Also by Stella Barcelona
DECEIVED
SHADOWS
JIGSAW
CONCIERGE
“Deceived brings history to life in a suspenseful, contemporary tale that sends the protagonists on a research trip to a past close to their hearts. Barcelona’s debut book brings an excellent author to the fore; the intrigue blends beautifully with the romance.” –Heather Graham, New York Times Bestselling Author
“A weaver of words, Ms. Barcelona creates a story that draws you in from page one, keeps you on the edge of your seat, and leaves you wanting more.” –InD’Tale Magazine, review of Deceived
Shadows is “a smart techno-thriller with a steamy and surprisingly touching love story between two characters who are both torn between duty and desire. The stakes are high throughout, but the sacrifices that the hero and the heroine have made for what they feel is right makes their relationship that much more meaningful and offers a safe haven in the midst of a tangled, dangerous and well-plotted escapade.”
–RT Book Reviews
“Terrifyingly possible, Shadows is romantic suspense on steroids. Not for the faint of heart, but definitely for fans of the genre, this book was just amazing.” –Long and Short Reviews, Review Blog
“An emotional roller coaster of a novel that leaves your breathless. Intelligently written, the plot is both edgy and intense.” –RT Book Reviews, review of Jigsaw
“A well-written mash up of thriller, political intrigue, terrorism, cyber-intelligence, second chances, romance, and sex.” –Liz Gavin, Review Blog, review of Jigsaw
“A thrilling world of intrigue, terrorism, love, and hate, where her characters come to life in the pages of her book. … Ms. Barcelona is a master storyteller and readers will be coming back again and again.” – InD’Tale Magazine, review of Jigsaw
“Exceptional . . . It’s a slow burn, it’s a multi-layer story, it’s a multi-plot story, it’s a total and utter plot twist that I really did not see coming.” –The Archaeolibrarian, Review Blog, review of Concierge
“A well-written, spellbinding book! A++. The pacing was perfect, the suspense nail-biting and the romance … *sigh* so satisfying!” –Between My Bookendz, Amazon Review of Concierge
Shadows, RONE Awards Winner – “Best Suspense Thriller Novel 2016” –InD’Tale Magazine
IMAGINE
Stella Barcelona
Imagine Copyright © 2018 by Stella Barcelona
Black Raven logo design, Copyright © 2014 by Stella Barcelona
All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior express written permission of the author. Unauthorized reproduction of this material, electronic or otherwise, will result in legal action.
Please report the unauthorized distribution of this publication by contacting the author at stellabarcelona.com, via email at [email protected], or at Stella Barcelona, P.O. Box 70332, New Orleans, Louisiana, 70172-0332. Please help stop internet piracy by alerting the author with the name and web address of any questionable or unauthorized distributor.
Imagine is a work of fiction. The people and events in Imagine are entirely fictional. The story is not a reflection of historical or current fact, nor is the story an accurate representation of past or current events. Any resemblance between the characters in this novel and any or all persons living or dead is entirely coincidental
To my mother, Melva Barcelona.
Thank you for encouraging me to read.
Chapter One
Thursday, November 1
New Orleans, Louisiana
Even at 2 a.m., Frenchmen Street remained crowded with Halloween revelers. As she and Ace stepped out of a nightclub, leaving between a band’s sets, Leo noticed a red and yellow pedicab a block away. The driver sat on the bicycle seat, his forearms draped over the bike’s handles, his gaze scanning left to right.
Pointing, Leo said, “Hey. Look. Pedicab. Should we grab it?”
“Sounds good to me,” Ace said, moving closer to the curb to make room for a group of faux vampires.
Leo lifted her arm and waved at the driver. Ace did the same, as a jazz combo’s tune drifted from a bar across the street. When the pedicab driver pulled up to the sidewalk, his gaze lingered on her. “Nice. The Matrix. A classic. You’re Trinity, right?”
