Between Darkness and Daylight (8 page)

Zane lurched to his feet and withdrew his hand from hers, taking one last gulp of his coffee before putting the cup on the table. "I'd better go check on Ran, see how he's coming along."

"Oh…okay."

He headed for the stairs before she had a chance to say another word.

* * * *

Nova frowned. Zane's scarf was on the floor beside the barstool where he'd been sitting. She bent to retrieve it and draped it around her neck, closing her eyes and inhaling his scent. Clean and woodsy, it conjured up a vision of him when she'd seen him coming up the stairs from the train platform, tall and rugged in a pair of jeans and black work boots, the black leather jacket accentuating his broad shoulders and lean hips beneath.

She'd wanted to do much more than smile and stand there like a well-heeled limo driver, but in the end she'd been as obedient as Yo-Yo, just waiting and taking him in. Problem was, she had no master to look up to for permission to jump his bones, except herself.

Just now, she'd wanted so much to push for more information—about his wife, about his sister—but his demeanor had been too closed. Instead, she'd reached for his hand, despite the very real possibility of rejection.

When he let her hold on and intertwine her fingers through his, it emboldened her just a little, made her spill more than she'd ever intended to this early in the game, not that what she'd divulged had been very much or very deep. But the touch and her sharing had been enough to open up the floodgates, to recreate her near-death experience in the tunnel in blinding special-effects Technicolor. Just a flash—a millisecond passing between touching him and seeing the woman, his wife Sinny—was enough.

She had been pregnant when Nova first encountered her, a couple of months along, tops. Nova had sensed it back then, but didn't understand the significance until now; Zane hadn't known, at least not right then.

Why didn't she tell him?

Maybe she'd only just found out herself. Maybe she'd wanted to surprise him on…their anniversary? That sounded right,
felt
right, why she'd made the run to the market comparatively late at night. She'd needed
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an ingredient for a special dish she was making, something she'd forgotten to pick up earlier in the day.

Nova could sympathize; she'd forgotten things like that herself, many times before…

But someone is waiting, stalking Sinny through the dimly lit parking
lot.

Nova senses the woman's nonchalance, her fearlessness, despite living
and working in the city. In this way, she is much like Nova herself.

He emerges from the shadows, and then, swift as an arrow, there is
fear, fear that Sinny tries to push down. She wants to keep her head clear,
needs to—to save herself, to save her baby. She's forgotten her pepper
spray and curses under her breath at her stupidity.

The stranger approaches, but Nova can't make out his features, just a
long lean silhouette with a knife. She sees the flash of the weapon beneath
a nearby streetlight, a vicious-looking hunting knife, and hears Sinny beg
for the life of her unborn baby.

Sinny tries to break away and run, but he is faster, grabs her by the
hair and pulls her back to him.

There is an all-too-brief struggle. Sinny is viciously stabbed several
times in the abdomen. It's as if the attacker had a grudge to settle and the
knowledge of the baby within Sinny's belly reaffirms his resolve to settle it.

Nova is whisked from the scene, now a part of Sinny rather than
observing her. They both float on air over Nova's hospital bed in
California, where the doctors are furiously working on her broken body,
working to bring her back.

Matt is in the waiting room; she can see him through the wire mesh
glass doors, his cheeks wet with tears.

Nova is torn. She wants to be with Matt and wants to go with the
woman. She wants to go with the woman more than she wants to remain,
but Sinny refuses to let her leave the hospital with her, insists that she
stay, and live.

She has one favor to ask, however, a promise she wants Nova to keep.

Nova never actually agrees.

* * * *

54

Gracie C. McKeever

Nova opened her eyes, pulling herself away from the trance as if coming out of a deep, multi-year coma. She was still alone in the kitchen, fondling Zane's scarf, and thinking about fondling the man—the muscled biceps she'd felt beneath his shirt and the round male butt, lean-muscled thighs, and nice-sized bulge she'd spied in the snug black jeans.

