Touched by Lightning [Dreams of You] (Romantic Suspense) (14 page)

She wanted to feel anger toward him, sleeping here in this beautiful house while pretending to be homeless. How he must have hated sleeping in the shelter. She smirked at him but found it turn into a faint smile. His arms were strong, even relaxed in sleep, and his wide chest tapered down to that slim, bare hip. She had been vulnerable, and he knew how to touch all the right buttons. No matter how foolish she had been, she had to get smart about it now. And find out who he was.

The robe draped over a chair in the corner was silk, as she discovered when she touched it on the way out of the bedroom. Did he live here? It didn’t look personal enough for a permanent residence. She remembered the man who had come into Ulyssis’s shop asking for her. He had been from out of town. She turned and narrowed her eyes at Adrian.
Who are you?
she mouthed.

Nikki walked back to the kitchen. Judging the angles, she knew turning on a light wouldn’t affect the hallway. Light filled the kitchen area, making her blink while her eyes adjusted. The kitchen was well-stocked, but the sticker on the wall instructing how to use the coffee maker clued her in that this house was not a permanent residence. What was he thinking about when he stood here in the morning waiting for the coffee to brew? How to kill her? She couldn’t be sure, but what other reason would a man have for hunting down a woman he had never met before?

A box of gourmet cookies sat on the counter, and in the garbage the remains of a lobster. The refrigerator revealed more delectables: fresh mushrooms, two steaks, a package from the store labeled shark. He lived well for a man who was jobless.

What she found on the kitchen table both cleared things up and confused her more: her framed photographs of the homeless from the gallery. It still didn’t make any sense that he would buy her entire collection. She looked at them as though they would give her a clue. Perhaps they gave him the clue he needed to find her. After all, they were taken in her world. But how did he connect them to Nikki Madsen?

Another photograph lay on top of one of hers, this one unframed. She held it under the light, annoyed that her fingers trembled. It was her, on the beach. It could not have been taken that long ago. She thought of her recent visits to the beach, obviously foolish risks. Of course, the last visit with Adrian popped into her mind, and she quickly dismissed it. She knew he didn’t have a camera with him. The picture dropped from her fingers as she remembered the fashion shoot over a week ago.

She hadn’t seen him but remembered that smooth voice coaxing the models into changing for the next shot. How could he have known she would be down there? There was no earthly way. Even the photograph showed little of her face. She stared at it, her eyes wide in confusion.

Would he have set up this phony shoot just to snap a picture of her to show Devlin as identification? She knew Devlin wouldn’t have recognized her from that picture. Nikki had risked her life to come here and find out who Adrian was. Now she was even more confused about why he was there.

She looked around the kitchen for more clues. A camera sat on the edge of the counter, a Hasselblad like hers, only his was much more sophisticated. This wasn’t the kind of camera an killer would buy for a cover. Of course, he could be a private investigator. Hadn’t he said his uncle owned an agency?

On the other side of a bottle of fine wine was a notepad. She walked over to read the words scribbled there. “Calvin Klein. Ten o’clock meeting next week.” Next to that was some flight information and a drawing of a short, balding man with glasses. It didn’t look anything like Devlin, that was for sure. Also nearby was a Fed Ex envelope, along with a letter with Calvin Klein letterhead. It was addressed to Adrian Wilde and it detailed some of the ideas they had in mind for an upcoming campaign. They were looking forward to working with him on it, as they were impressed by his skills.

She set the knife on the counter, picked up the Hasselblad and studied it again. When she turned it upside down, she saw an identification label:
Adrian Wilde, Visions, Inc.
along with a New York address. Seeing the whole name spelled out like that niggled at her memory, and she made a mental note to check on it later. Her gaze remained on the words “Calvin Klein.” He was real. Why in the world was he looking for her, lying about who he was? It had to be in conjunction with Devlin. Maybe her brother had something on Adrian and had forced him to help. There was no other plausible explanation.

