Dark Attraction: The Corde Noire Series

  Dark Attraction

  By

  Alexandrea Weis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Alexandrea Weis 2016

  First Edition Weba Publishing May 16, 2016

  Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Book Cover: Laura Hidalgo Designs

  Editors: Maxine Bringenberg and Karen Hrdlicka

  Dedication

  To my Sensational Street Team, who have always been so supportive.

  This one is for my Lushies.

  Love ya!

  Sebastian hated this part; walking into the ICU from the waiting room. The beeps, bells, and whirring of the machinery, which kept the occupants of the ICU alive, upset him. They were alien noises that grated against his nerves.

  He did his best not to let the sounds get to him, but as he went to his mother’s room, he felt his skin prickle with that well-ingrained fear of hospitals. The result of a precocious childhood.

  When he reached his mother’s doorway, he spotted the pretty nurse, the one who insisted on being called Sam and not Samantha. His eyes drifted from the nurse to his mother in the bed. Her color was better, but she was still hooked up to the ventilator. Shit!

  Falling at her home, she had hit her head and been knocked unconscious. The surgery to relieve the bleeding in her skull had been successful—or so the doctor insisted—but she was still not awake.

  “She’s doing better today, Mr. Reinhardt,” the attractive brunette nurse with the long ponytail said to him.

  How many times had he told her that his last name was Dane, not Reinhardt? Still, she called him by his stepfather’s name. His palms itched to correct her, but he refrained.

  “Has she woken up at all?”

  “Yes, she opens her eyes now and then, which is a very good sign. We should have her off that breathing tube in a day or two.”

  He followed the nurse’s perfect profile. Sebastian thought her almost doll-like. Even down to her porcelain skin and petite, almost little girl figure, everything about her reminded him of a doll.

  “Thank you, Sam. You’ve been so encouraging these past few days. I thought for a while she wouldn’t make it.”

  “I told you she would make it.” Sam stretched her pouty lips into an attractive smile. “I have a sense about these things.” As if hearing something in the outer hallway, she raised her uncanny eyes to the door. “I’ll be back.”

  She was gone before he could ask any more questions. Sam always did that.

  It was as if she looked through him, and not at him, whenever he came to visit his mother. What he wouldn’t give to have her see him, to have the little nurse with those amazing eyes see him for what he really was. Ah, but that was for another time and place.

  He walked closer to the bed and held his mother’s hand. Still warm and soft the way he remembered it as a child. With the ugly purple bruise on the right side of her face and the thick white bandage on her head, she didn’t resemble the mother he had known. Gone were her fancy rings, diamond bracelets, and designer clothes. The blue hospital gown made her look paler than usual, and without her always fastidiously applied makeup, she appeared older, much older than her sixty-five years.

  Childhood memories of his mother seemed to be buried behind the image of the old woman in the bed before him. He wasn’t ready for this. He had already lost his father, but he wasn’t ready to lose the only person who had given a damn about him.

  “I’m here, Mother. You’re doing better. Much better.”

  He felt the slightest pressure on his hand, as if she had heard him.

  “That’s it, squeeze my hand. Let me know you can hear me.”

  This time, her grasp was stronger and more deliberate.

  Sebastian wanted to shout out for the nurse, but she had told him his mother was getting better. Here was his proof.

  “We’ll get you out of here soon enough, Mother. Before you know it, you’ll be back on your committees, planning all of your charity events.”

  Another squeeze and Sebastian swore her eyes fluttered.

  His heart soared with relief. It was a small step, but it was progress.

  “Looks like she’s coming out of it,” Sam surmised, entering the room. She pulled a penlight from her white jacket pocket and flashed the light in his mother’s eyes.

  His mother frowned.

  “Did you see that?” he demanded. “She frowned when you shined the light in her eyes.”

  Sam shrugged her shoulders, not seeming very impressed. “Like I said, Mr. Reinhardt, she’s waking up.”

  Her dismissive tone made that certain itch come alive in Sebastian. The one he always got when he discovered a new … project.

  Sam went back to her table outside the room door and made some notes on his mother’s chart.

  Giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, Sebastian whispered, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Exiting the room, he stopped by Sam’s table. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”

  Sam never looked up from her notes. “I’m glad she’s doing better.”

  “Will you be here tomorrow?”

  Sam shook her head and became distracted by a patient in the room next door to his mother’s. “I’m off for a few days, Mr. Reinhardt. I’m sure your mother will be gone by the time I get back.”

  He never got to ask her anything else. She ducked into the other patient’s room and went to the monitor above the bed.

  Sebastian grinned. He would see the pretty little Sam Woods again. He wasn’t going to let this one get away.

  Sam struggled to hold the grocery bags in her hands as she fought with her apartment door. “I knew I shouldn’t have bought so much,” she griped, working the sticky lock.

  When she finally was able to push her door open, she noticed the two beefy men in coveralls going into apartment B next door.

  “What the hell?”

  Dropping her groceries inside, she was immediately curious about her new neighbor. The apartments in her building weren’t cheap. She paid extra for her penthouse-style home in the converted warehouse known as The Shallows. Situated close to the Mississippi River, the high-rise apartments were prized for their early morning views of the city of New Orleans.

