The Tower (The Tarot Series Book 1)

by Rhylee Davidson

  She spins around, feeling his breath on her neck.

  His mind is screaming at him. What the hell are you doing? This goes against all your training. Where are these emotions coming from?

  She begins walking again, this time more rapidly. He can tell she’s about to break out in a full out run and his instincts take over as he follows behind at an increased pace. The more she tries to flee from him, the more he wants to chase her down like prey.

  His mind is racing, telling him to take her down, possess her, bring her to the ground, climb on top of her, to feel her body beneath his.

  Stop! He has to get control of himself. She isn’t a target to bring down. This isn’t an assignment. He doesn’t need to change. He can’t let his blood lust take over. Not now! Not with her!

  Too late.

  He begins to change. The darkness engulfs him, blending with his form as it becomes less…human. Stripping off his clothes and throwing them aside, he crouches down on all fours. His long black hair starts to spread out across his body, covering every inch of it as his muscles and bones reshape themselves. His hands become claws and his green eyes glow as his face elongates, becoming more ferocious, more feline, and his black coat shimmers in the moonlight.

  When his transformation is complete, he is a strong, virile, ebony panther with sharp teeth and claws, and emerald-colored eyes that are focused on Katrina.

  While his body is changing, Katrina takes off running and is in front of her building where the doorman is waiting to let her in…before he can act on his instincts.

  Chapter Six

  It’s late, but Katrina knows her father will never let her forget it if she doesn’t put in an appearance at the combination party-campaign fundraiser he is putting on for a select few guests with deep pockets. Ugh! The man seems to take pleasure in making my life miserable.

  Trying to put the tarot reading, along with the sense of being stalked out of her mind, Katrina takes a quick shower, dries her hair, applies some makeup, and quickly slides her lean, muscular body into a black silk cocktail dress and a pair of high, black strappy Jimmy Choos. Adding a matching set of diamond earrings, a bracelet, and necklace, she heads out the door.

  Still freaked out from earlier, Katrina calls ahead to have her car brought around to the entrance; no way was she walking anywhere tonight.

  Exiting the building, she crosses to where her car sits running, and the doorman holds the driver side door ajar just enough to allow her to climb behind the wheel. Closing the door, he says, “Have a nice evening, Miss Jameson.”

  “Thank you Charles, you too.”

  From the shadows across the street, Gage watches her pull away from the curb.

  Twenty minutes later, Katrina enters her parents’ house and makes her way to the table where everyone is already seated. Greeting everyone and apologizing for the lateness of her arrival, she steals a glance at her father as he rises and gives her an agitated look before introducing her to his guests. Pulling out a chair for her, he leans over as she sits down and whispers in her ear through gritted teeth, “You’re late. We expected you hours ago. Where have you been?” Letting Katrina know he’ll expect an explanation later, he returns to his seat with a phony smile on his face and picks up the conversation on the latest senate bill before Congress.

  The conversation is so boring, Katrina wants to scream. All she wants to do is go home, curl up in bed and put this disconcerting day behind her. No luck there.

  Sitting at the table, sipping a glass of wine, her mind wanders back to the tarot reading and the Death card that turned up. How, on the anniversary of Derrick’s death, could that have been the first card I pulled from the deck. I really don’t believe in psychic abilities or the universe giving you messages, but how can I look on the reading as a fluke? The diviner said the first card represented my past and there was no denying that it does. Then the Ten of Swords pops up and that definitely represents my life now. I am in pain and I don’t think I’ll ever get over the loss of Derrick. Could that be why I had that creepy feeling at the cemetery tonight? Was the reading still on my mind? Is that why I felt like I was being watched and followed? It must have been. Why would someone be following me or watching me for that matter? It has to be that stupid reading making my imagination run wild. Either that or I have a brain tumor. I need to get a grip and stop freaking myself out about…

  “Katrina! I’ve been speaking to you. I said I’d like you to play a song on the piano for our guests.”

