JUMP (The Senses) (3 page)

“Fine, I’ll come. But tell the boys to take a hike. They pissed me off the last time.”

“Jedrik’s flirting is harmless,” Anstice said.

“Yeah well, tell him to take his charming ass out the door or I’ll do it for him.” The last time she’d come for dinner, the thirty-something boys—and she considered her friends’ roommates Galen and Jedrik were boys considering they bantered back and forth like a couple of ten-year-olds—had fought over who could get her to go on a date with them. They had actually made a hundred-dollar bet.

Keir bowed his head. “I’ll be certain to keep them occupied elsewhere.”

Danielle watched them leave hand in hand. She had to admit, she was glad that Anstice had found Keir. It was obvious from the way his eyes smoldered every time he looked at her that he was smitten. Okay, smitten was too wuss of a word to describe anything to do with Keir, rather he was utterly, totally besotted.

Even though she was happy Anstice had found the love of her life, it also brought with it a barrier, this distance between them. They’d grown up together, friends from the first moment they met in grade two in the playground. Anstice was crying over an injured bird and some boys in grade five were teasing her.
Danielle remembered walking up to the little instigator, who was doing most of the egging on, and slugging him one in the jaw. He fell flat on his ass and began crying. She and Anstice had been friends ever since.

Something h
ad changed since the “episode”—that was how they referred to her abduction. Anstice was leery, refused to talk about what had happened and seemed withdrawn. Could it be possible Anstice was having trouble dealing with it? Did Keir dislike her? No, Anstice wouldn’t put up with that. But the timing was the same; Keir had met Anstice a week or so before the abduction. Something had changed in that time period. But what?

Mostly
, Danielle felt disappointed with herself. She had always been free-spirited and devil-may-care. Now she was trapped in a hellish past. The funny thing was she didn’t even recall the two days she’d been held in captivity. The doctors said it was normal, a way to protect her mind from something so traumatic. But her mind was snowed under with flashes of sounds and scents that reminded her of the horror she’d survived.

After the episode
, her friends had given up on her. Six months of ignoring their calls and emails tended to lead to desertion. Except for Anstice, of course. She kept calling, kept coming over, kept inviting her out. She was like a badger attached to her bloody leg. No matter how much Danielle tried to shake her off, Anstice refused to let go.
Guess you find out who your real friends are.
So why then did she think their relationship was different? Anstice had stood by her through the past two God-awful years.

Gregg, a guy she dated before the abduction, had visited her in the hospital. He tried to start things up again. She royally screwed that up by screaming at him to get the fuck away from her the first time his fingers caressed her neck . . . well
, needless to say he vamoosed. Her flings became nonexistent; besides, touching made her recoil and her stomach started a full out riot.

She shuddered
, running her hands up and down her arms. Always cold. This bizarre feeling as if she’d been in sub-zero temperatures, constantly shivering, her body unable to provide warmth.

God, two years had gone by since she’d been intimate with anyone
, and the funny thing was she didn’t even give a crap. Just thinking about a man touching her brought a dark ominous cloud over her mind. No more wild sexual encounters like with Kevin in the restaurant washroom or in Vee’s hall closet with Kevin’s foot in the mop bucket. Actually, the time in the elevator with Gavin had been the most erotic and daring. Six months in his arms had been feral and when she ended it, like she did with every guy, she’d felt a longing, a tickle of wanting to take the relationship to the next level. But the reminder of her father’s brains splattered all over his desk was vivid enough to end any attachment before it ever got to the point of loving.

She
’d had no qualms about approaching a guy she found attractive, whether in a grocery store, pub, park or even the bank. If she thought a guy was cute, she’d ask him out.

Rejection came with the territory, but it never bothered her. So they said no, whoopee. It wasn’t
as if they disliked her or found her unattractive. She took it as either no chemistry or they were taken, the faithful kind.

These days, if she saw a man she was attracted to, she walked the other way. Inside she was a tornado of emotions
—tearing, pushing and pulling in every direction.

After she was released from the hospital
, the dreams had begun with the obsession over the man in her paintings. It was as if he was begging her to discover who he was. She thought painting him would get him out of her system—instead it intensified, the urgency to paint him again and again. Desperation was strongest after the sun set, keeping her awake to stare at his portrait hanging over her bed. Some nights she sat on the floor cross-legged, staring at him as if waiting for him to say something. Like that would ever happen.

She grabbed a new canvas from her closet and propped it up on her easel. She pressed
Play on her stereo and Hinder’s “Lips of An Angel” blasted. Pulling the pencil from her hair, she began sketching. Her hand moved with precision, knowing what it was drawing, having done it repeatedly. She ignored the red paint drying on the floor, the ruined canvases scattered in every direction and the promise to stop thinking of him. The buzzing began singing its familiar song.

She was so immersed in her drawing that she failed to notice the male figure standing in the shadows, his vivid green eyes flashing.

This sucked. She had no inclination to go, yet here she was tugging on her worn-out button-down jeans. The zippered jeans she’d thrown out the day she got home from the hospital because, for some unknown reason, after the abduction the sound of a zipper gave her the creeps. She sifted through a pile of clothes on the floor and found a clean chocolate-colored turtleneck that was void any of paint splatters.

Socks she lacked period as she preferred bare feet even in winter. It had something
to do with smothering her feet; a childhood thing she never outgrew. Her mom used to say it was because her little angel was part of the earth and liked to feel it between her toes. She never made her wear shoes until she went to kindergarten and the teacher called complaining it was unsanitary for a child to be running around with no shoes and socks. Her mom had ranted about someone trying to tell her how to raise her child, but finally caved only because the school refused to have her back until the rules were conformed to.

