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Resigned, he turned into his apartment and closed the door as she closed hers, two floors below. He crossed the length of his living room, then headed down the hallway, piercingly aware that she, too, was heading down her hall. But while Abby stopped shy of her bedroom, he forced himself to continue to his, to slump down at the edge of his bed and wait for the connection to ebb. Though the contact had been slight, he had no idea how long it would take. He only had the one experience to compare this—her—to. And yet, he already knew this woman and the inexplicable hold she had over him was completely different. Already it was stronger, and growing stronger with each passing day. Every hour.
Every note.
He lay back on his bed as Abby tucked her violin beneath her chin, retrieved her bow and began to play. Neither the nimble grace nor the haunting poise of her technique surprised him. She’d played with same breathtaking skill and uninhibited passion the night before. But this time, the connection she’d unwittingly forged between them outside his apartment door succeeded in pulling him in deeper. Suddenly, it was as if he was there in the room with her—within her. He could feel the soft, lilting melody she’d chosen as it breathed its magic into her heart, gradually easing her anger and disappointment until her soul finally stirred and took over. Within minutes, he no longer knew where he left off and she began. All he knew was that he was lost somewhere amid that gently soothing music and the utter beauty of her. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to both, slipping so smoothly and completely beneath her skin, it should have startled him. But it didn’t.
Until it changed.
He changed. He wanted more. Needed it. For the first time in his life, craved it. Dare closed his eyes tighter, delved deep within himself and reached for her.
But the connection was gone.
He shot upright, clutching at the ends of his shirt as he sucked the air into his lungs, struggling to reorient himself to the bed, the room, his very self without her in it. But it was too late. The contact had been too brief. The bond had faded. All he was left with was this thrumming awareness of her. Though constant and bittersweet, it was once again too much—and yet, no longer enough.
Worse, for a moment he’d almost believed he could have more. That he could have her. But he couldn’t.
Now least of all.
Six days after Abby’s essence had first merged with his own in the lobby, he’d woken in the dead of night with the presence of another filling every inch of his heart. Only this time the essence hadn’t eased in, it had stabbed straight through him, ripping him out of a sound sleep. At first Dare had been terrified the cry had come from her, perhaps even the brother he’d discovered Abby had. But it hadn’t.
Nor had it come from anyone else he could locate.
By the time his thundering heart had slowed, there was nothing left but the mewling echo of pain—and the distinct impression that it had come from a young boy. A boy close to him. Very close. Dare had scoured the early-morning news, even walked the floors of his building and circled those surrounding his in hopes that if the cry had come from a child nearby, he’d be able to locate him. He’d even had Charlotte check the police stations and hospitals.
Their efforts had been for naught.
For once, no children nearby had been beaten or violated in their bodies or their hearts. But the echo had remained. Even now, if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear that cry—feel it—as if it were ripping through him anew. But even stranger and more disturbing was that he also knew the child was okay now. And he still sensed he and the boy were close.
Through blood.
He had to be mistaken. Perhaps Abby’s presence in his life had skewed his sense, much like his mother’s had at times growing up. As a child he’d felt his mother’s pain on a daily basis, though some days it had cut deeper. He felt all too well the cold, emotionless void she’d received in place of her so-called husband, his so-called father. The bastard had cared so little for the two of them that for years he’d suspected the rumors that damned gossip magazine had actually printed before were true. That he and Victor Sabura didn’t share the same DNA.
But they did.
No, he’d never been tested. Given his empathic sense, he hadn’t needed to be. At fifteen he’d finally simply come out and asked the man. Demanded to know. Dare wasn’t sure which had disappointed him more—hearing Victor admit they were related…or feeling the utter lack of subterfuge.
So why could he still feel that cry?
Had Victor fathered another child?
Or did that cry have something to do with the other, older brand still on his heart? The one he’d placed above it.
His tattoo.
Dare glanced down at his chest, only to stop shy of the half-inch mark as he spotted something else.
