Touched by Lightning [Dreams of You] (Romantic Suspense) (3 page)

Seamus, a skinny old man who was a regular in her photographs, was already out from wherever he slept in at night. His white whiskers stood out against his dark skin. Beside him sat the baby stroller in which he toted all his worldly possessions. She parked around the back of the half vacant shopping center and walked to where Seamus stood. His foot was propped on a bench, and he gestured during an animated conversation he had with no one. Sometimes he was lucid, and then there were days like this. She snapped a couple shots, showing that there was no one listening to his serious talk about the irony of war. She would call it:
Just because no one will listen does not make me silent.

CHAPTER 2

Adrian drove along Oceanview Drive with the top down on his rented Mustang, even though a cold front had blown in the night before. To a New Yorker, driving a convertible in November was like cheating Mother Nature. The sun-washed sky melded into the teal ocean, itself covered in white caps. On the left, Palm Beach’s mansions of glory rose tall and proud to take in the view.

Palm fronds whipped in the stiff breeze, reminding him of a little girl making a sandcastle. He pulled into the driveway of the house he’d rented for his assignment last week. Everything was just as he’d left it a few days ago; even the shell necklace the Spanish girl had sold him still hung from the key hook. He wondered if he would have ended up like that, selling trinkets for money. His mother believed marrying Elio had saved them from that fate. Which fate was worse? Being homeless or getting beaten up?

Adrian sectioned off the map of the area, then pulled the four sheets of yellowed paper from his briefcase. He’d done the drawings a year ago when he worried that he might forget what BlueFire looked like. They were all he had of her, them and the gallery he’d seen her go into. That’s where he would start.

It took only a few questions of the locals to pinpoint where the gallery was. The Wharf was what he would call an artsy tourist stop with quaint souvenir shops, galleries and cafes. It was in West Palm Beach and, despite the name and dockside appearance, sat across the street from the Intracoastal. Weathered gray planking and railings were accented by groups of pilings roped together and occasionally topped with a pelican.

He had never seen the name of the gallery, but there were only five of them in the plaza. He spotted the fishing nets, the green Chinese float, and the basket of painted sand dollars out front: the Garcia Gallery.

This was the place. His chest tightened. He’d been here before, through BlueFire’s eyes. He jammed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and walked inside. A string of silver bells on the door announced his entrance. The disappointment he felt as he looked around made him realize he’d been expecting to see BlueFire behind the white counter. The Hispanic man in his forties, straightening a painting in the far corner, was a poor substitute, but maybe he could help.

The man turned at the sound of the bells and walked over. “Welcome to my gallery. I am Ulyssis Garcia. Everything here is made by local artists. A lot of talent, eh?”

Adrian nodded, pulling out the sketches.

“Ah, you are an artist?” Ulyssis asked.

Adrian couldn’t help but smile. “These aren’t nearly good enough to sell. I met a young woman when I was here about four years ago.” He touched his hand to his heart. “I haven’t forgotten her, and now that I’m back in the area, I wanted to look her up. Unfortunately, I’ve lost her name and address. All I know is that she brought me here once. I thought perhaps you could help.”

“Anything to help lovers,” Ulyssis said, leaning over to look at the drawings.

Adrian pulled the sketch of BlueFire’s face from the bottom. He hadn’t brought the photograph because it was so obscured. “Have you seen her lately?”

Ulyssis seemed to put on a polite mask, but his posture remained rigid. “I have never seen anyone like that.”

Adrian folded the sketches again, forcing a smile. “Thanks, anyway.” The man knew her, all right, but he wasn’t about to give Adrian any information. Why was he protecting her? Damn, if only he could shoot straight with the guy. Yeah, that would go over well. He casually perused the artwork in the gallery.

A collection of black-and-white photographs caught his eye. An eerie feeling of familiarity washed over him. The prints themselves were poignant—the human side of the homeless. A peach card identified the photographer as Nicolina.

Ulyssis was furiously wiping at a spot on the counter when Adrian turned to ask, “Who is this Nicolina?”

