Storming His Heart (11 page)

“I told you, Glass is dead,” J.D. repeated the obvious again. “But if you want his info, you got it.”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but the more I think about it, the more my gut tells me he’s connected to this. Maybe he had a lover who worked for us or a friend who we missed. There’s something more I’m not seeing.” Rafe didn’t mention the odd recurring dream he’d been having of the night he’d shot the bastard—when he wasn’t dreaming about Storm having his babies. He didn’t want to understand why seeing her with his child just felt right.

“Fine,” J.D. said. “I’ll e-mail you everything I’ve got on your secure LAN. Just do me one favor before you go.”

“Sure thing.” Rafe powered up an encryption device sitting next to the computer.

“Tell me what Storm’s wearing, in detail.”

Rafe let out a disgusted oath and hung up on J.D.’s laughter. He worked for another hour, downloading and transferring information to paper. The rest he studied on the screen. His shoulders felt tight and his neck ached, so he stood and stretched, feeling hungry since he’d missed dinner in an effort to avoid Storm earlier.

It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t control himself. The pragmatic part of Rafe knew it was only a matter of time. But he genuinely liked Storm. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’d end up pining for a relationship with Rafe he didn’t have in him to share.

Rafe was already married—to his job. Jurek had as much as told him he’d inherit the Chief of Operations position if he played his cards right. Rafe loved being what he considered a private cop, even if he no longer carried a badge. He still occasionally worked for the government to right wrongs and prevent innocents from being hurt. Only now he worked through Jurek, minus all the red tape, and he could openly use his clairvoyance.

Years ago, while on the force, being a psychic had been a pain in the ass. He’d had to hide how he knew things all the time. At least here, he could trust his fellow agents.

Richard Glass’s face popped into his mind’s eye and he amended,
for the most part.

He reached his living room and turned on the light, surprised to see Storm stretched out on her stomach, sleeping on the couch. She’d turned her face away so it was mostly hidden by the glorious black silk of her hair. He inched closer until he could see a faint smile on her lips.
Must be one hell of a dream.

So close, all he could think about was touching her. The more time he spent away from her, the more he missed her. Her wit and laughter warmed him. Her heated temper excited him like nothing else.

He should just sleep with her and get it over with. Maybe it was a case of wanting what he thought he couldn’t have. She couldn’t possibly be that great between the sheets. Maybe the mystery, the build-up between them was all in his mind.

She moaned and turned over, looking decidedly uncomfortable on the couch. He’d often woken from a nap on the thing with a knot in his neck.

The thought of Storm in pain when he could prevent it really bothered him. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he whispered to himself
as he scooped her into his arms and hauled her upstairs to the spare room she’d been using.

She snuggled closer to him, but he knew for certain she slept. When awake, she looked at him with wounded eyes, not realizing that by keeping his distance, he was trying to shield her from inadvertent, emotional harm.

He tried to ignore the way his heart rate increased when her breasts rubbed against his chest. Tried to forget how perfect she tasted, how soft and warm her hand had been around his cock…

Rafe carried her into her bedroom and set her down on the bed. He frowned at the sweatpants and sweatshirt she wore. She’d overheat wearing all those clothes under the thick comforter. But his fingers hovered over the hem of her sweatshirt, knowing the folly of removing anything she wore.

He instead sat beside her and watched as she settled into a deep sleep. Her rosy lips parted and her full breasts rose and fell with steady succession. Long lashes lay like shadows over the closed lids that hid her eyes from him, but he could very well imagine the confusion that would be there should she find him watching her.

But now, like this, he could look his fill. The emptiness in his arms didn’t need to be there, not if he held her for just a few moments. He told himself he’d leave her alone after a small hug. She’d never know.

“Fuck it.” Tired of wanting what he couldn’t—shouldn’t—have, he said to hell with denial and crawled into bed with her. When she turned to him in her sleep, he hugged her tight. The nightmares plaguing him might never have been, and a drowsy satisfaction filled him. Before Rafe knew it, he fell into a peaceful sleep with the woman of his dreams.

“No!” Luc woke from another vision of a future he didn’t want to see, soaked in a heavy sweat.