  “I just hope my new neighbor is quiet,” she grumbled, while struggling to get her key out of the lock.

  “You need some help, Ms. Woods?” a chunky, short man in stained blue overalls and a denim cap asked, coming up to her.

  “Hey, Marv. No, I’m good.” She gestured down the hall. “We got a new tenant, huh?”

  Marv scratched his head beneath his denim cap. “Don’t know much about him. I think he made arrangements with Mr. Cole before he … ah, went out of town.”

  “Out of town?” Sam chuckled. “So does he know where Nathan Cole went? No one has heard from him for weeks.”

  Marv shook his head. “No one knows where Mr. Cole is, Ms. Woods.”

  Sam stared at him, and then she felt it. That uncanny tingle in her belly, hinting that there was more to Marv than a simple handyman. “I think you know, Marv. You see a lot more in this old building than you let on.”

  Marv’s green eyes narrowed on her. “Have you seen them, too? Hangin’ ‘round the lobby.”

  Sam dropped
her gaze to the burgundy carpet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Marv inched closer, holding his red toolbox to his side. “You’ve got it … the sight. I can tell. Just like I could tell with Ms. Melinda.”

  “Who?”

  Marv raised his head to the ceiling. “She used to live up on five. She left right when Mr. Cole went away.”

  Sam put on her usual tolerant smile, the one she kept for the overly curious. Keep it hidden, Sam.

  “What else can you tell me about my new neighbor, Marv?” Sam probed, desperate to change the subject.

  Marv kicked the toe of his work boot against the burgundy carpet. “All’s I know is the guy showed up yesterday with a set of keys to that apartment. I got a call from Mike at the security desk sayin’ he was movin’ in today … no paperwork.”

  “Really?” Sam rested her slender hip against her front door. “I damn near had to take a blood test to get into this place.” She glanced down the hall. “Have you seen the guy?”

  Marv shook his head. “Just the movin’ van. One small truck is all he’s got.”

  Sam was intrigued. “Doesn’t sound like he has a lot of stuff.”

  “Nope, sure don’t.”

  “So are you here to supervise the movers?” Sam questioned, pointing to his red toolbox.

  “Nah. Mike told me the new tenant asked to have the gas lines checked in his place. Said there was a funny smell. Considerin’ no one has lived in that apartment for over a year, I’m not surprised. Mike also said he suspects the guy is a friend of Mr. Cole’s.”

  Sam thought of the good-looking man who had occupied the penthouse suite on the floor above. She had run into him a few times returning to his apartment, always with a beautiful woman on his arm. The way his brown bedroom eyes had swept over her body every time they had seen each other still gave Sam the creeps.

  “Marv, what happens if Nathan Cole doesn’t return?” She gave her maintenance man a worried frown. “I mean, who is paying the bills and keeping the building up?”

  Marv nodded, acknowledging her concern. “Mr. Cole’s ex-wife showed up right after he went missin’. She’s seein’ to everythin’.”

  Sam squinted her eyes. “What ex-wife?”

  “Brynn Yvette Adler Cole. She’s gone by Brynn Adler ever since the divorce. Edna, Mr. Cole’s secretary, told me she still owns half of Mr. Cole’s business interests, includin’ The Shallows.”

  “Brynn Adler? Why does that sound familiar?”

  “She’s a writer. Writes those racy romance books. My daughter loves them.”

  “Wow. Didn’t see that coming.” Sam shook her head. “Well, I hope this place continues to run smoothly without Nathan Cole.”

  “I’ve met Ms. Adler. She seems real smart. I doubt we’ll have any problems.” Marv held up his toolbox. “Well, I’d better get started on checkin’ those gas lines.” Giving her a wave of his gnarled hand, Marv ducked inside the door of her new neighbor’s apartment.

  Still digesting all the gossip, Sam shut her door and collected her groceries from the floor. She traveled through a short hallway that opened into a wide room. With old hardwood floors polished to perfection and the original wooden beams exposed in the plaster ceiling, the converted warehouse apartment had been her dream home. The wall of windows that overlooked the Mississippi River had sold her on the place from the moment she saw it. Expensive—it cost her over half her income every month—but so worth it.

  She crossed her expansive living room with only a few pieces of furniture—all she could afford—and went to her sleek kitchen. With white granite countertops, steel appliances, and a steel backsplash along the countertop, she was always polishing the surfaces to keep them sparkling.

  After dumping her bags on the countertop, Sam pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Summer in New Orleans, even the trees wilted in the heat. Why on earth she had decided to move to the city in the heart of a swamp was beyond her. But as she thought about the people, the landmarks, and the food, she sighed. It was like no other place she had been throughout her career as a traveling nurse.

  The last two assignments had taken her to Atlanta and Houston. Neither city was exciting— they certainly didn’t have the character of New Orleans—but when her original contract had ended in New Orleans over three months ago, she had turned down her company’s request to move on to Phoenix.

  “No regrets,” she murmured.

  Staying in New Orleans had been the best decision yet. So what was missing in her life?

  The unexpected thought made her take a step back.

  Where did that come from?

