Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  'About Megan,' she said, 'you asked about her memories.'

  He nodded.

  'It’s possible they came from her childhood. The town seemed to have been the trigger.'

  He joined a dual carriageway. 'It's a pity she wouldn't allow us to hypnotise her. I'm sure we would have found something out.'

  'I think it was because of her little boy. She was very anxious . . . kept looking at the photo.'

  'I put my foot in that one.'

  'I did tell you she had lost her son.'

  'I know. I didn't mean it to come out quite like that. What happened?'

  'An aspirin overdose, an accident.'

  'That's awful.'

  They continued in silence. The landscape was mundane, flat and constant. Along one side were wheat crops, and on the other side was sugar beet. The road was straight with few bends and the traffic was sparse. Up ahead a truck chugged along at a steady pace. He pressed his foot on the accelerator, closed the gap, and overtook.

  'I wish we could have stopped her going to see Verity,' he said.

  'Don't you think Ben will be able to stop her?'

  'He didn't seem too confident.'

  'Why didn't we go to visit Verity?' she asked. 'That would have put Megan off.'

  'I promised Mrs Francis we would be there at two o'clock. She wants to see the photographs today.'

  The case had been straightforward. Mrs Francis believed one of her employees was contacting her customers and doing private business with them on the side. They had followed the woman, a Miss Canterbury, and obtained the necessary evidence. The work was uninteresting but it paid the bills.

  'Couldn’t we have delayed by an hour,' Imogen said, 'Megan could put her foot right in it.'

  'I am hoping she won't be that stupid. She knows the risks.'

  'Do you think Verity is a suspect?'

  'She has to be one of them. I'm not happy about Megan visiting her, but there was nothing I could do except chain her to the house.'

  'This is so cool! Imagine having memories of a past life.'

  'Let's not get ahead of ourselves. They still could be her memories.'

  'You don't really believe that, do you?'

  He could sense her glaring at him, the way Sarah had. She used to tell him reincarnation was nonsense, that there was no scientific evidence in his theories at all. 'You should only deal with facts,' she had said, 'anything else wastes time.' Her eyes had been like spears. He had felt belittled, worthless, and had been desperate for proof, anything to impress her. He would lay awake at night urging his brain to search for a convincing fact or quote, but he never found one solid enough. And even if he had, she would have brushed it aside, like she did with all of his unusual notions.

  'Reincarnation is only a theory,' he said to Imogen, 'I doubt there is any truth in it.'

  She gawked. 'That is not what you think. You have said yourself that Saskia is most likely Megan's incarnated self.'

  'Don't mock me, and don't pretend to understand something that is beyond you!'

  She gawked at him.

  'Just let it go,' he said in a softer voice.

  'This is about Sarah, isn't it?'

  'This is nothing to do with Sarah.'

  'I don't believe you,' she said, 'you have said in the past that she never understood you.'

  'Of course she did. We were together two years. She always supported me.'

  'Whatever.'

  Could she see his lies? His skin was hot and sticky, he was scowling like a spoiled child and his lips were pouting. ‘Grow up,’ he heard Sarah say, and imagined her striding away.

  'Leave Sarah out of this! It's none of your business.'

  Her mouth clamped and her fists clenched.

  A little further on, he had calmed sufficiently to glance sideways. Whilst her expression wasn’t stern, her silence proved she was upset, and understandably so. She was kind and understanding, and above all supportive, and didn’t deserve to be at the receiving end of his shameful behaviour.

  Driving along in silence, keeping his head fixed on the road ahead and his foot heavy on the pedal, he reflected on his outburst and pitiful whines. Even though he regretted that Sarah wasn’t more like Imogen, mostly he felt he had been unfair and unreasonable to Imogen. His feelings were intense and intolerable, so much so that he felt fit to burst.

  He passed her a quick glance. ‘I’m sorry Imogen. I shouldn’t have said what I did. You deserve better than to have to tolerate a jerk like me.’

