“Believe me, I tried with everyone. Adrienne and Conner were so patient. Worked with me every time I asked them to. I should’ve been able to see my attacker’s face. There is no way he could’ve hit me the way he did without me seeing him.”
“That’s not necessarily true.”
“I could’ve been knocked unconscious with the first blow? And the rest done while I was out? Yes, but I know I wasn’t unconscious.” He could feel her small frame tighten. Her voice was hoarse as she continued. “Not at first. Not for a while. I felt every blow.”
The thought made Brett sick, but he held firm to his resolve to keep her talking. “Do you think, or the doctors, that it was head trauma that cause you not to be able to picture him clearly?”
“’Head trauma is a delicate thing’ - that’s a direct quote from the neuro-specialist. She said that I may never fully remember, or even partially remember, what happened that day.”
“It sounds like there’s a but in there somewhere.”
She looked over one shoulder at him. “But she also said that I didn’t necessarily have wounds that should affect my memory.”
He shrugged. “It happens. The brain protects itself.”
She seemed to switch topics. “You saw all my paintings last night at the exhibit. Saw all the colors. My paintings are based on colors of people I choose to paint. Their auras. Different shades and hues based on their thoughts and emotions and intents towards others.”
“So when you’re painting people you see colors.”
“Actually, I see the colors around people all the time, whether I’m painting them or not. It’s one of the reason I don’t necessarily like to be around people a lot of the time. It can be pretty overwhelming.”
Brett wiped a hand along his face. He had no idea what to do with this information. He guessed it was possible. Paige was an artist, in tune with colors and stuff. Maybe that part of her senses —if you could call seeing auras around people senses for God’s sake— were just more developed. Not unlike his skills in detective work. He had certain senses that were more well-developed than the average person. Even had a sixth sense about criminals a lot of the time. Could he really explain that? No.
But auras?
Her features were tight as she sat next to him. She had slid her leg back down on the bench and was now holding her midsection. Almost as if to protect herself from a blow, at least the emotional one she figured was about to come from him.
“Most of the paintings you saw last night were of children. I love their colors most of all. Usually so bright and clear. Adults’ colors are more muddled; more complicated.”
He studied her for a long time. “Has painting always been this way for you? The auras.”
She nodded. “For as long as I can remember.”
“Those paintings you left for me at my house in high school. The ones of my sisters. Were they…?”
Paige nodded giving him a sad smile. “Yes. Lydia and Audrey were my friends, only a year younger than me. They were always so animated and affectionate. They talked to me at school all the time even though I was painfully shy. Their auras were so vibrant. I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be forgotten.”
Brett grabbed her hand. “Thank you. For painting them. I never knew why those paintings reminded of my sisters, I just knew they did.”
“I’m glad. When Mr. Ragno saw the paintings in class before I gave them to you, he encouraged me to keep working with that style. So those paintings are what started my career.”
Brett sat back trying to take it all in. Auras. People having colors. He could accept it. But he wanted to get back to where this conversation had started.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s a little strange for me, but okay. But what does that have to do with you not being able to remember your attacker?”
Her arms wrapped more tightly around her middle and insecurity washed off of her in waves. “I can’t remember him because I don’t think I ever saw him. His aura was so black it blocked out all his features to me. All I could see was darkness.”
Chapter Eleven
Brett thought she was weird. He might not have said the words outright, but he had to be thinking it.
She knew better than to talk about the colors and auras she saw around people. It was odd to her and she lived inside her own head every day. How could anyone else understand it at all?
But he hadn’t run. Hadn’t made a polite excuse and driven her home as soon as possible when she’d told him about them. And that they were sometimes so overwhelming —like in her attacker’s case— that she couldn’t see anything else but them.
“Things happen in law enforcement that I can’t always explain or even begin to understand. Once saw evidence that an 80-year-old woman had lifted a two hundred pound refrigerator to save her grandson trapped underneath.” He’d shrugged. “The body and mind work in ways we don’t always understand.”
After that they’d moved on to other subjects. More neutral subjects not about her seeing auras or hinting about her sisters’ abilities. First date stuff about his life in Florida and what made her laugh. Places where they’d like to travel and favorite movies of all time.
She could almost forgive him when his was The Matrix rather than Star Wars. Nobody was perfect. Han Solo could take Neo any day. Everyone knew that.
Paige had to admit she was fully charmed by the adult QB by the time the afternoon was over. Sitting next to him in his car as he drove up the isolated road leading to her house, Paige stole a glance at him.
The evening setting sun threw a stunning light on him, one she could appreciate without being an artist. His dark hair and hard cheekbones should’ve given him a dangerous look, but his half smile as he told a crazy story about some shenanigans in college, softened the hard look. The late afternoon stubble on his cheeks made her want to reach out and touch him. To see if he felt the way she imagined he did.