She wished she could somehow tie Adrian up without waking him and interrogate. That was impossible. She shook her head, knowing the frustration she would always live with not knowing the answers. When she turned around, her elbow bumped one of the framed photographs and it fell from the table. It seemed slow motion as it fell to the tile floor. Her hands fumbled, catching it, losing it, then gripping it just before it hit the floor. Her heart raced, paralyzed her as she listened for sounds of Adrian waking from the small noise. After a moment, she let out her breath.

She took another look around, overwhelmed by the different view she now had of Adrian. Obviously well-off, a famous photographer who enjoyed the finer things in life, yet dressed like a homeless person to get to her. Why?

It was time to go. She’d been lucky so far, but her luck was bound to run out. As she turned to go, she saw a cheap shell necklace hanging from the key rack. Her hand reached for it of its own will and took it. She slipped it over her head as she headed toward the front door. A reminder. Of her own foolishness, she added. Her fingers tightened around the knob as her other hand turned the dead bolt and slowly opened the door. No alarm went off, and she slipped outside and closed the door behind her. She found herself trying to find a way to lock it from the outside, then chastised herself for even worrying about Adrian’s safety.

The smell of the ocean assailed her senses along with the salty breeze. She was near the mansion, she knew it. The sound of the waves washed over her, sending chills through her just as the cold water would. It would be a long trek back to her van. While Palm Beach would be safe, her own neighborhood would not at this time of the night.

Nikki always stayed in her van after eleven, her self-imposed curfew. The drug dealers slithered out into the night to peddle their wares as did the hookers. If someone didn’t play by the rules, they were shot. Still, she was safer there than in Adrian’s arms, despite that wonderful illusion of warmth and safety. Or because of it. She pulled her coat tighter around her, taking on the stiff gait of a tough young man as she walked through the prestigious neighborhood that used to be home.

An hour and a half later she stepped wearily into her van. Since she would have to move it soon anyway, she drove to a nearby alley, too tired to even remove the shoe polish numbers on the windshield. More tired than her legs and feet, her mind was exhausted from trying to figure Adrian Wilde out. It was no use. Only he could answer for himself, and she wasn’t about to give him that opportunity.

Acting on her earlier hunch, she opened a trunk and dug through the personal items she’d taken from the mansion before going into hiding. One folder was filled with tips on photography and terrific examples she’d taken from magazines. Her fingers, still stiff from the cold, fumbled through the clippings and loose pages until she found the one she’d thought of earlier. It was the winner of PHOTOgraphic Magazine’s amateur photographer contest ten years ago. She was so impressed with the shot, and the photographer, that she’d written the magazine to get his address. Unfortunately, the magazine couldn’t give out that information. It was that picture that made her search for deeper subjects than sunsets, and eventually led her to the homeless: a black-and-white of a black saxophone player in a smoky jazz club. The surroundings were drab, as were his clothes, but the pure pleasure on his face as he gave himself to the music was mesmerizing. The lights played off the smoke, giving it a surreal look. She could still feel the poignancy she felt the first time she’d seen it.

And beneath the shot was congratulations to the winner: Adrian Wilde. He was nineteen years old then, and the little picture accompanying the article showed a handsome young man. She had been intrigued, filled with notions of becoming his pen pal, then maybe meeting him someday. He lived in New York and worked with his uncle at a private investigation agency.

Nikki felt the chills wash over her as she stared at the article. They had almost connected ten years earlier and now their paths had crossed again. But Adrian had made sure they crossed under the guise of luck-run-bad. Surely her letter hadn’t triggered this, because she doubted he’d ever seen it. Maybe the magazine had sent it on to him, but why would he seek her out now if he hadn’t bothered to write her back then? No, it just didn’t make any sense.

She flopped down on her bed, worn down by her questions. Ever since she’d met Adrian, she had gone against common sense—by showing him where she lived, letting him kiss her. Look where her heart had led her, into a pit of confusion. Now, danger screamed at her from all directions, and she couldn’t ignore it. She had to walk away from him, hide until he gave up and went back to New York. She also knew how hard it was going to be to walk away from Adrian Wilde.

