Of Shadow Born (3 page)

They were both professionals, judging by their clothing, and good friends if he was reading their body language right, but there most of the similarities came to an end. The taller woman looked serious, more focused. She looked like the sort determined to get ahead by relying on knowledge and skill, not her people-charming talents. The smaller woman was bright and enthusiastic, everything she said punctuated by a grin. She'd be the life of the party and always craving attention. She probably laughed too loudly. A real high-maintenance type.

The tall one would be the observer, a woman with secrets a smart man tried to pry loose. She might not flash or dazzle every day, but he was willing to bet when she did, she'd take the air out of a room. Despite the fact she walked with her shoulders back, there was something fragile about the way she moved, like she might just crumble if her steps got too broad. Like if she breathed too deeply, she might crack apart.

Like she knew she was being watched. She stopped mid-stride, her posture stiffening, and turned to look behind her like she’d heard something. Nobody approached the women. No one waved or jogged to catch up. She turned her head slowly, scanning the people passing by. Her friend doubled back, smile faltering, but the tall woman still didn’t move. She continued her cautious scan of the surroundings, then her eyes met Kade’s and she stopped with a flinch.

He felt the jolt as surely as she did, a solid shock of something low in his gut, then vibrations like a semi-truck rolling down the boards behind him. Kade hadn’t done anything to draw her attention. There was no way she could see him from this far away, and yet he watched her eyes — a dramatic hazel-green — narrow as she squinted, then widen in alarm. The color drained from her face and Kade’s heart kicked hard in response, urging him to vault the distance, get to her before she fell.

“That’s the girl I’m going to marry.”

He moved without thinking, dropped the binoculars without a care. He had his hands in Farris’s shirt and the other man pulled up onto his toes in a second, their faces so close he could count beads of sweat on his startled partner’s face. “Who. Is she?”

Kade heard Farris’s swallow and watched his pulse kick like a panicked rabbit’s in the hollow of his throat. The other man got his hands up between them, palms flat against Kade’s chest, a little cushion of space. “Which she are we talking about right now, buddy?” His voice hummed with nerves. “Your girl or mine?”

In the moment, he’d forgotten the lively little companion. Hell, in the moment, he’d apparently lost his mind. He let go of Farris and pivoted away, taking a breath, taking a second to get his head on straight. This. This was why he didn’t work with partners. This was why a new assignment was destined to fail. He didn’t belong in the field with his mind playing tricks on him. What had just happened was more than impossible. It was crazy.

And yet his nerves were still singing, demanding he
do
something. “I don’t know.” He tried to keep disgust out of his voice. Failed and went on anyway. “Both of them. Neither. It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this.”

“She’s your assignment,” Farris countered. He didn’t give an inch when Kade glared down at him again. He gestured toward the distant pier. “The woman. The one who just freaked you out for some reason? Her name’s Melanie Kendrick. She’s the job.”

No. Yes. It made sense and he didn’t want it. It couldn’t be this easy to draw him back in. “How do you know? You don’t know,” he accused. “I didn’t tell you which one I meant.”

Farris shrugged, then stooped to pick up the binoculars, inspecting them with a faint frown before glancing up again. “I’m good at guessing. I also know only one of them is on target.” His lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “And if you’ve suddenly got a thing for Noura, we’re going to have words, partners or not.”

Kade balled his hands into fists, dug his nails into his palms. He wasn’t ready to joke and laugh. He still had ghosts to deal with. He still had things to prove.

He could still feel her gaze on his, feel the pull to find her. Help her. Save her.

He closed his eyes. He could give in and follow his instincts or he could destroy himself. Wanting to deny the truth didn’t make it so. He’d committed in that first half-second when their eyes met and there was no going back. “Tell me.”

Chapter Three

Melanie stayed silent all the way back to the office. Noura fussed at her for clamming up and threatened to call an ambulance if she didn’t say something, but what would she have said? That she’d had a moment with someone she couldn’t see but had to find?

Being outside in the sunlight had definitely helped for a while. She was breathing easier, laughing with Noura. She didn’t even mind the hot dog vendor’s horrible pick-up lines. Noura’s easy laughter in response kept Melanie smiling, until her paranoia had come crashing down again.

No, not paranoia. Earlier that morning, yes, perhaps she could have put that name to the unexplainable feeling she was being studied. On the pier, though, she’d confirmed someone was watching her. For a moment, she swore she caught a glimpse of him. Tall and dark and inviting her to huddle in the safety of his shadow.

She couldn’t admit that.

That sounded crazy, and though she might have lost her mind, it wasn’t something a smart employee admitted out loud. She needed this job, yes, but more to the point, she
loved
her job, and she wasn’t going to risk it over a minor psychotic break.

So despite the itch to go back to her project and figure out what exactly she’d been piecing together, which would ordinarily have soothed her jangled nerves, she made an important decision. She
wasn’t
going back into the lab, to lose herself in her work and ignore Noura’s attempts to distract her. Instead, she took advantage of an overabundance of sick time, called it quits early, and went home.

