Kindred of the Fallen (3 page)

Adrenaline spiked in Serenity’s bloodstream. She snapped out of her daze, hustled to the woman and strained to lift her.

Frightened commuters funneled toward the sole stairwell near her subway car. Holding the woman by the elbow, Serenity stayed near the railing as she jostled up the stairs. She helped the woman onto the street and rested her against a wall. Passengers poured onto the sidewalk, clawing to get away from the subway station.

She weaved through the panic-stricken mob, her mind spinning, and jogged four blocks to Evan’s office building. She caught her breath on the elevator and sagged against a wall, grateful it was empty. By the time she reached the forty-fifth floor and wandered toward his office, she still hadn’t been able to make sense out of the impossible.

The floor was surprisingly quiet. The workaholics around there usually put in twelve- to sixteen-hour days. Even Sarah, Evan’s assistant, had gone home.

“Finally,” Evan said, rising from his chair as she entered his office.

She had to tell him what happened on the train, but how to explain without sounding bonkers? Her compulsion to sketch her dreams had been enough to make him mention the word
professional
, a.k.a. shrink. If he knew about her father popping up, twenty-five years after he died, he’d think she was certifiable.

But if others had seen her father, then he wasn’t a hallucination and she wasn’t crazy.

“We’re late.” He walked around his desk, gathering files, and put them away in a cabinet.

Her heart still pounded in her chest. The last thing she wanted was to go to a firm party. “Evan, I can’t. My…” No matter how she put the words together in her mind it sounded like a big jumble of crazy. “My head hurts. I’m not really feeling up to it.”

“It’s the lack of sleep from the nightmares. You should see that therapist.” He rubbed her upper back in soothing circles. “Tonight is big. The only associates attending are the ones being considered for partner. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really need you. Please, try to buck up.”

Her stomach heaved, but she willed herself not to retch. She couldn’t let him down, not when he needed her most. With a nod, she said, “Okay.”

He went to a chair and picked up a large, silver box from Bergdorf Goodman. How in the heck had she missed that? Oh yeah, dead father committing suicide on the subway.

“Sarah picked it. I didn’t have time, but it’s perfect. She said the shoes are a treasure.”

Serenity winced at what might be in the box. While she preferred simplicity and comfort, meaning jeans and shoes with rubber soles, Sarah’s taste in fashion was far more adventurous.

“I’ll go flag down a cab and wait for you downstairs. Meter will be running.” He tapped his watch. After a kiss to her temple, he left.

She opened the box and groaned, taking out a silk sheath dress the color of an overripe pumpkin on the cusp of decay. Why couldn’t Sarah have picked a neutral color?

I can do this. For Evan.
She fished in her bag for a piece of gum and chewed it while she changed. Eight minutes later, she wobbled to the taxi in three-inch heels, clickety-clacking up a storm and cursing Sarah.

She slipped into the cab. “Sorry we’re so late.”

“Let’s go.” Evan tapped the driver’s seat. “You’re the best, sweets.” He patted her knee. A half-conscious gesture of tepid thanks she’d grown used to receiving.

Her gaze fell to the two-carat rock on her left hand. Gleaming in the fading golden light, the ring had the lovely sparkle of a gilded cage.

“The dress is perfect. Do you like it?” Evan asked.

If putrid were a color, this would be it.
At her hesitation in responding, worry etched across his forehead in deep lines that threatened to splinter his confident façade.

“It was thoughtful of you to buy it.” She forced the corners of her mouth up. As concern evaporated from his features, her heart lightened. Tonight would be stressful enough for him without her adding to his anxiety. “The scope of my fashion sense is limited to denim and cotton, but next time, please let Sarah know a simple black dress will do.”

“I told Sarah I wanted you to stand out. You look fantastic…except for the hair. Can you do something with it? Maybe put it up.”

She smoothed back her long, rebellious curls she had corralled in a ponytail. Fixing wild hair that refused to be tamed, while in a moving car without a mirror, wasn’t advisable, but after his third glance at her head, she gave in. She pulled off the elastic band and gathered her tresses into a twist, leaving curly stragglers around her face so any other loose strands she missed would appear deliberate.

