing. I married Martha, and life went on.” Voice heavy, he continued. “For Sam, life stayed suspended somewhere in that haze.”

  “He never harmed anyone that I heard.”

  “Sam reserved all his harm for himself. He couldn’t come to terms with the world as it existed, always wanted some new excitement, some cause to pursue.” He stared at his friend’s body. “In between times, he killed the pain of reality with whatever was handy.”

  Jace winced. He could be describing her younger brother Jimmy. “Think that’s what happened here?”

  “Probably. No sign of a struggle, no visible body trauma.”

  “We’ll know after the autopsy.”

  The older man gazed into the distance. “His body’s been abused enough just by living. Doesn’t seem fair to subject it to more.” Earl’s jaw hardened. “But the law’s the law.”

  “I’m sorry, Earl.”

  He shrugged. “It’s part of the job.” He looked over at her. “You really want this gig? Violent Crimes?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” she echoed.

  “It’s a simple question, Jace. You’re going to figure out others’ motives—how about your own? Why are you so all fired-up to get a piece of the action?”

  “I—” Jace had never tried to put it into words. She wanted to be there at the core of it, the dark heart of evil. To take it into her fist and feel it, taste it, smell it. Then maybe she’d comprehend a lot of things that had baffled her for years—why her mother drank, then slapped or ignored her children, why the only good part of her life had died with her father. Why at twelve, she’d had to fight so hard to keep body and soul together for the family left behind.

  “To make sense of death, I guess. Balance the scales.”

  “Justice is a pipe dream, kid, and most deaths are pointless.”

  She didn’t know how to respond.

  “Forget me.” He waved her off. “I’m old and jaded—been at this longer than you’ve been alive.” He nodded at the gathering crowd. “But we need eager beavers. You can help me canvass the area.”

  Action. Her pulse sped. She turned toward the nearest knot of people.

  “Jace?”

/>   She halted. “Yes?”

  “Don’t give up on making sense of it. Sometimes that’s all that holds the darkness at bay.”

  Jace nodded, elated that he was giving her a chance, no matter how insignificant the case, to work with him. She’d been itching to move into the Violent Crimes section, and she’d take anything she could get, any means to show Captain Gonzales that she was up to the job.

  Her dad had been a cop, a good one. She’d nurtured the dream for years of being one, too, though the need to care for Jimmy had delayed her. She’d always had to work hard for what she got, be patient and cunning, look for her chance.

  She’d make the most of this one.

  “Unnh…” The figure on the cot groaned and struggled to rise.

  “Don’t sit up too fast.” The Keeper of the Chalice held out a cup of water to the man cradling his head in his hands.

  “What—what happened? Where am I?”

  “Drink this.” The man guzzled the water. “Take it easy. Your stomach might rebel.”

  Too late. The man fell to his knees, retching helplessly.

  The Keeper’s hands fluttered, then clenched. Casting a glance toward the rusty sink, the Keeper picked up the dingy cloth hanging on the edge and dampened it, then returned to the figure now sunk back against the cot, eyes squeezed shut in agony.

  The Keeper proffered the cloth with unsteady fingers. “Take this and clean yourself.”

  The man opened his lids a slit. Suddenly they widened. “You.” His eyes darted from side to side as if trying to understand where he was. “Wha—I don’t remem—” He clambered to his feet. “Sam—where is he?” Unsteady legs buckled.

  The Keeper studied him, waiting to see what he remembered.

  The voice hoarsened. “Where’s Sam?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Long moments passed. “No,” he whispered. “We were—” He shook his head as if trying to jolt his thoughts back into place. “The Magos…” His voice trailed off as his frown intensified. “We’d ended our fast. Sam was ready for the Priestess, for the Sacred Waters—” Anxious eyes rose. “I want to see Sam. He’s my friend. He might need help.”

  “Sam’s dead, and you were the only one there. Tell me what you did to him.”

  With a cry of anguish, the figure collapsed to the floor.

  Back at the station, Jace strode through the squad room, headed for her desk to type up her notes.

  “Rough night, Justine?”

  He knew better than to use the fancy name given her at birth. The nickname Jace symbolized her new life, her freedom from the past, but Detective Emilio Cardozo was no fan of hers ever since he and she had had a run-in when she was on patrol and had caught him making a lazy mistake. His presence was the only downside to being on Violent Crimes. “Maybe you look so tired because you need something to help you sleep, Blondie.” He leaned closer. “Or someone.”

  Jace’s comeback was on her lips when Earl caught her eye and shook his head. He was right; hazing rituals had to be endured. She’d put the jerk on the spot, instead. “What’s new on that rape case?”

