Dark Surrender

To this day she was still learning a tough lesson. All a restraining order accomplished was pissing Kevin off even more. It didn’t stop him from calling her, or following her, showing up at her house or, worse, the museum. The police always got to the scene long after he’d done his damage. At best, she could ball up the piece of paper and throw it at him.

She’d spent over a year in and out of the police station and court rooms because Kevin wanted the restraining order lifted. She’d gotten so afraid of being alone that she moved in with her grandparents and stayed with them until almost a year ago. She finally got her own apartment five miles from the museum. Kevin’s harassment had slowed down but he still reared his ugly head from time to time, coming out of the woodwork with the rest of the lunatics when the pull of the moon was just right, usually when she least expected the attack.

Jillian thought he’d get over her leaving him eventually but Dr. Weber said he was fixated on her and, until something else came along to capture his attention, his sociopathic behavior would continue.

And she was the one seeing a therapist.

How crazy was that?

The elevator dinged as it stopped on the third floor. Jillian stepped out into the busy work area where most of the detectives had desks and offices. She didn’t have to wait long before Detective O’Malley came up beside her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“It’s good to see you, Jillian.”

She’d forgotten how handsome the detective was, with his dark brooding brows and that Boston-Irish accent.

“You too, Detective.”

“Would you like some coffee, or water?” he offered.

“No, thank you.” She smiled politely, while her stomach fluttered with anxiety.

She was too nervous to eat or drink anything until she learned whether they had recovered the ring or not.

“I’m glad I had good news for you this time.”

Detective O’Malley had been the one to arrive at her apartment in the middle of the night to tell her that her grandparents had died in a car wreck.

“It’s a nice change,” she said.

She should have taken more than one of her pills down in the parking lot.

The detective must have sensed her anxiety because he motioned for her to follow. “I’ve got everything over at my desk.”

As they walked through rows of desks, she noticed he held a plain brown folder in his other hand.

One of her many case files she assumed. Dead parents. Check. Psychotic ex-fiancé. Check. Dead grandparents, robbery. Check, check.

What would life throw at her next?

If she didn’t get the ring back, it wasn’t going to be good.

Detective O’Malley brought her over to his desk by the only wall of thick-paned windows. Muted sunlight fell on a drooping green plant in a plastic pot that rested next to a broken-down printer on a metal table. She sat in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs, anxiously tapping the heel of her shoe.

She watched him go through some of the papers on his desk. Jillian liked Steve O’Malley. As a detective he was cool and professional, yet tough. They’d also gone out on one date together, right after she’d moved into her apartment, but she hadn’t been ready for a relationship at the time and didn’t know if she wanted to date a cop. Now that she found herself sitting in front of his desk again, she was starting to second guess her decision.

What if she was missing out on a really great guy? Definitely good boyfriend material.

So why could she only think of Mr. Smith? His smell, the warm feel of his touch, his bold, sensual kiss.

“We were able to recover everything.” O’Malley opened the brown file on his desk. “It all turned up at the same pawn shop in Queens.”

Her stomach fluttered wildly. Had they truly gotten the ring?

“How did you find it all so fast?” Jillian figured her odds of ever recovering the stolen items were low.

O’Malley closed the file and leaned his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers together. “The pawn shop owner was murdered last night, and we got an anonymous phone call that the place was full of stolen goods. In cases like these, we cross-reference the shop’s inventory against our stolen goods database. In your case, we had pictures of all the items so it made our job a lot easier.”

Thank God her grandfather had been meticulous about insuring his valuables.

“Someone was murdered?” Jillian whispered, her mind running wild.

Could the murder be connected to the ring?

Her stomach tightened with panic. Was that to be her fate as well?

“Probably a robbery gone bad,” he said. “Those shops keep large amounts of cash on hand.”