“Have you given more thought to the gallery’s offer?”

She squelched a sigh before it slipped from her lips.

“You’re wasting your talent slinging ink with Dougie.” Evan adjusted his cufflinks and tie. “It’s time to transition from tattoos to legitimate artist. We need to cultivate the right image.”

“I don’t actually sling ink. Putting the tattoos on customers isn’t my job. I love my work at
Soul Ink Designs
and I don’t care what people think.”

“Image is important to the firm. You are a reflection upon me. We’re a team. A few sacrifices on both sides are necessary, sweets. We need something to balance the tattoo thing.”

He’d worked so hard to make partner, putting in seventy hours a week at the firm. He’d earned it and shouldn’t be held back by her. She squeezed his hand, remembering all the ways he’d supported her, been there through dark times when she had no else.

“Becoming a partner is for both of us.” His Coca-Cola brown eyes brightened as he held her hand tighter. “We’ll be set. Soon I’ll be able to give you the kind of life you should have. You won’t have to work anymore, and you’ll have the best of everything.”

“I like working. I don’t care about having more money. I don’t need—”

“You deserve so much more, and I’m going to give it to you.”

The cab lurched to a stop. He paid the driver, not waiting for change, and helped her out. In the elevator, she ran her hand across the exposed blemish on the back of her neck. More like a brand than a birthmark. She tugged a few strands free from her twist. The wisps of hair wouldn’t shield her mark, but the feel of curls brushing her skin boosted her confidence.

“You look absolutely stunning. The updo highlights your elegance,” Evan said. “The fidgeting detracts. You shouldn’t be ashamed of your birthmark.”

Digital numbers climbed to the top floor in a nauseating blur. The steel doors opened to the grand foyer of Rupert Dupree’s penthouse. Mounting dread simmered in the pit of her stomach. Stepping onto the marble floor, she slipped, but Evan caught her elbow. She stood upright and stroked his smooth, dimpled cheek as a silent thank you. Beaming, he held her arm as he guided her to the safety of Persian rugs.

In a precarious world where one false step could land you on your butt or even your face, she could always depend on him to keep her from falling. He didn’t have the razzle-dazzle of a zealous lover, but passion was a seductive veneer of window dressing she simply didn’t need or trust. He was safe, and her rocky childhood had taught her one thing: A sense of security was an undervalued commodity.

Plastering on a smile, she clutched her purse as they worked the living room, greeting his colleagues and bigwig clients. Meaningless chatter flowed through bleached smiles like static on a radio. All the while she tussled with her mind to forget about her dead father on the subway. An opportunity to escape opened in the dying laughter of some joke, and she seized it. She gave Evan a peck on the cheek and retreated to the bar at the opposite side of the room.

Nursing a glass of Chardonnay, she drifted toward the seventeenth century Japanese
tansu
propped in the corner. Like her, the foreign piece was meant to adorn and impress, but didn’t fit in any more than she did.
Future trophy wife.
Damn Dougie.

At the center of the party, Evan conversed with a casual flair he didn’t seem to possess when they were alone. Focused, vigilant, ever in constant pursuit of the perfect life with her—for her. This world of the fashion-conscious elite suited him.

“Naughty of you to sneak in without saying hello,” said an unmistakable female voice behind her. The warm southern drawl was sweet as saccharin.

Suppressing a grimace, she turned to greet Lila Dupree, the hostess.

Lila held out her palm. “Let’s see it. The birdies can’t stop chirping about your ring.”

No point in resisting, Serenity yielded and allowed her to appraise it.

At fifty-three, with a toned body and strong hands, Lila could have passed for forty. “De Beers? Cartier?”

Recalling the robin’s egg blue box, Serenity said, “Tiffany’s.” Not that the size of the ring or where it’d been purchased mattered to her.

Lila examined it from various angles. “Nice job, darling!” She pushed her empty glass toward the bartender and clinked her manicured talons against the crystal. “The
martini
should be dry, not my glass.”

