Meadow's Keep (The Gatekeepers Series) (3 page)

Maybe it was time to think about….

“You went far away for a moment, young lady,” Dr. Yancy said, watching her.

“Wool gathering,” she tried to smile. They were alone in the room. When had the other man left?

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

She took a deep breath. Better to show than tell. She held out her hand, the one he’d just cleaned and clipped. She turned it over, palm up, and stared into the center of the palm. The energy moved through her body and gathered in her hand. Sparks started zipping between her fingers. Then a ball of energy formed, floating just above the palm of her hand
.

She looked up to see his eyes widen in amazement. As her eyes met his, the ball flew up and burst against the ceiling with a loud pop
.

“I haven’t got that down
, yet,” she flushed.

“When? How?”

She smiled. His gray hair stood on end. She absently reached up and ran her fingers through her own. Soft spikes fell back in place.

“It started shortly after the attack. I’ve been working with it.”

“Have you told anyone? Called Dorian?”

“No.” She looked down at her hand.

“Why not?” he asked. “Of all people, he could help you.”

Jasmine shrugged. “He’s busy with the shop, Morgan, and the baby….
”

“But this is something. I don’t think we’ve ever had a wo
m—”

He stopped, scooting back, when she raised her hand. When he realized his reaction, he
flushed. “Sorry.”

“See,” she said quietly. “I frightened you. You know I would
never hurt you.” She was quiet for a second. “But I have thought about it. Not you,” she amended quickly. “But wondering, if I’d had this ability when Rob kidnapped me, would I have?” Her own eyes narrowed as she looked into the good doctor’s sympathetic gray ones. “Damn straight I would have,” she said through clenched teeth and forced herself to take a calming breath. Changing the subject, she stated, “I know what you were going to say, that I’m an oddity. The only people that have had this ability are our men.”

“You don’t know that. There could be people out there….
”

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at him.

“Does Dr. Browne know?” he asked.

Jasmine shook her head. “She’s not one of us. I don’t know just what I can or can’t tell her.”

“I’m not
one of you
,” he said softly.

Her gaze shot up. “You are, too.”

“Not really. There are those of us who help you…who protect you. But we are not like you.”

“The
Protectors
,” she whispered. “Sounds like some sort of cheesy television show. I’ll think about telling her,” she conceded, “after I ask Bask, which will be after I tell him.”

“He doesn’t know?”

Jasmine shook her head. “You know. And Jenn knows because I knocked her on her ass at the fairgrounds.” She laughed. “Oh, and that Eryk Vreeland knows, because he’s like Dorian in more than just looks. He’s different, too. He has Morgan’s eyes.”

“What the hell…?” he ran his hands through his steely mass of hair.

Jasmine smiled at the older man. He really wasn’t old. He was thin but muscular, had steel gray hair, matching eyes, and a weathered look. She’d known him all of her life. She’d known him when Teresa had loved him but left him for Bill Ruthorford. She suspected her cousin still loved him. That was a topic best left alone.

“That’s what the DNA’s for. Bask is trying to identify him
,” Yancy commented.

A soft knock interrupted them.

“Come in,” Dr. Yancy called.

Jenn opened the door, carrying a sheaf of papers. “Busy?”

“Done,” Dr. Yancy closed his medical bag.

“Stay,” Jenn commented as she walked past him. She spread the papers out across the exam table. “Kayla’s good. I’ll give her that. I’m sure Bask can get more, but we have a very good start.”

Jasmine and Yancy stepped over to the table. Jenn strew copies of newspaper articles across the top of the table. Eryk Vreeland smiled back at them in black and white.

“And?” Jasmine asked, lifting a sheet with Eryk’s picture on it. Just looking at him made her blood race.

“Let’s see. Born August 22,—Dorian’s birthday is September 25—of course, those things can be altered—to Martha and Donald Vreeland.”

“As in Vreeland Enterprises?” the doctor questioned.

Jenn scanned the papers. “Yep. The very same.”

Jasmine looked from one to the other. Yancy spoke. “One of the twenty-five richest men in the world.”