“I don’t remember. Those pictures have been there for five years.” The man flipped his hand as though to dismiss them.

Adrian cocked an eyebrow. “And you’ve kept them up there all this time?”

“I’ve sold a few. The woman never came back to pick up her money.” Ulyssis took a quick, impatient breath. “Why take them down? I might as well try to sell them.”

“They’re good. Very good. She’s got some admirable techniques. I’d like to meet her, exchange ideas. I’m a photographer, too.”

“I told you, I have no idea where she is.” The man bit off the words.

All right, then.
Adrian forced a causal smile. “No problem.”

He reached up and pulled one of the dark frames off the wall. An old black man stood next to a baby stroller filled with what looked like his life possessions. He had one foot propped on a bench and was animatedly conversing with absolutely no one. The words at the bottom made Adrian’s throat go dry:
Just because no one will listen does not make me silent.
A shiver worked its way down his back.

“I’ll take this one.”

Ulyssis tensed, as though contemplating whether to sell it to him.

“It is for sale, isn’t it?” Adrian pulled out a fifty and set it on the counter.

“Of course. It…it happens to be my favorite. I’ve gotten so used to it being there all these years.”

Ulyssis wrapped the picture in tissue and placed it in a silver box. He processed the sale and handed Adrian his change. Ulyssis’s smile was far from the genuine one Adrian had received when he first walked in the gallery. The man was definitely hiding something, and it had to do with BlueFire. The thought made him crazy.

As soon as he reached his car, Adrian opened the box and looked at the picture again. Something about it reached out and took his heart in a firm hold. He stepped out of the car and walked back to the gallery. The bells on the door tinkled again. Ulyssis’s smile faded when he saw who his customer was.

Adrian let the door close with a soft thud. “I want the rest of them.”

Ulyssis smiled as Nikki stepped inside the art gallery, though she sensed something amiss. Three silver-haired ladies were admiring a flowery painting of a girl by a pond. Nikki wandered toward the back corner, aware of how out of place she looked in the gallery.

When the ladies left, she turned to Ulyssis. “Did they even look at my pictures?” she asked, staring up at her collection—or where her collection had been. “Wait a minute. Did you move them?” Her heart felt a stabbing pain. “Or don’t you want to carry them anymore?” More than pain, she felt panic. Those pictures were her only income, sparse as it was.

Ulyssis walked over and stood next to her, wringing his hands nervously. He was going to tell her that he didn’t have room for her shots anymore. They were too depressing, too real. She swallowed hard, gathering her courage to face his words.

Finally he touched her arm with his incredibly smooth hand. “Of course I want to show them, Nicolina. Your pictures may not appeal to every buyer, but they catch the attention and curiosity of everyone who sees them.”

She forced a smile, then gave a puzzling look at the blank space covered with ten hooks. “What happened to them?”

“I sold them.”

Her eyes widened. “All of them, to one buyer?”

“Yes,” he said, still strangely solemn.

She grasped his hands and jumped up and down. “That’s wonderful!”

“It’s the man who bought them that has me a little worried. He came in asking about a woman he met four years ago. She brought him here, he said. He showed me a sketch he’d made of her. Nicolina, it looked a lot like you.”

That familiar ache began forming in the pit of her stomach. Fear, the feeling of being prey. Her voice cracked as it left trembling lips. “Me? It couldn’t have been. He must have met someone resembling me.”

“That’s what I thought, too. As he was about to leave, though, he stopped and looked right at your collection. When he turned around, it was as if he’d seen a ghost. Then he asked if I knew the photographer. I told him I hadn’t heard from Nicolina in a long time. He bought one, then he came back a few minutes later and bought the rest.”

She realized that her mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it. “Even if he
was
hired to find me, how could he connect me to those shots? I never told anyone but you that I took pictures of the homeless. God, Mother would have had me institutionalized if she knew I went to that side of town.” Nikki swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “You’re the only one who calls me Nicolina.” She didn’t want to believe that someone was after her again, not after all this time. For two years, after the investigation and trial, she had lived on the streets. Her sentence was two more years, and ironically, it was the only place she felt safe.

