Catherine Spangler - [Sentinel 02] - Touched By Fire (v5.0) (html) Read Online Free PDF

brick structure with a small front porch that was well lit by a brass light fixture. A sign in the flower bed warned the home was protected by a security company. Luke parked a little way up the street, swung off the bike, and walked up the sidewalk.
    The porch light illuminated a solid wood door with a small fan of glass at the top and large terra-cotta pots of azaleas. The woven doormat had a cheerful ivy border and the word Welcome in large block letters. The porch was neat and orderly, just as he suspected Marla was.
    He rang the doorbell, heard frantic, high-pitched barking on the other side of the door. But he didn’t hear any other sounds, or sense human movement. He rang again and got another frenzied round of barking. He knocked. Nothing. He’d not only been stood up—a first for him—but apparently she’d gone elsewhere for the evening. Either that or she simply wasn’t coming to the door.
    “Trying to avoid me, Marla?” he murmured. “Or maybe you don’t like the way the energy makes you feel.” He knew how disconcerting the Sentinel/conductor energy link could be, especially for an uninitiated conductor. He was a seasoned Sentinel, and he couldn’t always control his reactions to the physical surge.
    Marla was a good case in point. Last night, her close proximity had sent a knockout punch of sexual energy through him. Hell of a deal to get a massive hard-on in a public place, with a woman you didn’t even know. Fortunately for him, she’d been too disoriented by the energies to pay much attention to his lap. But he hadn’t missed her strong reaction. She’d been turned on, her body responding to his, which would make what he now had to do easier.
    He knocked again, and then used his mental powers to slide back the dead bolt. He opened the door, stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. A table lamp in the living area was on, giving him a visual of the room.
    “Hello!” he called out. “Marla, are you here?” He sensed she wasn’t in the house, nor were there any other humans, although he was rushed by a “killer” apricot toy poodle with the aggression and bloodlust of a third-world dictator.
    Damn . What was it about small dogs that made them so warlike? And that high, incessant yapping was incredibly annoying. He sent a quick flash of power; with a little whine, “Fifi” stopped barking. Tail tucked under, the fluffy peach-colored mass masquerading as a real dog circled warily behind Luke, with intermittent, low growls.
    “Keep that up, and I’ll knock you out completely,” he told the fur ball. It scuttled beneath the sofa, where it regarded him with hate-filled eyes. No love lost there. Wondering why a seemingly down-to-earth woman like Marla would have such a froufrou pet, Luke tracked the warning beep down the hallway, found a state of the art alarm system in a small closet and disarmed it.
    He returned to the front room and looked around. It was comfortable and homey. The contemporary beige sofa, with brightly colored pillows on top and psycho dog beneath, took up one wall. Two matching upholstered armchairs, done in a deep green, with a dark oak table between them, were situated away from the wall, closing in the area and making it cozier. An oak entertainment cabinet held a modest television and stereo equipment. The pale carpeting was lush and immaculate.
    Closing his eyes, Luke inhaled deeply, sent his senses flaring out. It felt good here, serene and welcoming. He wondered if this was Marla’s haven from the world, again wondered why she’d been so nervous around him.
    Sudden barking and a sharp tug at his leg jolted him from his reverie. He looked down to see psycho dog clamped on his leg, jerking at the chaps he wore over his slacks. Fortunately the leather was thick and durable; a must for driving a motorcycle on the frenetic Houston freeways, and the dog’s teeth weren’t even penetrating.
    “That’s it,” he said, pointing at Fifi. “Don’t say I didn’t