“Then, what’s his son doing as a sideshow magician?” Jasmine set down the picture, reached over and shifted through several more sheets. This didn’t make any sense. She stopped. In a disturbed way, it did. “Are you sure he’s Donald Vreeland’s son?”

“I’ll have to verify with Bask, but everything points that way,” Jenn said. “Apparently, the State Fair sideshow thing is a charity deal he does once a year. He’s been known to perform in Vegas and has done several TV shows.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Jasmine said.

“I have,” Dr. Yancy said. “In fact, I went to one of his shows in New York about four years ago. He’s amazing.” He scratched his head, “I don’t know why I didn’t notice the similarity. I was at a convention. He was doing this show in Madison Square Garden. Come to think of it, it was for charity, also. The seats were expensive, but it was sold out. He did a magic show in the round. It was incredible.”

Jasmine nodded. “Of course he did. He has nothing to hide. I’ll bet a whole bunch of his magic is the real deal.”

They looked at her. Jasmine lifted her hand and sparks flew from her fingertips. “If he’
s like Dorian, he’s been practicing most of his life. Plus, with Morgan’s eye trait, there’s no telling….” She let the words trail off.

Jenn commented. “Rich little boy with weird abilities. Wanna make book that the Vreeland’s aren’t his real parents?”

Jasmine picked up another article and looked at it. “I don’t know. He looks a lot like his Dad.” She handed Jenn the paper. Donald Vreeland was on stage with his son, handing him an oversized check, made out to some children’s hospital, for half of a million dollars.

“…and Morgan looked just like her adoptive parents,” Jenn interjected.

Jasmine studied the picture of father and son. There was something about the stance of the father. And his look. He didn’t look comfortable. It reminded her of Dr. Yancy’s look earlier, when she’d displayed her ability. Plus, the two men were separated by one huge check.

****

Jasmine kicked back the covers. The room was stifling. She lay there in the dark, feeling the perspiration on her skin between her breasts. The lightweight T-shirt clung to her body like a wet bandage. She pulled it away from her chest and fanned it up and down. The cooler air made her nipples harden. A tingle went through her body and her thoughts sought the green-eyed wizard who’d sent sensations pooling in her gut earlier that day.

A roll of thunder brought her to a sitting position. It was awfully late in the season for a thunderstorm. She rose from the crumpled bed, walked over to the window, and pulled it open, letting the warm breeze move over her body. She was on the third floor of Safe Harbor where Jenn and the live-in staff had quarters. Right now, that was Jenn, Dr. Yancy, Kayla’s cousin
John, the security specialist, and herself. It was the only area that didn’t have rails on the windows, being high enough that there was minimal risk of a break-in. There were enough security measures around this place that the president would feel safe.

Lightning outlined the clouds in the distance. She could smell the ozone in the air. As if in response, the hair on her arms and the nape of her neck stood on end. She stepped back and closed the window. Since she had no idea how her new abilities responded to lightning, she decided to play it on the safe side and move away from temptation. Something else to ask Dorian about when she got up the nerve.

Her phone buzzed and danced across the top of the bedside table. She’d forgotten to take it off vibrate after the show. She glanced at the clock. It was past one in the morning. Who in the hell…Bask showed on the display. She grabbed the phone.

“Miss me?” she said throatily.

“Yes, immensely,” he retorted. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.” She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hadn’t awakened her.

“Sorry,” he said and almost sounded contrite—but not quite.

“What’s up?”

“We have a match,” he said without preamble.

“Let me guess. Dorian.”

“Yes. How’d—”

“You didn’t see him.”

“I saw the picture with his father.”

She was over the quipping. “How much of a match?”

“It looks like they could be twins.”

Jasmine sat down on the bed. Even though she’d suspected, it still hit hard. Dorian’s twin.

“You there?”

“I’m here,” she said quietly.

“The DNA is strange….”

Her choke of laughter stopped him, “You think?”

