by P. A. Lupton
“I’d been having chest pain all day, but I’d convinced myself it was heart burn and would go away, so I just ignored it,” he muttered, apparently replaying the incident and considering it from this new perspective.
The waiter made an appearance with our dinner. “Can I get you anything else?” He looked at my father waiting for a response, but he just sat there staring at his food.
“No, thanks. We’re fine.” I answered for both of us and waited for him to leave.
“I took you to the hospital because you were in pain,” he said after the waiter left, as if our conversation hadn’t been interrupted. “I wouldn’t have gone if it was just for me. The doctors said I had a massive coronary, and the only reason I survived was because I was in the hospital when it happened.” We both sat silently for a stretch before he looked up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You saved my life.” He grasped my hand, squeezing it gently, the gesture saying so much more than words could have.
“I love you, Dad.” My voice broke. I was choked up by the depth of the emotions he was experiencing.
“I love you, too, honey. And I’m really glad you told me.” He stared at me for a few moments before clearing his throat. “Why don’t you eat?” He picked up his fork with a smile and popped a piece of steak into his mouth. “Mmmmm…this is really good.”
He was changing the subject. But he had another thing coming if he thought this was the end of our discussion.
I took a moment to savor the pasta I ordered, and then blurted my question around the next mouthful. “Was my mother psychic?”
He barely managed to suppress his shock. “Where is this coming from?” he asked, evasively.
“I recently came across someone else who was psychic, and her ability was inherited by her mother. It got me to thinking—you never talk about my mother, and I want to know if she was like me.”
The answer to my question hovered on his lips, but I sensed his intention to lie, so I cut him off. “Before you continue with whatever story you were about to feed me, remember I have a unique talent for ascertaining when a person lies.”
He paused, considering how best to answer, and then blew out a deep breath. Acceptance settled over him as he responded. “Your mother wasn’t exactly psychic. And neither are you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Your mother was a witch, Brianna. As was her mother. As are you.” He never broke eye contact, and his pulse was steady. But even without those indicators, I knew he was being truthful. Or, at least, he believed what he said.
“A witch?” A cynical laugh escaped me. “Like broomsticks and pointy hats?”
“No. Like extraordinary capabilities you inherited because of the bloodline you were born into.”
He was serious, and for some crazy, inexplicable reason, I believed him.
“How do you know this?”
“Brianna, your mother was the love of my life—we shared everything about ourselves.”
“Dad this sounds—”
“Crazy?” he finished with a humorless laugh. “Believe me, I wish it weren’t true.” He tried to contain the bitterness rising within.
I ignored his comment for the time being. I had too many questions to consider the resentment in his statement right then. “What do you know about witches?”
“What do you want to know?” It was apparent he didn’t want to answer my question.
“How—? When—?” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Okay. Why don’t I start at the beginning?” He glanced around again to ensure our privacy. “Your mother told me that witchcraft, I mean real witchcraft—not the chanting, idol-worshipping wannabe’s—is a birthright. It’s been around for thousands of years. In fact, magic was openly practiced in ancient Egyptian civilizations. Your mother’s family descends from one of the twenty-five original families known as the Akychi Spell masters. Originally, they existed as spirits on another plane of existence, but according to legends, they discovered a way out of their dimension and managed to become corporeal.”
“Wonderful. You’re telling me my great, great, great grandfather was Casper?”
“Very funny,” he drawled.
The waiter came back to clear our plates. We ordered coffee, then waited until he was finished pouring and left.
“Okay,” I said. “Continue.”
“The spirits”—he cast me a sardonic glance, quelling the smart remark I was about to make—“found a gateway and managed to...I don’t think possess is quite the right word. They permanently mixed their essence with humans, but, unlike a possession, it couldn’t be undone. Twenty-five people were transformed in the process. Unexpectedly, when the essences mixed, each person developed the ability to alter and manipulate energy. Because of this magic, people began calling them witches.”
“Were they evil? Did they worship the devil?” I asked, suddenly petrified of the answer.
“No, honey, they’re not evil, and they don’t worship the devil. They’re simply people who have the ability to manipulate energy. As new generations were born, some of those witches were evil. But it wasn’t because of the witchcraft, simply the nature of the person. Just like humans without magic are evil sometimes. Who knows why?”
He lifted his coffee and took a sip. “I do know, however, that it was the evil descendants who exposed the power. They practiced this arcane knowledge openly, which led to followers. It was those followers who created the religious aspect of witchcraft; chanting spells, burning candles, and worshipping false gods. Of course, they are unable to influence or control energy.”
“Control energy? What does that mean?”
“Basically, it’s like magic. Without Akychi blood, they lack the ability, which is why so many people don’t believe in magic. But then there are those with Akychi blood who possess the power to actually work spells. It truly is magical.”
“And you’re telling me my mother could—that I could—work a spell?” I asked, incredulously.
His eyes narrowed. “Your mother could, but I don’t know if you can. To be honest, I doubt it. There’s no one around to teach you, and after so many generations, the power’s been significantly diluted. The only thing that really remains now is your gift.”
