Paranormal Heartbreakers Boxed Set

by Jeanne Rose

  “Perhaps you are too trusting.” Another indication of her innocence of the real world, at odds with the sophisticated facade she presented. Sensing her pain, Val said, “Someone should find this Stone and give him what he deserves.” He would like to see all the unhappiness in her life erased.

  “What a creep. I can’t stand someone pretending to be what they’re not.”

  Something he recognized as discomfort registered. Afraid that Adriana would somehow see through him if they kept on in this vein, Val was relieved when the waitress interrupted with their food. She set his plate before him. The steak was swimming in its own red juices, the very sight fueling his suppressed appetite.

  “Whoa, that’s rare, all right,” Adriana noted, looking away from his plate to her own pancakes and eggs.

  Val took a pouch from his pocket. Opening the mouth, he gathered some of the dried ingredients between forefinger and thumb, and sprinkled them over the steak.

  Adriana glanced up. “What in the world? You carry your own seasoning?”

  “Paprika. I am Hungarian, you know. And there are herbs mixed in that aid in digestion.”

  “A stomach problem, huh?” She appeared sympathetic. “You have a lot of stresses on you?”

  “More than I would like,” he said truthfully.

  “You need to do something about simplifying your life before you get an ulcer.”

  Though he knew that the solution wasn’t so simple, Val definitely agreed he needed to take action, to make certain he found Miklos Rakosi as soon as possible. Not that success would change what he was. He took a big, satisfying cut of the rare meat, sopped up the juices, then savored the taste.

  “I’d have thought getting involved with photography would help your stress level,” Adriana was saying between bites of her eggs and potatoes. “Is that your business or hobby?”

  “I have no need to work for money,” Val admitted. “But when a man has too much time on his hands, he can go a little crazy. Years ago, I used to paint, but I find photography much more fascinating. Photographs reveal so much.” Sometimes he thought of his shots as crystallized reality.

  “They reveal things about people?”

  “About all night creatures, including people. Perhaps one day you will allow me to shoot you.”

  Her sensuous lips curved into a smile, made his excitement level rise. Her affect on him was instant and urgent. He tried to calm himself with another bite of the steak.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she offered. “I’ll let you . . . if you let me come along on a shoot.”

  He swallowed. “This is possible.”

  “Great.” The smile broadened. “So what are you going to do with all these photographs you’ve been taking?”

  He heard a low throbbing, a steady beat . . . her pulse? His own? And he warned himself to take care. He wanted what he couldn’t have. What he couldn’t allow himself.

  “I’m preparing for a show that opens next weekend at Night Gallery.”

  “I know that place real well. It’s connected to the Full Moon Cafe. I go there sometimes, to the poetry slams. To listen to the readings, that is.”

  To Val, a believer in destiny, it seemed that they’d been fated to meet one way or the other. But why? To torture him? Being around Adriana Thorn would be exquisite torture, he had to admit, but that made it no less painful.

  He couldn’t allow his desire for her to take him from his chosen path.

  He couldn’t slip back into his old ways.

  The thought that he might be tempted beyond endurance worried him as they finished their meals, ate at him as he walked her home. He couldn’t allow his true nature to take over, not with her.

  As they neared the lake, he concentrated on the fog, the delicious wisps of translucency that writhed around their legs and slithered up their bodies. He envied the mist that tasted hers.

  And as they paused in the shadow of the trees flanking her apartment house, when he could no longer clearly read the innocence of her well-scrubbed face, he weakened. She was no longer Adriana Thorn, the woman of compassion and generosity, but The Daughter of the Night, an exotic, shadowy creature who flirted with the same darkness he knew so well.

  “When I’m near you, I can feel the pulse of the universe,” he said, turning her toward him.

  “Poetry, again. You’re something else, Val Kadar.” She sighed, an inviting whisper on the night. “No man has ever made me feel this way before . . . so reckless.”