  Katrina jumps. She has no fucking idea how her father’s voice penetrated the neurotic thoughts racing through her mind, but she’s glad to be out of her head and happy to find that she isn’t sitting there like a moron drooling on herself.

  “I’m sorry, I guess my mind was elsewhere. It’s been a long day and I’m really not feeling up to playing tonight; maybe next time?”

  Well, that did it!

  “Katrina, I need to speak to you in private a moment. Please excuse us,” Senator Jameson says as he gets up, smiling.

  Oh shit, here it comes! Leaving the table, Kat follows her father into the study where he closes the door.

  “Just what in the hell do you think you are doing? You show up hours late and then when you get here, you act like a zombie sitting at the table, staring off into space, not participating in the conversation. When I ask you to play for my guests, all of which have deep pockets and are into the arts, you refuse me!? Are you intentionally trying to embarrass me? You know what’s expected of you at these events. Now get your act together, put a smile on that pretty little face of yours, start showing some interest in the conversation, and get out there and play a classical number on that baby grand. Now!”

  “Look Dad, I’m really sorry, I just can’t. I’ve had a horrible day. Today’s the anniversary of Derrick’s death, so I went to the cemetery tonight to visit his grave. That’s why I was late. Then, on my way home, I kept feeling like I was being followed. I didn’t see anyone, but I know someone was there. The hairs were standing up on the back of my neck. It’s been an emotionally trying day and I’m just not up for it tonight. I shouldn’t have come but I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “I don’t want to hear your damn excuses, Katrina! You went to the cemetery at night and then wonder why you were scared walking home? Come on! I’ve never thought you a stupid girl, but my daughter should have more sense than that. You need to get over that pilot’s death. It’s been long enough. He was never good enough for you, anyway. With him gone, the whole world is open to you…can’t you see that? There are at least a dozen politician’s sons and wealthy oilmen that are just waiting for you to give them the time of day. You can have your pick of any society man you want. Instead, you spread your legs for trash, but won’t open them for a future full of wealth and power! When are you going to stop sulking over Derrick and get on with your life? He’s dead and gone, get over it!”

  That’s it! I’m sick of my father pushing me around and I’m not going to put up with it any more. I’ve had the day from hell…scratch that, the last two years from hell and a life full of never being good enough for him. I’m tired of being his lounge act, his entertainment, his perfect little china doll that he uses to gain support from the masses. I’m over the pretense of the perfect little Senator’s family and then in private, the left-handed complements and always being made to feel not good enough. Always being told I can do better, I should strive for perfection, be his little miss perfect. Meanwhile, never feeling worthy of his love. Love…hell I don’t even think he knows what the word means. The only thing he loves is himself, his job, and parading his family around in front of the cameras and the public like a herd of thoroughbreds. Now, he can’t even respect my feelings for the man I love? The man I was going to marry. The man who died for his country? No way! Not anymore!

  Katrina lets him have it.

  “Go to hell, you self-righteous son of a bitch,” she screams for all to hear. “I’m not going to be your little puppe
t anymore. The perfect little good girl who does what she’s told. I’m an adult and I will not let you run my life anymore. I’m sick of the act you have us all put on so you can dig into other people’s pockets. I’m tired of never being good enough for you. Were you ever proud of anything I’ve done? I’m sick of trying to earn your love. You don’t even know how to love. Love should be given freely, not wrought with conditions, but then again, you only love yourself. You don’t have any love inside you to give to anyone else. And then to tell me I should get over Derrick’s death, that he was never good enough for me? Why, because he wasn’t a millionaire’s son? Because he didn’t come from a family who could write you big campaign checks? Oh, but he was good enough to fight and die for his country, wasn’t he? And you didn’t miss the opportunity to use his death, the death of your “American hero” almost son-in-law in your campaign speeches, did you? It got you what you wanted…sympathy votes and the support of the military, huh Dad? You make me sick! Mom may be willing to put up with your lying, underhanded, manipulating bullshit, but I’m done with you. I’m out of here. Don’t try to contact me ever again. Let’s see what your constituency thinks about that!”