“Jasmine, let me finish,” his voice became clipped as it always did when he was annoyed. “We have a damn good match. I mean
match
. Except in eye color and some other alleles. But you know as well as I do that identical twins aren’t completely identical, especially with Ruthorford’s descendancy thrown in. Hell,” he sighed through the phone, “I don’t know all that mumbo jumbo. What I do know is that he’s Dorian’s twin, but with the green-eye trait.”

“Now what?”

“I want you to—”

“Whoa. Stop right there,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to do anything you
’re suggesting.”

“You haven’t heard me yet.”

“I don’t care.” She stood and started pacing back and forth, her long legs crossing the room in four strides, turning and moving back to the bed.

“Jasmine.” It was a command.

“I’m not healed.” She grimaced. That really was low.

“Bullshit.”

She sank down onto the bed. A crash sounded outside the window. The phone crackled.

“What was that?”

“Electrical storm.”

“You need to go?”

“I should be okay, I’m on my cell.” Then she thought about earlier and wasn’t sure at all. Wait. Why had he just asked that?

“Yancy called me,” he answered her unasked question.

“Son of a…” she mumbled.

“Some of us are loyal to Abbott House.” He tried to sound stern.

“Okay.” She fell back across the bed and stared at the plaster swirls in the ceiling. “What do you want me to do?”

C
hapter Two

Eryk walked through the rehearsal with his mind
preoccupied by the vixen that had totally flummoxed him the day before. It wasn’t until his assistant yelled that he even realized how distracted he was.

“Hey, you big lug,
you wanna get me outta here?” Brandy shouted.

He reached over and unstrapped the case where she lay for the trick they had perfected over a year ago.

“I’m sorry. My mind’s not on this,” he apologized.

“You think
?” She groaned as she sat up and wiggled her shoulders.

He took her hand and helped her down,
offering her an appeasing grin.

“It’s that girl from the audience. The one with the cat eyes
,” she said as she watched him.

“You could see her eyes?”

“Boy, are you gone. The spot followed you down the aisle, stopped when you stopped to stare at her. She’s a beauty, all right.” She stretched out her leg and moved her foot in circles. “Are we done? I’d like to get these shoes off for a couple of hours before the show.”

“Sure.
I’m sorry, Brandy.”

She’d already walked toward the side of the stage, waving a hand back over her shoulder.

As he put the props in order, he let his mind wander back to Jasmine. What was it about her? Besides the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous with that short crop of shiny black hair framing a perfect face. Eyes, black as coal, with a slight upward tilt, gave her an exotic look that went straight to his loins. And her mouth, the bottom lip a little fuller than the top, begged to be nipped.

He felt the blood
pound in his veins and ran his hand through his hair, changing his focus—remembering her outside where he’d followed her. Then, taking her hand in his. The shock—the current running from her to him and back again. He could have stood there forever, holding onto her hand and feeling the rhythm of the energy shift and match, until their hearts beat as one. Unfortunately, it stopped when they’d knocked that other poor girl on her ass.

Was she like him? A freak of nature. She
hadn’t seemed shocked—now that was an appropriate word—by the encounter. He was, though, mentally and physically. He’d lived with his abilities all his thirty-one years, working with them, figuring them out, and disguising them so as not to embarrass his folks.

Shit
.
He remembered they were coming tonight to make an appearance, acknowledge his existence, and make another donation. His poor parents, born to wealth, raised in wealth, and strapped with an aberration of a son. His mom blamed it on her late pregnancy and overcompensated by feeling sorry for him. But only in private. She barely acknowledged him in public. Only when his dad forced her to attend these events. She just couldn’t get her mind around the fact that her son, a Vreeland, was a performer. A magician, for heaven’s sake.

They had enough money for him to hide comfortably out of sight. Why
should he display himself in public? Even the charity contributions didn’t help matters. They could, and did, write checks for much more. Why did he have to embarrass them? If it were left up to her, he’s be ensconced somewhere on one of their estates, never to come to the big house where someone might see him.

