Moonlight Mist: A Limited Edition Collection of Fantasy & Paranormal)

by Nicole Morgan

  Juliana took a step back, her hand glued to the gun inside her purse, loosely aimed at his left thigh. She snickered. “Were you looking for me when you broke into my house? What’s your angle, McAllister?”

  He tugged on his right ear and regarded her coolly for a long moment.

  The click of the gun’s hammer shattered their tense standoff.

  Jake lifted his arms halfway. “Whoa, darlin’, you want to dial down the defenses? I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not the bad guy. In fact, I think we can work together. If you’re involved, I know you have intel to share, or else you wouldn’t be here. Am I wrong?”

  Juliana’s turn to give him her icy regard. Part of her believed him. Uncertainty ran roughshod over the other part that couldn’t discern who and what he was.

  “Tell me what you know, then maybe I’ll drop my guard.”

  “Okay. Ask away. Can I drop my arms, or you gonna bang me down if I twitch a muscle?”

  “Try me.”

  “Come on, Westwood. I prefer my financial planners tough where it counts. But we’re on the same side here.”

  “Stay back and you can put your arms down. Keep away from your gun. Better yet, put your hands in your pockets.” He dropped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and inclined his head at her to continue. “Did you break into my house or know who did?”

  “No and no.”

  Not an ounce of deception wafted off him. For some weird reason, she believed him. “What’s your psychic ability?”

  “Telepathy. Mind reader.”

  “Oh. Really? What am I thinking?” She cleared her mind and concentrated on one word over and over.

  Jake lunged forward, drawing his gun in one wicked movement. “What the hell do you know about the Twilight legacy?” He imprisoned her arms to her sides, forcing her finger to lock down on her gun’s trigger.

  Gunshot shattered the air, the recoil throwing Juliana off balance.

  Chapter Nine

  Tumbling backward, Jake bellowed, his voice echoing up the hillside. He landed on his butt, his gun skidding into the weeds. “Son of a bitch. You shot me. You shot my foot!”

  Juliana cupped her hand over her mouth, whipping her head from side to side, looking for help and freaking out. Run from the hills or play doctor? Her heart thundered against her ribcage. She’d shot a man! A client, no less. His thoughts collided with hers, a long streak of curses aimed at her…and fleeting admiration that she had the “balls” to fire on him.

  “Damn it, Westwood. What the hell?” Jake eased his ragged biker boot off his left foot, blood darkening his gray athletic sock.

  Hastily deciding on human kindness, Juliana sank to her knees. “Take off your shirt.” The thick toe guard of his boot had slowed and diverted the bullet and left behind a flesh wound.

  “Why? For a better bullseye on my heart?” Jake grumbled so like Alex it unnerved her.

  “No, idiot. So I can wrap your foot. Unless you have a better idea.”

  “Your shirt.” His gaze roamed her body in lazy appreciation, landing on her breasts. “Oh, yeah, you can make it up to me.”

  His unmistakable lust blasted flapping butterflies into her stomach. What the freakin’ hell? Juliana jerked back. “Oh, I’ve got your number. This how you pick up women? You break into their heads, barrel them to the ground, then attempt to kill them? The only way you can coax them into your bed. Dead, right?”

  Jake tossed back his head and roared in laughter. “Oh, I’m gonna love getting to know you.” His laughed dwindled to a chuckle. Once he sobered, he shrugged off his hoodie and empty gun harness.

  “A minute ago you wanted me dead. Now you want to…” Juliana trailed off. What was he implying? Getting to know her as his financial planner, a date, or a victim of whatever bodily harm he intended when he heard her silent recitation of the word “twilight?”

  Jake removed his black T-shirt, revealing gym-toned and tanned abs, wide-muscled shoulders, and strong arms. Damn, she loved strong, muscular arms on a man. Licking her lips, she had to admit his muscles exceeded Alex’s in the hot department. Whoa, girl…don’t travel that road, the angel on one shoulder said. Wait, no one said anything about ogling, the devil on the other shoulder volleyed back.

  “Hey, Westwood?” Jake waved his hand in front of her face. “Having another vision?”

