Was she an agent, just so damned good that he had no chance against her? Had she duped Jean-Claude just as easily? He'd witnessed Jean-Claude's obsession with her firsthand and yet he still found himself caught in the snare.
She reached up, hand trembling, her fingers nearly brushing his face before she stopped herself. "I don't know what's happening, Thomas. Whatever it is, it can't happen. I wouldn't do that to you."
Her statement was as honest as his. She thought herself the one in the shadows. She was hiding behind that sweet demeanor, holding the real Judith still, frozen, a prisoner behind a wall she refused to take down. She was afraid of herself, of who she really was. He saw her, where he knew others would never conceive of the smoldering fire buried deep. The fire and something else--lethal power that reached out for the matching dangerous power in him.
She was afraid--for him. She was afraid of herself. And that told him so much more than anything she might have admitted aloud. She held great power and was unused to wielding it. So what was it? What could she fear?
"We'll be okay, Judith," he assured, the compulsion to be that man for her, the one man she could tell the truth to without fear. He needed to be the man to free her from that clawing fear she held so tight inside of her. He'd never had the need to protect anyone or save anyone. What was it about her that got to him?
She shook and ducked her head, but not before he caught the sudden terror in her eyes. She looked away only a moment and then she was back, but he had already seen the real Judith.
Her shoulders straightened, her chin went up, and her eyes met his courageously. "I'm not a good woman, Thomas. Whatever this thing is between us, you have to know it can't go anywhere. It won't go anywhere. You seem like a decent man. I'll work with you if you really are interested in purchasing the gallery, and I'm willing to show you around, but you have to know that's all it can ever be."
He was fiercely attracted to her physically. Drawn to her psychic power--whatever that was--but now something else crept in and made being in her company all the more dangerous. And all the more necessary. Admiration. Respect. And he was drowning in the need to be a better man. The kind of hero who rode on white horses and rescued beautiful women with sorrow-filled eyes.
Sadly, Stefan Prakenskii was no such man. He was the kind of man who deceived women, targeted them, used them as tools of his trade and cast them aside without much thought. He didn't even reside in the same world a woman like Judith lived in. She might think she wasn't a good woman, but she'd shown her vulnerability to him and a man like Stefan leapt at that opening. Took it and used it.
He didn't worry that Petr Ivanov would show undue interest in Judith, because he would believe Stefan was cementing his cover story by using a woman. Women were such easy targets, so vulnerable to a man preying on them--a man such as Stefan. He could read his quarry, every expression, the body language, and he was practiced and smooth at knowing exactly the right thing to say. Ivanov would expect him to use a local woman to insert himself into village life.
"I understand. I don't know what it is between us, Judith," he said, his left palm itching until he couldn't help but run it down his thigh before he made a fool of himself and cupped her breasts right through all that tempting red silk. Even with her declaration--or maybe because of it--he had an urgent desire to lean that scant few inches that separated them to taste her mouth.
"I don't expect anything to happen, but I won't believe that you're not a good woman. I have a sixth sense about these things." That might be something Thomas Vincent would say. Stefan Prakenskii would have taken what he wanted--and he wanted Judith. The wanting was turning into something very dangerous.
Abruptly he dropped his arm and stepped back. He refused to be ensnared. Whatever small part that was left of his humanity was not going to be stripped from him. He forced himself back into the role of bashful Thomas, knowing that man was far safer for both of them.
Judith Henderson was forcing him to evaluate his life, to reassess what he wanted. He'd been all over the world and on some level, without realizing, he'd been searching for something to give meaning to life. He was a machine residing in the shadows and now, looking at her, he realized there was a glimmer of hope still left in him. His trainers hadn't quite stamped out every bit of him. There was that tiny spark left. A glowing ember, no more, but it was there, hidden from sight, but still valiantly smoldering.
"I'll walk you to your car." It was necessary to establish that Thomas Vincent was a man who would walk a woman to a car, or to her front door, looking out for her safety. That would allow Stefan to give her some protection against Ivanov, and, if he were honest with himself, spend a little more time in her company.
"It isn't necessary, although it's kind of you. Sea Haven isn't exactly a high crime area."
"I'll walk you to your car," he affirmed, uncaring if he sounded like Stefan instead of Thomas. She wasn't walking down the street with a bullet just seconds from striking her. "Where is it?"
"I'm parked just down the street a few stores down to the left."
Of course she'd parked there. The tower where Ivanov was holed up was in that same direction. Stefan sent up a silent prayer to a God he had no faith or trust in, that he was judging the situation accurately and Ivanov wouldn't pull the trigger and kill him right then. He walked beside Judith, his eyes, out of habit, moving restlessly over the rooftops and delving into the all the little courtyards tucked into the sides of the buildings, leading to more intriguing shops.
He was careful to keep his hands free as he moved along the street. Every few seconds his eyes tracked backed to the tower and the surrounding rooftops. It was a habit and if Ivanov was watching him closely through the nightscope, he would expect that behavior.
A wooden bench sat just back from the buildings in a small courtyard leading to more shops. A homeless man sat hunched against the building, ignoring the bench. He simply watched the ocean as it sprayed white foam high into the air, crashing against the cliffs.
