Touched by Lightning [Dreams of You] (Romantic Suspense) Read online

  That familiar ache began forming in the pit of her stomach. Fear, the feeling of being prey. Her voice cracked as it left trembling lips. “Me? It couldn’t have been. He must have met someone resembling me.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. As he was about to leave, though, he stopped and looked right at your collection. When he turned around, it was as if he’d seen a ghost. Then he asked if I knew the photographer. I told him I hadn’t heard from Nicolina in a long time. He bought one, then he came back a few minutes later and bought the rest.”

  She realized that her mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it. “Even if he was hired to find me, how could he connect me to those shots? I never told anyone but you that I took pictures of the homeless. God, Mother would have had me institutionalized if she knew I went to that side of town.” Nikki swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “You’re the only one who calls me Nicolina.” She didn’t want to believe that someone was after her again, not after all this time. For two years, after the investigation and trial, she had lived on the streets. Her sentence was two more years, and ironically, it was the only place she felt safe.

  Ulyssis handed Nikki her part of the sale, his thin hand held hers. He looked relieved. “You’re right, of course. I’m just paranoid. I’m sorry to worry you. After all, he didn’t seem to connect your pictures to the girl in the sketch. And if he were hired to find you, he would have pictures of you, and your name. Don’t give it another thought. You know I worry about you. But be careful, more than usual, okay?”

  She thought of her recent forays to the beach. “I will, promise.”

  “Good. Your latest batch is probably dry now. Choose the next ten you want displayed, and I’ll frame them for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, meaning it in many ways.

  She headed to the darkroom Ulyssis had set up for her two years ago when she realized she had to trust someone from the other world. He had proven to be a friend, and without him, she would be picking through dumpsters and living on samples like Seamus and Maudine.

  Nikki walked into the back room to her drying cabinet, fashioned from a hanging wardrobe closet. Who was the mysterious man who bought her pictures? If Devlin had hired him, the guy wouldn’t buy all of her pictures.

  Thinking of her brother was something she tried not to do. Sometimes he popped into her mind at the oddest moments. Like now, as she pulled the photographs down from her clothespins, she remembered finding him in her makeshift darkroom at the mansion, looking at the drying prints.

  “What are you doing here?” she’d asked, annoyed that he’d trespassed in her private sanctuary. She was glad that particular batch wasn’t of the homeless area.

  He looked startled but recovered quickly. With his dark brown hair and beady eyes, he looked nothing like her, but a lot like their mother. Nikki had her father’s light coloring.

  “I wanted to see what you were up to, what you do when you hide over here.”

  “I’m not hiding.” Why did she always sound so defensive? She smiled to diffuse the words. “I just need peace and quiet when I work.”

  Devlin wandered over to a table where she laid out her photographs to choose which ones she’d try to consign at Ulyssis’s gallery, another secret. She wished Devlin would leave so she wouldn’t feel scrutinized.

  “You’re actually pretty good, kid.”

  She waited for the punch line. It didn’t come.

  “Y-you think so?”

  “Well, I’m no expert, but they’re good as far as I can tell. You should try to sell them.”

  She had been selling them, but she’d never shared those small triumphs with her family. Devlin wasn’t putting her on. It was the first time she could ever remember him complimenting her.

  “Maybe I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  He started to leave but turned and leaned against the doorway. “You really love doing that, don’t you?” he asked, nodding toward the table.

  “Yes, I do.” It seemed so strange to talk about what she loved with her brother.

  “Mother seems to think your photography is silly, but you’re serious about it.”

  “Very.”

  “Well, I have to give you one thing: you’re doing what you want, not what she wants.”

  Nikki had never felt close to Devlin, but for some reason she felt compelled to open a tiny bit of herself to him. “And my prize for doing that is I eternally disappoint her.”

  “Everyone disappoints her…” His lips thinned, then he smiled. “I got to thinking that I’ve never seen your work… I don’t even know what you take pictures of. So I came up here to see.”

