At Second Sight: Sentinels

by Meg Allison

  “Yeah, that would be a nightmare,” he acknowledged. “But I heard a rumor that one of your clients signed a lucrative movie deal for rights to her paranormal novels.”

  “I’ve heard that rumor as well.” Her laughter did something odd to his system. “There is a bit of truth to it. Camille Bryant was offered a picture deal for her first three books. It was very tempting, I’m sure, but she flatly refused.”

  “Holding out for more money?” The remark was out before he could think better of it. She simply gave him an icy smile as the detective cleared his throat.

  “No, she isn’t,” Samantha replied. “Money isn’t everything, Nathan. In fact, it’s nothing if your life and privacy are constantly invaded. She’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

  “Sam, I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

  “What? To insult one of my best friends?” she asked. Then she turned her icy smile back to him and Nathan felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “So, have you ever thought about writing a real novel? You know, one without pictures?”

  “Touché,” he said with a smile. She wasn’t a shrinking violet, and the fire in her eyes sent a current of excitement straight to his gut. He laughed at the situation, which only seemed to fan the flames. “I apologize, Samantha. I can be argumentative. It’s nothing personal, honestly. I just can’t seem to help myself sometimes.”

  She glanced upward as she took a drink of wine. “God, he’s just like Dylan.”

  Adam muffled a laugh and coughed into his napkin.

  Interesting…

  “Dylan is another of your brothers, right?” Nathan asked as he scanned his memory for anything Liam may have said about his large family. “I take it you two don’t get along?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” she hedged. “But he does love to tease and torture me—has ever since he was five. We are currently operating under a temporary truce.”

  “And how’s that going for you?” Adam asked, his grin broad and knowing.

  “Great,” she said. “If we don’t speak for more than ten minutes straight and avoid a whole list of topics.”

  Adam laughed again and shook his head. “You should have seen her face the day Dylan decided her dolls needed haircuts. If Liam and I hadn’t held her back, the boy would have been toast. It’s a wonder he didn’t spontaneously combust.”

  “Yes, well, he might have if that had been my particular talent.”

  Nathan smiled at their banter, a little lost, but enjoying it all the same. He found himself envying the two as he tried to imagine her as a little girl. Many times, he had wondered what it would have been like to be raised in a large, noisy family. As an only child, his experiences with such camaraderie had been confined to yearly family gatherings, and those had rarely been happy. Some cultural or religious difference had always managed to elevate the stress level, sending both of his parents headfirst into a large bottle of wine or whiskey.

  They were still laughing and joking when Adam scowled and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a cell phone. From the twist of his features, it likely wasn’t good news.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Hang on a minute. I have to take this.” He rose and walked to the far wall near the restroom doors.

  Nathan glanced at Samantha who continued to eat her meal, gaze lowered. He had the distinct impression she either didn’t like him or was somehow uncomfortable in his presence. It bothered him much more than it should have and he was determined to find out why.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, but I have to leave earlier than I thought,” Adam apologized as he returned. He glanced across the table, indecision in his eyes. But something seemed to make up his mind for him. “Nathan, I know I’m asking a lot, but would you mind seeing Samantha home? I really don’t like the idea of her trying to catch a taxi this late.”

  “Sure, no problem.” He avoided looking at her for all of one second.

  “Excuse me? I’m sitting right here. Would you two not talk about me as if I were in a coma?”

  Adam smiled at her, and then leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry, Red. But play nice, okay? Humor me if nothing else.” He leaned close to her ear and lowered his voice so that Nathan could barely hear. “There’s a killer roaming the streets and I’d feel better knowing you weren’t alone until he’s caught.”

  Nathan’s stomach lurched at the comment.

  “I’m not a prostitute,” she reminded her brother quietly.

  “No, but otherwise you are his type.” Adam lifted a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers for a moment before he dropped it back to her shoulder. Nathan couldn’t help but stare. The gesture was intimate and almost inappropriate where he came from. His fingers suddenly itched to take up where the detective left off even as he wondered how much he’d told his sister about the murders and his bizarre connection.

  “Fine,” she said and glanced across the table at Nathan. “But only to humor you, Adam. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, I realize that, thank you.” He looked to Nathan. “And thank you. I appreciate it. Again, if you think of anything else that might help us with the case or come up with any more artwork, please call me, day or night. You have my work and cell numbers.”

  Nathan rose and reached across the table to shake the other man’s hand. “Will do, detective. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

  He watched Adam hurry through the restaurant to the front door where he spoke briefly with the hostess before he left. Nathan could feel the heat of Samantha’s glare. If looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ashes beneath the draped tablecloth. But he wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction of making him squirm.

  “So,” he said with a smile. “He seems like a great guy—Adam, I mean. He’s a little serious, though. Is he always on duty?”

  She continued to glare for a second before relenting. “Yes, unfortunately. I worry about him. He doesn’t seem to have a life outside of work anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “Oh, he got divorced a few years ago.” She stopped and looked at him with some irritation. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” He sipped his wine.