The small crowd of wine tasters seemed to be congregated around the door of a shop several businesses down, all talking at once and laughing, drowning out any real chance of catching sounds that would help him locate Ivanov's exact position. There was no doubt in his mind now; his body's radar confirmed to him that he was being tracked with a weapon. The enemy was out there and watching him.
He turned his head toward Judith, bending slightly down, smiling, listening to her even as he noted every possible cover between where they were and her car. Self-preservation was automatic to him, so ingrained in him, he would always know every license plate in his general vicinity, buildings and landscape, the natural flow of his surroundings. He was a chameleon, blending in, a snake shedding one skin and growing another easily--a shadow with no substance.
They were approaching the homeless man. The man had one hand inside his jacket where he easily could be concealing a weapon. Stefan allowed his gaze to sweep the man, noting every detail. He had seen him around the village every day for the last two weeks as he'd scouted the place, and had spoken to him many times. The street people often were aware of any stranger in town and cultivating a good relationship often proved useful. Impersonating one of the homeless was an easy enough cover as well. Ivanov might certainly use such a cover, which was why Stefan had acquainted himself with every homeless person in the small village.
He kept to the far side of the street, something he ordinarily would never have done. Each step was a single heartbeat. He was on high alert now. If he was wrong about Ivanov being in the tower, or on a rooftop, impersonating the homeless would get him close to his target. His knife was up his sleeve and he could make the throw before Ivanov could get off a shot. The homeless man smelled the same and looked the same, but a pro would be able to pull that off.
"Just a moment, Thomas." Judith touched his arm as they approached the small courtyard.
Her touch was barely there, but he felt warmth penetrating at that gentle brush of he
r fingers, distracting his full concentration--and he couldn't have that. He'd never experienced such a thing before. No matter what was going on around him, no matter who he was with, his life was all about the hunt and surviving.
Stefan didn't know whether to drag her into the next alley, slam her up against the wall and kiss her until she was every bit as senseless as he seemed to be, or to be done with it, grab her head in his hands and wrench hard enough to break her neck. Instinctively he dropped back a pace behind, just enough to put him into position. His stomach knotted. The vise was back, squeezing his heart until his chest ached. That thought brought him up short. Just how deep had he fallen into her spell to be so damned desperate? Every survival instinct screamed at him to get out while he still could.
"This will only take a minute," Judith continued, oblivious that her life hung by a mere thread.
Inwardly he cursed his inability to overcome who and what he was--even with an innocent. And he was becoming convinced she was innocent. He had radar for the enemy, man or woman, and it had never once let him down. She wasn't as she portrayed herself to the world, there was too much emotion bottled up in her, held back away from the world. He saw it there, smoldering deep below the surface. Damn it all, she had him twisted up inside, a conflicted mess that a few hours earlier he would never have believed could happen.
She bent low to speak to the man on the ground. "Are you warm enough, Bill?"
He nodded. "Blythe brought me socks and new boots." He pointed to his feet sticking out from under his blanket. "Been nice lately." His gaze shifted to Stefan, then darted away again. "Saw the devil today. He stood across the street, just there." He indicated the railing separating the street from the bluffs. "Devil had death in his eyes."
Judith frowned. "I don't know what that means."
"Like this one." Bill indicated Stefan. "Death in his eyes."
Judith looked up at Stefan a little helplessly and shook her head as if apologizing for the accusation. That little observation told Stefan more than he'd learned in two weeks about the old man. He was most likely gifted, probably was the reason he'd been attracted to Sea Haven and at one time, he'd been a soldier of sorts, probably serving in the Vietnam War.
"Bill, do you want me to take you to the clinic?"
Stefan knew she thought the old man was ill, but Bill had no doubt seen Petr Ivanov with his dead eyes and recognized a sociopath. The exterminator could easily be identified as the devil carrying death with him. He didn't want to think too closely about what this man had seen in his own eyes.
Bill shook his head, shrinking back as if the idea of a clinic was far worse than facing the devil, and maybe for him it was.
"Have you eaten today?"
Bill nodded. "Still got credits at the store and coffeehouse."
Judith smiled at him. "Have a nice evening, Bill."
"You too, Miss Judith," the old man mumbled.
It was obvious to Stefan that Bill felt genuine affection for Judith. It had taken a concentrated effort over time to get the old man to even speak with him briefly, exchanging only pleasantries. The occasional hot coffee and pastry hadn't been enough to loosen his tongue.
"I'm sorry for what he said about you," Judith said. "He gets confused sometimes. He's been on the street for years. Everyone contributes, even the high school students. They put money on a tab for him at the local stores. He won't take much in the way of help, though. He has several places he sleeps and won't go to a shelter, not like we have anything like a shelter around here." She sighed. "There isn't a lot of help for the mentally ill."
"He doesn't want help," Stefan replied honestly. "He's free. He lives the way he wants to live."
She fell silent for a moment, walking a few steps before she looked at him again. "Do you think so? He's been around for as long as I've been here, and Inez says for twenty years before that. He actually went to school here and then left for a while. When he came back . . ." She shrugged.