  “I didn’t think anyone cared to see my work, so I only showed them to Dad.”

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “More than anyone will ever know.”

  “You were his favorite…I could always tell that.” At her protest he added, “It’s okay…I got used to it.” He smiled, not that persuasive cocky smile but a genuine one. “I don’t even know you. I knew you took pictures but didn’t realize how much it meant to you until I saw that look on your face when you saw me up here.”

  “We live separate lives, even though we live under the same roof.”

  “When Jack and I get together, he tells me things about you, and it sounds like he’s talking about a stranger. Maybe we can remedy that before one or both of us finally gets enough nerve to move out of this house and loses touch.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, totally stunned.

  She’d never been able to figure out exactly what he’d been getting at, considering he’d tried to kill her three months later.

  Adrian sat at the oak table, his black boots propped on the edge, studying the black-and-white prints. He picked up the one of the black man having an animated conversation with the air. The man at the art gallery said the pictures had been there for years. His strange behavior from the moment he’d seen the sketch had Adrian wondering. And the owner had seemed reluctant to part with the pictures that should have been an eyesore after all that time with no sales.

  The glass in the picture reflected Adrian’s face, showing his thick eyebrows furrowed in thought. He picked up another picture, rundown buildings with boarded-up storefronts and two doors flung open. Inside two black people sat on folding chairs, dressed in their Sunday best. Above the doorway a sign read, THE DEDICATED DELIVERANCE CHURCH OF JESUS, INCORPORATED.

  Besides theme, the photographs all seemed to have something else in common: location. They were taken in a deserted-looking area of town, maybe across the waterway in nearby West Palm Beach. In another picture an old Buick was pulling out of the lot. Adrian tried to read the date on the expiration sticker of the license plate. If only he could get a handle on how long ago these had been taken, he could believe the gallery owner and assume Nicolina had taken off for parts unknown.

  He extracted the print from the frame, then removed his loupe from the camera bag. Holding it under the bright lights in the kitchen, he studied the numbers. His heartbeat stopped for a second: the tag expired the following year. These prints had been taken recently.

  Within a few minutes, he was in his rental car, the framed photographs on the seat beside him. It only took a few inquiries to ascertain the area where they had been taken. He left the clean, pristine area of Palm Beach and drove into West Palm Beach a few minutes away. Not far from the mansions and elegance lurked the poor area of town. His sense of familiarity came from the pictures he studied. Many of the stores were permanently closed and boarded up, weeds growing where landscaping had once flourished.

  When he passed the black man with the stroller, he nearly slammed on his brakes. He pulled into the nearest parking lot and grabbed the photograph Nicolina had taken of him. Pulling on his leather jacket, Adrian stepped out of his Mustang and walked over to the man who was humming.

  “Hello?” he asked. “Excuse me?”

  The black man slowly turned his head to Adrian, then smiled abse
ntly. Adrian noticed first the stench of the man who hadn’t bathed in some time. He wore a dingy sweater and shivered from time to time in the chilly air.

  Adrian pulled the print from behind him. “Who took this picture of you?”

  The man squinted, his watery brown eyes trying to focus. “It was warmer back then. Gets colder every year.”

  Adrian glanced at the photograph. “Do you remember a pretty lady taking this picture of you?”

  The man smiled, though Adrian couldn’t tell if it was because he remembered her or for some unknown reason.

  Adrian pulled out the sketch he’d drawn. “She looks like this. Have you seen her?”

  The man scratched his oily hair. “Camera,” he stated, as if proud he could remember the name.

  “Yes, camera. She took this picture of you.” He held up the framed photograph.

  The man’s smile disappeared, and the yellowed whites showed when his eyes widened. His voice rose. “We’re being bombed, we’re being bombed!” He screamed, waving his arms wildly, ducking down.

  Adrian didn’t know what to say but didn’t feel right walking away from him. “Are you all right?”

