Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series)

by P. A. Lupton

  “Okay...” I had an awful churning in my stomach. “I’ll be right there.”

  Something bad was about to happen. I knew it the moment I entered Agent Hunter’s office. His usual friendly smile was absent, his body oozed tension, and—oh, God—sympathy. “Hello, Brianna, please sit down.”

  I took a seat and waited.

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Brianna, I spoke with SAIC Botsford in Chicago earlier. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. Your father suffered a massive heart attack and was rushed to the hospital late last night.”

  I gasped. “Is he alright?” I asked, ignoring the screaming doubt inside my head. I felt pity surrounding him like a cloud, and I knew in my heart that my father was dead.

  Agent Hunter shook his head, his expression somber. “I’m so sorry Brianna...” His voice trailed off. He was still speaking, but I couldn’t recall what he said. My anguish drowned out his words and overshadowed everything else. The gaping emptiness in my chest, the only thing I felt. The rest of the world disappeared as I struggled to hold back my tears. All I kept thinking was how I rushed him off the other night and the fact I was annoyed he’d flown all the way to Denver to check on me. Guilt and grief warred inside me.

  Morrison escorted me to a plane and assured me he would take care of everything while I made funeral arrangements and settled my father’s affairs. Agent Hunter gave me a week to do what needed to be done.

  Before I got on the plane, Morrison turned to me with concern. “I’m so sorry, Brianna, for your loss. Are you going to be okay when you get to Chicago?”

  “I’ll be okay,” I answered numbly.

  “I can fly with you to Chicago, take you to your father’s house, and make sure you get settled.” The thoughtfulness of his offer no longer surprised me. Despite his cocky demeanor, Morrison was a great guy.

  “No, thank you. But I’m truly grateful for the offer.” He leaned in and hugged me. I squeezed him back, thankful for the small affection. “Keep me posted on the case.”

  “Don’t worry about the case. It’ll be here when you get back. Take care of your family first.” What family? I thought sadly. My father was the only family I’d had. And for the first time in my life, I felt truly alone in the world.

  Luckily, Friday was nothing but a haze. I didn’t have the time for the tears, regret and guilt threatening to overwhelm me. I was inundated planning the memorial, packing my father’s belongings, and meeting with realtors and lawyers.

  Finally, Saturday arrived—the day of the funeral. Preoccupied with the plans, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d forgotten my cell phone in my luggage, or that I hadn’t spoken to Nathan since Thursday morning. We were supposed to have a date tonight. It completely slipped my mind. I called to cancel, but there was no answer so I left a message.

  “Hi, Nathan.” My voice sounded rough. “I’m sorry to call you at the last minute, but something unexpected came up and I have to cancel our plans tonight. I’m out of town for a few more days, but I’ll explain when I get back.” Disconnecting, I mentally prepared for the funeral.

  It was a warm, sunny spring day in Chicago. The bright and cheerful setting the antithesis to the dark emptiness growing inside me. I‘d shed so many tears, I felt like I couldn’t cry anymore. Fixated on the picture of my dad at the front of the church, I listened attentively while the priest spoke. The realization I would never see my father again was an impossible reality to face.

  While we had no other family, my father had several loving and devoted friends. Having them here, surrounding me, provided a small measure of comfort. After bestowing their sympathies, we talked and reminisced about my dad. Unfortunately, my metaphysical gifts were tied directly to my emotions. Given that those were all over the place the past two days, I struggled to keep up my shields. My grief was already unbearable, so it was harder when I felt other people’s sorrow layered on top. I was like a psychic amplifier of pain. Nevertheless, if I focused my thoughts I could almost numb it out.

  During the funeral service I sat in the front row, not at all surprised by how many people had attended. He was well liked. My eyes brimming with unshed tears, I quietly reflected on the nostalgic words spoken on his behalf.

  Partway through the service, an unexpected trembling racked my body when a blast of electricity suddenly enveloped me. Rolling through the air, it slammed into me like a tidal wave. Eerily similar to the occurrences in Denver, it took me completely by surprise. I glanced around anxiously, trying to locate the source of the disturbance. That’s when I caught sight of Nathan standing in back of the crowd. What is he doing here? Could he have heard about my father’s death from my work and flown out to console me? How could that be? No one knows I’d been in contact with him. He was still technically a person of interest in our investigation, and the FBI would never reveal my location to him. My mind raced furiously with questions as our eyes connected for the first time.

  His brows shot up to his forehead, his eyes rounded with shock. It didn’t make any sense—he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I could pinpoint the exact moment he’d realized how I’d manage to spot him amongst the crowd. All at once, the esoteric charge announcing his arrival began to fade away. Surveying the other people in attendance, I realized I was the only one who’d felt it. No one else had reacted.

  Antsy throughout the remainder of the service, my mind, and eyes, continuously wandered to Nathan, almost as though I was afraid he would disappear. When it was over, I was pulled into a crowd of well-wishers who were all asking questions and offering support. Trying to disengage myself, I stilled when I suddenly sensed his presence beside me.

  “Brianna, hello. How are you?” he asked, looking unsure. That made two of us.