Jillian wanted to believe it was nothing more than an everyday crime, a coincidence, but the knot of dread in her stomach told her there was a connection. If the ring hadn’t been stolen, she might be the one who was dead, and the awful thought got her heart racing as her anxiety continued to build.

“Don’t worry,” O’Malley said in a calming voice. “The chance of anyone robbing you again is unlikely, though you should think about storing any valuables in a safe deposit box.”

“Thank you, detective.”

“Steve.” He smiled, the one corner of his mouth twitching. “Call me Steve.”

“Steve.” She tried to relax, but he held her gaze. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“It’s my job.” His gaze roamed down to her hips, over her gray skirt and along her smooth legs. “Would you like to have dinner with me again?”

Jillian hoped she didn’t look too stunned, but she hadn’t been expecting that.

“It’s nice of you to offer,” she said. “But I don’t know if I’m in the right place to start a relationship.”

“It’s only dinner,” he pressed further, smiling. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”

Jillian knew what kind of “date” he was looking for, and she gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’m not good at casual flings.”

“I had to try,” he said, his smile hardening, like it was stuck in place.

After a long moment, he rose from his desk and handed her a yellow evidence envelope.

Jillian opened the envelope and peeked inside. The ruby ring sat on top of the golden pile of her grandmother’s antique jewelry.

Her prayer had been answered.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Now what did she do?

“The television is over here.” O’Malley picked up a flat-screen television from the floor and held it tucked under his arm. “I’ll help you out to your car.”

“That would be nice.” Jillian was almost tempted to have dinner with him again, but she didn’t feel that romantic spark with him, and it wouldn’t be right to lead him on. O’Malley was a nice guy, and he deserved a woman who was crazy about him.

Jillian was just crazy.

It had only taken Dr. Weber two meetings before he prescribed her a steady dose of anxiety pills.

She and the detective took the elevator down to the first floor. O’Malley kept stealing hopeful glances at her, and she pretended not to notice. Honestly, how many dates would it take to scare him off with her obsessive-compulsive quirks? Even now, she felt the need to run through her system checks. Hair, glasses, sleeves, watch. To compensate, she hiked her purse strap up higher on her shoulder.

When the elevator doors slid open she took a deep, calming breath and stepped out into the downstairs lobby, relaxing when she got out into the more open space.

“Where are you parked?” O’Malley walked ahead of her, carrying the television.

“I’m in the visitor lot on the side.” She pointed towards the doors.

He pushed one of the double doors open with his shoulder and held it for her to pass through.

“Thank you.” She slipped out into the sunny afternoon and made her way directly across the parking lot to her silver Mercedes SUV, fishing her keys out of her purse and deactivating the alarm as she walked.

“Where do you want this?” O’Malley asked.

She opened the back door and he put the television on the seat and strapped it in with the seatbelt, then he closed the door and leaned his hand against the top frame. His blue suit jacket hung open and revealed the holstered gun he wore strapped to his side and the shiny, golden badge on the waistband of his jeans.

“Thanks again for your help.” Jillian got her car key ready in her hand.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind about dinner?”

She studied his handsome face and cute smile, waiting for any kind of a spark to ignite, but there was no fire, no energy. He didn’t turn her inside out or make her senses reel. With Mr. Smith, she’d felt a wild attraction from the moment she’d seen him standing in the café at her museum. The very thought of him made her breathless.

And that was what she was looking for.

“Maybe some other time.” She opened her car door.

“Call me if you change your mind.” He handed her his card. “Or for anything.”

Jillian nodded and tucked the card in her purse. “Take care, detective.”

“Steve,” he corrected her once more, then gave her a parting smile and took out his cell phone as he walked back to the police station.

Jillian got in her car and tossed her purse and the yellow envelope on the passenger seat.

What did she do now?

Going back to the museum wasn’t an option. Jonathon had been pestering her about the ring all morning, making her promise if the police had found it to bring it back immediately.

She wasn’t stupid.

