by Meg Allison
“You okay?”
She turned her head to see Nathan beside her. His strong hands gripped the steering wheel as he glanced from the road to her and back again. She noticed the dark stubble that swept along his jaw and chin. She longed to reach out and touch him, but didn’t dare. Not while he was driving. Not when every part of her needed to crawl back into his arms. A mere touch wouldn’t be enough.
“I guess,” she replied. “Just tired.”
“Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile and reached out to squeeze her hand in his. His touch was warm and comforting.
“We’ll be there soon. I think I’ve exhausted just about every side route possible. No one should have been able to follow us without giving themselves away.”
She bit her lip. “Maybe I should have stayed at my place…”
“No, you heard Adam. We couldn’t protect you—I’ve tried. I thought if I brought you to my apartment…” he took a deep breath and blew it out, “It doesn’t matter now. The police have clues to follow. I’m betting they’ll have the bastard in custody before the week is over.”
He turned to her and smiled. “Just hang in there, sweetheart. We’ll get through this together.”
She frowned. It seemed so easy when put that way. Maybe a little too easy. What she really didn’t understand is why the killer had turned his attention to her. Sure, she fit the physical profile, but that was as far as it went. What was her connection? Unless it was him.
“Nathan, are you sure you didn’t know any of the women who’ve been killed?” she asked softly.
He frowned at the windshield. “What…Wait, are you asking me if I had met any of them? Or do you mean know in the biblical sense?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t understand why he’s coming after me. I’m a redhead, but otherwise I don’t fit the profile—I’m a bit too old and there’s the whole prostitute angle. But we do know you’re connected. You and that drawing—”
His jaw tightened as his frown dipped low. “I told you once that I do not and have never used the services of a prostitute. You do remember that conversation, don’t you? Or do you think I was lying to you?”
“No,” she shook her head, “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I just…” She swallowed back the fear that rose in her throat. “No one has ever tried to kill me before. I’m not thinking clearly. I keep thinking this is just a bad dream and I’ll wake up any minute.”
He sighed and grasped her hand again. “I know. I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t get this either. I wish to God that I did. The only time I’ve ever drawn death pictures, it’s been family or friends—always natural causes and accidents. One…one was a suicide,” he swallowed hard, “But never this. Never anything close to this.” He glanced at her, a forced smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not leaving your side until this is over, I promise. Your brother will find this psycho and before we know it, it will be nothing more than a bad memory. Maybe we can get a discount on therapy if we go together.”
She smiled but couldn’t summon the smallest kernel of laughter. It was too soon. Maybe in a few months when this was indeed nothing but a bad dream… But right now, it was all too vivid. Too real.
“Samantha, I swear to you, the only time I’ve come remotely close to any prostitutes is when I walk by them on the way out of work some nights. The agency isn’t in the best neighborhood and when most people have gone home, the hookers come out. But I pass by on my way to my car—everyone that works there has had to do the same. I’ve never stopped. I’ve never given one a ride or the time of day, although some have suggested a few things. They pretty much leave me alone after trying their sales pitch once.”
A few moments later, he pulled the car up in front of the tall Antebellum home. Samantha stretched as Nathan exited the car and walked around to open her door. She looked up at him and forced a smile even though she was so tired she wanted to cry.
“You’ll like Liam’s house,” she told him. “He’s really done a wonderful job restoring it piece by piece.”
He took her hand and helped her stand. A cool breeze drifted over her skin, chilling the flush on her cheeks as it lifted the hair around her shoulders. It seemed as if a weight moved with it.
“Let’s get you inside,” Nathan said. “Then I’ll come back out for our bags.”
That small part of her that balked at being coddled didn’t even raise her head to disagree. Samantha merely hooked her hand around his arm and followed in his wake toward the familiar structure. The ever-subservient female? Not hardly. Simply an overly tired woman with a whole new set of nightmares to deal with.
The front door opened as they approached and she felt a sudden rush of unwanted tears fill her eyes as her brother, Liam stared out at them. He merely smiled, but in that expression, she felt a wave of relief so strong that it almost knocked her on her butt. She might be running scared, but at the moment, she honestly didn’t give a damn. She was scared and tired and she had family who loved her. They would keep her safe until her strength returned and she could face the nameless monster on her own two feet.
She released her hold on Nathan and moved ahead of him to walk into her brother’s arms. Then she laid her head on his chest as she breathed in his earthy, woodsy scent. The beat of his heart echoed against her ear and she found herself smiling.
“You okay, Red?” Liam asked softly as he held her. Samantha nodded against his chest then leaned back to look into his green eyes. They were exactly like Adam’s only different, though it wasn’t anything she could really explain.
“I’ve got a couple of rooms ready upstairs,” he told them as he held her with one arm and shook Nathan’s hand with the other, “Wasn’t sure if you’d want to share or what, but they’re both there so, yeah, you decide. I don’t mind either way.”
“Thanks, man,” Nathan replied. “I’ll just get our bags from the trunk and be right back.”
