Queen of Light

by Meg Anne

  Heat blazed in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, I sure do.”

  Skye’s mouth dropped open. After that performance, he called her ma’am? “Ma’am? Jesus,” Skye sputtered, spinning around to face him.

  She could see by the tight line of his mouth that he was trying not to laugh at her. “Where I come from, ma’am is considered polite.”

  Skye stalked back to him. “Yeah, if I was sixty. No twenty-seven-year-old woman wants to be called ma’am.”

  She caught a hint of a dimple as he replied, “Fair enough. So, what should I call you, then?”

  Skye hesitated. She’d dropped her guard, breaking one of her many rules. Strict rules.

  Always keep it casual.

  No last names.

  No phone numbers.

  No complications.

  She couldn’t afford complications. People had a habit of getting hurt around her and emotional involvement only made things worse.

  He searched her gaze with fierce blue eyes, then he held out a hand. “I’m Lucas. Lucas MacConnell.”

  It felt like a challenge, the way his eyes bore into hers while his hand remained steadily outstretched between them. One thing Skye couldn’t resist was a challenge.

  “Skylar,” she said finally, lifting her hand to place it in his much larger one. “But I go by Skye,” she quickly added.

  “Skye,” he repeated, enunciating the word slowly so that she couldn’t help but watch the way his lips rolled around her name. Damn, he’s sexy. Skye blinked at the unwanted thought. Trouble. This man was certainly trouble. That meant it was time to go.

  “Well, I should probably get back in there,” she said, forcing her focus from his mouth.

  That dimple flashed again. He was totally on to her.

  “I’d rather you stayed out here a while longer.”

  For the first time in a long time, Skye wanted that too. But years of instinct were hard to ignore, so she stepped back anyway. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Guess I’ll see you in there.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Not if I can help it.

  A gust of wind sent her shawl slipping from her shoulders. Lucas’ hand was out in an instant, catching the soft material before it could fly away completely.

  “Close one,” he murmured, stepping in to wrap it back around her shoulders. As he did, he let his fingers brush against the exposed skin of her arm. The gentle caress had Skye shivering for a whole new reason.

  Her mouth went dry as he caught her eyes with his once more. She opened it to say something but stopped as the familiar tingle of a vision worked its way up her neck.

  Skye thought she heard the word “Fuck,” but her eyes had already rolled back in her head and then there was only darkness.

  Skye looked around, but she didn’t recognize the inside of the quaint diner. The color had drained from the world, letting her know this wasn’t reality—yet. Tables were situated in neat rows along the walls, and she continued searching for any clue as to where she was.

  Lizzie’s Place was written in elegant scroll above the menu, and Skye watched as a young woman donning an apron stepped into the room. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and she smiled as she went to work pulling baked goods from the glass cases on the counter.

  The bell above the door rang and Skye turned to see who the new arrival was. A man stepped into the diner, and she struggled to make out his face. For the first time since she’d begun having visions, the details were blurry. Why couldn’t she see his face?

  The woman greeted him with a warm smile. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed. We’ll open again at five tomorrow morning.”

  The man didn’t speak. He stepped past Skye, and the chill that passed through her shook her to the core. It was as if the man knew she was there somehow, as if he sensed her and his subconscious was reaching out to hers with cool gripping fingers. That’s another first.

  “I’m not here for the food,” he said calmly, stepping around the counter.

  The woman reached for a knife and clutched it to her back. “Sir, you need to leave, now, or I’ll call the police.”

  The man laughed. “I have nothing to fear from them. They are only men, and I am so much more than that.” He lashed out with his hand and knocked the woman to the ground.

  “Stop!” Skye screamed, knowing they wouldn’t hear her. But they did, or at least he did. The man stopped his attack, leaving the woman trembling on the ground. He turned to Skye, his head cocked to the side, and the way he studied her made her feel as if she were an ant and he was holding the magnifying glass.

  While she still couldn’t see his face, the intensity of his scrutiny made her stomach roll.

  “Please don’t,” the woman begged, pulling his attention back to her.

  “You know, I’ve been searching for you a long time.” He sneered as he raised his hand.

  Skye closed her eyes and whimpered as the man slammed his hand down on the woman’s chest. The vision faded away, leaving Skye with a mixture of total helplessness and bone-chilling fear.

  “Hey, you alright?”

  She opened her eyes to find Lucas watching her with more than a little worry.

  “I sent someone to call 9-1-1.”

  “I’m fine. That happens occasionally.” She pushed past him and struggled to her feet. She wobbled, her six-inch heels feeling more precarious than they had only moments before. Skye’s hand shot out as she fought to keep her balance, her fingers colliding with a solid wall of muscle.

  “Easy,” Lucas murmured, reaching out to help steady her, but Skye flinched away.

  It would have been so easy to let herself curl into him and the promise of comfort in his eyes. As it was, she already knew he would be haunting her dreams, and she couldn’t afford wasting time thinking about him. Especially not now, when she knew that woman was going to die, and Lucas MacConnell was somehow associated with her. He wouldn’t have triggered her vision otherwise.

