At Second Sight: Sentinels

by Meg Allison

  Then she felt it, like a tremor deep in the earth. The floor seemed to vibrate beneath her bare feet. She took a breath and braced her hands against the desk, palms down. The feeling was familiar—a vague, unsettling déjà-vu that caused adrenaline to shoot through her veins. She reached for her center, for her safe zone where the strong emotions couldn’t harm her. The energy swept closer until her office door flew open. Samantha gasped as anger hit her full in the face. The emotion had the force of a tidal wave tearing at everything in its path. A man stood there, dressed in leather from head to foot, his shoulder-length hair somewhat wild about his face as he glared at her with his one good eye, the other hidden by a black patch. Just like a pirate.

  “Javed,” she acknowledged out loud, her shoulders set as if braced for a physical blow. “What are you doing here?”

  “Good to see you, too, Samantha,” he replied as he stalked toward her desk. “I’m here because of the murders I read about. Why didn’t anyone contact me?”

  “You only wanted to know about serial killings of women that matched your suspect’s mode of operation.”

  He slapped a stack of newsprint on her desk, sending other papers flying. Samantha couldn’t help but flinch. Damn. She hated showing any weakness to the men in her charge—especially this one. Javed Catania was an odd mix of old-school chivalry touched with chauvinism and wrapped up in plain, white-hot anger. He made an interesting dichotomy and was a man she’d normally love to investigate in the most biblical sense if she hadn’t known him since she was six. And if he wasn’t so damn scary.

  “The murders have not been officially connected,” she added.

  “Not in the press, but we know the drill, don’t we, Princess? Don’t scare the public with the murders of a few working girls. Wait, maybe we’ll catch him first. Then post the story on the back page, after the personal ads. But we both know the signs—three pros killed within the last three months alone, possibly more if Savannah’s finest have missed anything.”

  “How did you even hear about this?” she asked. “I just found out yesterday.”

  “I keep track. I read all the major papers I can get my hands on. I have sources who watch for me as well. I’ve tracked the bastard to the east coast, Samantha. He’s hungry. He’ll strike again. Soon…if he hasn’t already.” He stabbed at the newsprint with one long finger. “This could be him.”

  She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She was getting so tired of these macho hotheads. Javed’s anger was leaking around the mental barrier she tried to erect. She was going to have one monster of a headache if he didn’t leave soon.

  “Listen, Adam is on the case,” she told him. “Why don’t you call him? He knows a lot more than I do.”

  He glanced away. “I tried. He hasn’t returned my calls.”

  “He is busy.”

  “Bullshit, he doesn’t want to talk to me and you know it.”

  “I wonder why?” she snapped. “It couldn’t have anything to do with the way you broke his arm the last time you blew through town, would it?”

  At least he had the decency to look a little contrite. “That was an accident.”

  “An accident that took surgery and three months of rehab to heal.”

  “Ancient history,” he said. “Besides, it was partly his fault.”

  “I agree. But whenever you get together with my brothers y’all manage to start some macho slugfest that turns into a visit to the Emergency Room. Your shifter DNA helps you heal quickly. Us plain old chosen ones don’t have that option.”

  “Listen, we all know I’m a bastard and a brute who can’t be trusted—I’m a rotten character.” He placed his large hands on the desk and leaned toward her. Heavens the man was tall. “But I won’t go away until I find out if this psycho is the one I’m looking for. Like it or not, you're the only one who will talk to me without making a scene.”

  She sighed. “All right, exactly what do you want to know?”

  “How does he kill them, exactly? The articles are rather vague on details.”

  “He breaks their necks.”

  “Prints?”

  “None, and no ligature marks of any kind.”

  “Blood? Mutilation?”

  “None, that's probably why no one thought to mention the killings to you. It doesn't match your man.”

  “The victims—” he interrupted. “What do they have in common?”

  “All women between twenty and thirty-five, I believe. All live and work in the same general area of Savannah. All of them were known prostitutes with records.”

  “Any other similarities?”

  She glanced at the desk, at his hands—they were strong. Strong enough to do the job without breaking a sweat. She should trust Javed, although he really didn’t seem the trustworthy sort. But a girl had to be careful, especially with a maniac on the loose—a maniac who seemed to have a penchant for women with very particular coloring. It wouldn’t be the first time a hunter had become the monster he sought.

  “Sam?”

  She looked back up into his good eye. It was a beautiful shade of brown, like warm chocolate. She glanced at the black patch that covered the other, wondering just what that other eye looked like. There were rumors…

  “They were all redheads or appeared to be,” she told him. “One wore a wig.”

  He stood slowly, but she noticed the way his gaze flicked to her hair and back.

  “I’m thinking of going brunette or maybe Goth,” she joked. “I don’t think blonde would be a good look on me.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. The silence made her want to squirm, but then Javed Catania had always had that effect on her. It could be the aura of violence that seemed to follow him or the way he could stare you down without even trying. But she always had the sneaking suspicion that shape-shifting and beating others to a pulp weren’t his only gifts.

