Blue Dawn (17 page)

A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

Suddenly she stiffened. Gently a rough fingertip wiped the errant tear away and two strong hands framed her face. As she recognized his touch, her resistance faded. Erik. He had come.

She couldn’t open her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy, her body was heavy and seemed unwilling to respond to her commands. Only to the ever more insistent hum of anticipation preparing every cell in her body for what was to come.

His mouth slanted over hers, gentle and lovingly, and intensifying the excitement building in her veins. The weight of his body, solid and lean, pinned her to the bed, the contact of naked skin to naked skin making her breath catch in her throat.

She arched her body, offering herself to the overwhelming emotion and sensation, silently begging for the thrilling touch of his lips. He dragged his lips from her mouth, and trailed kisses along her throat, and down to her breasts.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, and she gasped as her fingers massaged the firm flesh.

The hum reached deafening proportions in her head, and with it a growing, pulsating need centering on her core. Her breath came shallower and faster, and his intoxicating taste and feel drove her close to madness. She wanted, as she’d never wanted before.

His mouth closed on her breast, sucking and licking and teasing and nipping until her nipples hardened and her hips began to undulate with building excitement.
Where was he? Why couldn’t
she touch him? She wanted him so much.

Her shallow breath came faster still until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. His hands, fever hot, slid down her hips and slowly parted her legs.

He stroked the tender skin behind her knees, then his fingertips moved gently up her thighs.

The tickle of his lips started a slow, tortuous path up her inner thigh. She whimpered, her nerve endings begging for release, her whole body straining towards the phantom lover who stayed just out of her reach.

The exquisitely inexorable trail of kisses continued up the sensitive silk of her thighs, whispering a heated story of want first on one leg, then the other. She moaned and writhed, trying simultaneously to escape and insinuate herself more deeply into his embrace.

The kisses stopped at the top of her thighs.

Slowly, firmly, he parted her legs further still. She could hardly breathe.

“I love you Allie. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” His voice, low and loving, washed over her. She whimpered and strained towards him, her lips forming the word “Yes.”

He lowered his head and—

Allie gasped and sat bolt upright. For a moment, she sat there, stunned and disoriented, not quite sure what had happened.

Whatever it was, it was over. Like a plug pulled on a light, her erotic dream had abruptly and completely stopped. Leaving her teetering on the edge of release, frustrated beyond belief, and aching for a man who wasn’t here.

Disgruntled, Allie flung back the sheet and swung her feet to the floor. Wasn’t it only men who were supposed to need cold showers?

The glass of water teetered on the edge of the coffee table, then crashed to the floor, spraying Erik with water and shards of glass.

His eyes snapped open. He swore violently. By the moons of Zura, how could he have broken the connection with one stupid, careless motion?

Especially when he was so close?

He brushed the shards of glass off his knee, oblivious to the bloodied scratches there, as well as the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. He stood up. Totally non-Zalian frustration seethed from every pore. He tossed the small black device he held in his other hand onto the bed. It was no good to him now. Making love to Allie telepathically had drained every ounce of his energy. Even with the magnifying power of his Zalian communicator, he could not reach across the distance separating them again tonight.

He clenched his fists and strode to the sliding doors. Besides, he didn’t want to make love to Allie telepathically. He wanted to jump in his car, drive to her apartment, rush through her door, and make love to
her
. To the person, not the thought in his head, however real that might have seemed!

In full knowledge that he was acting far too human, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

What had come over him? Why was he acting like this?

He’d stood at her door just a few short hours ago, certain she would ask him in. Affection and longing had shone from her eyes. He knew it as surely as he knew anything. They had fueled the yearning in his own heart.

But still she had turned him away. Something about trust, and the past, was the best he’d been able to garner from a shaky probe of her mind.

Disappointed beyond anything he’d experienced before, he’d returned home. But he couldn’t sleep.