But then they pulled up to the gate at her house and the moment was lost. They were back at her house, her fortress, the place where she hid from the world. Paige entered the code. She’d had a good time today with Brett, but would she be willing to go out again on her own after what had happened with those teenagers? And would Brett even want to hang around her after what she had told him?
Now instead of feeling like a coward, she felt like a nutcase and a coward.
He pulled around the circular drive until the car was in front of her door, then shut off the engine. Almost immediately, Tom, the other main member of her security team was at the car.
“Ms. Jeffries, Jacob reported what happened downtown today. Are you okay? Is there anything you need?”
Paige stole a glance over at Brett who was walking his way around the car. “I’m fine, Tom. Seriously, it was nothing. Just some kids being rowdy and I totally overreacted.”
The thought of how scared she’d been, how stupid she’d been, caused her stomach to tighten. She was just so tired of it all.
“Definitely not an overreaction based on her history,” Brett told Tom while shaking the man’s hand. “Teenagers can be morons and rarely think about how their actions may affect someone else.”
“Jacob was upset and felt that he had made the wrong call allowing you to walk alone.”
Paige sighed and shrugged. “You guys can’t protect me from all the bad, scary teenagers in the world.”
The man looked like he might argue the point, but Paige wouldn’t let him.
“Jacob didn’t make a mistake. I wanted to get out alone. I probably pushed it too far for it being my first attempt.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “If my phone hadn’t broken, I would’ve called Jacob right away to come get me. Nobody’s fault; just bad luck.”
But then Paige thought about the black she saw down the alley after the teenagers had left. The same blackness she had seen and felt last night after the show. Just like the day she’d been attacked.
Had it been bad luck? A shudder ran through her. The most frustratin
g part of this entire situation was her inability to trust her own judgment. She had no idea when she was safe or when she was just allowing her imagination to run away with her.
“But maybe a discreet distance tail might be in order in the future,” Brett was telling Tom.
Yes, please. Somebody follow her around because evidently she was unable to determine the difference between safety and danger. She had no idea if the shadows she saw were real or only in her head.
Paige murmured her thanks to Tom and headed inside. Brett was still talking with him, but she didn’t want to listen any longer. She just walked inside to the kitchen, taking off her jacket and putting it on the kitchen table. She got the pieces of her broken phone and laid that out too.
“Hey, you doing okay?” She felt Brett’s gentle touch on her shoulder.
“Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever recover from what happened to me.” She turned and walked over to the sink, facing out the window. “That I’m broken.”
She could see his vague reflection in the window as he came to stand behind her, but he didn’t touch her again.
“If you’re talking about what happened today, I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
She turned to face him. “I’m talking about how I’ve lived inside this house for nearly two years, afraid that something that was probably a random occurrence will happen again. I’m afraid that I’ve let some silly teenagers goofing off force me back into this house for two more years. I’m afraid that I told you about seeing auras and now you’re looking at me like I’m a few Bradys short of a bunch.”
He smirked. “I was going to say a few marshmallows short of a bowl of Lucky Charms.”
She smacked him on the arm as he laughed. “That’s not funny.”
“A couple tires short of an eighteen wheeler?”
She groaned, wiping her hand across her face. He was joking she knew, but he didn’t even know the full extent of everything. “I don’t blame you if you want to leave. If you think I’m crazy. If I was you I’d get as far as possible—”
She forgot what she was going to say as he stepped closer and took the hand she was using to rub her forehead. He gently brought her fingers up to his lips and kissed them before lowering them down to her side.
She couldn’t stop looking into his soft brown eyes —was almost mesmerized by the flecks of gold in them— as he reached down, grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up onto the counter by the sink. Then he reached down and gripped her hips and slid her all the way to the edge until she was flat up against his hard body.
All without any hurry.
“You’re not crazy. And there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”
Perched up on the counter put them much closer to being eye to eye. Brett’s hands slid up her back to either side of her neck, threading into her hair.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t brief like last night at the show. It was thorough. Hot. Wet. Every single thought about anything flew out of her mind and all Paige could do was feel.
She saw in colors all the time, but never before had she felt in colors. Even with her eyes closed colors seemed to bombard her.
It went on and on. She pressed her body closer to his, hooking her leg around his thigh, her fingers finding his hair and raking their way through its thickness.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. Not even before the attack.
Paige shuddered and couldn’t hold back a soft moan as his lips left hers and trailed their way down her jaw and began taking soft nips at the side of her neck. She slid herself closer, but winced from the pain in her elbow before she could stop herself.
“Wow,” he murmured against her mouth. “That got out of control a little faster than I thought possible.” He backed up from her. “Is your arm okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I just moved it the wrong way and it caught me off guard.”
A throat cleared from the entrance of the kitchen.
“Ms. Jeffries?” It was Tom. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve done my security sweep through the building. I’m retiring to the guard house for the evening.”