His brother stared grimly down at him.

Shit.

Luc recalled the images swirling through his mind and tried to make sense of them.

“Calm down,” Thorne said, and Luc realized he’d been repeating the litany over and over. “It’s okay now.”

“I’m sorry.” Luc sounded hoarse. The vision faded but left a dark impression in its wake. “I need…I need some space.”

He stood and shakily made his way to the bathroom. There, he splashed cold water over his face and tried not to freak out about what he’d seen.

Storm was dining at a restaurant. Though crowded, her table sat apart from the rest of the patrons. On either side of her, two large mirrors faced each other. She gazed into the mirrors, then behind her at the bloodied body of a man. She turned back and stared at Luc with gray eyes so light they appeared white, the pupils miniscule black dots absorbing light.

“It’s come for me, Luc,” she whispered. A black cloud had poured out of the mirrors, enveloping her. Her mouth opened and filled with a fatal mist.

Watching her leave him had felt like ripping his heart from his chest. One fucked up dream with a bad end in sight.

Thorne knocked on the bathroom door. “Luc, you need to talk.”

Sometimes having a roommate was more trouble than it was worth.

Luc scowled. He didn’t relish having to face his freakish psychic ability in front of his brother again. But what choice did he have? If Storm’s life really hung in the balance, shying from the truth would only hurt someone he loved. With a grim sigh, he exited the bathroom.

A firing squad awaited him in the form of his domineering older brother. “That’s the third time this week. What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew. I have a feeling it’s bad, and it’s coming for us. I saw Storm tonight.” His previous dreams had been of mirrors and dark places, jungles and caves and endless night. He saw red-black blood run in a river down into a hellish abyss. But none of his dreams had involved real faces until tonight. He fucking hated the stupid visions. Just once he’d like a clear idea of what tomorrow might bring.

Thorne frowned. “What’s this about red-black blood and an abyss?”

Luc forcibly shoved his brother from his mind. “Don’t trespass,” he gritted through his teeth. “It’s bad enough I have to deal with this shit. Don’t push.”

“I’m sorry, man. I just want to help.” Thorne paced the room.

“God, you look just like Dad. You’re freaking me out.”

“Join the club. Looking at you is like looking into a mirror, except I see a guy not quite as good-looking, not to mention shorter.” Thorne tried to grin, but he couldn’t mask his worry. “I hate to say it, but I wish Mom and Dad were here right now. They’re a lot better at all this psychic crap than I am.”

Luc couldn’t stop dwelling on Thorne’s mention of mirrors. More than anything, Luc needed to find answers. Maybe sharing what he’d seen would make sense of it. He had nothing to lose but his sanity, he thought with a snort.

“What’s so funny?” Thorne watched him with wary, concerned eyes.

Luc sighed. When Thorne turned all paternal on his ass, it was hard not to love the big guy. “You’re an overbearing jerk, you know that?”

Thorne grinned. “Your point, oh short, ugly one?”

With a chuckle, Luc sank to the bed. “Sit down so I don’t have to look up at your freakish face. Tell me what you think.” As he described what he’d seen, he watched his brother’s reaction. Thorne didn’t mock or speak—he sat quietly and listened.

The heavy burden that always filled Luc when he saw such things lifted. Sharing his fears eased his worries. The hope that together he and Thorne might avert what he’d seen buoyed his spirits. It was a small gift he treasured…until the next time he’d see the grim specter of death waiting with its jaws wide open.

“How long has it been since you’ve lost contact?”

“Three days now,” Lewis Greene said into his cell phone. He stood outside a rundown gas station. The place had an air of desperation about it. The scarred pavement was broken in several places, and the only cars that arrived to fuel up wore more rust and dirt than paint.

“They’re looking for you, did you know that?” the dark voice on the end of the line spoke softly. Lewis felt chills run up and down his spine. He hated talking to the boss. He’d much rather have called the go-between, but now that the heat was on, he’d been forbidden the contact.

“Yeah, I know they’re looking for me. Shit, I did what she told me to do. For what you’re paying me, I’ll leave behind a signed confession if that’s what you want.” He referred to the .38 casings covered with his fingerprints that he’d been ordered to leave behind. “You want me to find Savage and the woman or keep leading the others in circles?”