  “Get me to talk about such personal things? I don’t even know you.”

  Nathan shrugged as he set down his glass. “Sorry, didn’t do it on purpose. It’s my trustworthy demeanor. Plus, I’m a naturally curious person.”

  “Well, I’d rather not talk about my brother, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.” It wasn’t her brother who interested him at the moment. But she didn’t need to know that.

  “Let’s just finish our meals, and you can take me home.”

  “Okay, whatever you want.”

  Her eyes narrowed as if she suspected he was up to something. Nathan almost laughed out loud. The lovely Ms. Bays might be more intuitive than he realized. He was up to something. Somewhere along the course of the evening, he had decided he was going to get to know her much better. Maybe not tonight, but soon.

  They ate in silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds of forks lightly clattering against china plates punctuating the quiet. Soft instrumental music filled the lull between murmured conversations around them. All-in-all, it was a comfortable yet classy place filled with people looking for a restful evening and a decent meal.

  He savored the red wine and perfect al dente pasta as he thought of a way to get his companion to open up again. When the busboy cleared their dishes, he hadn’t gotten that far, yet, so he insisted they have coffee and dessert. Like a true southern lady, she bit her lip and agreed. By the time their chocolate confections were consumed, he had drawn her out into a safe conversation regarding books and music.

  She was still smiling at something he’d said when he decided the time was right. He watched as she sat back and sipped her coffee. Her eyes glittered over the rim of the white porcelain cup, reminding him of jewels he had once seen at a museum in the statue of a black cat. He took a drink o
f his decaf and mentally steeled himself for her reaction.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “When we first met this afternoon, you seemed tense. Upset. I was wondering why?”

  She stilled for a moment, a deer caught in the headlights. Then she squirmed in her seat as her gaze darted around the restaurant. Obviously, there was something there after all. He would pat himself on the back later, but first he needed an answer.

  “I told you I stood up too fast,” she insisted. “There’s nothing personal about it, but I’m sorry if my reaction caused you some concern.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I have no idea, because it’s the truth.”

  He stared at her, waiting. It wasn’t the truth, at least not all of it, and they both knew it. His appearance had scared the hell out of her and he wanted to know why.

  “All right, if you must know, I thought…” she hesitated. “You remind me of someone.”

  Something told him it wasn’t the whole truth. An old wound twinged a bit as memories hit him full in the face. There was the horrified expression on the face of the beautiful blond he asked to the high school prom. How could he think she’d go out with an Asian boy? Then there was the flirty brunette at college and her love of all things Japanese—a love that had been a semester-long hobby. The last time he’d seen her she was in the arms of a student from Thailand. Something about them having more interesting food?

  Why didn’t he ever learn? He could never be anything more than a curiosity to a woman like Samantha Bays. She was a southern girl through and through––from the top of her shining red hair to the tips of her tasteful black pumps and well-manicured nails.

  “I look like someone you know?” he repeated slowly as the old anger began to simmer.

  “Yes, sort of,” she hedged, her gaze moving over the table.

  Unreasonable anger filled him and suddenly he didn’t want to coax anything out of the lovely Ms. Bays. He wanted to haul her off her seat and kiss her senseless. He wanted to show her just how memorable a man like him could be.

  Why did she have to be one of the women who thought all Asian men looked alike? How the hell could he misread her so badly? Why did he assume the best when he’d never even met the woman? So much for his own judgment. Prejudice was alive and well in the South.

  “Ah, I understand,” he told her. “As far as I know, we’ve never met. But us slant-eyes do tend to look alike to you white folk.”

  She looked at him, eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

  “Asians…we look alike to Caucasians. I think it’s the eyes and black hair. I’ll admit there is a strong racial component to our features, but if you’d bother to look more closely you’d see there are subtle and obvious differences.”

  She scowled. “I never said all Asians look alike. I never even thought that, and I find your insinuation insulting.”

  “You’re insulted?”

  “Yes, I am,” she snapped. “Your assumption that I’m a bigot is incredibly obnoxious—particularly when I haven’t given you any reason to think it. I don’t know who put that chip on your shoulder, Mr. Quinn, but I suggest you have it surgically removed right after you’ve taken your foot out of your mouth.”

  The anger in her voice, the fire in her eyes told him he had missed the mark by about a hundred miles. He had seriously misjudged Samantha Bays, and he wasn’t sure she was the type of woman to easily forgive such a slight.

  Nice going, jackass.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, then cleared his throat as he glanced around. He was immensely glad the crowd had thinned, and her brother wasn’t there to witness his idiocy. “It’s no excuse, but I’ve been on edge lately, and I sometimes jump to conclusions about people before giving them a chance. One of my many faults. I hope you’ll forgive me?”

  She stared at him for a moment. He offered what felt like a sheepish smile. That seemed to soften her a bit. He had to fight the urge to hold his breath until she responded.

