by Cait London
“Thank you. You’re sweet, but I’m hoping this may be a passing thing. Sue Ann may change her mind.”
“How’s the closet coming? Vernon was telling me what a great layout you had. Would you mind if he used your design for one of my closets?”
“That’s fine. Just don’t steal him from me.”
“Oh, I’m just happy to get whatever he can do for me. Vernon is a real craftsman, a friendly kind of guy. We visit sometimes. I like him.”
Alex frowned when she retrieved her cell phone from her bag and noted the number. “Did it ring? I didn’t hear it.”
“I had it on ‘silent vibrate.’” Leona had used the lie for years when others were near and that tingle had told her that family was calling. This time, it was her mother, and Leona wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. She replaced the phone in her bag without answering.
“You can answer it, if you wish. I won’t mind.”
“It can wait.” Leona needed privacy for the discussion her mother was certain to want.
Alex looked at his watch again and grimaced. He rubbed his shoulder. “I must have wrenched it. I thought I’d help Vernon get an easy start by moving one of the doors he’s refinishing. Damn thing slid sideways and almost fell on me. They’re heavy, those old doors.”
Alex’s injury might not have been an accident. Sue Ann’s sudden change and Alex’s accident could mean that someone was circling her friends. Anyone in her life could be in danger, including the already deeply troubled Janice.
And Owen was somehow tied up in everything. Leona intended to discover just how he fit within this deadly puzzle.
As Leona settled into her home for the night, she frowned at the dirty footprints Vernon had left on her utility room’s rug. Vernon had apparently gone in her backyard. He must have crossed the bare ground where she had been laying bricks.
Good craftsmen-type carpenters and handymen were hard to find, and Leona didn’t mind a little dirt if the job was well-done. She checked her bedroom’s unfinished closet and found the smell of cigarette smoke. One glance at the open window and Leona quickly wrote a note to gently remind Vernon of their terms. He’d seemed distracted lately, not his usual meticulous self.
Then she noticed that the large plastic sheeting she’d placed over her bedroom furniture had been shifted. All of the plastic sheeting had been shifted slightly as if someone had been snooping. A quick check revealed that nothing was missing, but that open window could have allowed anyone entrance.
Leona hurried outside with her flashlight and checked the screens. A small piece of tape she’d placed in an exact place hadn’t been moved. No one had come in. Inside her locked home, she shivered. She was too upset, too restless, too suspicious of every small thing. She had to get control. “And Vernon hasn’t done one thing today. I’m going to have a chat with him. I can’t live like this.”
A quick change of clothes, a glass of wine, and Leona called her mother. “You rang?”
In the background, Leona heard the familiar sounds of home, the crash of the Pacific Ocean’s waves, the wind sweeping through the distorted pines, and her mother’s soft, soothing voice. “Be careful, Leona.”
“I know the game plan…take one down, weaken the link. Logically, I’m the next on this creep’s list.”
Greer’s silence said too much; she was terrified for her daughter. “He’s very, very strong, Leona.”
“Apparently not strong enough to take out Claire or Tempest.”
“The bond with their husbands strengthened them. Both Neil and Marcus come from ancient lines, too. I believe they are the Protectors, descended from Thorgood’s men, who pledged to safeguard Aisling and her children through time.”
Leona let the tentative psychic probe from her mother slide away. The connection was too strong, mother to child, child to mother. She resented everything that Greer was, that Leona could be. If she wanted. Still, today, she had focused and had helped Janice. Later, she had been strangely exhausted, but enough had happened lately to tire anyone.
“You can’t take him on by yourself. You have a very strong gift, but you haven’t opened or developed it. You’re not certain if you really want to,” Greer stated softly, as if snagging that tidbit from Leona’s mind.
That was a reminder for Leona to hurry away from the scene hidden inside her—the memory she’d had of her grandmother leaning close, whispering a warning. Leona pictured Janice, connecting with her, locking on to every detail.
