Shadowlight

“He’s taking a rest with his wife, Justin.” The frowning mother quickly herded her children along at a faster pace while her husband slowed his step to take a longer look. “Peter, please.”

“Okay, honey.” The husband gave Matthias a grin and a wink before trotting to catch up.

Matthias didn’t want to move Jessa until the family departed, so he held her and waited as the couple helped their children into the backseats of their van. He would have been concerned with handling her as much as he had, for it surely would have roused another woman, but some indefinable sense of her told him that she had retreated into herself and would not wake for some time yet.

This brief delay gave him the time to look at her as much as he wished, and he mapped every inch of her face, from the off-center peak of fine black hair above her left brow, down the gentle slope of her nose, and over her pretty lips to the strong line of her jaw. Awake she likely kept her features composed, giving away only as much as she was willing to allow others to see. Now she seemed softer, younger, untouched by the suffering she had endured.

He could only guess what her life had been like since her ability had come over her. Knowing that with a single touch she could see into the darkest corners of the soul could not have been a temptation; it must have seemed like a curse. He thought of all the people he had contact with in the course of a single day. He disliked touching strangers, but some contact was unavoidable when exchanging money, accepting goods, or walking through crowded areas. She could not wear gloves year-round and have it go unnoticed; she could not lock herself in her office to avoid the people who worked for her or the clients who sought her services.

“How do you manage it?” he murmured to her. “Do you surround yourself with the innocent, or do you make them think you are cold and distant?”

A strand of her hair had caught in the corner of her mouth; he used a fingertip to brush it away. Even that small touch caused his hand to come alive with tingling nerves, just as it had when she had put her hand over his.

The brush of the tiny, invisible hairs on her thin skin reminded him of a delicate veil over silk. The paleness of her flesh still astonished him; he had grown accustomed to the uniform glowing tans of American women. Such ivory beauty should have been too fragile to bear anything more than a whisper or a breath without bruising.

Matthias saw a flash of red brake lights as the van drove out of the lot, and knew it was time to move her. As he put his hand under her knees, her head slipped back against his arm, lifting her face to his. He held her for another moment so that he might feel her breath warming his mouth. He had never been so close to a woman and not had her pinned beneath him, opening herself to welcome the thrust of his shaft. With her ability, Jessa would not even have that much. Her loneliness was not by choice, he realized. To take a lover, she had to touch—but he had seen it with his own eyes: The only touch she permitted herself was her own.

“I understand now.” He lifted her against his chest as he stood and carried her to the second car.

Lowering the seat, he eased her back until she couldn’t be seen through the car’s windows. As he made her comfortable, she remained limp, but the strength and steadiness of her heartbeat and breathing assured him she was not in a dangerously deep sleep.

He couldn’t know what she had seen when she’d touched him, but he could guess. He had relived the moment a thousand times in his own memory, cursing the desperation that had driven him that day. He had been an arrogant fool, so intent on seeking justice that it had blinded him as surely as the storm.

But had she seen everything? Would she understand?

After he returned to the highway, Matthias called Rowan to tell her he had made the first transfer, and to send one of their helpers to pick up the vehicle he had left behind.

“Who is after me?” he asked.

“Try everyone with a badge in Atlanta,” she said. “You and Ms. Know-it-all also made the six-o’clock news. They don’t have any shots of you, but by eleven her face will be plastered on every major channel in the nation. All they’re saying is that you’re both wanted for questioning as a person of interest in an attempted murder of a prominent businessman. You know how fast Genaro moves when he’s motivated.”

“Indeed.” He had hoped for a little more time, but that was not to be. “What more?”

“Drew stole a copy of the GenHance file on her,” Rowan said. “Records only go back ten years, and then she doesn’t exist, so Jessa Bellamy and her background are definitely bogus. She would know how to do that the right way, of course. He had more luck with the name you gave him. By the way, how come she’s not making any noise? Did you gag her?”

“She sleeps.” He flexed his right hand, trying to dispel the lingering sensations from touching her face. “She used her ability on me.”

“Bad move, boss.” She sighed. “What are you going to tell her when she wakes up?”

“She may already know.” Matthias glanced at Jessa. Now when he looked at her face, he wished she would wake. It would make moving her more difficult, of course, but he wanted to see her eyes again. He had never known a woman with rain-colored eyes. “Tell me about this luck with the other name.”