  It had been there for a while … that uneasy sense that something was missing from her life. She guessed it was a man, a family, or a sense of belonging to another. But Sam had always shied away from relationships. Men always asked too many questions about her past and her ability.

  As soon as she opened herself to the thoughts, the images began: impressions of the lost still inhabiting the building. Even though they had been dead for some time, they were still there. In the walls, sometimes hovering in the windows. Sam had always found ways to shut them out, but after moving into The Shallows, the dead had grown more insistent.

  Pushing aside her visions, she began to unload her groceries. The cell phone in her purse rang out with her favorite jazzy ringtone—Ella.

  “Yes, Brenda,” she said after checking her caller ID.

  “Have you seen him?” the exuberant blonde on the other end giggled.

  Giggling was classic Brenda. An overpaid interior decorator with a smidgen of design talent, but a shapely body that made men drool, she had moved into The Shallows after a brief stint as Nathan Cole’s girlfriend.

  “No, I haven’t seen him.” Sam eyed the package of Oreos she had bought on a whim.

  “I think he’s a friend of Nathan’s.” Brenda sighed in a sexy, breathless sort of way, making Sam jealous.

  The Oreos were calling to her. “You at work?”

  “No, came home early. Got a hot date with a CEO of a travel company. I think he might be the one,” Brenda squealed, almost popping Sam’s eardrum.

  Sam frowned at her cell phone. “You said that last time with the lawyer.”

  “He was a dick.”

  “What about the plastic surgeon?”

  “He was married … and a dick,” Brenda huffed. “Maybe your new neighbor is one of Nathan’s rich friends. He’s got a lot of them.”

  Sam’s fingers were toying with the wrapper of the Oreos. “You probably met him. Didn’t you meet a lot of Nathan’s friends when you two dated?”

  “Not that many. He mostly kept me in his apartment … you know.” She giggled, again.

  The closest thing Sam had come to being kept in a guy’s apartment, as his willing sex hostage, was watching an all-night marathon of the Sons of Anarchy with her old boyfriend, Phil. Sex had never been a high priority.

  “So are you going to bake him a welcome to the building cake to say hello?” Brenda intruded on her recollections.

  “Ah, no. Not my style. If the guy wants to say hello, he can knock on my door.”

  “Not the way to meet men, Sam,” Brenda scolded. “You have to make an effort.”

  “Maybe I want the guy to do all the work for a change. Let him sweep me off my feet.”

  Brenda giggled—yeah, it got aggravating after a while. “Men don’t make that kind of effort. The only men who will go all out are not the kind you want.”

  “What kind are they?”

  “Serial killers, rapists … you know, weirdos.”

  Sam worked the edge of the wrapper open. “Well, the way my love life is going, the weirdos may be all that is left for me.” She rolled an Oreo cookie out of the package.

  “Was with one once … a weirdo. No fun at all.” Brenda sounded unusually serious, very unlike Brenda.

  “When was this?” Sam put the cookie down, enthralled.

  “A year ago. Met him through a fr
iend. The sex was rough … real rough. One night and I was out of there.”

  Sam pulled out one of the wooden stools she kept next to her breakfast bar. “Really?”

  Brenda sighed in the phone speaker. “Trust me, don’t go there.”

  Sam gazed longingly at her Oreo. “I’ve always been intrigued by people who did weird things like that. You know, different things in bed.”

  “Eww. Why?” Brenda sounded more outraged than shocked.

  “I guess it’s the nurse in me. Why does someone want to do that? Why does someone willingly participate in it? The psychology behind it.”

  “Whatever.” Brenda sounded bored. “Are we still on for Saturday night?”

  “Yep.” Sam took a bite of her cookie. “I’ll get the booze. You bring the cards and the cash.”

  “Great. I love our poker nights.”

  Sam shoved the rest of the Oreo in her mouth. “Me, too.”

  “See you then. Maybe we can play ring and run on your neighbor,” Brenda suggested. “Get him to come to his door in his boxers.”

  “That could be either very sexy if he is young and good-looking, or a total disaster if he is like a seventy-year-old, fat man.”

  “Let’s hope for young and sexy. It will give us both something to dream about.” She hung up, still giggling.

  After tossing her phone to the kitchen counter, Sam reached for another Oreo. “With my luck, he will be the old and fat kind.”

  Sam went to her fridge. She needed milk to go with her cookies. Reaching for the carton, she wondered what it would be like if her new neighbor was sexy and available.

  Pouring her milk into a tall glass, she instantly shut down her fantasy. There was no point in daydreaming about what could never be. Sam wasn’t like Brenda; the kind men wanted. At barely five-four, she didn’t have the model figure and seductive looks. She was more like the kid sister of a friend type. Cute, funny at times, but not the kind of woman men got lost in.

  Yeah, that was what she craved … for a man to get lost in her. To know a fervid kind of passion that consumed the soul. As far as Sam was concerned, such obsession didn’t exist in real life. She saw real life every day in the ICU. It was painful, gritty, and there was nothing romantic or passionate about any of it. People were just trying to survive, and if they were lucky enough to find another to share part of their journey, it was a good thing. Sadly, most good things never lasted.