Touched (Second Sight) (12 page)

Isabelle rolled over in the sheets, inhaling deeply and stretching. Suddenly, though, she sat bolt upright.
Had Mac handled the brewer, the toaster, the frying pan and, oh no, what about the refrigerator?
It’d taken her years to work herself into a situation where she didn’t need to wear gloves at home.

As she leapt from the bed, she dragged the sheet with her and wrapped herself in it as she flew through the door and down the short corridor, past the bathroom.

“Mac!” she said, but stopped dead center at the kitchen door. 

He was standing in his briefs and wearing a pair of latex gloves. It’d have been almost comical if he hadn’t been so incredibly male, his powerful body virtually on display. He had just finished spooning scrambled eggs onto two plates.

“Good
morning
,” he said, setting down the pan as he immediately strode over to her. “If I’d known coffee and eggs could get you to wear just a sheet, I’d have cooked sooner.” He wrapped his giant arms around her and lightly kissed her.

“You amaze me,” she said, laughing a little.

“And you haven’t even tried the eggs yet,” he said, smiling with her. 

This was something she could
easily
get used to. 

Or was it?

As her own smile faded, so did his.

“When do you have to leave?” she said, staring at his broad chest.

“Not for a few days,” he said quietly and paused. “You know,” he said. “Dumfries is pretty nice this time of year.”

“Dumfries?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Dumfries, Virginia, near Quantico,” he said. “Where I live.”

“You live in Virginia?” she said, surprised.

He laughed.

“Where did you think I lived?”

She flashed back to her accidental reading of him. Though she didn’t recall anything specific, somehow she vaguely sensed a rural farm town.

“Nowhere,” she answered, her voice a little strained and hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, like a wandering gypsy?” he said, squeezing her a bit. “Sometimes it seems like that.” Then it was his turn to get serious. “But, really, Virginia is great in the spring and I thought–”

“I’d
love
to visit,” she said, quickly.

“
Great
,” he said, beaming down at her. “And I think I’ll be able to swing some trips to LA seeing as how I’ve got an ‘in’ with the head guy here.”

They both laughed a little and gradually became quiet. 

“I’m not letting you go, Isabelle,” he said, looking into her eyes. Then he glanced down at the bed linen. “Not unless you insist on holding that sheet.”

She immediately let it go and it settled to the floor around her feet.

He took off the latex gloves, tossed them on top of the sheet, and in one smooth movement, he stooped and picked her up.

“I hope you don’t mind cold coffee,” he said, heading to the bedroom.

“Coffee?” she said as he turned sideways in the narrow corridor and she lay her head on his shoulder. “I
adore
cold coffee.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Prentiss squirted the last of the lighter fluid into the metal trash bin and tossed the empty can down the alley. Then, he took out a matchbook, struck one, and tossed it in.

This was a necessary part of the process but it wasn’t just about burning the clothes, wig, and mustache. It was a cleansing–a leaving behind of the old persona and the beginning of a new one. He watched the priestly collar blacken and shrivel. The wig and mustache more melted than burned. The glasses might deform but probably not melt. It didn’t matter. No one was looking for makeup and costumes.

He watched the flames for a while. It’d all been too perfect this time. Except for the lack of a kill. He jammed his hands into his pants pockets.
Don’t think about it. Think about what had gone right.
Because
a lot
had gone
very
right this time.
First, he’d almost convinced himself that he was actually some type of religious zealot. Second, finding the unused storage room in the church basement had
really
added more fuel to the dramatic fire. And, third, the psychic on television–he took a deep breath and raised up on the balls of his feet–what a piece of good luck that had been. He’d heard it so many times and yet he’d never believed it. So much in this business depended on dumb luck. No amount of prodigious talent was going to get you anywhere until someone noticed you.
Well they had certainly noticed this time.
He grinned.
And they’d notice the next time too.

Hands still in pockets, Prentiss walked up the alley with a bounce in his step. Yes, Los Angeles was really starting to feel like home. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk of Hollywood Boulevard, he quickly blended with the crowd, no one particularly noticing him, some of them looking down at the stars in the Walk of Fame. 

He smiled to himself.

Though he might be an out-of-work actor now, someday
he’d
have a star there too.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

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Copyright © 2013 Hazel Hunter

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