by Angel Smits
She scanned the faces of the people in the meeting as they all stared after him. Only one person moved. A man stood and reached for the scattered papers. Slowly, he put them back in order without speaking a word.
And then he looked up.
The golden-brown eyes staring back at her had haunted her dreams for nights. Her heart twisted and then thudded against her ribs.
“It’s him,” Clarissa whispered to herself.
The teller glanced back over her shoulder at the open door. “Oh, do you know Mr. Lorde?”
“Mr. Lorde?” Was that his name? Trepidation and excitement welled inside her.
“I’m sure you weren’t staring like that at any of the old geezers in that room.” The teller chuckled and passed the deposit slip across the counter. “Mr. Lorde puts that look on lots of women’s faces.”
Automatically, Clarissa grasped the paper and stepped back. She’d found him. He was here, in this lovely bank, safe and sound. Her relief faded as quickly as it had appeared.
Yes, he was safe here. But what about elsewhere? And for how long? Questions tumbled over themselves in her mind.
Why would a man like the one she saw in that room be a regular customer in Dove’s Place? The tailored suit he wore was obviously expensive, and he wore it as if born to it. Surely someone that important wouldn’t frequent seedy diners. Not that time of night.
Someone stood up from the table and closed the door. Clarissa caught herself as she leaned forward for a better look. The soft snick of the latch seemed all too loud in the quiet foyer.
Now what? She stood in the lobby as other bank patrons walked in and out around her. She vaguely heard their footsteps on the polished tile, faintly heard the gentle hiss of the automatic doors as they opened and closed.
He was in the middle of a meeting. She couldn’t just barge in. She hesitated. What would he think or say if she burst in?
She shivered as visions of the past crowded in. She pushed the memories away. This was Boulder, Colorado, not Boston, Massachusetts. Things were different here. People were different. Faith’s words came to mind. Clarissa wasn’t the kind of person to leave someone in danger. She pushed her fears away.
“May I help you?” A woman’s voice broke into Clarissa’s thoughts. She looked up and saw a pretty, neatly dressed woman behind the new accounts desk looking up at her with feigned politeness.
“I . . . I was wondering if I could see Mr. Lorde. It’s very important.”
“Oh?” The woman looked doubtful, her eyes scanning Clarissa from head to toe. The frown forming between the woman’s neatly plucked brows showed her disapproval. Clarissa resisted the urge to look down. She knew she wasn’t dressed like someone doing important bank business, but she hadn’t planned on finding him when she’d left home this morning to run a few errands.
“Mr. Lorde doesn’t see anyone without an appointment,” the woman explained.
“I have to see him.” Clarissa walked quickly to the desk. “It’s urgent. I can’t leave here until I’ve spoken with him.” Or I lose my nerve.
Something in her voice must have registered with the woman because she stood, saying, “He should be out of his meeting. I’ll see what I can do.” She disappeared behind the partition.
Clarissa paced in front of the desk. What if he wouldn’t see her? What would she do? Her resolve wavered a moment and she bolstered it with images from her visions and dreams.
It seemed like forever before the woman returned. The smug look on her face sent Clarissa’s heart plummeting.
“Mr. Lorde doesn’t recall any appointments and is unable to see you today.”
“Of course, I don’t have an appointment. I just figured out who he is.” Clarissa tried to stop the panic rising in her voice and heart.
“Maybe someone else can help you.” A trimmed brow shot upward. “He instructed me to give you this. Call Melanie Schaefer at that number. She’s his administrative assistant. She might be able to help you.”
The woman handed over a business card. White. Utilitarian. Boring. The bold black lettering spelled out David Lorde, the name repeating itself in her mind.
David. It echoed in her thoughts, sounding and feeling right. She felt his warmth as she touched the card he’d held only moments before. Flashes of his image filled her mind. A man with sadness imbedded in his soul. A man with much weight on his shoulders. A man whose very existence could be wiped out if she didn’t do something to stop it.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait until Mr. Lorde can squeeze me in today. Tell him it’s urgent.” Not giving the woman a chance to refuse, Clarissa spun in her heel, grabbed a tattered magazine off the brass-framed table and settled onto the leather couch.
“Well,” the woman huffed and disappeared behind the partition again. When she resumed her seat, she merely glanced at Clarissa before returning to the computer terminal.
WHO IS SHE?
David knew he’d never seen her before, and yet something about her seemed familiar. He studied her through the two-way mirror that looked out on the lobby.
He should have been concentrating on the files for the next meeting, something he’d had little success with today. She moved then, and a stray beam of sunlight from the window illuminated each delicate ringlet of the curls cascading past her waist. He admired their mixed texture of bright gold intertwined with soft white. She absently flipped the mane over her shoulder with a frustrated gesture. Hair like that could wrap around a man, and he almost felt the silky strands binding him to her as their bodies pressed close . . .
Heat rose in his blood, and he took a step back. Pain stabbed through his joints and he closed his eyes, concentrating to stay in control. No, not now. Not here. Wearily, he rubbed a hand over his face, and he felt the thick stubble on his chin. Damn.
