The Empath Page 3

  Maggie pushed a weary hand through her hair as she went upstairs to her office. She headed for a locked white cabinet and combed through it for the necessary supplies.

  The odd ability to envision the source of an animal’s pain hadn’t vanished. It was growing stronger.

  No. She hadn’t felt the animal’s pain, nor seen what happened. Besides, Iona Whittaker was fastidious, but cruel…? Ridiculous. Herman probably broke his leg…

  Falling down the stairs, a deep male voice asked.

  Maggie gasped, nearly dropping a box of bandages. First hallucinations, now voices? Definitely, too little sleep.

  Science, not speculation. Cell mitosis. She formed images of cells, dividing, new life growing. Her mind processed the information at hand. Rabbit, broken foot caused probably by angry woman with a ruined carpet. Yes, Iona Whittaker could be cruel. People were.

  Businesslike, she stacked emergency medical supplies on a tray. Splint, bandages, tape, medicine, syringe, needle, medication, prescription pad.

  Downstairs, she injected Herman with a mild sedative, asked Tammy questions about school to divert the girl’s worries. Very gently, she bound the rabbit’s broken leg. Maggie settled Herman back into his cage. She inhaled the scent of fresh cedar shavings and gave the bunny a reassuring pat.

  “Such a pretty chocolate color,” Maggie murmured.

  Tammy brightened. “Herman’s like an Easter bunny.”

  Easter bunny. Delicious, biting into a chocolate bunny.

  Rabbit. Fresh. Tasty. Raw, bloodied meat. Dinner. Energy.

  Shocked, she analyzed her thoughts. Where did that come from? One minute, daydreaming about a sugar rush, the next, salivating over meat.

  “I’ll give you some pills.” She scribbled instructions on the pad. Herman. Injured rabbit. Sweet little rabbit.

  Prey. Thrill of the kill, snapping bones, sinking fangs into fresh, delicious meat…

  Maggie shoved aside the hungry thoughts. Giving Tammy instructions on how to administer the medication, she smiled.

  “Herman has been well cared for. He has good muscle tone,” she noted, trying not to think of meat. Good meat, not tough, just right. Laced with tasty fat…

  Maggie hastily stood, grabbed the cage. Sweat beaded on her brow. I’m going insane. First feeling images and pain, then hearing voices, and now, thinking of pet rabbits as dinner?

  At the door, Maggie gently pushed aside Tammy’s offering of crumbled dollar bills. “Instead of paying me, I need a favor. Herman looks a little cramped in his cage. I bet he’d love a nice, big yard. Why don’t you give him to Sally? You can visit him, and it will make your mother happy.” And keep that bitch from hurting him again.

  Tammy’s lips curled up, then she glanced down at Herman. “All right, Dr. Sinclair. I guess it’s only fair to share him.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Placing the cage on her little red wagon, Tammy turned. Her brow wrinkled. “Are you okay, Dr. Sinclair? You look funny.”

  I bet. “I’m fine. Go home, call Sally.”

  Maggie waved, closed the door then fled upstairs to grab sleep before she imagined anything else.

  ———

  She fell asleep upstairs on her king-sized bed, dreaming of warm breath against the nape of her neck, hard muscles holding her fast.

  White teeth erotically scraping her flesh, followed by a long, slow lick. Wetness pooled between her legs. She stirred. Maggie moaned as two large hands, dark hair dusting the backs, slid over her trembling thighs. Sliding them open. Dark eyes staring at wet female flesh.

  You want my tongue. There.

  Her vagina clenched, aching. Empty. Needing. Hot. Please.

  What do you want?

  You. Inside me. Please. Fill me. Forever.

  I’ll give you everything you want. And more. My Maggie.

  She jerked awake with a start, clutching the sheet. Sweat dampened her lace panties, the ribbed lilac sleep shirt. He had been inside her, again. Her dream lover.

  His presence lingered, like the slow stroke of a man’s hand upon a woman’s naked skin. Tender as a lover’s caress, edged with desire. Demanding. Hot. Broad shoulders, hard muscles, crisp stubble abrading the soft skin of her throat as he kissed his way down her body.

  Maggie stood on wobbly legs. She ran a hand through her curls. Two hours’ sleep gave no rest. She’d been tormented with edgy, erotic dreams, leaving her restless and yearning.