  ‘Thank you. Apology accepted.'

  ‘I know I can be a pain in the backside. It’s just . . .’ he paused. ‘It’s just at times Sarah stresses me out. I want tonight to be perfect, you know?’

  She nodded.

  He glimpsed at her and smiled. 'Can we forget about her and all the other stuff for the rest of the day?

  'If that's what you want.'

  ‘It is . . . thanks.’

  Despite an inner voice telling him otherwise, he needed Sarah in his life. He needed to feel her warmth and passion. He needed to convince her that he was now a private investigator, and not a paranormal investigator, or a waste of space, as she insinuated. He needed to eliminate his negative feelings and doubts and concentrate on having a good time.

  Excitement mingled with nervous anxiety as Luke parked his car in the allotted bay close to the row of cottages, and strode to his house, passing through the small front garden and the colourful array of blooms. A scent wafted towards him. He glanced at the pinks and reds and saw spent flower heads, withering and brown, alongside the fresh blossoms. He should have clipped them away. Sarah would be sure to notice.

  He stepped inside his house and scanned the living room for misplaced items and dirt. The television and fireplace were on his left, and two doors were on his right. One led upstairs and the other led into the kitchen. Along the wall on the far side was a sideboard, and resting on top of it were his models. There was a radio controlled Chinook, his favourite, a Porsche, and a spaceship from the film Star Trek. He should remove them and replace them with something more acceptable.

  He slung his jacket over the back of the sofa and looked at the temperature gauge. It was still warm outside, and the sun's glow heated the room to a muggy thirty-one degrees centigrade. He stepped towards the window, automatically searching the glass for smears, before turning the handle and pushing it open. Fresh air gently caressed his skin and brushed against his cotton shirt. He inhaled, reached into a cupboard for an air freshener, and plugged it in.

  Everything had to be perfect. He would dust and vacuum the room and then he would prepare dinner, but first, he should change into his casual attire. He ascended the staircase, entered the small bedroom, and dropped onto the edge of the bed. His hand rested on the lightweight duvet and swept across the smooth cotton beneath his skin. It felt gritty. It needed replacing with something else.

  The covers were stored in the cupboard above the wardrobe. He stood on the tips of his feet, stretched out his arms, and reached inside. At the bottom of the pile was Sarah's set. It was made of silk and was a beautiful shiny cream colour. With a little effort, he managed to extract it without toppling the pile and laid it on the bed as he changed.

  His body was tingling with nerves. He remembered their previous meetings and saw her slender body dressed in a long silk nightdress with shoulder straps and cap sleeves as she lay seductively on the bed. She had smiled at him, and strands of her hair had flopped into her face. He had leaned towards her, melting in her essence, and just for that moment, his life had been complete.

  His body jarred. By the bed were books on paranormal events, a stark reminder of the reason for their separation. Panicking, he rushed around to the other side, picked them up, and frantically squeezed them into the bottom of one of his cupboards. Sarah must not see them. If he was to win her back, he had to convince her that his life had taken a different turn.

  Having checked the bedroom for anything else untoward, he moved to the bathro
om, gave the surfaces a quick wipe, and replaced the towels with a new set that were soft and freshly fragranced. Then he strolled down the stairs. His mind was still assessing his possessions and categorising them into approved or rejected when he remembered a photograph on his bedroom wall. He darted back upstairs, removed the image of a UFO hovering above a city, and replaced it with an image of the Norfolk coast.

  Imogen's disapproval sounded in his mind and he immediately retaliated, offering a reason as to why he should rearrange his possessions. He loved Sarah and he needed her. It was more than a simple desire. She gave him the strength he needed to get out of bed, she gave him reason to look forward to evenings and weekends, she gave him reason to live. How could that be wrong? Relationships were about give and take.

  Back downstairs, he put the ingredients for the meal on the kitchen worktop and started the preparations. Had Sarah ever compromised? Had she ever tried to understand his passion for the unusual? He told himself it did not matter, adding he could give up the paranormal cases if necessary. So why had he not already done it? Why was he even pursuing this case with Megan?