“I may change my mind. I met a girl today, and she’s very…different. She’d sketched a man’s face. His features were narrow, sharp cheekbones, black burning eyes, long black hair, braids beside his face. She’d captured those eyes perfectly on paper as if she had actually seen them, connected with him. I haven’t felt such a close connection to him since that day when that stranger came into Timeless. He wasn’t the same as the Borg descendant—he was a big, blue-eyed blond—but the sensation was there. As if he was some kind of threat—”
“It’s called ‘imprinting.’ He may not have looked like that at all. He probably used a physical disguise of some sort, but also added physic ‘heft’ to it. He may have connected with your own abilities on some level, and created a distracting combination of the physical and a surface image of what he wanted you to see. Layers of psychic connections with those who are clairvoyant can be complicated and confusing. Unsuspecting, you could have been too open for just that moment it took for him to connect with your senses. He might have been able to lay an image in your mind, a mask over his real appearance. He may have been strong enough to block you from feeling anything unique about him. All he’d have to do is to focus on setting up a wall—”
“I know what I saw,” Leona stated curtly. “Besides I doubt a guy like the Borg-descendant, with that wild mass of hair, could walk on Lexington’s streets and not be noticed.”
“No, of course not. You’re absolutely right.” Greer’s words came too quickly, as if she wanted to soothe away Leona’s fears.
A quick, fierce rush of warmth immediately surrounded Leona. Greer had just sent a protective psychic hug, her motherly instincts raised to protect her young. Then Greer’s sadness washed over Leona. “I didn’t know they had planned to invade our home while I was gone,” she said.
Leona’s statement was flat and automatic. “Because you were busy elsewhere.”
When Leona didn’t respond, Greer continued, “I do blame myself. But you shouldn’t. There was no way you could have stopped them, Leona. You were just a child. That man who came to your shop in July was linking on to you, trying to snag your energy to hold as his own, to control you. He was probably testing your reception, seeing how strong you are, if you’re developed,” Greer said, bypassing Leona’s resentment to move on to the problem at hand. “Every emotion, every bit of resentment and guilt you feel, even any sympathy you carry now will work against you. Those things can leave you vulnerable to someone more powerful. You’ve got to focus on protecting yourself. You can’t let yourself weaken now, Leona Fiona.”
“I know exactly what’s at risk, Mother: my sisters, their husbands, and you.” Glancing at the mirror she’d covered with the blue-green scarf, Leona noticed the scarf was gone. Her breath caught, then she decided that Vernon must have placed it aside; her carpenter had been making himself too comfortable in her home.
“I’ll come to you, Leona. I’ve been working through the past. I’ve been trying to put the pieces together, trying to find some clue as to who might be stalking our family. I must find who he truly is in flesh and blood, not just as the fiend in our dreams. Maybe together, we can—”
“You can’t protect me every minute, Mom. I’ll be fine. You’re stronger by the ocean, not here.” Leona understood Greer’s intentions, feeling her mother’s urge to fly to her daughter’s side.
“You want to do this, don’t you? To call him out? Pay him back for terrorizing your sisters? You’re a fighter, Leona, and that can work against you.”
>
“If both our dreams coincide, and this ancient Viking guy—with psychic powers—fought the chieftain, Thorgood, and lost, then I have nothing to worry about. Borg didn’t get Aisling, and his descendant isn’t getting me.”
So much for confidence, Leona thought much later when she awoke from another dream, the shreds of terror clinging to her. The man’s face lingered in her mind: sharp features, black hair with braids, his eyes piercing. She understood his terms, if not the exact language. “Like it or not, you’ll be mine, witch. You’ll obey me.”
Leona lay in the guest bed, not the Viking’s crude bed of wood and fur from her dream, her heart pounding with fear. She’d called out for help, and still tasted Owen’s name on her lips. “Owen,” she whispered softly in the night, wanting his arms safely around her. “Owen, come to me.”
Okay, so a little midnight-hour experimenting when no one was around couldn’t hurt. Could it?