  “I’m fine, Nathan...” I tried to think clearly; so much had happened. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was wondering the same thing about you.”

  “My father passed away. This is…this is his funeral.” My voice cracked a little.

  “James Burke was your father?” Any color he’d in his face instantly drained away. “But you have different surnames?”

  I was so confused. If he didn’t know I was going to be here, what was he doing here? “Yes, I know. My mother kept her maiden name, and after she died, my dad decided to give me her last name in memory.”

  “Your mother was Lauren?”

  “Yes. Did you know her?” Now I was getting suspicious. “And how did you know my father? You didn’t seem to know him when I introduced you the other night.”

  “I did not know your father.” Nathan seemed at loss for words. This was the first time I’d seen him uncertain since we’d met. “I knew your mother.”

  “That’s not possible. My mother died twenty eight years ago.”

  “What I meant was...I knew your mother’s family,” he corrected. “I came here looking for you, as a matter of fact. Well, not you exactly—James’ daughter. I had no idea he was your father.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair nervously. “This is becoming complicated.”

  “So, uncomplicated it. How did you know my mother’s family?”

  “Our families have been...close for a long time.”

  “Why were you looking for me? Or, more specifically, why were you looking for James’ daughter?”

  “This could be a potentially lengthy conversation.” He sighed, carefully weighing his response. “Is there any chance you will accompany me to dinner this evening so we can discuss it?”

  Indecision warred with curiosity as I made up my mind. This whole situation—the murder investigation, my father’s death, and now him showing up here unexpectedly—made me nervous. Nevertheless, I knew nothing of my mother or her family, and I was desperate to learn what I could. My father had never been willing to discuss anything about her family. And since he was gone now, the only person who could tell me anything was Nathan. Ultimately, it came down to whether I could trust him. Was this too coincidental?

>   I attempted to discern even a small flicker of emotion so I’d know if I could trust him. I felt naked without the ability to read him.

  He looked at me with a probing expression. Then without warning, my breath caught in my throat as the potent charge of energy came rushing back. It was flabbergasting. When I felt the current flood the air again, I could decipher Nathan’s feelings. It was as if the door to his emotions had been unlocked.

  In that moment, I knew he was being forthright. Sincerity and honesty were the two immediate impressions flooding my awareness. I felt a phantom fluttering in my belly mixed with attraction and excitement. It was an echo coming from him, and it was heartening to know he felt the same irrational roller coaster of emotions I’d experienced around him.

  My eyes watered as the unspoken communication passed between us. Somehow he knew I needed this exchange in order to trust him, and I knew he’d allowed it.

  “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you,” I said, swiping at a stray tear. “I just need to go back to my father’s house and freshen up. Did you want to pick me up there?”

  “That would be great. I will pick you up in an hour.” He leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against mine with a solemn look. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  His heartfelt words pricked at my heart. I’d almost been able to forget my sadness wondering about Nathan’s presence, but not now. The reminder brought a crushing wave of emotions, and I tried to hold back my tears. “Thank you.”

  I showered quickly, changed into a pair of jeans and a cotton tee, dried my hair and put on a little lip-gloss. I’d always been fortunate with my complexion, it was smooth and even toned so I almost never wore makeup. I tried to keep my mind blank while getting ready, but it was difficult. So many questions were swirling around my head. The most important: Who was Nathan Donovan and why had he been looking for me? Despite my questions, I was eager to see Nathan again. There was an inexplicable pull I always felt around him, his presence oddly familiar—and I could use familiar today.

  It was exactly one hour later when I heard the knock at my door. He was wearing a casual pair of light blue jeans and a black knit tee shirt that hugged his muscles. The snug fit of his shirt made it possible to see every contour underneath. I didn’t think it was possible, but he looked even better in his casual clothes than he did in his business suits. Still, even his mouth-watering good looks couldn’t penetrate my grief.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he repeated. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks reddened. “Um...where are we going?” I locked up and followed him to his car.

  “A quaint little cafe on Lake Michigan. The food is wonderful, but more importantly, is has a private patio so we can talk.” He opened the passenger door. “Shall we go?”

  The cafe was cozy, and it was unseasonably warm as we sat on the patio. There was no one else outside, and I was happy for the privacy—I didn’t want anyone overhearing our conversation.

  I had to restrain myself to keep the banter light for the first little while, but when our food finally arrived, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “So, I don’t really know where to start. I’m confused and I want answers. Is it rude if I just launch into a bunch of questions?”

  “Certainly not. What would you like to know first?”

  Nervously, I fiddled with my napkin. “Well, I think the most obvious question is why you were looking for me?”

  “As I said before, our families have been close for generations. Your father fled to ensure your safety after your mother died, and up until now he has remained well hidden.

  “If he was hiding, how did you find him?”

  “There was a picture of him in the newspaper announcing his death. I have had a private investigator searching for your father for the past few months.”

  He was about to continue when I interrupted. “I introduced you to my father. Why didn’t you say something then?”

  “The night you introduced us, I did not recognize him. I was far too enamored with you to notice anything else.” He flashed me a crooked smile. “Unfortunately, that photo now makes it possible for others to locate him. And if his identity is uncovered, they will find you as well.” He met my eyes and held them intently. “You are in danger.”