Several deep breaths slowed his heart and the pace of his blood. He focused on remaining calm, forced his mind to control his emotions, to tamp down the longing the woman inspired. He didn’t need or want this.
In control once again, he stalked to his desk and jabbed the intercom. “Melanie? That young woman in the lobby, did she give her name?”
“No, sir. She just said she had to see you today. I don’t think she’s leaving until she does.”
David chose to ignore the hint of laughter in Melanie’s voice. They’d worked together too long, and he had to admit she was right. The woman was parked on the couch as if she were there for the duration.
His throat went strangely dry as he stood watching her. He reached for the water pitcher on the end of his desk and poured a glass. His hand shook, and the sound of the ice cracking jarred his nerves and made him hastily set the glass back down on the rich wood.
On the other side of the mirror, he watched the sunlight play in the woman’s hair and did his best to ignore it. Instead, he focused on the rest of her, trying to find some clue to her identity.
His gaze traveled over every inch of her. The loose green dress wasn’t meant to make a fashion statement; it was meant only to be cool. But the low neckline and her bare arms made a definite statement of elegance. Her skin was smooth and golden from the sun, and for some reason, he imagined the scent of vanilla.
Her long, flowing skirt hid most of her legs from view, but the dainty ankles and slim feet encased in the thin-strapped white sandals hinted at trim contoured calves and thighs.
His pulse raced again, and he took another deep breath. He clenched his hands into fists, fighting to remain in control. Suddenly, she turned and David stared into the deepest jade green eyes he’d ever seen.
She knew.
His gut tightened as he read knowledge in her eyes.
She knew he was there.
She could read his soul as if he’d printed it out on paper and handed it to her.
She stood and slowl
y walked to the mirror without looking away. Delicate, pink-nailed fingers reached into her purse and extracted a small brush. Deliberately, she pulled the brush through her long curls, trapping him in a web of passion as surely as if she’d bound him with twine.
His senses overloaded when she pulled out her lipstick and carefully traced her full, slightly damp lips with a delicate pink shade. The simple action of one lip caressing the other brought perspiration to his brow.
Who was she, and why the hell was she doing this to him?
He growled low in his throat, imagining what she’d do if he leapt through the mirror and took her. The image formed so strongly in his mind that he had to pull his hands back from the cool surface of the glass.
“Melanie,” he roared. The secretary burst through the door, panic written all over her face. “Get her in here. Now.” He’d put a stop to this.
He curled his hands into fists and shoved them into his pockets, hiding the cruel evidence that he wasn’t totally in control.
HE WAS THERE behind the mirror. She knew he was. His heat pulsed alive and reached out to touch her, at first hesitant, like a newborn wave on the sand. Then, as she ran her lipstick over her lips, his heat grew, reaching out and crashing over her.
Startled, she dropped the tube. It hit the mirror’s frame, leaving a pink mark before landing on the tile. Even in the noise of the bank she heard the metal tube as it skittered across the floor.
As she bent to pick it up, a middle-aged woman stepped through a nearby door. “Hello. I’m Melanie Schaefer. Mr. Lorde can see you now.”
The woman seemed to sense her nervousness and smiled reassuringly. She probably thinks I’m intimidated by his status, Clarissa mused. If only she knew.
As they stopped outside a thick wooden door with “David A. Lorde, Vice President of Accounts” on the brass plate beside it, Clarissa swallowed. Why did she suddenly long to turn and run away?
She knew with sudden certainty that whatever—whoever—was on the other side of that door would knock her world off-kilter. The woman opened the door and ushered her in.
He stood from where he sat behind an imposing wood desk. “Good afternoon, Miss . . . ?”
“Elgin. Clarissa Elgin.” She fumbled in her purse until she found a business card and handed it to him.
“Miss Elgin. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He took the card and sat down once she did.
She settled back into the soft leather chair and let her relief wash over her. She’d found him in time. Pushing her earlier discomfort aside, she said, “You don’t know how relieved I am to find you.”
He regarded her with a shuttered stare. “What exactly can I do for you?”
Pausing, she chose her words carefully. She’d never been good at this part. It was a risk, a risk that could backfire on her. It suddenly felt even riskier. “I’ve come to help you.”
“Help me?” He gazed at her in doubt and confusion.
“Yes. I’m not crazy, really.” She paused again. “I know this will sound weird, but I have an ability some would call psychic. I’ve been having visions.” She hated the initial explanation. They always looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Refusing to give in to her own discomfort, she leaned forward. “You were in one of them.”
His stare was direct and insolent. “A vision?” He crossed his arms over his chest, purposely putting a barrier between them. “Okay. This could be interesting. What are you up to?”
“I didn’t come here to be demeaned, Mr. Lorde. I came here because I have a gift. It’s not always a gift I particularly want.” Her voice rose as her frustration grew. “But at least I try to use it wisely.”
