by Meg Allison
At Second Sight
Sen†inels
Meg Allison
At Second Sight
(Sentinels)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Meg Allison
Cover Design: Viviana Izzo, Enchantress Design & Promo
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Dedication
For Carina Alexandra, who shares her passion for art, and her love of music with me every day. Thank you for the inspiration.
Prologue
Savannah, Georgia
Twenty-eight years ago
He stared at lifeless eyes. He’d done it again…despair gnawed and clawed at his gut. Mom was going to kill him.
Nathan glanced around the room as his stomach twisted into a knotted rope. Sigh. He was alone. No one had seen. He could still get away with it if he moved quickly.
He balled the drawing up and headed for the trash, but stopped. No. That would be the first thing she’d check. She went through his garbage every night. Hoping to find something or hoping not to? He could never be sure. It seemed to disappoint her either way.
“Nathan?”
His innards shook like a can of jumping beans. She was home. How long had she been home? He’d have to hide it now and get rid of it later. But where? Where wouldn’t she think to look? He scanned the room until his gaze fell on his bed. The mattress…he could hide the drawing there for a while. No one would know. Then he’d burn it out back if he didn’t get caught.
He hurried to the bed and shoved the offending wad deep between the thick mattress and squeaky box springs. His arm stuck for a moment, and he panicked until he realized his sleeve caught on a button. Why did mattresses have buttons, anyway? He yanked his hand out, jumped onto the bed and fought to slow his breathing. Would she notice? Would she wonder why he was panting as if he’d run around the block?
“Nate?” The door creaked open. “Are you okay, baby boy?”
His mother peeked around the corner of the door frame and forced a smile on her round face. She had to force a lot of smiles over the last few years. Guilt swept over him but he managed to push it aside.
“Yes, Mom,” he answered. “I was reading.”
“Oh…” she glanced at his empty bed and frowned, but said nothing. “Well, dinner is almost ready. Wash your hands so you can help me set the table.”
“Okay.”
She studied his face. “Are you sure you’re all right? Did anything happen at school today?”
“No, nothing happened at school,” he said truthfully. “I finished my homework. There wasn’t much.”
She watched him for a moment, then smiled more easily. “Well, good for you. Go on, now—wash up. Your daddy should be home soon.”
She closed the door. When the sounds of her footfalls moved down the hall, Nathan took a deep breath. That had been much too close. He’d stopped most of the drawings from happening. His mom didn’t like them. No one did. But sometimes one snuck through when he least expected it. He’d sort of go to sleep and then wake up to find another picture he’d made—another face regarding him with dull, blank eyes.
He slid off the bed and stared at the imaginary lump where the drawing would be. Those eyes…they had been like the others. Cold. Dead. Sad. Only this time, he didn’t recognize the man he’d drawn. If it wasn’t anyone he knew, it couldn’t really matter, could it?
He bit his lip. No, he couldn’t show his mother. It wouldn’t do any good anyway—he’d learned that lesson the hard way. Someone was going to die.
Chapter One
Savannah, GA
Present day
“Wait,” Samantha ordered as he reached for her. “We can’t go on like this.”
He frowned and dropped his hands to his sides. “Why not?”
“Because, I want to know something about you,” she told him. “I want to know who’s making love to me.”
Despite her resolve, she reached out and ran a finger down his chest through the open neck of his shirt. She couldn’t keep her hands off his smooth, warm skin.
His grin returned. “You can call me anything you want.”
“But I want to know your name—your real name.” He tried to grasp her fingers and she batted his hand away. “Stop that, I need more.”
He quirked a brow. “And I’m trying to give you more.”
“Not like that,” she insisted even while her cheeks flamed. “I want to know if you’re real.”
He glanced around the empty room. “As compared to what?”
Samantha let out an aggravated sigh. “Very funny.”
She watched his features for a moment. He seemed completely sincere in his confusion. Worst of all, she couldn’t feel anything from him—no emotion whatsoever. Either her empathic abilities were being hindered or this was simply a dream and nothing more.
She focused her senses on him. She allowed herself to absorb every emotion in the room, but could only distinguish her own lust and confusion. Her lover didn’t project even the slightest bit of emotional energy as a real man would. Her heart sank as her throat tightened.
“I guess I was wrong,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes, but Sam refused to let them fall. She’d grown up in a house full of boys and had known from a very young age that there were only two reasons for such a display—either profound grief or intense physical pain. Otherwise, it was best to keep feelings close to the vest, even in a dream.
“What’s wrong, my love?” he asked as he brushed her cheek with his knuckles.
“Never mind,” she whispered to her sexy, exotic figment. “I’m just being silly.”
His grin returned and he stepped closer. “Does this mean we’re done talking?”
“I suppose.”
“Good…” He cupped her cheek and smoothed his thumb across her bottom lip. “There are other things I’d much rather do.”
