"I'm not sure what role he played." She sighed. "But he was very important to Madame LaRue, and I know he provided vast amounts of money toward the Breed project."
"Do you have proof Alonzo was part of the Council?" He would love to see the good reverend taken down.
She shook her head. "I don't have that proof. But he was at the lab several times and met with Madame and my trainer. If he recognizes me, Lance…"
"Then we'll have to make certain Alonzo doesn't find out." He could feel that danger intensifying around them then, and heard the whisper of relief at his ear, even as the air warned of the danger Alonzo could represent. He didn't know who Harmony was, and that was all that mattered at this point.
A small smile tipped her lips. "Are you listening to the winds?" He smoothed her hair back from her cheek. "Finally," he acknowledged ruefully.
"Grandfather would be pleased with me."
"The Council searched for women who had gifts such as yours," she said. "They were perceived as the perfect incubators for the implanted Breed embryos. It was believed that the women who carried the creations added an element to the final makeup of the Breed. Psychic power is one of the elements they believed could be transferred in such ways."
Embryos and creations. Never babes or children. God help him, but the rage burning in him against those who had scarred her soul from birth terrified him. He had known that many psychics and Native American women were taken, held captive until the children they were implanted with were born, then released. The women they used in such ways had come from all over the world, and Jonas knew they had searched heavily for psychics.
"I won't let you leave me," he finally said.
"How do I stay?"
He held himself still, silent, staring down at her as she reached up, running the tips of her fingers down his cheek.
"I've never had anyone," she whispered. "I knew better. I knew they would be used to capture me. They'll take you, they'll torture you, and they'll make certain I know. I would give my life for you, but all it would do is ease the pain you would experience because of me. You would die anyway."
A tear fell from her eyes, creating a silvery track down her cheek as her lips trembled. Lance felt his chest jerk, felt the emotion that welled within him like a cruel fist, clenching around his heart. "We fight to survive. To love. What the earth wills will be, Harmony. Running won't change that. It won't save either of us." Her face twisted in agony as she turned from him, huddling on her side, her body trembling as he pulled her close once again.
"You've fought to live," he said gently as he wrapped his body around her, feeling his heat flow to her, his soul easing around her. "Fight for us now, Harmony. You've fought for your life, now help me fight for our love."
Their love.
Harmony stared into the room, watching as pale fingers of dawn peeked from the sides of the dark curtains. Was that what she was feeling? Was that what she had been feeling all along? Was this why she couldn't walk away from him?
It wasn't her way to stay when she knew the danger outweighed the chances of escape. It wasn't her way to allow anyone to breach her inner defenses. But Lance had done just that—with the warmth of his body that flowed into her, the pleasure from his touch, the aching realization that Lance had been created for her.
A mating. And he had accepted that mating, accepted her as though he had known her all her life. Because the winds whispered to him.
"What do they say?" she asked. "The winds. What do they tell you about me?"
"That you're wild and incorrigible." A thread of amusement filled his voice. Her lips kicked up in a grin as she turned back to him. "I'm serious."
"Seriously." His hand cupped her cheek while his thumb smoothed over her parted lips.
"I hear your cries echo around me. I hear a whisper of strength and of need and sorrow. I hear your heart. Each time you've denied me I've heard your soul crying out for me. The wind doesn't speak in words, or in explanations. It speaks in laughter, a cry, a wailing denial or a whisper of strength. And I hear all that as the air flows around us, pulling me to you no matter how many times you've pushed me away." He kissed her lips gently before rising to stare down at her once again.
"I don't know what to do." Her lips trembled as she fought to find a way to make him understand what she felt. But she didn't understand it herself.
"Just be you." He lay beside her again, pulling her against him and letting his warmth wrap around her. "Just be Harmony."
_________
That night patrol was destined to be boring. Lance was stuck at the office with paperwork and she was covering for one of the officers who had taken off for family concerns. The dark surrounded her, cocooned her, and left her with too much time to think.
Just be Harmony. Not for the first time, she wondered who Harmony was. As she made her way through the quiet streets of the main section of Broken Butte, Harmony frowned at the thought.
She had always known who Death was; there was no question there. Death was vengeance. She was the shadow that slid through the night and brought justice to those the law had somehow missed.
She was dark, wrathful, cold and merciless. She didn't regret and she had no second thoughts. As she came to a stop at a red light, she frowned into the lamplit street. But who was Harmony?
She had taken the name as a lark. Harmony Lancaster. Harmony, because that was what was left in Death's wake. Lancaster was the name of the street where she had taken the last innocent life she had allowed the Council to foist on her. That night was engraved on her memory, stamped into it with the force of a burning brand.
"Let me help you. I can, I can get you to safety." The woman had watched her with such compassion, such fierce determination that Harmony had almost believed it was true. But her Trainer had warned her that the operative was a master at deceit. At fourteen, trained as Death, she had known only what the "proof" had given her. And that proof marked this woman as a vindictive peddler of juveniles. A woman who ripped innocent children from their homes and sold them to the highest bidder.
"Let me help you." A trembling hand had reached out to Death. "Let me get you to safety."
Death had struck. She gripped the woman's hand, using it as leverage, and let her knife answer for her. She had followed her Trainer's orders, but as she watched the woman crumple lifelessly to the ground, she knew she had shed innocent blood. Harmony shook the memory from her mind before it could tear through her soul as it did each time she allowed it free. The woman she had killed had been a CIA agent investigating the shadowy group known as the Genetics Council. She had a husband and a child. She had been one of the good guys, and Death had taken her life. As the light turned green, Harmony turned up another well-lit street, her gaze searching the shadows as she pa-trolled the quiet. Lights blazed from within the houses; some residents still sat on their porches enjoying the late evening air. The scent of barbecues drifted in the air, and the laughter of children.