Leona held the pillow with his scent, closed her eyes, and focused on Owen. She visualized his face: those silvery eyes, those long straight black lashes, that sleek raven black hair, those hard, skillful lips…
The bedside telephone rang, startling her. She recognized the number on the digital readout—it was the number on Owen’s business card. She could let the message machine take the call, or she could—
Leona reached for the phone. As much as she didn’t want to admit the attraction, or the safety she’d felt tucked close to him, Leona needed to hear his voice.
“Are you all right?” Owen’s deep tone was urgent.
She glanced at her bedside clock, which read eleven o’clock. His call came too closely after her dream. “Why are you calling?”
Owen’s husky statement took away her breath. “I thought I heard you call my name.”
Six
AT SIX-THIRTY IN THE MORNING, LEONA DROVE TOWARD THE Shaws’ farm.
Owen had called at exactly the time Leona had focused her senses on him, mind and body. As they’d agreed, he’d be waiting for her now, and she intended to get answers. How could he have known she needed him?
The early-September air was cool and damp. Sunrise crept through the tops of the trees, and shadows lurked beneath, fingering across Kentucky’s famous lush bluegrass fields. Horses and a few cattle grazed within the board fences, painted black. At times, two black-board fences ran parallel to each other, only a few feet apart.
Leona passed the elegant, white-and-red horse barns. With rows of shuttered windows, they appeared more like mansions for humans. Nearer to Owen’s old farm, and deeper into the rolling hills toward Tennessee, the county road was lined with rock “fences,” created in another century. Airy tobacco barns painted black, stood amid fields that were used for all crops. In late July and August, rows of the broadleaf tobacco plant could be seen across the fields.
Leona noted the layers of mist hovering over the ponds, reminding her of that man standing on her street that night whispering her name. If it was Owen, he’d pay.
She smoothed the place where her brooch was usually pinned. Today, she’d chosen to take her chances without its protection. Leona intended to feel everything at the Shaw farm, to make herself open to any psychic influence, and she didn’t want any interference.
Gripping her steering wheel as her new car drove roughly over a chuckhole, she felt annoyed with herself. She’d been too deep in thought about the last few days and had missed it. Without giving cause, Sue Ann had withdrawn from a sturdy five-year friendship and had abruptly stopped working for Leona. Then there was the fact that Vernon hadn’t progressed on her closet, and the plastic sheeting covering her personal things had been disturbed. Since he was supposedly the only one with entry into her home, she would have to speak to him about her privacy. Finally, there was the matter of the missing scarf; Leona hoped he could explain it. Or had she been so distracted that she’d misplaced it herself?
On edge, Leona was easily distracted from performing everyday tasks as anyone would be.
One thing was for certain: She and her family were definitely being stalked. If Vernon was found to be involved, Leona would find out exactly why and how. She would have to be very careful with him now.
Owen Shaw was another problem. Leona also resented Owen Shaw appearing in her dreams and for calling—in person—at exactly the perfect time.
Too many coincidences had happened, and she only had a few hours to research before opening her shop at ten. This morning, she had decided that whether Sue Ann changed her mind or not, it wouldn’t hurt to interview applicants for her job. Leona had already sent an e-mail ad to the local radio station’s Help Wanted section. She hoped the arrangement would be temporary and that Sue Ann would soon return.
Leona eased her car over the old dirt road leading up to the Shaws’ home. The old white two-story home was small compared to the others in the area. Owen stood beside the board fence in a typical Western pose, one booted foot on the bottom board, his arms resting on the top one. Aware that those shielded smoky eyes were watching her closely, Leona parked and got out of the car.
Owen seemed to slowly take in everything about her from her green long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans to her running shoes and then finally her face. The impact of his gaze sent a sensual jolt deep within her body, a sturdy reminder that Owen’s had taken her over that shocking primitive edge.
When Owen didn’t move, Leona braced herself to walk toward him. It wasn’t easy; her natural instincts told her to run to him. She wanted to take him there, to feel him around her, inside her, his scents filling her. Instead, Leona managed a crisp tone, “Okay. I’m here. Now talk.”
“The sun turns your hair into flame.”