Jonathon wanted the ring for its powers. She’d pretended to believe the story he concocted about it being a rare piece from a magical order that mysteriously disappeared during the Crusades.

She’d learned the true story from her grandfather. Lucifer had convinced the three most powerful Magi of the East that Jesus was the Antichrist, and they created the three rings to banish his soul after he was born. Instead, the three Magi were so spiritually moved by the Savior’s birth, they turned against Lucifer and used the powers of the rings to seal him in Hell forever.

If he ever broke out, he’d destroy the Earth, the human race, everything in existence.

Jillian wasn’t ready. She didn’t want the ring. Where was she supposed to keep it?

Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it out of her purse and checked the screen. A New York number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Ms. Whitmore, I’m so glad you answered. This is Winston Smith.”

Unbelievable.

She’d barely had the ring for five minutes.

“Mr. Smith,” she said in her sweetest, most innocent sounding voice. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you, Ms. Whitmore.”

“If you’re calling to try to frighten me again, it won’t work.” Not when she was safe in her car with a full tank of gas.

She could go anywhere. Hundreds of miles away from New York.

“I just thought you should know you’re being followed,” he said in his husky, accented voice.

Her pulse skittered.

“I am?” Her gaze darted around the parking lot, and suddenly she was wary of every car and every person outside. “How do you know someone is following me?”

“There are many people who want the Ring of Melchior, Ms. Whitmore, or did you think I was the only one? The enemy is everywhere.”

Detective O’Malley was still standing on the sidewalk outside and he looked over his shoulder, watching her as he talked on his phone.

Who was he talking to?

Why was he watching her?

She swallowed hard. Trust no one. Her grandfather had warned her, and now it was all happening so fast.

“What makes you think I have the ring?” she asked Mr. Smith.

“Let’s not waste time on how I know. I can help you, Ms. Whitmore. Come to my house and I’ll explain everything.”

“Why should I trust you?” Jillian grew tight with tension. “You could be the enemy.”

“If I were the enemy, I would simply take the ring and you’d be helpless to stop me.”

She pictured his tall, strong frame and his fierce blue eyes, and knew she was no match for him physically.

Who was she kidding?

Jillian was no match for anyone. She didn’t know how to fight, or how to shoot a gun. She had to survive with her own skills, and they were sorely lacking when it came to saving the world.

“How can you help me, Mr. Smith?”

“Take down my address.”

Chapter 6

She should have known by the address what type of house she’d find. Mr. Smith lived in one of the most expensive, upscale neighborhoods in New York.

High walls and wrought iron gates enclosed great Estates set back from the quiet street by sprawling green lawns. The circular driveways held every luxury car from Bentley to Rolls Royce. She pulled up to his house and waited for the gates to open before she drove up the arched driveway, circling around a white stone fountain big enough to swim in.

She parked her SUV behind a red sports car with the top down. The afternoon sun sparkled on the flawless finish and shiny tire rims. As pretty as the car was to look at, Jillian only saw a death trap.

How fast could that thing go?

To her right flat stone steps led up to the front portico, where huge white pillars flanked the black double doors.

The home was as large and intimidating as its owner. How could a man as interesting and mysterious as Mr. Smith live anywhere else?

Jillian worried she’d been too hasty in deciding to go to his house. It had sounded like a good idea over the phone, but she’d had some time to think about why it wasn’t during the drive, while she checked her mirrors every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t being followed. It was too late to turn around. Without help, she wouldn’t keep the ring through the end of the day.

Tearing into the yellow envelope she took out the ring and, not knowing where to hide it, she tucked it down the front of her bra. She left all of her things in the car, with the keys in the ignition, ready for a fast get away.

She walked up the front steps and knocked on one of the doors. Not a moment later the door swung open and an older gentleman in a livery suit greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Whitmore. He’s expecting you.” When he stepped aside and bid her to enter, she expected to see him wearing white gloves.

“Hello,” she said, smiling politely at the gentleman as she stepped over the threshold and into Mr. Smith’s home.

