Urban Sensation Read online

  A part of her wondered vaguely why he was dressed that way…it wasn’t that cold outside.

  Before any sort of reason could penetrate her mounting confusion, another, more powerful emotion regained control.

  He was alive and, apparently, well and he hadn’t called. Hadn’t bothered to let her know that he’d simply decided not to come back.

  For weeks and months, she’d grieved him. And then she’d gotten angry, made herself as well as those around her seriously miserable. Eventually she’d gotten over him. Filed away every single memory associated with him.

  The idea that he would show up now—for whatever reason—was like a blast of the harsh wintry New England wind that swirled and snapped and stung as it slapped you in the face.

  “I said, get out of my house.”

  The realization that he had broken into her home and had the audacity to stand here and toss warnings at her as if he were her assigned guardian angel made her want to shoot him on the spot. Just then, she could likely do that and not feel an inkling of remorse. Might even be able to cop a temporary insanity plea.

  “Think about it, Rowen,” he said. She’d always loved the way he said her name, with an emphasis on the second syllable—very French. “How do you suppose I gained access to your home? You’re not safe here. You must—”

  She held up her hands and slashed them back and forth as if she could somehow erase his words, as well as his presence. She cursed herself for the weakness the resonance of his voice could evoke. He had no right to even utter her name…not now…not after what he’d done. “Don’t you dare come here after all this time, you bastard, and pretend to care what happens to me.”

  The anger and hurt that filled her tone was undeniable. She hated, absolutely hated, that he would know with that statement just how badly his leaving had injured her. “I don’t know why you came back but I want you out of here. Now. Or I will call a unit to pick you up. Breaking and entering is still against the law, Hunter.”

  As if she hadn’t spoken at all he moved closer. “Listen to me, Rowen,” he murmured. “That’s all I ask. Then if you still want to throw me out, I won’t resist. Just five minutes.”

  She squared her shoulders and glared at him, her lips trembling in spite of her best efforts. “You don’t deserve five minutes.”

  “I know what you think,” he offered, that deep, rich timbre playing havoc with her senses, quelling her anger faster than she could reignite it. “I can’t change what you think of me, but I had to come and warn you. You are in grave danger.” He inclined his head as if to look beyond her to the open window. “You’ll have to excuse my tactics, but I needed you to understand just how vulnerable you are.”

  She couldn’t take this any longer. Fury driving her, she snatched the concealing eyewear from his face and forced him to look directly at her.

  He squinted those pale gray eyes, held up his hand to shield them, then turned away from her, as if the dim light sifting in from the window more than a dozen yards behind her was too much to bear.

  A whole new barrage of questions flooded into her brain all at once. “What’s happened to you?”

  It wasn’t until he’d reached up to block the light that she noticed he wore gloves. Why? It was only October. Sure, the mornings could be chilly, but not that chilly.

  And then what was wrong with the whole picture he presented meshed fully with her senses. His hair was far longer than before, but restrained in a ponytail. He wore all black—heavy, concealing black, including the gloves. His face looked pale…and weary.

  Hunter took the glasses from her hand and slid them back into place before she could analyze anything about his eyes other than the redness that spoke of too little sleep or too much alcohol. “I didn’t come here to talk about me.” He settled his gaze back on her. At least, she presumed he did; the glasses once again concealed his eyes.

  This was too much. Way too much. She scrubbed her hands over her face, rubbed her own eyes, then smoothed a hand over her damp hair. She needed coffee. She needed to think. She had four unsolved murders on her plate right now and she didn’t need to have to deal with this, too. But she knew him…too well. There was no fighting him when he’d made up his mind about something.

  Resigned to her fate, she crossed her arms defiantly. “What do you want?”

  “Coffee?” The tilt of his lips could hardly be labeled a smile.

  She sighed, feeling a new surge of defeat despite her challenging stance. He was here. A cup of coffee couldn’t hurt. She could use one herself. Her gaze performed a tour of him once more. Some part of her, too weak or stupid to know better, needed to understand what had brought about this change in his appearance…in his manner. She shouldn’t care…and yet she did.

  “One cup of coffee.”

  He acknowledged the condition with a single nod of his dark head, then stepped aside and she led the way down the stairs. The idea that he was right behind her had goose bumps skittering over her skin. She hated that he could still do that to her. It was so damned unfair.

  When they reached the entry hall Princess finally decided to bother to get up and greet the intruder.

  She sniffed and yapped once. When she didn’t get the desired response, she followed her mistress into the kitchen to see what would happen next.

  Once Rowen got the coffee brewing, she tossed a scoop of gourmet Kibbles into the polka-dot ceramic dog food bowl and added fresh bottled water to its twin. The dog refused to drink tap water. How was that for spoiled?

  When the smell of her favorite blend of coffee had filled the air, she topped off two cups, both black. She remembered that he had taken his coffee straight up, the same as she did. It bugged the hell out of her that she could remember so much about him.

  She set the cup in front of him at the small table in her cozy kitchen.

