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She drew her hand away in a hurry and backed off, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the terrible past contained in the box.
Shaken, wanting no more knowledge of this house's hidden rooms or secrets, she ran back upstairs to wait for Gideon's return.
After pulling a B&E on the Faculty Administration building at the university as soon as night had fallen, Gideon headed into the working-class neighborhood of Southie, his sights set on the home of one Professor William Charles Keaton.
The run-down, turn-of-the-century New Englander didn't exactly scream swinging bachelor pad, but there was a flashy white Firebird parked on the side driveway that was advertisement enough for a coed skirt-chaser like Keaton.
Or rather, a skirt-chaser like he had been.
After hearing Savannah confirm that afternoon what Gideon had suspected--that Keaton had, in fact, been bitten by the Breed male who attacked him--Gideon was pretty sure the only thing that interested Keaton now was obeying his Master's orders.
Gideon needed to know who Keaton served.
He needed to know who wanted Hugh Faulkner's sword bad enough to kill for it, and why.
He wasn't holding out much hope that Keaton would give up those answers easily, if at all. Interrogating Minions wasn't often the most productive effort. A mind slave's allegiance belonged totally to its Master.
Still, Gideon had to try.
For Savannah's safety, if nothing else.
He'd hated like hell to have to resort to trancing her just before sundown, but he didn't see where he'd had much choice. He never would have gotten out of that house without her. Locking her inside probably wasn't going to win him any hero awards, either.
Shit.
He'd have to add another apology to the rest he owed her--starting with the one he planned to open with as soon as he saw her again.
The one about how he'd let her go on thinking all this time that the way they first met had been simple serendipity. Fate, as she'd christened it, just before her sweet confession that she was falling in love with him.
She needed to know that despite his reasons for seeking her out in the beginning, what he felt for her now--immediately after meeting her, if he were being honest with himself--was real.
She needed to know that she mattered to him, even more than his personal quest for answers about the damned sword and the Breed male who'd been willing to kill for it.
She needed to know that he loved her.
He didn't know a better way to prove that than removing the threat of anyone who sought to do her harm.
Starting with the Minion inside this house.
Gideon entered stealthily, the feeble lock on the old front door no contest at all for the mental command he gave that opened it. A television blared unattended in the living room just off the entryway. A day-old dinner sat dried out in its foil container on the TV tray next to a cushioned brown recliner. Spread open on the seat was a state map of Louisiana.
Son of a bitch.
Gideon had to clamp down hard on the fury that began to boil in his gut as he noted the penciled line tracing down to the south central region of the state.
He swept his gaze all around him, searching for the bodily energy of the house's occupant with his ESP talent. He found Keaton's faint orange glow beneath the floorboards at his feet. The Minion was in the cellar.
Gideon stalked toward the hallway stairwell leading to the basement below.
A dim light was on down there.
Sounds of vague rummaging filtered up the steps...then, abrupt silence.
The Minion had just clued in to the presence of a Breed male other than his Master.
Gideon had one of his guns in hand as he descended the stairs into an open area of the basement. Keaton was gone, fled somewhere to hide, no doubt. Not that he could get far.
Gideon walked down, his gaze straying to a rough-hewn workbench and wallboard hung with home improvement tools and small containers of supplies. A dark duffel bag sat open on the bench. Inside it were coils of rope, a hunting knife, a roll of silver duct tape.