  “What makes you think I’m in danger? And why would anyone look for my dad?”

  His fingers plucked at some imaginary lint on the tablecloth, and I could see he was carefully considering his next question. “Was your father aware you are psychic?”

  The non sequitur caught me off-guard, his question posed as coolly as if he were asking about the weather. Holy crap! I had an idea that he knew I was psychic, but I didn’t expect him to come right out and ask. “How did you—?”

  “I have been aware of several occasions you attempted to utilize your gift on me. Though, I am not positive how your ability manifests. What exactly can you do?” His inquiry held a note of challenge.

  “I can—I’m an Empath.”

  “That is a rare ability. I am impressed.” He sat back with a broad smile and whistled.

  “Great. I’m so glad you’re impressed. Now, can you tell me how you knew about my gift? I’ve never told anyone. Well, except for my dad, but that was just recently.” My eyes shimmered with tears at the reminder.

  “As I said, our families were very close.” He leaned into me and lowered his voice. “In fact, their connection can be traced back to the original twenty-five families.”

  The response was purposely cryptic. ‘Twenty-five families’ referred to my Akychi heritage—he was feeling me out for information, trying to ascertain if I knew I was a witch.

  I grinned and arched a brow. “You’re a witch too?”

  “So, your father did tell you. I was not sure if he had.”

  “Well, I really didn’t give him a choice.”

  He chuckled. “Somehow, I do not doubt that.”

  “Do you have any special talents?”

  He gave me a roguish grin before answering. “I am very talented with my tongue—I would be happy to demonstrate.” He waggled his brows suggestively and I couldn’t stop the bark of laughter bursting from my mouth.

  “Come on, I’m serious. I meant witchy talents not manly talents.” I tried my damnedest not to picture him naked, but it was hard after that last remark.

  “Oh, I apologize. I did not realize you were referring to witchy talents.” An unrepentant smile lit up his face. “No, I do not possess any gifts.”

  “You still haven’t explained why you think I’m in danger. What does any of this have to do with that?”

  “Let me tell you why I know you are in danger.” He took a sip of his water and leaned his elbows on the table. “Do you recall when you inquired if I there was anything I was not telling you regarding your investigation?” I nodded, wondering where this was leading. “I told you that if there was anything I could tell you, I would. Because of who you are, it is now essential I tell you what I know. There is a connection between all of your victims. One that I do not believe the FBI has pieced together.” He paused, allowing me to digest the information.

  I still didn’t understand. What did the investigation have to do with my being a witch, or my family? “I’m listening. What’s the connection?”

  “They are all related to each other. None of the women were aware of the relation, which is why you have not been able to connect them. As far as they knew, they had no living family—except for Sherri, and her mother passed away shortly after she did.”

  “I don’t know how you could know this information if the victims themselves weren’t even aware. But let’s just say for a moment that I believe you.” My sardonic tone told him I didn’t. “You still haven’t explained why I’m in danger.”

  He let out a gusty sigh, “You are also related to Leslie, Morganna, and Sherri—they are your first cousins.”

  “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but there is no way I’m rel
ated to the victims. I would know if I was.” I denied it out loud, but a sliver of doubt crept into my mind. After all, I shared a strong resemblance the victims.

  “Really?” he drawled, cynically. “So, your father has never withheld information from you? You have never sensed he was hiding something about your family?”

  Shit. He had me there.

  “I knew there was a chance you would not believe me, but you must understand the danger you face.”

  If everything he said was true, I was in danger.

  “There is a simple way to sort this out,” he continued. “Compare the DNA. You will see I am telling the truth.”

  We were both silent as I thought about his suggestion. It was the only way to verify his crazy theory.

  “There is more I need to explain, but I think you have enough information to assimilate for tonight. And I do not need empathic gifts to know you are doubtful right now. Order the tests, and then call me when you are ready to hear the rest.”

  Chapter 7

  I’d returned to Denver, at least physically, anyway. I couldn’t seem to clear my head as I struggled to reconcile my father’s secrets. I thought I’d be relieved to discover what he’d been hiding, but when my father died, I’d given up hope. Now that I knew, I didn’t feel much better. I felt betrayed. I didn’t even know my real name, or my parents’ real names. Not to mention I had an unknown amount of family scattered around the country—God, maybe even the world—with no way to find them. And a serial killer out there picking us off. Still, Nathan might be mistaken. I mean, how could he know more about my family than I did? How would the FBI’s background checks not have revealed anything? Upon my return, I’d convinced Morrison to have the lab run DNA tests on the victims to compare the samples. When he asked why, I explained I’d had a hunch.

  Why is it whenever you end a life-altering conversation, you think of all the questions you should have asked? I was kicking myself thinking of everything I should’ve asked Nathan. My only excuse: I’d had too much on my mind. Between discovering I was a witch, my dad passing, and learning I might be related to the victims, who could blame me for not thinking straight? And, on top of everything else, I missed Nathan terribly. I hadn’t spoken to him since I left Chicago, and I missed our nightly phone chats.