He walked her back. Her legs hit the mattress and they tumbled down together. His warm body covered hers, pressed her deep into the firm padding beneath. Their clothes disappeared like magic.
He gazed into her eyes as he began to move his hands over her body. He touched her as if he could memorize the feel of her flesh beneath his fingertips. Need set her skin on fire, made her bold and aggressive—something so unlike her normal personality. But it wasn’t normal, it was a dream.
He rose above her, the depth of his gaze filled with raw desire. A tremor shook her from head to foot. Skin slid against skin, setting a spark to the lust humming through her body. Maybe this time they would complete their dance.
Then a noise penetrated the haze and she froze, her mind suddenly alert. The sound was familiar and irritating like the shriek of a rusty hinge. She sighed. It seemed that fate conspired against her ever being fully loved by her dream man.
“I have to go,” she murmured as he continued to explore her neck with his lips and tongue.
He looked into her eyes, gaze narrowed. “We haven’t finished.”
“We never do.”
She reached up to touch his cheek, and then ran her hand over his jaw. His skin was too smooth. She frowned at the contrast. There should be a sandpaper feel to go with his five o’clock shadow. Again, she realized it could only mean one thing. This wasn’t a dream-walk—the journey of one’s spirit through
someone else’s nighttime fantasy. This wasn’t any type of reality. It was all in her head.
“You’re only a dream,” she admitted out loud. “A figment of my lonely imagination. But I’d give anything to make you real.”
He turned his head and caught her fingers between his lips. Her core throbbed as he gently sucked her fingertips. The heat of his mouth felt so vividly real that for a moment she couldn’t think. Then he released her and placed a quick kiss on her mouth.
“Tomorrow.” The promise echoed in the depths of his dark almond-shaped eyes, half hidden beneath a fall of straight black bangs.
“Yes…tomorrow,” she agreed.
The intruding noise grew louder and Samantha groaned as her lover began to fade along with the room. She opened her eyes. Early morning light peeked around the edges of her bedroom curtains. How she wished the man existed in the real world, even if he wouldn’t tell her his name.
The phone jangled even louder and then her alarm clock began to ring. The cacophony sliced through her skull like an ice pick, threatening to trigger one of her killer headaches. She dove for the phone before it could ring again, her other hand slamming atop the snooze button at the same time.
“Hello?”
“Morning, Red.”
She groaned at her oldest brother’s chipper tone.
“Adam, how on earth can you be so perky at six in the morning?”
“I’ve been up since four and I’m on my second pot of coffee. How can you be such a grouch?”
“You and my alarm interrupted a very nice dream.”
“Uh, yeah, no details, please. I’d like to keep my illusions about my baby sister.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, as long as you return the favor. Now why are you risking life and limb to call me at this ungodly hour?”
“I have a little problem.”
She yawned and pushed a handful of hair from her eyes. “If this is about a woman—”
“No, this is professional.”
“Okay, I’m listening.” She pulled her body upright and leaned back against the hard wood headboard.
“Not on the phone. What are you doing for lunch?”
“Adam, unless you need a nine-letter word for degrade or one of the Sentinels has wound up in the drunk tank again, I really don’t see how I can help. I’m not a cop, remember?”
“This isn’t about a crossword puzzle or your hot-headed warriors. I said it was business, remember? This is serious, Red. Now, how often do I ask you for help? With anything?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Practically never.”
“Exactly.”
“You are serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
She sighed. This was not how she wanted to begin her Thursday morning, or any morning for that matter. “Okay, what do you have in mind?”
“Meet me at Luigi’s at noon.”
“Wait, I think I have something scheduled today. Hang on, let me check.” She reached for her planner on the bedside table and dropped it on the bed beside her. A quick flip of a few tabs took her to the right page highlighted with several sticky notes and annotations in three different pen colors. She frowned at the page. Her days were getting much too busy for her own liking. Maybe it was time for a long weekend.
“Can we do it earlier?” she asked. “I’ve got a one-thirty conference call with a client and his editor.”
“Okay, how about eleven-thirty?”
“Fine, I’ll see you there. Wait, Adam?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No, but a friend of Liam’s might be.”
Samantha rubbed her forehead as Adam’s underlying tension reached out to her over the phone line. She had always been highly susceptible to his emotions. It was if they had a permanently open conduit through which every unexpressed feeling in him hit her full force. All she needed now was a big dose of his sarcasm to make her headache complete.
“I wish you would learn to express your emotions,” she complained. “Your festering tension is going to give me a migraine again.”
“Sorry, Baby Girl. I’ll try to emote more freely next time.”
“Don’t call me—”
She frowned at the dial tone and slammed down the receiver. Adam was a great cop and an even better brother, but he could also be a gigantic pain in the ass. She was grateful she didn’t have to work with him.