  His face was creased and his movements abrupt, as Imogen's imaginary figure hovered behind him. He tried to block his mind with thoughts of his evening, one that he had craved for such a long time, but he could not dull his senses, and she continued to question his actions, speaking with an irritating screechy voice and following him everywhere.

  Passing the time, he checked and double-checked the house for anything untidy or forgotten. He made sure Sarah's favourite CDs were at hand, and then he retrieved a book from a cupboard and placed it on the coffee table. Sarah had recently taken up sailing, so he had used it as the perfect opportunity to indulge her. He had found an instructor and sought his advice on the choice of book. Proud of his thoughtfulness, he perched on the arm of the sofa and imagined her appreciation. The doorbell sounded.

  Sarah was as prompt as ever. Butterflies fluttered as they greeted with a hug and kiss and he breathed in her adorable scent. Pulling away, he scanned her slender figure, reminding himself of her form, and gazed at her navy blue dress with a crossover bodice and flared skirt. It looked expensive and she looked as sexy as ever. He complimented her choice of attire.

  ‘You’re a sweetie,’ she said and gazed at the book resting on the coffee table. 'For me?'

  He nodded, and as he poured out the wine, he glimpsed at her flicking through the pages, her eyes shining and her focus set.

  'Is it suitable?' he asked.

  'It's just what I wanted. Thank you so much.'

  He grinned. 'My pleasure.'

  For a few minutes, he let her look and kept an eye on the food, simmering on the hob and baking in the oven. His primary aim was to ensure she was happy and relaxed, yet it was not a selfless act. A little voice suggested he was trying to buy her affections. He denied it unreservedly.

  'How's work going?’ she asked, and closed the book.

  His body stiffened and his throat dried. 'I've had a few cases to investigate. An extramarital affair and a businesswoman monitoring one of her workers . . . things like that. It's been quiet, but I'm managing to pay the bills.'

  ‘No big cases then?’

  He peered towards her. She was leaning back into the sofa with her legs crossed and with a glass of wine in her hand. She was scrutinising him, searching for untruths. He had to remain attentive . . . couldn't let anything slip. ‘Nothing substantial.’

  'What about the other stuff?' she asked.

  'I'm phasing it out. I've stopped the advertising, and I haven't written an article for a magazine for a while.'

  'That's good news. You'll do better without it. I saw that reincarnation interview on television.'

  Heat progressed from his body, passing through his neck and up to his face. He scampered back into the kitchen out of her immediate view. 'I had to do that. It had been planned a while ago.'

  'It looked like you could have done with a stiff drink beforehand.'

  Imogen had not noticed his nerves. Imogen had praised him. 'Yes, well, we can't all be good at public speaking.'

  'Did you practise?'

  'Of course I did.'

  Sarah appeared in the doorway. Her scrutiny was stifling. 'I would have offered you a few tips if you’d asked. A bit of deep breathing and slowing down your words would have helped you come across better.'

  'Just let it go.'

  'I'm only trying to help.' She wandered back into the living room. 'You looked older on television too. I couldn't believe it was you.'

  So, he did look older than his years. Imogen was right. 'You're full of compliments tonight.'

  'Just telling you how it is.' She patted the sofa. 'Come here, let's have a cuddle.'

  'I have a meal to make.'

  He put two plates into the oven to warm and placed the mats and cutlery onto the small rectangular table. She appeared at his rear, wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her breasts into his back. Ignoring a tingling sensation, he pulled away and shuffled to check the food.

  'You're a bit tense tonight,' she said.

  'No, I'm not.'

  'I thought you would be pleased to see me.'

  'I am pleased to see you.'

  'So what's with the pouting lips?'

  'My lips are not pouting.'

  She reached her finger towards his mouth. He pushed her aside and placed the food onto the plates. He could sense her annoyance mount. If he weren’t careful, she would leave. That was not what he wanted.