  Flustered, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Just thinking,” she lied, burying her urges six feet under and snatching the T-shirt from his proffered hand. While he grumbled blue curses at the world, she wrapped his foot, putting pressure on his big toe until the bleeding slowed.

  “Now will you tell me what you know about the Twilight legacy? How are you involved in all this?” Jake dumped his wariness on a silver platter for her to knock off.

  “Tell me what the Twilight legacy is and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” she baited.

  “Then we’re at a standoff.” Jake pretended to rise. Instead he dived for his gun three feet to his left. In a blink of the eye, he aimed the weapon at her heart. “You don’t know shit about Twilight.” His full, kissable lips twitched between a sneer and a grin.

  A frisson of fright tingled up her spine, but his red-rimmed eyes proved the sadness he tried to hide. Despite the fact that he had her at odds a second time, she wanted to fall into the silvery sparkles in his eyes. Damn.

  “Set the gun down. Let’s talk amicably.” She waited. He didn’t budge. “Fine. Show me your Guild tattoo and I’ll spill.”

  “Take off your purse. Walk behind me. No funny stuff.”

  Knowing they’d travel nowhere if she tried another attempt to subdue him, she followed his suggestion and set her decimated purse by the boulder before walking around him. She sucked in her stomach. A Psychics Guild tattoo covered his entire back—a black Celtic trinity knot tangled in a red heart. Although it didn’t prove his innocence or a possible Guild betrayal, it helped assuage her mind.

  His gun followed her movements as she sat Indian style across from him, and they contemplated each other for another cement thick moment.

  She broke through the concrete tension. “Are you investigating Falbrooke’s accident?”

  “Yes. Making sure the police report’s accurate. I’m a PI. It’s what I do. Why’re you here? Niles told me you’d practically hit the scene before it all hit full press. You have a vision?” His voice splintered. “Please, Westwood.” The hand holding his gun drooped onto his thigh, aiming at the ground. “Tell me what you saw. Michael was like a father to me.” A tear slipped down his right cheek, and he slapped it off.

  Doubts rolled off her arms, loosening her knotty shoulders. The silhouette in the rearview mirror hadn’t been Jake. He had no involvement with the accident. She didn’t need to view his mask of devastation to understand he’d never hurt Falbrooke.

  The recent vision perplexed her though. Jake had threatened Falbrooke. Or had he warned him? In the vein of full disclosure, she told Jake about her vision of the accident, view by view. She refrained from retelling the second vision or disclosing she possessed the sword.

  Jake glanced at her askance. “The police say there’s no evidence of a gunshot.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Despite the morning’s chill, her palms sweated and she wiped them on her pants. “Niles told me Guild members are being threatened. Why?”

  Without hesitation, he explained, “There’s a secret group of people who want us to do their dirty work. We’ve lost members to their ranks who can’t resist the lucrative pay. They’ve knocked off others for refusing to join.”

  “Dirty work as in criminal activity?”

  “This group hires out psychics on the black market for espionage, revenge, to drug lords, thieves, hell, stock brokers and corporate big wigs. Anyone who wants a leg up in the world. You need to stay clear of the Guild until we get a handle on the situation. Those assholes don’t normally target outsiders, but there’s a first for everything.”

  “Are the thr
eats connected to this Twilight legacy?”

  “Honestly, I’ve no clue. But I’m aiming to buy a dozen.”

  She believed him, believed in the words revolving in the tiny open fissure in his mind, the father-like love he held for Michael, his worry for Lily Falbrooke, a woman he’d never even met. “Do you think Michael was killed by these people, or by someone wanting to expose this legacy thing? What the heck is Twilight anyway?”

  Jake hedged, wary and nervous as though he’d said too much already. “Twilight was Rose Falbrooke’s—Michael’s wife’s—heritage. You don’t need to know what it is. Best for your safety you never find out. It landed him and now his daughter in danger. Too many people have wanted their hands on it forever.”

  “Including you?” She quirked an eyebrow.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s not what you think. I could’ve handled the situation for Michael, kept him and Lily safe. He didn’t want me involved, didn’t want to risk one more life.”