  His voice sounded somber now, his gaze far away. “They’re all dead. Gone.” He looked down at his trembling fingers. “Seamus hungry,” he said in a plaintive voice, his hand over his stomach. Then he clutched the cracked handles of his baby stroller and walked away.

  Adrian caught up with Seamus and handed him a ten-dollar bill. The man looked questioningly at it, then at Adrian.

  “Get something to eat,” Adrian said, then returned to his car.

  He sat for a few minutes, staring at the photograph of Seamus. Adrian had worked hard for financial security, wanting to get as far away from his past and those fears as he could. But what if his mind went and he squandered his money? He shook away the fears and pulled out of the parking lot.

  He returned to the pink house he’d rented, exhausted after hours of walking the street. Most people had nothing to say to him, scared off by his outsider looks. What would Nicolina’s reaction be to him? She obviously lived somewhere down there, though it was still hard to believe after seeing the mansion in that tunnel. The only way to get any answers on her whereabouts was to blend in.

  He walked to the window, thinking of Seamus, the hooker, and the dozen characters he’d asked about Nicolina. Could he pretend to be one of them?

  CHAPTER 3

  In two days Adrian had the makings of a beard and a new wardrobe from Goodwill. He had everything washed twice, raising more than one eyebrow as he’d taken the ratty clothes to a Laundromat to wash and fold the clothes for him.

  That morning he put on the old blue jeans, faded black shirt, and worn sneakers. The only things he left on from his normal life were his Calvin Klein briefs and his gold chain with the cross on it that his Aunt Stella had given him. His fingers tightened over the cross. He could use all the help he could get. He surveyed himself in the mirror. He looked slightly unkempt but not homeless. Too clean, but he wasn’t going to go days without showering. His fingers scrubbed through his hair, mussing it. A little better. What he’d noticed was the lack of hope and direction in many of the people’s eyes. Adrian couldn’t look like he had a purpose.

  Even though it was a chilly morning, he put the top down on his convertible. His hair was loose, and he absently scratched at the beard to which he was unaccustomed. He headed down Oceanview Drive, drawing in the salty air as one does before entering an airless place. After leaving the car in a busy parking lot not far from Nicolina’s part of town, he walked the several blocks to the city. Adrian slowed his pace and took a deep breath.

  A big black man leaned against a bundle of garbage bags that Adrian assumed was out for trash pick up. No, that bundle was the man’s life, his very existence. He eyed Adrian suspiciously as he walked by, spreading his bulk a little more over his bags.

  The Lord’s Shelter was Adrian’s first stop. The front door was open, but he was met by a man his age wearing a sweater and dress pants. He had blond hair and wore glasses, maybe an associate preacher or the like.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re at capacity right now,” he said in a soft, sympathetic voice. “But we are serving soup and hot biscuits at noon if you’d like to come back then.”

  “Th-thank you, I appreciate that.” How odd to be perceived as a beggar grateful for soup when he had a thick steak waiting at home for him. “I’m looking for someone; can I take a look around to see if she’s here?”

  “She?” the man asked, a surprised expression on his face.

  “Yes. I met her a few years ago and wondered if she was still in the area.”

  The man seemed to think about that, then stepped aside. “You’re welcome to take a look around for a minute. We don’t allow anyone in the sleeping quarters after eight o’clock in the morning, so she’ll be in the main area if she’s here. But please, only a minute.”

  Adrian put his hand on the man’s shoulder as he walked in. “Thank you.”

  He walked inside, confirming his first thought that this has been a church before. Tables filled the main room where people sat, some playing checkers, others with listless expressions on their faces. Sad faces. Adrian understood why Nicolina photographed the homeless. Their hopelessness was a sad reminder of this part of society, their predicaments poignant. Sunlight streamed in through the jalousie windows on both sides, giving millions of dust motes a stage in which to dance. Adrian scanned the room but didn’t see Nicolina anywhere. As he headed out, the apparent manager of the mission called out, “Don’t forget lunch.”