“Absolutely. Ace, this man gets a big tip!” Leo had been excited when she’d found the skin-tight, black jumpsuit with leather accents–the same kind worn by the female heroine of The Matrix, a computer programmer and hacker with kick-ass fighting skills. Going all out, she had cut her brown hair and tinted it black. Dark sunglasses and high-heeled boots completed the outfit. The costume had turned out great, but for the boots. Her feet were killing her, and she should’ve known better. No serious badass would go into the world expecting battles while wearing five-inch stilettos.
Facing the driver, Leo pointed to Ace, at her side. With a smile and a headshake, she said, “Let me introduce you to a lame version of Neo. Or, the person who used to be Neo. He took off his sunglasses hours ago.”
“Couldn’t see the band,” Ace said. “I told you that.”
Despite his lack of enthusiasm for the sunglasses, or her theme for their costumes somewhat imitating their lives, Ace’s transformation to Neo had been easy. A close-fitting sport coat on top of a dress shirt, slacks, and wrap-around sunglasses—all black—had transformed him into the character played by Keanu Reeves in the movie trilogy. At six feet one, with broad shoulders and lean muscles, Ace was a natural as Neo. A natural, but only when the sunglasses hid his eyes, which most definitely weren’t Reeves’ chocolate brown. Ace’s were cobalt blue, with a darker rim.
Their costumes would have been better with leather trench coats, but the sticky warmth of the seventy-three-degree night made coats a bad idea. Visible Glocks would have been a great addition as well, but using weapons for costume props was against the rules of their employer, Black Raven Private Security Contractors. Agents Sylvia Leon, known to friends as Leo, and Adam Evans, known to friends as Ace, were off duty and visiting New Orleans for two nights. The security company’s rules provided that off-duty agents were to keep weapons, if carried, concealed.
The driver returned his gaze to Ace, cocked his head, and studied him. “I’ve met Keanu Reeves. He was here filming. Nice guy. Your height’s right. Body type works—”
“Glad you think so.”
Missing Ace’s sarcasm, the driver continued. “Cheekbones work. You’ve got his serious look going. He rocked that in John Wick. But your hair’s too light. It threw me.”
“Would you dye your hair for a Halloween costume?” Ace asked.
“To be Neo next to her as Trinity?” The driver flashed a smile, as Leo eyed him with fresh interest. Big brown eyes. Dark brown, wavy hair. He looked like he was in his twenties, which made him somewhere around her age. His Tulane Law School t-shirt and exercise shorts revealed plenty of muscles to power a pedicab. “I’d have done anything.”
“Awwww. So nice!”
“Don’t let her appearance fool you,” Ace said. “She’s not nearly as hot as she looks.”
Leo jabbed an elbow into Ace’s ribs, fast and with enough force to be felt. “You have no idea.”
The sideways look that Ace gave her held an amused gleam. He arched an eyebrow. “So defensive. Why?”
Ignoring Ace, she gave the pedicab driver one hundred percent of her attention. “I’ll return to New Orleans for Halloween next year. You and I have a date.”
Poised on the bicycle seat with his
arms resting over the handlebars, the driver’s grin faded slightly. He did a slight nod in Ace’s direction. “Wouldn’t want to piss off your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” The correction came automatically. “We’re just friends.”
“And sometimes barely that,” Ace said.
Leo lifted her arm for another elbow jab into Ace’s ribs. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it down before she could connect. She turned to face him as he let go of her arm. Her high-heels put them almost at eye level.
The pedicab driver was correct—Ace was a master of the sort of deadpan-but-simmering expression that Keanu Reeves had perfected in film. He was doing it now. Not smiling. Not frowning. Just staring at her, thinking. About what, she had no clue. Over the course of their friendship, she’d learned that there were times that he was an easy read, and times that he wasn’t.
They’d met two years earlier, on Ace’s first day with Black Raven. They’d become instant friends. Over time, that friendship had grown, but they’d never crossed the line that separated friends from something more. For a few reasons. Being more than friends was against explicit rules that governed agent-to-agent interaction.