The envelope Abby had pushed on him.
It was still in his hand.
He retrieved the tickets and studied them. Not only was Abby the featured soloist this coming Saturday, but he was forced to admit to himself that he truly wanted to go.
But he could not.
He’d spent the past two months believing that cry had nothing to do with her. He was right…and he was wrong. That cry had been a harbinger of the storm that was to come. And he did not want Abby caught up inside it. Besides, there would be thousands of people in Avery Fisher Hall. The last time he’d been trapped within the same walls with that much raw, intense emotion from so many people—
He stood.
The mere memory propelled his feet into motion. Dare crossed the bedroom and entered the bath, where his respite still waited. He dropped the tickets and his shirt to the floor, not even bothering to shuck his jeans before he entered the eight-foot hexagonal chamber he’d commissioned years before. He closed the door firmly, sealing himself within the glass and sealing the entire world out, Abby Pembroke along with it. Only then did he strip off his jeans and toss them aside before turning into the steaming spray in an effort to cleanse her lingering essence from his mind and his heart.
While he still could.
“You were fantastic, hon! The star of the show.”
Abby paused in the middle of removing her stage makeup to shoot a smile toward Marlena’s reflection as her friend entered the dressing room. “Yeah, yeah. You say that to Stephen after every concert.”
Marlena laughed as she closed the door. “True. But he’s my husband, so I’m excused.” Her grin turned wicked as she plopped down at the end of the padded bench. “Besides, I just tell the hulking lug that so I can get lucky later in bed.”
Abby laughed so hard she dropped her tissue into the pot of cold cream. At five-ten with a wiry build, Stephen was no hulking lug, not even beside Marlena’s petite build.
Her friend raked her fingers through her short blond curls and sighed. “I’m bushed—and I didn’t even perform. You ready to go?”
“In a sec.” Abby swung around on the bench. She’d already exchanged her black floor-length skirt and silk blouse for a peach T-shirt and faded jeans. She reached down for the worn leather flats that completed her postconcert ensemble, careful to keep her gaze on the carpet as she slipped the right shoe on. “I take it he didn’t show up.”
Silence.
By the time she glanced up, Marlena had crossed the dressing room and was studiously rearranging the bouquet of calla lilies currently overpowering the dressing-room table. Her friend fiddled with the flowers for several moments, then turned and sighed. “You really didn’t think he’d come, did you?”
No.
Abby slipped into the other shoe. Five days might have passed since she’d used Mr. Darian Sabura’s shoes as an excuse to drop off that pair of tickets, but any hope she’d had the man would use them—and in the process, possibly change his tune regarding her brother—had vanished long before the final movement of tonight’s symphony.
Marlena frowned as she plucked a spray of miniature peach orchids from the simple vase beside the lilies. “Honey, I know you had hopes of improving neighborly harmony, but it’s time to face facts. The man’s just not interested. Even if he had shown tonight, chances are he’d have taken one look at the genetic makeup of the rest of your guests and split.”
As much as Abby would’ve liked to deny the assessment, she couldn’t. “You’re probably right.”
“You know I am.” Marlena turned and snagged the violin and case from the dressing-room table. She held them out. “Now, cheer up and pack. It’s a big night. If not for you, for someone else I know.”
Marlena was right about that, too—tonight was a big night. And not because of a successful solo—because of Brian. Abby grinned as she accepted the custom case her father had given her three Christmases ago. Her brother would be sleeping over for the first time since her return from Europe. Frankly, she couldn’t wait to get him all to herself again. She popped the latches on the case and retrieved the cloth, carefully wiping the Stradivarius down before fitting the violin into its velvet bed. She slipped the horsehair bow into the empty slot and tucked the cloth inside. The moment she snapped the reinforced case shut and spun the combination lock, the door to the dressing room burst open.