The voice remained silent a moment. “I know where Savage and that bitch are. I like the fact they’re together now. Things are getting much more interesting. They’re at Savage’s house in the historic district. But I don’t want you to do anything until I give you the go ahead. Understood?”

“Understood. I won’t move a muscle in their direction ’til I hear from you.”

“Very good, Lewis. Now in the meantime, copy this down and follow my directions. Go there and you’ll find the files I left for you on the table.”

Lewis wrote the information down on his hand and disconnected the call. He looked around, and seeing that everything looked clear, moved to the car he’d stolen yesterday.

He drove to an auto parts store near a deserted strip mall and parked in the back. At this hour, no one neared the closed shopping venue. He quickly gained entrance through the unlocked employees’ door. Once inside, he entered a four digit code to unlock the door to the stockroom and moved through the back to another door, this one painted black and locked as well. Per the instructions he’d been given, Lewis unlocked it and relocked it behind him.

Turning, he studied the multitude of computers and boxes of paper scattered around. It looked like a mini war room. He could just envision his boss standing with a pointer on an overhead map, dictating their course of action. A lot like Lewis’s own time in the service.

Suddenly, the lock behind him rattled. He stepped back into the shadows and fingered his gun, waiting. The door jerked open and a sleek brunette entered the room. She started when she saw him but made no overt move to leave.

“I hadn’t realized you’d be here.”

But the boss had told him to arrive. Apparently, the go-between didn’t share the boss’s confidence like he did.

The smile she gave him didn’t reach her cold, green eyes. “Hurry up and get out. I have a few things to do that don’t need an audience.”

He’d just bet she did. Lewis didn’t say anything as he gathered the folder he’d been sent to find. His cell phone dropped out of his pocket when he shifted, and as he picked it up, he noticed the length of leg exposed by the go-between’s short skirt. He whistled, and anger darkened her flawless face.

“Dream on,” she snarled and all but shoved him from the room.

Once outside, Lewis paused. He wondered if the bitchy woman had any idea what lay in store for her when the job ended. She was Lewis’s last part of the job and his final payment.

Seeing no one about, he opened the folder and found a picture of Rafe Savage in front of a house. The address was listed, as well as a few pertinent facts about Savage’s security. Another photograph slipped out from the folder—a close-up of the man.

Lewis studied the broad shoulders and lethal stare of his target. Truth be told, he envied Savage. The man’s brutal and effective style of fighting had become legendary both in his work and outside on the streets. Lewis secretly thought his boss envied the bastard too.

He turned his attention to another photograph tucked in the file, this one of Storm Buchanan, taken during the summer. She must have just come out of a pool because she wore a red, one-piece swimsuit that had S-E-X stamped all over it. Her gray eyes flashed up at someone, presumably one of her Neanderthal brothers, and she grinned, her full lips quirking up at the corners.

He didn’t know why the boss wanted Savage. He chalked it up to a bust gone sour, revenge for a friend, or something like that. Savage had enemies everywhere, so what was one more? But the Buchanan woman… Lewis couldn’t imagine beating her to death, the way the boss had been talking. He could imagine a lot of other things, but torturing her? Why mar such beauty when he could own it?

Shaking his head at the whims of the mercurial man he served, Lewis put the photographs away and opened a map. He made a few phone calls to his contacts and settled in to wait. Patience was his particular virtue, and the green-eyed bitch and a ton of cash would be his reward.

Chapter Eight

Storm sighed as a soft hand caressed her cheek. She turned in to the warmth and comfort provided by the large palm. She blinked but saw nothing but darkness, so she closed her eyes again, caught in a desire making it hard to think about anything but his touch. For days she’d been going stir crazy, trying to keep her distance from the man at turns aloof and utterly charming, yet always sexy.

“I need you,” he murmured and kissed her neck, sounding more asleep than awake.

A dream or reality? At this point, she didn’t much care. She’d been dying for him for days. He could turn cold later,
after
she satisfied this irresistible craving.