His father—well, good ol
’ dad had avoided him and the issue for as long as he could remember. He’d set up a trust fund the day Eryk was born and money flowed freely into it. Eryk was now a wealthy man. He didn’t have to work, if he didn’t want to—his dad had made sure of that. Plus, he’d had the best education money could buy, all privately done, of course.

It was one of those tutors who taught E
ryk the basics of magic, giving Eryk a way out. Eryk would be forever grateful and had proven as much, setting up his mentor and friend, Jonathan Latham, with an early retirement in the Catskills, where he visited whenever he could.

Jon
had proven to be a loyal friend as well. He was one of the few people that knew and accepted Eryk in his entirety. Jon also helped him research and perfect his act, making sure his true “magic” was hidden well enough to fool even Brandy. Hell, Jon made it to more shows than his own father did. Only when the publicity put Vreeland Enterprises in the society pages for another contribution, did Donald Vreeland publicly acknowledge his son.

In private, Donald Vreeland stayed as far away from his freak of a son as possible.
He couldn’t seem to be around Eryk and look at him without a scotch in his hand. That spoke volumes, because Donald Vreeland rarely drank.

Frustration built until Eryk s
pun around, held out his hand toward the table, and the water bottle flew from the table into his outstretched hand. The sound of slow clapping made him drop the bottle.

Still in his agitated state
, he spun toward the door of the auditorium, slowly closed his eyes and opened them. The intruder came into view in a myriad of vibrant colors. The aura spiked out from the colors as pulsing energy. He knew it was
her
.

He blinked once more and his vision returned to
normal. He watched as she moved down the aisle. He’d never seen a woman with such fluid elegance. A camel colored cashmere poncho, belted at the waist, topped a black pair of pants. His breath caught. The wide neck of the soft material had slipped, revealing a bare shoulder, and his eyes dropped to her chest and the gentle movement of her breasts. His gut tightened.

Jasmine
stopped a few steps from the stage, eyeing the man who stood alone in front of her. Even relaxed, with muscles that draped comfortably over his frame, he stood with the grace and energy of a panther, watchful and ready to spring.

She could make out the emerald green eyes easily from where she stood. Like Morgan’s, she suspected they shimmered in the dark. His black hair
, more unruly than before, was thick and wavy, enhancing that air of a rebel, a buccaneer.

She tilted her head
, studying him. He was the same height as Dorian, but leaner, harder than Dorian. His face looked the same, yet different. Was it the eyes that made the difference? He had the same chiseled features, but this man’s seemed more pronounced. Then… there was the pull. She could feel it from where she stood. She’d never felt that around Dorian.

They stood
scrutinizing one another for several moments, neither wanting to be the first to speak, each weighing what was going on.

Knowing she had an advantage, Jasmine spoke first. “Mr. Vreeland, I’d like to talk with you, if you don’t mind.”

Her voice was hypnotic and flowed around him. He started to speak and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Then, he spoke in his performer’s voice, accent and all. “The next show doesn’t start for several hours.” He let the words capture her. As he’d intended, it held her mesmerized. “I have some time.” He stopped on the top step and held out his hand.

Jasmine took a step back
, her eyes hardening. “You can drop the act. I’d prefer to talk outside…if that’s okay?”

Eryk
caught a glimpse of panic before she artfully concealed it. He put his hand down by his side. “Sure. We could grab a bite,” he said, the accent gone. “I’m starved.”

She smiled
, almost.

He
bounded down the stairs, two at a time, until he was beside her, careful not to touch her. They walked out of the building in the same fashion, each aware that the other’s energy was pulsing just below the surface.

He led her to a stand
, bought two barbeques, fries, and two drinks, turned and walked over to a picnic bench set away from the few people milling around.

“This okay?” He straddled the bench and set the food out, placing the fries between them.

Jasmine sat on the bench across from him. She unwrapped the barbeque, took a bite, closed her eyes, and moaned. “Wow,” she mumbled, chewed and swallowed. “This is great barbeque.”

“
Old family recipe,” he commented and held up a fry.

Jasmine
took it without touching his fingers, bit, and looked into his green eyes.