  Adrian nodded, wondering if Nicolina might be there later. He stepped over a sleeping man and continued down the sidewalk.

  By afternoon, he had visited the other shelters in the area, and although they were all full, he was allowed in to have a cup of coffee and take a look around. He returned to the Lord’s Shelter for a bowl of soup and another look. As he ate the tasteless broth and chunks of vegetables, he thought of a recent dinner he had at Carmine’s in New York, the table covered with huge plates of bountiful Italian dishes. So much food, it went to waste.

  “We have a men’s Bible study tonight,” a voice said from behind.

  Adrian turned around to see the man he met earlier. “No, thanks. I’m looking for a woman.” At the man’s surprised expression he added, “That friend I mentioned earlier. I...er, just moved down from New Jersey, for a job that didn’t materialize. I know my friend used to live around here.”

  The man sat down next to him. “I’m Dave, by the way. I run this place. What’s your friend’s name? Maybe I can help.”

  “No, that’s all right.” Adrian stood. “Thanks for the soup.”

  “You’re welcome. If you change your mind about the Bible study, we meet here at seven, after the evening meal. If you find your friend, invite her to join our women’s study group. We don’t have many, as you can see.”

  Dave gestured toward the place the pulpit used to be. A table and group of chairs sat beneath a large gold cross and stained-glass windows. And sitting alone at that table, in a shower of muted colors cast by the sun, a woman read a Bible. Her long blond hair hung in curls like a curtain around her, and a slender hand tucked a strand of it behind her ear.

  Adrian stood mesmerized by the woman, his heart feeling as though it were being squeezed. “Maybe I will come back for that Bible study, Dave. What time did you say it met?”

  Dave’s fair face lit into a smile. “Seven.”

  Adrian nodded toward the woman. “She’s the only one in the women’s Bible study group?”

  “Sometimes we have two or three. There aren’t as many women on the streets as there are men. She comes every week and reads the Word for an hour, no matter how many people come.”

  “Who is she?” Adrian’s voice had lowered to a whisper, and he cleared his throat again.

  “Nikki.” Dave shrugged. “Don’t know her last name. I don’t think I know anyone’s la
st name around here.”

  Adrian held out his hand to Dave. “My name is Adrian. Adrian Nash.” He doubted anyone around here had heard of his photography, but he didn’t want to take any chances, especially now that he found her.

  Nicolina. Nikki. She really exists.

  “Welcome, Adrian. I’m Dave Watts.” He glanced around at the room. “You’re welcome to hang out and read. We’ve got books and magazines over there on the shelves. Beds are given on a first come, first get basis tonight if you need a place to sleep.” Dave smiled, then walked over to the shelf to help an elderly woman who was trying to reach a book.

  Adrian watched Nikki, letting it sink in that he’d found her. Wasn’t that what he wanted, to know she existed? He took a step closer, feeling it somehow appropriate to find her in this holy place. He clenched his fingers, watching her lean back in her chair. He could hear the memory of her heartbeat as he passed from the tunnel into her soul. Was finding her enough? Could he walk away now? He took another step, finding it difficult to breathe. No. It wasn’t enough.

  Stella’s words drifted through his mind. Your destiny is entwined with this woman of the golden tresses and eyes the color of a stormy sky. Her life is in danger.

  Was that why she hid on the streets? Could he risk bringing her more danger? Walk away, that’s what he should do. He turned around, closing his eyes for a moment. That horrible drowning nightmare lurked ever near to his conscious, and he thought of that angelic woman breathing in the cold water. His hands felt clammy, his throat dry. Walk away or stay?

  He turned around again. She was immersed in her reading, not aware of his struggle. He walked nearer, and his breathing eased. She looked up briefly, then burrowed back in the Bible, obviously ignoring him or probably hoping he wasn’t approaching her. Adrian remained there, feeling an enormous sense of déjà vu as he watched her. Those images in the tunnel flashed through his mind like a movie. She was the woman in those images, and she was the woman in the photograph.