Dark Perception: The Corde Noire Series Page 7

  Chapter 6

  The fading evening light was streaming through the picture windows as Melinda sat on her living room floor and went through the pile of boxes gathered around her. She had spent most of the morning going back and forth from the moving truck and pulling out things she wanted to keep. It was well after noon when the three moving men left The Shallows and headed for Nathan’s storage facility.

  As she unpacked a collection of framed photographs of her brothers, Melinda felt an excited tickle. This was a new sensation for her, experiencing such luxurious accommodations. She giggled with delight as she pictured the coming days and weeks working with Nathan Cole.

  However, her celebration was short-lived when her thoughts crept back to Jack. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. Taking in the red fingers of light stretching through her windows, Melinda surmised it was about the time when they would have been packing up from a day at Jackson Square. Jack would then walk her home, and sometimes they would grab a bite to eat along the way.

  A sudden knock at the front door brushed away all of her warm memories. To Melinda’s happy surprise, Nathan was standing in her doorway holding a bottle of La Grande Dame Champagne in one hand and two crystal flutes in the other. In jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt, his thick brown hair was damp and he smelled of some exotic cologne. When his eyes traveled over the curves of her ratty blue jeans and faded gray House of Voodoo T-shirt, Melinda blushed.

  “Nathan, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought we would celebrate your moving in. Since you liked the champagne at The Grill Room …” He held up the bottle and glasses.

  She waved him inside. “That was very kind. Thank you.”

  “I should be the one thanking you, Melinda. You don’t know how happy I am that you’re here.” He went to the kitchen as Melinda closed the front door. “So what do you think of my building?” He placed the bottle and glasses on the breakfast bar.

  “You mean your haunted building?”

  Nathan’s grin was intoxicating. “You noticed.”

  Her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, she strolled across the living room to the bar. “Was this a test?”

  Nathan began opening drawers in the kitchen. “It wasn’t a test. I was just curious if you would feel them.”

  “So you wanted to see if I was a medium, too?” She frowned at him as he searched through the drawers. “What are you looking for?”

  “A towel to open the champagne.”

  “I’ll get one from the bathroom. I haven’t unpacked my kitchen stuff yet.” Melinda trotted along the short hallway.

  Before she stepped inside the bathroom, she noticed the metal door to the storage room at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. Ignoring her urge to go and close it, she went into the bathroom and removed a hand towel from the pile she had neatly stacked in the linen closet. As she exited the bathroom, she looked once more to the storage room, only to find the door was now closed.

  “I thought women always unpacked the kitchen first when they moved into a new home,” Nathan remarked when she returned to the kitchen.

  She handed him the towel. “Where is that written in stone?”

  He directed his attention to the champagne bottle. “It’s not, but whenever my ex-wife and I moved into a new house, she would always unpack the kitchen first.”

  “Did you and your ex-wife move a lot?”

  He wrapped the towel around the cork. “In our six years together we lived in one condo and two houses. When we divorced, she kept the house in Raleigh and I moved down here.” A slight pop rang out as he pulled the cork free.

  “Do you stay in touch with her?”

  “I have to. Yvette, my ex, still owns half the assets in a few of my business ventures up in North Carolina.” He carefully poured the champagne into the crystal flutes on the bar. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What is that?”

  He set the bottle on the bar. “Why did I get divorced?”

  “I already know why.”

  Nathan arched a dark eyebrow. “You saw that in a vision or felt it from me?”

  “Neither.” She admired the golden champagne in her glass. “Like most relationships, I figured it just didn’t work out.”

  “I forgot about the mystical power of the obvious.” He collected his glass from the bar. “So what do you think of my haunted building?”

  “There’s a woman in that storage room at the end of my hall, a man in chains is in the lobby, and the music selection in your elevator is probably keeping them from ever wanting to haunt there.”

  Nathan almost spit out the champagne in his mouth and his boisterous laughter reverberated throughout the living room. Melinda took a sip from her champagne, pleased by his reaction.

  “Last year, I had two psychics go through this building,” he told her. “They picked up the guy in the lobby, but never mentioned a woman in this apartment. And no one has ever had the courage to tell me about the elevator music.”

  Melinda placed her drink on the bar. “Did you know about the ghost in this apartment?”

  Nathan shook his head. “I never encountered anything here. I stayed in this apartment last year when they were redecorating my penthouse.”

  “You should have told me about your building, Nathan.”

  “I didn’t want to frighten you. I figured you, above all people, would be fine living with ghosts.”

  “I’m a psychic, not a medium.”

  He set his glass on the bar. “Is there a difference?”

  “Different people see different things. I do better with future events and emotions. I don’t like talking to the dead.”

  “But you can do it?” His voice rose, showing his excitement. “Talk to the dead.”

  She turned away and went to the sofa in the living room. Tucking her feet underneath her, Melinda sighed. “Yes, I can see the dead and hear them, if I want to.”

  Nathan followed her to the sofa. “So why don’t you want to?”