It was the first time she hadn’t been in the lab past closing since she’d started at the Sentinel. Noura told her she couldn't decide whether to be impressed or intimidated when Melanie clocked sixty hours a week at the lab. Sixty hours
every
week for a full month. Her
first
month in the job. She was convinced her new lab partner would burn herself out, working so hard, but hard work had never frightened Melanie.

In fact, she embraced it. She wasn’t the sort who could sit and watch TV for hours or mindlessly flick through websites full of cute animal to pass the time. She needed to be doing something, to keep her hands busy. Idle nothingness gave her stomach aches and made her feel guilty.

Some of which could be blamed on being the child of overachievers. Her father designed and made furniture by hand. Her mother researched diseases Melanie couldn’t even pronounce. Their home was immaculate; Mother’s garden had been featured in a magazine, twice, and they called her every Sunday at 6 p.m. on the dot, even when they were traveling.

But her drive to be productive wasn’t entirely their fault. She liked being the student a professor could count on to do the work, the employee a manager could trust to finish a project on time. She enjoyed challenging herself with tasks that didn’t come easily. She relished a good night’s sleep at the end of a job well done.

She didn’t think she’d be getting much sleep tonight. Despite the relatively peaceful ride home on the bus and the uninterrupted walk to the building itself, Melanie hadn’t calmed down much. Her mind was still hard at work trying to make sense of impossible things. Like wanting to be reunited with a man she hadn’t met.

She needed distraction. She needed to forget her usual routine. No microwave dinner beneath florescent light. She’d light candles, she’d put on music, she’d drink some wine and actually cook. She’d pamper herself tonight and wake up refreshed in the morning. Refreshed and completely sane, today’s odd happenings just a memory.

First things first. Once she’d stepped inside the loft and locked the door, she peeled off her jacket, dropped her purse on a chair and toed off her uncomfortable shoes. She curled her toes until they cracked, then rolled her neck and shoulders. They popped too, deep, satisfying sounds that meant her bones had realigned. She'd been scolded by more than one chiropractor for the nasty habit, but when it felt this good, she’d risk another lecture. She might regret it years from now, when her grandchildren wanted to play, but tonight, she needed the knots of tension to go away.

Wine would help with that, she knew. Wine and the blues. She poured herself a healthy glass of a warm merlot and sighed with the first sip as she picked her way toward the stereo in the living room.

At the press of a button, the low, rich tones of a saxophone flowed from the speakers. Melanie closed her eyes, breathing the music deep. She'd heard people claim this was a lonely sound, shimmering and desolate. She disagreed.

If she concentrated, she could hear the working of the keys. She could hear the little pause before the musician took a breath and sometimes,
sometimes
she swore she could feel it when he let it out again, swirling across her skin just before the note reached her ears. No, the saxophone didn't make her feel alone. It felt like she had someone dancing with her, like the music played just for them.

It'd been that way since she first heard live blues, played in person, in New Orleans. She'd gone after college on her own. She went for Mardi Gras, but missed most of the parades. She wasn't interested in flashing anyone for beads. She got lost in the stale smoke and close quarters of the clubs, where she could brush elbows with the greats who were and might one day be.

She'd swayed on a stool then the way she swayed on her feet now. Melanie curled her arms across her body, the glass caught in one hand, the fingers of the other dancing over her skin. Even her tall, dark, impossible stranger would have to dance when this music played.

The phone rang, startling her. The jolt slopped wine over her hand and put the stiffness back into her body.
Dammit. One wandering thought and she was back where she started. Cursing, she stepped around the stain, pausing to pick up the cordless phone as she went to the kitchen for a paper towel and the vinegar. "Hello?"

"Good evening."

The voice on the other end of the call was low and smooth, musical in itself. Accented enough to draw the word out into three syllables.
Eve-en-ing.
A man with a voice like that would have to be tall, dark and handsome by default. A little dangerous, maybe. "May I speak with Melanie?"

She froze. Was it him? The stranger on the pier? Had she conjured him up with the slip of her thoughts? She swallowed on a dry throat, cleared it to find her voice. "You may and you are." No point in lying. She peered at the display on the handset. Unlisted number. Of course. "Who is this?”

“An admirer,” the smooth voice said. “Someone who hopes to work with you soon.”

She frowned at the wine spot still seeping into her carpet. She crossed the room again and knelt to mop at the spreading stain. “If you need something restored, you can contact the Sentinel. I’m sure they’d be happy to work with a local collector.”

“I’m not interested in the Sentinel, Ms. Kendrick. It’s your particular skill I’d like to acquire.”

The hair at the back of her neck tickled. Goosebumps popped up on both arms. “How did you get this number?”

He chuckled. “I have my methods and my means. I do hope you’re open to new opportunities. Until we meet.” The line dropped to a flat dial tone again.

The wine soaked through the towel beneath her hand.

For a moment, Melanie didn’t move. If that was the man who’d watched her, maybe he was as dangerous as his voiced sounded, only not in a good way. Maybe she should call the police.