More importantly, neither had been inclined. Yet there were times when she allowed her mind to wander, when she thought about him in ways that had nothing to do with being friends.
Like now.
They stood so close, their chests were almost touching. He smelled fresh. Reminiscent of the ocean? Perhaps. Definitely outdoors. Pine. ‘Not cologne,’ he’d told her once, with a low chuckle. ‘Just soap.’
The pedicab driver cleared his throat. She glanced the driver’s way. His gaze was bouncing from her to Ace. “Where to? Late night, holiday rate’s a buck fifty a minute. From here, I’ll go as far west as Julia Street. North to Claiborne Avenue. To most places in the Bywater. Anything else, you’re on your own.”
“Jasmine’s. On Rampart Street,” Leo answered.
“Waldorf Astoria,” Ace said, at the same time.
She faced Ace again. Notes from a saxophone spilled from open doors, indicating that break time had ended for the band in the club they’d just left. “Are you really ready to go back to the hotel?”
“You’re not tired?” he asked.
“Not at all, and it’s my trip, my way, on your dollar. That was our bet, Patriots-fan.”
“No need for the thousandth reminder.”
A little more than thirty-six hours earlier, he’d flown into New Orleans from Atlanta. He’d been at Last Resort, Black Raven’s training facility. She’d flown into New Orleans from Denver, where she’d been working at corporate headquarters with Black Raven’s cyber-division, on the endless projects that kept the security company running with state-of-the-art efficiency.
Two nights in New Orleans for Halloween, at his expense, was Ace’s debt for losing a bet they’d made on the Super Bowl in February. He’d picked the Patriots. She’d chosen the Eagles. Since they’d arrived in New Orleans, a day and a half earlier, she’d rubbed his losing pick in his face each time it was time to pay for anything.
In a fast, unexpected move, he reached out and took off her sunglasses. “Hey—”
“There. Better. Tired of wondering what you’re thinking.” As he slipped her glasses into the pocket of his sport coat, he glanced into her eyes. “Has this trip to New Orleans been everything you wanted it to be?”
Swift, sudden emotion yanked at her heart. Ace knew more about her than just about anyone, so he knew that New Orleans had been her father’s favorite city. Knew that, as a young girl, she’d visited the city with her dad multiple times. And Ace had remembered that she’d been longing to return to New Orleans, but hadn’t been able to make herself do it, because her sentimental feelings for the city were tied up with her feelings for her father. Aside from a hurried, touch-and-go helicopter landing on the levee of the Mississippi River for Black Raven’s Hutchenson job, she hadn’t returned since her father’s death. Not that she and Ace had ever dwelt for long on her feelings for her father or his tragic death. She didn’t do emotional subjects well, if at all.
She swallowed, pushing through the sadness. “It’s been great.”
He used his index finger to push her hair off her forehead, away from her eyes. Taming her thick, wavy hair into Trinity’s sleek hairstyle hadn’t worked so well, even with hairspray and gel. He smoothed the hair down, with tenderness. That was a new thing. She wondered if he was even conscious of it. They’d both drank a bit of alcohol. Maybe he was feeling the effects.
Alcohol or not, the resulting tingling caused by his lingering touch reminded her that she needed to work a little harder on the ‘just friends’ angle.
“It’s okay to feel something,” he said.
“You know my theory about feelings.”
He gave her a half smile. “Yep. Sure do.”
They just get in the damn way.
Thankfully, the band in the jazz club that they’d just left shifted from their slower warm up to a rousing rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” distracting her from his question and the unusual lingering tenderness of his touch. There was no way she could be anything but happy while hearing that song. “Guess I’m just not ready for the night to end.”
He gave her a nod. A slight shrug. “Then we’ll head to Jasmine’s.”
“We don’t have to. Do you really want to go back to the hotel?”
“Hey,” the driver said, with a snap of his fingers. “Trinity. Neo. Another guy’s hailing me across the street. Should I move on, or are you two going to make up your minds?”