"He has the right to choose. He fought for that right and he's entitled to do what he wants. If he chooses to sit in the sun for two days without moving, he feels that's his right."
Judith swept her hair over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. Once again he experienced that strange, unsettling reaction in the pit of his stomach.
"I never thought of it that way. I always think he's sad and I feel bad, wishing I could find a way to make his life better."
Stefan couldn't help himself, his hand slipped to the small of her back in a gesture that would be natural to anyone but him. His left hand. The one with the itching palm. The moment he touched her, the itch subsided. But the fact remained he had no business tying up one of his weapons. He didn't touch people and they didn't touch him. The irrational compulsion irritated him. He didn't do things that could get him killed.
He clenched his teeth but didn't deny himself the contact with her. This was a nightmare. She'd sounded so forlorn. Lost. In need. What the hell was he thinking? If anyone was in need, it would be him. He'd lost his soul a long time ago, shed everything human and yet here he was, thinking he was going to be that man. The one to take that note out of her voice and remove the sorrow from her eyes. The man who would provide a shield for her so that she was never afraid to express any emotion she felt.
He wanted to be the man who gave her freedom--the man she turned to in the middle of the night. The one who had the right to touch her, to hold her, to keep her safe. He would kiss that look off her face and make love to her until she couldn't move, only look at him with her glorious eyes and be genuinely happy, not pretending, or finding moments, just little pockets of happiness. He would be that man for her.
He swore under his breath as they continued down the street. She hadn't moved away from him, nor had she given him a look of censure. Just where the hell was her sense of self-preservation?
"You're not doing a very good job of saving us," he accused.
Those dark eyes drifted over him and then her long lashes swept down. "I know," she admitted in a low tone. "I'm pretending. Just this once."
His heart leapt. She didn't have to explain what she meant. He was pretending too. He swept his hand down that waterfall of silk. It was a long way down, all the way to the curve of her buttocks. Blood pounded and roared in his ears. Heat rushed through his veins. He had an almost overpowering urge to bunch that hair in his fist and drag her head around so he could taste the passion in her mouth. He felt the fire in her rising to meet the firestorm blazing through his body.
Never in his life, until Judith, had he had a natural physical reaction to a woman. He had thought it impossible. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be so out of control. For once in his life, he felt like a man instead of a machine. Judith had given him that. He would always have these moments with her if he could allow himself to embrace the feeling.
They were only a few steps away from the crowd. Already a couple of people were turning toward them, noticing Judith and waving a cheery hello. He had seconds to savor the fact that he'd found the answers to questions he'd always thrust into the back of his mind. He'd traveled around the world hunting and often stood outside the homes of people, looking at the lights, listening to the low murmur of voices, watching a woman bend her head toward a child and wondered what it would be like to feel that depth of emotion, if only for a moment, for another human being. With all the silky hair burning like fire through the center of his palm, he'd found what he was looking for.
As they came up to the edge of the crowd, he dropped his hand, giving himself enough room to use any of the many weapons concealed on his person. He was Thomas Vincent and these were the people who would be his neighbors if he bought the gallery--if he settled in Sea Haven and found a woman to spend the rest of his life with.
"Judith! We missed you, honey." A tall blonde greeted Judith with a kiss. Her gaze rested on Thomas, but more with polite interest than anything else.
"Thomas, this is my sister, Blythe Daniels," Judith introdu
ced him. Her fingers brushed his arm, as if bringing him closer.
Blythe noticed that very small intimacy, even there in the dark, and that told Stefan she was someone to take great care around. He flashed a smile and took her hand when she held it out. There was the smallest current of energy, enough that his warning radar went off. There was more to Blythe than met the eye.
"Thomas is considering buying the gallery," Judith offered.
"Of course. It's beautiful. I've always loved that building and the view is spectacular," Blythe said.
"I have to agree." Stefan flashed another shy smile toward the blonde.
Stefan slipped into his role easily, more familiar with the chameleon than with Stefan Prakenskii who really didn't exist. Thomas Vincent might be interested in Judith Henderson, but he wasn't threatened by that interest. Thomas would be attracted to any number of women. He might be uncomfortable because he was a little shy where women were concerned, but he didn't mind contemplating a pleasant future.
Stefan Prakenskii knew he would go up in flames with Judith, burn alive and crave more--need more. His entire body and mind responded to her, killing his sense of self-preservation and destroying years and years of discipline and training. For him, there would only be this one woman. She was a virtual stranger, yet he knew her almost intimately already. He'd spent a lifetime traveling the world and not once had this incredible, impossible phenomenon happened to him, and he knew with utter certainty it wouldn't again.
"The building is worth a fortune," Thomas agreed readily. He turned, allowing his eyes to sweep the rooftops on a pretext of looking back at the property. "This is quite a town."
Behind Blythe, another older woman laughed as she held out her hand. "I think we're too small to qualify as a town. We refer to ourselves as a village. I'm Inez Nelson. It's a pleasure to meet you. The gallery is a very important part of Sea Haven."
For her small size, she had a firm handshake and penetrating eyes. She definitely was assessing him carefully.
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