Out of Control

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Oh.” It seemed weird to have a visiting professor investigating a potential stalker, but what did she know? “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

  He reached into his pocket to pull out a pen, scribbling on a piece of napkin.

  “Here,” he murmured, folding the paper before he lightly pressed it into her unresisting fingers.

  Angela’s heart slammed against her ribs as pleasure exploded through her. Her head might warn her to stop weaving futile fantasies about this man, but her body hadn’t received the memo.

  His fingers were hot—shockingly hot—against her skin. A branding heat that sent darts of excitement to the pit of her stomach.

  And his scent was wrapping around her like a cloak of invitation.

  “What is it?” she husked, becoming lost in the astonishing blue of his eyes.

  “My phone number.”

  “Phone number?”

  “I want you to call me.”

  Her heart gave another stuttering leap. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I . . .” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “When?”

  “The very minute you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  Shit. She came back to earth with a resounding crash.

  The stalker. Right.

  She lowered her head, determined he wouldn’t guess her flare of humiliation.

  “Okay.”

  “If you notice anything,” he insisted. “No matter how small.”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  Without warning his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her face up so he could study her with a faint frown.

  “You promise?”

  There was another jolt of sensation before she was pulling free of his destructive touch and rising to her feet with a stubborn expression.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Angela—”

  “I need to find Megan.”

  Chapter Two

  Standing near the railing of the second floor of the nightclub, Nikolo studied the throng of people that moved below him.

  College students jerked and hopped around the dance floor while townies and aging professors lined the bar at the back.

  Over and over, his gaze skimmed the swarm of norms before returning to the slender brunette who’d moved to a front table with her friend.

  He didn’t worry about the aggravating scientist catching sight of him. He couldn’t actually make himself invisible, but he could . . . convince people not to notice him.

  It was a talent of most Sentinels. Along with heightened senses, predatory instincts, and a cunning patience that would allow him to track his prey from one end of the world to other if necessary.

  He also had the ability to sense when a high-blood was near.

  Of course, the public was far more accustomed to the Sentinels who performed as guardians to high-bloods. Those Sentinels were raised and trained by monks in mysterious arts that were never spoken of outside the monasteries. They were also heavily tattooed to protect them from being controlled by psychics or attacked with spells.

  They were lethal beasts, but they were also ridiculously noticeable in a crowd.

  Massive killers tattooed from the top of their bald heads to the tips of their toes tended to attract attention.

  Which is why the Sentinels also needed hunters who could travel unnoticed.

  Hunters like him. Oh, and the man currently standing a few feet away.

  Never allowing his gaze to stray from Angela Locke, he gave a tiny motion of his hand. All high-bloods understood you didn’t approach a Sentinel when he was locked on his prey.

  Bad, bad things could happen.

  “Arel,” he murmured, recognizing the scent of the fellow Sentinel.

  The younger man stepped forward, the flashing strobe lights shimmering over the honey highlights in his light brown hair and turning his eyes to molten gold.

  Most humans dismissed Arel as a charming playboy. A role he performed with consummate skill. But those trained to look beneath the surface could detect the muscles honed to lean perfection beneath his casual T-shirt and faded jeans, and the ruthless determination that simmered deep in the gold eyes.

  “Dylan?” Arel murmured softly.

  Niko grimaced at the mention of the female high-blood they’d been hunting for the past six weeks.

  “Still in the wind.”

  “Are you positive she’ll show up here?”

  Niko didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “And you’re always right?”

  “Always.”

  Arel snorted. “You know you’re an arrogant SOB, don’t you, Niko?”

  Niko shrugged. Yep, he knew. But his confidence wasn’t just conceit.

  From the second Dylan had murdered her two guards to escape from Valhalla, he’d dedicated every waking moment to studying his prey.

  He knew the day and hour Dylan had been born. He knew that she’d been less than a week old when her parents had left her in the field outside Valhalla. He knew that she nursed a bitter fury at having been abandoned by her family despite her welcome among the high-bloods. Perhaps because she was one of the unfortunate freaks that had been born with a mutation that left her with startling crimson eyes and large black spots on her skin, like a cheetah. Unlike many high-bloods she’d been unable to pass as norm, which only increased her resentment.

  Or maybe she’d just been born a psychopath.

  Being given special powers didn’t mean that a person was automatically a superhero.

  High-bloods possessed all the usual failings of norms. Only they could do a hell of a lot more damage if they weren’t contained.

  Which was where Niko and his fellow Sentinels came in.

  He shrugged. “I know what she’s going to do before she does,” he said.

  “And you think because she’d been searching through Calder’s files on your scientist that she’s coming here?”

  “Yes.”

  Niko had been baffled at first when he’d discovered that Dylan had been sneaking into the Master of Gifts’ office. Calder and his order were dedicated to tracking down those high-bloods who either didn’t realize they were “special” or were trying to pass as normal. Like a Sentinel they possessed the ability to sense talents, even latent talents, although they used their skills to convince high-bloods to join with their brethren at Valhalla, or in one of the many compounds located around the world. While Niko . . . well, his duties weren’t quite so nice.