She went to the living room closet to hang the scarf with his coat, loath to part with that small piece of him, feeling closer to him now than she had to any human being. Nova realized that the scarf hadn't always been Zane's. It had belonged to his wife, Sinny.

This must be why she had experienced such powerful second sight while touching it, her strongest visions yet—more intimate, clear and present danger. She hadn't even had visions like that in the hospital and wondered if perhaps it had anything to do with her being so close to the source—both physical and emotional proximity.

She felt close to Sinny, too, and wondered if it was the house. The scarf must have been her favorite—now it was Zane's—and the house a home away from home.

Nova knew why the visions had had such a tormenting quality before she left Los Angeles: she'd never promised Sinny she'd come to New York to…to protect Zane? Or to protect her nephew? What was the ultimate goal?

Once she'd arrived in New York, her visions had almost immediately become less frequent, more like once each week instead of daily, as if being in the city was enough of a reminder of what she needed to do. For a while, being here had been enough to keep the visions at bay.

Not anymore.

Her head spun from all the speculating. She wasn't her mother and hadn't asked for this ability, this "assignment", resented being forced into such an untenable position. Hell, the woman had come all the way across the country in death, bypassing several states and friends and relatives, to find her, ask
her
for a favor.

Why her and not someone else closer, more willing and capable?

Maybe she was as close as Sinny could get. Maybe Sinny had gotten turned around in space and time, making a left at some ethereal intersection when she should have made a right. Maybe 3,000 miles in
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55

real, live time was like a block in near-death experience, bright lights, and tunnel time.

Why her? she wondered again and heard her father's deep voice answering as he had time and again during her childhood and youth: "Why not you?"

Nova heard noises rising up from downstairs. How long had she been standing there in the middle of the kitchen like a zombie? Zane and Ransom must be half-done with her computer room, either tearing it up, from the sounds of it, or painting it.

She went down the stairs to investigate and paused when she got to the bottom step, listening to the loud laughter and hysterical giggling.

How dare they have fun in there without her!

She tiptoed down the cream-carpeted hallway, past the laundry room and the downstairs half-bathroom, then finally paused on the threshold of the computer room, where a paint-fight was in full swing. Like any good uncle worth his salt, Zane had taken up brush and roller to help his boy.

Only he wasn't painting the walls as much as he was painting his nephew.

The boy looked like an extra from
Braveheart
, with several streaks of blue color marking his face like war paint.

Ransom, however, had given as good as he'd gotten. Zane's black jeans and gray baseball Henley were mostly blue now. Ooh boy, she was going to have a nice time washing those.

Yo-Yo was right in the middle of the action, barking and leaping up and down and running back and forth between man and boy like the toy he was named after, paint staining his copper-gold coat in lovely blue polka dots and stripes. Nova covered her mouth to stifle her giggles—not that they would have heard her over their own loud laughter—and watched the three boys for several moments, her heart filling at the rightness of the scene.

They belonged here, probably more than she did. She was beginning to wonder where she belonged, if she belonged anywhere at all.

Moving forward, she picked up a stray brush and soaked it good as she made a move to join the fray and rid herself of her pathetic woe-is-me thoughts.

56

Gracie C. McKeever

"Need a fourth for your little paint party?" She stood with one fist on her hip, the other hand waving the brush from side to side with seductive threat.

"Oh, you don't want any of this," Zane said.

"I beg to differ."

"You want to smellllll what The Rock is cooking?"

Nova burst out laughing, caught off guard by his hilarious

impersonation of her favorite wrestling personality.

She wanted to do more than just smell what Zane Youngblood was cooking. She wanted to touch him, wrap her arms and legs around him and let him rock inside her wet cunt until they were both spent.

Zane crouched, placing his roller on the plastic-covered floor, then stood back up and stalked closer. Suddenly he rushed her, feinting a tackle, and snatched her up, throwing her over his shoulder fireman-style.

