by Rachel James
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Contents
The Kindred
The Sacred Circle
Sanctuary
Crimson Sneak Peek
The Kindred
Rachel James
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Rachel Schneider
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5574-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5574-9
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5575-3
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5575-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
This book is dedicated to Sheila, Fran, Ellie, Lois and M.J. Our friendships have stood the test of time. Romance, adventure, successes and setbacks. We’ve shared it all and we’re still here. And best of all, our story’s not over yet. There are still many more pages to turn.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
Acknowledgments
My heartfelt thanks go to Jennifer Lawler, Imprint Manager, Crimson Press. Her unwavering dedication to publishing the best of the best when it comes to love and romance is awe-inspiring; and thanks for all the kind words you sent my way during the course of getting this book published.
My undying gratitude goes to Julie Sturgeon for her keen editing eye and savvy insights. She has proved that when the time is right, kindred spirits always find and connect with each other. Thanks, Julie, this book is a thousand times better because of you!
Special thanks to the Tuesday Night Writing Workshop, especially Michael, Mary Kay, Sheila, Sherry and Bob. Your never-ending enthusiasm for this book (and my writing) has enriched my life in more ways that I can count.
A special shout-out goes to Dan and Carole Duckworth who made theater come alive in my heart six nights a week, plus two matinees on the weekends.
Lastly, to the detectives at the Jupiter Police Department (you know who you are), thank you for showing me for fifteen years that heroes and heroines do exist outside the printed page. Your commitment, integrity, and willingness to put your life on the line day in and day out for total strangers, is a shining example of what every hero should be.
Chapter 1
THURSDAY — 10 AM — ASPEN, COLORADO
A shadow of alarm touched Janice Kelly’s face, and she stepped back from the three-legged easel, tossing her paintbrush into a jar of cloudy water. The painting before her had changed background colors again. On its own. No, she brought herself up sharply. Paintings did not change colors by themselves. She had done it. She had changed the colors. She let her gaze travel across the now bright yellow background, struggling with the uncertainty it aroused. Had her divorce from Jimmy finally sent her mind over the edge? If so, this mind-fugue was dangerous. She might hurt someone. She might hurt Sarah. Horrified, she raised a hand to her temple. Damn! If she weren’t careful, she’d work herself into a full-blown migraine.
Unaware of the streaks of brightly colored paint she was dabbing into her flaming red hair, she rubbed the sore spot vigorously. This was no regular headache she was battling. That’s why the pills she’d taken this morning had done nothing to quiet it. No, she’d experienced this kind of pain before, and she knew what it meant. Now, more than ever, she could not put off her trip to Maine tomorrow. She had to go and not just for the debt she owed to her mentor.
Fingers trailing down her temples, she strode back to the easel and began to pack up her paints. She needed sleep desperately — the dead-to-the-world kind. She had been on a five-state gallery tour for months, skipping meals, signing autographs and hopping trains. And now, just when she got home, she was leaving again. No wonder her face had looked pale and pinched when she woke this morning. She was so tired her nerves throbbed. “Mama, what’s a Si-Pip?”
Janice jumped at the sound of the high-pitched voice and quickly brought her gaze from the paints to the open doorway. Her eyes lit with pleasure as she spied her daughter, Sarah, bouncing from foot to foot in the middle of the alcove.
“Sarah, sweetie, I don’t think I know that word. Where did you hear it?”
“From Aunt Bibi.” She bounded through the doorway and sailed onto a cushioned workbench beside Janice. Once there, she eyed the huge canvas. “Is that my Daddy, Mama?”
Janice grinned, amused.
“No, sweetie, I don’t know who the man is.”
“Aunt Bibi told Uncle Roddy he’s your dream lover.”
Janice’s grin vanished, replaced by a quick frown.
“I’ve asked you not to spy on your aunt and uncle, Sarah, remember?”
“Uh-huh.” She tucked her feet beneath her rump and tipped her face to Janice. “Who is he, Mama?”
Her persistence brought Janice’s focus back to the painting, and she let her gaze sweep the dove gray breeches and matching topcoat. An absolutely gorgeous rake. And her sister was right. She was becoming enamored with the handsome figure she had painted, seemed inexplicably drawn to him.
“Mama?”
“He’s just a man I’ve been seeing in a dream, sweetie.”
“He’s handsome.”
“Yes, he is. Devilishly handsome.”
“Is he as devilish as me?”
The question was cheeky, and Janice chuckled, tweaking one of Sarah’s bright red curls. Sarah was an adorable poppet, no doubt about it. She took a moment to study the snow-blasted cheeks as Sarah began to riffle through her paints.
“Aunt Bibi says you’re a Si-Pip, Mama.”
