She licked her lips. Nodded. “Sure. Just let me wipe down the Strad and stow it properly.”
But she didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Those enigmatic pools of green were playing havoc with her insides all over again, just as they had in her apartment that afternoon. He was hypnotizing her.
Seducing her.
And just as he had this afternoon, Dare knew it. Only this time, he did want to want it.
Her.
He released her hand to drag the tip of his thumb across her mouth, slowly but surely erasing the moisture her tongue had left behind, deliberately plucking at the strings of desire deep inside her belly until they began to thrum. His hand fell away as his entire body moved in close. Very close. Despite the heat radiating off him, she shivered again, because she could also feel his hunger. A growing masculine hunger that was all but crackling at its restraints.
His restraints.
She swore she could feel Dare strengthening those restraints, holding the pulsing desire at bay as he eased his head down slowly, deliberately dragging the moment out. The piercing anticipation. He took so long she nearly screamed with frustration—until his dark, smoky breath finally reached her flesh, bathing first her lashes, then her cheeks and then finally, mercifully, her lips.
But there he paused.
That was when she knew it was up to her. This was up to her. If she truly wanted more than this heady whisper of heat, this tantalizing taste of passion, she would have to reach for it.
She did.
A split second later their breaths mingled. Their lips fused. Their driving passions merged—
Until a crude chuckle filled the air.
“Well, well. Look at the cozy couple. Not bad for a pair of virtual strangers.”
They tore apart.
Pike?
Her brain still fogged, she whirled toward the door. Sure enough, there was Pike, standing in yet another door she’d left open, his arms crossed, all but lounging against the jamb. How on earth had the man managed to remain there so long without her or Dare noticing his presence? A swift, rattled glance at Dare told her that he, too, wondered the same thing.
But Dare was also pissed. “What the hell do you want?”
The detective shrugged. “Me? You’re the one who keeps calling the precinct.”
Dare held Pike’s stare. “Two calls. I left brief messages both times—for Detective Hook, not you.”
To her amazement, Pike shrugged off the insult as he entered the room. “So I heard. Unfortunately, there’s a problem. And knowing your track record with fairy tales, I figured I ought to stop by in person. See if you hadn’t dreamed up the whole thing—or rather, the person.”
Abby gasped. Was Pike implying what she thought he was?
The detective nodded. “Yep. Don’t know who you’re trying to reach because there isn’t a cop by the name of Hook in my precinct—or any precinct in the five boroughs. I checked.”
Abby clutched at the sleeve to Dare’s black suit, driving her clipped nails deep into the iron muscles beneath. “That’s impossible. Detective Hook questioned me himself this morning. In my apartment.”
“That may be, Ms. Pembroke. But the man wasn’t with us. You sure he had a gold detective’s shield on him?”
“Yes.” But she hadn’t gotten a clear look at it, had she? She’d been a bit distracted by her hangover and Hook’s sneezing fit. A fit she now realized had probably been staged. “Wait, the doorman.” She tightened her grip on Dare’s arm as she turned to him. “Jerry saw it. He told you.”
Dare shook his head. “Like you, he just caught a flash of the thing. He was busy, remember?”
He was right. Dare had called her from the lobby after he’d left her apartment to talk to Jerry. It seemed there was a crisis in the building that morning. One of the residents had had a heart attack. Jerry had his hands full dealing with EMTs and a hysterical Mrs. Eernisse from 6B right about the time some cop had chosen to flash his badge and stride through the lobby. Faced with the choice of chasing after the man into the elevators or continuing to assist the EMTs, Jerry had opted for the latter. It wasn’t until he’d seen Dare return that he realized he’d forgotten to follow up on the cop.
Dare frowned. “So we’ve got an impersonator on our hands.”
“Wrong. I’ve got an impersonator on my hands. You, Sabura, have nothing more to do with this.”
“The hell I don’t. That bastard has our DNA.”
Pike stiffened at that.
Dare smiled—grimly. “Yeah, we know all about Senator Gregory, the designer DNA drug and the blackmail attempts.”
To Abby’s surprise, Pike blew out a low, taunting whistle. “Well, what do you know. Daddy may not like you, but it appears he’s still covering your hide.”
“The hell he is.” Dare stepped away from her, barely restrained fury scorching off him as he entered the detective’s personal space. “My old man didn’t cover up squat then either and you know it. Just like you know there wasn’t a shred of evidence in that house to tie me to Randall’s death.”
“Just that knife.”
Dare glare narrowed, sharpened. “With his prints on it.”
Pike responded with a thin, unexpectedly bitter smile. “Who knows, maybe someone used their X-ray vision to zap your prints off it. Don’t suppose you know anyone capable of something like that?”
Dare’s stare turned molten. “You never know.”
What the devil was going on? Whatever this pissing contest concerned, it clearly was something that had happened between these two men—and that murder. Abby slipped in between them, determined to defuse the situation regardless. At least until she could get Dare alone. “If that’s all you came for, Detective, you can leave. It’s been a long evening on top of an extremely stressful couple of days. Quite honestly, I’m exhausted.”