  'Sorry,' he muttered, 'I've had a busy day . . . been travelling quite a bit.'

  'Have you a new assistant yet?'

  'Yes, her name's Imogen. She's fantastic.'

  'Imogen.' Sarah smiled. 'Do I sense a love interest?'

  'No, absolutely not. Imogen is a colleague. She's far too young for me.'

  'How old is she?'

  'Early twenties.'

  'That's not too young.'

  'I'm not interested. I'm happy alone.'

  He instructed her to the table to eat and served the food.

  'Don't let me stop you,' she said, 'I will find someone eventually. This relationship of ours won't go on forever.'

  He pressed his lips together and scowled. 'So you're just here for the sex.'

  'Aren't you?'

  How could he tell her he loved her and that he prayed that she would return to him one day? His yearnings had to stay private and he must hold his tongue.

  'No one's forcing you to sleep with me,' she said.

  'I feel used.'

  'Don't lie. You enjoy it as much as I do.'

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  'And don't insinuate that I'm cheap either,' she continued, 'I didn't come here to be harassed. Either get over yourself or I'll leave.'

  He placed a small piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed until it disintegrated, all the time avoiding eye contact. Sarah had every right to be angry. There was an unspoken agreement between them and he had no right to say the things he had. He resolved to focus upon the happier times they had spent together and considered her strength of personality and determination to succeed, their drinking binges in Spain and Tenerife, and their shared laughter and joy.

  Having improved his mood, he raised his head and smiled. At first, Sarah did not smile back, but then her eyes shone. He traced every freckle upon her face, he followed the lines around her mouth, and he imagined his hands running through her lush dark-brown hair. Tonight she was all his. That should be his focus and motivation. He should discard the rest as unimportant.

  Having apologised, they continued the meal and made general chatter that avoided relationships. Even though he presented an improved image, his tension remained. Something had changed between them, yet he could not determine what it was. Nevertheless, after they’d eaten, as was the norm, they drank more wine, listened to seductive tracks, and made their way upstairs. Everything was going well until he realised he was struggling to become arouse
d.

  Ignoring his problem, he relented to her request to dominate, and fell onto his onto his back and allowed her to straddle him. Her warm hands fingered his chest, tenderly progressing towards his bellybutton, and her mouth caressed his face and neck.

  Warming to the idea of her touch, he motioned her to remove her dress. Once she had lifted herself free, she swayed her body from side to side, her face melting with lust. He could not resist and rose to his feet and pressed his mouth to hers. Their warm soft flesh united and their bodies compressed. He fumbled with his fingers, searching for the zipper on her dress, and let it drop to the floor.

  Sarah stood before him, donned in lacy underwear and as beautiful as ever. Right now, right there, she was his. Nothing else had any significance in his life. He would learn to live for the moment and relish the joy.

  Chapter 12

  Scuttling away, Megan peered over her shoulder as she approached the end of the street. Ben was returning indoors, and did not see her looking, nor did he seem to be considering following her. She relaxed her tightened calf muscles and slowed her steps. It was all too much, David, Saskia, and the never-ending questions, and she needed a moment's respite.

  Megan had a reasonable idea where Verity lived having received an address and vague directions a couple of days previous, but she needed to gather her thoughts and contemplate her line of questioning. So, she made a quick right turn, taking an alley between two rows of townhouses and headed to the recreation area.

  A sweet rose-like aroma scented the path, originating from heavy blooms. The sun was intense and the heat gathered beneath her jacket. It was a beautiful day, and far too warm for extra clothing. She slipped free her arms and enjoyed the stimulating sensation of the cooling breeze upon her skin.

  Luke and Ben were adamant that she was Saskia’s incarnated self, and sensed she would never be able to convince them otherwise. They were besotted with the idea, only wanting the excitement of the stranger's memories slipping from her mouth. Neither of them cared how she felt and how her insides ached with her ignorance, and she yearned for their consideration.