  Late afternoon sun streamed through the sliding glass windows as she went downstairs. Maggie headed for the adjoining kitchen. Misha lay on the cool tile. With a false smile and a cheeriness she did not feel, she stooped down to pet her dog.

  “Hey there, Misha, babe. Feel like eating a little dinner?”

  A brown tail thumped madly against the floor. Hope rose, fed by desperation. From the fridge, Maggie fished out chicken livers. She cooked them over the electric range, chattering the whole time, filling empty space with words the dog did not understand, but were soothing.

  Maggie set the dish on the floor. Misha sniffed, licked a piece. Hope rose. It sank as Misha walked away.

  No appetite. Maggie, acquainted with the dying process, could not deny what her heart, and her mind, knew. Misha looked at her with mournful brown eyes as if to apologize. Maggie shoved the liver into the fridge.

  She patted her friend’s head. “It’s okay, baby, I never did like liver, either. Yuck.”

  The long brown tail thumped weakly against the tile. Misha reached up, licked her face.

  Fighting tears, Maggie washed the few dishes in the sink. Routine dulled the raw pain in her chest, allowed her to pretend everything was normal.

  The sun began setting, turning the brilliant blue sky to flame-red and orange. Maggie pulled open the large glass slider. Warm currents of air drifted inside, scented with brine. She stared at the expanse of white sugary sand stretching before her, the blue gulf beyond.

  Laughter rippled from the Tiki Bar down the beach. Tourists and natives gathered there for traditional sunset drinks, and to watch the spectacular vista of sunset sinking into the water. Maggie disliked crowds and socializing, preferring to remain alone. Besides, she couldn’t afford to waste Misha’s remaining time.

  Being alone didn’t bother her these past weeks. She needed privacy. Yet lately, when the night stole over the sky, and the moon rose high, she itched. To run wild and free.

  She stared out onto the sugar sands in utter desolation. A raging restlessness seized her. This time of night seemed hers, the darkness falling, the wind blowing.

  Palm tree fronds rustled in secret communication with each other. Raucous laughter from the Tiki Bar drifted over the sands. It sounded like fun. I’m so damn alone.

  You are not alone.

  Maggie whipped her head around. Wind tossed her hair as she searched into the gathering twilight. Nothing but wind and distant laughter. But someone was here.

  “Get a grip, Mags,” she whispered. Too much time alone, then the erotic dream, stirred her imagination.

  But she could smell him? Pine, earth, a woodsy pleasing scent tugged her in a nostalgic way.

  I’m here, the same, deep voice assured in her mind. Quiet, nonthreatening. Maggie wrapped her arms about herself. Maybe I’m insane.

  Only those of us craving absolute power turn, losing their minds, what’s left of their souls.

  A subtle note of warning threaded through it. She shivered.

  Do you smell that? Be careful.

  This was too weird. Maggie went to cut off her imaginary friend by thinking of cell mitosis. She stopped. The heels of the wind brought a faint but foul odor.

  Like rotting seaweed at low tide mixed with raw sewage. Except this stench carried nothing natural about it. Maggie fingered the chunky turquoise bracelet on her wrist. Grappling with control, she decided to indulge this voice, a fragment left over from her dream. A strong male presence, wanting to protect her.

  You’re wearing turquoise. Good.

 
Turquoise fends off evil seaweed?

  No. But it fends off an evil werewolf. For a while.

  Maybe I should wear silver as well. Fend off rotting seaweed and werewolves.

  Silver? That doesn’t stop them. I’ve tried.

  Fear spilled through her like ice water. Tiny hairs on the nape of her neck saluted the air.

  You’ve nothing to fear. I’m here now. But don’t remove the bracelet.

  The quiet, masculine voice settled her raging nerves. Maggie rubbed her arms, reasoning this internal monologue was a stress reliever.

  Superman saves the day. And turquoise is the kryptonite to fend off the Big Bad…

  Wolf.

  Ridiculous. Wolves in Florida? Only in bars. Her imagination was running amok, result of being alone too long.

  She needed company. The pull of human laughter from the Tiki Bar tugged at her like a siren song. Maggie glanced at the dog lying drowsily on the tile. “I’m going out for a bit, Misha. Just a drink and sunset. Stay here and guard the house. And if any burglars break in, try not to lick them to death, deal?”