He shifted in his chair, avoiding my eyes. It didn’t take empathic abilities to know he’d just told me a bald-faced lie. But why was he lying?
“Is there anyone from my mother’s side of the family I can talk to about this?” I’d hoped he’d think of someone, even a distant relative. Maybe I’d get more answers from them.
“No, honey. I’m sorry, but they’re all dead. You’re the last one.”
I stared at him in challenge, but the firm set of his jaw told me there’d be no more discussion on the subject. He was still hiding something, but I also knew he was just trying to protect me, so I let the subject drop. It didn’t matter anyway—I had enough information to investigate on my own now.
My dad paid the bill and we were about to leave when a hauntingly familiar voice sounded behind me. “Agent Reece?”
Gooseflesh broke out on my arms, and a shiver ran down my spine as I turned to see Nathan Donovan. The sight of him was like a punch to the gut, and I almost forgot to breathe.
He was stunning.
“Oh…hi,” I said breathlessly. God, I was pathetic. You would think I’d never seen a gorgeous man before, but there was something different about him. It wasn’t simply his looks, there was something I else I felt around him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Agent Reece, what a nice surprise.” Despite the fact he dressed like a corporate lawyer, and was off-the-charts good-looking, his smile was genuine and approachable. His eyes shifted to my father and his smile faltered. Jealousy? But I couldn’t feel anything—his emotions were closed off to me. “I apologize for interrupting your…date?” he offered, hesitantly.
His smile brightened as he clasped my dad’s hand. “Please, call me Nathan.”
Suddenly, my father’s smile fell and his face paled considerably.
“Dad? Are you all right?” He looked like he was going to be sick.
“Um…I’m fine, honey. I just realized how late it is, and I have an early flight. We should be going.” He rushed to put his jacket on.
“I’ll just say goodnight to you now. I have something I need to do for work. You go ahead back to your hotel.”
Nathan’s lips quirked with amusement. “Perhaps you have some time to answer a few questions for me as well, Agent Reece?” The request was polite, but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eye.
I regarded his expression, trying to make sense of it.
Unable to tear my gaze from Nathan, I almost forgot my father was standing there until he said, “I don’t think you should stay…um… I drove.” His argument sounded desperate, breaking the strange spell between Nathan and me.
“I will make certain Agent Reece makes it home safely,” Nathan said with conviction.
My hackles rose at his assumption. “No, I will make certain I get home safely. I am perfectly capable”—I glanced pointedly at my father—“of caring for myself.”
Nathan looked contrite. “I apologize for my presumptions.”
“No problem.”
My father looked at us wearily, his reluctance to leave now evident. I leaned into him on my tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “Good night, Dad. And thanks for dinner. It was a nice surprise.”
I knew he didn’t want to leave, and, to be honest, I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing at how obvious he was. But what choice did he have? I was an adult, and I could stay if I wanted.
“Good night, Dad.” I said again.
He sighed a ‘Good night’, and then left.
I turned to Nathan. “So, you had some questions?”
“Yes, though perhaps you would like to verify my alibi for Monday evening first?” His eyes were practically glittering with delight.
I was about to deny that’s what I had planned, but the knowing look in his eyes combined with the amused curl of his lips told me he knew exactly what I’d intended. “My table is in the corner,” he continued, pointing to a secluded spot in the back. “I will wait for you there.”
“Fine,” I answered, petulantly, as I walked away. I heard him chuckle in response.
Fifteen minutes later, I was relieved to discover Nathan had been telling the truth. Not only did the staff confirm he was there, but the manager produced a credit card receipt with the time and date clearly visible, proving he was indeed at Sambuca until after midnight. I couldn’t figure out why I was relieved, though; this just put us back to square one and cleared our only suspect so far. Well, cleared him for Morganna’s murder, at least.
Nathan’s gaze was anchored to mine as I neared his table, my stomach twisting from the fierceness of his stare. Before I could sit, he stood and intercepted my approach. Twining his fingers through mine, he pulled me onto the dance floor just as the band started to play Heatwave’s “Now and Forever”.
“What are you doing?” I asked, panicked, as he pulled me temptingly close to his body.
He flashed me a devastating, wry smirk. “I must be doing something wrong if you feel the need to ask.”
“I am not dancing with you,” I insisted, even as my traitorous body swayed to the music.
“I beg to differ, Agent Reece.” He leaned in close enough for me to feel his breath on my ear. My heart pounded erratically in response to his nearness. “We certainly are dancing.” To accentuate his point, he gave me a flirty twirl, finishing with a dip, and then pulled my body back against him. Tightly.
His victorious expression elicited a smile from, despite my attempts not to. “You’re used to getting your own way, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” The admission was made without an ounce of apology.
