Shadow of Perception (3 page)

“Since when do you obey the rules?” Hudson rose and reached for his coat. “Sorry to bolt on you. But I’ve been up since four AM and haven’t been home in over a month. I’m not saying yes to anything without a clear head.”

“Eden needs immediate protection.”

Guilt gave a sharp stab to his conscience. Eden might irritate the hell out of him, but he didn’t want to see anything happen to her, either. He slapped his leather gloves against his hand. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll go now?”

Hudson shrugged. “Sure.” He began counting off on his fingers. “First a psycho, then a stalker, it’s not like my night could get any worse. Why not a little reunion with a woman who thinks I’m a total asshole?”

Chapter 2

For something to do, Eden Risk sipped the lukewarm coffee. She grimaced at the taste, then set the mug on the kitchen table with an impatient sigh. “You two really don’t need to babysit me.”

“Boss’s orders,” John Kain, CORE’s criminalist and her sister’s fiancé said with a shrug.

Boss? More like tyrant. When she’d called Ian Scott about the DVD, she’d been a little—okay a lot—hysterical. At the time, she’d figured Ian would try to talk her down, give her direction. Instead, he’d sent some huge, blond haired, blue-eyed guy—who could have been the Nazi poster child for the Aryan race—to collect the DVD, and before she could close the door behind him, her babysitters had swept into her townhouse.
 

Eden looked to her sister for support, but received a shrug identical to John’s. “Sorry. I’m with him,” Celeste said, then pushed her coffee mug aside and twined her fingers with John’s.
 

Eden stared at their joined hands and then at the two lovebirds. They made quite a striking couple. Celeste with her blond hair curling softly around her peaches-and-cream cheeks, and John with his dark GQ looks. Her sister appeared happy, content. She’d found a good man to love, and by the adoration in her future brother-in-law’s eyes, Celeste found a man who loved her equally.
   

Eden couldn’t help the resentment.
 

Not for Celeste’s love life. Eden had no fairytale fantasies of Prince Charmings or white picket fences. Most men were intimidated by her career, her fame, her income. Those who weren’t served one purpose to her and love had nothing to do with it.
 

The resentment had begun during childhood, but remained buried deep in the pit of her adult belly. She’d always hid the bitterness well, but occasionally had a hard time ignoring it when Celeste called or, like now, sat in front her.
 

Celeste, the golden child.
 

Celeste, the natural nurturer.
 

Celeste, who had shared a unique bond with their mom. A bond, a special love Eden in no way shape or form could have competed against. Even as a child Eden had seen the way her mom’s gaze would touch on Celeste. The wonder, the awe, the unconditional love. And when Mom had been diagnosed with cancer, and their dad and brother had needed help taking care of her, who had come to the rescue?

Eden toyed with the mug handle while guilt toyed with her conscience. God, she was becoming a true bitch. If it hadn’t been for Celeste their family would have fallen apart after Mom died. She’d sacrificed so much for them all, and had helped their dad keep the family diner afloat while he’d dealt with his grief.
 

Now her sister sacrificed her sleep by playing babysitter along with her fiancé. Damn Ian and his big mouth. Celeste had come running the moment she’d thought Eden had been in trouble.
 

And instead of gratitude, all Eden had offered was attitude. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted John and Celeste to leave and give her a chance to come to terms with the events of the day now that her head and fears had cleared.
 

Eden slid the mug back and forth between her hands and forced a smile. “Well, your
boss
is being overly dramatic,” she said to John, then looked to her sister. “I hate keeping you here this late. Aren’t you bakers supposed to be up by four in the morning?”
 

Celeste looked away for a second, but Eden noticed John squeeze her hand. “The Sugar Shack hasn’t had its grand opening yet. Remember?”

“Oh, sorry.” Eden frowned. She should probably know this. “I’ve been so busy lately I guess I must have forgotten.”