Finally he remembered a telepathic tool he’d all but forgotten, one he’d never used before. It was possible, with enough concentration, and the additional power of the communicator, to insert yourself into another being’s mind. To make that person actually believe you were really present. To make her know what you knew, feel what you felt, taste what you tasted, smell what you smelled.

Want what you wanted.

He’d convinced himself he was doing it in the interests of destiny. That it was just another plank in his strategy to break down Allie’s defenses and win her for his mate.

But deep within he’d known, even then, he was lying. To himself, and to every Zalian ideal he’d ever believed in.

Making love to Allie had nothing to do with destiny. It had nothing to do with Zalia.

He wanted to make love to Allie because he wanted her. Because he needed her.

Because she spoke to a need imbedded deep within him, as no one and nothing had before or ever would again.

Bright and early Monday morning Allie sat at her desk, sorting through the mail and phone messages she’d ignored Friday, and again Saturday when she came in to write up her interview with George Bukowski. But despite outward appearances, her mind was not on her work. It was on Erik.

Where
was
he?

Disgruntled she looked around the newsroom.

So far everyone seemed to have arrived except Erik. He had worked all weekend, but she was certain he wasn’t off until tomorrow. She wanted to see him.

The irony was not lost on her. Unable to truly believe he cared about her, she was the one who’d sent him away Friday night with no more than a smile. Only to think about him constantly for the next two days. Only to dream about him in embarrassingly erotic detail, with a realism that still left her aching deep inside.

After another quick look around the newsroom, Allie sighed and began opening the mail. The first piece was an invitation to the opening of a recreation center for troubled teens. That might be the starting point for an interesting column, but whether she got to it or not depended on what happened with the Cody investigation. So far only one potentially useful call had been sparked by the unexplained disappearances columns, and she was interviewing the woman this morning. Besides that she’d had two calls from deep breathers and a third from a man who’d rambled on about aliens and UFOs and some nonsense about life forces and how she had to be careful not to disturb them. It had taken more than twenty minutes to get rid of him.

She forced her attention back to the mail, quickly opening, scanning and disposing of most of it. When the phone rang, she grabbed for it.

“Allie, there’s a Grace Firetta here to see you.

Says she has an appointment.”

Allie glanced at her date book. “Right. 9:30 a.m.

You can send her up.”

Allie put down the receiver. She certainly hoped Firetta had something useful to offer. When the woman had called last Friday to say she had information about Cody’s disappearance, Allie had tried to question her, but she had refused to talk about it over the phone. Only in person, she had insisted over and over.

Allie shuffled through the papers on her desk to find her notebook. A blast of buzzing in her head, like the clicking on of a radio alarm clock, made her jump, sending a sheaf of papers to the floor and attracting puzzled glances from nearby reporters.

Muttering to herself, Allie got up and collected the paperwork from the floor. Erik was certainly here now, she thought with a grimace. Between that dratted buzzing and the instantaneous longing that overcame her, like an itch she couldn’t scratch, she
knew
he was here. How or why she didn’t know. She just knew it was the way it was.

Straightening, she saw Erik standing outside one of the editorial offices, a camera strung over his shoulder, another camera and flash around his neck. Immediately her breath caught and her tension zoomed skyward. Unlike Erik, she thought with annoyance, who apparently hadn’t even noticed her existence. His profile to her, he listened attentively to whatever the photo editor Doug Long was telling him.

“Miss Stanislawski?”

Papers clutched in her hands, Allie turned around, expecting to see the woman called Grace Firetta. Instead, a small, bespectacled man stood before her. The first thing Allie noticed about him was the side part just above his ear, and the strands of black hair carefully arranged to cover his bald pate. That, and the fact that despite the summer heat, he was wearing a grey trench coat buttoned and belted shut.

“Uh, yes. Can I help you?” Allie dropped the papers on her desk, and moved towards her chair.

“I’m Klaus Klassen.” The man smiled, displaying wide-spaced, yellow teeth. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.