  His eyes narrowed, not missing the way she dodged his touch. “You think passing out occasionally is normal?”

  “Yup.” She moved farther away from him, her body already angled toward the doors. “Thank you, Lucas. It was nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah, you too,” he responded softly, his brows low over his eyes.

  Skye stepped back into the gallery and grabbed a flute of champagne off the nearest tray. After downing it in one drink, she replaced the glass and grabbed another. They didn’t make alcohol strong enough to wash away her visions, but she could still try.

  “Skye, darling! I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” Maxwell Jaques breezed over to where she stood and wrapped his thick arm around her shoulders. “Where did you run off to?”

  “I needed some air.”

  “Well, after tonight, you can take all the air you want.” He leaned in, bringing his mouth to her ear. “My dear, you have sold every single painting.”

  “Every painting?” she asked, her eyes widening with shock. She’d posted over three dozen new works for this event.

  “Oh, yes, and you have a decent sized wait list for first dibs at your next lot.”

  Her horror momentarily forgotten, Skye smiled and gave Maxwell a hug. He’d been her agent for the last two years, and he had helped her go from street corner artist to downtown gallery status nearly overnight.

  “Thanks for everything, Maxwell.”

  “Thank you, darling! My paycheck for this event is going to buy me some new shoes.”

  “Same here.”

  Maxwell stopped just before the stage and pushed her toward the steps. “They want a speech, honey, so give ‘em one.”

  Skye made her way up onto the stage and did her best to push the lingering fear away. It would do her no good to dwell on her vision while art collectors still roamed the gallery.

  “Hello, everyone, I am Skye Giovanni, the artist whose paintings you’ve been looking at for the last few hours.” She looked out over the impressive crowd, when her gaze caught
a pair of bright blue eyes. Lucas was gaping at her with wide eyes as he shook his head in disbelief. She ignored the gentle tug in her belly and refocused on the crowd so she didn’t lose herself in his stare. “I cannot begin to tell you how incredibly amazed I am at the turnout tonight and the support from each and every one of you. Thank you all for coming. I hope to see you again soon.”

  As the crowd cheered, raising their glasses to the star of tonight’s event, Skye smiled and left the stage, shaking hands with a few familiar faces on her way to the exit. Not looking back, Skye all but ran out of the building to her car. She couldn’t bump into Lucas again, not after what she’d seen. Who knew what role he was going to have in that mysterious woman’s death? His touch wouldn’t have triggered the vision if he wasn’t connected in some way.

  Stay in your lane, Giovanni. Once she’d Seen a death, there was no changing the outcome; if she was lucky, she’d only succeed in delaying it for a while. Since she couldn’t do anything to prevent the inevitable, why bother intervening? Even so, something about this one had her reeling. The need to do something—anything—to help the victim was overwhelming, and Skye couldn’t help but wonder who the woman was, and if she’d be able to find her before the woman was killed?

  Chapter 2

  Lucas

  Lucas watched the gorgeous brunette practically flee from the room. He’d taken one look at her standing on the balcony and known with a bone-deep certainty that she was waiting for him. His years on the force had taught him to always trust that instinct, so he hadn’t thought twice before walking over and talking to her.

  She had been a vision painted in moonlight with dark hair falling in loose waves down her back. Lucas would have the image of her standing there staring up at the Chicago sky permanently imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life.

  He’d thought she was beautiful before she had even turned around, but once he’d got a look at those wide amber eyes, framed by the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen, he knew he was a goner. She’d worn barely a hint of make-up, but he’d noticed the soft sheen of something on her pouty lips. Lips he desperately wanted to crush against his. Although kissing her would be an interesting matter of physics. She was tiny, even with her stilts the top of her head would barely reach his chin. Fuck, those heels were something else. His thoughts traveled back to the way her hips had swayed when she moved. Had he ever seen a woman move like that? Lucas bit back a groan as he imagined her wearing nothing but those shoes.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He hadn’t had a reaction this intense to a woman since Tinsley Carter in ninth-grade Geometry.

  That wasn’t even the worst of it. Lucas couldn’t believe he’d gone and put his foot in his mouth by insulting the art on display. Her artwork. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve some tension from the headache slowly building behind his eyes.

  No wonder she wanted to run away from him, he’d completely insulted her livelihood.

  What a schmuck.

  Lucas stole a glance at one of the colorful pieces displayed on the wall to his left. Now that he knew the woman who created the piece, he was much more interested in studying it. The brush strokes were bold swipes across the canvas, red lines thick and luscious, while thinner black lines swirled among them, almost as if trying to contain the red ones.

  Lucas shook his head; an art critic he was not.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Lizzie asked as she stepped up beside him.

  “Yes, she is,” he answered without thinking.

  “What?”

  He blinked, pulling his gaze away from the painting to look at his sister.

  Blue eyes, so like his own, narrowed with laser-like intensity.