After g
rabbing a pair of running shoes from the closet, she sat on the edge of her bed and stuck her feet in them.

“Can you believe this?” she said to Splat, her obese orange tabby cat who found it hilarious to unravel her toilet roll. “I’m being set u
p. I know it. And you get to lie sprawled out without a care in the world.” Splat meowed. “Sorry, you care about when you get your next meal.” He pawed at the mess of clothes on her bed.

She groaned at the sight of her bed
room. Definitely, a tornado had surfaced and dislodged every piece of clothing from her drawers. Well, it wasn’t as if she had any guys to pick up for anymore, she thought. She laughed to herself. She never cleaned up when having a man over, but truly her place was getting more disorganized by the day. Finding the inclination to tidy up after herself was nonexistent. She ordered in food, never invited friends over and all her spare time was spent painting. At least she kept the downstairs clean and tidy; after all, her gallery was her only source of income and her pride and joy.

Tomorrow
will equal cleaning day, she promised herself. The weather network claimed snow and, being Sunday, her gallery was closed. All day, she’d clean. Satisfied, she went to her antique bureau and winced at the layer of dust.

“Damn
. Where the devil did I put my keys? Splat, if you were playing with them again, I will . . . well, I’ll take away your Temptations.”

Splat rolled over on his back and stretched out his short stubby legs. He rubbed his head on her pillow and began purring. Yeah, like he knew what she was talking about.

God, when was the last time she’d driven her car? Weeks? Months? She opted for the subway and streetcars whenever possible, transit being far more economical and relaxing rather than driving. The only place she drove was Anstice’s because it was north of the city and they usually stayed up well past the time the transit shut down.

She found them in her coat pocket, along with a crumpled pack of watermelon gum. Glancing at the time
, she swore under her breath. She was going to be late. Despite her life being uprooted, she was still a punctual person. It pissed her off if anyone was late and she never had reservations at making that known.

She walked down to the parking garage and got in her red Mini Cooper S. She took the side streets, zipping in and
out of cars whose discourteous drivers decided to pull over wherever they damn well felt like it, thinking hazard lights meant you could do anything you wanted.

Twenty minutes later she pulled up to the iron gates on Post Street. Massive trees hid the house in the summer, but in November after the l
eaves had fallen, you could catch a glimpse of the house. It emanated coolness with gray stone encasing three stories. Minimal windows assisted in giving it that inhospitable aura. The property was surrounded by an eight-foot wall and an alarm system that would test any burglar.

She had yet to find out how Keir afforded such a leviathan residence. Anstice didn’t work anymore and that sure threw her for a loop considering Anstice had studied for six years at the University of Guelph to become a veterinarian. Giving it up was uncharacteristic of Anstice, which
might be another reason their friendship was wavering. Anstice claimed she wanted to stay home, have children, do the old-fashioned thing. Anstice had never considered living that lifestyle until Keir came into the picture.

Danielle p
ressed the button on the intercom and before she could say anything into the black box, the gates opened.

Weird
. Guess they saw her car from a window or they had a video thing-a-ma-jig. Electronics were not her specialty, rather her downfall. She was one of those people who had trouble setting up the video recorder to the TV.

Danielle parked beside the black BMW that she assumed be
longed to this Waleron guy. Hell, she was so not into meeting him. Anstice’s SUV and Keir’s four-door Audi sat on the other side of the circular driveway.

She glanced at the clock on the console—two minutes late, not bad.

She got out of the car, shut the door and took two steps before her breath escaped her lungs. She staggered back against the car, her hand flying to her chest as her heart began racing to the tune of an Indy car. Blood rushed through her veins. Goose bumps rose on her skin, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she needed protection.

The cold wind blew an intense gust, sifting through her hair as her eyes darted from side to
side. It felt . . . it felt as if something had swept through her body. As if someone had run their fingers across her flesh.

“Danielle, you coming?” Anstice stood on the porch with the door wide open
.

Danielle nodded. She hesitated
, taking one last look around and seeing nothing but bare tree branches swaying in the breeze. “Just locking the door. Never know what crazies live in this slummy neighborhood.” Yeah right. Their house was in the richest part of the city.

Anstice laughed.

She walked up to the door, her flesh tingling at the odd feeling as if someone was watching. Okay, if this Waleron was a head doctor, maybe she’d give him a chance after all.

****

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Danielle said to Jedrik. “And you.” She glared at Keir. “You promised this . . . this pretentious flirt would be elsewhere.”

The black BMW belonged to Jedrik and he was being his usual exasperating self. Why Keir let him reside here l
eft her clueless. It wasn’t as if Keir needed the guys’ rent money. Keir’s justification was that Jedrik was a friend and the house was big enough. Yeah, whatever.

Jedrik’s blond curls danced around his handsome face, dimples rarely absent from his cheeks, charm working at full tilt, as always. His interests involved slipping between a woman’s legs and one-night stands. In the few times she’d met him, he was on his way out the door dressed to the nines with a devilish grin on his face. Got a hot date, he
’d boasted both instances. More like a hot sex partner.

After Anstice told her about the bet he and Galen had made, any respect
she had for the guy was washed down the sewer. She might have had flings herself in the past, but they were meaningful. She liked the guys she slept with and they lasted longer than one night. Shit, she only ended the relationships when she began caring too much for them.