  Her warmth under his hands invited him to recklessness. He sensed the blood rushing through her, faster and faster. Compelling. Dizzying. The thunder of her heart called to his own. Teasing. Tempting.

  He wanted her. To taste her. To drink in her very essence and make it part of him.

  “Valentin,” she murmured, swaying toward him, slipping her hands up his chest to touch his neck.

  The temptation was too great. Constant. Irresistible. Even for a man with an iron will such as his own, the conclusion was inevitable.

  He lowered his head, his mouth first searching out that lovely, graceful throat. She arched her neck, easing his foray. He laved her skin, sucked at the tangy hint of salt. Breathed deeply of her scent, perfumed with female musk.

  His blood rushed faster. He wanted . . . no, needed more.

  But something inside still forbade it.

  His conscience? Did he really have one after all these years?

  He forced his head higher, to where her sensuous mouth awaited. Parted. Moist. Seductive. The might of his passion was too great. He paused. Took a deep breath. Visualized what could happen if he let go. What he didn’t want to happen. Fever tempered, he took her only when he knew he could control the driven part of himself.

  Even so, the moment their lips met, he was in ecstasy. As he tested her mouth, his imagination ran rampant, so that he had to curb himself from exploring too far.

  She murmured against his mouth, faint, inviting sounds. He reeled with wanting her. Contented himself with the texture of her lips. Lush like ripe fruit, ready for the plucking.

  Suddenly a salty taste in his own mouth made him stop. With a growl that came from deep within, he set her from him. “Get inside before it’s too late.”

  Her eyes were dreamy as she obeyed, starting to move away. Yet she found the strength to pause, to object, “I don’t understand.”

  He caught her gaze. “Go inside,” he said again, speaking more gently. “I’ve ruined too many other lives.”

  That awakened her more fully. She blinked rapidly, her feathery brows drawing together. “What are you talking about? Other women?”

  If that would do. “Yes. I am not good for you.”

  And then he turned and walked away.

  They’d both escaped this time . . .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EVEN AWAKE, Adriana almost felt as if she were dreaming, Valentin Kadar playing the central figure in her romantic fantasies.

  The following afternoon, running some errands at Water Tower Place, the several story indoor shopping mall on Michigan Avenue, Val was constantly at the back of her mind. She couldn’t help recounting the time she’d spent with him, especially the kiss they’d shared. She was certain this one had been for real, and it had been better than anything her imagination could produce. Even recounting the embrace made her pulse throb.

  And her lip.

  She ran her tongue over the slight nick and imagined she could still taste Val.

  She couldn’t wait to see him again.

  A small part of her wondered how she could be so focused on a man she’d only met two days before, while another part found her bond to him to be the most natural thing in the world. Val had said he knew her. Now she felt as if she knew him, too, in some deep, inexplicable way . . . as if their very souls had touched. Undoubtedly his willingness to put himself out for a man he hadn’t even known had affected her more deeply than she might have imagined.

  Wondering if he’d heard from the authorities about Eddie
, wanting to make some plans for the burial service, she was frustrated that she couldn’t call him. In this day and age, she couldn’t figure out how anyone could get along even for a few days without a telephone. But perhaps he’d gone somewhere else to call her. Too restless to wait the ten minutes it took to walk home, she found a pay phone and called her answering machine to pick up any messages.

  The one she got was a bitter surprise.

  “Hiya, lover. It’s me.”

  Adriana froze. She’d recognize that voice anywhere – Stone Drake.

  “It’s been a long time,” Stone said, his voice deep and scratchy – undoubtedly practiced. “Too long. Maybe we can get together . . . and discuss how badly you want your mixes back.” He laughed softly. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Furious, Adriana stood there, staring at the telephone, even after the answering machine cut her off. She’d thought she would never hear from Stone again, and now he called out of nowhere to make some kind of deal about the mixes he’d stolen from her.

  How dare he?

  “Excuse me, but if you’re done with your call . . .” an elderly woman said.

  Heat shot up into her face. “Yes, of course. It’s all yours.”