And if it was a joke, she’d feel like a fool. Maybe Noura had set her up, asked a friend to call and tease her in revenge for not staying after lunch. Maybe this was all one of her games. She could star-sixty-nine the number, call them back and give them what for. She could ask to talk to Noura, tell her — no, ask her, politely, to stop.

At least the wine came up without much effort. She’d get the bottle of spot cleaner she kept for emergencies, spray the stain away, and
then
she’d redial the prankster. That would put an end to this for the night.

She'd just pushed to her feet when the phone rang again. She eyed the thing balefully. Two rings. Three. This time, the handset displayed the familiar number of the prankster herself. Probably calling to see if her joke had worked. Melanie pressed the button to answer, and put the phone to her ear, ready to launch into a lecture. “You must think you’re really funny.”

"Is that how you answer all of your calls? I may have to borrow it. Does it keep the telemarketers away?"

"Only when I’m being
pranked. Which I don’t appreciate, by the way."

"
Pranked? By who? What sort of prank?" In the pause between words, Melanie heard her friend sigh. "At least you’re talking. You had me worried, you know?”

Melanie pursed her lips. “Come on, fess up. You had someone call me. With a creepy accent and the whole “Come and work for me, my pretty” line?”

Noura paused again, then laughed. “You know I’d take credit if I managed to pull off a prank that worked, but it wasn’t me this time, sweetie. Are you sure it was a prank and not an honest job?”

Melanie’s stomach knotted and a chill seeped into her lungs. “Honest jobs don’t come from unlisted numbers,” was all she could force past the lump of her heart in her throat.

Noura didn’t seem to notice the change in her voice. “Well, then, it was probably just a wrong number. These things happen, Mel. Shake it off and come out with me. I know you don’t have plans, or company,” she went on before Melanie could protest. “Both of which are a shame, frankly, and both of which I can fix.”

Melanie held her breath until the knot in her stomach eased. She knew her silence would just encourage Noura's plotting, but that little bit of normalcy felt oddly like a lifeline right about now.

“You always want to stay in," the other woman complained, teasing. "If you didn't have to eat and pay bills, you'd never have taken a job. You wouldn't leave your flat. Please, Mel, I'm begging. I've got the urge to do something crazy. Nobody keeps me out of trouble like you do."

"Thanks. I think." She rubbed her forehead. She could argue, as she had a dozen times before, but Noura wasn't good at giving in. Maybe company really would do her some good. She would have preferred to invite her friend over for more wine and a movie, something one on one, but that wasn’t Noura’s speed. She'd brush the suggestion aside like a stray hair. "Where exactly are we going? Please don't say Hannadays.”

“Of course Hannadays. Why break in a new bartender when I have one who treats me so well?” She didn’t wait for Melanie to answer, plowing on in typical Noura fashion. “So meet me there in half an hour and do us both a favor?”

Melanie dreaded the question but asked anyway. “What’s that?”

She could hear the grin in Noura’s voice. “Wear something slinky.” Once again, the call ended before Melanie could respond.

She groaned and thumped the handset gently against her forehead. She didn’t own anything slinky and Noura knew that. It was just her way of giving Melanie a warning that she was in the mood to push buttons and turn heads. She really did want to get crazy.

Melanie had played the part of safety net before. She kept most of Noura’s bad impulses under control. Some people called that being a wet blanket, but Noura had thanked her often enough that she knew her friend didn’t really want to get into trouble and knew herself well enough that she knew she would without an assist.

She hadn’t allowed Melanie to say no or make excuses. She’d been right there, witnessed Melanie’s little breakdown, and still wanted to drag her out in public tonight?

Well.
Well
. Melanie took a few more deep breaths. Her friend probably had the right idea. If she went out, if she showed these people who might actually be watching her that they couldn’t scare her into hiding, maybe they’d leave her alone. Maybe, if she did something unusual, something unpredictable and daring, they’d think twice about taunting her again. Maybe she’d prove she wasn’t quite such an easy target.

And maybe, if she got lucky, she’d have a little fun along the way.

From the outside, the bar looked like a hole-in-the-wall only locals would know. A place that limped along from week to week on the dollars of dedicated regulars. Now and then one of them would get married or have a landmark birthday. They’d bring the celebration to their favorite watering hole and the unexpected boon would keep the doors open another month.

No neon sign flashed in the window, encouraging strangers to wander in. No advertisements were posted about the new, trendy beer. There was just a simple sign over the entrance, the name ‘Hannadays’ burned into the wood. Beneath it, nailed to the lintel, a plaque with a slightly more ornate script read
Slainte.

That was the whole introduction, take it or leave it, for better or worse. Kade wouldn’t have been surprised to find a lone codger warming a stool and a dead-eyed bartender polishing the same glass for the seventh time.

Not tonight. Tonight, Hannadays overflowed with light and sound. It glowed like a beacon, even through to the shadows where he stood, waiting for just the right moment to join the party.