  Rowen almost never ate in the dining room. Not in the past three years, anyway. She preferred the warmth and earthiness of the whitewashed cabinets and butcher-block counters. Who wanted to go to the trouble of setting a table when preparing dinner for one? That, she reminded herself, in no way diminished the fact that she was over Evan Hunter on that level. She didn’t need him. Sure, he still possessed the power to make her body tremble, but there were other men out there. She simply hadn’t had time to pursue a personal relationship lately.

  “What’s happened to you?” she asked again. She claimed the chair directly across from him so that she could appraise his face, or what she could see of it. His mouth remained fixed in a firm line, but the unflattering expression failed to lessen in any way the full, sculptured appearance of those tempting lips. Of all his assets, why the hell did she have to focus on that just then? She blinked and pushed aside the troubling notion.

  “I developed a condition,” he said after giving the question lengthy deliberation, “that requires I shield my skin and eyes from light.”

  As he spoke, she watched his mouth move, noted the angular lines of his jaw. She’d kissed his face so many times, had reveled in his sheer beauty. As hard as she’d tried not to she’d become infatuated with him even before she’d known his name. The infatuation had given way to deeper feelings as they’d dated those few weeks. Eventually, the budding relationship had moved into serious territory. Then his work had concluded and he’d had to return to Washington.

  He’d promised to call…to come back every weekend. But she’d never seen or heard from him again. Not once in three years. She’d called everyone she knew to call. Had even shown up once at the address he’d given her. A neighbor had told Rowen that she’d heard Mr. Hunter died.

  That moment had served as the final straw. Rowen couldn’t take anymore. She’d worked for months after that to put him behind her. It wasn’t until the past year that she’d finally felt free of his irrepressible memory. Now, here he sat in her kitchen. A new trickle of ire gave way to a stream of outrage.

  She braced her hands on the cool tabletop and closed her eyes. “I can’t b
elieve I’m doing this.”

  “Rowen, you must listen to me,” he urged.

  This was insane. She pushed up from her chair, the legs scraping across the old brick floor. “I’m sorry.” She backed away a step, needing the distance. “I can’t do this.”

  “Rowen, wait—” He pushed to his feet, simultaneously reaching for her. The abrupt move jarred the table, sending both cups tumbling over and coffee sloshing across the table.

  She tried to grab her cup but only succeeded in sending it spinning off the edge to crash on the rustic floor.

  Swearing hotly, she turned to dive for a dish towel, but her attention jerked back to her guest. Those gloved hands had closed over his ears as if the sound of shattering stoneware had been too much for him. She’d jumped at the sound herself. The racket wasn’t easy on the ears, even when one was expecting it. But this. She watched as he slowly relaxed, unclenched his jaw, took a deep breath, then lowered his hands. This was an altogether different type of reaction.

  Realizing that she was staring, Rowen crouched down to gather the broken pieces of stoneware, her mind whirling with more questions. What the hell had happened to him? Was he sensitive to noise, as well as light?

  “Let me help you.”

  He had apparently recovered enough to grab the dish towel and stoop down next to her. Her gaze lingered on him as he mopped up the mess they’d both pretty much been instrumental in making.

  “Thank you.” She took the towel and the broken cup and quickly disposed of them before turning her attention back to him. He waited right where she’d left him, next to the table. She should just ask the questions throbbing in her brain. He was the one who’d shown up back in her life, not vice versa. She had a right to know, didn’t she?

  No. Nothing he could possibly say would change what had happened.

  She wasn’t doing this. She would not let him drag her back down that road. “I have to get to the office.” So much for coffee. She’d pick some up on the way. Right now, she just wanted out of here…away from him. “Say what you have to say and go.”

  Evan, with an ache still reverberating in his skull, understood why she felt this way. He’d hurt her. Memories of what they’d shared tumbled one over the other into his mind before he could stop them, adding to his misery. He’d hurt her deeply. He wasn’t strong enough just now to fight the sentimental pull of that shared history. But he had to fight his personal feelings, had to try and make her see.

  He ignored the pain that attempted to fragment his thoughts. Though the medication dulled his senses to a degree, he was still susceptible. Any unexpected sounds or sudden moves set off a shockwave of excruciating pain. He hated the way the medication left him off balance. But it was the only way he could tolerate the bombardment of sensations outside of his secluded home.

  With her impatience mounting, he had no time for long drawn-out persuasion. Clearly, playing on her compassion wasn’t working. Cutting to the chase was his only remaining option.

  “You have four dead bodies,” he said flatly. He had known that what he intended to propose would require a good deal more finesse, but she wasn’t going to allow him the luxury. “No motive, no evidence, no acceptable manner of death.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “How do you know about the fourth one?”

  He couldn’t very well tell her that the stench of death still hung on her clothes or that her fragile emotions screamed loudly of what she’d experienced that morning. A move like that would prove detrimental to his cause. He knew Rowen…knew how she processed all that she encountered. She was already on the defensive.

  “I know,” was the best he could do.

  Her guard moved up to the next level. Now she assessed his potential as a suspect. It was instinct. Part of what made her tick.

  “What do you know about these murders?”

  “I know that the Reporter is inciting panic.”