“I’m still downloading everything he stole from Genaro; give me a sec.” After a short pause, she said, “I’ve got it. Okay. An Allen Taggart Price died during a workplace shooting in Savannah back in ’ninety-eight. Seven other people at this investment brokerage were also shot and killed by a mentally ill former employee, one Jennifer Johnson. The only unconfirmed survivor was Minerva Jessamine Starret, twenty-two years old.” Rowan paused and then added, “It was her first day at work, poor kid.”

He hardly heard her over the rush of blood to his head. “Minerva.”

“It’s not that bad. I knew a kid in middle school named Jesus Supreme Lord Loomis. We called him Loomy Tunes.” She flipped a paper. “No birth records but a child welfare report, estimated born 1976 in Chicago, abandoned at birth, placed as an infant in a Catholic group home for unwanted children—big surprise there—adopted in 1981 by Darien Thomas Starret of Savannah, no wife, so no mother for her. Enrolled same year in very expensive private Swiss school, stayed there until she graduated and attended college in France, returned to the U.S. in ’ninety-seven, resided with father until his death by natural causes in ’ninety-eight. Couple of months before she was shot.”

“You said Minerva was the unconfirmed survivor,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re not sure she lived. Minerva took a slug to the chest, point-blank range, was admitted to Savannah General and listed in critical condition for three days. Intake report notes indicate extensive lung and cardiac damage from the GSW. She wasn’t expected to live more than an hour or two, so they didn’t operate.” Rowan flipped more pages. “Okay, and now it gets really interesting. Minerva left the hospital three days later.”

“After being shot in the chest.”

“Ten witnesses swear they saw her walk out of the building. That was the last time she was seen alive. Officially reported as missing and declared dead by the state in 2005 so they could auction off her inheritance and drop the proceeds in the treasury.” She made an amused sound. “I’ll give you three guesses what comprised the bulk of her estate.”

He already knew. “Sapphire House.”

“Uh-huh. Now, would you mind telling me—”

“Yes,” he said. “I would mind. Are there any photographs of Minerva Starret?”

“Driver’s license from DOT.” Rowan’s friendly voice became distant. “Transmitting a JPEG. Should be on your screen now.”

Matthias looked at the small image that appeared on the viewscreen of his mobile. The identification picture showed a young, smiling girl with short-cropped black hair. The poor camera and indifferent lighting had washed most of her vivid coloring and muted the gleam of her black hair, but it could not erase the blaze of energy and determination in her eyes.

“Well?” Rowan asked, her voice oddly strained. “Is this little princess our girl?”

“Jessa is more queen than princess.” Matthias pulled off the highway onto the shoulder, parked, and shut off the engine before he held the phone next to her face. The lines and shape of the nose, mouth, and jaw of the image were very similar to Jessa Bellamy’s. “There is a strong resemblance. Do the hospital records say if Minerva had any marks or scars on her body?”

“Besides the great hole in her chest …” Rowan fell silent for a time. “How about that. Minerva had a small tat on the inside of her left wrist. A gold and black owl.”

Matthias took Jessa’s left hand and turned it up so that he could inspect her wrist, but saw no tattoo of any kind. “Jessa does not have a mark.”

“Maybe she was the shooter.”

“No.” Matthias took a piece of her hair and idly wound it between his fingertips. “She could not kill.”

“You’re basing this assumption on what? Listening to her snore for an hour?” Rowan made a rude sound. “Gaven. I know you like her, and I’m sure she’s gorgeous and troubled and helpless and all that shit. But if this is going to work, you can’t get involved with her. None of us can.”

He let the strands of dark hair slide out of his fingers. “She doesn’t snore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He sat back and closed his eyes. “Is everything prepared?”

“Room’s ready, fortress is secure, and Drew is starting the paperwork. We should be able to relocate in a week.”

Seven days, that was all he had, and then he would never see her again. “Very well. Go to bed; sleep. Tomorrow will be the worst.”

“Wake me up when you get in.”

Matthias switched off the mobile and reached for the locking security harness installed in place of the passenger seat belt. He disliked restraining her, but if she were to wake during the last leg of the journey, she would likely try to escape him. He shifted her so that she would be as comfortable as possible under the harness, and tucked her hands beneath the straps. As he did, his thumb brushed across the thin skin of her left wrist, and he felt something. He reached up, turned on the interior overhead dome, and brought her wrist under it. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">