Brian tumbled inside along with Marlena’s son. Nathaniel raced over to his mom as her brother hauled Abby in for a hug. Brian’s dark, upturned eyes danced behind his ever-present thick lenses as he grinned up at her. “You played very great tonight, Abby! The best. Everyone said so.”
Abby laughed, her hand slipping up to ruffle his soft brown hair before she could stop it. Knowing Brian, she figured he’d grilled every single patron he could following the concert, too. “Thanks, bro. So, you up for a pizza and a sleepover?” She might have mastered the violin by six, but she still hadn’t mastered the art of eating before a performance. Fortunately for her, Brian was up for Gino’s pepperoni special 24/7, whether he’d eaten recently or not.
His grin split wide, letting her know tonight was no exception. “Let’s go!”
Marlena held out her violin case and gym bag as she stood.
“Thanks.” Abby took them as Stephen arrived just in time to follow Brian and Nathaniel right back out the door. She crossed the room to head out after them.
“Ab?”
She paused at the door. “Yeah?”
Marlena pointed to the flowers on the dressing-room table. “Are you really leaving those for the janitor?”
She shrugged. “Grab the miniature orchids if you like, but leave the lilies. Fred can dump those in the garbage, for all I care. Unless you want them, which I doubt.”
Marlena frowned. “Don’t tell me—”
“’Fraid so.” She didn’t care if Stuart had left his name off that bizarre pastoral postcard to get it past security. There were only so many people who knew callas were her favorite. Of those, only one who’d send a bouquet so huge it bordered on garish. And then there was the stunning arrogance of his note: “I have more of what you need.” He’d even gone so far as to leave a cell number she didn’t recognize at the bottom, no doubt in hopes she’d actually call.
She wouldn’t.
In fact, she planned to apply for a new unlisted number herself come Monday morning. Right after she paid a visit to Stuart’s mother. Until this evening, she’d assumed Stuart simply wanted to get back together to help his flagging campaign for city councilman. If she was wrong and the implied threat in that note was correct, changing her phone number wouldn’t stop the harassment…but informing Katherine Van Heusen her precious son was trying to contact her again would.
Marlena grinned. “Atta girl. You’re learning.”
Her friend had no idea.
Abby sighed. “Yeah, well, hold your praise. I know three other guys who are going to come rushing back to harass us if we don’t get a move on.”
Marlena nodded as they hurried down the hall.
Fortunately, most of the symphony patrons had left. By the time she and Marlena made it to Lincoln Center’s underground parking garage, Stephen’s SUV was idling beside the curb. Marlena passed the orchids over as Stephen let Brian out of the car. “You sure you two wouldn’t rather have a lift?”
Brian answered for her as he reached their side. “No way! We want to stop for pizza.”
Marlena laughed. “Well at least let me take your bag. I’ll bring it to the softball game tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” Abby handed her bag to Marlena and the orchids to Brian, then waved to Nathaniel in the SUV before tucking the violin case beneath her left arm. She linked hands with her brother as they chatted and walked back down the hall toward the rear pedestrian exit that spilled out onto West Sixty-fifth. To her surprise, the street appeared darker than usual. As they turned left onto the sidewalk, she realized why. Either the grid that handled Lincoln Center was experiencing an electrical glitch or several of the halogen lamps along this side of the complex had dimmed enough to need replacing.
The effect was a bit spooky.
While traffic was still whizzing along Broadway at a decent clip, they were headed in the opposite direction, past Juilliard and the Walter Reade Theatre. Abby tightened her grip on Brian’s hand as they turned toward Amsterdam. Several steps later she clamped down tighter as she caught sight of a parked limo twenty yards ahead on the opposite side of the street. More specifically, the broad-shouldered, suit-clad man leaning into the driver’s window. To think she’d been impressed with Dare’s silhouette that night in her room. This guy was twice as big. Worse, the vibes the gorilla gave off were twice as dangerous and even more unsettling.
In the wrong way.
But why? Other than the man’s massive size, she had nothing to base the impression on.
Still, a voice deep inside her shouted run.
