Page 128 of Dark Lover

Where was she? Was she all right? Was she at Loch Awe, which might be a very safe place for her?

At least the monk had gone back to 1527.

Which meant that was where he was going, immediately.

The anger returned, burning inside him. It felt like it was in his blood, his veins. He got up, holding his side. Another near-immortal would take a day or two to heal. He did not have that luxury.

Ian limped over to the table and stripped the doctor of his surgical pants, which he pulled on. Then he paused. Before he went back in time to find and kill the monk, he had to locate Sam and make certain she was all right. He strained to find her.

Sam, where are ye?

A long moment passed. There was no answer.

He tried again. Sam?

When he didn’t feel or hear her, he sought her with his visual telepathy. Although there were drugs and antibiotics in his system, surely the gift would work now.

Instantly, he saw her standing in a modern office, furious. He recognized the setting—she was at HCU.

He breathed a sigh of relief. It occurred to him that he was more concerned for her than he should be, but he’d worry about that later.

Ian crossed the room, which was vacant except for the examination area. The steel door was ajar and he went through it. He froze.

Facing him, hanging from the beam above, was a cage on a pulley.

He started to breathe hard. For one instant, there was fear.

Then he vanquished the fear. But the shock remained and he looked down the gray sterile hall, and knew it was familiar. Dread sickened him.

He didn’t hesitate. Garage doors which obviously led to the street outside were to his right, but a single steel door was to his left at that far end of the corridor. Ian strode to it.

It was unlocked.

The moment he stepped into the next small hallway, he froze again.

It was the back of the entry hall of a Victorian-era home. The space was small and cramped. Ten feet away, a handsome, antique wood door with glass pane windows faced him. To his right were narrow stairs with a hand-carved wooden banister, leading to the bedrooms.

He knew a parlor was to his left, a kitchen behind that.

He reeled, dizzy and sick.

This was where they’d kept him.

He faced the back door he’d just come through and cried out.

An inscription glowed there—the same inscription he’d seen in Hemmer’s vault. The same inscription he’d lived with as a nine-year-old boy.

Evil rose up, behind him.

NICK BREATHED A SIGH of relief as the steel doors of the armored transport vehicle were closed and locked by two U.S. Army soldiers. Behind him, the military jet he’d taken to and from Glasgow was on the runway of a private airstrip on western Long Island. The soldiers nodded at him, clad in their khakis, wearing the insignia of the Rangers. They leapt into the cab and started the ignition.

His gut tensed as the engine came to life. He’d had nothing but a sense of dread since leaving Loch Awe. But the vehicle did not explode.

Nick walked over to the black sedan awaiting him. Kit was behind the wheel. Her gaze locked with his as he opened her door and said, “Move over.”

She had to get out on his side to do so. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He slid behind the wheel and put the Lincoln into Drive as Kit hopped into the passenger seat. The words didn’t feel right. It had been too easy—one of the easiest cases of his life. He reminded himself that a very evil entity had Maclean. His gut churned.