by Jaycee Clark
This time, she cupped her hands and slammed them against his ears.
He howled.
The wall trembled and she focused on the door, trying to get away from the man trapping her on the bed.
He climbed off her, looked from the wall back to her and then to the corner beside him.
He jumped over the bed and turned to her. She scrambled back and fell off the bed, still trying to get air into her lungs, gray spots dancing in front of her eyes.
“I’ll be back for you.” He walked into the corner. Or around it? Into it? He was just gone.
Gone.
Where the hell did he go?
The door burst open.
“Alyssa!”
She could only stare at the corner. Where did he go? Where?
God, she could still feel his hands, so tight around her throat. No air…trying to breathe…trying to…
Hands gripped her shoulders, her face… She saw her father talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him.
The world faded around her.
Epilogue
Three weeks later
He stopped at the edge of the road, wondering where he was. Where was his brother? The car was warm, but then so was the weather this far south. South. He liked the South. Reminded him of what it was like before. Before, when his brother was with him.
Part of him missed his brother. His brother had always, always taken care of him. Now, he took care of himself. And he liked it.
He liked his life.
He liked his power.
He liked finding power.
He shuddered and wondered where he’d go next. Who he’d find next. What fun they might share.
And he thought of her.
Alyssa.
He would come back for her. One day. One day. One day…
Alyssa stared out her bedroom window. Three weeks since the attack. Three weeks since one brother slipped into a coma and one escaped to God knew where. Jay. Jay gave her nightmares. She could still see those strange eyes staring at her in the dead of night when it was too quiet and she thought too long on what could have happened. Thanks to a secret door in the corner of the room from hell, he’d slipped away before her father had broken through the hidden door in a closet.
Three weeks and yet it seemed like last night, or a year had past. The bruises had faded around her neck and she at least sounded normal now. But things were far, far from normal.
Where before she saw a few things, or knew a few things, saw auras… Now? Now she saw too much, felt too much, knew too much. There were the dreams, which sometimes showed her things that ended up happening. That was weird, but nothing new. The intensity of the dreams was, however. Now walking by a building and seeing people who she knew no one else saw was becoming normal, or at least not surprising. There was also the fact she could look at someone and know things about them. Gave a whole new meaning to too-much-info.
Some might call it cool.
She figured she was cursed.
Her father was worried about her, Mark was too nice to her and Thad hadn’t talked to her in weeks. Which was fine with her. The fewer people she had to interact with these days, the better. She’d seen Murbanks just the other day when he came in about the showing next month. But even the excitement that had once been there now dimmed, with all that had happened. He was still nice, but he understood. She respected him for it.
So now she painted. Painted and painted. She rarely thought about what she was working on, or how it would turn out. She just painted.
The images were rarely pleasant, though sometimes they were. Sometimes. For the most part, they were dark, grisly scenes that she showed to no one. Her father had seen them, cocked a brow at her and only said, “Have you mentioned these to your parapsychologist?”
Yes, she had. She’d sensed the doctor was more excited over the increase of power or extra gifts she might have than what her subconscious picked up. One of the scenes had already been proved to be a crime two states away.
Lovely. Freak show, that was her.
She glanced at the long counter running down the side of the studio and saw the giant Murbanks.
And she’d never been on her date. Then again, that just seemed like a hassle. Not that she expected Jonathan to ask her out again, and if he did, she’d turn him down. She was busy discovering Alyssa, who—she was honest enough to admit—was one weird girl.
She cranked the music and kept painting, wondering how her father was faring in Sedona.
Sedona, Arizona
Max walked into the building, the bell above the door dinging. Lake, her red hair slipping from her braid, stood behind a counter, boxes stacked everywhere. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”
She was jotting something down on a piece of paper. Plastic wrapping lay over one side of the counter. Tapestries and wraps hung from the ceiling in various styles and colors. Celtic, African, Indian work.
Eclectic to say the least. He absently picked something up and realized it was a deck of tarot cards.
He waited.
Finally, she raised her head, “What can—” A huge smile broke over those sexy lips. Lips he hadn’t kissed in weeks.
She shoved a wayward strand of hair out of her face. The long red curl would be as soft as silk and smell like apples.
“What can I do for you?” she finally asked, leaning up on the counter so that her ample cleavage was framed in her scooped top.
He was so weak.
Slowly, he let his gaze rake back up to meet her eyes. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”
“Promise?” She licked her lips.
He smiled and leaned on the counter as well, meeting her almost halfway across. “Actually I came here for a reason.”
“Uh-huh,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to his lips. “And what would that be?”