Ulyssis handed Nikki her part of the sale, his thin hand held hers. He looked relieved. “You’re right, of course. I’m just paranoid. I’m sorry to worry you. After all, he didn’t seem to connect your pictures to the girl in the sketch. And if he were hired to find you, he would have pictures of you, and your name. Don’t give it another thought. You know I worry about you. But be careful, more than usual, okay?”

She thought of her recent forays to the beach. “I will, promise.”

“Good. Your latest batch is probably dry now. Choose the next ten you want displayed, and I’ll frame them for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, meaning it in many ways.

She headed to the darkroom Ulyssis had set up for her two years ago when she realized she had to trust someone from the other world. He had proven to be a friend, and without him, she would be picking through dumpsters and living on samples like Seamus and Maudine.

Nikki walked into the back room to her drying cabinet, fashioned from a hanging wardrobe closet. Who was the mysterious man who bought her pictures? If Devlin had hired him, the guy wouldn’t buy all of her pictures.

Thinking of her brother was something she tried not to do. Sometimes he popped into her mind at the oddest moments. Like now, as she pulled the photographs down from her clothespins, she remembered finding him in her makeshift darkroom at the mansion, looking at the drying prints.

“What are you doing here?” she’d asked, annoyed that he’d trespassed in her private sanctuary. She was glad that particular batch wasn’t of the homeless area.

He looked startled but recovered quickly. With his dark brown hair and beady eyes, he looked nothing like her, but a lot like their mother. Nikki had her father’s light coloring.

“I wanted to see what you were up to, what you do when you hide over here.”

“I’m not hiding.” Why did she always sound so defensive? She smiled to diffuse the words. “I just need peace and quiet when I work.”

Devlin wandered over to a table where she laid out her photographs to choose which ones she’d try to consign at Ulyssis’s gallery, another secret. She wished Devlin would leave so she wouldn’t feel scrutinized.

“You’re actually pretty good, kid.”

She waited for the punch line. It didn’t come.

“Y-you think so?”

“Well, I’m no expert, but they’re good as far as I can tell. You should try to sell them.”

She had been selling them, but she’d never shared those small triumphs with her family. Devlin wasn’t putting her on. It was the first time she could ever remember him complimenting her.

“Maybe I’ll do that. Thank you.”

He started to leave but turned and leaned against the doorway. “You really love doing that, don’t you?” he asked, nodding toward the table.

“Yes, I do.” It seemed so strange to talk about what she loved with her brother.

“Mother seems to think your photography is silly, but you’re serious about it.”

“Very.”

“Well, I have to give you one thing: you’re doing what you want, not what she wants.”

Nikki had never felt close to Devlin, but for some reason she felt compelled to open a tiny bit of herself to him. “And my prize for doing that is I eternally disappoint her.”

“Everyone disappoints her…” His lips thinned, then he smiled. “I got to thinking that I’ve never seen your work… I don’t even know what you take pictures of. So I came up here to see.”

“I didn’t think anyone cared to see my work, so I only showed them to Dad.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“More than anyone will ever know.”

“You were his favorite…I could always tell that.” At her protest he added, “It’s okay…I got used to it.” He smiled, not that persuasive cocky smile but a genuine one. “I don’t even know you. I knew you took pictures but didn’t realize how much it meant to you until I saw that look on your face when you saw me up here.”

“We live separate lives, even though we live under the same roof.”

“When Jack and I get together, he tells me things about you, and it sounds like he’s talking about a stranger. Maybe we can remedy that before one or both of us finally gets enough nerve to move out of this house and loses touch.”

“Okay,” she whispered, totally stunned.

She’d never been able to figure out exactly what he’d been getting at, considering he’d tried to kill her three months later.

Adrian sat at the oak table, his black boots propped on the edge, studying the black-and-white prints. He picked up the one of the black man having an animated conversation with the air. The man at the art gallery said the pictures had been there for years. His strange behavior from the moment he’d seen the sketch had Adrian wondering. And the owner had seemed reluctant to part with the pictures that should have been an eyesore after all that time with no sales.