Eternal by V. Forrest (primary phonics books .TXT) 📕

“You didn’t answer mine.”

“Joseph—”

She felt his hand on hers and she looked down at it on the bar. It didn’t seem real, but waxlike and disembodied. Her thoughts drifted.

Why had the killer taken Bobby’s feet? Was the fact that his feet were missing an indication that the beheading had been a mere coincidence? She wanted to think so. Sweet God of St. Patrick, she wanted badly to think so.

Joseph squeezed her hand and his face came into focus. He had that look of a man who knew how attractive he was. He knew how to manipulate people with his sexy good looks and charm.

It was hard to believe now that Fia had once thought herself in love with him. She had once adored everything about him; his voice, the way he moved, the way he spoke. It had not been just his face that she had thought beautiful, but also his thighs, his chest, his arms, and especially his hands. As perfect as a Da Vinci drawing. They looked like the hands of a surgeon.

“A physicians’ conference or something?” Fia sipped her drink, her voice intentionally detached. As cool as the sweaty glass in her hand. “That why you’re here? Thought you’d check out the old stomping grounds?”

He sipped his vodka on the rocks, his sensual lips forming around the rim of the glass. “We’re opening a new office, my partner and I. Here on the East Coast, I think.”

She lifted her gaze, locking with his as she pulled her hand out from under his. “Joseph, you can’t do that.”

“I can. I have.”

“It’s not safe,” she insisted, pushing off the barstool. She hadn’t expected this, not even after his phone call. Not now; she couldn’t handle Joseph’s return now.

Suddenly she was suffocating. The smoke. The scent of the humans and their pulsing blood. The reflections in the mirror over the bar had suddenly turned hazy. They were no longer human, but ghosts of her past floating by, some uncannily silent, others shrieking in her head.

“Once again,” he said as he watched the ice cubes dance in the bottom of his glass. “Not safe for whom?”

Overwhelmed by the sudden emotion that welled inside her, Fia strode away. She ignored his voice calling her name. Ignored the ghosts-turned-men-and-women-again that stared. She walked out of the bar and into hot, humid night air. She had fully intended to go straight to her car, but found herself, minutes later, on another barstool. The man next to her was not nearly as good-looking as Joseph, but he wore a nice suit and he was drinking an eighteen-year-old scotch. She let him buy her a Perrier.

The darkness, the closeness of the humans, the sound of the suit’s voice whirled around her, pulsing to the beat of the music blaring through the speakers cleverly hidden in the ceiling. The suit was a litigation attorney. In half an hour’s time, she knew the name of several of his socialite clients, that he made in the high six figures annually, and why he and his wife had divorced. Lack of sexual adventure was, of course, a major issue with him and Penny…Peggy…Pilly.

She didn’t catch his name either. Didn’t want to be able to recall it in the morning.

Fia didn’t know what she was going to do about Joseph. She had an appointment with her shrink next week. Dr. Kettleman would want to talk about it. They’d talk about Bobby, too. About Fia’s feelings of inadequacy when she went home. About how guilty she felt about the fact that her father was still disappointed in her.

The suit continued to talk, continued to order himself drinks. He was pretty loaded. At first, he had taken her for a high-class hooker, which had amused her. She guessed they didn’t see many professional women in Jersey wearing skirts as short as hers. He kept telling her how beautiful she was, how intimidating she had to be to some men. He was not, however, intimidated. Too drunk or too stupid, she guessed.

Fia sat there listening to him ramble on about his accomplishments and how he had just bought a penthouse apartment overlooking the river. It was probably Pottery Barn furnished with a small wet bar in the living room and six-hundred-count sateen sheets on the bed.

When he asked her if she’d like to come back to his place to see it, she had known she should say no. Known she had to, but he made it so easy. They could walk, he said, which immediately made her think of the dark streets, poorly lit alleyways.

And he was so stinkin’ drunk….

As she walked out of the bar on his arm, she considered warning him of the dangers of picking up women in bars. From a law-enforcement point of view, he was playing with fire. In his state, he could easily be robbed, worst-case scenario, murdered, not to mention the risk of blood loss….

They walked past the bar where she had met Joseph earlier. She no longer sensed his presence. Angry with her for walking out on him, he had probably gone off hunting on his own. She doubted Joseph had any trouble picking up women in bars.

The suit was polite enough. He walked on the street side of the sidewalk and when they stopped to wait for a light, he moved to kiss her. He was only a little clumsy. His mouth was cool and smoky-tasting. The scotch. And when she slid her palm over his chest, beneath his suit jacket and up to the pulse on his throat, he moaned, thinking her good at foreplay, no doubt.

Her own pulse quickened and she felt the first prickling of desire.

They crossed the street.

“There a shortcut?” she whispered huskily in his ear. Once the urge began, it built quickly, urgently.

She knew she shouldn’t do it….

He laughed and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to kiss her again, this time awkwardly groping her breast.

She pushed his hand away, pretending to be playful.

Walk away, the voice