“To bring you back to Taos,” he told her, leaning even closer.
That damned smile… “Yeah, well, I was heading out there this weekend. I’ve almost got everything packed up.”
He frowned.
She leaned closer and licked his bottom lip. “I sold my shop here. And bought one in Taos.”
“You did?” He started to pull back, but she cupped the back of his head.
“Surprise.”
He laughed. “Ever amazed.”
She met him, the kiss turning wild.
“Did you lock the door?” she asked between nibbles.
“No.”
“Should probably do that.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“So you were coming to Taos?” he asked, as he broke the kiss to walk to the door. He flipped the closed sign and hit the light switch. Late afternoon light dimmed the shop.
She only grinned. Minx.
“You could have told me.” He’d stayed away, kept his distance.
She crossed to him. “But where’s the fun in that?”
“I’ll show you fun,” he said looking down into her face. He wrapped his arms around her, jerking her close.
“Promises, promises.”
Also by Jaycee Clark
Now Available
Angel Eyes
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Deadly Shadows
Deadly Ties
Deadly Obsession
Deadly Games
Deadly Secrets
Deadly Beginnings
Deadly Bundle 1
Deadly Bundle 2
* * *
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Thrillers:
Hunted
* * *
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Others
The Dead Tell
Retribution
Reconnected
The Sandman
Thief of Souls
Sexy Alphas Boxed Set
About the Author
Jaycee Clark is a New York Times & USA Today Best-Selling author of romantic suspense. When she's not writing, she spends time with her family, enj
oys snow skiing and just getting outside.
@JayceeClark
AuthorJayceeClark
www.jayceeclark.com
[email protected]
Angel Eyes
He searches, waits and watches for the perfect one…
* * *
Angel Eyes
Book 1 in the Mystic Moon Series
Psychic Cora O’Donnell doesn’t care what the majority of people think about her. She’s got her successful new age shop, Mystic Moons, and dark, strange dreams keeping her busy.
Rogan Duran, ex-special ops, is tracking a killer he swore he’d find if it took him the rest of his life. What he doesn’t plan on is a woman he thinks is weird. Rogan tells himself he’s just sticking around to keep Cora safe. Cora doesn’t want anything to do with the know-it-all, she just wants her peace back, and no amount of yoga is giving it to her.
But she can’t argue with one fact. There is a killer out there and not only can she sense him, she’s got what he wants…eyes a pale hypnotic blue. She knows sooner or later she’ll be the next woman the killer goes after…
The one with Angel Eyes…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Angel Eyes:
* * *
The bell above her door chimed and Cora looked up.
All afternoon she’d only had five customers stop in, but then it was midweek and that was life. She knew closer to the weekend things always picked up. Which was why she was closed on Tuesdays and closed early on Wednesdays at four instead of five. It was now three fifty- three.
She sighed. Oh well, if she could get a sale, that was all that mattered.
Hell.
It was him.
Faded and worn Levi’s, their starched crease arrow straight, stretched over long legs and trim hips. Black boots. A long sleeved, dark red shirt under a chambray shirt with a button missing and a brown leather jacket tossed over his arm. She looked across the street and noticed the Harley hadn’t moved. Was it his? She’d bet it was. His face was weathered and creased from life or worry—perhaps both. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and eyes, his forehead. She wondered, for some absurd reason, if he ever smiled.
His eyes were a dark, chocolate brown. A color she’d always thought of as soft, but his were hard, unwavering and a bit unnerving. His brows, dark as his hair, faintly arched over his eyes, his nose was Romanesque and slightly crooked as if it’d been broken in the past. As he neared, she noticed again the scar splitting his left eyebrow. His mouth was firm, the lips neither full nor too thin. His neck was thick and corded, his shoulders probably the same.
Cora sighed. Just as before in the coffee shop, she felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to stay or run.
The soft mood music she had on chimed from speakers, the birds chirping, the piano soothing. It seemed contradictory to the mood that suddenly filled the shop.
“Can—” She cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”
His dark, unwavering gaze skewered her to the spot, narrowing and crinkling at the edges.
Then he smiled and it completely changed his entire countenance. The worry and seriousness lining his face seemed to relax as he walked closer.
Cora was glad for the counter between them.
“I don’t know, maybe you can.” He looked around the shop as he stopped at the counter. “What is this place?”
“Mystic Moons,” she answered, standing now and straightening the area around the cash register.
“I got that. I wanted to know what it specializes in.”