Instantly she felt transported into a different world. The house was a treasure trove of collectibles and artifacts from almost every period in the history of the world. The center table in the foyer wasn’t just any table, it was a neoclassical pedestal table, several hundred years old and in pristine condition. Atop the table, an actual blue and white Ming Dynasty vase held fresh red roses. Never had she smelled roses with such a heavy perfume. They were intoxicating, and she wanted to bury her nose in the soft petals and breathe in the scent.

On the massive wall leading to the staircase, a hand-woven tapestry depicting a hunting scene had no doubt come directly from the wall of some eastern European castle.

Jillian was awestruck, and she’d barely gotten as far as the entryway.

“Follow me.” The butler continued past her and led her up the massive carpeted staircase. On the wall of the second story were ancient maps of Mesopotamia, Egypt, and the Holy Land, illustrated by hand in rich, vibrant ink and encased in expensive frames specially designed to preserve the aged parchment. Jillian stopped to inspect them closer. Some of the maps were dated before the early Dynastic Period.

Amazing.

Where could he have found items from that time that had aged so well?

The butler paused on the stairwell and turned back to ask, “Are you coming, Ms. Whitmore?”

Jillian couldn’t take her eyes off the maps. They were either authentic, or very convincing replicas. “These pieces are in excellent condition.”

“Yes, Master Smith is very particular when it comes to caring for his collection.”

Her lips parted when he said Master Smith.

What century had she walked into? His home held a piece of them all.

“If you’ll follow me,” the butler said. “We’ll continue to the library.” He resumed climbing the stairs.

Jillian followed him wordlessly, taking in as much of the surroundings as possible. Overhead were vaulted ceilings and skylights. Her gaze roamed over the Renaissance furniture, crystal chandeliers, marble banisters and floors. One entire hall across the way was lined with alcoves displaying full suits of armor, with swords, shields and lances mounted above them on the wall.

Private collection indeed.

This wasn’t a house. It was a museum.

And Jillian never wanted to leave.

***

Upstairs in his library, Kyriel heard Jillian’s smooth voice from the staircase. He paced the rug in front of his desk, wanting a drink to calm his nerves. Why did he feel so nervous?

His stomach knotted up and his mouth went so dry he couldn’t swallow. Part of it was the thrill of the chase, the anticipation that came with knowing he was about to get a coveted treasure and the key to his redemption. What was the other part then?

The woman?

He’d never been so tied up over a woman before. One he hardly knew. He’d like to know her—intimately—but was afraid that would only make his strange affliction worse. The timing was all wrong. He couldn’t develop feelings for anyone if he planned on returning to Heaven soon. He might find it too hard to leave, and he didn’t want anything standing in his way.

Beautiful and intelligent, able to understand his world, Jillian Whitmore might be the perfect woman for him. And he was going to leave Earth and return to Heaven.

To say he’d been waiting for her would be ridiculous.

He’d only been waiting for his redemption, and she was carrying it up the staircase.

The glint from the golden shield hanging over the fireplace caught his eye. His gift from War. The state of mankind hovered on the verge of another Apocalypse, and if the Harbingers of Doom were released from Hell the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would have a hard time sending them back with the seal broken.

If Lucifer won this battle it would bring about the end of the world, and Kyriel didn’t want to lose the things he’d come to love. He might be going back to Heaven, but he had to ensure that life on Earth would continue before he left.

The double doors of his library swung open and James led Ms. Whitmore into the room. She had on another of those tight skirts that emphasized the curve of her hips and her long legs. Her black sweater had short, ruffled sleeves and her shiny, black high heels were feminine and sexy. She had her blonde hair pulled back from her face and her librarian glasses sat on the slender bridge of her nose.

“Ms. Whitmore,” James formally announced their guest.

Kyriel walked over to greet her. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“I’m not sure it was the best decision,” she said as her eyes scanned the room. “But I feel I can trust you, and I don’t know why.”