Color flooded Paige’s face. Had Tom come through earlier and she and Brett hadn’t even realized it? Brett turned so he was standing in front of her, blocking her from view of the older man. Not that Tom was trying to look. He seemed to be looking everywhere but directly at her.
“Thanks, Tom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said from behind Brett’s back. That was the normal security procedure. Whoever was working checked the big house then went out to the smaller guard house for the night. They still had both audio and visual communication channels open if needed, and they always kept close watch over the grounds and gate, but Paige preferred to be alone in the house.
The thought of which right now both thrilled and terrified her.
With Tom’s exit she was left alone in the kitchen with Brett. Again, leaving her both thrilled and terrified.
He stepped away, leaning back against the side counter so he could see her, grinning.
“If Tom had gotten here a few minutes later, he might have gotten quite an eyeful.”
Paige couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Yeah, the guys aren’t used to me having gentlemen callers/detectives around. Especially in the evening.”
“Especially making out with them in your kitchen.”
Paige laughed again. “Yeah, that’s only happened three or four times in the last week.”
The smile he gave her caused heat to pool in her belly. “Well, I hope I at least rank in the top half of your suitors.”
“You’re not too bad. Maybe even the top third.” Oh my gosh. Was she actually flirting with the QB? Her sister Chloe would be proud. Hell, Paige was proud of herself.
She walked over to him. “Want me to show you around the rest of the house? I do have other rooms besides the kitchen.”
Paige just prayed she’d have enough nerve to show him the room she really wanted him in: her bedroom.
* * *
Paige was nervous. Not that Brett blamed her. It had been a long, stressful day for her.
She showed him the living room again —the view was even more tremendous with twilight falling on Portland as it had been last week in full sun— and then moved on to show him her studio.
She was most comfortable in the studio. Obviously spent a great deal of time here, her movements were almost muscle memory. She knew where everything was and everything was obviously placed to her liking.
The room was the epitome of artistic chaos. Canvases of all different sizes, multiple easels, hundreds of paint containers. The paints were all lined up in a methodical fashion on the wall. Obviously when Paige wanted a color she didn’t want to have to search for it.
Although her supplies were neat and organized, nothing else was. Paints that had either missed the canvas entirely or had been forcefully removed lay splattered all over the walls and floors. Clothes lay strewn everywhere. Obviously as Paige had gotten hotter or colder when she worked she had used the different items of clothing, mostly sweatshirts and sweaters, but then had forgotten about them. There were at least a dozen lying about, on chairs, on the floor, over the sink.
He could see the exact moment she looked at the room through his eyes rather than her own.
“Wow, it’s a mess in here.” Color was high on her cheeks.
He grabbed her wrist gently as she moved to begin straightening. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what you need it to be. Leave it.”
“But—”
Brett gave the hand that encircled her small wrist a light jerk, pulling her up against him. “It’s perfect,” he murmured again before kissing her.
Brett knew he shouldn’t kiss her. Not again. He was just torturing himself when he knew he couldn’t stay tonight. Shouldn’t stay tonight. Paige’s day had been traumatic and she was emotional. He didn’t want her to feel pressured into anything. He could wait.
Bu
t damned if he didn’t want to keep kissing her almost as much as he wanted his next breath.
And the way she was wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down closer to her was not helping. It made him want to forget all good intentions and just lay her down right here —amongst all the colors and canvases— and add some more clothes to the haphazard piles around them.
And he would. Soon.
When Brett eased back from her, they were both out of breath. Paige touched her swollen lips, staring at him with her crystal blue eyes.
“I don’t mind this mess. You’re obviously comfortable here.”
She looked away, glancing back around the room. “It’s amazing I have any clothes left.”
If she only knew.
“The room works for you with your painting, that’s what counts.”
“Yeah, it does.” She shrugged. “And it gets good light from the windows.”
They walked back out of the studio and down the hallway. There was a closed door she didn’t mention at all before moving on to the next one. “This is my guest bedroom. Or really, I should say my sisters’ room, since they’re the only ones I have stay overnight here.”
“Okay. What’s that?” He pointed his thumb at the closed door she’d ignored. “Bathroom? Linen closet?”
Her features became shuttered. “Nothing. Just a room. Stuff.”
She immediately moved on down the hall.
Brett looked at the door. It didn’t take any particular detective skills to know that she didn’t want him to see whatever was in there. Maybe it was just more of a mess than her studio and she didn’t want to be embarrassed.
But maybe it was something different.
He wasn’t going to push, although it went against his nature not to do so. He caught up to Paige where she’d made her way down the hall. She was leaning against a door frame.
“This is my bedroom. Where the tour ends.”
Chapter Twelve
Paige didn’t want to talk about the room with the drawings she did in her sleep. Didn’t even want to open the door to it. She didn’t know who those girls that she drew were or when they would tragically die. She didn’t even know if they were real people. Maybe they were figments of her traumatized mind.
Critical Instinct Page 8