“Yes?” She nodded, then glanced at her watch.

Firetta should be here any minute.

“I’ve been reading your column ever since you started two months ago.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. Was there anything specific you wanted to ask me about?” Fans were great, but Allie preferred communicating with them by letter.

“Yes, actually. Your latest columns. Last week’s. The ones about people who disappeared.

And the interview with the psychic.”

Allie looked more closely at Mr. Klassen, a faint uneasiness taking hold. What exactly did he want to talk about?

“I don’t like them.”

Allie suppressed a groan. Was this another crazy, come to harangue her about some perceived slight or oversight in her column? Why was it always her? Why not Kate? And how did
her
crazies always manage to get past security?

Summoning patience, she stood up straighter.

“If I’ve made a factual error, I’ll be happy to correct it. But if it’s strictly that you don’t like what I’ve written, then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

“You don’t understand.” The man leapt forward, his eyes flickering rapidly behind his tortoise-shell glasses. “It’s not right what you’re doing.”

For the first time Allie noticed the pastiness of his skin. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes glassy, too? “What?” she asked, then could have bitten her tongue. It was always foolish to encourage this kind of conversation.

“Digging up the past. Disturbing the dead.

Unbalancing the forces of life. You must stop immediately.”

A light clicked inside Allie’s head. Could this be the same man who had called last week, rambling on about the forces of life? She’d have to get rid of him, fast. She didn’t have time to listen to him now.

She nodded towards the doors to the hallway.

“Thank you very much Mr. Klassen.” She moved closer, preparing to escort him to the door. “But I’ve got another interview right now and—”

“Don’t touch me.” The man jumped back and glared at her. “You’re not taking this seriously. I told you. You can’t fool with the forces of life.

You—”

“Mr. Klassen, I’m sorry but you’ll have to go.”

Suddenly the man pulled a black, dull object from his pocket. It wasn’t until he held it trained on her chest that she realized what it was. A revolver. Pointed straight at her.

Her eyes widened. She gulped.

“No,” the little man screamed. He waved the gun wildly about, his face contorted with anger and hate. “I’m not going until you listen to me. I’m not going until you print the truth. Until you tell your readers about the forces of life.”

Fear froze Allie to the spot. It stole her voice, and her ability to do anything but stare at the short barrel of the gun pointed straight at her.

She was vaguely conscious of the silence that had fallen on the newsroom but she was afraid to take her eyes off the man before her.

Finally she managed to make her parched mouth work. “I —uh—maybe we could talk—”

“I don’t want to talk,” screamed the man. He held the gun with both hands and aimed it straight at her heart. “What I want is the truth.

From you. From all of the lying media who—”

A blinding light flashed from behind Allie. The man threw up his arms to protect his eyes. Allie felt a movement beside her and saw the rush of another body she registered only afterwards as Erik’s.

Suddenly Klassen was tumbling to the ground, in a confusion of arms and legs, and a cacophony of voices and sounds.

Allie sagged onto her desk.

Erik noticed the man the moment he entered the newsroom. Maybe it was his pallid complexion and the out-of-place trench coat in the summer heat. Or maybe it was the dogged look on the man’s face, and the fact that, after a quick look around, he headed straight for Allie.

Despite his conversation with Doug, Erik started drifting towards Allie’s desk. Listening to Doug, but watching the man in the trench coat, he registered his halt in front of Allie’s desk.

Doug continued talking, oblivious to the fact they were moving along. Erik’s eyes narrowed. So far nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps the man simply had an appointment with Allie.

Erik kept moving until he and Doug stood about five feet away from Allie’s desk. So far the man appeared harmless, but Erik’s inner sense of something amiss made him wary. He tried to tune into the man’s thoughts, but found it difficult to listen to Doug too.

Doug waved his hand expansively. “I’d like to try you out on some sport’s pictures, maybe on the Bull’s games later this week. We always need good pics for the sports section.”