her cheekbone, then down her neck to where her pulse pounded fast and hard beneath her pale skin. “Fate is what brought you to me.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. Then her tongue slid out from between her lips, sliding over the fuller bottom one.
Trent leaned forward, drawn to her mouth, to her lips. But before he could taste more than her breath, the doors rattled under a pounding fist.
“Alaina, c’mon,” a male voice called out to her. Trent felt and heard the man’s impatience. “We have to go!”
As close as Trent was to her, just a breath apart, he caught the flash of regret in Alaina’s eyes before she pulled back.
“No, you have to stay,” Trent urged her.
She shook her head and, with a trembling hand, pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “I—I have to go.”
“You will come back,” he said.
“Yes,” she said to his relief, but then she dashed his hopes. “But just because you haven’t answered any of my questions.”
He shook his head. “No, because you won’t be able to stay away from me.”
She didn’t deny his claim. She just pulled open the doors and walked away, joining her impatient partner in the hall, so she didn’t hear his next words.
“And because I won’t be able to stay away from you …”
She turned back, their gazes meeting, holding like he’d longed to hold her. And he suspected that she knew, even if she hadn’t heard him.
“What the hell was going on in there?” Vonner asked.
Fortunately, he had to concentrate on the hairpin turns of the tree-lined road leading away from Trent Baines’s remote hilltop estate in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. So he couldn’t see Alaina’s face, which was certain to reveal everything she felt: stunned, overwhelmed and disappointed. Leaving Trent Baines hadn’t been easy; staying away would probably prove as hard as he’d warned her.
She stared at the facedown book on her lap. His publicity shot added to the mystery surrounding the reclusive author, as his raised hand covered most of his face. Only the strong line of his jaw and wind-tousled dark blond hair were visible around his palm and fingers.
“Alaina?” Vonner prodded her. “What happened in there? What was going on?”
Fighting to steady her voice, she said, “I don’t know what you mean….”
“Why’d you waste so much time?” the dark-haired agent persisted. “He’s not the guy. According to Igor—”
“Igor?”
“His butler,” Vonner explained. “According to him, Baines is only twenty-nine years old. As we both know, the last of these murders happened thirty years ago. Whatever Baines knows about the cases, he probably just figured out by reading old newspaper articles or talking to someone who was around back when the murders happened.”
“But now there’s been another murder.” She reminded him of the call she hadn’t heard because she’d been too distracted. Or captivated.
Trent Baines had nearly kissed her. And she was disappointed that he hadn’t, that they had been interrupted before she’d learned how his lips would feel, how his mouth would taste….
Guilt gripped her now. While she’d been distracted, someone else had been murdered. Brut ally. Ritualistically. The M.O. exactly matched those thirty-year-old cases.
“This murder is further proof that Baines can’t be the killer,” Vonner added. “Because you were with him when we got the call.”
“We don’t know how long ago the murder occurred.” Due to a weak cell signal, Alaina hadn’t heard much of what her supervisor had said except that she needed to quit wasting her time on an unsubstantiated lead.
Only she knew it wasn’t unsubstantiated. Only she knew that Baines had used details that weren’t even in the files of those cold cases. But if she told her bosses how she knew—that she remembered a past life … and death—she’d lose whatever respect and credibility she had in the Bureau. They would think she was as crazy as the killer.
“The guy’s so isolated up here,” Vonner pointed out, cursing beneath his breath as a tire dropped off the edge of the drive onto the loose gravel shoulder. “There are no quick trips for him.”
“We can’t rule him out yet,” she insisted, “not until we have more information about the murder.”
“They’re not going to release the scene until we get there,” Vonner assured her. “But still I can’t see how Baines is involved.”
And Alaina couldn’t see how he couldn’t be involved. He knew too much—and made her feel too much—to not be deeply involved.
With the murders?
Or just her?
He’d found her. Or had she found him?
With her blond hair and grayish eyes, she didn’t look or sound or smell the same, but then she was in a different body. Only her soul and her spirit had returned in the beautiful form of Alaina Paulsen.
This time she would love him, only him. And if, like last time, she refused to give him her heart, he’d just have to take it.
Again.
Chapter 3
Emotion overwhelmed him. This was why he isolated himself in the wooded hills of his estate—because he couldn’t block out what others were feeling. He couldn’t help but feel it, too.
Disgust and fear emanated from the uniformed officers guarding the door. Trent passed them and ducked under the yellow tape. The crime scene had already been processed, so he was alone in the studio apartment. The victim’s body was on its way to the morgue, but he could feel the residual emotion left in the room.
The paralyzing terror hung heavy in the air. He winced as the echo of the victim’s screams reverberated inside his head. He widened his eyes as he studied the scene—the blood spattered on the white walls and drying to a dark burgundy, the blood pooled on the hardwood floor, as thick and dark as tar. He inhaled deeply, trying to fill his shallow lungs, but he breathed in the cloying metallic scent of blood.
His stomach cramped, and he doubled over, crippled with pain. But the pain was not his. It was never his. He always felt others’ pain, others’ emotions. Never his own.
Until today. Until he’d met Alaina Paulsen.
“What the hell!” a vaguely familiar male voice exclaimed in surprise.
“How—Why are you here?” asked a woman. The woman—Alaina Paulsen.
Like earlier today when he’d been with her, Trent felt none of her emotions. He felt no emotions but his own. Attraction, fascination and an overwhelming sense of destiny …
“You