She crawled out of bed. One foot touched the floor and she yelped. Cold as ice—especially after her hot, sexy dream. Why couldn’t the rest of the world operate on her noon to midnight schedule? She only began to come alive at five when everyone else was winding down.
If only night owls ran the world…
But they didn’t, so she stumbled to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Erotic images dissipated as she stripped off her champagne silk nightgown and checked the water temperature. Now she could only vaguely remember the way his skin felt. His deep voice seemed a distant memory. Yet, the image of those dark, sexy eyes lingered, almost mocking her, daring her to try and forget.
She’d be able to pick him out in any police line-up because of those eyes. If only he were real.
* * ‡ * *
Samantha made her way inside the busy restaurant. Late again. Adam would be waiting, his back to the wall as he scanned the doorway and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. A woman in a bright red tee-shirt smiled as Samantha neared.
“Ms. Bays, good to see you again.”
“Hi, Carissa, is my brother Adam here, yet?”
The younger woman grinned and Samantha noticed a faint blush light her cheeks. “Yes, ma’am. He’s been waiting for you. He was a bit early.”
Samantha cringed. Whatever he wanted to talk about must be important. Even though Adam denied it, she had the sneaking suspicion one of the Sentinels had gotten into trouble with the law again. She’d long ago lost track of how many times she’d bailed one of them out of jail or call in a fast-talking lawyer. How she wished they had more women working for the group. The women they did have were much easier to work with, in her humble opinion. But, despite the hot tempers of their small army of warriors, somehow the council managed to keep the secret of their existence intact, with her help. Having a homicide detective in the family had its perks.
She followed Carissa across the room which was decorated in heavy, flowered patterns of deepest red and gold. While she ignored the diners seated around them, Samantha let the vibrant hum of their conversations surround her, listening to the tempo and tone of voices joined rather than specific words. She breathed deeply and savored the delicious smells that filled the room which included several of Luigi’s famous pasta dishes. Her stomach rumbled just as she spotted her brother. He was at a table in the back, as she predicted, chair slanted so no one could sneak up from behind. She wasn’t sure if the habit arose from his profession or from growing up with four younger brothers.
She moved closer and saw his frown lift into a lopsided smile as he caught sight of her. “Hey, Red thanks for coming.”
Samantha gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before sitting. “No problem, sorry I’m late.”
Adam frowned again and glanced at his watch. “Are you? I didn’t notice. I was early.”
It must be really serious. Heavens, she hoped none of the Sentinels had committed a federal crime. It was almost impossible to keep their organization and the existence of the chosen a secret in a world where everyone and everything was recorded for posterity and promptly uploaded to the Internet. Covering for the modern-day warriors on a local level was difficult enough.
“Your server should be right with you, detective.” Carissa smiled at Adam and flipped her long blond hair over one shoulder before walking away.
Samantha almost laughed. The girl was so obvious, yet her dear brother didn’t have a clue. He never did, which was partly why he remained single at forty. One bad marriage had ruined him for anyone else and ever s
ince the man seemed to move through life with blinders firmly in place.
“Why don’t you give the poor girl a break and ask her out?”
The furrow between his brows deepened. “What are you talking about?”
Samantha sighed. “Never mind. Now what’s the big mystery? Who did Javed put in the hospital this time?”
He started to speak when a short brunette wearing low-rise jeans and a blue tank top bounced over. “Hi, I’m Jenny and I’ll be your server today.”
Samantha stifled a groan. Did everyone at Luigi’s have to be so damn perky? It was nauseating.
“Hi, Jenny, can we get some tea?” Adam asked.
“Sure thing… plain, lemon or sweet?”
“One lemon, one sweet,” Samantha interjected and then waited as Jenny bounced back to the bar. “Now, let’s have it, Bro. What happened?”
“All right, down to business, and no, this has nothing to do with Javed. I hope. I wanted to know if you’ve ever heard of a man by the name of Nathan Quinn?”
She frowned. “Actually, the name does sound familiar for some reason.”
“He’s a graphic novelist who lives and works here in Savannah. I thought since you two are in the same type of business, you might have crossed paths.”
“Well, I’m not sure.” She drummed her nails on the table for a moment. Why did that name sound so familiar? “Oh, wait, I think he may have contacted me last year about representation. Yes, that’s it. I remember now. I was impressed with his work—very dark and edgy—but it’s just not the kind of book I feel comfortable marketing. I did give him a couple of names of agents who I thought might be interested.”
Jenny approached then and plunked two large glasses of iced tea on table. “Are you guys ready to order?”
“I’ll have the chicken salad on whole wheat,” Samantha said.
“Give me the double cheeseburger platter.”
“Okay, it’ll be ready in a jiff.”
Samantha shook her head as she switched their drinks around. “Well, I hope that means within the next ten minutes because I’m starved.” She raised a brow and gave him her sternest look. “What’s with the bacon cheeseburger? I thought you were watching your cholesterol.”