by Meg Anne
Lucas watched the gorgeous brunette practically flee from the room. He’d taken one look at her standing on the balcony and known with a bone-deep certainty that she was waiting for him. His years on the force had taught him to always trust that instinct, so he hadn’t thought twice before walking over and talking to her.
She had been a vision painted in moonlight with dark hair falling in loose waves down her back. Lucas would have the image of her standing there staring up at the Chicago sky permanently imprinted in his memory for the rest of his life.
He’d thought she was beautiful before she had even turned around, but once he’d got a look at those wide amber eyes, framed by the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen, he knew he was a goner. She’d worn barely a hint of make-up, but he’d noticed the soft sheen of something on her pouty lips. Lips he desperately wanted to crush against his. Although kissing her would be an interesting matter of physics. She was tiny, even with her stilts the top of her head would barely reach his chin. Fuck, those heels were something else. His thoughts traveled back to the way her hips had swayed when she moved. Had he ever seen a woman move like that? Lucas bit back a groan as he imagined her wearing nothing but those shoes.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He hadn’t had a reaction this intense to a woman since Tinsley Carter in ninth-grade Geometry.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. Lucas couldn’t believe he’d gone and put his foot in his mouth by insulting the art on display. Her artwork. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve some tension from the headache slowly building behind his eyes.
No wonder she wanted to run away from him, he’d completely insulted her livelihood.
What a schmuck.
Lucas stole a glance at one of the colorful pieces displayed on the wall to his left. Now that he knew the woman who created the piece, he was much more interested in studying it. The brush strokes were bold swipes across the canvas, red lines thick and luscious, while thinner black lines swirled among them, almost as if trying to contain the red ones.
Lucas shook his head; an art critic he was not.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lizzie asked as she stepped up beside him.
“Yes, she is,” he answered without thinking.
“What?”
He blinked, pulling his gaze away from the painting to look at his sister.
Blue eyes, so like his own, narrowed with laser-like intensity.
Lucas shrugged, playing it off. “I said, ‘yeah, I guess.’”
Her eyes narrowed further.
Shit, she wasn’t buying it.
“Who did you meet tonight?” she demanded.
“No one.”
Lizzie craned her neck around, searching the room. “Is she still here? Did I meet her?”
“Fuck, Lizzie. You’re like a damn dog with a bone. Just let it go. I said no one, alright?”
His sister glared at him. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Don’t use that tone with me, Lucas MacConnell. I’m not one of your recruits. I’m your baby sister, and Ma would have your balls if she could hear you right now.”
Lucas winced. She wasn’t wrong. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Just distracted. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Lizzie pouted for a few seconds longer before breaking back out into her knowing grin. “So, seriously. Who was she?”
Years of similar conversations told Lucas he wasn’t going to get out of telling her, so he gave in. “I met the artist, but I didn’t know who she was, and I may have, uh… made fun of her art.”
“What?” Lizzie screeched, causing dozens of curious stares to turn their way.
Lizzie slapped his arm. “You go find her and apologize, Lucas. I mean it!”
“How do you propose I do that when she just left?”
“Did you make her cry?” Lizzie hissed.
Lucas frowned. He didn’t recall tears, just the way her body felt pressed against his when he’d caught her mid-faint.
“I don’t think so, and I did catch her when she passed out, so technically that makes me a hero.”
She slapped his arm again, her eyes practically bulging out of her head. “You made her pass out? Seriously, do you have any manners at all?”
He rubbed his arm where she’d smacked him, biting back a wince. He’d never admit it, but she’d gotten him good that time. “I didn’t know she was the artist,” he said, motioning toward the nearest painting, “or I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“I cannot believe you.” Lizzie scoffed. “We need to find her, so you can apologize.”
“I told you, she left.”
“You’re a cop, find out where she lives.”
“Yeah, Lizzie, let me just use police resources to track down a woman I met once to apologize. That’s not creepy or stalker-adjacent at all.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Hungry?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You planning on poisoning me?”
“Not just yet. You’re safe for now.”
“Gee, thanks.” He followed her through the crowd and toward the car, but he still couldn’t get his mind off the terrified look in Skye’s golden eyes as they’d fluttered open, or the way they seemed to see through to the core of him.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it, but he had every intention of seeing her again, and not just because his little sister demanded he apologize. Although… that was a convenient excuse. But he would have done it anyway. Everything inside of him ached for her, and they’d only spoken for about ten minutes. Just what in the hell was that about anyway?
He was so deep in his own thoughts, he barely heard his sister until they stopped on the street in front of her diner.
When their parents had passed away three years before, the inheritance they’d received had been substantial enough that by putting it together, they’d been able to purchase the tiny run-down space and turn it into a bustling shop. His sister had always dreamt of owning her own place, and since he hadn’t needed the money, investing in her future was just as satisfying to him as it was a dream come true to her.