  The dog raised her brown head, then slumped back to the tile. A lump clogged Maggie’s throat. She locked the sliders, went to the bathroom and brushed her hair. Dark purple shadows lined deep hollows beneath her eyes. She thought about cosmetics, decided she wasn’t getting married today. Giving a cursory glance at the turquoise bracelet, she sniffed.

  No more imaginary voices. Unhooking the clasp, she let it fall to the counter with a clatter. For a moment, a heavy sigh echoed in her mind.

  Ridiculous.

  After changing into white linen shorts, a turquoise sleeveless blouse and Birkenstocks, she set off down the beach.

  Sand sank into her toes. Maggie slipped out of her sandals, wriggled her toes with delight. Sandals swinging from one hand, she ambled toward the trilling laughter and clinking glasses.

  Minutes later, she stood before the thatched hut bar. Buxom women in tight shorts and tighter T-shirts clustered about the bar like bees around a honeycomb. Younger men in wild tropical prints and khaki shorts buzzed around them. Some grizzled salty types downed beer and roared at off-color jokes. She recognized only one person. John, a client, was engaged in serious conversation with a taller man.

  Doubts assailed her. What was she doing here? She didn’t drink. But something propelled her forward. Reasoning too many solitary days and nights isolated in her grief caused this yearning, she opted for the company. Maggie shouldered her resolve, slipped into her sandals again and approached.

  The bar was elbow to elbow, people sitting on the wood benches, smoking, talking, laughing. Maggie sauntered to the counter with more confidence than she felt. Had she been so alone all this time she’d forgotten how to order a drink?

  Then he caught her eye. Maggie’s heart hammered out an erratic beat. She stared.

  A black T-shirt stretched taut over broad, muscled shoulders. Faded denim jeans hugged lean hips, molded to muscular thighs the size of tree trunks. Dark bristles shadowed his taut jawline. He had arresting features, a strong nose, firm, sensual mouth and silky black brows. A hank of inky hair hung over his forehead, spilled down past his collar. But his eyes, oh, they commanded her attention. Expressive and dark brown, they were soulful and deep. They observed the bar scene a little sadly, and he held himself aloof.

  As if he, too, did not truly belong here.

  Biceps bulged as he lifted his beer and drank. Fascinated, she watched his throat muscles work. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.

  His gaze swung around, captured hers. For a moment Maggie forgot to breathe. Her hand fled to her throat. Arousal, sharp and deep, flooded her. A deep throb began between her legs.

  You’re pathetic. Getting all hot and bothered over a stranger at a bar.

  Maggie jerked her gaze away, shouldered her way to the bar. Trying to squish between the bodies crowding the bar, she barely managed to push through. Why the hell was she here, anyway? Ready to flee for the safety of home and hearth, she started to turn when a deep male voice interjected.

  “Room here.”

  Tall, dark and gorgeous gestured to the empty seat beside him. She hesitated.

  “Grab it before it, or the sunset, is gone.”

  His mouth, chiseled and full, quirked in a charming half smile. Maggie mustered a smile and joined him. What the hell. She needed this.

  “Drink?” he asked. His voice was deep, smooth, the burn of whiskey sliding down a parched throat.

  She didn’t like strangers buying drinks for her. The man arched a silky black brow. “You buy. I get the bartender’s attention. Deal?”

  Fair enough. “Pinot noir.”

  “Good choice,” he murmured. The stranger signaled. A bartender floated over as if jerked by invisible strings and a minute later, a rounded glass of ruby liquid sat before Maggie.

  The stranger lifted his glass. “Here’s to the beauty of nature,” he murmured.

  They clinked, drank. Maggie savored the rich taste on her tongue. Awkwardness came over her. So long since she’d conversed with a total stranger other than clients. And such a gorgeous one. She struggled for conversational openers. Cell mitosis wouldn’t do.

  “I usually don’t like crowds of strangers, but the scenery in my room was boring. How many times can you watch hurricane storm stories on the Weather Channel without wanting to drown yourself in the bathtub?” the man said.

  Maggie gave a reluctant smile. “I tried drowning myself in the bathtub once after watching one, but I had just returned from the hairdresser and had a good hair day for once.”