  The Reporter had a reputation for just this kind of exploit. For twisting the facts and magnifying the ensuing theories. But then, didn’t all media do the same thing to one degree or another?

  She nodded. “Vampires.”

  A frown marred her forehead, as if she’d only just thought of how his appearance and his sensitivity to light played into portrayals of the widely fictionalized and glamorized subject. Her heart skipped a beat before taking off into a faster rhythm, one influenced by the adrenaline filtering into her veins. He could feel her trepidation.

  “But you understand that’s not the case,” he suggested in hopes of moving her past the topic.

  She stared at him a moment, her responses slowed by her lack of sleep during the past few days. She needed to rest. But she wouldn’t. She was on the case now. Rowen O’Connor was as relentless as she was meticulous.

  “Do I?” she asked, countering his suggestion. She gave a little shrug. “You have no idea how I feel. You don’t know me anymore, Hunter.”

  On that score, she was very wrong. He sensed her bitterness, the pain she felt at seeing him. But he could not allow those emotions to interfere with what had to be done. That she called him by his surname told him just how deep the cut went even if her physical reactions hadn’t.

  He wanted to reach out…to touch her, but he did not dare. She looked so fragile, so very vulnerable. The hasty bun into which she’d arranged her waist-length hair upon getting this morning’s call had started to fall, allowing golden brown strands to drape around her shoulders. Her matching brown eyes, the color of melted caramel, looked tired, the smudges beneath testimony to her lack of sleep.

  The fatigue in her slender frame vibrated beyond the confines of the tailored suit she wore. She needed him, whether she understood that just yet or not.

  He could not fail. He’d risked far too much already simply coming here. Considering her bitterness toward him, his only hope for winning her over was shock value. He had only a small window of opportunity to prove just how much he knew. He had to make her listen.

  “A whole new dimension will be added to this case today,” he warned. “You must be prepared for the harsh focus that will come your way almost immediately. But more treacherous is the danger to you personally. You mustn’t get so caught up in the fray that your attention falters from protecting yourself. Words can’t hurt you, but there are other things that can and will if you are not very, very careful, Rowen.”

  Her confusion increased as disbelief was heaped into the mixture. She didn’t want to believe he’d come here to help her. Yet on some level, she knew he was telling the truth. That tiny crack in her armor left her open to having faith in him once more…gave credence to who he was when she wanted to continue despising him. Evan hated using his intimate knowledge of her for leverage, but it was, unfortunately, necessary. He, better than anyone, understood her deepest fears.

  The full reality of how little regard she had for him now pierced him. The tender feelings she’d cherished were no more. When the right time came, he would tell her that she needn’t waste so much energy loathing him for he already despised himself enough for the both of them.

  “I have to go soon.” He didn’t explain the admission, simply made the statement. But he knew his limitations. The medicine would begin to wear off any minute now. Getting caught in all this—he considered the sights and sounds of the town he had once treasured simply because this is where Rowen was—would be suicide. Taking another dose this soon wouldn’t be a good idea, either. “You should turn this case over to someone else, Rowen. Now. Today.”

  Rowen stood there, staring at him. His final words had rendered her speechless and immobile for what felt like an eternity. How could he possibly be aware of all these things? The man she had known three years ago had been in the business of investigating psychic phenomena. It was his job. But, above all else, he was a scientist, one employed by the FBI. The Gateway program—scientific investigation of the paranormal. To listen to him now made her feel as if the words were coming from a stranger. All of it was so very un-Hunter like
.

  Had he lost his mind? He, of all people, knew she couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk away from a case once she’d started. Changing investigators midstream would only set things back, slow down the race to nail the bastard taking innocent lives. No way would she let that happen as long as the choice was hers.

  The idea that Evan Hunter had somehow developed a mental disorder from the stress associated with his work crossed her mind. That would certainly explain a lot, she decided as she surveyed him once more.

  This definitely was not the man she had known, the man she’d fallen head over heels in love with. The same one who had, without a second thought, shattered her foolish heart.

  Outrage solidified her courage. “Thank you for your insights, Hunter. I’ll take your suggestions under advisement. But—” now or never, she had to do this “—I hope you’ll understand when I say I have work to do. Thanks for dropping by.”

  He hesitated, didn’t want to give up on whatever the hell he was trying to prove. But she couldn’t deal with another moment of this. Just being in the same room with him made her ache in places she’d thought long healed.

  For an entire year, she’d accepted that she was over Evan Hunter. That he was dead.

  Determined to be rid of him, she put her hand to his shoulder to encourage him along. He visibly flinched. The realization that he would draw away at her touch ripped open a whole new wound. Why the hell would he show up here like this and then recoil at her touch?

  “Just go,” she demanded. Whatever his motivation for a personal appearance, she wasn’t getting dragged into it. End of story.

  Thankfully, he appeared to recognize when he was beaten and moved toward the door. His warnings kept swirling around in her head, popping up from different angles, making her wonder if he could know things she didn’t.

  But how was that possible?

  She shook off the ridiculous concept.

  Maybe, she contemplated, he was still working for the FBI.