Sometimes one dream coming true required walking away from another. Purchasing the shop is what finally pushed Lizzie to file for divorce. Her bastard ex had never believed in her. He’d said owning a restaurant was not only a bad investment, but they’d lose everything they put into it. It would be irresponsible, he said, to let her throw away ‘their’ money just so she could cook for and wait on people when she could stay home and do it for free. He then selfishly suggested they take ‘their’ money and fund his plumbing business rather than invest in ‘her little dream’.
When Lizzie refused, he’d nearly put her in the fucking hospital, and it had taken everything in Lucas not to put the asshole six feet under. He shook his head, trying to clear the angry thoughts from his mind. After two years, Lucas could still hear the horror in his little sister’s voice from the phone call the night she left her ex.
The bastard was still in prison, but there was no sentence long enough to remedy what he’d done to Lizzie.
It was part of the reason why Lizzie’s success was so bittersweet for Lucas. After everything she’d gone through to get here, she deserved every second of happiness it brought her. Their parents would have been just as proud of the business she’d built as he was.
Lizzie unlocked the door and flipped the lights on to reveal a bright space, decorated with a range of shades from red to pink. Tables lined the walls in neat rows, a different colored tablecloth on each one.
When she’d told him her idea as far as decorating the space, he’d told her she was crazy. There was no way all those colors were going to work together. If he remembered correctly, he had informed her that it would look like a box of Crayola had shit all over the place. But she’d done it anyway; that was his sister: as stubborn as they come. He’d also been forced to admit he was wrong, something that did not come easy, to say the le
ast.
Her space was beautiful and unique, just like her. Of course, he’d never admit that either. There was apologizing, and then there was laying it on way too thick. No need to go and give her an even bigger head.
“What are you hungry for?”
“Food.”
“No shit, Sherlock, what type of food?”
“Do you treat all of your customers like this?”
She laughed. “Not when they pay.”
“Touché.”
He watched her start to work on a couple of sandwiches, when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The overwhelming feeling they were being watched had his hand itching to wrap around the Glock tucked into the shoulder holster he wore beneath his suit jacket.
He slid from the stool at the counter and walked to the window at the front of the shop. “Gorgeous night, isn’t it?” he asked his sister as a chill ran down his spine. Lucas peered into the dark but nothing accounted for the way his heart began to race in his chest.
What the hell? His eyes narrowed on a shadow that seemed out of place, but as soon as he blinked, it was gone.
“Lucas! Hello?”
He turned, frowning. “What? Why are you yelling?”
“You home in there?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
She gave him a long look before gesturing to the plates sitting on the counter with her head. “Sandwiches are ready.”
He nodded, still bothered by the feeling of being watched. After one last cursory check, he decided to let it go for now. Lucas walked back to his seat and let his thoughts drift to stolen moments on the roof and the haunting amber eyes he’d found there.
Chapter 3
Skye
What the hell am I thinking? Skye stared up at the small building before her, the early morning sun reflecting warmly off the glass. Whimsical gold lettering spelled Lizzie’s Place above the door.
In all the years she’d been plagued with visions, she’d never been able to stop the inevitable.
Why would this time be any different?
That relentless tug in her gut, the heavy weight of a fear she couldn’t shake, made this one definitely different. But why?
Skye rubbed her hands down her arms, trying to massage away the dread that lingered since last night’s vision on the rooftop. She trembled, unease settling deep within her bones.
Skye had seen many different types of deaths in her visions—hell, her own mother’s death was a gruesome murder—but nothing came close to the magnitude of last night’s vision.
She wasn’t sure whether it was the way the faceless man somehow sensed her presence or the helplessness in the woman’s eyes as she begged for her life that made this vision one Skye couldn’t ignore.
Standing in front of the quaint diner, indecision cemented her feet in place. Why am I even here? It’s not like she could actually do anything to stop the events she’d foreseen, so why bother? And what the hell was she supposed to tell the woman? ‘Um, excuse me, miss? You don’t know me, but, uh, I had a vision and just wanted to let you know to be careful because some mystery dude is going to try and murder you sometime soon’?
Yeah, that would go over really well. She’d have Skye’s ass thrown in a mental institution before she could blink.
Skye put her palm on the door and pushed. The heady, doughy scent of homemade baked goods mixed with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and Skye inhaled deeply as she stepped inside. She paused to soak up the joyful hustle and bustle of the early morning crowd.
“Have a good day, Mr. Peterson!” a woman called out as a man passed Skye on his way out the door.
Skye turned to face the woman behind the counter fully for the first time. The air left Skye’s lungs in a whoosh. It was the woman from the vision. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her bright smile all but lit up the room. This was a woman who was clearly in her element. Skye couldn’t help but be caught up in the bright mood hanging in the air.
Kind blue eyes focused on Skye, and the woman greeted her with a welcoming smile. “Morning, hon, what can I get you?”
“Just a coffee, please. Thanks.” Skye took a seat at one of the counter stools and looked around. When the man attacked in her vision, the sky had been black beyond the diner’s windows, so there was no need for alarm at the moment. She’d read once that sometimes murderers liked to stake the place out first to get a feel for their target, so she searched the faces of the other patrons.