Janice lightly smacked the prying fingers and gave a sarcastic laugh.
“Little pitchers have big ears.”
“What’s that mean, Mama?”
“Nothing, sweetie. C’mere.”
Dropping to the workbench, Janice opened her arms and wiggled her fingers. She must divert Sarah’s attention from the tubes of paint. Sarah toppled forward and sprawled across her legs eagerly. One hand flew beneath her cheek to wait patiently for an answer to her earlier question. But which question? Janice wondered. A contented sigh singed her ears, and Janice gave another bright laugh, tickling the round belly peeping between the folds of the yellow flannel jogging
suit. Sarah squirmed and giggled, their hands entwining.
“Stop, Mama … you know that tickles.”
“But you have such a yummy laugh, I can’t help myself.” Janice cooed. She slid her fingers along Sarah’s tummy again, eliciting more spontaneous giggles.
“Stop … Mama … please!”
Hearing a serious hiccup, Janice stilled her fingers and, with a swift tug, righted Sarah to a sitting position in her lap. She dropped a quick kiss on her warm cheek and gave her a light bear-hug. Sarah’s face sobered, and Janice knew her attention was back again on getting answers to her questions.
“What is a Si-Pip?”
“Psychic. The word is psychic. I’m a psychic.”
She saw the flash of alertness in the eyes studying her face.
“What’s a Si-Kick?”
“It’s a person who can see things before they happen, see things that are way off in the future.”
“Like the gip … gip-sies who look into the ball?”
Janice craned her head thoughtfully.
“Umm … more like a television set. I see pictures in my head, sweetie, kinda like our television set downstairs. The pictures can be funny, sad, scary … ”
“Mon-sters?”
Janice smiled, once again brushing back a stray curl along Sarah’s temple.
“No, no monsters. At least not the kind you mean.”
“Does the television set hurt your head?”
“Why no, sweetie, what makes you think it does?”
“Aunt Bibi’s gettin’ you some ass … ass-prin from the drawer. She says your head aches.”
Janice rolled her eyes.
“Bless your Aunt Bibi.”
She gave Sarah’s cheek another brief kiss then slid her back onto the padded bench. Rising, Janice returned to the portrait and picked up her paintbrush. Why did she feel compelled to embellish on the yellow hue when the painting was already quite perfect? She didn’t know, but found herself less than a minute later ignoring the mocking voice inside and dressing up the background with a few flourishes of her brush. Beside her, she heard a light humming and joined in. It was marvelous the way she could tune into Sarah’s boundless energy. Recharge from it. Without warning, the sound of spit bubbles began to mingle with their humming.
“Pa-tew … pa-tew.”
Janice looked over in amusement.
“Whatever are you doing, you silly bear?”
“I’m spittin’.”
“I can see that. But why?”
“Aunt Bibi says I’m the spittin’ image of you, Mama.”
A choking laugh bubbled out before Janice could stop it. What a delightful ragamuffin she and Jimmy had produced. And so infinitely precious. Yet her sister’s comment was true. She and Sarah were unmistakably related. She swished her paintbrush into the water jar, stealing a peek at the appealing face now displaying Janice’s own familiar signs of thoughtfulness. Their faces were identical delicately carved facial bones, both blessed with the Mignon family trait of a full-bodied lower lip.
Scanning the young features, Janice sensed the face so pink with eagerness at the moment would eventually showcase high, exotic cheekbones like her own. As for their hair, Sarah’s was bright red, too, but not quite so crackling red as her own. She decided they were as alike as two peas in a pod — except for the eyes. Sarah had extraordinary blue eyes, as blue as the Aspen summer sky, while her own eyes gleamed emerald, like deep green ice.
There was another difference between them. But as of yet Janice couldn’t bring herself to discuss it with anyone, not even her sister. She knew without question Sarah did not possess second sight. She would hold no psychic tremors in the coming years. And that relieved Janice immensely. Not that she would have changed things for herself. But she was glad Sarah’s carefree nature would not be hindered, her eyes lose their sparkle when carrying the weight of the gift.
She looked at those eyes now, twinkling with untold mischief, and she heard the giggle, unmistakably Sarah’s own. Responding, Janice made a sudden dive for the workbench. Sarah screeched in delight and vaulted from the bench. She hit the floor running, and Janice marveled at her fleet-footedness. Was she raising a future track and field star? Perhaps not, since in the next instant Sarah collided with a pair of long, tanned legs. Janice’s sister, Bibi, glass in hand, reared back to absorb the unexpected impact, and Janice heard her call out sharply.
“Hey, slow down! I’m carrying a full glass.”