  Upset enough to need someone to talk to, Adriana was frustrated that Irina was unavailable. Irina had called that morning to warn Adriana not to see Val again, and then she’d said she’d be visiting one of her aunts on the southwest side. And Adriana really didn’t want to discuss the situation with her sister, who might be less than sympathetic.

  Then it hit her. Val could be understanding. She needed to talk to him anyway . . . about Eddie. And, deep down, she needed to see him, no matter that he issued warnings about ruining other women’s lives. She would make sure that he didn’t harm hers in the least. Besides, he was gracious and generous, sexy, yet polite and protective. Nothing like Stone.

  Compulsion ruled. Remembering the address he’d written down for the morgue attendant, she left Water Tower Place and headed for the nearby subway stop. The sun was just setting, its last golden rays apparent on the horizon. That she could be talking to Val within a half hour lightened her mood. Only when she entered the rapid transit station did she realize she’d been a bit too quick on the draw. Rush hour was over and the hordes of daily commuters were long gone. Perhaps she should have taken a bus. The station was nearly deserted but for a few unsavory characters.

  A couple of teenagers wearing gang colors eyed her from the other end of the platform. And nearby, a man woke from his drunken stupor, fixing his bleary gaze on her.

  “Got a quarter, honey?” he slurred before slumping over once more.

  A city person through and through, refusing to let circumstances stop her from doing what she wanted, Adriana was nevertheless careful as always. She wore the strap of her shoulder bag crossed over her chest and resisted appearing intimidated, knowing that looking like a target could very well make her one.

  Still, she was relieved when the train thundered down the tunnel to stop before her. The doors whooshed open. And her stress lessened slightly as she entered her car. Within minutes, the train hurtled out of the underground tunnel and up onto the elevated tracks. Adriana stared out the windows. A gray pallor had already settled over the city that was metamorphosing at the end of another day.

  But rather than anticipating the approaching night, Adriana fought renewed tension when she left the train at the Lawrence Avenue stop and headed west on foot. The unfamiliar neighborhood – one that had a long way to go before regaining its polish of decades before – put her on guard.

  Unused to the uncomfortable feeling, Adriana rushed along, one hand hanging onto her bag, the other to her skirts that fluttered under the onslaught of a gusting wind.

  She ignored wolf whistles coming from a low rider. Turned onto Broadway, passing a hooker hanging around the curb, her wares on display in a mini-skirt, thigh high boots and a leather jacket.

  A couple of doorways later, she dodged a man who popped out, calling after her, “Hey, sugar, I can sell you something to put a smile on that pretty face.”

  She raced across Broadway and onto a side street where, block after block, signs of gentrification were intermixed with evidence of neglect. Having assumed Val was living in one of the rehabbed buildings, she was shocked when she came to what she remembered as his address.

  Staring at the towered Victorian building dominating the dark gray sky, she couldn’t imagine the impeccable and moneyed Valentin Kadar living in a place even more derelict than the SRO. The graystone facade was crumbling. The paint trim was cracked and peeling. Several windows were boarded up. And the surrounding double lot was littered with papers and plastic that played tag with the errant breeze.

  The house honestly looked as if it hadn’t been occupied in years.

  Adriana thought back to the morgue and concentrated. She could almost see the piece of paper with the address in Val’s hand. Yep, this was the place, all right.

  Reluctantly, she advanced on the house. The wooden steps groaned under her weight, and an eerie wind whistled around the pillars of the rotting porch. A chill shot down her back, and she wrapped her jacket closer around her. Being that it was nearly dark, she expected to see some welcoming light from within. But the latticed windows that weren’t boarded up showed no signs of life.

  So why did she feel as if she were being watched?

  Adriana glanced around behind her. The street was quiet, deserted but for the parked cars. Still, the weird feeling wouldn’t go away. Imagining she caught a movement from one of the vehicles, she stared harder.

  Nothing.