His deep voice wrapped around her—intimate, husky, sexual—just as it had during their lovemaking. She could be fighting for her life and for her family’s. She couldn’t afford to let her defenses down with Owen. “I don’t like being used, Owen. You came after me for a purpose. You want to know about my so-called gift. You’re curious.”
“I wasn’t exactly sure at the time we met. I was thinking of other things, like how you’d feel in my arms. But wouldn’t you do the same for your sisters, try to help them?”
“Maybe.”
“Liar. Of course, you would. You’re a fighter, Leona, and you’re protective of your family, just as I am of Janice.”
He was right. Leona glanced at the house and found the windows dark. “Where is she?”
“Sleeping off medication. The night wasn’t good to her. If she wakes up, Robyn will call me. Janice is very restless now…like you and like me. I’m glad you came. I couldn’t leave her to come to you. After last night, I’m not certain Robyn could handle her in the same state. Let’s walk.”
Leona looked at the board fence separating them, then up at the man staring at her. With a sigh, she stepped up on the fence. When she prepared to come down on the other side, Owen tugged her in his arms, holding her aloft and tight against him. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”
Her hands had locked on to his shoulders, fingers digging into the solid, powerful muscles. Instinctively Leona knew that she’d never been so safe. “I—I’m not afraid.”
“Of course you are. So am I. I can’t fail my sister. If I ever find that bastard in her sketch, I just may kill him.”
“And I can’t fail my family.”
“The stakes are high then, and you know it.”
Owen still held her against him. The fresh morning scents flowed around them, the air damp and cool and sweet. His hair was damp as if he’d just showered. As his cheek nuzzled hers, his skin was taut and scented of aftershave. His open hand on her back pressed Leona more closely against him. “Mm…Warm…soft…woman.”
His simple statement, filled with so much longing and appreciation, shook Leona. She tried not to move, but her body had already softened to his. The sensual call caused her to ache for his lips, his taste.
Shivering slightly Leona tried desperately to
regain control. Owen was no easy one-night stand—he wanted more, and what he wanted could endanger her family. “Owen, let me down.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “You know about my mother. Greer Aisling is a famous psychic and she’s good at it. You should call her…”
“Janice wants you to help her. You’re all she can talk about. And I saw your reaction to her. You know the man in that sketch, don’t you?”
That furious warrior with the sharp face and compelling eyes was only a man in her turbulent dreams of Aisling. He was only a mystic fragment left in her blood that she wanted to reject. The reality of his descendant was another matter. Owen could be—“Do you know him?”
“If I did, he’d be dead by now…. Always cautious, aren’t you?” Finally, Owen let her slide slowly down his body, then took her hand. Linking his fingers with hers, he studied their hands. Owen’s dark broad hand seemed to capture her feminine, slender one. When his thumb caressed her skin, Leona sensed that he was thinking about their bodies, tangled and hungry just three nights ago.
Owen suddenly looked directly into her eyes, his hand pressing hers tightly. “You know him. The question is how,” he stated firmly as he began to walk into the field. “Come on.”
Tall, leggy, lean, powerful, and feminine, his woman had walked out of shadows toward him. Sunrise had caught the flame in Leona’s hair; it flowed around her face as she moved, her body tense and sleek like a lioness on the hunt.
Owen’s first instinct had been to take Leona there on the ground, a primitive possession. But too much of civilization had wrapped around him. And too much was at stake. Smiling to himself, Owen knew Leona’s cool competent look was only a shield. He knew how demanding, hot, and primitive she could be.
At the crest of a hill overlooking the large pond, Leona abruptly stopped. Owen glanced at her face; it was too pale, and her body had braced as if waiting for a blow.
He scanned the area, alert to danger. A few trees and brush separated an old farm road at the north end of his property. The road belonged to someone else. Nothing but a weathered tobacco barn lay at the end of it. Vehicles passed at times, music sounding in a heavy beat. To the east, the forest was heavy and at the south end of the field, a dangerous cliff dropped into the Kentucky River. A rocky bluff rose on the other side.