  Melinda rubbed her hands together, evading Nathan’s curious gaze. “I never saw dead people until … my mother. After she shot herself in our barn, I kept seeing her around the farm. I was too afraid to say anything, but my grandmother knew something was wrong. Grandma Teresa told me if I didn’t wish to speak to the dead, I had to tell them to go away and leave me alone.” Melinda paused and took a deep breath as the pain of her past pressed against her heart. “So the next time I saw Momma, I told her to go away. Initially, she didn’t do anything, then she smiled at me and slowly faded from view. For days after, I cried into my pillow, wishing I had not sent her away. After that, I decided I was never going to speak to the dead again.”

  Nathan curled his arm around her shoulders. The gesture was meant to comfort her, but to Melinda, the feel of him, the warmth of his body, even the scent of his cologne overwhelmed her. Her mind exploded with visions of his naked body next to her, holding him close as his hands explored every inch of her.

  “How old were you when your mother committed suicide?”

  His voice brought Melinda back. Was she seeing the future, or Nathan’s unspoken desires?

  “Melinda?”

  She stared into his eyes and then she felt it—that burning in the pit of her gut. Soon, the heat began to radiate outward to her limbs.

  “I was six.” She pictured polar ice caps and glaciers to cool her runaway fire.

  “That’s awfully young to lose a parent, especially like that. You’re lucky you had your grandmother.”

  Melinda slipped out from under his arm and stood from the sofa. “Yes, Grandma Teresa saved me.” She dashed across the living room and scooped up her glass of champagne. Frantically, she downed three large gulps.

  “Hey.” Nathan came to her side. “I didn’t realize talking about your mother would upset you so.”

  Melinda reveled in the rush of the alcohol. Finally, the burning in her gut melted away.

  “It’s not that.” She star
ed at her glass, afraid to face him.

  Nathan moved in closer and lifted her head. “Then what is it?”

  He gently removed a stray strand of hair from her face and placed it behind her ear. When his eyes connected with hers, the images of the two of them came blazing back to life, even more powerful than before.

  “You’re doing that on purpose!” she shouted, slamming her flute down on the bar.

  “What?” Nathan seemed astonished by her reaction.

  She backed away from him. “You’re thinking those thoughts.”

  “What thoughts?”

  Melinda searched his eyes while he inched closer.

  Nathan’s mouth became a thin line, adding to the tension in the air. “I think I should go. You’ve had a long day. We can talk again tomorrow after you get settled in. We will need to go over my agenda.”

  What’s wrong with me? Get a grip.

  Running her fingertips over her forehead, she struggled to clear her mind. “What agenda?”

  Nathan picked up his glass and downed the contents. “I have meetings scheduled this week and next about that property development we spoke of the other day.” He shifted his eyes to her. “There’s a formal cocktail party at the home of a New Orleans socialite next weekend. She’s interested in my plans for that property and wants to talk to me about funding the project. You’re to accompany me to the party and all of my meetings, then you can tell me what you feel about these people.” His eyes traveled over her T-shirt and torn jeans. “You’ll need to dress professionally for the meetings, and you’ll need a formal gown for the party. I’ll have Bob take you to Canal Place for some new clothes.”

  “I can’t afford new clothes, Nathan.”

  He raised his brown eyes to her. “I’ll take care of that, not to worry.”

  “You’ve given me this apartment, furniture, even a new television. I can’t have you buying me clothes, too.”

  “Melinda, you’re going to be my assistant. I can’t have you escorting me places dressed like that.” He motioned to her clothes. “You need to look the part.”

  Melinda wanted to argue with him, but she thought better of it. He wanted to buy her some new outfits, what of it? After all, this is what she had always wanted—to be taken care of.

  “Yes, Nathan.” She gave him a weak smile.

  “Good girl.” He abruptly headed for the door. “I’ll come by tomorrow evening and we can go over my itinerary in detail. I have a new cell phone coming for you tomorrow, as well as a credit card. Use the card to buy your clothes and anything you may need for your job.”

  “A credit card? Are you sure you want to trust me with that?”

  Nathan smirked with amusement. “Just make sure you don’t go too crazy. I still have to justify it all to my accountant at the end of the month as a business expense.”

  “Is that why you’re telling everyone I’m your assistant?”

  He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  “If you tell people I’m your assistant, even though you already have a secretary, don’t you think that will look funny?”

  He squinted his eyes, appearing interested in her reasoning. “Funny, in what way?”

  “Perhaps everyone thinks I’m not here as an assistant, but as something else.”

  “What else?” he questioned with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

  “You know what else, Nathan.” She turned away, but he held her arm.

  “What else, Melinda?”

  Melinda analyzed his magnetic eyes and then she knew. The images she had seen earlier of them together were his. She could feel it as sure as she could feel the warmth of his hand.

  Nathan let her go. “I hired you to be my psychic, that’s all. If others read more into the relationship than that, it’s their problem.”

  Despite what he told her, Melinda sensed Nathan wanted her, but something was holding him back, something she could not see. In her mind’s eye, she searched for an answer, but only foggy images came through.

  “I’m very happy you’re here,” he said, and then he kissed her cheek.

  Melinda almost grabbed for the doorframe to keep from falling to her knees. The unexpected wave of electricity from the caress of his lips was catastrophic.