  Nerves buzzing, Adriana turned her attention back to the house and approached the entrance, but she could find neither a nameplate on the mail slot nor a bell. And before she could knock, another gust of wind swept over her . . . and creaked the door open, making her start.

  When her pulse steadied, she peered into the shadowy interior. “Hello? Valentin?” She waited for a moment and stepped inside the hall entryway, noting the neglected inlaid wood flooring underfoot. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  Curiosity drew her into the large, nearly empty room to the left. Eyes adjusting to the gray gloom, she checked out the decor – an antique couch and upholstered chair edging a worn Oriental area rug, and a spindle-legged end table supporting a glass and brass lamp with a fringed cloth shade. An old-fashioned radio graced the elaborate carved wood and ceramic-tiled fireplace that smelled of recently burned logs. Flanking the radio were half-melted candles. More candle holders embellished the various nooks and crannies familiar to old Victorian homes, while overhead, a bulb-less crystal chandelier collected dust.

  From somewhere nearby, she heard a scrape . . .

  “Valentin?” she called softly, her heartbeat accelerating at the thought of seeing him.

  Still no answer.

  Either she’d imagined the noise . . . or the wind had caused the old wood to creak. Val probably wasn’t even here.

  Feeling a bit odd about roaming around someone’s home without their knowledge, she nevertheless couldn’t bring herself to leave just yet. Instinct drove her to learn more about Valentin Kadar. She passed the broad staircase that led to the upper floors and checked out the formal dining room. The last of dusk’s gray light shimmered through latticed windows, several of which were cracked.

  The room was empty but for a stack of unpacked boxes.

  How curious. She couldn’t imagine a man like Val would be content to live in such disarray. Of course she could hardly believe he lived in this house – or this neighborhood – to begin with.

  A clattering behind the stacked boxes made her pulse jump. A second later, out popped a raggedy gray cat that, taking one look at her, ran for the nearest doorway, one she assumed led to the kitchen.

  “Oh, kitty, don’t be scared,” she called, thinking to go after it. But undoubtedly any pursuit would panic the poor animal, so she stopped herself.

  That Val had a cat please
d her inordinately. Wondering where he’d gotten himself off to, about to retrace her steps to the hallway and leave, she noticed a half-open door on the other side of the staircase. Somehow, she’d managed to miss this entrance to another room. Sensing that questioning eyes followed her – the cat, no doubt – she approached the opening. She was standing before it, torn between exploring further and leaving, when another creak too loud to be made by a small animal came from directly behind her.

  Before she could so much as look over her shoulder, a hand grabbed hold of her arm and spun her around. Her pulse jumped, yet she expected to see Val rather than coming face-to-face with a total stranger.

  “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, her heart pounding against her ribs. Tearing her arm free, she backed away from the hard-looking man, who was wearing a mean expression. “And what are you doing in here?”

  “I could ask the same of you.” He reached inside his cheap suit jacket, making Adriana fear a gun. But all he brought out was a leather case. He flipped it open, displaying a badge. “Detective Carmine Panchella – Chicago Police Department. And you are?”

  Relieved that she hadn’t interrupted a thief or worse at work, she sagged. “Adriana Thorn. And you nearly scared the stuffing out of me.”

  “I was looking for the owner of this shack. A Mr. Valentin Kadar.”

  “You have found him,” came a familiar voice from above.

  Startled, for she hadn’t heard his approach, Adriana turned away from the detective to see Val watching her from the middle of the staircase. He was wearing what could pass for an old-fashioned smoking jacket – quilted black velvet trimmed with a deep red – and his hair was mussed as if he’d just awakened. Thinking about Val stretched out in a bed, Adriana experienced an intense longing that she didn’t want to examine too closely. She was hard-pressed to shake the feeling off.

  “There you are,” she said, a bit breathless. “I thought I came all the way out here to find you and then you weren’t even home. Though I did think it was odd that you left your door open. You should be more careful. Hungary may be safe, but Chicago isn’t.” Fearing her nerves were making her prattle, she fell silent.