“Yes, Mrs. Dupree.” The red-faced bartender whipped up another vodka martini.

Lila took her drink and clamped a claw on Serenity’s shoulder, steering her back toward the hubbub. “So tell me, how did Evan finally conquer your aversion to marriage?”

“He told me about Greg Reynolds’s car accident. His girlfriend couldn’t visit him in ICU because it’s family members only. What if something like that happened to one of us?”

Every word Evan had spewed, as if making a closing argument, made sense, but a question lingered. What if more existed than tender affection that teased but never satisfied? Loneliness pricked her heart, but she shrugged off the romantic poppycock. She’d never gotten close to any of her foster parents, and Evan was her only family. The one constant in her life, steady as gravity.

She needed stability, not roses or moonlit serenades, and certainly not the kind of volatile fire that could destroy an entire life.

Lila swished the olive around in her glass. “Double congratulations. Evan told me about the offer from the Ellery Klein gallery. Thank goodness, you’ll be saved from that tattoo parlor.”

“I don’t need to be saved from my studio.” Serenity hoped her smile didn’t soften the sharpness in her tone too much.

“With the kind of publicity Klein can drum up, you’ll make a splash in the right circles. A gorgeous, supportive wife whose paintings are sold from a fine art gallery would complete the package for Evan, if you know what I mean.”

Serenity took a deep swig of wine to keep from saying something she’d regret. Heat bubbled up in her stomach. She glanced at the French doors to the terrace, longing for fresh air and to be left alone.

“Now you need to set a wedding date. Make things permanent and marry the man already. Plan a fairytale wedding only a partner could afford.” Lila gave a wink.

They’d barely been engaged two weeks. She was in no rush to make her sacrifice on the altar of the marriage gods, even if it’d secure the life of safe predictability she’d struggled to create. “Permanence is an illusion and marriage doesn’t mean happily ever after.”

Lila chuckled. “And I thought
I
was a cynic.”

The room seemed to close in as heat flared in Serenity’s chest. Hot flashes again? She was only pushing thirty. “It’s so warm in here. Would you excuse me? I need a little air.”

Before Lila could object, Serenity turned, spotting Evan closing in with a bright smile.

“Sweets, you have to meet my new client.” Evan slid his arm around Serenity’s waist.

Lila teetered and grasped the crook of Evan’s arm. “I met him at the office. Some kind of venture capitalist. He’s a tall drink of cool water that could slide down my throat anytime, if I were ten years younger.” She ran her fingers over her coiffed blonde hair. “And single, of course.”

Serenity’s vision blurred and the room started to spin. “I think I need some air.”

“Want me to come with you?” Evan asked, stroking her forehead with his thumb.

“Stay and mingle.” She made her way to the French doors and fled down the steps to the terrace. The tiled space was the size of her first studio apartment on the Lower East Side. She set her glass on the stone balcony, glancing at the top-heavy ring. The one image from her nightmare she could never bring herself to draw was of Evan, unshaven and distraught, holding the ring.

A breeze carrying the remnants of a summer that had lasted too long caressed her skin. With a deep breath, she shoved all thoughts from her mind. Slowly, her dizziness subsided.

Her skin tingled, but a tranquil wave washed over her, soothing her spirit. In the wind, her name drifted, as though someone had called her. She hadn’t heard a voice, more of a summons without words.
 

She took a long sip of her wine, enjoying the crisp, fruity flavors rolling in her mouth.

“You ran out of there so fast I was certain you’d trip on your heels.”

She spun around and choked on the wine sliding down her throat. It was him, the man from her studio. The devilishly delicious customer she hadn’t been able to read. “You?”

Chapter Three

The stranger glided across the terrace with uncanny grace like he belonged to a world out of reach for mere mortals. As he strode toward her, butterflies flitted all over her body, and every cell sparked with excitement. Although he was no taller than six-two and had a powerful build, he seemed to take up the vast space around her. Nestled in the folds of his chest and arms, her five-seven frame would be cozy indeed.