Liam ushered her through the door and into the parlor. Warm yellow light surrounded her and cast a golden patina over the earth-toned furnishings. While Adam leaned toward more modern furniture and a minimalist look, the younger Liam leaned more toward elegant curves often found in Antebellum antiques. It went well with his artistic personality, although anyone he worked with at the precinct would find his love of frivolous, decorative designs a bit at odds with his work persona.
“I opened up the blue room,” he told her as he walked her to the stairs. “I know you always liked the colors in there.”
“Thanks, bro.”
He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her. “Hey, no problem, and no worries. We figured out who donated the piece and we’ll find the bastard who drew it before he tries to hurt you again.”
“I know,” she said. Then she shook her head as the tears welled again. “Damn, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually such an emotional mess.”
“Oh, maybe it has something to do with all the crap going on? Come on, Red, give yourself some time to heal.”
Nathan re-entered the front door, three bags slung over his shoulders. He nudged the door closed and looked at her with a lopsided smile. “Got everything.”
“Good,” Liam interjected as he slid his arm around her shoulders and turned her back toward the staircase. “You can play butler and bring the bags upstairs. Then maybe we can all get a little sleep before sunrise.”
A man of few words, Liam left them alone as soon as he’d made sure they both knew where everything was including fresh towels and the land line. With a kiss on her cheek, he nodded to Nathan and then quietly left, presumably going to bed or maybe his home office. While he had said they all needed sleep, Samantha wasn’t sure her brother would take his own advice when he could be looking for a killer.
“Do you want me to stay in the other room?”
She turned to look at Nathan, a frown pulling at her face. “What? Why?”
He lifted his broa
d shoulders and smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. I just thought it might be weird for you—me sleeping in the same bed in your brother’s house.”
“He said it’s okay, so it’s okay,” she told him. “You know Liam isn’t one to tell any kind of lie, even a white one. If he didn’t want us sharing a room or a bed, he would have said so in a very blunt manner.”
“True,” Nathan acknowledged. “It’s one of the things that I immediately liked about him.”
She smiled and walked to stand in front of him. When he didn’t move, Samantha slid her arms around his waist and stepped even closer.
“And it’s something he values highly in others,” she said. “As do I.”
He looked down at her and she couldn’t help but feel the wave of regret and pain roll off him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he gathered her into his arms and molded her body to his. “I’m so damn sorry I got you mixed up in this, Samantha. If I had known this bastard would come after you…”
“Hush, it’s okay. I’m safe. We’re safe, and they have a lead. Liam’s house is more protected than the White House. Nothing can get to us in here.”
He leaned back and looked at her. “What do you mean protected?”
She shrugged slightly. “I guess you could say magic? Spells and wards to keep out the bad guys. They’ve been passed on from generation to generation among the chosen, particularly in my family.”
Nathan sighed. “I have a lot to learn, don’t I?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry it has to be all at once. I know it’s difficult to deal with all of this.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Well, at least I know I’m not going insane, which is a damn sight better than I thought even a month ago. Now I know that it’s all real, even if it doesn’t seem possible.”
She hugged him tightly and silently thanked the fates for bringing her dream lover into her life. “We’ll be fine now,” she said. “But Liam is right—we need sleep.”
Nathan placed a warm, lingering kiss on her forehead and then released her so they could both get ready for bed. Although she could feel the fission of lust from him as they climbed into the queen size bed side by side, she knew they were both too worn out to take advantage of the situation. Instead, he spooned against her back, his breath warm on her neck, and she could feel his tension release bit by bit as he allowed sleep to pull him under.
She lingered for a few moments longer, listening to the rush of his breathing and the soft creaks and groans of the house. But eventually even she couldn’t fight her exhaustion. Fatigue drew her into a deep sleep and dark dreams. She drifted further into darkness, her body numb and cold. Then she realized she was on a street, walking down the deserted stone walk. But it looked odd to her even as it was somewhat familiar. Everything was outlined in thick, black lines, disjointed and crude. Just like the picture on Nathan’s wall—the drawing done by the killer.
She stopped walking and slowly pivoted. Yes, it was the same street drawn in dark hash marks of blackest charcoal. It was real, but it wasn’t. It was a psychopath’s cold, twisted view of the world, filled with anger and hate. She had been here before.
She began to run, trying to get away from the violent anger. Her feet were leaden weights as the wind whipped at her hair. The faster she tried to move, the heavier her limbs became. Panic welled up in her throat and she glanced behind as the scene dissolved into an avalanche of black ash and tumbled toward her.
She gasped for breath and felt something warm, heavy around her waist. Soothing tones washed over her, nudging her consciousness with familiar comfort until the rhythm of her heart slowed to a steady cadence. Then she let sleep take her again, feeling safe this time. The waves pulled her to different dreams and she succumbed, somehow unafraid. The darkness didn’t return.