She didn’t stare or look down
as most people did, he noticed. It was as if she’d seen eyes like his before.

He studied her. The cool breeze ruffled her short hair, making it feather around her face.
The sun glinted off her gold spiral earrings. She smiled. Perfect white teeth surrounded by a lush mouth.
God.
He felt his groin tighten. It was going to be damn near impossible to be around her without a hard-on.

“Mr. Vreeland,” Jasmine said
, setting her sandwich down and wiping her hands on a napkin. “As I told you yesterday, my name is Jasmine Monroe. I’m from Ruthorford, Georgia. I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Okay,” he said and looked around.

“He’s in Ruthorford.”

His eyes narrowed.
“Sorry,” he said wearily. “We’re running through the weekend.”

“That’s fine,” she said, ignoring the
coolness in his voice. He probably thought her to be some sort of stalker. “I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important.” She tilted her head and looked at him, reading him, then reached down, and pulling her purse up beside her, drew out a photo and held it out to him.

C
areful not to touch her, he took the picture. As he studied it, a crease formed above his brow and he looked up at her. “What the hell?”

He looked back at the picture. A man and a woman stood side by side, arms around each other’s waist. Her other hand rested
atop her large, pregnant belly. They smiled from ear to ear. The man was the spitting image of him, except for the eyes. Yet, his eyes stared back at him—from the woman’s beautiful face.

“That’s Dorian Drake and his wife, Morgan.”

He laughed. “I’ve heard we’ve all got doppelgangers, but this takes the cake.” He started to hand the picture back. She shook her head.

“Keep it. He’s not a
doppelganger. He’s your brother.”

“I don’t have any brothers
…or sisters, for that matter.”

She lifted one beautifully arched eyebrow.

“Hey, look at the eyes,” he pointed to Dorian’s image.

“Hey, look at the woman,” she challenged.

“He married his sister?”

“
Of course not. It’s complicated. That’s why I want you to come to Ruthorford. Meet Dorian. Talk with Bask.”

“Who the hell is Bask
?”

Jasmine laughed. “Now
,
that’s
a good question.”

He watched her. She was light itself. When she laughed, she laughed with her whole being. He
longed to run his hands over the fluttering black hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to put his lips over hers and feel her warmth. He watched her smile die.

Jasmine
saw his eyes change; she saw the lust in them. For a second, she panicked. Gathering her reserve, she pulled her purse to her and started to stand. “I need to go. Someone will be in touch.” She didn’t look at him.

He blinked
, scanned her through his “filter,” and watched her aura change. The energy had pulled close around her, almost protective. He blinked again.

“I’m sorry. Somehow
, I’ve frightened you. I didn’t mean to,” he said softly and started to reach for her hand.

She drew
back. “It’s okay. I really do have to go.” She turned to walk away.

“Stop.” He spoke low, barely audible. “Don’t go.” It was a command. He pushed his thoughts at her slightly.
“I just want to talk.”

Jasmine stopped. She could tell something was happening.
Where she’d wanted to run before, she now wanted to stay. She fought it, then turned and looked at him, anger in her eyes.

“We’ll sit here and talk.
” He’d stopped pushing when he saw her waver. “Please.”

She
narrowed her eyes at him, but moved back to the bench. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” She sat, a defiant look on her face.

“Why’d you want to run?”

“That’s none…” She looked at him. He wasn’t being forceful. He really seemed to want to know. She decided to be honest, sort of. “Look. You make me nervous.”

He immediately looked down.

“Not your eyes. I am very used to eyes like yours. It’s no big deal where I come from.”

“
Seriously?”

She nodded.
“Seriously.” Was that hope she heard in his voice?

“So
, why do I make you nervous?” he asked and smiled a little.

He had
the tiniest chip in one of his front teeth. When he smiled, it made him look mischievous, young, and beguiling. She couldn’t help returning his smile.

“I have a
narrow comfort zone. I don’t like to touch people or have them touch me.” Okay, she wasn’t exactly lying. She shuddered, thinking of Rob. Damn, that memory snuck in at the damnedest times.