Khan smiled. “I am in no danger. For the most part”—you being the exception—“I’ve been left alone. May I ask why you ventured into such a dangerous area?”
“Insanity.” She fidgeted in place, worrying the frayed neckline of her shirt. “You didn’t happen to see my coat or bag outside, did you?”
He had, and he’d put them aside. “No.”
“Well, can I use your phone?” She looked around again, as if searching for it.
She’d chosen reality, and now he had to produce it. Khan reached for Shadow and mentally exhaled, and the object materialized in his palm. He lifted the phone, as if from a pocket, and held it out, saying, “Really, why are you here?” He needed her to acknowledge some small part of their connection, the pull that had drawn her to him.
She took the phone, concentrating on its face. “Wraiths. I’m doing a story on them.”
“I don’t understand.” The gate hadn’t called her?
“I’m a journalist. I got a lead that the source of the wraiths might be here, so I decided to check it out.” She hit the buttons with growing frustration. “How do you power this thing on?”
Wraiths. The cursed empty husks of used-to-be people. They plagued his daughter and her family but would not venture near Death. They’d given their souls for immortality, but he could still cast them out of the world. This warehouse was likely the safest structure on Earth from wraiths.
“I think it’s dead,” she concluded. Of course it was; the phone was a good facsimile, but he could not simulate the energy it required, nor the signals she needed it to send. “Do you have a landline?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” If indeed she came for information on the wraiths, another great power had to have directed her his way. Because he could not believe, not for a moment, that she was here by chance. Not his Kathleen.
“Well, is there a pay phone nearby? Without my keys, I’ll need to call a locksmith or tow truck for my car.”
“What car?” The source that had brought her here had to be a formidable power, the same that had cut her lifeline, even as she was delivered, once again, to him. Moira.
Layla half turned toward the door. “It’s just up the block.”
He gave a little shake of his head. The vehicle was there, but his Shadow concealed it.
“Oh no,” she said, whirling to the door and out to the sidewalk, staring down its length. Her hands went into her hair, disbelief and anger radiating out of her. “Stole my piece-of-crap car. My camera was in there. Damn it!”
Fate was meddling in Kathleen’s life again. And thus their story would begin anew: Kathleen, no, Layla, on the brink of death, and he, powerless to stop it. But this time, Layla had no idea who or what he was.
“I think I can help,” Khan said. This Layla was a resourceful woman. Sooner or later, she would find a way out of her predicament. Probably sooner.
“Not if you don’t have a phone, you can’t.” Her smile was at odds with the irritation that sparked around her.
“I meant the wraiths,” he clarified. If information would hold her here, so be it. “I know who made them, and why.”
Layla took a few steps back inside the warehouse. “Excuse me?”
Her gut told her that Khan was just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. He’d have to offer something solid before she’d believe a word he said. Something was off about him, about the room, about her memory. She didn’t always trust her senses, which occasionally produced some odd spectacles, especially lately, but her instincts were usually dead-on.
Khan stripped off his slim-fitting black leather jacket and tossed it across a fat chair. The long-sleeve gray shirt beneath was molded to his body, while the cut of his slacks skimmed over his admirable physique. His build was long and tall, thickening just enough for bulk and tone. His features were foreign, almost Asian, uncanny eyes glinting, but with Western dimensions and sculpting. And in this light, his skin had the faint teak of some other nationality.
Again she was aggravated by a sense of displaced familiarity. He was beyond hot—he was lust-cious—so if she’d seen this man before, she was sure she’d remember him. She’d sure remember the curl of want in her belly and the finger tingles that urged her to stroke his ridiculously long hair. He wasn’t even her type.
“You don’t believe me?” He raised a brow. The tilt of his head sent that black hair sliding over his shoulder, and she had to admit it suited him. Some women might like it. Some men, probably, too.
She shrugged. “I’m listening.”
He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “I can’t tell you much, as most of what occurred must remain secret, but I will say that the spread of the wraiths halted two years ago because Talia Kathleen Thorne killed their maker.”
Layla’s mind briefly flashed blank in shock, then worked furiously to assimilate and judge his statement. The wraith spread did seem to halt about two years ago. But the rest? Talia had killed someone? Could it be true? Was that the reason Adam Thorne kept her hidden from the public?