  At last he’d put together the reasons for Dylan’s late-night visits to Calder’s office.

  And it had everything to do with Angela Locke.

  “Not that I’m questioning your conclusion, amigo,” Arel said in dry tones, “but why is she currently on a killing spree through Texas?”

  “She’s trying to disguise her true purpose and throw us off her trail.”

  “For six weeks?”

  “She’s always been patient.”

  “True.” Arel’s features hardened, his charming smile replaced by a cold hatred. Both Niko and Arel had reason to want Dylan tracked down and destroyed. The sooner the better. “She must have planned her escape from Valhalla for months.”

  “Years,” he corrected.

  “We can’t keep cleaning up her kills, Niko.” Arel grimaced. “There have been five more. Plus the losses we suffered—”

  “I know how many she’s killed,” Niko interrupted. He couldn’t discuss Fiona’s bloody murder.

  Not yet.

  “Then you’ll understand that I was sent by the Tagos to warn you that you have until the end of the month,” Arel said, referring to the ultimate leader of the Sentinels. “After that he wants you on the trail in Texas.”

  Niko shrugged, unperturbed by the warning. “Dylan will be here before then.”

  Arel snorted. “You’re good, but you’re no psychic. How can you be so certain?”

  “Spring break starts at the end of classes tomorrow,” he said, his gaze narrowing
as he watched Angela being led to the edge of the dance floor by a blond jackass who obviously ate steroids like candy. No mere mortal had those kinds of muscles without pharmaceutical help. He didn’t like the way the bastard was staring at her overexposed breasts. In fact, he might very well find a way to make Blondie disappear if he laid a hand on the vulnerable female. “It will be the perfect opportunity to make Angela Thorne disappear.”

  “It’s a little late for her to try and be subtle, isn’t it?” Arel demanded.

  “She wanted to attract attention to draw us south. Now she’ll want to fly below the radar. She won’t want us knowing that she has the scientist,” he pointed out, his tone absent as his attention remained homed in on the female who was moving with a surprising grace. “Besides, it’s far more difficult to disappear when you have a hostage.”

  Easily sensing Niko’s distraction, Arel leaned against the railing.

  “Is she the real deal?”

  “Yeah, she’s the real deal.” Niko forced himself to shift his attention back to his companion. Until Dylan was dead he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Especially not by this particular female. “Calder intended to bring her to the compound after she graduated.”

  “Why wait?”

  “He wanted the female to enjoy being normal for as long as possible.”

  Arel gave a grunt of laughter. “He’s always been too softhearted for his own good.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.”

  “While you’re a coldhearted Sentinel who’s willing to use an innocent female as bait for a psycho killer.”

  Arel’s words rasped a raw nerve that Niko didn’t even know he possessed until he’d crossed paths with the pretty young scientist who’d slayed him with one shy smile.

  Dammit.

  Angela Locke was a pawn.

  And like any pawn she was supposed to be expendable.

  So why had he spent the past six weeks imagining her stretched beneath him as he taught her the true meaning of biology?

  He swallowed a low growl. “I get results.”

  “True enough . . .” Arel’s words ended with a low whistle as the frantic music ended and Angela turned to reveal her slender curves so shockingly revealed by those too-tight jeans and the shirt that should be illegal. Damn, Megan. It had to be her influence. “Hellooo. You didn’t say anything about her being a beauty.”

  “Because it has nothing to do with the job,” he snapped.

  Arel smiled with a slow anticipation. “Hey, if you don’t want to bed her, I will.”

  Niko hissed at his unexpected surge of fury. He was never possessive of women. Not even when they were his lovers.

  It had to be this job.

  He was . . . on edge. Anxious to find Dylan and make her pay for what she’d done to Fiona.

  That had to be it.

  Feeling the weight of Arel’s all-too-knowing gaze, he sent his fellow Sentinel a scowl.

  “Don’t you have someplace you have to be?”

  A mysterious smile played around the younger man’s lips. “Yes, but I don’t mind changing assignments.”

  “Go away, Arel.”

  Arel chuckled before he placed a hand on Niko’s shoulder. “Take care. I’ve already lost two friends. I won’t lose another.”

  Chapter Three

  Usually the small apartment three blocks away from the campus was a place of peace for Angela.

  Not that anyone else would share her opinion.

  Most people would shudder at the worn furniture that she’d picked up at second-hand stores and garage sales. Not to mention the bedroom that was overflowing with unpacked boxes from her mother’s house. Boxes that were filled with painful memories she wasn’t prepared to open.

  And oh yeah, a kitchen that had become a mini-lab with microscopes, petri dishes, test tubes, and three small fridges that contained her current experiments.

  Hardly the palace most women dreamed of.

  But for Angela it was far better than a palace.

  It was her safe haven.

  The moment she closed the door she could forget the day, along with the frustrating challenge of trying to fit in a world that always seemed slightly out of focus.

