At Second Sight: Sentinels

by Meg Allison

  “Are you okay?” he asked with a frown.

  She tried to smile, but the smells were getting to her, too. Her stomach clenched and churned. She shook her head slightly. He slid an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to her temple.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll be upstairs soon.”

  The car shook and rattled as they rode up the five floors to his loft. By the time she stepped foot into the upstairs entry, her nerves were on edge, her hands shaking like aspen leaves. He held her at his side, one hand smoothing up and down her spine.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, face pressed into his broad chest. “I don’t mean to be such a wimp. Residual emotions get to me sometimes, especially when I’m worn out. I’ll be much more resistant once I’ve had a little time to meditate and build my walls back up.”

  “It’s all right,” he assured. “It’s your turn to wimp out. I did that earlier, remember? I can usually hold my liquor much better than that.”

  She laughed. “Well, you didn’t wimp out. Not really.”

  “Ah, that’s open for debate. Let’s just say I hide it better.” He held her for a moment, letting her shake, keeping her whole. Then he tugged gently on her hair so that she looked up into his eyes. “Ready to go inside? I have something I want to show you.”

  She smiled, his lighthearted manner tugged at her, lifting her upward and chasing away the negativity of the building. “Your etchings, I presume?”

  “No, something much better, much more intimate.” He waggled his brows and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  He opened the door, allowing her to walk inside ahead of him. She gasped softly as warm sunlight poured down upon her. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, his smile made her heart skip a beat. Her reaction seemed to please him.

  “My god,” she breathed at the scene before her. The entire west wall was dotted with windows from ceiling to floor. This would be the best time of day, just when sun had begun to set. The last rays of soft pink and orange splashed against the low-hanging clouds. It painted the entire room in shades of soft, warm light that made everything more inviting.

  She turned to him again and smiled. Pure joy shown back at her through his dark almond eyes.

  “That’s the main reason I picked this building,” he told her. “The view is amazing. Since it’s a story taller than the others in the neighborhood, I have the best vantage point.” He moved around her and pointed out one of the windows to her left. “See those buildings? When the shadows move, they almost seem to change shape. It’s breathtaking in the morning sun—you get all these intense reflections of color off the windows and brick. On clear days, you can just make out the river over…there…” he pointed in a slightly different direction, “Sometimes the sun sparkles off the water like jewels. I can stare out these windows for hours.”

  She gazed at him instead of the view. She knew she was smiling like a fool, but didn’t care. He was such a beautiful, amazing man both inside and out.

  “Sorry,” he said as his face reddened. “I get carried away sometimes. I suppose it’s the eccentric artist gene.”

  She laughed. “No, don’t be sorry,” she insisted. “It’s nice. I just haven’t seen you so animated before. I like it. Your enthusiasm is contagious. It makes me happy.”

  “Good,” he murmured as he moved toward her.

  She lifted her arm and laid her palm to his cheek. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her wrist.

  “I want to make you happy,” he said. “I want to make you laugh, to see you smile,” he kissed her palm, “You should smile more. You glow from within when you smile. You are so beautiful.”

  The sunlight washed his skin in gold and pinks, lending his face the ethereal quality of an anime drawing. She breathed in the scent of him—the musk of man, leather, and ink. Her body began to ache, a primal, persistent beat. She had thought their previous lovemaking would have slaked some of the need, but it wasn’t the case. His presence invoked more. The memory of his hands on her body, his lips against her skin heightened her need.

  “Nathan…”

  He looked into her eyes and her pulse spiked even more. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, maybe more. He gathered her into his arms. She felt at peace as she allowed her body to nest against him. A perfect fit, her curves and softness in all the right places as he pressed her close and closer. Content to be held, she moaned when he pressed his pelvis into her. Her body hummed with desire, the memory of their love-making still fresh and raw. But he held back even though she gave him every encouragement she could.

  He pulled away and cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” she whispered as she lifted her head to press her lips to his throat. “Starving.”

  Nathan swallowed hard. Heat spiraled between them, building and swelling like a tsunami. She pressed closer, soft curves molded to him from chest to hip. He closed his eyes and groaned.

  Giving in wouldn’t be so bad. She wanted it. He wanted it. What would be the harm?

  “Samantha, do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  She flicked her tongue against his neck. Then she rocked her pelvis harder against him. “Oh, yes,” she whispered against his skin. “I can tell.”

  “Do you enjoy torturing me?”

  “Very much so,” she whispered. “But not as much as making love to you.”

  She moved her hands over his back, lower…bolder. He gasped and almost jumped out of her arms.

  “Lock the door,” she commanded near his ear.

  “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

  She pulled back, brows raised. “Little?”

  “Ah, hit a sore spot, did I?”

  “No, not really. My brothers always used to tease me about being shorter than them. But that’s just because they’re giants. I wouldn’t have expected that comment from you.”

  “Because I’m not tall?”

  “Oh, you are, to me. Just not compared to the rest of my family.”

  “Good, I happen to think we fit together very well,” he said with a smile. “If I remember correctly, everything about us fits perfectly.” He ran his hands down her sides. Her breath caught at his touch and the sound of her own thoughts being spoken aloud. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about it, Samantha, about being with you…inside you.”