Then Ransom did his job, painting her backside and splattering her hair.

"Put me down!"

"You asked for i—whoops!"

Nova didn't think she had ever heard a grown man say "whoops"

before. Her heart jumped at the suggestion that something was about to go wrong. She had a second to brace herself before they crashed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs and a blue cloudburst of paint flew out around them.

Zane held her against his chest, taking her full weight as they landed amidst a pile of overturned pans and slid in the pool of spilled paint. She sat up, dazed as she straddled him, pussy muscles clenching and unclenching as if preparing to accept the sizable erection she felt pushing against her ass.

"Are you okay?" They chorused and simultaneously laughed.

Nova was breathless, still laughing and trying to get her bearings when Ransom and Yo-Yo piled on like NFL players sneak-attacking their coach after a championship win. Ransom emptied a paint can over Nova's head, and Yo-Yo put the finishing touches on their living work of art with several hundred masterful tail-wags aimed at the fallen pair.

"Why you…" She tackled Ran to the floor and tickled him mercilessly, then flung her head and spread the wealth, spraying blue paint across the boy's face. Ransom giggled until he keeled over, holding his stomach.

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57

Then he got this weird look of embarrassment on his face and leaped to his feet, dashing down the hall to the bathroom with Yo-Yo dogging his tracks.

Confused, Nova bit her lip as a door slammed in the distance. "Was it something I said or did he need a bathroom break?"

"Sorta."

"Sorta bathroom break?"

"He probably just needed to wet his whistle after all our tussling.

Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine.”

* * * *

Zane chuckled, hoping he was convincing, sympathizing with his nephew. He was in the same exact state of arousal as Ransom and only hoped he was better able to hide it as he stood and stuck out a hand to help Nova up.

But instead of pulling herself to her feet, she jerked him forward. He slipped and slid in the paint for several seconds, looking like a cartoon character fighting gravity, before he finally gave in and crashed to the floor beside her. "Now that wasn't very nice."

"You call that double-team sneak attack you and your nephew pulled on me nice?"

"I didn't hurt you did I?"

He looked worried and Nova rushed to reassure him.

"I'm fit as a fiddle."

"Wish I could say the same."

"You did fall pretty hard. Both times."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Heard your elbows and shoulder blades when they hit."

He winced, his joints aching. He knew he was going to feel this tomorrow. Right now, he felt like he had taken a line drive in the crotch where Nova's hipbone had dug into him as they landed.

Suddenly, she burst out laughing again, a full-force gusher of amusement, and Zane moved to sit up.

"You think this is so funny, Ms. Foxx?"

58

Gracie C. McKeever

"I-I'm sorry. Y-your face!" She pulled in a deep breath and released another guffaw, holding her sides and just having a good old time. "You should have seen your face when you went down…
whoops!"

"Oh that's
real
funny." Zane flipped her beneath him and Nova yelped in surprise when he held her arms above her head and straddled her. He leaned in to wipe some of the paint off her face with the hem of his shirt before wiping his own face.

Christ, his life was filled with too many uncertainties, too many demands on his time and his emotions, to add getting involved with a woman. Was he ready to bring another woman into his life and risk losing her? Risk an unknown psycho taking her away from him?

Then there were the many mysteries surrounding the woman herself.

He didn't totally trust Nova’s motives. He didn't trust her. Not yet.

Zane was making excuses and he knew it. He also knew what Sinny would say about his doubts. It was her favorite motto:
"Those afraid of
getting hurt should work in a pillow factory."

The hell with it
… He leaned close and murmured, "You're cute when you blush, you know that?"

"I don't blush."

"Yes you do."

"I do no—"

He smothered her protest, covering her mouth with his in a torrid kiss, aggressively thrusting, then darting his tongue in and out, mimicking the way he longed to move his cock inside her. Her tongue came out to meet his, sweet and unabashed, and he could feel
himself
blushing as his tongue mated with hers.