My brain was literally short-circuiting from his touch. Every sumptuous inch of his body was pressed flush against mine. One hand rested dangerously low on my back, while the other clasped securely around mine. And though I couldn’t see under the business suits he favored, I could certainly feel every delineated line of his taut muscles. It took every bit of strength I possessed not to trace each crevice and dip of his chest and abs with my finger.
Nathan was a fabulous dancer. With a flick of his hips, his lower body rubbed teasingly against mine. My mouth went dry as the Sahara. I became intensely aware of something else that was hard—something aside from his muscles.
“Relax, Agent Reece. I will not bite,” he whispered with a strangely amused expression, as though he’d told a private joke.
And why was I so disappointed by the promise?
“Why did you become an FBI agent? It is a rather unorthodox career choice for a woman.”
“Is that the important question you wanted to ask me?” I narrowed my eyes, suspiciously.
“I did not say my question was an important one.” His face lit with a roguish smile. “Although, it is important…to me.”
“Why?”
“I am curious about you, Agent Reece. You intrigue me.”
He couldn’t have known how personal my reasons for joining the FBI were, and I wasn’t about to share it with him. I settled for a safe, general response. “I wanted to help people, and getting murderers and rapists off the streets helps everyone.” I shrugged. “What about you? How did you get into security?” My own question was unexpected. I knew to keep things professional, but I found myself wanting to know more about him.
His smile widened. “Quite like you, I wish to protect people who need help.” He continued to twirl us around the dance floor as we spoke, making it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. “I have lost people I cared about to unnecessary violence, so I find comfort in helping others avoid the same fate.” He averted his eyes, sighing sadly. “Regrettably, we cannot seem to help everyone, though. Can we?”
I couldn’t feel his emotions, but I knew he was sad.
It was uncharacteristic of me and definitely not appropriate behavior for a suspect, but I wanted to ease the sadness I saw in his eyes. “Mr. Donovan, I’ve been in the FBI for five years now. It’s a pity that the only wisdom I can impart from my experience, is that you can’t save everyone. But just the fact that we try makes what we do worthwhile.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He stopped moving and the intense look he gave me caused a wild fluttering in my belly. “Has anyone ever said you are astoundingly insightful for someone so young?”
I snorted at the understatement. If only he knew how insightful I really was.
“What is the joke?” he asked, cocking his head.
“Nothing.”
“Could I ask a favor, Agent Reece?”
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll grant it.”
“Will you call me Nathan?”
“Um…I suppose,” I said, uncertainly, suddenly overcome by nerves. Though this wasn’t a date, it was starting to feel like one. And as pathetic as it was to admit, I hadn’t been on a date in over a year.
Becoming an FBI agent was an obsession for me, and then once I made it, I worked tirelessly to stop every murderer, rapist, and criminal I could. Unfortunately, hunting criminals didn’t leave much time for a social life. Admittedly, my job wasn’t the only problem. Prevalent psychic abilities considerably hindered my chances for a normal relationship. I knew every time a man lied to me, when he resented my job, when he lusted after another woman—I could feel it all, which made the fact that I couldn’t read Nathan even more disconcerting.
I was in unfamiliar territory.
“Agent Reece?” his concerned voice interrupted my ruminations. “Are you all right?”
I took a step back. “Yes, but I really should be going.”
Disappointm
ent was evident on his face, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he guided me to the exit with his hand placed tenderly—if not possessively—on my lower back. He held the door open, and when I shivered from the chill in the evening air, he took my sweater and pulled it gently over my shoulders. To my surprise, I found the old-fashioned etiquette charming rather than patronizing. He was such a contradiction, infallibly polite one minute, and then commanding and sexy the next.
As I called for a cab, I felt his stare boring into me. “It’ll be between ten and fifteen minutes. You really don’t need to wait around,” I said, closing my cell phone.
He stepped closer, his eyes smoldering as he caressed the side of my face with the back of his fingers. “I will wait with you,” he stated with finality. “Before you accuse me of attempting to take care of you, or of thinking you cannot take care of yourself, let me assure you, I am being utterly selfish. I am becoming addicted to your company.” He was so close I felt his breath against my lips. All I could think about was kissing him, but I forced myself to remember he was a suspect.
“Nathan...is there anything you’re not telling me about Morganna or Leslie’s death?” I blurted in a hushed voice. The question surprised him. I think he’d been expecting me to kiss him, not interrogate him.
“If there was anything I could tell you, that would help you catch this killer, believe me I would,” he said, carefully.
I found the wording of his answer guarded. He didn’t actually say that he told me everything he knew—he said he told me everything he could, and that was quite a distinction.
I was about to ask him to clarify, when I noticed his expression once again clouded by desire.
He reached up and cupped the nape of my neck as he reverently stroked his thumb along my jaw. “I feel a strange…connection to you Brianna.”
My pulse thundered in my ears from his confession. Paradoxically, despite the heat coiling in my belly and spreading through my body, chills erupted along my spine.
He leaned in and whispered in a husky voice. “Since that first moment you walked into my office, I have not been able to stop thinking about you. You are the most captivating, intellectual and beautiful woman I have ever met.”