  She groaned this time and pressed her heated face against his neck. “Don’t tease,” she begged softly. “Only promise if you’re willing to deliver.”

  “I plan to do exactly that,” he said. “But I thought we should have dinner first. I want to take my time with you. I want to make you as crazy for me as I am for you.”

  “I already am, I think.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll have to take care of that,” he said as he pressed her body to his. Then he kissed her lips long and deep. When he pulled away, she couldn’t quite focus. “Now, how about some dinner? We’ve been eating out way too much. I think we could both use a home-cooked meal for a change.”

  “Okay, fine, feed me first,” she said with a smile. “But don’t bother with dessert.”

  A grin spread across his handsome face, and she noticed the color beneath his natural bronze heightened.

  “I wouldn’t dream of trying to placate you with sweets,” he said. “I have something much more intense in mind for that.”

  Dinner wound up being a hasty cheese omelet and buttered sourdough toast. While the conversation between them flowed smooth and steady, Samantha soon realized she hadn’t the foggiest idea what had been said in those twenty-eight minutes.

  Then they sat across Nathan’s tiny kitchen table to eat. The carved wooden chair was hard beneath her rear and she did an unusual amount of squirming during their meal. She silently chided herself for acting like an anxious child. But every time she looked up at him, she found Nathan’s dark eyes fixed on her. After a few moments of awkwardness, Samantha didn’t even try to keep from staring at him as th
e meal progressed. Somehow, she began to wonder how it would be to have him make love to her on the small, oval surface that seemed such a barrier between them now. Her cheeks flamed as the image of them together played through her mind in great, glorious, naked detail.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it.

  “Are you done?” she asked with a bit of irritation.

  He looked up, eyebrows raised. “I suppose…” then she saw his pupils dilate, “Are you in a rush for something, Samantha?”

  She smiled and slid the chair back. When she rose, he moved away from the table and waited. Samantha took his hand in hers and tugged him to his feet.

  “Then love me,” she demanded. “Now, Nathan. I won’t wait any longer.”

  He followed her into the narrow hallway and stopped as she eyed the various doors with a frown.

  “Second on the left,” he instructed with a smile.

  She walked purposely toward his bedroom door, his hand tight in her own. Once inside the dark room, he helped her strip the clothes from her body. She returned the favor, her hands cool and soft against his skin. She dropped onto his bed, her arms stretched out to him. Then he was in her arms, his naked body pressed to hers. The friction between them chased all thought away. He felt her skin against his, her warm breath against his neck. She wrapped her long legs around his waist and urged him closer. She didn’t need foreplay, she was wet and ready. Need drove her to press herself to him, commanding him to move, to fill her.

  Nathan obeyed.

  * * ‡ * *

  An hour later, they rose from a deep, languorous embrace. It was enough just to lie in his arms with the press of his damp skin to hers. When her stomach growled and his answered in kind, they both laughed.

  “I have a feeling we need more sustenance,” he teased. “Especially if you’re going to keep attacking me like this.”

  “Oh, I promise, there will be more of this, much later,” she promised softly. He drew her in for another kiss, then stood and pulled on his boxers. She gazed him and smiled. The garment hugged his lean, firm body in all the right ways. He looked better now than he had even in her dreams.

  “Stay in bed as long as you’d like,” he told her. He kneeled beside her to place one last kiss to her forehead. “Would you like some wine? I might be able to scrounge up some passable cheese and crackers to go with it.”

  “Sounds lovely. You go ahead and I’ll grab a quick shower.”

  Samantha watched the play of his muscles across his back and through the thin cotton of his boxers as he walked out of the room. She sighed and sank back into the firm pillows and tried to relax for a moment, to take in the rhythm and flow of the building around her. But her mind whirled like a tornado. She couldn’t shut it off. Finally, she rose and padded into his adjacent bath. She would have liked to linger in his shower, but some urgent need had her rushing to finish so she could be with him again.

  Once she had dried herself thoroughly, she wrapped her body in one of his large dress shirts. The hem skimmed her legs mid-thigh. She grinned. It covered enough to be modest, but revealed enough to be provocative. She found she liked knowing he was thinking about her, lusting for her. They were thoughts she was more than willing to provoke whenever possible.

  Then she remembered their trip upstairs and realized she needed a few minutes to regroup before venturing out of the cocoon of his bedroom.

  After straightening the sheets and smoothing the thick brown comforter, she sat cross-legged in the middle of the large bed. Then she closed her eyes and began breathing in and out, over and over. She imagined the negative energy flowing out of her like smoke from a chimney. Each breath filled her senses with Nathan—the classic leather, ink, and spice that surrounded him like an aura as he moved through life. It was calming and evocative all at once. She wanted to bury her face against his neck and just breathe in every nuance of his unique odor. It was a sensory memory she wanted to imprint so deeply that it would never leave her.