  “Fine, I guess we all misjudge others from time to time,” she conceded. “But I meant exactly what I said. You remind of someone else—not just because you are both Asian, but because you look a hell of a lot like him.”

  He sat back in his chair, irritation cutting through him like a blade. “Who is he?”

  She raised a brow and folded her arms below her chest. He had to force his mind and gaze away from her softer attributes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly nosey?”

  He relaxed and grinned. “Oh, yes, more times than I can count. My mother always said it was one of my worst traits.”

  “You seem to have quite a few of those.”

  He suppressed a grin as he took a drink of coffee, and watched her over the rim of his cup. She twisted the stem of her empty wineglass between her long fingers, those vivid green eyes shielded from his view by long dark lashes.

  “I’d really like to know who I reminded you of.”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “Why?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Because your reaction was so strong. You seemed genuinely distressed at my appearance—scared to death, to be honest.”

  “It wasn’t fear, really, it was merely surprise. Then I stood up too fast and felt a bit disoriented.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure I believe you. And the fact that you won’t tell me about him makes the subject all the more fascinating to me.”

  “You aren’t going to let it rest, are you?”

  “Probably not.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You must have been an unholy terror growing up.”

  “Yes, yes, I was,” he agreed. “My mother even reverted to her grandparent’s old religion in an attempt to save my wayward soul. I can probably name any incense created with just one whiff. Can’t stand the stuff, though. It still gives me a headache.”

  “Is she Buddhist?”

  “Shinto.”

  “And your father?”

  “My very Irish father is, well, I suppose you could call him a free spirit. His parents, however, call him a lax Catholic and assure him every Christmas that he’s going to hell.”

  “Sounds like family holidays are rather interesting.”

  “If by interesting you mean perfect occasions for excessive alcohol consumption, then yes.” He couldn’t hold back the smile. Damn, she was good at twisting the conversation. But he wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. Somehow, he knew the answer to his question was vitally important. “Back to the subject at hand. Who do I remind you of, Samantha? A colleague? Friend? Lover?”

  Her ivory skin turned a soft shade of pink at the last suggestion. But then she fixed him with a formidable stare and he fought the instinctual urge to squirm. She would make one hell of a mother. No wayward child could suffer that look and live to rebel again. He could easily imagine her slapping a ruler against her palm, that mane of fiery silk tamed into a tight coil atop her head like a stern librarian.

  For some ungodly reason, the image made him hot.

  “All right, fine,” she said. “If you must know, you remind me of a man I’ve been dreaming about. You look and sound exactly like him. The eyes are the same shape and shade of brown. Your nose is the same, too. You’re a dead-ringer for him—right down to your hair cut and height. Everything. I’d bet I can even tell you what kind of underwear you favor.”

  He raised a brow, intrigued, but still unconvinced.

  “You tend to wear solid-colored boxers or boxer-briefs in black, dark green and red. Black seems to be your favorite. I like the boxer-briefs, myself. They show off your…” she hesitated and her gaze slipped toward his lap, “Attributes, quite nicely.”

  He stared as every molecule in his body seemed to come to a crashing halt. It was like being thrown against a brick wall. Of all the things she might have said, this hadn’t occurred to him. How the hell had she dreamed of him when they had never met? And how did she know about his underwear?


  “I…” he faltered. Swallowed. Tried again. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” she said as she sat back in her chair. “But it’s the truth. I’ve never seen you or met you before, but you’ve been invading my dreams for the last six months. Or rather, your image has.” She lifted her chin. “There. Happy now?”

  “I…I’m not sure,” he admitted. “You certainly know how to peak a man’s curiosity.” He stared at her as the world seemed to slowly resume revolving around them. “Have you ever had dreams like this before? About someone you’ve never met, I mean?”

  “No, never. I hardly ever dream, or at least I don’t remember them very often.”

  “Interesting.”

  He could only stare. He couldn’t help it. Her revelation had left him at a complete loss.

  “Have you ever drawn murder scenes before?” she asked suddenly.

  His heart stuttered. Of course, her brother had told her about him and the drawings. But why? Samantha was a literary agent, not a cop. It didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing had made sense once the trances took over his life—the trances and the drawings. Drawings of young women staring at him through dead, lifeless eyes.

  He downed the last of his coffee, willing the slight tremor in his hand to subside. It amazed him that Detective Bays had left his sister alone with him. Nathan knew he must be only steps away from being hauled in and questioned as a suspect. But he had thought…no, had hoped someone might believe him. Innocent until proven guilty was a nice sentiment but not the way the average human mind worked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as he set the empty cup down. “I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that.”

  “No, that’s okay,” he replied. “And no, I’ve never drawn murder scenes before. When I was very young, I would draw pictures of the dead. They were usually relatives decked out in their finest clothes and laying in caskets. Of course, there were the odd death-scene portraits, too.”

  “What did your parents do?”