  “Now it’s too late.”

  “Not for Lily.” His eyes swam again.

  Juliana didn’t care what the legacy was, but if she could prevent another death, she’d do anything in her power. She examined Jake’s foot, satisfied that no blood had seeped through her makeshift bandage.

  Thinking about the empathic sensation from the boulder, she asked, “Have you ever been up here?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just a feeling. Had Michael been up here before the accident?”

  “He used to hike these hills after Rose died, gaining clarity, peace. He knows these roads like an owl in the dark. He didn’t lose control on a drunken bender. That’s not Michael. Why?”

  The puzzle pieces continued to fall into place. “I felt an impression from a boulder up there.” She nodded toward the cracked rock above them. “An old impression of sorrow and pain. Makes sense now if it was Michael’s touch, since we’d already forged a connection.” Distracting her antsy fingers, she picked up the pieces and contents of her destroyed purse. “How’d you get here?”

  “My bike’s down the hill.”

  “Need a lift to the hospital?”

  Sucking in pain, he waggled his foot. “There’s a nurse at the Guild compound. She’ll stitch me up later.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Juliana clutched her purse to her middle, the gun a stone against her. She gained her feet and held her hand out to him.

  He accepted her assistance and hopped up on his right foot. “My fault. I shouldn’t have manhandled you.” He grinned, raking his gaze across her boobs. “Unless you want me to.”

  Her mouth flapped open in amazement. “You do remember I’m engaged to a cop, right?”

  “I don’t discriminate.” He winked.

  “Wiseass.”

  His smile faded around the edges, and the silence was almost overwhelming. “What now?” he asked. “What will you tell your detective?”

  She gripped her purse tighter. “Everything. He’s discreet and he’d do anything to protect me, going as far as keeping his mouth shut about Guild goings-on.” She paused, following the trail of light bulbs winking on in her brain. “First, can your PI credentials sneak me into the police impound lot?”

  He scrubbed his hands together. “Hell, yeah. Give me a ride to my bike.”

  Jake fibbed and informed the impound lot attendant that Juliana was Lily Falbrooke. No ID required. Go figure. She faked a few tears and sniffles, acting the grieving daughter wanting to view her father’s car for the last time. After rifling through a box of Falbrooke’s belongings, hunting for who knows what, Jake loaded the box in Juliana’s car. She promised to bring the box to Falbrooke’s offices later for Jake and Lily to sort through at their leisure.

  “I guess I owe you special delivery after blowing off your toe.” She offered him a conciliatory smile. “Anything interesting in the box?”

  “Nothing I hadn’t seen before. My brother Ric already combed the car.”

  “Ric?” She tapped her chin. “Does he resemble you?”

  “Like twins, three years younger.”

  “Ah. I saw him talking to Niles at the crash site.”

  “Probably. I just got back into town and this mess landed in my lap.”

  More puzzle pieces snapped neatly together, alleviating some concerns and resolving questions.

  They followed the attendant’s directions through rows of cars and into the junk car lot, and approached the black Mercedes. A fine layer of dust had already accumulated on its scarred paint.

  An icy tickle raced up Juliana’s spine. “Who do you think was the silhouette in the rearview mirror?”

  “I’m hoping you tell me, or at least give me a clue. I need to know if this was a murder or an accident. Like you, I don’t buy accident.” Jake scanned the area in sight of the car. “Good. The driver’s side and steering wheel are protected from prying eyes.”

  Surprise flooded her. “Clever. How’d you know I wanted to test the steering wheel?”

  “Being a psychic gives one insight that other people don’t have.” He knocked his knuckles on the hood as if the car was a favorite collectible. “Michael’s hands are all over it. His final touch, the one most relevant.” That quivering splinter in Jake’s voice escalated again. Juliana wanted to reach out to him, but dreaded shattering the walls barring him from her head while he was in such an emotional state. “I know about touch telepathy. My middle bro Liam’s one.”

  She perked up, her wistfulness for Guild membership anchoring her. “Oh, awesome. Has he always had the ability?”