Nothing like a little persuasion to make a person believe whatever he wanted them to believe. The power he had over human minds was subtle, yet effective, and most of the time it saved him from having to use force.

“I want to help you, Ms. Whitmore, it’s as simple as that.”

Her emerald green eyes scrutinized him from behind her glasses. She wasn’t fully convinced, and when he tried to break into her mind, he found it blocked. All he could pick up on were her emotions. To not have the full use of his power was frustrating. It took away his edge.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” James asked from the doorway, taking his cue to leave.

“No, thank you,” Kyriel dismissed the old man.

He backed out of the room and pulled the doors closed, leaving the two of them alone.

“I wouldn’t imagine someone like you to have a butler,” she said.

“What would you imagine?” he wondered, curious to see what she thought.

“You seem like more of a loner.” She grasped her hands behind her back and fidgeted nervously. “Not someone who leaves the management of life’s details to another.”

She was right, but what she didn’t know was that Kyriel lived two lives. Being a fallen angel was his secret, but he found managing the everyday aspects of his human identity tedious, and that’s why he employed James.

“An estate of this size requires a lot of work,” he said. “And I need someone to take care of things when I’m traveling.”

“You must have been around the world at least a hundred times to have put together such a vast collection.”

He admired the mild irony behind her observations. She would never guess how close she was to the truth.

“I’ve been a few places,” he remarked, seeing his travels reflected in the pieces of his collection. “Home is where I’m most comfortable.”

“I can see why.” Her roaming gaze finally landed on something of interest. “Is this Michelangelo’s work?”

She rushed over to one of the bookshelves, to the red chalk sketches done by none other than Michelangelo. Kyriel watched her as she inspected the drawings, his gaze roaming over her round backside and down the length of her smooth, shapely legs. He remembered their kiss. The way she’d parted her lips, letting him taste the sweetness of her mouth. To see her eyes light up with interest over his collection excited him, and he wanted to do more than kiss her today.

“Those were done during Michelangelo’s planning phase for the Sistine Chapel,” he provided some of the background.

“These drawings are extremely rare. They’re signed,” she noticed. “Did you get them at an auction?”

“No, they were a gift.”

“They were passed down to you?”

“You could say that.”

She wouldn’t believe Michelangelo had signed the sketches and given them to him more than four centuries ago.

Something to remember me by, Amico, and should I become a famous artist, perhaps you could even sell them for a flask of wine and drink to my name.

Kyriel wouldn’t dream of selling them.

“These are amazing.” She peered at the drawings through her glasses, and her hands hovered inches from touching the parchment. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

Kyriel had an entire house filled with things she had never seen. He could spend days showing her his treasures. A sudden image of the two of them sprawled out naked on top of his desk leapt into his mind, exciting him even more, and he had to struggle to get control of his lusty thoughts. This was meant to be a strictly professional visit. He’d brought her here because she had something he wanted.

“How about a trade, Ms. Whitmore?”

Chapter 7

“A trade?” Jillian hadn’t seen that coming. “Like with baseball cards?”

Mr. Smith had original sketches by Michelangelo sitting on a bookshelf in his house, and he wanted to trade. Did he belong to a circle of rich collectors who traded priceless art and artifacts with each other, or bet with them in card games when they got bored?

Mr. Smith walked over to the massive desk and sat on the edge, staring at her with his mesmerizing blue eyes. “A trade where we both get what we want.”

He had dressed more relaxed today, wearing only a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and gray suit pants. His hair was neatly pulled back and he had shaved, but the well-groomed appearance didn’t hide the wolf lurking beneath. Jillian got the feeling Mr. Smith was used to getting what he wanted, either with money, intimidation, or force. But there was also something so compelling about him and it drew her to him, almost helplessly.

“Obviously you want the ring.”

“And you want authentic Holy relics for your exhibit.”