Oh, come on. She huffed. It’s not like she’d recognize him—the man’s face had been totally obscured.
“Here you go.” The woman set the coffee down, and Skye reached for her wallet. “Nope, first one is on the house.” She winked. “This is your first time in here, isn’t it?”
Skye nodded.
“I knew it! Are you from around here?”
“Not quite. I live downtown.”
“Nice. What brings you up here to our neck of the woods?”
Skye raised her mug. “I heard the coffee was great.” The lie seemed like a safe enough bet, and it had the added benefit of causing the woman to flush with pleasure.
“Well, I hope it lives up to its reputation.” She offered a warm smile, which brightened as she looked past Skye to the door of the diner. “Excuse me.”
She stepped away, and Skye glanced over her shoulder to see what had caught the woman’s attention.
The second her eyes landed on him, her heart began to pound in her chest. Butterflies pooled in her stomach, the treacherous insects leaving her squirming in her seat.
Lucas smiled, dragging his gaze slowly up Skye’s body as he hugged the waitress, then stepped around her. He took the seat beside Skye, and his cologne filled her nose, musky, with a hint of something spicy.
She fought the urge to inhale a deep breath of him.
“Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” Lucas said. His voice was just as deep and gravelly as she recalled, and her body reacted to him with a flood of heat low in her belly.
“You two know each other?” the waitress asked as she poured him a cup of coffee without waiting for him to order.
“Oh yeah, we go way back. You know her, too.” His full lips curved into a smirk. “Skye Giovanni, meet Lizzie MacConnell.” He turned to meet Skye’s gaze. “My sister.”
The blood drained from her face. Well that explains his connection to her; it had been his damn sister she’d seen die.
“Wait! This is the artist?” Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, I love your paintings! They are seriously amazing, and one day I will hang one in my shop.” She focused on an empty wall to the right of the long counter, her eyes glazing over momentarily. “Well, when I can afford to anyways. Not that you aren’t worth it! Because you totally are!”
“Easy, Lizzie, she’s just a person.”
Lizzie pressed a hand to her chest and forced out a breath. “I’m over here rambling.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you.” Skye smiled.
Too bad she was probably going to die. Skye’s stomach sank, the bleak thought making it difficult to maintain her smile. Skye covered it by taking a sip of her steaming coffee. Damn, it really was good. Turns out, her cover story was no story at all.
“Be right back.” Lizzie turned to talk with another customer, leaving Skye and Lucas sitting side by side.
He wore a dark blue suit and his face was clean-shaven, showcasing the dimple she’d admired the night before. He removed his jacket and laid it across the stool next to him, and Skye allowed herself a moment to appreciate the view before the glint of something silver at his hip caught her eye.
She glanced down at the badge. Skye inwardly groaned. Of course he’d be a cop.
It wasn’t that she had anything against the police, but with her visions, she tended to avoid first responders of any kind because they inevitably carried death with them wherever they went. A sad truth, but since she couldn’t do anything to prevent the visions, avoidance was
her only means of self-preservation.
“So, you following me?” he asked with a grin.
“Hardly. Just heard the coffee was great here.”
“And?” He lifted his cup.
“It really is. Your sister seems kind.”
“She is a big ball of sunshine, that one. Always has been.”
“You older?”
He nodded. “Four years.”
“It must be nice having a sibling.”
“Only child?”
She took a drink from her mug. “Guilty.”
“What was that like?”
“Lonely.”
An awkward silence passed, the conversation lagging as Skye berated herself, Way to showcase your exceptional conversation skills, Giovanni. This is why we stay at home and play with paint. Less chances to offend people. What the hell did you think was going to happen here? It was a question without an answer. Skye still hadn’t figured out just how she was going to warn them, or if she even should. If it’s going to happen anyways, why make it worse by telling them beforehand? Or is it better to know what’s coming? Would I want to know?
This was an impossible decision to make.
Without a doubt, they would fight hard to try and keep her death from happening, and when it did happen, because her visions always came to pass, Lucas would carry the failure with him, even though he’d have nothing to do with it.
Her thoughts brought on another chill, and she trembled slightly.
“So, listen,” Lucas said, pulling her back to the present. “About what happened the other night… are you sure you’re okay?”
She offered him an empty smile. “I am. It happens when I get overwhelmed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were overwhelmed standing on a balcony with me?”
His lips twitched—he didn’t believe her for a second. She focused on those thick, full lips, and that flutter kicked up again in her belly.
Skye stood abruptly. Time to go. She wasn’t supposed to get involved, and here she was, staring at this beautiful man’s mouth like a lovestruck teenager. “I knew I was going to have to give a speech. Please tell your sister I was happy to meet her.” Skye turned to leave but stopped, taking a deep breath as she turned back to face him. She searched his gaze, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Keep an eye out for her. I know it seems like a safe neighborhood, but sometimes bad things can happen to good people for no reason at all.”