Sarah’s giggles echoed louder as she grabbed Bibi’s knees, using the tall, sturdy body as a shield.
“Mama’s gonna tickle me, Aunt Bibi. Don’t let her.”
“Have you been teasing her while she’s painting, you naughty munchkin?” She attempted to shake Sarah loose of her leg, but the motion only managed to slosh water over the rim of the glass. Seeing the juggling act, Janice sank onto the workbench in convulsive laughter. Across the space, Bibi prodded Sarah more sternly.
“Sarah Anne Kelly, you let go of my leg this instant! Your mother and I need to talk. Go help Peter out of his snowsuit this minute.” She gave a last shake of her leg, and Janice heard her say even more sharply, “Go!”
Janice caught a brief flash of yellow as Sarah bounded out on the landing and tripped down the hallway. Her sing-song call to Peter echoed back gaily.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Bibi entered the loft, her face finally turning up in the smile she’d fought from showing.
“She’s a sunny little thing, Jan. She reminds me a lot of Anna sometimes.”
Janice propped herself on the bench, swiping at her eyes.
“Anna?”
Her sister came forward, offering Janice the glass of water plus two aspirin tablets in her palm.
“Oh, she’s you through and through, but she has a tiny little imp inside her that jumps out every now and again. Like Anna.”
Janice took the tablets and glass with a nod and tossing the tablets to the back of her tongue, she swallowed them down quickly. Wiping her mouth, she handed the glass back with a sigh.
“Her temperament resembles Anna’s, too. She accepts things so easily. She pouts but never frets.”
“Or throws a nasty temper tantrum like you know who.”
A bemused smile trembled on Janice’s lips.
“Peter has his good qualities, Bibi.”
“Yes, he does.” Her voice became tender, almost a murmur. “I’m lucky to have him, aren’t I? Dr. Walsh said I wouldn’t carry to term, being the old broad I am. But I proved him wrong.”
“Dr. Walsh meant well, Bibi. Truly. Having your first baby in your forties is risky. Of course, he didn’t know you as well as I do. There was never any doubt of miscarriage.”
At her words, Bibi spun around and plunked the half-empty glass onto the worktable behind her.
“I hate it when you go all psychic on me, Jan. You know I have no defense against your damn second sight.”
“Does my being a psychic bother you after all these years?”
“Hell, no. I’d love you if you had two heads and fourteen arms. And as for your psychic powers, they awe me.” She broke off abruptly, and Janice saw her lift a photo frame from the worktable. “Lord, Jan, I didn’t know you still had this photo.”
Janice dipped her head.
“Ummm, next to Sarah, it’s my most treasured possession.”
Bibi caressed the glass, and Janice heard a wistful sigh.
“God, we were a trio back then, weren’t we? How old was Anna?”
“Thirteen.”
“That’s right. I remember now.” She raised her chin, and Janice saw a faraway glaze cloud her eyes. “You were a funny little twit then, Jan. You’d stand in the corner of your crib and stare and stare at Anna, wh
o couldn’t help crying out in pain while Mama forced her lifeless legs to exercise. You’d stare as if sending her some kind of healing thought. And she’d be better. No one could see it outwardly, but I could. I knew you were gifted and special even back then.”
Janice crinkled up her face, determined not to cry. She hated that she always got teary-eyed when reminiscing about Anna.
“I don’t seem to remember that time clearly, Bibi.” she remarked. “Sometimes it seems so important that I do.”
Bibi replaced the photo quickly and moved away from the table.
“Hell, you were only Sarah’s age at the time — three or four — how could you? But you’d stand by her bed. And she’d be better … no, I swear it! Mama didn’t believe it, of course. She never believed anything she couldn’t taste, touch, or see.”
“Now, that I DO remember. “ Janice replied, sliding to the edge of the bench and hoisting herself up. Moving back to the easel, she ran a finger across the canvas. Was there now a hint of red streaks clogging the pores? She felt a warm presence beside her.
“You’ve changed the painting again, Jan. I like what you’ve done.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember repainting it.”
Distressed, Janice turned from the canvas. She wasn’t going to breakdown and blubber. Not over a stupid painting.
“You’re scaring me, Jan.”
She whirled back at the sound of her sister’s stricken tones.
“I’m being stupid. I’m sure I made the changes to the painting. I just don’t remember doing it.”
“That’s exactly why you should cancel this trip to Maine tomorrow. You’re burned out, and this memory lapse proves it. Why don’t you let me call Lloyd and tell him you’re too exhausted to attend this seminar?”
“Because I gave Lloyd my word I’d be there. I can’t renege now. I’ll be back in four days and rest then. Besides, Sarah and I have plans.”
“That’s why she’s a giggling idiot.”