  Calm filled her being from head to foot and she pictured the mental walls being reinforced and strengthened. Each little crack and crevice was filled, thickened, as if she’d poured some mental cement into the barrier. It seemed a silly exercise and she had fought against such fanciful nonsense in her early life, but desperation during her teenage years had taught her that, yes, even the old ways did work.

  When she was finished, she retrieved a clean pair of sweats from Nathan’s dresser and replaced his shirt with the outfit. Then she ventured out into the main room of his loft. The aroma of their earlier meal still lingered in the air, as did the taste of his kiss on her lips. It was best to let him alone for the moment. This relationship was spiraling at a speed which made her head spin. She wasn’t even sure where they were going, except that they seemed destined to wind up in bed together.

  Samantha paced the perimeter of the room instead of invading his kitchen. The space easily combined a living room, a more formal dining area, and Nathan’s small home office near the large bank of windows. As she moved, a drawing on the far wall caught her eye. It was a charcoal gray sketch void of color and life. It should have blended with the room—should have melted into the background like a minor prop in a carefully staged play. But it didn’t. There was something about it…something that seemed to call to her. A feeling of some kind?

  She spun around, searching the room for anything that else that might cause the unsettling emotions. Nothing jumped out at her. Then she found herself facing the charcoal sketch again. Closer now, she could see it more clearly. It was an unremarkable cityscape. It was very amateurish, even by her low standards. It portrayed a city street of nondescript origin, void of people or any type of life. It seemed desolate. Lonely. Dark clouds hung low in the narrow expanse of sky visible above the towering buildings that weren’t quite right in perspective.

  “A shroud of slate,” she thought.

  She moved closer still, drawn as if by some invisible force. It was a rough sketch, more like a first draft with crude, haphazard lines. Had Nathan drawn this? She shook her head at the notion. This wasn’t his style. Not even close.

  She stepped up to the picture and lifted her hand to touch the slim black frame. A jolt like a shock raced up her arm, sent her reeling. Her breath caught as if she’d been punched hard in the gut. Emotions…strong, violent, angry…rolled off the framed drawing. They were so intense, so embedded in the charcoal lines that the emotions became a part of the picture itself. Such energy could not have become accidentally attached to the piece. Whoever had fashioned it must have projected that anger into each and every stroke.

  Hate. She had never felt such deep, encompassing hatred.

  She jerked her hand away and took a shaky step back. Her lungs were tight. She found it all but impossible to focus on anything but the rancid emotions which spilled from the otherwise banal sketch. A hand on her shoulder made her jump.

  “Geez, honey, are you okay?” Nathan asked. “I kept calling but you didn’t….” He stopped and stared at her, then looked at the drawing. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  She lifted a shaking hand and pointed at the picture. “That…did you draw it?”

  “No, I bought it around the first of the year—late January, I think.”

  “Where?”

  “A silent auction at Liam’s gallery. It was a benefit for the policeman’s widows and orphans fund. He called it his after holidays sale, or something to that effect. I think it was mostly an excuse to throw another party.”

  She tried to focus, tried to remember the event. “I…I didn’t go. I usually go, but I didn’t that time.”

  “No, Liam said you were out of town or something. I had hoped to meet you then but it didn’t work out.” He stared at her for a moment. “Sam, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

  “Who drew it?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I know it’s not good, really, but there was just something about it. I don’t know why, but I had to have it. And it was for a g
ood cause.”

  She felt her body sway. “I need to sit down.”

  He kept a hand on her arm as they moved to the sofa. Then she sat back and sighed as she closed her eyes. The drawing followed her, floating over her mind’s eye. Mocking.

  “Sam, honey, maybe I should call Adam or get you to the hospital.”

  “No, I’m okay.” She looked at him and smiled. “I’m better than okay, actually. Nathan, I think I know why you’re connected to the killer,” she said. “The drawing—it’s his.”

  “His?”

  “He drew it. That’s why you’re channeling him. You’ve been feeding off the energy of his drawing without realizing it.”

  “His energy?” He looked at the drawing and paled. “You can tell all that? Just by looking at it?”

  “And by touching it, because I’m empathic,” she reminded him. “I can sense emotion in people and sometimes from objects. When someone handles something for a long period of time, they can inadvertently push their own emotions into the object. It’s why some houses or places have a certain feel about them. It’s why you’ve been able to draw the murdered women. This is your connection.”

  “But I don’t understand. I’m not empathic. How can that affect me?”

  “You don’t have to be empathic to be affected by another person’s emotions. They’re contagious like laughter or germs, only we don’t think of it that way. But they haven’t turned you into a murderer…they’ve connected you to one, psychically. That may be what attracted you to the picture to begin with. You sensed something in the drawing. Your gift was always working, you just denied it until you couldn’t deny it anymore.”

  “God…” He stared at the drawing across the room. “It’s been there for months. I didn’t have a clue.”

  She grasped his hand and squeezed. “Nathan, we’ve found the connection. This is a good thing. This might help them catch the killer.”

  “But how? I don’t even know who drew it. It isn’t signed and I have no clue who donated it to the auction.”

  “Well, Adam has his job cut out for him, then. With him and Liam working together, they’ll figure it out in no time. We didn’t have anything before, but this is a solid lead.”