“Must have forgotten?” John shoved away from the table when his cell phone rang. “Celeste sat here and told you about the bakery less than thirty minutes ago. Right after you two discussed the weather and right before you talked about your dad’s new girlfriend.”

Little snippets of their earlier conversation began to filter through her head as John left the room. “Damn.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She offered Celeste an apologetic smile.

“Seems like you’re always sorry for something lately,” Celeste said as she reached across the table and took her hand. “What’s going on, Eden? I swear we talked more when I was still living in Wisconsin. At first I thought it was just me. That maybe you were upset about Ian being my father and us ending up as half-sisters. But you don’t return Dad’s calls or Will’s, either. And Lloyd said you’d acted like you’d never seen him before.”

With her free hand, Eden rubbed her temple where a headache had begun to build. She could care less that Celeste didn’t share a biological father with her and their brother Will. Their dad, Hugh Risinski, had adopted Celeste upon her birth, and to Eden, that made her a Risinski no matter what. Hell, considering she’d changed her name from Risinski to Risk the moment she’d left home, and that she hadn’t been the most family-oriented daughter, Eden had no room to judge. Rather than grapple with that issue—a discussion which they’d yet to share—she asked, “Lloyd who?”

“Lloyd Nelson. He was the big blond guy who’d picked up the DVD five minutes before we showed. Don’t you remember him?”

“No, should I?”

“Yeah, considering he’s Will’s partner. Oh wait. Let me guess, you forgot our brother was gay, too.”

Ouch. “No. I guess I just didn’t—”

“Care enough to return his phone calls. Or take half an hour out of your busy schedule to stop by his new apartment, not to mention the art gallery.”

“I was at the gallery when Will had his opening,” she said defensively and tore her hand away. She had been at the gallery and had never been more proud of her brother and his accomplishments. Just because she wasn’t all sugar and spice like Celeste, expressing her emotions with an added fluffy dollop of whipped cream and a cherry on top, didn’t mean she didn’t care.
 

“For ten minutes. God, Eden. I swear I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

Here we go again.
 

And Celeste wondered why she wasn’t interested in talking. Their conversations always boiled down to what was wrong with her. “Probably because you never really did.”

Celeste released a sarcastic half-laugh. “And you’re full of it. I know you. And I know that your need to control every aspect of your life is destroying you.”

Eden shoved away from the table and shot out of the chair. “Get all that out of your crystal ball?” she asked just as John stepped back into the room.

He looked at her first, then to Celeste. She hadn’t missed the accusation and contempt in his gaze, and she could care less. Let him—let Celeste—think what they wanted. Because neither of them, nor the rest of her family included, knew the entire truth.

 
“Ian has someone on the way,” John said to Celeste. “He should be here any minute.”

“Good,” Celeste said, and patted his arm. “Could you give us a sec?”

He smiled at her sister, then sent her an “eat shit” glare. “I’ll grab our coats.”

When he was in the next room, Celeste turned to her. “I don’t want to fight with you. The way you looked when we first got here...you scared the crap out of me. What was on that DVD Lloyd picked up for Ian?”

Gruesome violence. Mutilation. Inhumanity.

The memory of the images she’d witnessed on the DVD and the worry in her sister’s eyes took the fight out of her. She slumped back in the kitchen chair and shook her head. “I’m not exactly sure myself.”

“Okay. Well, what if I touch the DVD or the jewel case it came in. You know, try to get a reading.”

Eden rubbed her chin, then pressed her knuckles to her mouth to keep from saying what she knew would cause a swift end to their slight truce. Both her mom and Celeste claimed to have a psychic gift. At one time she’d believed in them and their powers, but that belief had gone the way of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. If the two of them had truly been able to predict the future then they could have warned her. They could have made sure a sixteen-year-old girl never had to understand true terror and pain so early in life...if at all.

A knock at the door saved her from having to answer Celeste. Before she had a chance to stand and check the door’s peephole, John moved from the living room. “Our replacement is here,” he said over his shoulder to Celeste.