He watched her, a predatory look in his eyes. His long tanned fingers rubbed his chin as he appeared to ponder her words. The soft rasp of his five o’clock shadow beneath his fingers seemed loud in the still air, and Clarissa found her eyes drawn to the movement. What would it feel like to have those fingers touching her? How would his rough chin feel beneath her lips?
Startled at the path of her thoughts, she stood, hoping to relieve some of the intimidation he instilled in her. “As I said, I had a vision and you were in it.”
He cocked a knowing eyebrow upward, and Clarissa felt her cheeks warm under the intensity. What was wrong with her?
“When did you have this . . . vision?
“Just over a week ago.”
“Uh-huh.” He paused, slowly picked up her business card and perused it again. His gaze flicked back and forth between her and the card. “This isn’t the first time a pretty woman has made claims about erotic dreams.”
His arrogance made Clarissa cringe. “I hate to disappoint you, but this wasn’t a dream.” She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face in frustration. “And there was nothing erotic about it.” Even as she said it, she decided to ignore the heat in her cheeks. He was a nonbeliever. She’d have to convince him, without giving him any more ideas that this was a come on.
“All right. Let’s suppose it was a dream. Why, then, would I see you in that little diner you frequent? On the south side of town? By the old Methodist church. Dove’s Place?”
She watched the shock dawn in his eyes. The arrogance slid from his face and was replaced by a cold, dark anger that settled in his eyes and set a pallor beneath his tan. She blinked and the reaction was gone. Instead, he leaned forward and stared coldly at her.
“Look, Miss . . . ” He glanced down at her card and back up again. “Elgin. No one gets into my private life uninvited. I don’t know what you’re up to, but let me warn you, I’m not someone you want to play with.”
She felt the anger in him. Not just at her, but at the world in general. She almost wished for the arrogance, even if it was at her expense. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her mind to fill with the images of the vision, allowed herself once again to feel the horror of it. His anger didn’t seem so unbearable compared to his fate.
“I’m not playing games.” She leaned close to the desk, catching his gaze with a determined one of her own. “I had a vision about you. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy but a look into the future. I was in the diner with you. So was a waitress. In my vision you were shot. You died in my arms, your blood soaking through my clothes.”
She shivered at the all too vivid memory.
She hated using shock, but many times it was the only way to get someone’s attention.
A startled look flitted through his eyes before he shoved the mask back in place. “Look, lady. I’m not really up to this right now. I’ve got better things to do than worry about your dreams.”
She paused, hesitant as thoughts jumbled in her mind, appearing from someplace else. “You’ll never catch the embezzler.”
Now why had she told him that? The words had popped into her mind as clearly as the words he’d just spoken. Earlier, she’d noticed the tension in the staff, but had put it off to the heat. Maybe that wasn’t all there was to it. Suddenly she knew what it was. Someone was stealing money from inside the bank.
Suddenly, a cool breeze filtered through the room, and an ice-cold chill reached through the stifling heat and froze the blood in her veins. As she watched David Lorde rise to his feet, she suddenly saw a darkness in him she hadn’t seen before. This wasn’t the same man who’d died in her arms a few nights ago. This was a man whose life had been hard, a hardness he’d adopted and ingrained within every molecule of his life.
“What do you know about that?” He leaned toward her, his knuckles white on the desk blotter.
“Nothing beyond what I just said.” Her fingers trembled, and she clutched the handle of her purse. This whole situation was out of her league. She’d had visions most of her life, but nothing like this.
From out of nowhere, she knew what was going on in his life. Too much knowledge bombarded her mind at once, spinning wildl
y inside. The embezzlement. The cold hard mask he fought to keep in place. The pain and the anger it could only hide part of the time.
She shivered. Evil, thick and black, brushed its icy wings against her.
“You can tell me what you know now or at the police station.” His voice broke into her thoughts. The same growl she’d heard in her dreams echoed around her, and she took several steps backward. The ripples of evil grew in their intensity. She had to get away from this man.
She turned to leave and the room swam before her eyes. She hadn’t had visions this strong in years. The last time everything had turned fatal. She couldn’t go through that again. She just couldn’t.
“Let me go. I don’t know anything about this bank. I don’t want to know any more about you,” she whispered, fear tightening the muscles in her throat. She turned and stumbled toward the door, struggling to catch her breath and get away.
But he wasn’t letting her go. Stalking around the desk, he reached out to grab her and halted her flight. Just as his fingers touched her arm, she crumpled. Strong arms slipped around her shoulders and beneath her knees.
She was underwater, trying to surface, struggling to reach the real world. She heard a voice barking out commands. She felt movement and something soft beneath her.
“What did you do? Scare her to death?” A woman’s vaguely familiar voice broke through the thick air.
A deep growl was the only answer she heard before the darkness descended. She heard voices calling to her, but she couldn’t answer them, couldn’t make her body or her lips respond.
Anger and pain reached out to her, pulling her away. Through the thick fog that engulfed her, she heard different voices. They sounded hollow through the gray swirls. Who were they?
They were arguing. A woman cried and pleaded, a note of pain in her voice. Suddenly, the woman screamed and Clarissa called out to her, “Please, let me help you. Please.”