  Cardozo snorted. “We don’t even know we’ve got a rape on our hands. Girl waits a month, then reports it? No evidence, she can’t remember nothin’, she expects it to stick when she can’t even give us a clue so simple as where she was?”

  “But what about that other girl, a few months ago? She couldn’t remember, either. We could have a serial rapist.”

  “What I got—” His emphasis made it clear she was excluded “—is some girls looking to get laid, playing with fire and somebody slips ’em a rophie or something. Or maybe they just had too much fun and feel bad, but they waited too long to come in. No chance to trace rohypnol in the blood now.”

  God, he pissed her off. “That’s what you like, isn’t it? Easy explanations so you don’t have to work too hard.”

  Cardozo took a step forward, forearms bulging, fists clenched. Barely taller than Jace, he was all muscle.

  Including his head.

  “Jace.” Earl called out a low warning before turning to answer the phone on his desk.

  She subsided reluctantly. Damn it, you shouldn’t be a cop if you weren’t going to do it right. Remembering her father’s pride in his uniform, how tall and straight he’d stood, his stern insistence that a cop’s integrity was everything, Jace burned at the injustice. Her father was long dead at the hands of a cheap thug, and Cardozo stood here, the antithesis of everything her dad had believed in and died to protect.

  “You watch yourself, Blondie.”

  “Cardozo, get back to work,” Earl ordered.

  Jace was about to tell Earl she could take care of herself, but Earl had already picked up the phone. Motion in the doorway caught her eye. She looked up into the vivid blue eyes of Assistant D.A. Gabriel McMullen, the impact of his gaze palpable across the crowded, noisy room. After a quick, solemn nod, the prosecutor broke the connection and spoke to Cardozo. Studiously avoiding any evidence that she’d even noticed him, Jace ducked into the hallway, then veered into the alcove where the drink machines were located.

  A young woman barreled right into her. “I’m sorry—” The woman, in her late teens, maybe early twenties, juggled the soft drink she’d just opened. The can bounced, then rolled across the floor, spewing sticky fluid over their feet.

  Hunched over, shoulders shaking, the young woman gazed helplessly at the mess around them.

  Jace squatted beside her and righted the can. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Her voice caught on a sob.

  “Hey, everything I own is washable. No sweat.” Jeans and boots were tough to destroy. Jace hailed a passing secretary. “Colleen, would you please call the janitor up here?” Drawing the young woman to her feet, Jace put an arm around her. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Once inside the ladies’ room, Jace dampened paper towels and handed them to the young woman. “I’m Detective Carroll.”

  “Detective?” The young woman looked more stricken than ever.

  “That a problem?” She didn’t seem the criminal type, but appearances seldom counted for much. Jace had arrested angelic-looking grandmothers. With a smile aimed at disarming, she busied herself cleaning the sticky liquid off her boots. “I didn’t get your name.”

  Fresh tears spurted from the young woman’s swollen eyes. To save her embarrassment, Jace faced her own pale green eyes in the mirror and ran her fingers through the short cap of blond hair that might as well have had a mixer run through it.

  “Valerie. Valerie Turner.”

  Bingo. The second rape victim. Easy to see why she was upset.

  “You know, don’t you?” Valerie Turner asked. “Who I am.”

  Her poker face must be slipping. Jace shrugged. “I’ve heard a little about the case.”

  “Detective Cardozo doesn’t believe me.”

  “Should he?”

  Fire sparked in the girl’s eyes. “I’m not lying.”

  “Why did you wait so long to report it?”

  “I wasn’t sure what to do. I—I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  “Where?” Cardozo had said that she couldn’t remember anything after accepting a drink in the bar.

  “The Club,” she whispered.

  “What club?”

  “Never mind.” Fear darted through Valerie’s gaze.

  She was halfway to the door before Jace stopped her. “What club?”

  Valerie stepped back, drying her hands. “Listen, it’s not your problem. I—I’m sorry about the mess.”

  “We can’t help you if you don’t come clean. Are you under age, is that it?”

  “No,” Valerie shook her head. “I’m twenty-one.”

  “Then it doesn’t hurt anything for you to tell us what bar.”

  “Not a bar,” Valerie whispered. “The Club.” The door swished, and she was gone.

  Jace charged out into the hall after her. They’d been hearing rumors about a roving nightclub, but no one had a good lead yet. “Valerie, wait!”

  Not even a glimpse of the girl remained.

  A smooth baritone voice intervened. “I wasn’t aware you’d been assigned to the rape case, Detective.”