The roar of rushing water surrounded Adrian, chilling his skin. He held his breath as he sunk deeper and deeper, farther from air and light. All he could hear was his heartbeat and the sound of bubbles as precious air escaped his lips. His lungs tightened, and he opened his mouth, sucking cold water into them. He gasped for breath as he clawed out of the water to consciousness. His body was covered with perspiration, and he took deep breaths.

It was only a nightmare, something to be grateful for. He had tossed and turned all night, worrying about Nikki. She had been acting strange the last time he saw her, but he could have acted strange, too. After all, he hadn’t expected or wanted what was growing between them. His life was too busy to get involved with anyone, especially someone like Nikki. Maybe Rita’s appearance had made Nikki suspicious, though she acted as though she believed him.

Now Adrian took a sip of coffee and glanced at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. Today he was scheduled to return to New York and talk with Calvin Klein’s people. If Nikki had blown him off purposely, he could return to his life and forget about her. If he could be sure of that. Stanley would just have to be pissed when Adrian told him he’d be staying another few days.

When he turned, he saw that the door to the garage was open. He walked over and peered into the dimness. Everything seemed normal. He probably hadn’t closed it good enough the night before. He had, after all, been preoccupied by Nikki’s mysterious absence.

Dressed in his homeless garb, he reached for his car keys and looked at the empty pegs next to them. It took a minute to realize what looked different: the shell necklace was gone. Not that it mattered, but its absence struck him as odd. He looked on the floor and the counter but didn’t see it. Maybe he’d thrown it away and didn’t remember.

When he noticed the front door was unlocked, he really began to question his sanity. “What the heck is wrong with me?” he mumbled as he threw the dead bolt. This whole business was driving him crazy. He walked out to the garage, testing the door’s closing to reenact the catch not holding. It closed soundly each time. He shook his head.

While he drove to West Palm Beach, he thought of the nightmare again. He had to find her and tell her the truth. He’d planned on doing that the night before, but she’d stood him up. Or been held up. This charade had gone on too long, for him and for her. He hated deceiving her, and more than that, hated living this awful charade.

As he walked the now familiar streets, he detected a decidedly different atmosphere. Seamus wouldn’t even look at him, wouldn’t take him up on a meat patty later on. Most of the regulars had seen him with Nikki at one time or another, and so when he asked Charlie if he’d seen her, the plump man’s vague answer perplexed Adrian. He didn’t talk about his days on the ship as he usually did.

Leaning against a post, Adrian lit a cigarette and took a drag. A woman with short, bright red hair peered around the side of a building across the street. Her eyes were wide, like a child sneaking around. Except she was looking right at him. He took his second drag and dropped the cigarette, too annoyed at everything to care if someone saw him. It didn’t seem to matter anyway. After stepping on the butt, he looked up to find the odd woman gone.

Dave’s reaction totally baffled him. It was almost lunch time when Adrian arrived at the shelter. The day was overcast and colder than it had been the whole time Adrian had been there. The shelter was packed.

Dave was at the door, warmly greeting an old man as he invited him in for some chicken noodle soup and pumpkin pie.

Adrian walked up the steps, his hands in his pockets. “Hi, Dave.”

Dave moved in front of the doorway as if to block his entrance. Adrian tried to circumvent him, but Dave just moved to the left to block him again.

“We have no use for your kind here,” he stated simply, starting to close the door in Adrian’s face.

Adrian pushed the door back, and Dave was no match for his strength. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I don’t know what your purpose is, but I don’t want you here. And I don’t want any trouble, so go on your way. The cops show up quickly if I call them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s been a misunderstanding. Tell me what you think I did.”

Dave crossed his arms over his chest. “You know perfectly well.”

Adrian realized he would get nowhere with this man. “Okay, fine. Just tell me if you’ve seen Nikki since yesterday. I’m worried about her.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are. She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Left. Something about going north. She didn’t explain, that’s all she said.”

Dave closed the large wooden door, and Adrian was too confused to even stop him. Not that it mattered. He obviously wasn’t going to tell him a thing. But why the change? It was as if everyone knew he wasn’t what he pretended to be. How could they know? Had Nikki heard whatever they had heard?