  Today, however, there was no peace as she shut and locked the door.

  Pacing across the living room, she peeked through the curtains at the empty street below.

  It had started this morning.

  She’d spent the entire day with the sensation she was being watched by some unseen lurker.

  And she laid full blame on the shoulders of Dr. Nikolo Bartrev.

  Not because of his abrupt arrival and equally abrupt departure from the club last night, although the aggravating man had taken away any hope of enjoying the night. Oh, she’d gone through the routine for Megan’s sake. She’d danced, she’d sipped her gin fizz, and laughed on cue, but the evening had gone flat.

  No, she was used to wishing for things she could never have.

  It was his warning of a mysterious stalker that had her jumping at shadows.

  Seeing nothing but the usual joggers and occasional car drive past, she gave a shake of her head.

  What had she expected?

  A stranger wearing a hockey mask and lurking on the sidewalk?

  Or maybe a car in the parking lot with a sign that said STALKERS “R” US?

  “This is stupid,” she muttered, stepping away from the window and heading into the kitchen.

  Spring break had officially started. Classes were out, the majority of the students were even now fleeing town for warmer climes, and she would have a blessed, uninterrupted week to work on her private research.

  No doubt Megan would toss her hands up in defeat, but as far as Angela was concerned she’d rather be concentrating on her work than wasting her days on an overcrowded beach.

  Okay, maybe if the beach included Professor Hottie she might consider—

  Entering the kitchen, Angela came to a halt, a strange sense of alarm tingling down her spine.

  Someone had been in here.

  She didn’t know exactly how she could be so certain. Perhaps the microscope had been shifted ever so slightly. Or maybe there was a lingering scent she didn’t quite recognize.

  Whatever the cause, her vague unease became full on, adrenaline-charging alarm as she whirled around, intent on fleeing the apartment.

  A wise decision that came too late.

  She barely managed a step before the door was blocked by a slender figure.

  Angela’s heart slammed to a halt as she took a swift inventory of the intruder.

  The stranger wasn’t much taller than her, and was dressed from head to toe in black. Black leather pants. Black turtleneck sweater. Black ski mask.

  Good grief. Did stalkers have a uniform code?

  She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh, sternly reminding herself that she was in danger.

  Despite the fact the intruder was more or less the same size as herself and clearly female, she wasn’t fooled. Beneath the tight clothes she could make out hard, lean muscles that warned the intruder could tie Angela into a painful pretzel.

  Or worse.

  “Who are you?” she managed to croak, her mind sluggishly trying to shift through her limited options.

  No. Not limited.

  Nonexistent.

  Her cell phone was in her purse that she’d left in the living room. There was no doubt a knife was tucked in her silverware drawer, but it was across the room. And there was nothing close enough at hand to use as a weapon.

  For now her options were talking her way out of danger or hoping for a miracle.

  Neither seemed likely.

  Casually leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb the intruder revealed she was in far better control of her nerves than Angela.

  “Would you believe a friend?”

  “No.”

  A nonchalant shrug. “Then let’s say I’m a potential customer.”

  “Customer?” Angela frow
ned before she gave a small gasp of understanding. “Oh. I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”

  The woman adjusted her black glove. Preparing for violence?

  “I rarely make mistakes,” she drawled. Her voice was oddly beautiful. Almost hypnotic.

  Angela licked her lips, flicking a brief glance toward the expensive equipment that was piled on the kitchen table.

  “I know it must look like I manufacture drugs, but I’m just a scientist,” she said, her palms damp. Had the temperature gone up? Or was it sheer terror that was making her feel as if her sweatshirt and jeans were smothering her? “There’s nothing here that will get you high.”

  “Just a scientist?” The stranger gave a chiding shake of her head. “Now, now, Angela. There’s no need for such modesty. You’re already considered the brilliant star in the world of genetics.”

  Angela took a shocked step back. “You know me?”

  “Of course. I’ve been following your career with breathless anticipation.”

  Okay. The whole encounter had just shifted from scary to terrifyingly creepy.

  “Who are you?” she repeated the question that had never been answered.

  The intruder straightened, taking a step into the kitchen. “A devoted fan.”

  Fan? Did scientists have groupies?

  Well, beyond Stephen Hawking?

  “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m just a postgraduate student struggling to finish her dissertation,” she said, her voice quivering. “If you want to speak with an actual researcher—”

  “It’s you I want,” the woman interrupted.

  “For what?”

  “A job.”

  The simple words caught Angela off guard.

  Was that why this woman had snuck into her home?

  She’d been warned that recruiters could be aggressive when trying to capture the top graduates. Especially recruiters from pharmaceutical companies. But this was beyond ridiculous.

  “Actually, I haven’t really considered what I plan to do after graduation, but—”

  “I’m afraid it’s something of a rush job.”

  With a lift of her hand the stranger yanked off her stocking hat and Angela nearly went to her knees in shock.

  “Holy crap,” she muttered, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.