  “Do you think it’s him?” she asked finally.

  Javed shook his head. “I don’t know. Methods can change over time, but this is a pretty big extreme. He enjoys blood far too much.” He seemed so disappointed that she almost laughed out loud. “No, I don’t think it’s him. But I’ll stick around, just in case. You could need my help either way.”

  She glanced at the door nervously. Javed was last person she'd want Nathan to meet at this point. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  His hands slammed back on the desk and made her jump in her chair.

  “Listen, Princess, I don’t really give a damn what you think. I’m not leaving until I get a good look at one of the bodies.”

  “That isn’t going to happen.”

  The brow over his good eye lifted. “And who’s going to stop me?”

  “It depends on what you’re planning on doing.”

  She looked back at the door, her heart doing a little skip-hop at the picture Nathan made. He stood there, tall and dark, his brow in a deep furrow as he took in the menacing figure leaning over her. In that moment, she had no doubt Nathan would fight the other man if she didn’t calm the situation. She also had no doubts over which man would win. Nathan might be brave, but Javed was a warrior with hundreds of years of experience under his belt.

  “Who the hell are you?” Javed asked as he rose to his full height and crossed his arms over his broad chest. To Nathan’s credit, he didn’t flinch or show the least bit of fear. It probably helped that he had no clue who or what he was confronting.

  “I’m Nathan Quinn,” he announced. “And you would be?”

  Javed stared at him for a moment and Samantha could almost feel the men scenting each other out like wolves in the wild. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

  “This is Javed Catania,” she said as she stood. “He was just leaving, weren’t you?”

  Javed’s stance relaxed a little as he looked at her over his shoulder. “I want to be kept informed,” he said. “I’ll decide if anything further is necessary or not.”

  “Fine, I suppose that isn’t too much to ask,” she
told him. “You have my number and I still have yours. I’ll talk to Adam and see what I can do, but until then I suggest you lie low and keep that temper in check. I will not bail you out if you get into another bar fight.”

  Javed quirked a brow, his full mouth mimicking a half-smile. Welcome to the dark side… Damn, the man could convince almost any woman to stray if he didn’t have that anger brewing around him like acid rain.

  “Whatever you say, Princess.” He turned to Nathan and scowled even as he held out one hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Nathan Quinn.”

  Nathan took the offered hand with a smile. “And you.”

  “A word of advice,” the other man cautioned. “Don’t hurt Samantha in any way. Her men folk can be real bastards.”

  “I’m sure you’d know.”

  Javed grunted, it was closest she’d ever come to hearing the man chuckle. Then he swept through the door, almost knocking Nathan into the frame. He watched the big man leave and then turned to her with a quizzical expression.

  “Who the hell was that big mean bastard and why was he threatening you?”

  She waved hand in dismissal. “He wasn’t threatening me. Not really. And he’s not that mean—he just has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. He's more like a big grumpy bear than anything.”

  “Yeah, I’d say he’s a starving grizzly if that’s the analogy you’re going with.” He walked into the room and closed the door.

  “Um, yes, but he’s harmless unless you get on his bad side.”

  Nathan’s brows rose. “And then?”

  “Well, I think it’s best not to find out.”

  He dropped into the armchair opposite her desk and steepled his long fingers beneath his chin. Samantha felt a little shiver course down her spine as his dark gaze caught hers. She bit her lip and sank back down onto her chair, the desk a solid barrier between them. It made her feel a bit more in control.

  “So, you want to tell me what that was all about?”

  She sighed. “Javed has been on a mission of sorts for years. He’s convinced there’s a serial killer loose, just waiting to start up again and he’s determined to catch him. Apparently, he’s seen the articles about the women killed. The women you've drawn.”

  His gaze dropped from hers. “He wants to see if they’re victims of the guy he’s after.”

  “Yes.”

  He looked up. “And what is he? A cop? Fed? He really doesn’t look the type. Why’s he so interested and why does he think you can help him?”

  Samantha fought not to squirm in her seat. Nathan knew nothing of the Sentinels and their world. She wasn’t sure the best introduction would be to tell him about the ancient shape-shifter and his quest for a murderer who once terrorized London as a man known as Jack the Ripper. Instead, she opted for a shorter, simpler version of the truth.

  “Javed is an old friend of the family,” she told him. “He was once a close friend of Adam’s as well, and he knows I might be able to reach him. One of the victims of the man Javed’s hunting was a woman he deeply loved, so the story goes. I’m not sure you ever get over something like that.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you would.” He gazed at her for a long moment. “You’re a very interesting woman, Samantha.”

  “In what way?”

  He shrugged. “Interesting friends and acquaintances…not to mention your family. They’re all a bit…” He seemed to struggle for the right words.

  “Scary bastards?” Sam offered. “Macho? Up-tight?”

  Nathan grinned. “I was thinking of something along the lines of secretive, but those adjectives work, too.” She almost held her breath, waiting for him to push the point on how she knew Javed. But the inquisition didn’t come. “Are you ready for lunch?”