It was the truth.
One that must have made it into her voice because both men backed down. The atmosphere cooled twenty degrees in the moments that followed. Dare dropped his palm to her shoulder as they waited for Pike to leave.
He didn’t. He swung his attention to her. “I’m afraid you’re right, Ms. Pembroke. There is more.”
“How much more?” Dare asked.
Pike looked at him. “From your statement earlier, I’m guessing you know the designer drug that killed Gregory had his DNA worked into the chemical makeup?”
Dare nodded. “In other words, you ran the trace amount of the drug left in that syringe against Van Heusen’s DNA.”
“That we did.”
Was it her imagination or had Dare’s fingers tensed? “And?” His voice sure had.
“And it didn’t match. But it did match someone else’s. Someone standing in this room.” To her horror Pike dropped his gaze and stared directly at her. “Ms. Pembroke, I took the initiative and had the lab compare the DNA in the drug against the blood you left on Officer Ryder’s handkerchief when he assisted you at the scene. That syringe was meant for you.”
Dare braced his forearms against the ledge of the penthouse balcony, staring out into the New York night as he absorbed the harsh truth along with the combined emotional essence of over eight million people.
He needed help.
Desperately.
For the first time in his life he regretted sealing himself off from the city, slipping out into the streets and the overwhelming throng of society only when it was absolutely necessary—and even then, only at Charlotte’s dogged insistence. It was ironic. He’d spent the past decade attempting to ease the heartache of others when he could, and yet, but for that one time, he’d never had the courage to offer up his own. Abby was wrong. He wasn’t worthy of her admiration. He deserved her disgust.
Because he was a coward.
If he hadn’t been so damned terrified of being ostracized yet again, he would have sought out others like him long ago. Others he could no longer pretend weren’t there. His father might have no knowledge of their exis
tence, but now that Dare had truly and completely opened his heart, he could feel them. Unfortunately, not one soul was close enough for his receptors to lock on to his or her core, to provide him with a directional beacon of sorts. The essence was simply too weak, the overwhelming crush of the city below, too strong. And worse, even though he now believed those others were searching for him as well—that they had been searching for him since the unearthly cry had woken him in the middle of the night all those weeks ago—Dare also knew it might well be too late.
For Abby.
That bombshell Pike had delivered in her dressing room earlier in the evening proved it. Dare pulled his right hand from the balcony railing and reached into his trouser pocket, withdrawing the plastic bag containing the odd pastoral postcard Abby had given him. It seemed Abby didn’t trust Pike any more than he did. She’d waited until the detective had finished transcribing her description of the man who’d shown up at her apartment passing himself off as Detective Hook, then asked Pike to leave. Only then did she confide that someone had sent her flowers before her solo performance—along with a chilling note. Given her history with his mother, she’d assumed Van Heusen had sent it.
Dare flipped the plastic bag over and studied the other note, the one that had been mailed to him. He returned to study Abby’s once more. Though both notes were anonymous, this note was handwritten. And more ominous in light of those DNA results: I have more of what you need.
There was a number scrawled beneath.
Unlike Abby, Dare had called it.
It was already out of service.
Even more ominous. Did whoever was behind the attempted druggings no longer need her? Better yet, why had she been targeted in the first place? Because of her artistic connections to the rich and powerful?
Or to get to him?
Dare flipped the bag over once more and studied the typed warning on his own missive: He who seeks to destroy your heart, also seeks you. He could no longer deny the underlying truth to the statement. Abby was his heart. But why seek them both, dammit? And why sketch that triquetra on the reverse?
To ensure his attention? To confirm that his instincts were correct—that there were at least two others like him? Perhaps even siblings long lost as he suspected?
Or, as he was also beginning to suspect, to warn him that those others had been targeted, as well?
If so, why not come out and say it?
Call him. Visit him. Hell, summon him to the far ends of the earth if need be. But give him more than questions.
He needed answers.
It was the only way he would be able to protect Abby. Instead, all he had at his disposal was Pike, a detective whose vendetta prevented him from being completely honest and forthright—though even Pike had admitted he now believed Dare wasn’t involved in the assault on Van Heusen and his driver—and an FBI agent who’d yet to return his calls. Dare didn’t care if the agent was currently working a critical case. If the agent didn’t contact him soon, he would use every resource he possessed to hunt the man down himself.
Dare shoved the notes back into his pocket and stiffened.
Abby.
He felt the sudden jolt of apprehension take hold of her. Within seconds, it had spread; grown to outright terror. By the time he felt the scream gathering at the base of her throat, he had already hooked his bare feet over the side of the balcony and scaled his way to the faux balustrade at the eighteenth floor. He was three rows of whitewashed bricks from her window when she stiffened.
Woke.
And he relaxed.