Replacement? God, was she exchanging one set of babysitters for another?

“Think about what I suggested,” Celeste said, as she stood. “I know how you feel about my abilities, but if I can help—”

Eden rose, too, taking the coffee mugs with her. “Thanks. I’ll call you.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

With a deep sigh, she dumped the mugs in the sink, then faced her sister. The hurt and anger in Celeste’s eyes tugged at her again. “Look, you know how I feel about your psychic stuff. But, I
will
call you. And Will. Maybe we can meet for lunch...”

A familiar, masculine voice from the foyer made her pause. She moved passed the kitchen island and peered around the corner, then froze.

“Hey, Eden,” Hudson Patterson said as he shrugged out of his leather coat and pierced her with his steely blue gaze. “I see you got yourself into another mess.”

The room shrank and her sole focus remained on the one man who had stirred more emotions in her than all the other men before and after him combined. Two years ago, he’d lit a fire inside her, and within months, he’d smothered the flames with his arrogance and bullheaded attitude.

Based on the condescending remark he’d just made, she doubted his opinion of her had changed. His appearance had, though. Harder, darker, more dangerous. His brown, wavy hair now reached his shoulders and he needed a shave. Even without the worn, black leather jacket, which now hung on the coat rack, he looked thuggish in a tattered charcoal gray thermal shirt, low-riding jeans and black Doc Marten boots. The whole badass biker look shouldn’t have appealed to her, but Hudson owned it and wore it well.
 

When he said something she couldn’t hear to John, she glanced at his mouth, then immediately regretted it. Lust slammed into her belly as wicked memories of what his firm lips had done to her surfaced. Those unwanted memories collided into a kaleidoscope of naked skin, harsh moans and multiple orgasms. Even now, she swore she could still feel his rough hands urging her hips, spreading her legs, gripping her bottom. Could imagine his mouth on hers, or better yet, between her thighs.

“Then you two know each other?” John asked.

“You can say that,” Hudson replied with a smile. A smug, satisfying smile that snapped her out of her sexual spell and reminded her exactly why breaking things off with him had been the right decision. Her body might not have thought so at the time, and those urges to have him in her bed right now might still be strong, but her head knew better. Hudson was an arrogant jerk who exuded less emotion than she did.
 

After she’d slipped on her coat, Celeste squeezed her hand. “Think about what I said. If I can help—”

She tore her gaze from Hudson’s and looked to her sister. “I’ll call you. For lunch,” she added to make her stance regarding the psychic reading crystal clear.

With a tired smile, Celeste nodded, then she and John left the townhouse. Hudson followed them out to the front stoop, giving her a chance to gain some composure.
 

First she’d find out what Hudson had to say on Ian’s behalf, then she’d kick his ass out the door. She wouldn’t have to tiptoe around him like she had with her sister and John. Niceties weren’t necessary with Hudson. He’d never expected them and besides, she’d given up playing nice the night he’d treated her as if she were a rotten, spoiled brat. The fact that they’d had sex only hours before didn’t help his cause, either.
 

“Callous, crass bastard,” she said as she finished cleaning the kitchen.

“And who might that be?”

She jumped, splashing running water over the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Swearing under her breath, she shut off the water and reached for a towel. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Don’t avoid the question. Am I the callous, crass bastard? ‘Cause if that’s the case, then that makes me think you’re still mad at me.”

She shrugged. “I’d have to care, which I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth slid up in a slow smirk. “Suppose not, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you ever did.” He gave her a once over. “You look pretty good.”

Pretty good?
Had she known Ian planned to send Hudson tonight, she would have made sure she’d looked damn good. She might not want anything to do with him—relationship wise—but no woman wants an ex-whatever to see them at their worst, either. “And you look as if you’re a front for some eighties big hair band,” she shot back with a raised brow, quite proud of her comeback even if it was immature.