  He laughed. “Here’s to good hair days.”

  Maggie clinked glasses. She took another brief swallow. Here we go again, what do you do, do you come here often…

  “Baths are overrated. Too much water, unless you share.”

  Maggie stole another glance at his firm chin and the delicious sprinkling of stubble. His mouth was full and sensual. Most striking were the eyes, dark brown with swirls of caramel. Enticing. Hypnotic.

  He tipped his glass toward her. “Nicolas Keenan, here by way of New Mexico.”

  Maggie smiled. “Maggie Sinclair, here by way of the beach.”

  She stuck out a palm to shake. Businesslike, how’s it going? But he picked up her hand instead. His palm was warm, a little calloused and swallowed hers.

  Electricity shot through her, pure current that sizzled. Never had she felt such deep, primitive emotion. Dark eyes met hers as Nicolas brought her hand to his mouth.

  He brushed his lips against her knuckles. A brief, but intoxicating kiss. Maggie fought a wave of sudden lust. Her body tingled pleasantly. He let her hand rest in his, then released it. Wordlessly, she sipped more wine. For a long minute, she felt as if they were alone, two strangers sharing space and more.

  “Are you here vacationing?”

  Nicolas gave a slow smile. “Out to see a friend. She doesn’t know I’m coming.” White teeth flashed. “It’s a surprise.”

  Lucky girl, Maggie thought with an odd pang of jealousy. “Just a friend?”

  His steady gaze burned into hers. “And we will be more than friends before the night ends. I’m a very determined man.”

  “Do you always get what you want?”

  “Always,” he hinted softly.

  Maggie wished someone would want her. She pushed back at her unruly curls. “I’m usually persistent at what I want, but some things are beyond my control.” She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “But that’s life.”

  “Sometimes what we think is beyond our control isn’t. We just need a little help,” he observed.

  She had the oddest feeling they’d met before. Kismet. Maggie sipped more wine. “Lovely sunset.”

  Nicolas nodded. “There is such power and energy on this earth. Only now are most people beginning to understand their world, and live in harmony with the elements.”

  “You sound like one of those snotty hybrid drivers who has solar
panels and cooks with his own methane emissions.”

  Horrified, Maggie bit her lip. But Nicolas laughed. “I drive a truck,” he countered, warm brown eyes twinkling. “I have a ranch in northern New Mexico and hybrids can’t carry bales of hay. I do have solar panels on the roof, only because I hate paying for electricity. And I never fart. Ever.”

  He winked. Maggie laughed her first real laugh in weeks.

  “But I do host lovely candlelight dinners…when I meet a special lady.”

  Tension eased, replaced with something more intense and far more sexual. Wine made her bold. “I bet you even seduce by candlelight. To save power and be romantic at the same time.”

  “Not all women. But there’s one special one I would definitely seduce by candlelight,” he said softly.

  Daringly, she set her wineglass down, met his smoldering gaze. “And how would you do it? Seduce her? What if she didn’t want to be seduced?” she challenged.

  “It wouldn’t matter. Because when I set my eye on something I want, I can be quite ruthless. I would pursue her endlessly, until she surrendered to me.”

  She saw in the swirling depths of his dark eyes his deter-mination—the relentless energy of the hunter pursuing what he wanted. A little shiver snaked down her spine.

  “And once you caught her? Why should she surrender?”

  “I would tell her she’s the only woman in the world for me, someone special sent just for me. That I would die unless I made love to her, and how perfect she is, how absolutely lovely. I would coax a smile to her sad face, kiss away her fears and whisper to her that there was nothing to fear. I would take very, very good care of her,” he murmured.

  This man, he sounded so familiar. Must be her alcoholdoused brain. Maggie moistened her mouth, tossed her hair. Flirting couldn’t hurt. When was the last time she’d flirted?

  “How good?” Maggie challenged. “Because you’d have to be good. Very, very good.”

  He leaned closer, until she could count the black bristles shadowing his jaw. His smoke-and-whiskey voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Trust me. I would be good. Very, very good.”

  Heat coursed through her. Maggie sank into his liquid gaze, the dark vortex pulling her down. He looked at her as if she were that woman, and he wanted to love her all over until she sobbed for mercy.