Even stranger, the voice wasn’t hers.
Abby bit down on her lip. “Maybe we should have taken Marlena’s offer for a ride tonight.” They could still hail a cab on Broadway.
Brian shook his head stubbornly. “No way. I want Gino’s!”
She tugged her gaze from the limo, ignoring the now bellowing voice inside her head. For goodness’ sakes, Gino’s was only two blocks away. “Okay, pizza it is.”
The second she glanced back, she changed her mind. Glass shattered around their feet from the vase of orchids as she caught sight of a glinting blade. The brute had a knife—and he was using it. Abby shrieked as the thug ripped the limo door open to stab the driver again. She screamed as her brother bounded forward toward the attacker.
“Brian, no!”
The violin case crashed to her feet and she vaulted over it racing after Brian. Two steps later, the tip of her right shoe clipped the edge of a pothole and she fell to her knees. She was still scrambling to her feet in the middle of the street as Brian reached the limo. Abby screamed again, this time at the top of her lungs, as the thug spun around and grabbed her brother by his hair, bashing the side of his head into the passenger window with enough force to shatter the glass.
A split second later, tires squealed.
Abby froze, then jerked her gaze to her left. It was a mistake. She was instantly blinded by the twin headlights bearing down on her. Before she could move, a wall of solid muscle slammed into her from behind, mercifully wrenching her out of the way of the fishtailing car before tackling her to the far side of the street. Pain exploded inside her skull as her head smacked into the cement curb.
“You okay?” The man above her asked.
“Y-yes—”
“Good.” He held her down. “Stay down.”
She couldn’t have disobeyed if she’d wanted to. Her vision was fuzzed and her balance was nonexistent. She crammed every ounce of strength she had into a single plea as the nausea threatened. “Please, help my broth—”
The limo roared to life, drowning out the rest.
It didn’t matter. Her tackler had already jackknifed off her body and vaulted after the car. It happened so quickly, she never even saw the man’s face. She had managed to place his voice, however. But by then it was too late.
She’d already passed out.
Chapter 3
The second the limo peeled away, every muscle in Dare’s body bellowed for him to whirl about, to sprint back up the street and haul Abby into his arms. To cradle her close and drag her out of the darkness that was swallowing her whole.
But he couldn’t.
Abby was fine, dammit. He’d known it even as he’d felt her slip completely away from him and into the numbing void of unconsciousness. She’d taken quite a crack to her temple and had passed out from the shock.
Her brother had not.
Dare reached Brian’s side, stunned by the intensity of his emotions. Brian was on his knees, his fingers clawing into the back of his neck as he rocked himself deeper and deeper into a fetal position in a desperate attempt to absorb the horror of what he’d seen. Dare had yet to touch him and already he could feel every nuance of roiling terror, the utter betrayal and confusion reverberating throughout Brian’s soul. He reached out and touched Brian’s shoulder.
Before Dare could draw his next breath, Brian whirled about, instantly accepting his silent offer. With no choice but to follow through, he bent and hefted Abby’s brother into his arms, carrying him over the shattered glass and blood. He would need peace and quiet to absorb enough of Brian’s horror to pull him from his shock and restore Brian’s mind. As much peace as he could find in this place of violence and death. Dare stopped several yards up the street as two women rushed in to see what they could do about the man he’d left behind. He didn’t bother telling the women their ministrations would be useless. Like Abby, the limo driver had already slipped into unconsciousness. But unlike her, the driver would not be recovering. And the moment Dare deepened his connection with Brian and absorbed the unexpected brunt and depth of Brian’s frantic need, he was forced to admit—
There was a chance he might not recover.
She was lying on something cold. Hard.
Cement?
Abby forced her eyes open and struggled to focus amid the onslaught of flashing lights and the hazy sea of blue.
“Take it slow, Miss Pembroke.”
A man’s voice. One she didn’t recognize. But he knew her name. She closed her eyes, then reopened them.