  “Katrina, don’t you dare walk out of here,” he yells.

  “Fuck you!” Turning, she slams the door in his face as she leaves.

  Approaching her mom, she takes her coat off a hanger and apologizes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I love you, but I can’t stand being around him and being used by him anymore. I’ll be in touch with you when I can. Good night.” Giving her a peck on the cheek, she leaves the house.

  Climbing into her car, she starts it up and floors it, cranking up the stereo as loud as it will go. On the drive back to her apartment, she thinks about how nice it would be to get out of this state and start over again somewhere, anywhere else. She wants to reinvent herself, become her own person, do and be what she wants for a change, able to make her own decisions.

  That’s it, I can do it, I have the means to go anywhere in the world. I should do it. I mean, what’s keeping me here besides a cold grave? I will do it. I’ll start packing the second I arrive home and get the hell out of here…Tonight!

  As Katrina pulls up in front of her building, she flings the driver’s side door open and throws the doorman her keys.

  “Just leave it out front please. I’ll be going out again shortly.”

  Stepping off the elevator, Katrina runs to her apartment, unlocks the door, and grabs her suitcases out of the hall closet. Opening them, she begins throwing clothes and necessities in each one until they are full. Moving over to the armoire and opening its doors, she finds herself lost in memories of her life with Derrick. Picking through the mementos of their life together, she starts filling a duffle bag with pictures, wedding invitations, a diamond engagement ring, and a death announcement.

  Slamming the armoire door shut, she sees a sheet of paper slide out onto the floor. Picking it up, she notices it’s a piece of sheet music that has gone unfinished. Realization hits her like a Mack truck and her hands start to shake uncontrollably.

  “How could I have forgotten?” she whispers.

  This was the piece of sheet music that Derrick was helping her write to dance to for the La Bayadere audition. They never had the chance to finish it before he shipped out, so they decided to finish the piece to play at their wedding when he returned. Tears stream down her face as it hits her that all the dreams she most cared about, all the dreams she wanted for herself, the man she loved, a family, the house with the white picket fence, all of those things are gone forever.

  Looking over at the box that was left sitting out on the bed, Katrina walks over to it, lifting off the top. Brushing aside the tissue paper, she looks down at her white ballet slippers with the silk ribbons, waiting to be laced up her ankles. Oh, how she loves the ballet, but she knows this is not her dream and she hates herself for all the time she’s wasted living someone else’s dream.

  “I won’t do it any longer, it stops tonight!”

  Grabbing the metal wastebasket sitting beside her desk, she throws the ballet slippers into it, along with a stack of ballet programs with her picture on the cover, pages of sheet music, and the untitled, unfinished song that would never play at her wedding. Striking a match, she drops it in the wastebasket and watches the contents burn. Turning away from the expanding fire, she snaps a leash on Max, picks up her bags, and walks out the door without looking back.

  Placing Max and her bags in the car, Katrina slides behind the wheel. Before she can put the key in the ignition, her cell phone starts ringing. She looks down and sees her father’s number flashing on the screen. Hitting the end button, she disconnects the call.

  By the time Kat hits the interstate her phone has rung at least ten more times. She isn’t going to speak to him. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. While she’s thinking that he really needs to stop psycho dialing her, the phone rings again.

  “Fuck this, I can pick up a new phone later,” she mumbles. As she’s holding her finger down on the button that opens her sunroof, the phone begins ringing again. She picks it up and tosses it through the opening as she flies down I-95 at top speed.

  “What in the hell is she doing and where is she going at this time of night with her dog and her suitcases?” Watching from the shadows across the street, Gage is enraged as he sees Katrina leave. He was in her apartment and went through her computer that very day. There were no reservations or travel brochures lying around. What caused her to leave seemingly out of the blue?

  Gage bypasses the doorman like he belongs there, takes the stairs two by two up to the third floor where Katrina’s apartment is located, promptly picks the lock, and lets himself in…again. Upon entering, he sniffs the air and immediately smells smoke. Tracking down its source, he puts out the fire and starts rifling through her things. When he reaches the armoire and looks inside, he knows by what is missing that she is gone and doesn’t plan on coming back anytime soon.

