The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(6)

“One of us is consumed by duty,” he thought, barely aware of the words.

Arsen’s voice echoed in his head. “One of us is blind.”





Lexi opened her eyes and saw the man who wasn’t named Smith. She watched his hands, imagined the strength in his touch, studied the bronzed skin of his fingers relaxed against the muscle of his thigh. He hadn’t talked to her since that morning. Hadn’t said a word. She knew immediately he was dangerous and she trusted her feelings. She had never been so aware of a man. So… alarmed. He was dressed as he’d been for their meeting, in a white Armani shirt and black jeans, looking in total command while she sat in the dirt with hair in her face.

Her eyes watered from the gritty breeze. She clasped her hands together, realizing it was the sheer physicality of him that overwhelmed her. When he walked through the door that morning he was so exquisitely beautiful she hadn’t wanted to look. He actually affected the environment. Changed the air in the room. The memory of their conversation lingered like the remnants of a sweetly bitter wine.

He had introduced himself. She had motioned him to the client chair, upholstered in burgundy leather and guaranteed to soften the aloofness of her glass desk. They’d stared at each other until she pushed back and turned away, covering the retreat by reaching for a yellow legal pad.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

“I was referred here.”

“Who may I thank for the referral?”

“An acquaintance in Montana.”

The only client who’d asked for research in Montana had been Wallace. The connection left her uneasy.

She had picked up a gold pen and pretended to write, out of courtesy, because there were no real words on the page. Their conversation had continued until she understood this dark-eyed man was not a polished event planner like Wallace. His complete stillness had her heart stuttering. The cuffs of his shirt had been rolled back over hard muscles, revealing tanned forearms and the edge of a tattoo.

She had noticed, her eyes moving compulsively to the pagan lines. Most tattoos had a faded look, as if the skin had been washed too many times. But these marks writhed in amber, black and brown, alive beneath his skin.

Lexi knew he watched as she stared, knew he was waiting for a reaction. A thread of alarm had wrapped around her spine and her breathing slowed. Nearly stopped.

They didn’t speak. Her fingers flexed, and the pen dropped from her hand, rolled across the desk, tipped over the edge. It landed on the floor with a soft plop and rolled against his booted foot, where it wavered, as if a pen could decide for itself whether the journey would end or continue on.

He had stared at the pen for a long moment.

“What were you listening to, before I came in,” he’d asked. “I heard music and a voice on your phone.”

The man was referring to the relaxation app Wallace had loaded onto her phone—without her permission, but Wallace was a wealthy client out of Portland who didn’t recognize personal boundaries. He worried about her stress levels, wanted feedback on the app he was investing in and out of curiosity, Lexi had accessed the program. She’d waited until she was alone; she hadn’t been willing to do it when Wallace was in the room.

And the strangest thing had happened.

As Lexi had listened to the melodic voice, the chants and the ringing gong, she’d fallen into a fugue state so deep she couldn’t move, had been drifting on the verge of sleep.

And then a hand touched her arm.

The touch was so tactile Lexi had jolted awake, only to realize she was alone in the sterile office.

The memory of that deep sense of relaxation flooded back and Lexi thought about the soothing quality of Arsen’s voice. She noticed how her hands rested on the sand. Turning her head a few degrees, Lexi studied the withered grass.

The train of red ants continued to chug in her direction. When they crossed an open stretch of ground, a small stick stood in the way, and the mindless machines swarmed. After determining the stick was not alive, the front few ants picked it up in their little pincers and hauled it out of the way.

Lexi thought about that state of relaxation again and looked at the ants.

And decided they were an omen.




“You got lost for a few minutes.” Arsen’s voice pulled Lexi back to their conversation and she turned her head in his direction.

“Sorry. I do that sometimes.”

“Still curious about how you got here?”

“I’m sure you have some logical explanation.” Lexi wondered if he heard the sarcasm in her voice. Probably. He was an intervention guru, after all, helping people who refused to confront their problems and seemed to think she was one of them. He probably got sarcasm a lot.

That thought made her irritable. She glanced down and noticed that her clothes were different. Not the professional silk blouse and pencil skirt she’d been wearing in her office, but jeans and a slim white tee, and what could possibly be a favorite pair of tick repellent wool socks. And her hiking boots.

Somehow, Arsen had located her boots in the back of her closet. And her backpack. She recognized it in the pile of backpacks tossed against the rocks. No phone, though, and wouldn’t he have a nifty little explanation for that if she bothered to ask.

Obviously, planning had been in place. Lexi laid her palm against her thigh, pressing hard. The red train with biting pincers snaked to within two feet of her left foot, bringing the omen closer. She moved her foot to the side and dug her heel into the sand.