Still, he hung there, clinging to the weathered crevices between the bricks, waiting. He needed to make sure she was truly okay. Several more moments passed until he felt her stir. Rise. The connection between them had grown so strong these past few days, the intensity of her emotions running so high, he swore he could feel her swing her feet to the floor and pad barefoot across her bedroom and down the hall. He didn’t need his sense to know where she was headed. Her music room. Another minute passed and he could feel Abby applying rosin to her bow, retrieving her violin and beginning to play. But the piece she chose was not the usual haunting fare of these past two weeks, nor was it even remotely harmonious. The refrain was jarring and disjointed, an outward reflection of the chaos and confusion roiling inside her. Overwhelming her.
Damn.
He should have followed his instincts and brought her upstairs for the night. He’d wanted to. But before he could offer, she’d told him she needed to call her brother and fill her friends in. And then she needed sleep.
He’d agreed. Only it was clear now that she hadn’t gotten nearly enough. Nor was she likely to. Given the torment in her music, in her soul, neither would he.
He should go to her.
He would have to be careful, though. For not only was he a coward, he’d also discovered that around Abby he was unnervingly weak. Take that near kiss—their second in two days. If Pike hadn’t interrupted this last one, he had no idea where it would have led. But he knew where he wanted it to lead. Like most men, he was no innocent. And like many men, he had made a habit out of seeking women who were interested in nothing more than sheer physical release—though for a different reason. Lately, he’d become consumed by the thought of what it would be like not just to have sex, but to truly make love to a woman. To Abby.
God help him, he knew she had begun thinking the same thing about him.
But even if she could get past his curse, how would he ever be able to reconcile his limits with her gift?
He’d deliberately scaled their building shortly before he’d headed downstairs to collect her for the concert in hopes the climb would buffer the worst of the roiling emotions within that hall, and it had. Unfortunately, the surcease hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. He’d barely made it to intermission. From there, the concert was a blur. He must have made it to her dressing room, because that was where he was when her touch woke him. He wasn’t sure what stunned him more—that he’d made it that far in his condition, or that one touch from Abby had been enough to bring him around.
When he felt her lower the violin and brush back the tears, he knew he desperately needed to restore her equilibrium. He had to go to her. Give her the comfort she now needed.
But would he be welcome?
He scaled the last of the bricks separating them and reached for her window. Her bedroom was dark.
But the window was unlocked.
Relief washed through him as he eased the pane up. He slipped inside her room, then closed the window as she began another more harmonious piece. He followed the music out of her room and down the hall, hoping she wouldn’t see his presence as a violation as he stopped at the doorway to her darkened studio. She stood with her back to him, in front of the panoramic window, plying her violin against the velvet curtain of night, shimmering with the scattered jewels of the city’s lights. She wore a simple dark blue T-shirt, cropped to her waist with a pair of subdued drawstring sleep pants that hung far too low against her hips for his peace of mind. Especially given the waterfall of unruly curls spilling down her back, offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin as she swayed in time with this new, soothing piece.
He’d never been much for outward features. He preferred to see a woman in the context of what lay within.
But here? Now?
With Abby?
He was becoming obsessed with the thought of what she would look like with nothing but those dark tresses splayed out beneath her smooth, ivory curves…and his coarser, darker body easing in. She must have read his thoughts.
At the very least, felt his presence.
The melody faded. She lowered her bow but didn’t turn. Her husky murmur filled the room instead. “I thought you planted that ape outside my door so you could sleep.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
“Neither are you.”
“No.” He felt her bittersweet smile, her sigh. “I’m not.” Sh
e turned to the stool, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her bow hand as he entered the room. She retrieved a cloth from the open case and methodically wiped the violin down, then tucked the instrument in its case. She wiped the bow next, then put it and the cloth to bed, as well.
That left them.
She turned, dropping her hands to her sides as she leaned back against the window. Her ragged sigh filled the shadows as she curled her fingers beneath the sill. “I should have taken it.” She couldn’t be referring to the money Katherine had given her, because she still regretted that.
“It?”
She shrugged. “Marlena offered us a ride. Right before we left the theatre. I should have taken it.”
Even from here, the emotions flowed in. The doubt and the regret. The guilt. The latter belonging to him more than her. “What happened to your brother is not your fault. You have to know that. Because it’s true.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I knew something was wrong, even before I saw that knife. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt it.”
He stepped forward, drawn in by the ache in her heart. Her confusion. How did he say this? “Abby, it isn’t crazy. Most people get those feelings—and most people ignore them.” He ought to know. He hadn’t felt the malevolence in that man; he’d been reacting to her instincts at the time.
“So why didn’t I listen?”
He risked another step. “Because you’re normal. Innately hopeful.” Amazingly, beautifully so.
She wiped the fresh tears that began to trickle down her cheeks. “Really? So why do I have the feeling that you would have listened?”
“Abby—”
“Wouldn’t you?”
He couldn’t lie. Lord knew, there were too many falsehoods between them as it was. He sighed. “Yes. I would have listened.”
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