  Returning to his hotel room, Gage begins to pack, muttering to himself, “Time to put a trace on her phone, credit cards, and bank accounts and get the hell out of New York.” He will find her again, but this time he will do whatever it takes to get the answers he’s looking for. “I’ll find out why she’s been haunting my dreams and what she has to do with my reoccurring nightmare, even if I have to force it out of her. Hmm, I might just enjoy that!”

  Chapter Seven

  Twenty-Four Hours Later

  Katrina pulls up in front of the two-story beach house her grandmother left her when she passed away a few years before. The house has a modern design and a bright white stone finish that glistens when the sun hits it. Glass windows and doors wrap themselves completely around the outside of the house, coming to a large deck that runs the entire length of the back of the house and overlooks the soft, white sandy beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. Built up off the sand, it has an oversized, four car garage situated at the end of the driveway. There’s a large double door entry with dolphin designs etched in the glass panes in each of the front doors and a wide set of white steps leading up to them.

  “How I’ve missed this house, Max. I haven’t been back here since Grandma’s will was read.” Afterward, she decided to have the house closed up. “Some of my best childhood memories are tied up here.” Pulling into the driveway, she cuts the engine and ushers Max inside.

  The floor plan is open and spacious. The main floor consists of a comfortably furnished living room, dining room, and family room. A large eat-in kitchen sits towards the back of the house, with only the most modern of appliances, pearl finished washed oak cabinetry, and granite counter tops with veins of blues and greens running through them. One and a half bathrooms, a wet bar, and a laundry room finish off the main floor. The entire back of the house is floor to ceiling glass, with doors leading to the white sugary shore.

  Taking the stairs to the top floor, Katrina drops her bags in the master bedroom and bath. There are two o
ther bedrooms, a bathroom, a large entertainment room, study, and a small ballet studio her grandma set up for when she came to visit.

  “No rest for the weary,” Katrina says as she pats Max on the head.

  “Okay boy, I need to run out and get the house stocked with groceries. I left you water in your bowl in the kitchen, but I’m sure we’re both going to be hungry soon, so be good and I’ll be back before you know it.” Max barks, nosing Kat’s hand for another head rub. She obliges, then out the door she goes.

  Stopping by the nearest cell phone store, Katrina picks up a prepaid phone and activates it before leaving the store. The best part about prepaid phones? They’re not registered in your name. Good luck tracing it, Dad. Next stop…a prepaid credit card. Load it at any store and you’re good to go.

  She thumbs through the cash she withdrew on her way out of New York. It’s plenty for now, and although she has enough left in her accounts to do whatever she wants, she knows that to touch it would give away her location.

  I’ll access it to pay my New York bills online. No one will know where the payments are coming from. I’ll live off the monthly stipend from grandma’s estate, which I’ll have the attorney’s office pay me in cash from now on. Living in town will make it easy to pick up the funds once a month.

  As it is her grandma on her Mother’s side, old Senator Jameson knew nothing about it. He thought the house was sold, her inheritance paid out in a lump sum, and the estate settled. Wrong again!

  Whatever else I need to do to get away from my father, I will figure out later.

  She didn’t want her Mom to worry, so in a few days, she’d block her number and give her a call.

  “Speaking of calls, it’s time to make one.”

  “Bre, it’s Kat. I just got into town. Can I stop by?”

  Chapter Eight

  Sabrina Moretti has been one of Katrina’s best friends since childhood. They spent summers together laying on the beach, shopping at the malls, listening to music, horseback riding, and talking about boys. They met one summer, long ago at a sleep away camp, where they shared a cabin and became fast friends. By the time camp was over, Kat learned Sabrina, her brother Antonio, and her mom, Michela, lived in Bradenton, not far from her Grandma. They owned a two story, traditional-style house in east-county and her family owned the stables where Grandma’s prized Arabians were housed. The rest, as they say, is history.