  “Get some rest,” he told her. “We have a big week ahead, and you have your work cut out for you.”

  Confused, Melinda watched him make his way back to his penthouse. Perhaps he hadn’t sent those images to her.

  Was it me?

  Melinda quickly shut the door and threw her body against it. “Oh, I’m in trouble.”

  Right after Melinda spoke the words, a wave of fear enveloped her. She turned to her living room, and as quickly as it had come, the feeling departed. She gazed about the room, reaching out with her mind to whatever entity had called to her, but nothing came.

  Shaking it off, Melinda picked up a box and carried it to her bedroom. When she stepped into the hall, the doorway to the storage room was wide open and the light inside was on. Setting the box on the floor, she went to the room and looked around. Nothing appeared to her, and there were no moans or rattling of chains. But as she stood in the square room, the hairs on her arms stood up. In her mouth, there was the acrid taste of dread. Melinda fought her instinct to flee, and instead opened her mind.

  “I feel your fear,” she pronounced.

  Then a woman’s soft voice whispered in her ear, “Run.”

  Melinda’s eyes flew open. She backed out of the room, flipped off the lights, and shut the door. She stood in the hall staring at the handle on the door as her trepidation faded. There was no lock on the door, no way to secure it. She had a sudden urge to make sure this door stayed closed, because what was inside that room scared her.

  “What the hell happened in this building?”

  She closed her eyes and centered herself. Imagining a white cloud of protection around her, Melinda pushed away all the negative impressions hovering in the air. As she blew out her frustration in a long breath, Melinda opened her eyes. Once again, she was at ease and the dark forces on the other side of the door had been silenced. Heading back into the living room, she went to the kitchen and picked up the champagne bottle from the breakfast bar.

  “Just in case that doesn’t work.” She gulped down the alcohol. “This is the second best way I know to shut out the voices in my head.”

  Chapter 7

  Melinda waited outside the glass entrance to the mall on Canal Street. All about, people were carrying maps and cameras as they took in the sights of downtown New Orleans. In the distance, Melinda spotted a round woman with dazzling pink hair tossing in the brisk spring breeze from the nearby Mississippi River. Wearing her usual loose-fitting cotton dress—this time in yellow—Ellie exhibited one of her warm smiles.

  “Are you ready to spend some of your man’s money?” Ellie gave a raspy chuckle.

  Melinda hugged her friend. “He’s not my man. He’s my boss,” she clarified, pulling away.

  “Honey, if he gave you a credit card, he’s your man.”

  “He gave me the credit card because he wants me to look professional.”

  “Professional is my specialty. I used to have to wear it myself years ago.” Ellie inspected her ratty blue jeans and dirty tennis shoes. “I figured that’s why you wanted me to come along.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about being professional. I sure hope I can pull this off. I’d really hate to lose this job.”

  Ellie gestured to the mall doors. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ll make you look professional and sexy.”

  “Just professional, Ellie. Leave out the sexy.”

  “Not on my watch.”

  Undaunted, Melinda made her way toward the glass entrance. When they stepped inside, the rush of air-conditioning greeted them. It reminded Melinda of when she’d first walked into The Shallows, but this cool breeze had no entities hidden inside it.

  “How’s the new place?” Ellie spoke up behind her.
>
  Melinda started for Saks Fifth Avenue. “Really … big.”

  “How’s Nathan?”

  “Fine.”

  Ellie caught up to her. “Have you two…?”

  Melinda stopped and faced her, her mouth ajar. “You’re joking!”

  “What?” Ellie appeared shocked. “You mean to tell me you haven’t thought about sleeping with him?”

  Melinda snorted. “No!”

  “Liar. Look at you. You’re wound up tighter than a preacher in a whorehouse. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw you.” Ellie tugged on her arm. “Talk to me.”

  Melinda sighed and tried to find the words to explain the jumble of emotions eating away at her.

  “Ellie, do you think it’s possible that when I think I’m reading someone else’s thoughts, they’re actually my own?”

  Ellie pensively nodded. “Possible, but not likely. You’re a very competent psychic. You have enough experience to tell the difference. Why do you ask?”

  “The other night, Nathan came over to welcome me to the building. He brought champagne and … I kept seeing these images of us … you know, together.”

  Ellie grinned, letting go a light snicker. “I get the idea.”

  “But Nathan didn’t act like he was imagining those things. If anything, he was cool and almost distant with me.”

  “Did he touch you?”

  Melinda repositioned her backpack on her shoulder. “He kissed me good night on the cheek … other than that, we—”

  “What did you feel when he kissed you?” Ellie cut in.

  Melinda blushed and covered her face with her hands.

  “Oh, boy! You’ve got it bad.” Ellie’s raucous cackle bounced off the tiled floor and bricked walls.

  Melinda noticed a few shoppers looking their way, amplifying the burn of her cheeks. “Ellie, it’s not funny!”

  Ellie wiped away a tear. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to see a man make you turn that shade of red? I’d hoped Jack might bring some color to your cheeks, but to discover our esteemed Mr. Cole has done it, well …”