  “It manifested throughout his childhood, so, yeah.” Jake pried open the driver’s door, exerting his bulging muscles to unstick the dented steel.

  Juliana had the wildest urge to rub her hands over those sinful muscles. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest to temper her untimely lust. Alex will torture me if he ever reads these thoughts in my head…I need a MacKenzie love fix tonight. Badly.

  The door creaked and scraped open, offering up the torn pale gray leather seat where Falbrooke had last sat. She knew the moment she slid onto the seat, he’d take her mind for a spin. As the maw of Falbrooke’s deathtrap stared her down and lured her in, it became exceedingly clear she’d connected to him and not the gunman.

  A sweat broke out on the nape of her neck, dripped down the center of her back.

  “Are you afraid?” Jake’s hoarse whisper forced her watery gaze toward him.

  “A little,” she said softly.

  “Have you ever connected to a dying man?”

  She wrenched on the neckline of her blouse. “No. I’m not sure it’ll happen again since he’s gone.”

  “What do you want me to do?” He held his hand out, withdrew after she gave it a wonky smile, understanding her need to not touch him, to not interfere with Falbrooke’s imprint.

  “If I go too deep, call Alex MacKenzie.” She plucked one of his business cards out of the damaged purse she refused to let go of and handed it to Jake.

  He pocketed the card. “What happens if you go too deep? How will I know?”

  “If I don’t awaken in a few minutes.” She twisted her purse strap around her hand.

  “Shit.” He rubbed his hand over his three-day beard growth. “You sure it’s safe? Liam never has this problem.”

  “Just talk to me if I don’t come out. Positive thoughts. Tell me how you earned those insane arm muscles and rock hard abs.” Forcing her sight off his naked chest peeking through his half-zipped hoodie, her lips kicked up in a teasing smile. “Seriously, since Michael’s gone, there isn’t a psychic pull the way the kidnapper had in my last case, nor his creepy evil intent, so I’m not too worried.”

  He actually blushed, his face ruddy beneath his beard stubble. “Can I tell you how beautiful and sexy you are? How MacKenzie’s one lucky son of a bitch? How much I admire you and appreciate all your help, even if you did blow a hole in my favorite boots?”

  “Of course.” A blush took a spin at her
cheeks.

  Without touching the car frame, she slid past the tear along the edge of the driver’s seat. The sun had warmed the leather, but the lightning striking her skull burned through her more intensely than any sun-warmed seat. Yelping, she wrapped both hands around the steering wheel. The vision oozed through her, slow and insidious.

  Chapter Ten

  Gunfire pinged like a firecracker in water, barely discernible.

  Mouth gaping, Michael ogled the silhouette of a man standing under a tree on the right side of the road ahead. The right front tire blew out, the wheel thumping as steel hit the tarmac, and he swerved to avoid a head-on with a thicket of trees to his right. Another tire blew and the car swung out of control. Tires screeched and metal crashed into steel, scraping and tumbling down a hillside.

  Michael’s head slammed the car’s roof, his wrecked cries wafting on the wind. The car rolled over and over until it landed on all four wheels. Slashes of moonlight illuminated the black vehicle through tree branches, dappled light reflecting off the shattered windshield. A splintered rearview mirror caught the ghostly image of a tall, muscular man watching from the cliffside above, an odd shaped gun in his large hand, his long dark hair streaming in the breeze.

  The man on the roadside scampered toward a dark SUV parked near the Mercedes’s final tumble. Michael’s last vision in the mirror before his eyes closed forever was the nail gun the man threw into a navy athletic bag, harboring an indistinct circle logo on the front.

  “Twilight’s yours. Don’t let them steal your twilight, flower child,” his ragged voice intoned. “I love you, Lily, with all my heart. I’m sorry I’ve kept all this from you. Keep her safe, Jake. Keep her safe.”

  Death claimed his last breath.

  Another presence infiltrated Juliana’s mind. The vision fractured and knitted back together. Awe and curiosity quickly chased off his panic. The entire vision repeated, like a scratched vinyl record. The presence settled, melded with her mind, calm and receptive, and they watched the vision through the same eyes.