* * ‡ * *
The morning sun filled their room with warm pink light as it peeked around the thin blue curtains on the large double pained windows. Nathan lay at her side for a long time as the clock on the nearby dresser ticked by the seconds in measured, monotonous rounds. She had slept fitfully at first. Sometime during the night her struggles and whimpers brought him fully awake and alert. Once he realized it was only a bad dream, he had gathered her into his arms and whispered soft, soothing words near her ear. She hadn’t fully awakened, but some part of her responded to his comfort and she had snuggled against him before drifting back into deeper, calmer dreams.
He turned his head to look at her with her hair splayed across the pillows. He found himself momentarily mesmerized by the way the soft pink light washed over the planes and contours of her face. Would he always notice these things about her? The way light played on her features? The way her hair seemed to glow with warmth and light? Did love always make a man so insane? He had thought he’d been in love once or twice, many years ago. But it had been nothing compared to the depths of emotion Samantha pulled from his soul.
The silence between them filled with the warble of songbirds outside. He knew they’d have to get up soon and face the day, but instead he lay still and simply watched the rise and fall of her breast and memorized the shape of each delicate feature. Then she opened her eyes and stared at him for a long, quiet moment. When she reached for him, he was more than ready. Soon they were tangled in the sheets, the scent of sweat and musk heavy around them. Nathan rose for a moment to grab a small foil package from the box he’d left in the nightstand drawer last night.
Their love making was quick and almost frantic, as if they had been apart for weeks instead of just one night. As he moved to her side and spooned her body to his, he wondered if such intensity could last. Could she love him, want him this much ten even twenty years from now? He had thought he’d found such love before, only to have it be revealed as a fraud. His chest tightened at the thought of that happening between him and Samantha. Rejection from her would kill him.
“Nathan,” she whispered, her voice still husky from sleep and her ordeal the night before. “I know we came here to, well, to hide. But I think this would be a good opportunity for me to help you.”
“You just did that,” he teased, a sudden need to make things light again. Carefree was easier to deal with than the deep, treacherous emotions.
“Would you stop kidding for a minute?” she asked. “We’re here and basically isolated. It’s a great time to work on your controlling your visions.”
“All right, but how?”
“Your gift—”
He snorted and received a glare for his trouble. “Sorry, I’m just having a hard time thinking of this thing as a gift. That word just makes it sound pleasant, almost banal, when it really isn’t.”
“No, it isn’t pleasant, at least not now. I do know how difficult it is to live with something that makes you different from others, especially when you don’t know how to use or control it.”
She sat up and grabbed a small blanket that had fallen off the bed. He watched unabashed as she stood and wrapped the covering around her naked body.
“Don’t cover up on my account,” he told her.
“It’s chilly in here,” she replied as her cheeks turned a soft pink.
She walked to where she had dropped her clothes and fumbled through the pockets of her gray cargos. When she pulled something out of the depths, his curiosity was peaked. Then she walked back to the bed and sat beside him, the blanket firmly pinned to her chest with one hand.
“Give me your hand.”
He obeyed and she reached out to lay a flat, polished oval stone in his palm. It was a soft shade of pinkish brown and felt incredibly smooth and warm against his skin.
“My father gave me something like this years ago, when I was sixteen and started having trouble in school.”
He raised a brow. “You were a delinquent?”
“No,” she smiled and sat back beside him. “But that’s when my gift of empathy became overwhelming. I couldn’t control it at all. I was constantly barraged by all these emotions—lu
st, anger, and depression were the worst. It all hit me hard, a hundred-fold. You remember how it is to be a teenager, right? Everything seems so urgent and vital—everything you feel either lifts you up to the stars or slams you back to Earth and buries you six feet under,” she shook her head sadly, “It was terrible. I had to deal with my emotions and those of everyone within spitting distance. But when my dad gave me that stone, he told me how to use it. and he worked with me until I learned how to build up my shield.”
“You think it will help me?” he asked, staring at the object with more than a little doubt.
“Yes, I do. You won’t use it exactly as I did, but I think I know how it can help.” She wrapped her hands around his and smiled. “Whenever you start to get a vision, instead of pushing it away, holding it down, as it were, you need to let it come. Just relax…breathe, and let the feelings, the pictures wash over you. Keep this stone in your left hand and rub it with your thumb…” she pulled away and the sudden loss of her warmth sent a chill down his spine, “Now hold it however it feels comfortable, but so you can rub it.”
He felt like a fool, sitting there naked in bed with a beautiful woman at his side, fondling a polished stone when what he really wanted was to gather her back into his arms and forget about everything. Forget the visions, the murders…everything. He wanted Samantha’s vitality and life to warm him, not a cold, hard stone.
“Nathan,” she admonished softly as he gazed into her eyes. She must have seen the longing there. She was empathic and could perceive his feelings with ease. “Please, just try. For me?”
He nodded.
“Good…now, use the stone and close your eyes.” He obeyed. “Deep breath in … hold it … and release… Good. And again.”
Several breaths later, he felt the tension and anger slip away as if a heavy cloak slid from his shoulders. He imagined it floating away, far away, all the while he caressed the small stone, his thumb moving over its surface in slow circles. Soon he realized the motion matched the rise and fall of his chest as he continued to relax and breathe in … out…again and again.