  Lucas shrugged, playing it off. “I said, ‘yeah, I guess.’”

  Her eyes narrowed further.

  Shit, she wasn’t buying it.

  “Who did you meet tonight?” she demanded.

  “No one.”

  Lizzie craned her neck around, searching the room. “Is she still here? Did I meet her?”

  “Fuck, Lizzie. You’re like a damn dog with a bone. Just let it go. I said no one, alright?”

  His sister glared at him. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Don’t use that tone with me, Lucas MacConnell. I’m not one of your recruits. I’m your baby sister, and Ma would have your balls if she could hear you right now.”

  Lucas winced. She wasn’t wrong. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Just distracted. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  Lizzie pouted for a few seconds longer before breaking back out into her knowing grin. “So, seriously. Who was she?”

  Years of similar conversations told Lucas he wasn’t going to get out of telling her, so he gave in. “I met the artist, but I didn’t know who she was, and I may have, uh… made fun of her art.”

  “What?” Lizzie screeched, causing dozens of curious stares to turn their way.

  Lizzie slapped his arm. “You go find her and apologize, Lucas. I mean it!”

  “How do you propose I do that when she just left?”

  “Did you make her cry?” Lizzie hissed.

  Lucas frowned. He didn’t recall tears, just the way her body felt pressed against his when he’d caught her mid-faint.

  “I don’t think so, and I did catch her when she passed out, so technically that makes me a hero.”

  She slapped his arm again, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. “You made her pass out? Seriously, do you have any manners at all?”

  He rubbed his arm where she’d smacked him, biting back a wince. He’d never admit it, but she’d gotten him good that time. “I didn’t know she was the artist,” he said, motioning toward the nearest painting, “or I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I cannot believe you.” Lizzie scoffed. “We need to find her, so you can apologize.”

  “I told you, she left.”

  “You’re a cop, find out where she lives.”

  “Yeah, Lizzie, let me just use police resources to track down a woman I met once to apologize. That’s not creepy or stalker-adjacent at all.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Hungry?”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You planning on poisoning me?”

  “Not just yet. You’re safe for now.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He followed her through the crowd and toward the car, but he still couldn’t get his mind off the terrified look in Skye’s golden eyes as they’d fluttered open, or the way they seemed to see through to the core of him.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it, but he had every intention of seeing her again, and not just because his little sister demanded he apologize. Although… that was a convenient excuse. But he would have done it anyway. Everything inside of him ached for her, and they’d only spoken for about ten minutes. Just what in the hell was that about anyway?

  He was so deep in his own thoughts, he barely heard his sister until they stopped on the street in front of her diner.

  When their parents had passed away three years before, the inheritance they’d received had been substantial enough that by putting it together, they’d been able to purchase the tiny run-down space and turn it into a bustling stop. His sister had always dreamt of owning her own place, and since he hadn’t needed the money, investing in her future was just as satisfying to him as it was a dream come true to her.

  Sometimes one dream coming true required walking away from another. Purchasing the shop is what finally pushed Lizzie to file for divorce. Her bastard ex had never believed in her. He’d said owning a restaurant was not only a bad investment, but they’d lose everything they put into it. It would be irresponsible, he said, to let her throw away ‘their’ money just so she could cook for and wait on people when she could stay home and do it for free. He then selfishly suggested they take ‘their’ money and fund his plumbing business rather than invest in ‘her little dream’.

  When
Lizzie refused, he’d nearly put her in the fucking hospital, and it had taken everything in Lucas not to put the asshole six feet under. He shook his head, trying to clear the angry thoughts from his mind. After two years, Lucas could still hear the horror in his little sister’s voice from the phone call the night she left her ex.

  The bastard was still in prison, but there was no sentence long enough to remedy what he’d done to Lizzie.

  It was part of the reason why Lizzie’s success was so bittersweet for Lucas. After everything she’d gone through to get here, she deserved every second of happiness it brought her. Their parents would have been just as proud of the business she’d built as he was.

  Lizzie unlocked the door and flipped the lights on to reveal a bright space, decorated with a range of shades from red to pink. Tables lined the walls in neat rows, a different colored tablecloth on each one.

  When she’d told him her idea as far as decorating the space, he’d told her she was crazy. There was no way all those colors were going to work together. If he remembered correctly, he had informed her that it would look like a box of Crayola had shit all over the place. But she’d done it anyway; that was his sister: as stubborn as they come. He’d also been forced to admit he was wrong, something that did not come easy, to say the least.

  Her space was beautiful and unique, just like her. Of course, he’d never admit that either. There was apologizing, and then there was laying it on way too thick. No need to go and give her an even bigger head.

  “What are you hungry for?”

  “Food.”

  “No shit, Sherlock, what type of food?”

  “Do you treat all of your customers like this?”

  She laughed. “Not when they pay.”

  “Touché.”

  He watched her start to work on a couple of sandwiches, when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The overwhelming feeling they were being watched had his hand itching to wrap around the Glock tucked into the shoulder holster he wore beneath his suit jacket.