“Natural products. Shampoos, soaps, all organic and from age-old recipes. Things our grandmothers would have used or great-grandmothers in many cases.” She walked over and glanced at him. “Books on herbs. Here’s some rosemary.” She pointed to the potted plant.
He grinned at her again, his head tilting to the side. “Anyone ever told you, you have amazing eyes.”
She rolled hers. “No, never.” Cora walked back to the counter and let him cruise. What was he doing here? She knew it wasn’t to buy any new age mysticism.
“I hear you’re psychic,” he said, picking up a green marble orb from its pedestal of silver trees.
This time she sighed. “And?”
He turned and pierced her with those eyes. Cora shivered and rubbed her arms, holding his stare, though she wanted to look away. “So do you do like…” He frowned and put the orb back. She noticed his fingers were long, scarred and the nails blunt. The cuffs from his red shirt peeked out from under the chambray sleeves. “Do you?”
His question jerked her attention back to him. “I’m sorry, do what?”
“Do you tell fortunes?”
What a pity. If ever she met a man who might understand, he wasn’t it.
“And if I do?”
He shrugged. “Personally, I’ve never held much stock in fortunes that are yet to be made or lost.”
She huffed a breath and shoved a wayward curl behind her ear and strode to the bookshelf. “You in town for long?”
For a minute he didn’t answer. Then he said, “Depends.”
He had a deep voice. Why hadn’t she noticed before? And it mattered why?
It didn’t.
Without looking at him directly, she pulled a book off the bookshelf. Pagan Beliefs and the Resurgence in Modern Civilization. That should do it. She handed it to him. “Here, you can buy this and then let me know all the answers.”
“But aren’t psychics supposed to know all the answers?”
She glanced at him, angered, yet not surprised. Turning back to the bookshelf she grabbed Harper’s Guide to the Psyche: Sensitives. “Here’s another one. That’ll be…” she quickly added it up in her head, “…thirty-three dollars. Though I need to add tax.”
His lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh at her, but didn’t. Instead he took the book she held out to him and stacked it with the other one. “I’d like to look around a bit more.”
Cora glanced at the clock. It was already after four. “Fine.”
She walked to the door and turned the sign over so it read Closed to the outside world. Looking out over the street, she shivered and an image from an old nightmare rose up.
Eyes in jars…
Pretty, pretty angels…
Again she shivered and looked back at the man in her store. Where did he come from? What did he want? And why did she think of her stupid dream now? She’d only had it that once, but it had stayed with her.
A slow grin lit his face. Rolling her eyes, she walked back to the counter. A klutz. Lake would laugh her ass off. Here was the first cute guy in a long while. She glanced back over her shoulder to see him trying out different worry stones and had to admire the way his ass filled out the pair of Levi’s.
“You are in sad, sad shape, Cora O’Donnell.”
“Did you say something?” He unscrewed the top of another bottle and took a whiff.
“No.” She checked the register and rearranged the packaging. Okay, straightened the clear tape and restacked the bolts of ribbon. She could dust the shelves, but she already did.
Cora glanced back over her shoulder, watching him. He moved around the shop, picking up this or that, unfurling material swaths, the few dresses she carried, tie-dyed and slip-like. Then he moved onto the incense. She watched as he picked up the passion one and sniffed.
He sneezed.
She smiled.
He looked at her with an arched brow and rubbed his nose. Then he gestured to the entire shop. “People really buy into all this crap, don’t they?”
She narrowed her gaze at him and propped her elbows on the counter. “Why did you stop in here again?”
He rubbed his nose and strolled to the counter. He set the books down and leaned on his elbows as well. “To see you.”
She straightened. “Well, you’ve seen me.” She quickly rang up the total for the books.
“The lady down the way said you were psychic.”
&nbs
p; She’d kill Lake later.
Cora waited. “You going to get those books or not?”
“Don’t you know?”
She closed her eyes. “The narrow-minded ass will probably buy the books so he can disprove every point in them.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
A slight smile played at the edge of his mouth. He dug forty dollars out of his wallet and handed it to her. “Keep the change.”
He walked out, pulling shades from his pocket and slipping them on.
Cora let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She hurried over and locked the door. The sun was already low in the sky. She wanted to be home before it set. She didn’t like the dark. Not lately.
She stood back from the door, looking out the big picture window and watching as he climbed on his Harley and revved it up. She’d never ridden a motorcycle, let alone a Harley. And he looked liked he knew how to handle that bike.
Shadows were creeping out. She sighed and rubbed her arms, chilled now that she was alone.
Something was coming. What or who, she didn’t know, but it was in the air—dark, thick and threatening.