  “Sure,” she said with some relief. It didn’t last. She knew it was time—he had to know more about his heritage. About her. “But I wanted to talk to you about something, first.”

  He sank back into the chair, his gaze shuttered. “Go ahead, what’s on your mind?”

  “Your gift isn’t something you should ignore. But I understand how difficult it can be when you can’t really control it.”

  “I don’t see—”

  She held up a hand. “There are some things about me…about my family that you don’t know. Things we don’t really talk about with others, but I think I can with you.” She dropped her gaze to the desk and cleared her throat. “I have a gift, too. Not precognition, like you have, mine is something different. It took a lot of years and practice, but I’ve learned to control and deal with it. Anyway, without going into too much detail just yet, I want you to know that I think I can help you learn to use your gift instead of letting it run your life.”

  He surged to his feet and paced across the room. “Samantha, I appreciate what you think you’re doing, but you don’t have to pander to the crazy man. I don’t understand why Adam told you about the drawings. There’s really nothing anyone can do.”

  “He told me about them because he wants to believe you. He asked me to help him figure out if you were somehow faking it or if you are really gifted.”

  “Gifted…yeah, that’s not how I’d term it.” He turned back to her, his eyes even darker with anger. “So, what did you decide? Have I passed? Is that why you’re telling me this now? Do you have a psychology degree tucked away with your literary license?”

  Anger brought her to her feet. “I’m telling you this now because I do believe you. We both do. He just had to be sure, Nathan. It’s his job to be skeptical. He’s trying to save lives.”

  She watched as he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palatable.

  “You have to admit your story is a little hard to swallow at first,” she continued. “If it had been any other cop—”

  “He would have arrested me for murder or at least conspiracy to commit murder. Obstruction of justice? Yeah, my ass would be in jail for something, I know that.”

  “Yes, you probably would be. Until the third drawing became reality, he wasn’t sure what to think. But he knows there are things in the world that aren’t always as they seem.” She could feel him shutting down, pulling away from her emotionally as he folded his arms across his chest. She sighed. “Like I said, I don’t normally share this…we don’t normally share this part of our lives with others.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  “Because you’re not just anyone, Nathan. You’re special. You’re chosen.”

  He shook his head. “Chosen? For what? By whom?”

  “Chosen is a term used to describe the descendants of a very special race who lived long ago. A race of people with unique abilities and talents. People like us.”

  He stared without speaking, but she could see the questions flit through his eyes. The wariness. Fear. And then a spark of hope.

  “People like us?”

  “Yes,” she watched his features and decided it was best to dive in with both feet. If these drawings were prophecy, then there were lives at stake. “The sons of god married the daughters of man, there’s a reference to it in the Book of Genesis. Their descendants were children born with great gifts—unusual powers and abilities. We are descended from those gifted people.”

  “We?”

  “My brothers and I,” she told him. “And you, too, apparently. I know it’s true because only these descendants, these children of gods and man, have the type of preternatural gift that you have.”

  “So, you’re talking genetics? Heritage?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, my family isn’t like that. There aren’t any others with abilities like mine.”

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “I can, because my mother wouldn’t have gone so bat-crap crazy when I started drawing dead relatives. I mean, if she had known something like this was possible, she would have understood me better, right?”

  Samantha shrugged. “I have the rest of the afternoon free,” she ventured. “If you’d like to talk.�
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  For a moment, she thought she might have pushed too far, too fast. Then he nodded, and the small, familiar smile returned. She could feel the swell of relief and expectancy that filled him.

  “Yes, I’d like that,” he said.

  “Good, just let me change my shoes and we can go. I thought we could walk down River Street and take in the sights. Grab some lunch?”

  “Sounds like a great plan. Too bad it’s too late for breakfast. I know this one place that serves the best beignets in the state.”

  “You’ll have to bring me some someday,” she said with a smile as she sat in her chair and pulled a pair of flats from her bottom desk drawer. Heels might be great for business meetings, but they’d be murder on the cobblestones of River Street.

  “I don’t know,” he teased. “They’re best piping hot.”

  “Well, if anything could get me out of bed early, it would be a good beignet.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” he said, a soft smile on his full mouth.

  The look in his dark eyes sent a wave of heat over her body from head to foot. She looked away to tuck a folder in another desk drawer and realized her hands were shaking just a little. Damn, the man had a powerful effect on her system and he hadn’t even touched her, yet.

  “You got a haircut,” she observed as she slid her chair back and slipped her feet into the black flats.

  “Yeah,” he ran a hand over his head self-consciously, “I stopped at my barber on the way over and he happened to have a free slot. I think he got it a bit shorter than I’m used to.”

  Again, her cheeks burned and she turned to grab her handbag from the hook behind her chair.

  “Hey—”

  She jumped and swiveled around to find him standing only inches away, leaning down toward her.

  “You scared the crap out of me!” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry,” the twinkle in his eyes belied the apology. “I have had an idea about something and I could use some advice. I’m afraid I’m too close to this whole thing to think clearly.”