Ace glanced at the driver. “Put us on the meter as of ten minutes ago, while we figure this out.”
The driver glanced at his watch. “Fine by me.”
Ace placed his hand on her elbow, guiding her towards the pedicab’s bench seat. “You decide. I’m good for whatever.”
“It’s just that it’s still early,” she said.
“That’s the tequila talking.”
“Nope. It’s all me, and you had some too, you know.”
“Don’t remind me. I should’ve never let you talk me into that.”
She stepped off the sidewalk and into the pedicab. As pedicabs went, this one was large. A red vinyl bench seat provided plenty of cushion. Leo sat down, sighing as her feet started throbbing in earnest. They’d been out for hours. They’d walked from bar to bar. They’d stood. She’d danced. She’d had a couple of margaritas. When she got tired of the sugar in the frozen drink, she’d switched to plain tequila. She’d only had a few shots of it though, and she’d had plenty more water. She felt perfectly sober. At least sober enough to feel sharp jabs of pain travelling from her toes, along her arches, and all the way to her calves. “Hell, hell, hell!”
“What?” The cab creaked as Ace got in, stretching his legs as much as he could. Lifting his right arm, he extended it on the seat behind her. There was almost enough leg room for Ace to look comfortable. An overhead canopy gave a feeling of coziness.
“Stupid boots. My feet are killing me. You win. Hotel.”
To the driver’s back, Ace directed, “Waldorf Astoria.”
The driver stood on his pedals and eased the pedicab into forward motion. Over his shoulder, he said, “By the way, it’s called The Roosevelt.”
Leo laughed as she unzipped her boots. “I’ve told him that about eighty times. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me, and I’m not biting.”
She winced, trying to rub sharp pain out of her arches. When she looked up again, they were on Esplanade Avenue. With the Frenchmen Street music clubs behind them, the night grew quieter. Gas lanterns flickered in the doorways of the historic mansions, homes, and condos that lined either side of the street, while most of the interior lights were off. Traffic was light. A couple on the sidewalk lingered in the glow of a streetlight, facing each other. The pedicab glided smoothly through a blanket of fog at street level. Misty swirls lifted into the oaks that lined the medi
an, rising to meet the twisted, gnarled tree limbs.
Leo glanced at Ace. “Beautiful, right?”
“Yeah.” But he wasn’t looking at their surroundings. He was looking at her. Deep in her brain warning signals started clanging, but the noise was easy to ignore because there was something serious in his eyes. Something intense. Something that caught her attention more than the view, making her wonder whether he too felt the pull of attraction between them.
That thing that she couldn’t name compelled her to lean in closer. “Thank you. Best Halloween ever.”
Because he was taller, she was looking up at him. He lifted his hand, cupping her cheek for a second before tracing his index finger along her jawline. He hesitated, as though he was making sure she wanted what he wanted, then shifted in the seat and leaned in closer. She could have pulled away, but she couldn’t resist.
Instead of breaking the moment with a snarky quip or by turning her head, she gave herself permission to ignore all the reasons why they shouldn’t kiss, deciding for the next few minutes to be free. To be, for once in her life, someone who believed in wishes, dreams, and happy endings. Someone who went with desire’s whim.
She raised her face to his. The tips of their noses touched first. He pressed his forehead against hers, caressing her with his gaze until their lips met in the sort of lingering touch that was never intended for the friend zone. The velvety feel of his lips, both hard and soft at the same time, jolted her, bringing her entire being alive with the realization that he was the only person she’d ever want. If she ever allowed herself to want.
As he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, she closed her arms around his neck. By the time the pedicab turned from Esplanade Avenue into the French Quarter, they had shifted into an open-mouthed kiss borne of a sudden lust that was so deep, there was no hope of satisfying it. She lost all sense of place, time, and caring about the fact that friends didn’t kiss like this.
Imagine (Black Raven Book 4) Page 1